Daniel J. Lasker is Norbert Blechner Professor of Jewish Values at Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, Beer Sheva, and is chair of the Goldstein-Goren Department of Jewish Thought. His landmark work Jewish Philosophical Polemics against Christianity in the Middle Ages, originally published in 1977, was recently republished with a new introduction in 2007.

This is Professor Lasker’s first post at the Seforim blog.

We Jews in Israel have been praying for rain since the seventh of Marheshvan (the night of Thursday, October 18), but, unfortunately, so far the prayers have generally not yet been answered (especially in Beer Sheva where I live). Next week, it will be the chance of Jews who live in the Diaspora to pray for rain, beginning in Maariv of the night of Wednesday, December 5 (the eve of December 6). As undoubtedly all readers of the Seforim blog know, the dates for asking for rain (adding the words ve-ten tal u-matar li-verakha to the ninth blessing of the Shemoneh Esreh, in the Ashkenazi and Nusah Sefarad rites; or changing the form of that blessing from Barkheinu to Bareikh Aleinu, in what is now usually known as the Edot ha-Mizrah rite) are different for the Land of Israel and for the Diaspora. Perhaps not all readers know 1) why there is a difference; 2) why most years one begins the prayer in Maariv of December 4 (the eve of December 5); and 3) why one begins on December 5 this year.

Mishnah Ta’anit 1:3 reads: “On the third of Marheshvan one is to begin praying for rain; Rabban Gamaliel says: ‘On the seventh of that month, fifteen days after the feast of Tabernacles, so that even the tardiest Israelite may reach the Euphrates [on the return journey from the pilgrimage to Jerusalem].’” The Talmud (Ta’anit 10a) records Rabbi Eleazar as stating that the law follows Rabban Gamaliel. Despite the fact that the pilgrimage on Sukkot is no longer binding, and modern methods of transportation obviate the need to wait two weeks for the pilgrims to return home, the practice has remained constant: in the Land of Israel, she’elat geshamim (the prayer for rain) begins on the eve of the seventh of Marheshvan.

The same Talmudic passage records that, in the Golah, the practice was to wait “until the sixtieth [day] of the [autumnal] equinox (ad shishim ba-tequfah)” before beginning the prayer. No explanation is given for this difference between Israel and Babylonia, but there are good reasons to believe that it has to do with the meteorological and agricultural differences between the countries. Jews in Babylonia did not need, nor did they want, the winter rains to begin until two thirds of the autumn season had passed; therefore, they waited longer before beginning the prayer. Both communities, however, began “mentioning” rain (mashiv ha-ruah) on Shemini Atzeret, and they ceased mentioning rain and saying the special prayer for rain at Passover.[1]

What about Jews in other countries? Should Jews in these areas pray for rain according to the needs of their own country of residence, as did Jews in the Land of Israel and in Babylonia, or should they employ an already established schedule? Since Babylonian procedures were usually followed in the whole Diaspora, it became the practice of Jews almost everywhere outside the Land of Israel to offer their prayers for rain on the same dates as did their Babylonian coreligionists.[2]

This generalization did not go unchallenged, and the most noteworthy attempt to alter the practice was made by Rabbeinu Asher ben Yehiel (Rosh, c. 1250-1328). He tried to establish the principle that each Jewish community would pray for rain when they actually needed it in their country; this attempt was rebuffed by his contemporaries. The Rosh’s failure to innovate a change in the practice, no matter how sensible it might have seemed, was a major reason why no one in the northern hemisphere ever again challenged the prevailing practice. Questions did arise, however, when Jews migrated to areas in the southern hemisphere, when the order of the seasons is reversed. Rabbinic opinion has usually held that the Babylonian pattern should be followed even when the local winter occurs during summer in Babylonia and vice versa. The result is that to this day, Jews throughout the Diaspora set their liturgical calendar in this regard according to the agricultural needs of Iraq, a country which is now almost devoid of Jews.[3]

But why December 4? The Talmud says “the sixtieth day of the autumnal equinox,” and the autumnal equinox this year fell on September 23, 2007, at 5:51 AM, on the American eastern seaboard, making the sixtieth day on November 21.[4] The answer to this question is to be found in a miscalculation of the length of the year. Present-day astronomers calculate the mean solar year to be 365.2422 days (365 days, 5 hours, 48 minutes and 46 seconds). This is slightly shorter than the 365.25 days (365 days, 6 hours) assumed by Samuel, the third century amora and astronomer, who gave the rules for calculating the equinoxes and solstices (Eruvin 56a). This is the same assumption which is at the basis of the Julian calendar as well.

The discrepancy between the assumed length of the year and actual length may not seem like much; it is only .0078 days (11 minutes, 14 seconds) a year. Yet, over a period of a thousand years, a difference of 7.8 days (1000 x .0078) exists between a system based on assumed length (the Julian calendar or Samuel’s tequfot) and one based on actual length. It is this difference which led the Catholic Church under Pope Gregory XIII to correct the Julian calendar by dropping 10 days in 1582 (the day after Thursday, October 4 became Friday, October 15), thus creating the Gregorian calendar. To prevent further problems, three leap years were eliminated every 400 years, so that only century years divisible by 400 were leap years. This system, which eventually caught on in the whole world, is not perfect, since in 3300 years another one day discrepancy accumulates.

In Samuel’s calculation, however, there are exactly 365 ¼ days in a year, and each tequfah (solstice or equinox) lasts exactly 91 days and 7 ½ hours (despite the disparate lengths of the various seasons). One autumnal equinox (tequfat tishrei) falls exactly 365 ¼ days after the previous one. Samuel’s calculation has kept in step with the Julian calendar throughout the centuries, and, therefore, just as in Samuel’s time tequfat tishrei fell on the Julian September 24, so, too, today it invariably falls on that date. In this century, however, the Julian September 24 is the Gregorian October 7. The sixtieth day after October 7 is December 5, and one generally begins saying tal u-matar in the Maariv before December 5, namely on December 4.

So why is this year different from all other years, or at least the last three years? This is a function of the exact hour when the equinox falls. Although it is always on October 7, in a four year cycle the tequfah will come at 03:00, 09:00, 15:00 and 21:00 (check your synagogue luah for the times). The fourth year is always a Hebrew year divisible by four (5768), or the year before a civil leap year (2008); in that year, tequfat tishrei is after dark (21:00) and, therefore, it is considered the next day (October 8). Fifty-nine days later is December 6 and tal u-matar begins in Maariv of December 5. Since the coming civil year adds an additional day, next year’s calculated autumnal equinox will again fall on October 7 at 03:00, and tal u-matar will again begin in Maariv of December 4. In the nineteenth century, the prayer for rain began in Maariv of December 3 or 4; since 1900 was not a leap year, it jumped to December 4 or 5 in the twentieth century. 2100 will also not be a leap year, and in the twenty-second century, tal u-matar will begin in Maariv of December 5 or 6. Given enough time, and no calendrical reform, eventually Jews outside Israel will start praying for rain only on the eve of Passover, just in time to stop this prayer when Passover begins.[5]

A few observations can be added to this description of the beginning time of the prayer for rain in the Diaspora. First, the same miscalculation which causes the “sixtieth day of the autumnal equinox” to move forward vis-à-vis the sun is at the base of another Jewish ritual, the once in 28 years “Blessing of the Sun” (Birkat ha-Hammah), scheduled to occur again in one year and five months on Wednesday, April 8, 2009 (coincidentally, fourteenth of Nisan, the eve of Passover; the last time was on Wednesday, April 8, 1981). In the nineteenth century, the Blessing of the Sun occurred on Wednesday, April 7, every 28 years; in the twenty-second century it will be on Wednesday, April 9, every 28 years. Despite the fact that the Blessing commemorates the cyclical repetition of the first vernal equinox at creation, it now falls 18 days after the actual astronomical equinox.

Furthermore, it is clear from the sources that each Jewish community is actually praying for rain for its own needs, and not for rain in the Land of Israel. Nevertheless, many Jews, even relatively knowledgeable ones, think that adding tal u-matar to the prayers on December 5 marks the beginning of the rainy season in Israel, not realizing that she’elat geshamim had already begun in Israel on the seventh of Marheshvan. Perhaps one of the sources of this widespread misconception is the fact that the astronomical sixtieth day of the equinox has meaning only for Iraq, if even there, and the calculated sixtieth day has no meaning anywhere. Thus, when Jews in the Diaspora start praying for rain on December 4, they mistakenly think that they are doing so for the residents of the Land of Israel.

Perhaps their prayers are still valuable. From my experience, often November is a dry month in Israel, and the winds pick up and the rain starts falling only in the first week of December. The sages tell us that the reason Israel has distinct wet and dry seasons and is so dependent upon rainfall (as compared to Egypt; cf. Deut. 11:10-12) is that God delights in hearing the prayers of the righteous who turn to Him in supplication for rain. Perhaps, the beginning of serious rain in the Land of Israel at the beginning of December, just as the prayer for rain starts in the Diaspora, is a sign that God actually delights in the prayers of the ignoramuses, who believe that their supplications for rain at that time are directed for the good of the Jews in the Land of Israel, not realizing that their prayers should be intended to bring rain to their own countries of residence. Whatever the case, we wish along with the High Priest on Yom Kippur that this year in Israel will, indeed, be very wet and not too cold, and that the rain will be only for a blessing!

Notes:
[1] For a discussion of the Babylonian custom, and the reasons behind it, see Arnold A. Lasker and Daniel J. Lasker, “The Jewish Prayer for Rain in Babylonia,” Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic and Roman Period 15 (1984): 124-144.
[2] In the words of the commentary attributed to Rashi on Ta’anit 10a: “Thus we act since all our customs follow the Babylonians (kol minhageinu ahar benei bavel).”
[3] For a fuller description of the long process described in these few sentences, see Arnold A. Lasker and Daniel J. Lasker, “The Jewish Prayer for Rain in the Post-Talmudic Diaspora,” AJS Review 9:2 (Fall 1984): 141-174.
[4] The equinoxes and solstices fall at the same instant all around the world, so in Israel, the autumnal equinox was at 12:51 PM; in Hawaii, at 12:51 AM; all times are daylight savings times.
[5] Details can be found in Arnold A. Lasker and Daniel J. Lasker, “The Strange Case of December 4: A Liturgical Problem,” Conservative Judaism 38:1 (Fall 1985): 91-99.

‘Consecrated as the Holy of Holies’?
By Menachem Kellner

Rabbi Aryeh Leibowitz’s learned and interesting article in the most recent issue of Tradition (“The Pursuit of Scholarship and Economic Self-Sufficiency: Revisiting Maimonides’ Commentary to Pirkei Avot,” Tradition 40.3 (Fall 2007): 31-41) contained a passage which really surprised me, even though, perhaps, it should not have. (A PDF of this article is only available to online/print subscribers of Tradition.)

In his article, Leibowitz discusses Maimonides’ position vis-à-vis the appropriateness of scholars receiving communal funds. In doing so, Leibowitz surveys the Maimonidean sources, including the well-known statement of Maimonides in his Mishneh Torah in hilkhot Shemittah ve-Yovel. Leibowitz in his discussion of this particular source, however, appears to have made a common mistake. As this mistake has broad implications, it is necessary to set the record straight on Maimonides’ true meaning.

Leibowitz weakens his own argument by apparently not realizing that Rambam in Hilkhot Shemittah (13:13) is not talking about Jews in particular, let alone talmidei hakhamim. The passage in question is one of the clearest examples of universalism to be found in the Mishneh Torah. It may be that because that universalism goes against the grain of so much of what passes for Torah Judaism today that it is so easily missed.

Before turning to what Rambam says, let it be noted that he divided his Mishneh Torah into fourteen books. The seventh book of the fourteen is itself divided into seven sections (and is the only book divided into precisely that number of sections). This seventh section is itself divided into thirteen chapters. The thirteenth of these chapters is itself divided into thirteen paragraphs (halakhot) in the printed editions.[1] Thus, the thirteenth halakhah of the thirteenth chapter of the seventh section of the seventh book of the Mishneh Torah marks the precise mid-point of that work.

The number thirteen is, of course, significant in Judaism generally, but has special significance for Rambam. Not only did he promulgate thirteen principles of Judaism, but in “Laws of Circumcision,” 3.9 he emphasizes the fact that the word “covenant” (brit) is found precisely thirteen times in the account of Abraham’s circumcision (Gen. 17).[2]

The number seven is significant in many human societies, and not just in Judaism (Judah Halevi to the contrary – see Kuzari 2.20); according to Leo Strauss (1899-1973) it is of particular significance to Rambam.[3] I am in general no enthusiast for Straussian numerology, but this case seems too contrived not to have some significance.

Let it be further noted that for Rambam the halakhot of shemittah and yovel have messianic significance (Hilkhot Melakhim 11.1). I have proven (to my complete satisfaction at least) that according to Rambam the distinction between Jew and Gentile will lose all significance by the time the messianic era reaches fruition.[4]

So, what precisely does Rambam write in this special place in the Mishneh Torah? Here are his words:

Not only the Tribe of Levi, but each and every individual human being, whose spirit moves him and whose knowledge gives him understanding to set himself apart in order to stand before the Lord, to serve Him, to worship Him, and to know Him, who walks upright as God created him to do,[5] and releases himself from the yoke of the many foolish considerations which trouble people — such an individual is as consecrated as the Holy of Holies, and his portion and inheritance shall be in the Lord forever and ever. The Lord will grant him adequate sustenance in this world, the same as He had granted to the priests and to the Levites. Thus indeed did David, peace upon him, say, O Lord, the portion of mine inheritance and of my cup, Thou maintainest my lot (Ps. 16:5).[6]

Leibowitz translates the beginning of this passage as follows: “Not only the Tribe of Levi, but every single individual from among the world’s inhabitants whose spirit moves him…” (p. 32) and the penultimate sentence as follows: “Behold this person has been totally consecrated…” He then goes on to say:

Maimonides is not stating that this individual, who has dedicated his life to God, can rely on financial support from the community; rather Maimonides is stating that that such an individual can also sustain himself on less and will reap the benefits of heightened spirituality and increased divine assistance. (p. 33)

In an erudite footnote to this sentence Leibowitz makes it abundantly clear that he has missed a crucial point here: Rambam is not talking about Jews, be they talmidei hakhamim supported by the community or not.[7] He is talking about (unconverted) Gentiles who, through their devotion to God, become “as consecrated as the Holy of Holies.” Rambam here is talking about God’s support of all human beings who consecrate themselves; he could hardly imagine that this sentence would be turned into an argument in support of kollelim!

Why do I say this? The operative term in our passage is kol ba’ei olam. In every other place in the Mishneh Torah where Rambam uses this expression the context makes it clear that he means human beings as such, in contradistinction to Jews specifically.[8] In none of these places could the term mean proselytes or Noachides. There is no reason in the world to think that davka here Rambam had a more restrictive meaning in mind.

The expression “each and every individual human being” translates the Hebrew, kol ba’ei olam. This expression finds its classic use in a debate between the school of Rabbi Akiva, who maintained that the Torah was revealed to the Jews alone, and the school of Rabbi Ishmael, who insisted that the Torah was ultimately meant to reach kol ba’ei olam, “each and every individual human being.”[9] Here there can be no doubt but that the expression literally means all human beings (as opposed to Jews, native or converted).[10]

The expression is best-known to most contemporary Jews from a text which Rambam himself may or may not have known the liturgical poem (piyyut) unetaneh tokef.[11] The poem is based on Mishnah Rosh Ha-Shanah 1.2, which in turn is based on Ps. 38:15. It is a safe bet that most Jews who recite this passage on the yamim nora’im do not realize that the clear intent of these texts is all human beings, not Jews. Rambam, on the other hand, certainly knew it.[12]

The entire debate – ably analyzed by Rabbi Leibowitz – over whether Rambam’s statement at the end of Shemittah ve-Yovel represents a retreat from his strictures against compensation for Torah study is thus based upon a demonstrable misunderstanding of Rambam.[13]

Notes:
[1] Rambam did not number the specific halakhot in the Mishneh Torah; unfortunately for the elegance of the point I am making here, the best mss. count our halakhah as the 12th, not 13th. My thanks to Rabbi Shalomi Eldar for pointing this out to me.
[2] Isaac Abravanel discusses various other reasons for Maimonides’ use of precisely thirteen principles in Rosh Amanah chapter ten.
[3] Strauss, “How to Begin to Study the Guide of the Perplexed,” in trans. Shlomo Pines, Guide of the Perplexed (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1963), pp. xi-lvi, p. xiii. Further on the significance of the number seven in Maimonides see Joel Kraemer, “Moses Maimonides: An Intellectual Portrait,” in Kenneth Seeskin (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Maimonides (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 11-57, especially pp. 20 and 42.
[4] See my discussion in Maimonides on Judaism and the Jewish People (Albany: SUNY Press, 1991).
[5] I wonder if this expression ought to be read as an implied critique of notions of original sin? Such notions are not only native to Christianity, but also attracted a number of (post-Maimonidean, Kabbalistic) Jewish figures. For a recent study on expression of original sin in Jewish exegesis, see Alan Cooper, “A Medieval Jewish Version of Original Sin: Ephraim of Luntshits on Leviticus 12,” Harvard Theological Review 97:4 (2004): 445-460. For some studies on the notion among Jewish philosophers, see Daniel J. Lasker, “Original Sin and Its Atonement According to Hasdai Crescas,” Da’at 20 (1988): 127-35 (Hebrew), and Devorah Schechterman, “The Doctrine of Original Sin and Commentaries on Maimonides in Jewish Philosophy of the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries,” Da’at 20 (1988): 65-90 (Hebrew).
[6] I cite the translation of Isaac Klein, Book of Agriculture (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1979), p. 403.
[7] In that footnote (no. 11), Leibowitz cites medieval authorities who take Maimonides to be talking about Jews and also an essay by a Rabbi Steven Weisberg who understood Maimonides to making a point about “an elevated state of utopian existence for a God-fearing Jew, rather than an operative point of law” (emphasis added).
[8] Actually, my Bar-Ilan “responsa project” database found them; I just pushed the buttons. In any event, the places are: “Repentance,” 3.3 and 6.3,”Tefillin,” X.11, “Sanhedrin,” 12.3, and “Kings,” 8.10. See further Ya’akov Blidstein, “The Promulgation of Religion as an Aim of War in Maimonides’ Teachings,” in Avriel Bar-Levav (ed.), Shalom Vi-Milhamah Bi-Tarbut Ha-Yehudit (Jerusalem: Merkaz Zalman Shazar, 2006): 85-97 (Hebrew). On p. 86, note 7 Professor Blidstein points out that the expression is “beloved of Rambam, and he uses it to denote humanity, generally in a spiritual or cultural context.”
[9] This debate was made the subject of a penetrating study by Marc (Menachem) Hirshman, Torah Lekhol Ba’ei Olam: Zerem Universali be-Sifrut ha-Tana’im ve-Yahaso le-Hokhmat he-Amim (Torah for the Entire World: A Universalist Stream in Tannaitic Literature and its Relation to Gentile Wisdom) (Tel Aviv; Ha-Kibbutz Ha-Meuhad, 1999). The book’s main findings were presented in English in idem., “Rabbinic Universalism in the Second and Third Centuries,” Harvard Theological Review 93:2 (2000): 101-15.
[10] A scan of the one hundred ninety one citations of this expression in the Bar-Ilan Responsa Project database of rabbinic literature shows that in the vast majority of cases it means human beings simply, and in many places it is used in explicit contradistinction to Jews.
[11] For a useful discussion of what is actually known about the poem (as opposed to what we have all been taught about Rabbi Amnon), see Ivan G. Marcus, “Kiddush HaShem in Ashkenaz and the Story of Rabbi Amnon of Mainz,” in Isaiah M. Gafni and Aviezer Ravitzky (eds.), Sanctity in Life and Martyrdom: Studies in Memory of Amir Yekutiel (Jerusalem; Zalman Shazar Center for Jewish History, 1992), 131-147 (Hebrew); Menahem Shmelzer, “Sefer Or Zarua and the Legend of Rabbi Amnon,” in Adri K. Offenberg (ed.), Bibliotheca Rosenthaliana: Treasures of Jewish Booklore: Treasures of Jewish Booklore Marking the 200th Anniversary of the Birth of Leeser Rosenthal, 1794-1994 (Amsterdam University Press, 2003), available online; David Golinkin’s discussion online; as well as Jacob J. Schacter’s lecture, “U-Netaneh Tokef Kedushat Ha-Yom: Medieval Story and Modern Significance” (sources [PDF]).
[12] My latest book is an extended discussion of the implications of Rambam’s universalism. See Maimonides’ Confrontation With Mysticism (Oxford: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2006).
[13] For a very important discussion of the historical background to Rambam’s attack on Torah scholars who accept community funds in his commentary on Avot, see Mordechai A. Friedman, “Rambam, Zuta, and the Muqaddams: A Story of Three Bans,” Zion 70 (2005): 473-528 (Hebrew). This article supports Rabbi Leibowitz’s overall point by showing the specific historical back ground to Rambam’s spirited attack on those who accept (let alone demand) money for Torah study. On the subject in general I would also like to draw attention to: Ephraim Kanarfogel, “Compensation for the Study of Torah in Medieval Rabbinic Thought,” in Ruth Link-Salinger (ed.), Of Scholars, Savants, and Their Texts: Studies in Philosophy and Religious Thought: Essays in Honor of Arthur Hyman (New York: Peter Lang, 1989), 135-47.

Marc B. Shapiro holds the Weinberg Chair in Judaic Studies, Department of Theology and Religious Studies, University of Scranton. He is a frequent contributor to the Seforim blog and his most recent posts are “Forgery and the Halakhic Process” and “Forgery and the Halakhic Process, part 2.”

The post below was written as part of “Forgery and the Halakhic Process, part 2,” which the baale ha-blog have split up for the convenience of the readers of the Seforim blog. As such, the footnotes continue from the conclusion of the previous post.

Responses to Comments and Elaborations on Previous Posts

by Marc B. Shapiro

1. Some were not completely happy with an example I gave of an error in the Chavel edition of Ramban in a previous post at the Seforim blog. So let me offer another, also from one of Ramban’s talmudic works (since that was the genre I used last time). In Kitvei Ramban, 1:413, Chavel prints the introduction to Milhamot ha-Shem. The Ramban writes:

In his note, Chavel explains the last words as follows:

Yet what Ramban means by למתחיל פרק אין עומדין are the children who begin their talmudic study with Tractate Berakhot. In other words, it is only the explanations and pesakim of the Rif that are obvious even to the beginner that have not been challenged.[21]

Regarding the example I gave in my last post at the Seforim blog, I forwarded to R. Mazuz one of the questions I received, which dealt with the form of the verb אסף found in the Ramban:

He answered as follows:

I must note, however, that while R. Mazuz’ understanding of Ps. 105:25 is in line with the Targum, this is not how the standard Jewish translations understand the verse.

(Shortly before writing this, I read about the outrage taking place in Emanuel, where in the local Beit Yaakov Sephardi students are being segregated from Ashkenazim to the extent that the two are not even permitted to play together. The Shas party has referred to this as nothing less than Apartheid, which it surely is.[22] What’s next? Mehadrin buses where the Sephardim sit in the back? Of course, when this happens the justification given will once again be that Ashkenazim are on a higher spiritual level and that’s why they can’t sit with Sephardim, not that they are racist, chas ve-shalom.

I mention this because R. Mazuz has made a comment that is relevant in this regard. Speaking to Ashkenazim who like to imagine the tannaim as “white”, he has called attention to Negaim 2:1, where R. Yishmael states that Jews are neither black nor white, but in between. In other words, the tannaim looked like Sephardim.)

2. One of the e-mails to me stated that we Modern Orthodox types love to criticize Artscroll, but how come we never point out errors in the Rav’s works. I can’t speak for anyone else, and it is true that the Rav has now assumed hagiographic standing, meaning that it has become much harder to criticize him or point out supposed errors in his works. However, if I detect what I think is an error I will definitely call attention to it, and I believe the Rav would expect as much, for this is a sign that you are taking his writing seriously. If the Rambam could make careless errors (the focus of a large section of my forthcoming Studies in Maimonides and His Interpreters, available for pre-order on Amazon for only $8) then anyone can err, and it is no disrespect to call attention to these errors. There are actually a number of seforim which have sections in which they call attention to careless errors or things overlooked in the writings of various aharonim.

I understand why students of the Rav and his modern day hasidim might be reluctant to do so, but I never had any real relationship with him and can approach matters as an outsider. My only connection to the Rav was one summer in the Boston kollel (1985, the last year of the kollel. When I lived in Brookline in the 1990’s the Rav was no longer well). I was, however, privileged, together with Rabbi Chaim Jachter, to drive him back and forth to the Twersky’s house, and was thus able to hear some memorable things from him which I will record in a future post at the Seforim blog.

While on the topic of the Rav, let me also state that I used the Rav’s Machzor on Yom Kippur. I found the commentary uplifting and great credit must go to Dr. Arnold Lustiger for the effort he put into the volume. But there is one thing in the Machzor that annoyed me. It relates to what is called Hanhagot ha-Rav. This section includes all of the various practices of the Rav. This is certainly worth knowing and it wouldn’t have bothered me had it simply appeared at the beginning of the Machzor. But that is not the case.

Before I explain the problem, let me start with the following: A number of years ago I asked Prof. Haym Soloveitchik what the practice of his father was in a certain matter. His response was short and crisp. He told me that he never answers questions about his father’s hanhagot, and that to do so would be in total opposition to his father’s outlook.

I assume that today, if it was clear that my concern was of an academic nature, he would be more forthcoming. But back then I was another unknown kid writing to him trying to find some interesting practice of the Rav.

The way I understood Prof. Soloveitchik is that his father, like many gedolim, had practices that diverged from the mainstream. They came to these practices based on their original reading of the sources. Yet these were entirely private practices, reserved at most for other family members and perhaps some very close students. Because they went against the mainstream, they were not for mass consumption. Along these lines, R. Zevin reports, in his article on R. Hayyim Soloveitchik in his Ishim ve-Shitot, that it was such an outlook that explained why R. Hayyim did not want to decide practical halakhah. His original mind would lead him to overturn many accepted halakhot, yet he was not prepared to do so.

Returning to my problem with the Rav’s Machzor, we are told the following in this book: The Rav reversed the order of the final two phrases in the benediction ולירושלים in the Amidah, saying וכסא דוד מהרה לתוכה תכין prior to saying ובנה אותה בקרוב בימינו בנין עולם. This is the way the Sephardic siddurim have it, but certainly the Rav did not expect the entire Ashkenazic world to abandon their long-standing practice because of his practice. Yet when this paragraph (in minhah before Yom Kippur and maariv following Yom Kippur) appears there is a note telling people how the Rav read it. This is certainly encouraging people to abandon the Ashkenazic tradition in favor of the Rav’s reading. From all that I know about the Rav, this is not something he would have wanted.

Another example is that we are told that the Rav omitted the blessing הנותן ליעף כח as it is post-Talmudic. What possible purpose can such information have when provided on the page where this blessing appears, other than to lead people to omit the blessing? Is one to assume that the Rav really wanted people to reject the universal Ashkenazic practice? The Rav never got up at an RCA convention and told people that this is what they should do. Even at the Maimonides minyan and school there is no official minhag to omit this blessing. R. David Shapiro reported to me that almost all those who daven from the amud at the Maimonides synagogue minyan recite the blessing, and everyone does so at the Maimonides school minyan. Yet I wonder how many followers of the Rav are now omitting the blessing after seeing what appears in the Rav’s Machzor.

There are other examples, and as I said above, I don’t believe that this information should be secret. However, when you put it on the relevant pages of the Machzor, where the instructions to the worshipper are designed to be for practical application, you are telling people that if they see themselves as followers of the Rav, then they should follow his practices.

Since my correspondent made the false assumption that I would never point out an error of the Rav, and indeed almost challenged me, let me offer one. In Halakhic Man, page 30, in writing about halakhic man’s relationship with transcendence, the Rav writes:

It is this world which constitutes the stage for the Halakhah, the setting for halakhic man’s life. It is here that the Halakhah can be implemented to a greater or lesser degree. It is here that it can pass from potentiality into actuality. It is here, in this world, that halakhic man acquires eternal life! “Better is one hour of Torah and mitzvot in this world than the whole life of the world to come,” stated the tanna in Avot [4:17], and his declaration is the watchword of the halakhist.

I am not an expert in scholarship on the Rav,[23] so I may have missed it, but I have not seen any articles on Halakhic Man which call attention to the fact that the Rav has misquoted Avot. What the Mishnah says is “Better is one hour of repentance and good deeds in this world than the whole life of the world to come.” Also surprising to me is that the learned translator did not mention the problem with the Rav’s quotation.[24] Is it possible that the Rav’s intellectualism and “halakho-centrism” led him to unknowingly replace בתשובה ומעשים טובים with בתורה ומצוות?

While on the topic of the Rav, which is always of interest to people, let me note another error in the Rav’s writings, although this time the printer is at fault.[25] It has been reprinted a number times and the sentence has also appeared in translation. I realize that it is difficult to say that a text that appeared in the Rav’s own lifetime a few times without correction is a mistake, so I would love to be proven wrong. Yet it does seem that we are confronted with a typo. I would assume that the Rav never knew of the mistake, since people often don’t read their own material after it appears in print. In “U-Vikashtem mi-Sham”[26] the Rav writes:

Can there be any doubt that instead of הר”י the text should read רש”י?

R. Aharon Kafih, in his new book Minhat Aharon, 416, calls attention to a similar type of error in Shiurim le-Zekher Abba Mari, 1:14-15, n. 5 (I don’t have this book, so I can’t determine if Kafih is correct). Here the Rav writes:

Kafih writes:

3. A few people asked me about R. Mazuz’s reference to the homosexual poem in Judah Al-Harizi’s Tahkemoni (see my previous footnote 15, here). The relevant section, which appears in Gate 50, reads as follows

The translation is:

To a man who wrote a poem full of filth and lewdness

Were Amram’s son to see my friend’s face
Blushing when he drinks strong drink
And for the loveliness of his locks and the splendor of his beauty
He would not have inscribed in his Torah
“If a man lie with mankind” (cf. Lev. 20:13).[27]

Following this, Al-Harizi, quotes the poems of nine others, and himself, who condemn the homosexual poet. Some contemporary readers might be shocked to see the language used. It is certainly not anything that those preaching a message of “hate the sin and love the sinner” vis-à-vis the gay community – and this includes R. Chaim Rapoport, the world’s expert on halakhah and homosexuality – would endorse. For example, one of the poems reads:

He who sells the sanctity of God for defilement
Let him quickly be sold into the hand of the slayer.

Another reads:

Almighty, deliver speedily into the hand of death
The man who has sold Thy law into sin.

In fact, all of the poems quoted by Al-Harizi call for the gay poet to be struck down, in one way or another.

The gay poet speaks of the face of the young man, and this is actually a popular theme. In particular, the poets focus on the cheeks. There are a number of examples of this in R. Moses Ibn Ezra and Ibn Gabirol, but let give two examples from R. Judah Halevi:

This means “From his cheeks is my spice garden, as poison comes from his eyes.”[28] Brody notes that the first part is working off Song of Songs 5:13, where the woman says לחיו כערוגת הבושם, “His cheeks are as a bed of spices.” The last section means, to use a modern expression, “his look can kill.” That is, if he gives you non-approving look, it is crushing.

Elsewhere, Halevi writes:[29]

In Norman Roth’s translation: “Cheeks like coals of fire on a pavement of marble,” or as he paraphrases, “ruddy cheeks on pale skin.”[30]

I was asked about the meanings of these poems. I am hardly expert in this area and must leave it to others to determine the exact sense. There has been some dispute about them, although the current scholarly consensus is not something that will make the Orthodox community very happy.[31] I would like to believe that Nehemiah Allony is correct that all of these poems are to be understood as simple imitations of the dominant Arabic style, or as akin to the Song of Songs, where the love poems are to be understood allegorically as symbolizing spiritual matters. R. Shmuel ha-Nagid actually says this explicitly about his poems dealing with man-boy love.[32] (I think we can all agree that writing such verse today will certainly, and deservedly, get a rebbe fired![33])

The issue of homosexuality in the medieval Jewish world even came into the great conflict between R. Saadiah Gaon and David ben Zakkai. This was because the future gaon of Pumbeditha, R. Aaron ben Joseph ha-Kohen Sargado, who was on David ben Zakkai’s side, accused R. Saadiah of having homosexual relations with young men. If that is not bad enough, he adds that this was done with sifrei kodesh in the room and that witnesses can attest to it![34] This is, of course, an abominable accusation, and Harkavy, in his introduction (p. 223), apologizes for having to print what he terms

Of course, this is hardly the first example of rabbis, even great ones, hurling outrageous accusations at each other, but it is hard to find anything more disgraceful than this. The only example I can think of that is in this league is found in R. Jacob Emden’s Hit’avkut, 76b-77a, where he publicizes the disgusting accusation that R. Jonathan Eybeschütz fathered a child with his own daughter! If that’s not bad enough, this horrible story is repeated by R. Marvin Antelman in his Bekhor Satan, 37-38. (Antelman and his unusual writings deserve their own post at the Seforim blog.) It was regarding this sort of mudslinging that R. Zvi Yehudah Kook is quoted as follows (Gadol Shimushah [Jerusalem, 1994], 20):

Academic scholars such as Scholem have also noted the destructive affect on traditional Jewish society of the battle against Sabbatianism in general, and the Emden-Eybeschütz conflict in particular.

4. Since in my earlier post at the Seforim blog on the Eshkol I mentioned R. Yitzhak Ratsaby, and his negative attitude towards R. Joseph Kafih, I should note that one of Kafih’s students, R. Aharon Kafih (no relation) has recently published his Minhat Aharon.[35] On pages 211 n. 13 and 255 n. 45, there are some very strong attacks on Ratsaby, even accusing him of plagiarism. He also mentions how Ratsaby, when he needs to quote something from R. Yihye Kafih (known among his followers as מו”ר הישיש), will omit the last name so that people won’t know to whom he is referring. As Tamir Ratzon has pointed out, in the 1970’s Ratsaby referred positively to R. Joseph Kafih,[36] yet unfortunately, this is no longer the case. In fact, R. Aharon Kafih reports that Ratsaby tells people that it is forbidden to have any of R. Joseph Kafih’s books, and they must be burnt![37]

This dispute between Ratsaby and Kafih is simply a continuation of the great Yemenite dispute over the legitimacy of Kabbalah. It began with Kafih’s grandfather, R. Yihye, who stood at the head of the anti-Kabbalah forces.[38] Matters reached such extremes that the pro-Kabbalah side was successful in having R. Yihye thrown into jail (much like some mitnagdim conspired to have the same done to R. Shneur Zalman of Lyady). Here is the cover of a rare pamphlet published about 20 years ago. It is directed against both R. Yihye and R. Joseph.5. In my earlier post at the Seforim blog I referred to the anti-Habad book Ve-Al Titosh Torat Imekha. A few people asked me how they can get this book. The author, who wishes to remain anonymous so that he can be spared the personal price paid by anyone who goes up against Habad messianism, told me that when I quote his letter (see below). I should also announce that anyone who is interested in the book should write to him at the following address

This book is interesting because you see that the author is somewhat conflicted. On the one hand, he recognizes how great the Rebbe was and all the positive things Habad has accomplished. On the other hand, he sees what is going on today and reluctantly concludes that the Rebbe himself crossed the line into heretical statements. I asked him why, if he thinks the Rebbe advocated heretical notions, he still shows him great respect? Why doesn’t he treat him as an enemy of traditional Judaism, as he would all others who advanced heresy? He wrote to me as follows.

So Rabbi Halevi feels that the Lubavitcher Rebbe denied certain of Maimonides Principles and yet he won’t regard him as a heretic because of all the good he accomplished. Once again, theological error in the Thirteen Principles, and the consequences that are supposed to result from this, have been trumped by other considerations. I don’t know how many more examples I need to bring where even the most traditional scholars are not prepared to accept Maimonides’ statement that rejection of one his Principles ipso facto removes one from the faith.[39] Of course, followers of the Rebbe will deny that he has violated any of Maimonides’ principles, but what is important for my purpose is that Rabbi Halevi has no doubt, and elaborates at length, on how the Rebbe has indeed done so. Yet despite this, he still does not regard him as a heretic.

6. In my earlier post at the Seforim blog I wrote that it is unfortunate that one of the only things R. Joseph Messas is known for is being the posek who permitted married women to uncover their hair. Someone wrote to tell me that he was not the only Moroccan rabbi to do so, as R. Moshe Malka, the late chief rabbi of Petah Tikvah, also ruled this way in his responsa Ve-Heshiv Moshe. (Malka published six volumes of responsa entitled Mikveh ha-Mayim; I don’t know why, for his last volume, he picked a new title). The correspondent began his e-mail regarding Malka by noting “I don’t know if you are aware . . . ” In fact, I am well aware of Rabbi Malka’s teshuvot on this topic, as they were addressed to someone I know very well. Since not everyone has access to the volume, here are the responsa. A quick internet search revealed that R. Irving Greenberg picked up on this source.[40] (He obviously saw it in one of R. Michael Broyde’s articles, as Greenberg also cites R. Yehoshua Babad, whose understanding of women’s hair-covering has been one of the bases for Broyde’s own lenient opinion in this matter, and it was Broyde who first publicized Babad’s view.)

7. In my last post at the Seforim blog I mentioned that the version וכל נוצר יורה in Yigdal is found in Birnbaum but not in earlier sources. Noam Kaplan pointed out that this is incorrect and that it is found in at least two early siddurim.[41] It is incredible that Abraham Berliner, who was an expert in manuscripts and early prayer books, overlooked this. R. Mazuz was also unaware of this version, and the Siddur ha-Meduyak only gives וכל נוצר יודה as an alternate. I am grateful to Noam for the correction. It is a good illustration of how the accumulated knowledge of many readers is a great help to all of us.

8. In my first post on the Eshkol, I raised the issue of whether one can accept a pesak even if one is convinced that it is incorrect from the standpoint of modern scholarship. I quoted Prof. David Berger’s view that it is acceptable to do so. Subsequently, I found that Berger also discusses this matter in a recent essay, where he raises the problem without advocating any position.

In the realm of concrete decision-making in specific instances, it is once again the case that the impact of academic scholarship does not always point in a liberal direction. In other words, the instincts and values usually held by academics are not necessarily upheld by the results of their scholarly inquiry, and if they are religiously committed, they must sometimes struggle with conclusions that they wish they had not reached Thus, the decision that the members of the Ethiopian Beta Israel are Jewish was issued precisely by rabbis with the least connection with academic scholars. The latter, however much they may applaud the consequences of this decision, cannot honestly affirm that the origins of the Beta Israel are to be found in the tribe of Dan; here, liberally oriented scholars silently, and sometimes audibly, applaud the fact that traditionalist rabbis have completely ignored the findings of contemporary scholarship.[42]

I have to say that I too struggled with this question, as I was involved in the Ethiopian Jewry cause.[43] My first trip there, in 1987, was memorable, as we were the first group allowed into the villages of Gondar after Operation Moses. (It was also great to be together with Rabbi Dr. Ari Zivotofsky, who in recent years has done such important work on various communal traditions that are in danger of being forgotten.) Yet I vividly recall how even then, when I was quite young, I knew that the notion of the Ethiopian Jews being descended from Dan was a legend without any historical value. The Ethiopians themselves never claimed that they had any connection to the tribe of Dan.

The legend goes back to Eldad ha-Dani and was accepted as authentic by the Radbaz.[44] Based on this, and some other sources that accepted this spurious identification, R. Ovadiah Yosef declared the Ethiopian Jews halakhically Jewish. I regarded R. Ovadiah as a hero for taking this step. Truth be told, I didn’t care how he arrived at this decision; I was just happy he did. My attitude was that it is not for me to be mixing in on these matters, even if I know that certain things being stated don’t stand up to scholarly scrutiny. After all, halakhah operates as an independent discipline with its own rules. The halakhic “truth” need not be identical with what an outsider observer would regard as truth.

Notes:

[21] See R. Meir Mazuz’ note in R. Hayyim Amselem, Minhat Hayyim, 2:15. Incidentally, Amselem is currently a Shas party member of the Knesset. See here.

[22] See here.

[23] Despite this, I am happy to report that I recently discovered a number of interesting letters from the Rav which Prof. Haym Soloveitchik kindly gave me permission to publish. Other than this, my only contribution to studies of the Rav – and I record this only to set the historical record straight – was in locating the material relating to the Rav’s time at the University of Berlin. I gave copies of it to both Dr. Atarah Twersky and the late Dr. Manfred Lehmann for him to publish it in his weekly column in the English section of the Allgemeiner Journal. (How I came to know Dr. Lehmann and why I gave him the material is a story unto itself.) This then became his famous article, “Rewriting the Biography of the Rav,” which has been referred to many times. See here. I am never mentioned in the article, and he even writes, with reference to the Rav’s diploma: “But the fact that it is still housed in Berlin, where I got the copy, might indicate that the Rav never received it, or that he got the original while a copy was kept in the Berlin file — which, together with all other correspondence — survived the war and the near-destruction of Berlin” (emphasis added; when I gave her the material, Dr. Twersky told me that she already had a copy of the diploma). In R. Rakefet’s biographical introduction to his book on the Rav, page 68, he writes: “The author’s student Marc B. Shapiro obtained a copy of a curriculum vitae prepared by the Rav for the University of Berlin while engaged in research for his doctoral dissertation on Rabbi Jehiel Jacob Weinberg. Dr. Manfred Lehmann later published this information about the Rav. . . .”

[24] Lawrence Kaplan went through the entire English translation of Halakhic Man with the Rav. See his “On Translating Ish ha-Halakhah with the Rav: Supplementary Notes to Halakhic Man,” The Commentator (10/23/06), available online. We can therefore view Lawrence Kaplan’s edition as an authorized translation. This makes Marvin Fox’s criticism of one of Kaplan’s translations a bit strange, unless Fox assumed that the Rav didn’t always pay the closest attention to what was in the English. See Marvin Fox, “The Unity and Structure of Rav Joseph B. Soloveitchik’s Thought,” Tradition 24:3 (Spring 1989): 63, n. 7.

[25] I should also note two errors the Rav made in his evaluation of communal matters. 1. He was strongly opposed to changing the charter of YU and turning RIETS into an “affiliate.” Dr. Belkin had been assured by the lawyers he consulted that the change was only a technicality, and that the school would continue to run no differently than before. Yet there were a few hotheads who had the Rav’s ear and had convinced him that this meant the end of Yeshiva University as a real Torah institution. The story of how the Rav, in front of hundreds of people, challenged Belkin on this point, and how Belkin pulled the microphone away from him, has been repeated many times. I have been told (although I don’t know if it’s true) that following this episode YU refused to permit the Rav to speak at university events. With the benefit of hindsight, it is obvious that Belkin was correct and the character of YU did not change. (This reminds me of the doomsayers, and those who were saying tehillim, when it was announced that a non-rabbinic figure would become president of YU. Here again, nothing changed). 2. The second example is the Rav’s firm belief, and in this he was in agreement with R. Jehiel Jacob Weinberg, that a haredi society, and certainly real hasidic societies, could never flourish in the U.S. Here too he was mistaken (as were most observers). This latter error is very important for the Rav’s right-wing students, for they would like to believe that as he saw the development of American Orthodoxy in the 1970’s his view about the necessity for higher secular education changed. One of his leading students has stated on a number of occasions that the Rav could not be a part of Agudah in the 1950’s because the organization opposed all secular education. But today the Agudah convention is filled with lawyers and other professionals, and therefore the Rav would have no reason to leave Agudah – as if the Rav’s position on religious Zionism was not an important factor of his Weltanschauung. For the haredi world, one of the Rav’s great errors was his description of the differences between the Chazon Ish and the Brisker Rav, as expressed in the eulogy he delivered for the latter. During this eulogy R. Dovid Cohen famously screamed his protest at what he thought was the disrespect shown to the Chazon Ish. The Rav’s wife yelled that he should be taken out, and none other than R. David Hartman physically forced Cohen out of the hall. A few weeks ago R. Rakefet faxed me some pages from a new book on the Brisker Rav. Lo and behold, this hagiography says exactly what the Rav said, to wit, the Chazon Ish was prepared to engage in some flattery vis-à-vis Ben Gurion for the sake of kelal Yisrael, but the Brisker Rav was such an ish emet that no matter how good the cause he couldn’t bring himself to do this.

[26] Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Ish ha-Halakhah: Galui ve-Nistar (Jerusalem, 1979), 230.

[27] The translation is that of Victor Emanuel Reichert, The Tahkemoni of Judah al-Harizi (Jerusalem, 1973), 2:404-405 (with slight changes).

[28] Judah ha-Levi, Divan, ed., Heinrich (Hayyim) Brody (Berlin, 1894-1930), 15.

[29] Ibid., 31.

[30] Norman Roth, “‘Deal Gently with the Young Man’: Love of Boys in Medieval Hebrew Poetry of Spain,” Speculum 57:1 (1982): 47.

[31] See Raymond P. Scheindlin, Wine, Women, and Death: Medieval Hebrew Poems on the Good Life (New York, 1986), 77-89.

[32] See Nehemia Allony, “The ‘Zevi’ (=Nasib) in the Hebrew Poetry in Spain,” Sefarad 23 (1963): 311-321. Norman Roth, “‘My Beloved is like a Gazelle’: Imagery of the Beloved Boy in Religious Hebrew Poetry,” in Wayne R. Dynes, and Stephen Donaldson, eds., Homosexuality and Religion and Philosophy (New York, 1992), 271-293, only sees allegory in the religious poems, not the shirei hol.

[33] Part of the problem in responding to the current scandal of sexual abuse is that halakhah, as it has been understood in the past, often stands in the way. For example, R. Menachem Mendel Schneersohn (the third Lubavitcher Rebbe) in Tzemah Tzedek, Yoreh Deah, #237, was asked the following question: A rabbi was playing with a young man on Purim and stuck his hands into the pants of the youth. The rabbi claimed that he did so because he was unable to perform sexually. He thought that this was due to his small testicles and he wanted to see if he was unusual in this regard. In other words, the rabbi was conducting a medical examination on the boy. The Tzemah Tzedek decided that the rabbi should not be removed from his position, as he provided a good explanation for his behavior. One can only wonder how many other boys were subjected to this rabbi’s medical examinations. Regarding another problematic decision, this time by the Aderet, see here.

[34] Abraham Harkavy, ed., Zikaron la-Rishonim (St. Petersburg, 1892), 5:230. Henry Malter writes as follows about R. Aaron (Saadia Gaon [Philadelphia, 1942], 113, 114):

This man hardly deserves the respect and consideration usually accorded to him by modern authors. He may have been a great scholar, as is attested by contemporary sources, and he may also have possessed other good qualities – liberality, devotion to communal interests, and the like. But from all that is related of him in the same sources, he was also a man of violent, quarrelsome, and vindictive temper, and of an absolutely tyrannical bent of mind. . . . Morbidly vainglorious and ambitious, he bore a grudge against the generally admired scholar [R. Saadiah], which may have been enhanced by the latter’s independent spirit and perhaps open disregard for his person.

[35] It is only recent years that scholars have begun to take advantage of Kafih’s enormous contribution to the study of the Mishneh Torah, and R. Aharon Kafih is at the forefront in this area.

[36] “Maharitz u-Minhagei Sefarad,” Mesorah le-Yosef 1-2 (Netanya, 2007), 121, n. 69.

[37] For R. Ovadiah Yosef’s recent condescending reference to Ratsaby, see here.

[38] The most recent article on the topic is Mark S. Wagner, “Jewish Mysticism on Trial in a Muslim Court: A Fatwa on the Zohar – Yemen 1914,” Die Welt des Islams 47:2 (July 2007): 207-231 (called to my attention by Menachem Butler). Here is a famous picture of R. Yihye. It is hanging in R. Joseph Kafih’s house and was sent to me by a friend.

[39] At my request, Rabbi Daniel Eidensohn asked R. Moshe Sternbuch to explain how he can declare that R. Nosson Slifkin’s ideas are heresy, but Slifkin himself is not to be regarded as a heretic. He replied that he holds like the Ra’avad, i.e., that kefirah be-shogeg does not turn a person into a heretic.

[40] Nancy Wolfson-Moche, ed., Toward a Meaningful Bat Mitzvah (Florida: Targum Shlishi, 2002), 30, available online here.

[41] See here (Bologna, 1540), 28, and here (Lisbon, 1490), 10.

[42] “Identity, Ideology and Faith: Some Personal Reflections on the Social, Cultural and Spiritual Value of the Academic Study of Judaism,” in Howerd Kreisel, ed., Study and Knowledge in Jewish Thought (Beer Sheva, 2006), 27.

[43] I also wrote two articles on the topic. See my “Return of a Lost Tribe: The Unfinished Exodus of the Ethiopian Jews,” The World & I 3 (April 1988), available online; and “The Falasha of Ethiopia,” The World & I 2 (December 1987), available online.

Contrary to what it says at the beginning of these articles, I didn’t live with the Ethiopian Jews. Unfortunately, the online versions do not contain the beautiful pictures I took. Here are a few pictures (the men were religious leaders of the village). The book in strange script is the Torah written in Ge’ez. My second trip to Ethiopia was in August 1991, a few months after the overthrow of the Mengistu communist regime. There was still a nighttime curfew in effect during this period and I did not go with a group. While in Addis Ababa I was lucky to become friendly with Asher Naim, the Israeli ambassador. Although this is a story worth telling, for now let me simply recommend his book Saving the Lost Tribe: The Rescue and Redemption of the Ethiopian Jews.

[44] In his famous letter urging that the Ethiopian Jews be rescued, R. Moshe Feinstein also expresses doubts about whether the Radbaz’ information about their origin was accurate. See here.

I can’t find R. Moshe’s letter in Iggerot Moshe (although a different letter, dated one day later, is found in Iggerot Moshe, Yoreh Deah 4, # 41).

In this post I would like to finish up with Rabbi Zvi Benjamin Auerbach’s Eshkol. But first, I must clear up another matter about which I was asked, as I discussed it right at the beginning of my first post dealing with the Eshkol. I mentioned that the late fourteenth-early fifteenth-century kabbalist, R. Menahem Zioni, quotes R. Yehudah he-Hasid’s comment that a section of the original Torah was removed by David and placed in the book of Psalms. After being shown this passage, as part of the effort to defend the authenticity of R. Yehudah he-Hasid’s commentary, R. Moshe Feinstein replied that Zioni’s commentary was also forbidden to be used.[1]

R. Moshe also writes that he doesn’t know who R. Menahem Zioni is. Presumably, this is designed to show Zioni’s insignificance, and make it easier for R. Moshe to ban his book. The problem is that Zioni is hardly an unknown figure; his commentary on the Torah is actually quite famous. He was also “one of the few kabbalists in 14th-century Germany.”[2] For R. Moshe to state that he is unfamiliar with Zioni is an acknowledgment that he is not particularly learned in Kabbalah. I don’t think anyone should find this surprising, much like they shouldn’t find it surprising that R. Moshe was not a savant of Jewish philosophy. He was an ish halakhah, and his time was spent focused on Shas and Poskim. Just as the Rav reports that R. Moshe Soloveitchik never held the Rambam’s Guide, we can also say about R. Moshe Feinstein that his interests were in line with the typical Lithuanian gadol, and that meant that Talmud and halakhah were what he devoted himself to.

While I don’t find R. Moshe’s lack of knowledge about a medieval kabbalist surprising, not all share this sentiment. After my last post someone wrote to me asking if it is true that R. Menasheh Klein rejected R. Moshe’s disqualification of Zioni. This is indeed true, and Klein’s responsum appears in his Mishneh Halakhot, new series, vol. 2, no. 214. Klein also points out that Zioni is quoted in halakhic sources, including the Magen Avraham, and he adds:

הציוני מקדמוני בעלי המקובלים וגדולי הפוסקים גאון וקדוש ה’ ואשרי מי שזוכה להבינו ולחקרו וללמדו, וח”ו להוציא לע”ז על קדוש ה

As to how R. Moshe could have banned such a work, Klein has his own solution: “I don’t believe that these words came from the Gaon R. Moshe, but in my humble opinion a mistaken student wrote them and placed them among his papers after his death.” He also states that it is impossible for him to believe that R. Moshe never heard of Zioni since he is quoted in the commentaries on the Shulhan Arukh, and R. Moshe knew the Shulhan Arukh backwards and forwards. He concludes that God should forgive the one who is responsible for what appear in Iggerot Moshe, that which is now falsely attributed to R. Moshe.[3]

This is, of course, comical. R. Moshe insists that Zioni’s commentary should be banned, and Klein insists that R. Moshe never wrote this. The fact that the relevant volume of Iggerot Moshe was published in R. Moshe’s lifetime and the letter in which he writes against Zioni was sent to Rabbi Daniel Levy of Zurich and is dated 1976 does not deter Klein is what is surely one of the strangest things to appear in his volumes of responsa (which contain a good many strange things[4]).

As for R. Yehudah he-Hasid’s commentary, which R. Moshe also banned, Klein writes as follows (Mishneh Halakhot, vol. 16, no. 102):

מהעתקת הציוני כת”י של רבינו יהודה החסיד זה הוא עדות נאמנה גם על הכת”י של רבינו יהודה החסיד שהוא קודש קדשים וח”ו לרחקו ולומר שמינים כתבוהו

R. Moshe’s rejection of the commentary of R. Yehudah he-Hasid is not entirely unexpected. In fact, there are about ten different places where R. Moshe denies the authenticity of an earlier text because it does not agree with his preconceptions. In a future post I hope to list all of these examples, which show that R. Moshe could be quite daring (and this led to sharp responses to him by other poskim). Yet, as with R. Yehudah he-Hasid, every one of the texts that R. Moshe rejects is unquestionably authentic. In at least one of the cases we even have the author’s own manuscript.

A number of years ago I was studying R. Mordechai Spielman’s Tiferet Zvi. This is a multi-volume commentary on the Zohar which shows incredible bekiut. In fact, the Zohar is often just a springboard for the learned author to discuss all sorts of Torah matters. His first book, Tziyun le-Nefesh Tzvi, shows the same characteristics, and it is devoted to the issue of whether kohanim can go to the graves of tzadikim. While most poskim rule that they cannot, there is also a tradition, popular among the kabbalistically inclined, that tzadikim are exempted as they do not cause impurity. In one of his final articles, the late Prof. Israel M. Ta-Shma dealt with this issue.[5]

I noticed that Spielman cited Zioni and was curious to hear his reaction to R. Moshe’s teshuvah. In a lengthy letter, dated July 14, 1994, in which he discussed a variety of matters, he wrote:

וכשהייתי לפני כמה שנים בירושלים עה”ק ובקרתי אצל מרן פוסק הדור מו”ה ש”ז אויערבאך הנ”ל הסכים עמי ואמר לי בפירוש במעמד א’ מיקירי רבני ירושלים עה”ק שליט”א שאין הצדק עם הגאון ר’ משה זצ”ל לאסור למכור את הספר הקדוש הזה

[Quite by coincidence, a couple of years later my havruta at the Scranton yeshiva was the great-nephew of Rabbi Spielman. He told me that his uncle, who was a follower of the Munkatcher rebbe, R. Hayyim Elazar Shapira (and also a native of Munkatch), used to celebrate Thanksgsving each year. Such was his feeling of gratitude to be living in the United States.]

Returning to Auerbach’s Eshkol, the controversy really started when R. Shalom Albeck, in an open letter, later followed by his Kofer ha-Eshkol, accused Auerbach of forging the work. (Albeck himself, and his son Hanokh, later published the authentic Eshkol.) Yet it must be noted that Albeck was not the first to accuse Auerbach of this, as right after the work was published there appeared an anonymous article in He-Halutz[6] saying the same thing. There is a widespread assumption that this article was written by the outstanding scholar Raphael Kirchheim. Yet I don’t know how this assumption arose, as I can find no evidence to justify it. I believe that the author was Joshua Heschel Schorr, the publisher of the journal.

I must thank Rabbi Baruch Oberlander of Budapest[7] who called my attention to the fact that in another article in He-Halutz, eleven years later,[8] Schorr once again attacks Auerbach and his edition of the Eshkol. Among his choice words are the following:

וחטא למחבר הספר וחטא לקוראים ההוגים להתלמד, וחטא לאמת ולמי שחותמו אמת וחטא לנפשו, והוא עתיד ודאי ליתן את הדין ומי יודע אם יצא נקי בדין, כי אין מרחמין בדין

Oberlander also called my attention to the following, which is quite interesting. In my previous post I quoted R. Shlomo Yosef Zevin’s assessment that Albeck was correct in judging Auerbach’s Eshkol a forgery. Yet in the Talmudic Encyclopedia, edited by Zevin, Auerbach’s Eshkol is cited! I wouldn’t be surprised if most of the people working on the various entries, who are all great talmidei hakhamim, have never even heard of the dispute over the volume. Unlike the case of Besamim Rosh, the reliability of Auerbach’s Eshkol is almost never mentioned in traditional rabbinic literature, and the great poskim continue to cite it as a rishon. Yet Auerbach’s Eshkol is also cited numerous times in the volumes that appeared while Zevin was still alive. How can one explain this?

Auerbach’s Eshkol was shown to be a forgery in that it contained formulations taken from post-medieval works. In my last post I quoted R. Ratsaby’s comment in his letter to me that the work contains material from the Beit Yosef. Oberlander points out that R. Menahem M. Kasher, Torah Shelemah, 9:140, also raises this possibility.

באשכול הנדפס בכת”י ע”י ר”ש אלבעק דף 46, ליתא קטע זו וצ”ע אם אין זו הוספה ע”פ הב”י

It is in this area, of post-medieval material in the Eshkol, that Prof. S. Z. Havlin has made a fascinating discovery. I refer to his article in Yeshurun 13 (2003), which should satisfy even the final doubters that the work is indeed a forgery.

Havlin quotes a passage from R. Abraham ben ha-Rambam that is found in the Orhot Hayyim of R. Aharon of Lunel and also appears in Auerbach’s Eshkol. The question is obvious: How could the Eshkol, whose author, R. Abraham ben Isaac, died in 1159, quote anything from R. Abraham ben ha-Rambam. Of course, one could say that this is a later addition to the manuscript from someone who used the Orhot Hayyim. But as Havlin notes, this is no help either because where would this person have come across this text, as it is lacking from the standard edition of Orhot Hayyim and is today only found in one Jerusalem manuscript?

The answer is that the Beit Yosef cites this passage in the name of Orhot Hayyim (without noting that the Orhot Hayyim is quoting R. Abraham ben ha-Rambam). R. Joseph Karo had access to a manuscript of Orhot Hayyim which had this text, which, as mentioned, does not appear in the standard version of Orhot Hayyim. Auerbach saw this text in the Beit Yosef and simply incorporated it into his Eshkol, perhaps even assuming that this was another example of Orhot Hayyim quoting the authentic Eshkol, as he often does. Only now, when we have access to the Jerusalem manuscript of this work, do we see that Orhot Hayyim is actually quoting a teaching of R. Abraham ben ha-Rambam. This was information that Auerbach did not have, and explains how he could include it in his edition. R. Abraham ben Isaac was a great scholar (and father-in-law of the Ra’avad). Yet even he was not able to quote from works that would not appear until after his death.

Havlin concludes:

נמצא אפוא שיש בנוסח מהדורת הרב אויערבך הוספות שנבלעו בפנים בלא אות או סימן, שנעשו לא לפני שנת שי”א (1551), שבה הופיע לראשונה ספר בית יוסף

I was asked to explain a bit about the Eshkol, vol. 4, that Bernard Bergman published. First some background: In the introduction to volume 3 of his edition of the Eshkol, Auerbach wrote that the halakhot of the Eshkol found in his manuscript that remained to be published were Hilkhot Yom Tov, Rosh ha-Shanah, Yom Kippur, Orlah, Kilayim, Hallah, Hekdesh, Vows and Oaths, Tzedakah, and Rabbinic laws. In his Kofer ha-Eshkol, Albeck, who insisted that Auerbach had no Eshkol manuscript but created his edition using various other sources (including the authentic Eshkol), challenged Auerbach’s supporters to at least produce Auerbach’s transcribed copy of his manuscript. It was asserted by Auerbach’s defenders that the original manuscript had been lost, presumably put into geniza by Auerbach’s family after the latter’s death, since they didn’t realize its value. But, Albeck claimed, certainly Auerbach must made a copy of the manuscript (if it really existed).

Albeck’s request was never fulfilled, and it is obvious that all of Auerbach’s defenders, who were in close touch with his family, assumed that there was no such copy. Had anyone known of it, its existence would have been a central feature of the defense of Auerbach’s honesty.

In 1986 Bergman published volume 4 of Auerbach’s Eshkol, which contains some of the missing sections. This would appear to show that Albeck was not correct in his assumption, and accusation, that no such text existed. But its existence says nothing about the authenticity of Auerbach’s Eshkol. All it means is that Auerbach had written down certain sections, and added his commentary Nahal Eshkol which he had to do before publication. Even forgers have to present a written text to the printer!

With regard to Bergman’s volume, it is very curious that the reader is given no insight in the introduction as to where this manuscript came from (or even a picture of it). I can’t think of any other publication of a rishon where this information is not provided. I would not be surprised if some think that the new edition is itself a later forgery designed to protect Auerbach’s legacy. After all, how is it that Bergman came to this work when Auerbach’s family and defenders knew nothing about it? Despite these questions, I think that barring new evidence we should give Bergman the benefit of the doubt and assume that the manuscript did originate with Auerbach.

I realize that it was, and remains, hard for people to accept that a gadol be-Yisrael was capable of such an outrage, namely, forging the work of a rishon. I think we should simply assume that he had some sort of schizophrenic personality, and leave it at that. Even great Torah scholars sometimes do weird things.

It is of course understandable that people who knew Auerbach as a pious sage were not able to accept this. Professor Jacob Barth, who taught at both the Rabbinical Seminary of Berlin and the University of Berlin, and was one of the world’s leading Semitic scholars, is a perfect example of this phenomenon. Although he was R. Esriel Hildesheimer’s son-in-law and a leading figure in German Orthodoxy, he also had a critical mind and was not one to be led by convention. It was thus possible for him to argue that Isaiah 40-66 was a later addition, and to reject the talmudic dating of various post-biblical books. He even claimed that the Song of Songs was not originally intended as an allegory, a position that today would probably get him put into herem. Yet even this giant of critical scholarship could not approach the Eshkol problem objectively. Instead, he reflected on how forty years prior he had studied Talmud under Auerbach, and how much he was impressed by him, from both an intellectual and personal standpoint. As he put it, whoever had any contact with Auerbach knows that it is “absolutely impossible that he could have committed the smallest literary dishonesty.”[9] He concludes his essay by stating that the learning and character of Auerbach stand tall, despite the shameful attack of Albeck.

In my first post I noted that R. Hayyim Heller pointed out to the Rav that Auerbach’s Eshkol is a forgery. In this regard, it is interesting to mention something that appears in Shimon Yosef Meller, Uvdot ve-Hanhagot le-Veit Brisk. In recent years there has been great interest in “Brisk.” I am not referring to the Brisker method of Torah study which has been popular for a long time, but rather a great interest in the personal lives of the outstanding figures of Brisk.

As every bit of information is precious, and every book wants to offer new stories, it is important for the authors to look anywhere they can. Unfortunately, at least one such book has plagiarized from R. Herschel Schachter.[10] Another unfortunate element in these books is the lack of respect shown to figures who did not share the Brisker anti-Zionism. This is more understandable, as at times R. Chaim and R. Velvel themselves had negative views of the religious Zionist gedolim.[11] It would be censorship if their attitudes were not recorded properly, but most people reading this will still regard it as unfortunate that these great rabbis were not more tolerant. (The irony, of course, is that they are expected to be tolerant of those who supported what in their mind was bringing great devastation upon the Torah world.)

Speaking personally, I must say that some of the stories recorded in these books are so strange that I wonder if most people in this generation would be led to admire these figures more after hearing the stories, or if the result would be the opposite. For example, what is one to make of the following story, told in order to inspire awe of the Brisker Rav? Once he was served something which, while kosher, did not measure up to his standards. Upon learning of this, he immediately stuck his finger down his throat, causing himself to throw up on the host’s expensive rug. Rather than this upsetting the host, we are told that this further increased his admiration for the Brisker Rav.[12]

Can people today grasp what it means to be a pure ish halakhah of the sort the Rav describes in Halakhic Man, whose behavior can come across as very cold and unfeeling (e.g., R. Moshe Soloveichik’s rebuke of the Baal Tokea, and the story of R. Elya Pruzhener and his dying daughter)?[13] Another such example of this is the report that when one of R. Velvel’s sons died shortly after birth, and the family was crying, he was insistent that they stop their tears, since there is no avelut before thirty days.[14] Whether this type of pan-halakhism is inherently positive or negative I will leave to the judgment of others, but I think that in modern times it is clear that the average person who hears stories like this, even if he is a haredi, will not be spiritually inspired. I think that many times he will even be spiritually turned off, for obvious reasons.

I know that Rabbi Pinchas Teitz, who headed my high school, the Jewish Educational Center, didn’t like the similar sort of stories told about the Rogochover. He felt that people today would hear these stories and the only thing that would stay with them is that the Rogochover was eccentric. Since the point of stories of gedolim is to inspire respect and awe, telling stories that stress his eccentricity would therefore be counterproductive. For example, hearing about how the Rogochover threw a chair at R. Hayyim Ozer, or how he proclaimed that R. Yitzhak Elchanan didn’t know how to learn or that Tosafot is full of errors, are hardly the sort of tales that will inspire awe.

In fact there are many gedolim about whom R. Teitz’ point is applicable. I remember when a high school rebbe of mine got all excited telling the class about his trip to the Steipler, and how while he was there the Steipler chased another fellow out of the house. (Subsequently I learnt that this was not so uncommon). After the rebbe finished his story, no doubt thinking we would be impressed, one of the students blurted out something along the lines of “Do you think that was a nice thing to do?” Now I certainly am not going to judge the Steipler, and it is likely that the man was deserving of being thrown out, but the rebbe didn’t know the details and thought that it would be exciting to tell us high schoolers how the great Steipler lived up to his reputation as one who didn’t suffer fools. Yet the acculturated Modern Orthodox response was to wonder why he wasn’t a nicer person. In other words, Rabbi Teitz was correct about the need to be careful when it comes to telling the masses stories of gedolim.

To give another example, I recently read a hesped where R. Yitzhak Yosef recorded how the deceased talmid hakham, R. Moshe Levi, didn’t miss a moment of Torah study. He described how when R. Levi was at a communal meal he kept a book under the tablecloth, and every free second he could be seen be looking at it. The eulogizer saw that as something positive, whereas in my town, everyone would regard it as very rude. This point illustrates why I find haredi hagiography so fascinating, as it clearly reveals the culture gap between the haredi world and the Modern Orthodox world. Some of the stories that are told, and are part of haredi myth making, would be regarded with horror by the Modern Orthodox world.[15] How better to determine the ethos of a community than by seeing how it chooses to remember and praise its leaders? If anyone thinks that the Rav shared the Modern Orthodox ethos, just look at the stories he tells in Halakhic Man.

Sometimes truly horrible stuff is found in haredi “gedolim books” as well. Let me offer just one example. There is a very helpful book by Dov Ber Schwartz entitled Artzot ha-Hayyim (Brooklyn, 1992). This book contains short biographies of numerous American rabbis, a list of rabbinic books published in the United States, and an essay on Orthodoxy in America. Yet in the midst of the book, on page 52a in the note, one finds the shocking passage which you can see here, and which I am too embarrassed to translate. One can only hope that sentiments such as these are not very common among Schwartz’ fellow Satmar hasidim.

Another real problem with all of the haredi hagiography is that one never knows if the stories are trustworthy. That doesn’t mean that the stories have no value, for even if gadol x never did what is recorded, the fact that this story is told about him reveals the mindset of the generation telling the story. In other words, we can adapt the point Neusner has made about talmudic tales of tannaim really telling us about the amoraim; late twentieth and early twenty-first-century tales of gedolim really reveal what the current haredi ethos is (especially since anything that doesn’t agree with this ethos will be censored.)

While in many cases the stories told are strange and one wonders whether they are accurate, in some cases it can be determined with virtual, or even complete, certainty that they are false. Yehoshua Mondshine has authored a number of articles showing the falsehoods in (mostly) hasidic stories. Among the non-hasidic works he takes aim at is R. Barukh Epstein’s Mekor Barukh.[16] Mondshine’s prime concern is with the famous story recorded by Epstein about his father’s meeting with the Tzemah Tzedek, and Mondshine attempts to show that there is no reason to believe the report.

To this I would only add that, knowing Epstein’s reputation as a plagiarizer and how he manufactured stories, one should not take seriously any of his “recollections.” I know the feminists will be upset with this, but we must assume that the entire dialogue between him and Rayna Batya,[17] which shows her as a proto-feminist, is contrived and has no historical significance other than revealing that Epstein himself wanted to call attention to the sad fate of talented women who are not permitted to study Torah In the unlikely event that he does accurately portray Rayna Batya, all I can say is that the punishment of one who tells tall tales is that even when he tells a true story he is not believed. We must, however, remember that even when it comes to stories that are certainly false (and there are loads of them being invented all the time, and then repeated by the gullible), one should not be discouraged when reading them. Rather, one should keep in mind Saul Lieberman’s famous comment: “Nonsense is nonsense, but the history of nonsense is scholarship.”

What does all this have to do with Auerbach’s Eshkol? In Uvdot ve-Hanhagot le-Veit Brisk, 3:291, we are told in the name of someone who heard it directly from R. Velvel that when Auerbach’s Eshkol was published, “I [R. Velvel] immediately said that this is not the Eshkol.” R. Velvel is also quoted as saying that it was actually written by another rishon. Here is a perfect example of why these sorts of books are so unreliable. I am not saying that the person who reported this story is lying, only that he didn’t understand what R. Velvel said, or perhaps after forty years no longer remembered properly. I say this because R. Velvel never could have said what he is alleged to have said, as he wasn’t even alive when Auerbach’s Eshkol appeared in 1868. The only kernel of truth that can be gleaned from this text is that R. Velvel knew that Auerbach’s Eshkol was not the authentic Eshkol. Seeing how badly the informant messed up, I am not even willing to trust him that R. Velvel said that Auerbach’s Eshkol is the work of another rishon. Perhaps he only said that it contains information from rishonim, without committing himself to it being an authentic medieval work.

The great problem is what to do with pesakim that rely on Auerbach’s Eshkol. For example, the authentic Eshkol does not have hilkhot niddah, but Auerbach’s does. Unlike Saul Berlin, Auerbach was not simply making up pesakim and attributing them to rishonim. He was taking information in the Beit Yosef and other works and putting this in the mouth of the Eshkol. This is, of course, terrible, and in a halakhic sense it gives the authority of an aharon to a rishon. Yet when you have a pesak in one of the aharonim that relies on Auerbach’s Eshkol, I would think that it does not need to be thrown out because there is at least some important authority (e.g., Beit Yosef, Peri Hadash, etc.) who holds this position, even if it wasn’t the Eshkol.

That said, I can only sympathize with those who have written articles or halakhic works and treated Auerbach’s Eshkol as authentic. The forger has all sorts of motivations, but at the very least he is guilty of genevat zeman, i.e., the time that people take in examining that which they think is a rishon, and wouldn’t have done had they known the truth. Time is precious, and the forger causes it to be wasted on falsehoods. Just think how much time was spent on the forged Yerushalmi Kodashim and Besamim Rosh that could have been spent in authentic Torah study. From an issue currently in the scholarly news, imagine how many thousands of hours have been spent on Morton Smith’s Secret Gospel of Mark, by scholars arguing both sides of the issue. If it turns out that Smith is a forger, even after his death he is playing havoc with people and their scholarly direction.

One very unfortunate example of this is Chaim Bloch’s collection of forged anti-Zionist letters, Dovev Siftei Yeshenim (3 vols., 1959-1965). Hermann Greive wrote an entire article based on these letters,[18] and shortly after his article appeared Shmuel Weingarten published his Mikhtavim Mezuyafim Neged ha-Tziyonut (Jerusalem, 1981), showing beyond any doubt that the letters are forgeries.[19] All the time spent by Greive in writing his article was of course never to be recovered, stolen from him by the worst type of scoundrel the scholarly world can produce. Years ago I had wanted to discuss this matter with Greive, but was shocked to learn that he had met an untimely death, killed by a deranged student.[20]

Notes:

[1] Iggerot Moshe, Yoreh Deah III, no. 114.

[2] Encyclopaedia Judaica, vol. 11, col. 1314 (s.v. Zioni, Menahem).

[3] In a later responsum, vol. 16, Yoreh Deah no. 102, he offers a far-fetched explanation of Zioni and R. Yehudah he-Hasid, according to which David never removed anything from the Torah, only from Moses’ chumash, which contained material not found in the Torah.

[4] For example, what other posek has concluded that ethnic foods, e.g., Chinese, Italian, sushi, etc. are forbidden, and that Jews must only eat “Jewish food.” See Mishneh Halakhot, vol. 10, no. 111. It was pesakim like this that gave rise to the yeshiva quip that the title of his book should be pronounced Meshaneh Halakhot. In addition, Klein’s negative views towards baalei teshuvah and women are also very troubling (although with regard to women, a knowledge of some of his difficult personal history adds some necessary context in this regard.) His attitude towards non-Jews is also shocking, so much so that one wonders whether Elie Wiesel, great humanitarian that he is, would be such a supporter of his institutions if he knew what was being taught there (Wiesel and Klein were in Auschwitz and Buchenwald together). In a lecture at an Edah conference some years ago, a well known talmid hakham discussed if it proper for one to make use of poskim like R. Menasheh Klein for certain areas (e.g., hilkhot Shabbat), if one feels that their general worldview, in particular in areas of Jewish-Gentile relations, is diametrically opposed to one’s own values.

[5] Israel M. Ta-Shma, “Holy Men Do Not Defile – Law and Ideology,” Jewish Studies Internet Journal, 1 (2002): 45-53 [Hebrew], available here (PDF).

[6] Vol. 8 (1869): 165-167.

[7] Rabbi Oberlander is the world’s leading expert on the forged Yerushalmi Kodashim. He published numerous articles on the topic in Or Yisrael, which will be part of his forthcoming book. I should also note that he has played an important role in the rebuilding of Jewish life in
Hungary. See e.g., here.

[8] Vol. 11 (1880): 65-67.

[9] “Notwendige Abfertigung,” Jǔdische Presse (February 17, 1911): 65.

[10] Halikhot ha-Grah (Jerusalem, [1996]) takes a good deal of material, often word for word, from R. Hershel Schachter, Nefesh ha-Rav (Jerusalem: Reishit Press, 1994) without acknowledgment.

[11] I don’t know if it is a reliable report, but see R. Ephraim Greenblatt, Rivevot Efraim, 6:41, third introduction, that R. Velvel also expressed himself negatively with regard to the Rav. (R. Greenblatt himself always shows great respect for the Rav and all gedolei Yisrael, whatever their hashkafot; the passage I refer to was written by someone else. Years ago I expressed my surprise to R. Greenblatt that he included this in his work. Since it is part of an article about one of his teachers, he no doubt felt that it was inappropriate to make any changes.)

תיכף עם צאתו את הבית בסיומו של הביקור, התאמץ וניסה בכל דרך לפלוט מפיו את שאריות הסוכר

[13] David Singer and Moshe Sokol advance the radical view that the Rav’s descriptions of his family members is actually designed to show his opposition to their hyper-intellectualism and pan-halakhism. They write

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

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

[14] Shimon Yosef Meller, Uvdot ve-Hanhagot le-Veit Brisk, 4:22-23. The eyewitness to this story was R. Simcha Sheps, late Rosh Yeshiva at Torah Vodaas.

[15] The same high school rebbe, mentioned above, also told us how at the Steipler’s wedding he had a sefer with him and was learning throughout the affair. Again, the reaction of the Modern Orthodox youths who heard this story was that the Steipler was definitely not someone to look to as a role model. What might inspire awe in Boro Park and Bnei Brak can often have the opposite effect when told to acculturated, fun-loving, American youngsters. This is the sort of story that will convince them that gedolim don’t value the normal pleasures of life, and why would any young person, brought up in America, want to be part of a religion that holds this up as an ideal?

[16] See here.

[17] See Don Seeman, “The Silence of Rayna Batya: Torah, Suffering, and Rabbi Barukh Epstein’s ‘Wisdom of Women,’” Torah u-Madda Journal 6 (1995-1996): 91-128.

[18] Hermann Greive, “Zionism and Jewish Orthodoxy,” Leo Baeck Institute Year Book 25 (1980): 173-195.

[19] Even before Weingarten’s book, and earlier articles, there was strong reason to suspect Bloch of forgery. From the beginning of the twentieth century he published books and articles containing letters of great rabbis and Hasidic leaders. None of them can be assumed to be authentic. During his great dispute with R. Yosef Elijah Henkin in the 1940’s, the latter repeatedly accused Bloch of dishonesty and pointed out that he would often attribute quotes to rabbis who were no longer alive so that he couldn’t be contradicted.

[20] After learning of the forgeries, Greive also published “Zionism and Jewish Orthodoxy (II),” Leo Baeck Institute Year Book 28 (1983): 241-246, which is a disgraceful and feeble attempt at defending his original article. In truth, it is no more than a justification of the time and effort he put into the original article. The best course would have been to simply acknowledge how he had been hoodwinked. Why do I say that his article is “disgraceful”? Because it is a twisted example of post-modern mumbo-jumbo that would make the editors of Social Text proud (see here). Here are some choice quotations from Greive, which if they ever became the standard of the historian’s craft, would mean the end of knowledge as we know it. He is trying to show that even forgery of texts is not very different than what historians do all the time!

It is precisely because of this awareness that historians tend to be exceedingly sensitive to any departure from the accepted standards, to any instance of “interference” that does not stop at interpreting a text, but – in the case of written sources – presumes to interfere with the very words in order to demonstrate a newly proclaimed truth. It must be borne in mind, however, that what the offender does in such a case is no different in principle from what everybody is doing except that he goes a little too far. It is this proximity of the permissible to the impermissible that accounts for the intensity of the hostile reaction among scholars, which is as it ought to be for the sake of upholding the standards of serious scholarship, for it is that final step across the dividing line that is the decisive one.
The indignation among scholars will be the more vehement, the rejection the more absolute, the more clearly the newly demonstrated “truth” diverges from the established tenets, flies in the face of securely held scientific convictions. Yet, as will be explained later on, such reactions may be over-hasty. For one thing, interference with a text is not in principle different from inadmissible interpretation which does not alter the words but stretches their meaning; for another, the editing of a text touches on the problem of the extent to which a word uttered during a particular period truly reflects a (hypothetical) extra-verbal reality. Of course, such doubly problematical sources must be approached with caution: their usefulness depends on just what wants to demonstrate by their use.

Later on in the article Greive assumes that Bloch did not create the anti-Zionist letters from scratch, but rather altered authentic letters, and he argues that one can “extract” authentic information from them. He concludes: “Admittedly, there is a danger of drawing erroneous conclusions from a distorted text, but this only reinforces the need for a careful and balanced critical approach and is certainly no reason for altogether ignoring the material until some more reliable evidence pointing in the same direction becomes available.”

It is unfortunate that such a fine publication as the Leo Baeck Institute Year Book published this nonsense. Dovev Siftei Yeshenim is completely useless as a historical source.

As previously mentioned on the Seforim blog by myself and others, our generation is privileged to something no previous generation has seen, a sheer volume of Jewish books being printed and reprinted. Many of these works are seeing print for the first time – works of Rishonim and Achronim on all sorts of topics brought to the public eye from manuscript form. Some of these printings are beautiful editions, critically edited, and even glossed with illuminating marginal annotations. Other times the only benefit is to see the change from an illegible typeface to a clear block print (oft as not without any particular in the editing). In many cases, specific institutions are founded solely to deal with works from a particular religious group, while at other times, entire publishing houses are established that deal with the writings of one particular author. Recently one Godol, the great prolific writer, the Aderet (Rabbi Eliyahu David Rabinowitz-Teomim), famous for, amongst many things, being the father-in-law of R Kook, has had over five distinct groups working on printing his writings although almost none of his writings were published in his lifetime.

Recently, a rather modest institute called Makhon Iyay HaYam has begun reprinting as well as publishing for the first time, the many writings of the great gaon R. Shelomoh Luria, Maharshal. To date, this Makhon has already printed a few of his works and is currently working on many more. In this post, I would like to discuss this great person, the Maharshal, some of his printed works, and the current and future projects of this particular Makhon. As much has already been written on this great goan, including several biographical sketches, as well as a dissertation by Dr. Meir Raffeld on the Maharshal’s magnum opus, Yam Shel Shelomoh (more later), I have limited myself to but a few highlights.

The Maharshal was born circa 1510 (most likely in the city of Brisk or Posen), and died in 1573 in Lublin. He was a Rav in many cities, including Brisk,[1] Ostra and Lublin.[2] Alongside the rabbinate, the Maharshal established and ran yeshivot, training many famous students. Amongst these students are, notably, R. Yehoshuah Falk Katz (author of the Preisha), R. Moshe Meis (author of Mateh Moshe on minhagim as well as Hoel Moshe on Rashi; more on him later), R. Shelomoh Efrayim Lunschitz (author of the Kli Yakar), R. Chayim of Friedberg (author of Sefer HaChayim and brother of the famous Maharal of Prague), and R. Eliyahu of Chelm (the great-great-grandfather of the Hakham Zvi and Rabbi Jacob Emden, famous for being the only latter day Godol to have created a documented golem (see here for Prof. Shnayer Z. Leiman’s post, “Did a Disciple of the Maharal Create a Golem?” at the Seforim blog) all studied in the Maharshal’s Yeshiva. As an historical aside, it is worth pointing out that in the biography printed by R. Chechik, Sefer Chasdei Hashem (Yerushalayim, 5767, pg. 3), R. Chechik makes the claim that the major talmidim of the Maharshal studied in his yeshiva in Lublin. This appears highly implausible as the Maharshal only came to Lublin in 1569, and by then most of his talmidim were already accomplished poskim. More likely these students studied in one of the Yeshivot the Maharshal headed prior to the Maharshal’s Yeshiva in Lublin.

R. Shelomoh Luria was a contemporary of and related to R. Moshe Isserles, the Rama. In his Maalot Hayuchsin (Yerushalayim, 5764), p. 15, R. Efraim Zalman Margolis traces the various ways in which the Rama and the Maharshal were related. Among those was through the marriage of Maharshal’s daughter Miriam to Rama’s brother Eliezer. Additionally, these two Gedolim carried on extensive correspondence between themselves, some taking a rather sharp tone (most noted are those letters regarding the study of philosophy and dikduk). Yet, as R. Efraim Zalman Margolis notes, the utmost respect and esteem was maintained between the two. In fact, they seem to have been keenly interested in the other’s works, there is evidence that they read the other’s work prior to publication. (See Klilas Yoffe p. 9b and Maalot Hayuchsin of R. Efraim Zalman Margolis, pp. 27-28.) [3]

While both the Rama and the Maharshal were well respected and many of the Poskim of that generation were the Maharsha’s students, in a choice between the two regarding how to decide halakha, the Rama is the clear winner. The Shelah HaKadosh, however, bemoans the fact the Maharshal’s decisions were not accepted. This is so as the Maharshal followed the Rama (i.e. the Maharshal died later) and, as such, should have been awarded consenting rulings out of principle (halachisha k’basrayi). As a result, the Shelah HaKadosh calls upon those who fear Hashem to take upon themselves all stringent dissenting opinions of the Maharshal in opposition to the Rama (Shnei Luchot HaBrit, Shaar Ha’Otiyot, #100, Kedushah).

The Maharshal is well-known for his caustic tone in his writings. Many biographers note his use of rather sharp epithets in his works concerning other Gedolim. R. Chaim Dembitzer cites many instances where the Maharshal writes sharply against various Rishonim (Klilas Yoffe p. 11). But, some have questioned the focus on the Maharshal’s tone. For instance, Shmuel Abba Horedesky, who authored a biography on the Maharshal, Kerem Shlomo, included a discussion of the Maharshal’s caustic tone. Horedesky sent his book to the Sdei Chemed, and in a recently published letter, the Sdei Chemed sharply critiques Horedesky’s inclusion of that portion on the Maharshal.[4] (Dr. M. Raffeld, in his dissertation also bemoans the misguided focus of previous historians at these caustic remarks instead of researching the more unknown eras of the Maharshal’s life).

Aside from his goanus, the Maharshal was an extremely prolific writer, writing on many areas. Some of his more famous works include an outstanding work on Shas called Yam Shel Shelomoh. For itself, the work is pretty well known, unfortunately it is not used to its full potential in today’s yeshivah world (this due to many reasons, most importantly the current mahalach halimud) although of late it has been reprinted in a nice block print edition. The style of the Yam Shel Shelomoh is oriented toward halakha. Typically, each topic is examined systematically from its beginning sources, through the Rishonim and through (the then) current minhag (see further Dr. M. Raffeld). This work has not reached us in its entirety, as parts are missing from those mesechtos present. Furthermore, it is clear from many places in his writings as well as quotes from his talmdim that he wrote more than what we have. (To date we have volumes on seven masekhtot, but according to various sources, the Maharshal wrote on sixteen masekhtot. Dr. Raffeld attempts to construct a list of the remaining nine; not all agree to this listing and several substitutes have been suggested). I seem to recall that recently they discovered the volume of Yam Shel Shelomoh on masekhet Baba Batra, but the collector who owns it does not allow anyone to print it and is only willing to sell it for a very large sum of money. Likewise, rumors of Yam Shel Shelomoh on masekhet Shabbat have been circulating among professional circles, without any concrete evidence.

In addition to the Yam Shel Shelomoh on the Gemara, the Maharshal penned many other notes on many masekhtot, dealing with, among his personal novella, the correct girsa’ot of the Gemara. Known today as Hagahot Hokhmat Shelomoh, this work was originally printed as a separate volume. Present-day editions of Gemara find some of the comments having added into the text of the Gemara and Rashi over time, and the authorship erased along with the original gloss. The remaining glosses are printed in the back of almost all recent editions of the Gemara. In his editing, the Maharshal used old manuscripts, as well as variant texts. In a lengthy article in Alei Sefer, vol. 15, Y. Ron deals with this work. Later on Professor Yaakov Shmuel Spiegel dealt with this work in his classic Amudim be-Toldot ha-Sefer ha-Ivry, Hagot u-Maghim (pp. 279-285). Hokhmat Shelomoh on Masekhet Gitten has been recently reprinted by R. Y. Satz, (Toronto: Otzreinu, 1990). The foreword includes a detailed article elaborating on the need to reprint this work, basing the glosses on the exact comments of the Gemara used by the Maharshal. Large amounts of the glosses have been deleted by editors who mistakenly attributed them to lines already corrected, while in fact the Maharshal had another point in mind.

A partial list of the Maharshal’s other famous works include Teshuvot Maharshal, responsa quoted by all poskim; glosses on Rashi al haTorah called Yerios Shlomo, reprinted several times of late; glosses to Sefer Shaarey Dura by R. Yitzhak of Duren called Ateret Shelomoh. He also wrote glosses on the Sefer haMitzvot haGadol (SMaG) by R. Moshe of Coucy, called Amudei Shelomoh. Makhon Yerushalayim has issued a critical edition of this work, in three volumes, based on manuscripts and first prints, replete with footnotes by R. Yosef Luban. In addition to stand-alone volumes, the Makhon has also included the Maharshal’s valuable glosses in their critical edition of the Sefer haMitzvot haGadol.

Now for the works printed by Makhon Iyay HaYam:

As previously mentioned, the Maharshal routinely wrote marginal notes on a vast number of seforim. Of the most popular, were his glosses on the side of the Tur. In large, these notes are quoted by his talmid, R. Yehoshua Falk Katz, the Preisha, as well as the Bach (Sefer Bayit Chodosh) and many other Poskim, but until this century, these notes were never printed. In 1957, the editors of Tur Hotzaat ‘El Hamikoros’ commissioned R. S. Werner to ‘liberate’ these notes from manuscript ‘captivity,’ allowing for a tremendous find for the halakhic world. Unfortunately, thirty simanim in Yoreh Deah were lost from the copyist, and were listed as missing in the manuscript. In 1995, R. A. Chavatzelet published these simanim in a Sefer Zikaron for R. Werner, with the intention of completing the sefer on Yoreh Deah.

While researching another work, R. Y. M. Dubovick found citations to glosses not printed in R. Chavazelet’s addendum. Further perusal revealed the existence of more manuscripts in libraries worldwide that R. Werner was unaware of, and of which R. Chavatzelet had not availed himself. With more accurate texts, and numerous additional pieces not found in the manuscripts R. Werner had been given, it was clear of the need to edit the hagahot from the beginning. R. Dubovick decided to print this whole work again with all the corrections and missing pieces. First, R. Dubovick published an expository article in the journal Yeshurun (vol. 11) listing many missing parts on Yoreh Deah. In 2000, he issued a limited printing of the hagahot on Even HaEzer (including hagahot on the last ten simanim, a notable lack in R. Werner’s edition). More recently, he released a critical print of the first sixty simanim of Tur, Yoreh Deah with footnotes, surrounding the text of the Tur (Crimea, 1558) as used by the Maharshal. Therein, he references all the relevant writings of the Maharshal and his talmidim to the glosses on the Tur, as well as citations of these glosses by the poskim.

R. Dubovick intends to conclude the rest of Yoreh Deah in the near future and deal with Orah Hayyim and Hoshen Mishpat next, and finally, a reissue of Even HaEzer.

The focus of this recent volume on Yoreh Deah is the Sefer Ateret Shelomoh a commentary on the Shechitos u’Bedikos of R. Yaakov Weil, the hagahot on Tur an addendum to this rare work. As little as less than a hundred years ago every shochet had been tested specifically on this work, and virtually every small-town rav had to be an expert in this area as well. Many of the she’elot presented to a local rav were on these very topics and could not be referred to another Rav, as by than the animal would spoil. Nowadays, a shochet is tested on Sefer Beit David (R. David Tschechovitz), and unfortunately, the shechitot and bedikot of R. Yaakov Weil are almost unknown by anyone today, save for the occasional excerpt in other seforim.

Seeing how this valuable work has not been reprinted with the Maharshal’s notes in the past 400 years, Makhon Iyay HaYam recently undertook this project to enrich the public with yet another one of the Maharshal’s many invaluable works, reprinting the text based on the only two printings, and a manuscript fragment. R. Dubovick set himself to the task, painstakingly annotating along the way with extremely thorough notes on the entire sefer. Albeit some times his notes are a bit lengthy, there is a wealth of singular information contained in them, both on the halakhic field as well as the bio-bibliographic, which the editor could not deny the public, and did not omit them from print. A few examples; when the Maharshal quotes his grandfather, R. Yitzchok Klauber, noted are many of the places where the Maharshal cites his grandfather, throughout his many seforim (p. 3, n.6), along with a brief biographical sketch. [5] The same style note can be found when the Maharshal mentions his father-in-law R. Kalonymus (Kalman) Havarkstein-Yerushalmi; a listing of other citations, along with a thumbnail bio, including the Maharshal’s wife’s name (p. 38, n.28). With an eye on the halakhic ramifications of reprinting this sefer, R Dubovick notes that R. Efraim Zalman Margolis highlighted the importance of studying this sefer for those learning shechita, and yet, due to the sefer having been published as an addendum to the sefer, Sha’arei Dura, and not having a distinct title page from the Sha’rei Dura, remained unknown. (Introduction to Ateres Shlomo, see also Ma’alos haYhuchsin, p. 35) Additionally, regarding R. Efraim Zalman’s work on treifus in lungs (Rosh Efraim), R. Efraim Zalman states that Shechitot u’Bedikot were written last, even after Yam Shel Shelomoh, and the Halakha should be fixed accordingly, even against a dissenting opinion in Yam Shel Shelomoh (p. 38, n.27). In addition, he includes interesting sources to the practice of watering cattle before shechita (p. 55, n.92), as well as bringing to light a fascinating source to the puzzling minhag of peeling off sirchos (lesions) from the lung (p. 64, n.129).

The Maharshal’s extreme regard for maintaining minhagei Ashkenaz and their halakhic impact are spread throughout both his and his talmidim’s many writings. One can especially find this true with regard to R. Moshe Meis’ classic work Mateh Moshe. A while back, a manuscript was discovered of some minhaghim of the Maharshal called Hanhagot HaMaharshal. Dr. Y. Refael printed this work in a Sefer Hayovel and then later on as a separate pamphlet. These minhagim were written anonymously, and the editor attributes them to R. Moshe Meis, author of Mateh Moshe, and known to have been a personal member of the household of his teacher, R. Shelomoh Luria. As these minhagim do not cover the whole year, Dr. Refael concludes that the text is only a segment of a much larger work, which had unfortunately been lost. Interestingly enough, R. Shmuel Ashkenazi told me recently he did all the work in annotating this sefer and preparing it for print, although for some reason he wasn’t credited for it. (While this edition was printed from a manuscript, copied expressly for R. Nachum Ber Friedman of Sadigura (Areshet, vol. 1 397-98), there is another, variant edition, printed in the back of some copies of Nagid uMitzaveh (Sinai, vol. 63, p. 96)).

Among the interesting minhagim included in here is: [6]

Also, the Maharshal discusses the Shir HaYichud, and offers a rather radical explanation of who the author of Shir HaYichud was: [7]

Similarly, in the Siddur Siddur Shabtei Sofer, vol. 1 pp. 89-90, R. Shabtei records in the name of the Maharshal:

Another rather unknown work of the Maharshal, is his Zemirot for Shabbat. While this work has been printed many times, not one of these editions has been reprinted based on the first printing and manuscript and many of the modern printings have actually detracted from the sefer’s integrity. This rare sefer is comprised of songs the Maharshal composed for Shabbat and Motzei Shabbat, with the author’s commentary to those songs. Included in his explanations are many halakhot and minhagim of Shabbat. Some examples of which are; women should wear a special garment when lighting the Shabbos candles; a reference to the custom of wearing a kittel on Shabbos. Another example, he praises the people of Ashkenaz for having a set system with regard to hosting yeshiva students for Shabbat meals. (Interestingly enough, while Prof. Simha Assaf mentions this minhag in his biographical sketch of the Maharshal printed in Sefer haYovel Lichvod Prof. L. Ginzburg, he makes no note of it in his Mekorot LeToldot HaChinuch biYisrael, even though he does mention several other sources to this custom pp. 229, 236, 633). [8]

Here too, R. Dubovick is working on reprinting these zemirot, along with an excellent commentary of his own on this work. A few samples of his efforts have been published in the journal Yeshurun (vol. 16). Here, I was simply amazed at the sources and comments of R. Dubovick regarding the various points of the Maharshal. One only hopes he will finish this work soon along with all his many projects relating to the Maharshal.

Notes:
I would like to thank R Y. M. Dubovick and Dan Rabinowitz in for their extremely helpful suggestions and sources in writing this post.

[1] On the Maharshal’s tenure in Brisk see the letter of R. Nosson Rabinovitch (author of Dikdukei Sofrim) in Eyur Tehilah p. 198.

[2] On the Maharshal’s time in Lublin, see the story brought in Simchas Hanefesh (see here for an earlier post, “Simchat ha-Nefesh: An Important But Often Ignored Work on German Jewish Customs,” at the Seforim blog) from R Yehudah Chassid pg 109-110. A similar story is quoted by the Chida in Shem haGedolim, erech R Avrhoum Mocher Yerokos.

[3] For a recent lengthy discussion of these correspondences, see Y. Elbaum in his Pisichut Vehistagrot (pg 156 and onwards), as well Dr. Asher Siev’s biography of the Rama (1972). For the exchange of letters between Rama and Maharshal on philosophy, as part of the appendix of translations of primary texts from 16th-century East-European Jewish Thought, see Leonard Levin, “Seeing With Both Eyes: The Intellectual Formation of Ephraim Luntshitz,” (Ph.D., Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 2003), 299-284, esp. 299-311.

[4] On the caustic comments of the Maharshal see Iggerot S’dei Chemed, vol. 1, siman 11, pp. 24-25; see also R. Barukh haLevi Epstein, Mekor Barukh, Introduction, pp. 89-93.

[5] For more on the Maharshal’s grandfather see M. Rafeld, in Daniel Sperber, Minhagei Yisrael (Jerusalem: Mossad Harav Kook, 2007), 8:174-96.

[6] For more on Ani Manmin see HaSiddur, pp. 232-36; Marc B. Shapiro, The Limits of Orthodox Theology: Maimonides’ Thirteen Principles Reappraised (Oxford: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2004), pp. 19-20 (citing opinion of the Maharshal).

[7] For more on this topic see: A. Berliner, Kesavim Nevcharim, vol 1 pg 145-170; R. Dovid Hanazir , Kol Haneveha pgs 124, 143-144; H.J. Zimmels, Askenazim and Sephardim, pp. 132-134; A Haberman, Shiur Hayichud Vhakovod (intro), Y. Dan, Shiur Hayichud (facsimile edition) with the commentary of R. Yom Tov Muelhausem, Introduction; R.Y. Stal, Sefer Gematryios L’Rabenu Yehudah Hachassid, vol 1 pg 32-38; R. Y. Golhaver Minhaghei Hakehlos, vol 1 p. 132: and my forthcoming article in the Yerushasenu volume two.

[8] Another person who missed this source while discussing this topic is Mordechai Breuer, in his comprehensive book on the Yeshivot, Oholei Torah: The Yeshiva, Its Structure and History (Merkaz Zalman Shazar 2003), pp. 405-409.

Someone in a comment to a recent post mentioned an article that appears in the latest issue of the journal Ets Hayyim. This journal is published by the “students and hassidim of Bobov.” [Supposedly this journal is a break-off of the excellent journal Kerem Shlomo.]
The journal is comprised of what most torah journals are today, there is a section publishing manuscripts hiddushei torah, general hiddushei torah, some articles on halacha etc. In this fourth and most recent issue there is an article that I think deserves wider dissemination.

R. Shmuel Aboab (1610-1694), author of the Davar Shmuel (as well as Sefer Zikrohonot, discussed here, and Tavat Dovid) was one of the leading rabbis in Italy and Europe of his day. He corresponded with numerous people, part of that correspondence was published in Davar Shmuel. Davar Shmuel, published posthumously by his son, was a mahdurah kama (first edition -that Spiegel doesn’t mention in his discussion regarding mahdurah kama/tinyana – although it is a printed book and not a manuscript), and does not include all R. Shmuel Aboab’s responsa (something that was not corrected in the latest reprint of the Davar Shmuel). For many years, a collection of R. Abaob’s letters (approximately 300!) were in the Montefiore Library and now they have passed into private hands. (These letters are mentioned in Hartwig Hirschfeld’s Descriptive Cataloue of the Hebrew Manuscripts in the Montefiore Library – but the Google books version is for some reason missing the relevant page.) According to the description provided in Ets Hayyim, many of these letters have never been published or used by scholars (see below for a discussion of this claim). In Ets Hayyim, they have published one of the letters in its entirety. A detailed introduction about the manuscript generally and R. Aboab is included. This was written by R. Betzalel Divlitski. R. Divlitski uses traditional as well as academic sources in his introduction. Also an index of all the letters from the Montefiore collection is provided that includes some important snippets of these letters. For instance, one letter (no. 125) includes information when R. Ya’akov Hagiz came to Italy, something, according to R. Divlitski, that was previously not definitively known (again, see infra for more on this claim). According to the index, this letter tells us R. Hagiz came to Italy in 1659 (see infra note 2 ). Moreover, the letter that is published is in no way pedestrian. Rather, it is about a controversial topic and takes, what can be seen, as a controversial position.

While the above comes from R. Divlitski’s introduction and notes, it is worthwhile pointing out some serious shortcomings in R. Divlitski’s comments. R. Divlitski claims that most of these letters have never been published. This is wrong, and R. Divlitski knows it is wrong. Most of these letters were published by Meir Benayahu in his Dor Echad B’Aretz. R. Divliksi is aware of Benahyahu’s work as he cites it throughout. Divliski also made the claim the letter discussing when R. Hagiz came to Italy [1] was unknown, while again Benayahu has it in his work and discusses its implications (Dor Echad pp. 304-5). [2] Moreover, although R. Divlitski is willing to use the book he is unwilling to say who actually wrote it. Thus, every time R. Divlitski cites Dor Echad he never mentions Benayahu’s name. Lest one think Benayahu is somehow “treif” (whatever that may mean), R. Shlomo Zalman Aurbach seem to have no problem with Benayahu and read Benayahu’s works. (See Benayahu, Yosef Becheiri, Jerusalem, 1991, p. 364, 380). [3]

A bit of history regarding Benayhu’s work – Dor Echad B’Aretz – published in Jerusalem, 1988. A while back Benayahu while traveling the world and discovered this excellent collection of letters of R. Shmuel Aboab. He even writes that he could not believe his luck on finding them – these untapped sources full of this incredible wealth of information.[4] He noted that they were extremely important for multiple areas. Therefore, Benahayu went ahead and started printing them in many different journals. These articles started appearing as early as 1954. He divided the letters into different topics, inter alia, history of Eretz Yisroel, seforim and Sabbatianism. In 1988 Benayahu collected many of these letters from these varied journals and added some more from this collection (over 100) and printed them in one volume – Dor Echad B’Aretz. In this volume he included a comprehensive history of R. Abaob and R. Moshe Zaccuto (as Benayahu is well-known for his comprehensive biographies and works). For some odd reason he did not print all the letters from this collection nor did he even print all the letters he had already published. It could be that he never noted this important letter (now published in Ets Hayyim) perhaps because he planed on coming to it in a future work as it is well known he has over thirty years worth of seforim in manuscript!

Turning back to the article, R. Divlitski is correct that the letter regarding Modena has never been published and is thus important. [It is unclear why Benayahu decided not to publish this letter.] Thus, what Diviltski should have done was prefaced his article stating that although much has been written on R. Aboab and on the letters formerly housed in the Montefiore Library and many were published by Benayahu, for some reason, a very important letter has thus far escaped publication and now to remedy that, the letter is now being published – now on to the actual letter.

The letter in question discusses the belief, or lack thereof, in gilgul (transmitigation of souls). This subject has been a hot topic for centuries and much has been written on it in general and will be the subject of a different post. [For now, see Kol Hanevuah from R. Dovid Hanazir pp. 230-36 for an excellent collection of material on this topic and see R. Reuven Margolis in Sharei Zohar, Bavaeh Metziah, 107a.]

One of the persons to have denied belief in gilgul was R. Yehudah Aryeh Modena in his work Ari Noham. While Modena explicitly denied gilgul, some questioned whether that was truly his position. The Hida, first in Shem HaGedolim and later on in his travelogue, Ma’agel Tov, (pg 113) Hida states that he saw Modena’s then unpublished autobiography and the Hida claimed that Modena wrote that he changed his opinion on gilgul because of an event he witnessed towards the end of his life. Joseph Michael Hayim in Or haHayyim (pg 443) mentions that he never found evidence of Modena’s change of heart in any manuscripts of Modena’s autobiography. [Divlitski alludes to Hayim, but like the other “academics” doesn’t cite to him or mention him explicitly.] Today, we have two printed editions of Modena’s autobiography and neither has any reference to Modena’s alleged change of heart. It is worth noting that the autobiography contains other fascinating material – much of which would not be considered flattering as it portrays Modena in a very human sense. Thus, in the Sefer HaTerumos published by Mechon Yerushalim with the commentary of the Gedulei Terumah, by R. Azariah Figo, a student of Modean, an amazing allegation is made to deal with Modena’s Autobiography. A. Goldschmidt in the introduction claims that because of the content of the Autobiography it is “a forgery.” The reason being “it is unconscionable that a qualified Talmid Hakham such as R. Yehuha Areyeh Modena [would write things] that [even] simple people would not want publicized.” (p. 25 n.8).

The letter now published in Ets Hayyim is not from Modena but instead from R. Aboab to R. Moshe Zacuto about R. Yehuda Areyeh Modena. [5] Specifically, R. Zacuto heard that R. Modena was denying and publicizing that gilgul was not a Jewish belief. R. Zacuto wanted to put Modena in herem or come out against him, and wrote to R. Aboab to get his opinion. As R. Divlitski demonstrates this letter is key to disproving the notion that although Modena initially did not believe in gilgul he changed his mind later. Due to the timing of this letter it appears that either literally at the end of Modena’s life he repudiated his belief on gilgul or, the more likely conclusion is that Modena never did.

In the letter, R. Aboab counsels against disputing Modena. R. Aboab makes a simple argument in that there are sources that dispute the claim of gilgul. Thus, there have been others who don’t believe. How then can we reconcile those positions with R. Aboab’s and R. Zacuto’s idea that gilgul is a central tenet – it must be that only worthy people appreciate and therefore believe in gilgul. It would be pointless to criticize someone for not believing when it is not really their fault.

Basically, this is a great article with important new material but proper credit is not given. Furthermore, as Divlitski notes, and in light of the fact Benayahu clearly has not yet published all these letters, hopefully, with this letter being published in Ets Hayyim someone will finally publish all these letters.

Notes:

This post is the product of the combined efforts of myself and R. Eliezer Brodt.

[1] For some reason it seems E. Carlebach did not use Dor Echad, although she does use Benayahu’s prior articles, and thus was unaware of Benayahu’s discussion of this particular letter. See Carlebach, The Pursuit of Heresy, New York, 1990, p. 21, 284 nn.11-12. Although Benayahu rejects using the dates of R. Hagiz’s works to place Hagiz in Italy, Carlebach does just that. See Benayahu, Dor Echad, pp. 304 and Carlebach, id. Additionally, Carlebach does not mention the letter discussed above that explicitly establishes Hagiz in Italy.

[2] For some reason Divlitski says the letter was written in 1659 while Benayahu says the letter was written in 1657. Additionally, Divlitski says that he can figure out who the recipient of the letter is, although “coincidentally” Benayahu uses the same materials to come to the same conclusion.

[3] This is not the only time Divlitksi leaves out the authors name. He also uses Tishby’s edition of Tzitz Novel Tzvi, but doesn’t mention Tishby.

[4] Divlitski uses similar language when discussing how important the letters are as an untapped resource.

[5] It is worth noting that Modena and Aboab corresponded directly see Benayahu, “Yediyah al Hadfasat Seforim vehafatzasm b’Italia” in Sinai, 34 pp. 157-58, 186-87.