The three meals of the Sabbath symbolize the three Patriarchs, the three divisions of Scripture: Torah, Prophets and Hagiographa, and the three feasts through which Esther brought about Haman’s downfall. Many matters of awesome spiritual significance are dependent on the Third Meal as the Zohar discusses frequently (Aruch HaShulchan 291).

Woe to a generation in which every man does as he sees fit. And the matter should be publicized to prevent others from being drawn in by their ways,” write maranan verabonon gedolei Yisroel headed by Maran HaRav Yosef Sholom Eliashiv shlita, in a letter opposing the publication of “precise” (“meduyak”) editions of Chumoshim and Tehillim as well as new siddurim and machzorim that contain grave breaches and changes from the accepted tradition handed down to us.

But with regard to one of the ignorant among the common people, this is not possible according to us – I mean, that He should turn one of them into a prophet – except as it is possible that He should turn an ass or a frog into a prophet.

It is not possible that an ignoramus should turn into a prophet; nor can a man not be a prophet on a certain evening and be a prophet on the following morning, as though he had made some find.

At the conclusion of the benedictions said in the Temple they used at first to say simply, “forever.” When the Sadducees perverted their ways and asserted that there was only one world, it was ordained that the response should be “from world to world” [i.e., two worlds].

 

 

In Search of Memory:
Towards An Understanding of the Baladhur
By Rabbi Eliezer Brodt

Memory Improvement and Chazal:

Methods for improving memory has been around for a considerable amount of time. Chazal were very concerned with memory, as orignally Torah Shel Ba’al Peh was not allowed to be written. Thus, to ensure correct transmittal, a good memory was essential. Further, (and perhaps based in part on the above concern,) the Mishna in Avos (3:9) states if one forgets his learning, this “sin” is punishable by death. Indeed, throughout Chazal we find many different techniques to help one remember. For instance, the use of Asmachtos, according to some rishonim, is to aid memory. The use of simanim such as the one which appears in the Haggadah from R. Yehuda of Detsach-Adash-Beachav are also for purposes of memory. Many of these simanim are the subject of a recent sefer printed from manuscript of the Aderet called Miglat Samanim. [Additionally, there is an entire work devoted to explicating the simanim, Simanim HaShalem.] Aside from memory tools, we find many things one should refrain from eating or doing because it will cause one to forget. It is also commonplace, to find many different segulos (as opposed to ashmachtos and the like which have a rational connection to memory) to improve one’s memory. R. Yehudah Aryeh (Leon) Modena devoted an entire sefer to this topic, called Lev HaAreyeh. Recently, R. Chaim Kanievsky has also written a complete work on this topic. Even more recently, R. Lerner has devoted a part of his now bestseller (currently over ten printings) Shmirat Haguf VeHanefesh to this topic. This year R. Avraham Zion printed a very comprehensive work on the topic, Zekher Oseh, some 562 pages gathered from many sources (pgs. 323-324 helped me a bit in my preparation of this post).

Returning to the memory segulah, some mention ingesting baladhur as one such segulah. Baladhur became so popular that it even became used in a pisgam used to remind one to review ones learning.

Early Usage of baladhur:

The use of baladhur has early roots. R. Emmanuel Loew in his Die Flora Der Juden (Vol 2 pg 203) cites a source that attributes this discovery of Baladhur to Shlomo Hamelech. The Zohar Chadash relates a story where baladhur was eaten to help them understand Torah; referred to as balad on pg. 8b Margolis edition.

Professor Gerrit Bos has written a very comprehensive article tracing this baladhur, regarding how early one can find that it was used at all and in particular to improve ones memory[3]. Bos provides examples showing how Galen was aware of the baladhur, but the earliest specific reference to it can be found in the writings of Alexander of Tralles (mid-sixth century), with subsequent references found amongst the Arabic physicians Ibn Masawayh (d. 857), Sabur ibn Sahl (d. 869) and ibn Yahya al-Razi (d. 932).

Ibn al-Jazzar, a famous Arab physician (d. 980) and medical author, wrote a treatise entitled Risala Fi Al Nisyan Wa Ilajihi. This work is on “Forgetfulness and its Treatments.” “In 1995 Gerrit Bos printed a critical edition of this Arabic text and all the subsequent Hebrew translations of this work, with an excellent introduction and commentary. The title of this new volume is “Ibn Al-Jazzar on Forgetfulness and Its Treatment.” (This work had been translated into Hebrew many times.) Ibn al-Jazzar writes about baladhur several times – how to use it exactly to help ones memory (pg. 50, 52, 69-70). For more on this work see here.

We now turn to the Jewish sources advocating for the use of baladhur for improved memory. They include: R. Moshe Narboni,[4] R. Meir Aldabi (grandson of the Rosh), R. Yehudah Aryeh (Leon) Modena, R. Hayyim Vital and R. David de Silva (son of the Prei Chadesh). R. Hayyim Vital, besides for providing a recipe for baladhur[5], writes that there were people who used to give it to their sons every day for petihat lev.[6]

What is baladhur?

Chulsis:

Now that we have seen that there is a history to baladhur (and later on we will discuss specific examples of baladhur use), we must now turn to the question of what exactly baladhur is. Meir Benayahu cites “old people in Jerusalem” that baladhur is חלתית (chulsis). Chulsis appears frequently throughout Chazal including in the Mishna, Tosefta, Talmud Bavli and Yerushalmi. Many of these places are quoted by R. Moshe Perlman (Midrash Ha’Refuah, 1:80).[9] In Masekhet Shabbat, chulsis (140a) appears in a discussion about the permissibility of soaking it in water as a medical cure. The Yerushalmi (Shabbat 20:3) brings from Shmuel that chulsis is a healthy food.

The gemara in Chulin (58b) discusses whether swallowing chulsis renders a bird a treifah. Shmuel says it does, as it punctures the bird’s throat. But, the Talmud concludes that it depends whether it is the branch of the chulsis or it was swallowed in its liquid form. Additionally, the Yerushalmi in Shabbat records that R. Yehudah says that if someone eats chulsis on an empty stomach, he will start to burn up and his skin will start peeling. Rav Avuhah says he actually ate chulsis and luckily he was standing in water when he did so as the water cooled him down. From these sources it appears that chulsis is something very sharp physically, as it could harm the throat of a bird, and it also has a sharp effect on the body, i.e. raising one’s temperature.

The Rambam (hilkhot de’ot 4:8) writes that in the rainy season, one should eat a little bit of chulsis. The Avodat Hamelech in his comments on this Rambam references the two statements above discussing the effects of chulsis on body temperature. He most likely means to explain that the Rambam’s source to eat chulsis is based on the gemara in Shabbat that says it’s healthy, however his source to eat only eat a little bit is based on the gemara in Chulin that shows that eating a lot is dangerous.

R. Tanchum Yerushalmi writes that chulsis was a plant whose seeds are eaten for medical purposes (Ha’madreich Ha’maspek, pg. 151). Meiri writes that chulsis was used for heart problems, and R. Ovadiah Bartenurah writes that chulsis is something hot eaten by people in cold places (probably based on the above Rambam). [See also Arukh Hashalem, 3:421.]

Rashi in Shabbat (140a), Avodah Zarah (35b) and Chulin (58b) translates chulsis as לזר”א. Lazei Rashi does not know what this word means in old French (#1251), but לזר”א sounds like it’s our baladhur. The Rosh states explicitly that chulsis is in fact baladhur and there is nothing as sharp as baladhur (Avodah Zarah, 3:166). The Beit David accepts that this is the correct definition of chulsis (Yoreh Deah, #36). Rabbeinu Yerucham writes that the chulsis is the baladhur and although eating it does not pose a problem for hilkhot tereifah, it is prohibited for another reason – sakanat nefashot (Sefer Ha’dom Netiv 15:5, pg. 121b). We see from the above sources that the definition of the “old people” quoted by Meir Benayahu has some support.

The Shulhan Arukh writes that if a bird eats something that punctures its intestines, for example, a branch of chulsis, the bird is rendered a treifah (Yoreh Deah 51:4). The Prei Chadash, after quoting the Rabbeinu Yerucham, says that it can’t be that baladhur is deadly, as we know that people eat this baladhur and it helps the memory. According to the Prei Chadash, the method of eating baladhur was actually by means of a bird (I assume he means they ate birds that were feed the baladhur). He writes that although the gemara in Chulin says that it can dangerously raise one’s temperature, this was only when it was eaten on an empty stomach, as it states explicitly. The Tevos Shor disagrees with this and he says there is a printing mistake in the Rabbenu Yerucham. He meant to say that chulsis is, in fact, assur because it renders the bird a treifah. When he says it is dangerous, he is actually referring to a something else mentioned there, unrelated to chulsis. The Shulhan Gavoah writes that the chulsis is baladhur and he heard that baladhur is extremely sharp and dangerous to eat, but nonetheless improves ones memory. The Shulhan Gavoah brings that in his country, Salonkia (Thessaloniki), there was a great talmid hakham who was famous for his memory and he later found out that they said this memory was a result of his eating the baladhur. The Shulhan Gavoah writes he is not sure exactly what the connection is between baladhur and a bird, but it seems that they would feed a bird this baladhur before shehitah and than one eats this bird.

Chulsis, thus baladhur, is Coffee:

The Kanfei Yonah cites the work Otzar Ha-Hayyim who says the chulsis is coffee! The Kanfei Yonah writes that although we know that coffee is not so sharp, being that the Otzar Ha-Hayyim was a big hakham in his time, especially in medicine, we therefore must follow his opinion. Additionally, according to the Otzar Ha-Hayyim, baladhur is coffee. The Darkei Teshuvah cites the Maaseh Tuviah that chulsis is the actual coffee bean, but not in its more common ground state. The Malbim in his Alim Le’treufah (Rambam, hilkhot de’ot, #21) writes that it’s very hard to accept that chulsis is coffee, as chulsis is supposed to be extremely sharp and we know that coffee is not. (However, this truly really depends on the specific type of coffee, as there are both sharper and milder strains.) Furthermore, the Malbim notes that today people drink coffee on empty stomachs and nothing happens, whereas the gemara said that your skin starts peeling and one’s temperature rises. Therefore, he concludes it is an error to link coffee with chulsis.

The Segulat Yisrael dismisses the Malbim’s question from the gemara in Chulin that the statement that chulsis will cause one’s skin to peel and raise one’s temperature is only when chulsis is eaten alone – that is, without water. But as coffee is typically mixed together with water, that is the reason we don’t see this effect on people who drink coffee even on an empty stomach. Thus, the Segulat Yisrael concludes that coffee does help the memory a bit (pg. 33). This is then quoted in Shmirat Haguf VeHanefesh (2:794) to prove that coffee helps ones memory. The Da’at Torah writes that he experimented with coffee and never found it to be so sharp as to qualify for what the gemara is referring to so it can not be that it is chulsis[10].

Interestingly enough today medical studies show that coffee does help the memory (see here) although some of the sources seem to say it only helps women who drink coffee (see here). It is worth pointing out that that in the popular and excellent historical fiction work by David Liss, The Coffee Trader, one of the main characters, a woman, eats coffee and it has a profound effect on her.

It is clear that R. David de Silva did not think that baladhur is coffee as he has a special entry for the medical benefits of coffee in his Peri Megadim and he does not write its Baladhur. R. David de Silva knew what baladhur is as clear from the story with his grandfather (quoted soon).

R. Samuel Joseph Finn in his Ha’otzar explains that chulsis is Asa Foetida (2:93). R. Emmanuel Loew in his Die Flora Der Juden (3:454) translates it to mean Asa Foeitida. Dr. Katzenelson in his notes on the Midrash Refuah (pg. 147 is missing – by mistake – in the new reprint of this sefer) writes that chulsis is Asa goefida, and that Persians use it for spices. Professor Saul Lieberman also writes its Asa Foeitida (Tosefta Kifshutah, Shabbat, pg. 265 and Baba Kama, pg. 57). Yehudah Feilkeis, in his Hazomach Vhachai Bamishna (pg. 65), and Michael Sokoloff, in his Dictionary of Jewish Babylonian Aramic Of The Talmudic And Geonic Periods, translate chulsis to mean Asa Foeitida (pg. 456).

So it seems that chulsis is not the same as our baladhur.

So what is the baladhur?

R. Hayyim Vital writes baladhur is Anacardium. [5] Much later Ben Yehudah writes this same this baladhur is Anacorde (Milon, pg. 545 “Erech Baladhur”).

Gerrit Bos also documents that it is Anacardium which is the marking nut. Bos writes this is used even today in many medicines. Ibn Al Jazzar in his work on “Forgetfulness and its treatments” gives some exact recipes for this cure. R. Hayyim Vital gives an exact recipe for this baladhur. As noted above (at footnote three), Gerrit Bos brings different recipes for this cure.

People who used baladhur:

There is an old legend that the Rambam when he was twenty he had not learnt anything and he had been working somewhere. Than his master had to go out of town so he told him not to eat from the baladhur. When the master left Moshe ate the baladhur. and he became smart instantly (see Shivchei Harambam pg 76) [Of course this story is not true at all historically and is an embarrassment to the Rambam as much has been written on another such similar legend to this in regard to the youth of the Rambam in the past few months.]

R’ Avraham Kalifon, who knew the Chida personally [7], writes that the Chida, when he was young, ate baladhur. and as a result, the middle finger of his left hand became paralyzed (Sefer Hachida, pg. 185). Incidently Meir Benayahu writes that the Chida had an incredible memory; he remembered whatever he saw (Hachida, volume 1, pg. 91). Others that have used it include the Prei Chadash and R. Chaim Saton – the author of the Aretz Chaim (Benayahu Sinai ibd).

Dangers of using baladhur:

R Avrohum Gibson in his Omer Hashicha writes of a person who he knew who heard of the Baladhur.that it helps ones memory he went and used it incorrectly and died (pg 133). Benayhu brings that R. Chaim Saton mind was effected by his using of the baladhur.
R Yehudah Aryeh Modena writes that people try different ways to help their memories one of the ways is thru the baladhur. However he does not recommend it as it’s very dangerous he knew many people who lost their minds completely from using it (Lev Haryeh pg 13) [8]. R’ Yaakov Emden says that one should be careful not to use the baladhur. because it’s more likely that the person who takes it will lose their memory rather than gain memory (Migdal Oz, pg. 50).

Meir Benayhu printed a letter from a manuscript where the Jews from Fez asked R Yakov ibn Zor to write to R Yosef Konki that some of the Talmidi Chachmim who learn the whole day but forget some of what they learn had heard about the Baladhur. On the one hand they heard that it helps ones memory but on the other hand they heard that its dangerous if used incorrectly so they asked me to write to you R Yosef Konki being that they heard you use it successfully to explain how exactly does one use it. We do not have R Yosef Konki response (Sinai, 36, 1937, 67-70).

In the Prei Megadim of R. Dovid de Silva records an interesting story that happened with himself in regard to this baladhur. He had read somewhere the statement of Chazal that ‘Chazor, chazor val titztarech l’Baladhur’ [more on this soon] so he went and started to eat a lot of this baladhur. His mother saw this and went to ask her father R Refal Malchi who was a doctor if what her son is eating is healthy. R Refal came and saw what his grandson was eating he gave it to him – telling him how could you eat something you do not know about it its something that could make you lose your mind he told him it is lucky you did not eat it wet. He told him the only way you could eat it with it causing damage is to eat it with a bird [more on this soon] (pg 58-59). [These two great people, R Dovid and R Refal will be the subject of an upcoming post.] Interestingly enough Meir Benayhu brings an old rumor that R Dovid’s father the Prei Chadash used the baladhur.

Professor G. Bos brings many non-Jewish medical sources which also say how dangerous the incorrect use of baladhur could be. Bos even brings those who say that Galen died from using baladhur (pg 236). There was a 9th century Persian historian named Ahmad Ibn Yahya al-Baladhuri who lived at the court of the Chaliphs al-Mutawakkil and Al-Musta’in and was tutor to the son of al-Mutazz. He died in 892 as the result of using a drug called Baladhur, hence his name.

Recent Usage of baladhur:

In a recent printing of Lev Ha-Aryeh, R. E. Monzor writes (pg. 31 and on) that he asked his father and many experts in ancient seforim about this baladhur, and he was told that this refuah consists of a few different plants, and the mixture must be exact. He writes about R. Yaakov Katzin, who had a phenomenal memory. He writes that he remembers when he was young, that people heard of the baladhur, and there were three rabbanim who used it. These rabbanim went to consult someone who was an expert in the correct measurements of baladhur. After using it each one suffered from different side effects. One was cold even the summer and R. Yaakov Katzin (who was known for having an incredible memory), who was one of the three, had problems with his intestines. In the Or Torah Journal (Tishrei 5751): 10, there is another source which also claims that he heard that R. Yaakov Katzin used baladhur. In the same journal in a later issue (Tevet 5751): 280, there is a source which brings from R. Ovadiah Yosef that a rebbi of his, R. Eliyahu Lupas, went to purchase this baladhur and the seller told him that it does not really help.

Sources for the Pisgam, ‘Chazor, Chazor V’al Titztarech l’Baladhur’:

As I have mentioned earlier this baladhur, was used in a Pisgam (saying) to remind one to review his learnings. In regard to the sources and evolvement of this pisgam of ‘Chazor, Chazor V’al Titztarech l’Baladhur’. One of the first places to consult is as always the Alpah Beta Kadmita D’shemuel Zeirah of R. Shmuel Askenazi. R. Askenazi has a short comment about it (pg. 595) and than he writes more will be in the second volume. In the back of the sefer amongst the list of future topics he plans on writing about he mentions that this pisgam is one of the topics of the next sefer (pg. 842). For whatever reasons, as of now volume two is not happening. So I asked R. Askenazi if he could give me the material he was planning on printing but unfortunately thus far, he was unable to locate the material. So – as the saying goes – Bemokom Shein Ish, I will attempt to trace it a bit, in a similar style to R. Ashkenazi.

One of the first sources is found in a sefer recently printed from manuscript from R. Yosef Alashkar in his Marchevet Hamishna on the Mishneh in Avot (pg. 139) (see my forthcoming post at the Seforim blog on this topic) where he brings this quote חזור חזור ואל תצטרך לבלדור. R. Yosef Alashkar was a youngster during the Spanish Expulsion. A bit earlier, the Abarbanel in his commentary on Avot, entitled Nachalat Avot (pg. 351) brings this same exact quote. R. Tobias Cohen in his Ma’aseh Tuviah (pg. 133b) brings this quote but adds that it’s mentioned in the gemara. R. David de Silva, a younger contemporary of R. Tobias Cohen also quotes this statement saying it is from Chazal in his Peri Megadim (pg 59). R. Jacob Emden in Migdal Oz (pg. 100) brings the same quote except he says בלאזור. Professor Simha Assaf printed a letter from manuscript that a melamad in Italy who instructed his students רק חזור חזור טוב מבלאזור apparently this is alluding to our pisgam (Toldos Hachinch Byisroel 2:391). R. Yehezkel Feivel, in his Toldot Adam, writes “that there is a famous Mamaor that people say חזור חזור ואל תצריך לבלאזור (vol 1 pg 70).” Levinsohn in his Zerubavel already writes the source for this Toldot Adam is the Ma’aseh Tuviah (pg 42). This pisgam is also found in the Tiferet Yisrael to Avot 1:4.

Azariah de Rossi also alludes to our pisgam at the end of chapter 59 of Meor Einayim:
הטעמים שאינם אלא פרפראות להבנת הענינים ובלאדור נגד השכחה.

R. Yehudah Aryeh (Leon) Modena in Lev Ha-Aryeh brings it a bit different claiming, its from chazal הדור הדור ואל תצטרך לבל דור (pg 7).

R. David Pardo writes it a little different חזור חזור ואל תסתרך לב”ל הדו”ר (Shu”t Michtam LeDavid, Yoreh Deah, pg 87b).

The Da’at Torah writes this baladhur is what the Sefer Hakanah is talking about when he says חזור חזור ואל תצטרך לבלזור. From here the Sefer Hakanah is quoted by many amongst them R. Menachem Mendel Krengel (in his notes Menachim Zion on Shem Hagdolim (pg. 146, note 18), Sefer Hameshalim V’Hapisgamim (by C. Bialik and Y. Rivinski, pg. 167) and R. Lerner in his Shmirat Haguf VeHanefesh (2:794). However both Meir Benayahu and R. Shmuel Ashkenazi have pointed out that all these people are quoting it wrong, as the Sefer Hakanah does not talk about it, rather the author of the Sefer Hakanah does, in a different work of his, the Sefer Hapliah. However the Sefer Hapliah does not bring the pisgam the same way the Da’at Torah quotes it. Rather, he says חזור חזור יפה מבלזור. (Volume 2, pg. 17a)

Interestingly enough R. Yisrael Tayber writes in his book Mikveh Yisrael (which is a biography of the author of the Terumat HaDeshen) that the Terumat HaDeshen used to say this pisgam to his talmidim however, he brings no source for this statement (pg. 16). R. Tauber notes that the Ma’aseh Tuviah cites this quote from chazal. R. Yosef Halpern suggests that the Ma’aseh Tuviah is incorrect, because it is a Sefer Hakoneh not a chazal.[11] But then R. Haplern concludes that perhaps the Ma’aseh Tuviah is correct because the Sefer Hakoneh is a sefer of chazal (Kuntres Me’at Zri pgs. 8-9). Now, R. Yosef Halpern is incorrect for a few reasons first of all, the Ma’aseh Tuviah specifically says it found in the gemara second of all, its in the Sefer Hapliah and not in the sefer Hakoneh and third of all, most agree today that Sefer Hakoneh and Sefer Hapliah are much later from the times of the late rishonim.

Notes:

I would like to thank Professors Gerrit Bos and Zohar Amar for their helpful articles; to Manuscript boy and R. Motti Jackobwitz for their help with finding some references; and, as always, thank you to Dan Rabinowitz and Menachem Butler of the Seforim blog for all of their assistance, especially in helping tracking down some of the more obscure sources.

[1] R. Shabsei Donlo (1:80).

[2] Sori Haguf was a medical work written in the late thirteenth century. Less than a year ago, Professors Zohar Amar and Yael Buchman published part of this work. The piece about baladhur can be found on pages 163-164 of this edition. Not much is known about this work, though Professor Gerrit Bos and Resianne Fontaine have discussed this sefer in their “Medico-Philosophical Controversies in Nathan B. Yoel Falaquera’s ‘Sefer Sori ha-Guf’,” Jewish Quarterly Review 90:1-2 (July – October, 1999): 27-60.

[3] Gerrit Bos, “‘Balādhur’ (Marking-Nut): A Popular Medieval Drug for Strengthening Memory,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London 59:2 (1996): 229-236. See this fantastic article for additional sources and complete citations.

[4] This work only in manuscript, for this quote, see Gerrit Bos, “Jewish Traditions on Strengthening Memory and Leone Modena’s Evaluation,” Jewish Studies Quarterly 2:1 (1995): 48. For more on this author in general, see Gerrit Bos, “R. Moshe Narboni, Philosopher and Physician: A Critical Analysis of Sefer Orah Hayyim,” Medieval Encounters 1:2 (1995): 219-251.

[5] R. Hayyim Vital, the most famous student of the Arizal, wrote many seforim, including a nearly unknown work on medicine and alchemy. It was briefly mentioned by Gershom Scholem. The alchemist section of this book was discussed by Raphael Patai in his book, Jewish Alchemists. Meir Benayahu discusses it in various places in his writings (amongst them in his book on the Ari). Gerrit Boss, “Hayyim Vital’s Kabbalah Ma‘asit we-Alkhimiyah (Practical Kabbalah and Alchemy), a Seventeenth Century ‘Book of Secrets’,” Journal of Jewish Thought and Philosophy 4 (1994): 55-112, wrote an extensive article on this book, and does an excellent job of putting each remedy into its proper categories, as the book is not published in proper order. More recently, Prof. Zohar Amar and Yael Buchman in Sinai 121 (1996): 231-238 and, idem., “Theory and practice in an essay by R. Hayyim Vital,” Sinai 125 (2000): 202-215, about the various halakhic aspects discussed in this work. After that, Yael Buchman wrote her doctorate on this work of R. Hayyim Vital, and a recent article, “A Kabbalist as Healer: The Medical Practice of Rabbi and Healer Hayyim Vital (1543-1620),” Korot: The Israel Journal of the History of Medicine and Science 17 (2003-2004): 7-30 (Hebrew). Less than a year ago, Buchman and Amar printed part of this book, calling it Refuah Maasios L’Rav Chaim Vital. The only part they printed was the medical portion that contains diseases and cures. The recipe for baladhur can be found on page 262 of Buchman and Amar edition. One hopes that they will print the rest of this work in the future. What makes this work very interesting is that we see that R. Hayyim Vital was a medical doctor of sorts, who gave remedies to people for all kinds of illnesses, in all areas of health, whether asthma, infertility, etc. Much of the advice was based on real medical advice that R. Hayyim Vital had read in various medical works, other pieces of advice were based on Segulos or the like. For more on this issue see, the excellent introduction of Amar and Buchman to Refuah Maasios L’Rav Chaim Vital; and Gerrit Boss, “Hayyim Vital’s Kabbalah Ma‘asit we-Alkhimiyah (Practical Kabbalah and Alchemy), a Seventeenth Century ‘Book of Secrets’,” Journal of Jewish Thought and Philosophy 4 (1994): 59-62.

[6] This piece is only in manuscript, its quoted by Gerrit Boss, “Hayyim Vital’s Kabbalah Ma‘asit we-Alkhimiyah (Practical Kabbalah and Alchemy), a Seventeenth Century ‘Book of Secrets’,” Journal of Jewish Thought and Philosophy 4 (1994): 78. The subject of “petihat lev” has been discussed much in recent literature. This concept of petihat lev is found in many different sources where people used to do all kinds of things to help with memory and understanding Torah enabling one to understand and recall the torah effortlessly. One example something done for petihat lev of this are the customs relating to the educational initiation ceremony of young boys still done today in many circles.

Professor Israel Ta-Shma published a piece, included in his Kneset Makcharim (1:1540), from a work written in 1294 called Sefer Hamaskil which gives us a little insight into this petihat lev, which says:

ומאותו היום שאכלו אדם הראשון ניתנו לו חדרדים בלבו לקבל כוח רוח עץ הדעת, שהוא רוח מעורבב מטוב ורע, ויש לו לאדם כמה חדרים בליבו, כל חדר ממונה על ממשלת חכמה אחת, חדר זה ממונה על מלאכת החרש… ובאמצעית הלב יש חדר גדול המקבל רוח שכל עץ הדעת ושותין ממנו שאר חדרים כולו. נסתם חדר אחר או שנים נסתמים ממונים עליהם, כאשר אתה רואה קצת בני אדם שהם סכלים בחכמות העולם והם חכמים גדולים בחכמת המלאכים. ובזמן שהחדר האמצעי כולו סתום, ואין הרוח יכול להתפשט מתמלא המוח עשן ומשתטה

Some general sources on petihat lev can be found in: Ivan G. Marcus, Rituals of Childhood, Jewish Acculturation in Medieval Europe (Yale University Press, 1998), 28; Ephraim Kanarfogel, Peering through the Lattices, Mystical, Magical and Pietistic Dimensions in the Tosafist Period (Wayne State University Press, 2000), 140-141, 156 and 237; and in the excellent article by Yuval Harrari, “‘The Opening of the Heart’: Magical Practices for Gaining Knowledge, Understanding and Good Memory in Judaism of Late Antiquity and Early Middle Ages,” in Shefa Tal: Studies in Jewish Thought and Culture presented to Bracha Sack, eds., Z. Gries, H. Kreisel, and B. Huss (Beer Sheva, 2004), 303–347.

[7] A younger contemporary of R. Hayyim Yosef David Azulai (the Chida), R. Avraham Kalfon (1735-1820) served as a rabbi in Luv. R. Avraham corresponded with the Chida for many years. Later on, he even visited him in Loriano for over a year. They had a close personal relationship. Through his sefarim, he mentions personal anecdotes and discussions he had with the Chida. He also quotes all of the Chida’s works. This piece, where R. Kalfon writes about the Chida using Baladhur, was printed by M. Benayahu in the Sefer Hachida (a collection of articles dealing with the Chida, pages 177-184) More recently, this piece was reprinted in a sefer Igrot V’Haskamot Rabbeinu Hachida (pages 133-134). This book is an excellent collection of letters of the Chida and history of the Chida. One problem with this book, is that in the introduction, the editor acknowledges different sources for helping him write the book, but he doesn’t give credit to his main source, the writings of Meir Benayahu. He does quote these writings extensively, but never uses Benayahu’s name.

R. Avraham Kalfon authored several works, including the small work titled Chayeh Avraham, a collection of reasons of various minhaghim related to Orah Hayyim and Yoreh Deah which he had gathered from many different sources. He authored another work entitled Leket Hakatsir on Orah Hayyim, which remained in manuscript form until a few years ago, when it was printed the first time in 1992. Leket Hakatsir is a large and excellent collection of material gathered from many sources on all topics relating to Orah Hayyim. R. Kalfon quotes many points that he had heard personally from the Chida. Unfortunately, this work is pretty much unused and unknown by our generation of halakhic authors. Nearly thirty years ago, Harvey Goldberg printed Higgid Mordechai (Jerusalem: Ben-Zvi Institute, 1978), from part of a work by R. Mordechai Cohen, entitled Koros Luv ve-Yehuda, and quotes many things from manuscripts of R. Avraham Kalfon.

[8] R. Yehuda Aryeh (Leon) Modena’s Lev Ha-Aryeh was completed in 1611. The idea of this work was to develop a course for memory improvement. In this short work, Modena brings down many ways of how people went about improving their memories, all types of scientific methods, medical methods and segulos for improving memory, and mnemonic systems. For a discussion of this work, see Howard E. Adelman, “Success and Failure in the Seventeenth-Century Ghetto of Venice: The Life and Thought of Leon Modena, 1571-1648,” (PhD dissertation, Brandeis University, 1985), 431-433, who writes that it is possible that Modena’s source was an edition printed in Venice, 1603. For an extensive discussion of Lev Ha-Aryeh, see Gerrit Bos, “Jewish Traditions on Strengthening Memory and Leone Modena’s Evaluation,” Jewish Studies Quarterly 2:1 (1995): 39-58. This work Lev Ha-Aryeh was recently reprinted by Mechon Shuvi Nafshi (2001)

[9] The Midrash Harefuah was written by R. Moshe Perlman, son of R. Yeruscham Leib Perlman (the Minsker Gadol), and is a three-volume-collection of all the health and medical related information that one can find in the Talmud Bavli and Yerushalmi, Tosefta and Zohar. It is incredible to see how much material R. Perlman was able to gather. More importantly, R. Perlman presents the information in an extremely organized manner and brings complete and exact quotations of each source and is careful to properly reference each citation. Additionally, in the footnotes R. Perlman has a brief explanation of some points from the text. This work was first printed in 1936 and a few months ago, thankfully, was reprinted in Jerusalem. R. Perlman writes, in the introduction, that he came to working on Midrash Harefuah while working on a completely different topic, and was going through the abovementioned sources in a systematic manner listing all of the statements that he needed. In working on this project, R. Perlman noticed the many statements throughout chazal about medical and health issues. He began gathering all of the sources – without knowing that others had previously done the same, and had he known, he would likely have not bothered to put Midrash Harefuah together. When he finished the work he went to bring it to a great medical expert Dr. Heindis, who, at first glance, told him not to bother printing the work, as much has already been written on this topic. Dr. Heindis then started to study the work in-depth and could not put it down. Dr. Heindis then asked R. Perlman to leave the work with him for several days. When Dr. Heindis returned the book to R. Perlman, he told him he was unaware that there was so much information in chazal on these topics and this is an important work. Before printing Midrash Harefuah, R. Perlman sent it to medical experts Drs. Katzenelson and Mazeyah for their comments, and their notes on many of the topics are printed in the back of each volume.

R. Meir Halpern, in his excellent work on the Minsker Gadol – the topic of a upcoming post at the Seforim blog – writes about his abovementioned student, R. Moshe Perlman, he was great in learning and eventually entered into a career of business, but did not waste any of his free time. His tremendous knowledge is evident from the work Medrash Harefuah (Hagadol Me-Minsk, pg 208).

[10] For more on chulsis and coffee: see the forthcoming work of R. Yechiel Golhavher (famous for his excellent work Minhaghai Hakehilos) on coffee.What is this sefer Otzar Ha-Hayyim that the Kanfei Yonah is quoting which writes chulsis is coffee? R. Yaakov Zahalon (1630-1693), a graduate of medical college in Rome, became a doctor at the age of twenty-six, and for several years, was also a Rav and Baal Darshan in Rome. He was very involved in the famous plague in the ghetto of Rome in 1656, which he describes at length in his work, Otzar Ha-Hayyim. He wrote many works, amongst them Margolios Tovos (available at HebrewBooks.org), which has prayers for different occasions; including those for a doctor to say before he treated a patient and for a darshan to recite before he spoke in public. R. Zahalon wrote a book called the Or Darshanim, a guide for darshanim on how to compose and deliver sermons. Twenty-years-ago, the work was printed with an extensive introduction and English translation by Henry Adler Sosland, A Guide for Preachers on Composing and Delivering Sermons: The Or Ha-Darshanim of Jacob Zahalon, A Seventeenth Century Italiam Preacher’s Manual (JTS Press, 1987).

However, R. Zahalon’s most famous work was the Otzar Ha-Hayyim, first printed in 1683. It was the first medical work whose original language was Hebrew. This work was intended to be an encyclopedia for the doctor and layman alike. He intended to discuss every aspect related to medical and health issues. Unfortunately, only part of this work was printed only one time, thus making it a very rare book. This definition of chulsis being coffee attributed to him can be found on page seven in the Otzar Ha-Hayyim. R. Zahalon included a whole section in his sefer to explain the fourth chapter of Rambam’s Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Deot – all of the health related issues, including where this piece related to coffee can be found. Recently Professor Zohar Amar reprinted just this part of the work of the Otzar Ha-Hayyim called Shemirat Haberiut LeHa-Rambam including many additions from an autographed copy of R. Zahalon. One only hopes someone will reprint this whole work again.

For more on Zahalon, see David B. Ruderman, Jewish Thought and Scientific Discovery in Early Modern Europe (Wayne State University Press, 2001), 232-239. See also, J. Leibowitz, “R. Yaakov Zahalon, Man of Rome, His Poem in Honor of the Sabbath, 1687,” Scritti in Memoria di Enzo Sereni: Studies in the History of the Jews in Rome (Jerusalem 1970), 167-181. See also, Professor Zohar Amar in his introduction to his reprinted edition of the Otzar Ha-Hayyim- the part on the Rambam Hilkhot Deot called Shemirat Haberiut LeHa-Rambam.

The question is how this medical work came to R. Yonah Lansdorf. The answer is found by looking in his entry in the Chida’s Shem Hagedolim, where he writes that R. Yonah Landsdorf – besides for being a great Goan – was well versed in all chochmos (Erech Mil Tzedakah). In addition to R. Yonah Landsdorf quoting the Otzar Ha-Hayyim, at least one other goan used Otzar Ha-Hayyim and quotes this definition of chulsis being coffee. R. Yehezkel Feivel, famous for his Toldot Adam, also wrote a work on the Rambam’s Hilkhot Deot and Teshuva, entitled Mussar Haskel. In the beginning of chapter four of Hilkhot Deot (in a section called Loshon Chachamim), Feivel writes that he obtained a copy of the work Otzar Ha-Hayyim and will quote from it throughout the chapter. This explanation of the Lashon Chachamim is quoted by the Sefer Hakovetz in his comments on this Rambam (found in the back of most printings of the Mishneh Torah). R. Yehezkel Feivel and his various works will be discussed at greater length in a future post at the Seforim blog; for now, see the significant discussion in Edward Breuer, “The Haskalah in Vilna: R. Yehezkel Feivel’s ‘Toldot Adam’,” Torah u-Madda Journal 7(1997):15-40.

[11] Much has been written regarding the authorship of the Sefer Hakanah and Sefer Hapliah. Some attribute it to R. Avigdor Kra (see here). See also Sdei Chemed (vol. 9), Klalei HaPoskim V’HaHoraa (15:59), Shorshei Minhag Ashkenaz (3:375, notes 71-72), Chida in Shem Hagedolim (Erech Hakanah and Erech Hapliah , notes of Menachem Zion ibid, notes of Shimon Chanes in Rav Upalim of R. Avraham Ben Hagra (pg. 97), A. Marcus, Hachasidus (pg. 377), and Professor Israel Ta-Shma (Kneset Makcharim, 3:228).

In response to the recent article by Dr. David Kaufmann in The Forward questioning Bugs Bunny’s purported Jewish identity, Bar Ilan University professor and Jewish Studies Quarterly (new series) co-editor Dr. Elliott Horowitz has written a letter to The Forward, available below to readers of the Seforim blog. (It has not yet appeared in The Forward.)

As noted in the letter below, Prof. Elliott Horowitz has written two articles on the very question that Kaufmann discusses. See his “Odd Couples: The Eagle and the Hare, the Lion and the Unicorn” Jewish Studies Quarterly 11:3 (August 2004): 243-258, and “The People of the Image,” The New Republic 223:13 (September 25, 2000): 41-49.

This is Prof. Horowitz’s first contribution to the Seforim blog. We hope that you enjoy.

Dear Sirs:

The subtitle of David Kaufmann’s entertaining essay (“Carrot and Shtick,” Aug, 10, 2007) provocatively asks: “Can we claim Bugs Bunny as Jewish?” I would like to point out that I have already made that claim more than once; first in a review essay in The New Republic (“The People of the Image,” Sept. 25, 2000), and more recently, fortified with footnotes, in the Jewish Studies Quarterly (vol. 11, 2004). In both essays I sought to trace the Bugs vs. Elmer rivalry, reminiscent of that in the Bible between wily Jacob and Esau the hunter, visually back to the hares pursued by hounds in sixteenth-century Ashkenazi illustrated Hagadot, such as those of Prague and Augsburg.

Kaufmann is correct to stress that “the ‘Looney Tunes’ shorts in which Bugs appears are always structured around extinction and endurance, the two great poles of Jewish thought and dream,” but he might have done a bit more with the Holocaust and post-Holocaust context of Bugs Bunny, who premiered in the 1940 animated film Wild Hare. Five years later Warner Brothers released Herr Meets Hare, in which “Buggsenheimer Rabbit” is pitted against Herr Hermann Goering, and in 1946 they brought out Hare Remover (my personal favorite), in which Elmer Fudd is cast as a chemist seeking (unsuccessfully) to perform scientific experiments on Bugs. Soon afterwards, like other American survivors, Bugs began to speak more candidly about his origins and childhood. In a Hare Grows in Manhattan (1947), he returned to his childhood on the Lower East Side, where constant hounding by the neighborhood dogs sharpened his survival instincts, and in What’s Up, Doc (1950), he talked about the piano and music lessons he took as a youngster, and the bit parts he played on Broadway until he was discovered by Warner Brothers.

As Kaufmann points out, neither Chuck Jones nor Tex Avery or any of the other writers or directors who created the Bugs Bunny cartoons were themselves Jewish, but as their contemporary Claude Levi-Strauss, who himself only narrowly escaped the fate of Buggsenheimer Rabbit, might have said, Jews were “good to think with.” Not only was the rabbit’s voice assigned to Mel Blanc, who combined, as he later explained, equal parts of Brooklyn and the Bronx, but by making Bugs a New York native who toiled in obscurity until he was discovered by the Warner Brothers, those sly gentiles may have poked fun at their famously self-hating employers, who had earlier rejected George Jessel for the lead role in The Jazz Singer (1927) on the grounds that he was “too Jewish.”

Elliott Horowitz
New York

Moritz Steinschneider’s Indecent Burial
Charles H. Manekin
University of Maryland, College Park / Bar Ilan University

What sort of recognition has posterity accorded to one of the great scholars of Judaism, arguably the greatest of the nineteenth century? Sadly, Steinschneider’s contribution to the history of Jewish literature in all its aspects has gone virtually unnoticed outside a small circle of scholars. If he is remembered at all, it as a cold, antiquarian scholar who reportedly said that “the task of Jewish studies is to provide the remnants of Judaism with a decent burial.” This is the portrait, or better, caricature, of Steinschneider drawn by Gershom Scholem in his well-known diatribe against Wissenschaft published in 1945.[3] Scholem, an ardent zionist, viewed Steinschneider and his mentor Zunz as “gravediggers” and “liquidators” of the Jewish national values that they considered no longer relevant after the advent of emancipation and liberalism. Scholem’s negative evaluation of Steinschneider’s scholarly motivation and outlook in no way implied a disparagement of the nineteenth-century scholar’s achievements. On the contrary, Scholem writes in the Hebrew edition of his memoir From Berlin to Jerusalem “Despite the enormous distance I felt from the men of the [Wissenchaft] group, I revered Steinschneider and pursued his works, major and minor, as well as off-prints of his articles, all of my life.”[4] He also relates that as a university student, his familiarity with Steinschneider endeared him to his teacher, and later doktorvater, the great scholar of scholastic philosophy, Clemens Bäumker. I come here not to praise Steinschneider, but rather to bury him more decently than did Scholem. To do so I will sketch a preliminary picture of his contribution to the ideology of Wissenschaft des Judentums that is less biased than the polemical one offered by Scholem. I say “preliminary” because Steinschneider made few theoretical statements on the subject of Wissenschaft. His views on that subject, like on so many others, must be gleaned from his voluminous writings and correspondence. For over a century articles on Steinschneider have begun with a call for a full-fledged intellectual biography of the man. That call has not yet been answered. Steinschneider’s principal reflections on Wissenschaft are found in his short essay, Die Zukunft der jüdischen Wissenschaft, published in1869, a half-century after Zunz had issued his programmatic-statement on Etwas über die rabbinische Literatur.[5] The science of Judaism during the last fifty years, writes Steinschneider, was motivated externally by the struggle for emancipation and internally by the desire for religious reform. Scholars thought that examining the Jewish achievements of the past would pave the way for greater acceptance of the Jews in the present, and would provide models and precedents for modernizing the religion. In recent years, a third motivation for Wissenschaft has been proposed, namely, the training of modern rabbis, and a modern rabbinical seminary in Breslau had been opened. But as important as these practical motivations were, they do not address other fundamental questions: “What about Jewish history and literature as a link and source of history and cultural history in general? Is it a part of theology? What will become of it if the universities, according to the Dutch example, leave theology as a practical science to the care of the various religious communities?” “Where and how should this academic study be conducted — in Jewish communal institutions or in German universities? “Where will it find its support — in the community or the government?” Although Steinschneider’s expressed intent was merely to raise these questions, his personal opinions are not hard to infer from his article. The task of scholars of Judaism is to investigate their subject as objectively as possible, without ideological tendencies, and in its intellectual and historical context, i.e., as connected with other cultures. This sort of study can be conducted best only in universities, not in the faculty of theology, whose focus is narrowly religious, but in the faculty of philosophy, i.e., the humanities. Jewish religious seminaries, even modern ones, are primarily interested in the training of rabbis; they focus almost exclusively on areas of importance to Jewish theology, and their students and faculty are exclusively Jewish. Jewish studies within the framework of even the most enlightened seminary cannot be free and independent. Who should support Wissenschaft? Steinschneider implies that this is an obligation for the state and not for the Jewish community, not only because of the general importance of exploring civilization’s past — after all, the state supports scientific research into the pyramids and the ruins of Pompeii — but because “the spirit that created the great works of Jewish literature is still alive in the citizens of their state.” This is an interesting argument which refutes, by the way, the view of Steinschneider as a curator of a dead or dying religion. For he seems to be implying that the state has a special obligation to support the research and teaching of subjects that inform the identity, even the group identity, of minorities within the state. In fact, there should be no difference in principle between minority and majority cultures. According to Steinschneider — again, by implication — as long as the state supports the education of Christian teachers of religion, it has the obligation to support Jewish teachers of religions, through supporting Jewish seminaries. Certainly Steinschneider was aware that the likelihood of the German state supporting the teaching of Jewish history and literature in universities, much less Jewish religion in seminaries, was remote. In fact, not a single chair devoted to Jewish history or literature was established in German universities until well after World War II. He was also aware that private money — Jewish, of course — would have to be found to support academic Jewish studies. In a letter written to his friend, the historian Meyer Kayserling in 1876, in which he refused Kayserling’s offer of a position at the Budapest Rabbinical Seminary, he writes, It seems to me that the task of our times is to prefer the endowment of untenured instructorships in Jewish history and literature in the philosophy faculties, thereby compelling the authorities to establish professorships and schools in which regular high school students can be prepared for the study of Jewish literature. We certainly do not want boarding schools in which bachurische clumsiness, impoliteness, and beggarliness is preserved and glossed-over.[6] The last statement reveals Steinschneider’s prejudices against the Eastern European yeshiva students who made up a good proportion of the students at the rabbinical seminaries. The aims of Wissenschaft required the proper preparation of students in high schools. For this Jewish donors had to be found. In the same letter Steinschneider claims that his principled opposition to Jewish Studies outside the university did not conflict with his own association with the Veitel Heine Ephraimschen Leharanstalt (Beth ha-midrasch), the old school of the Berlin Jewish community. Steinschenider was a part-time lecturer for nearly fifty years for that institution, which counted Jews and Christians, including Paul Lagarde, Georg Hoffman, and Hermann Strack, among its students. The school was open to all, its faculty all had university doctorates, and it did not confer doctoral degrees. Steinschneider had declared publicly that he would resign were it to offer a single doctorate.[7] Steinschneider did not address a question that has remained with us to this very day, namely, why wealthy Jewish individuals would wish to endow instructorships in Jewish history and literature at German universities, where the return to the Jewish community was neither immediate nor guaranteed. Perhaps he thought that he could get others to share his own passion for the study of what he called the “international literature of the Jews,” e.g., works of philosophy, science, medicine, and belles-lettres. After all, his teaching had been supported, in part, by the Berlin Jewish community for half a century. And, to my knowledge, at this stage of his life he expressed neither pessimism nor apprehension about the future of the academic study of Judaism. Nor is there any support, at least to my knowledge, for the strange idea that Steinschneider became progressively detached from Judaism culture or religion, or that he saw its inevitable assimilation into secular culture. Steinschneider remained throughout his adult life a liberal Jew whose ideals were those of the enlightenment and the revolution of 1848, in which he took part as a student. In the remarkable credo that makes up the Foreword to one of his last works, Die Arabische Literatur der Juden, he lashes out against those who use the insufficiency of reason, “this weapon of all kinds of unreason,” to justify “the forcing of myths in new clothes or of monstrosities of fantasy, let alone the clinging to institutions of fake authority or to obsolete customs.”[8] Given that this line follows a reference to the zoologist Ernst Haeckel, it is clear that Steinschneider is taking aim against the myths of racial supremacies, which he felt had replaced the myth of religious supremacies. His reference to the “obsolete customs of religion” reaffirmed his decades-long abandonment of orthodoxy, nothing more. But nothing in the Forward suggests a weakened commitment to Judaism per se, not even the claim that “it is the task of whoever feels entitled to lead the sum [of society] to stress what is common to the different circles of mankind, to point towards the ‘one Father of us all’ – towards what brings human beings nearer to each other.”[9] Steinschneider expresses these sentiments in a book chronicling the Jewish literature that was dearest to his heart, that of the Jews living in Muslim lands. After characterizing Ashkenazic Jewish life as one of “segregation in government, trade and society; expulsion, inquisition, agitation, and persecution” and Ashkenazic Jews as possessing “a surplus of mental acumen, squandered in casuistic and hermeneutical quibbles, faith and superstition linked to each other like Siamese twins,” he writes in an intensely personal passage, The historian likes to direct his attention to places where a human existence was granted to the tolerated subject, an existence in which his spirit was allowed to soar above and beyond the national barriers towards the highest existential questions. Such a person believed to have attained already on earth the ideal of human thought, the conjunction with the active intellect.[10] Steinschneider strongly identified with a literature that was not confined by the narrow parochialism of a national culture. He was under no illusion that such a literature was representative of Judaism, much less than it constituted its “essence.” With his unparalleled knowledge of Jewish books, he knew precisely what its place had been. But it was a literature with which he felt a strong personal affinity, and which reinforced the Jewishness of his commitment to liberalism and universalism, at a time when the growth of nationalism and antisemitism had made him pessimistic. As for Steinschneider’s alleged comment that it is the task of scholars to provide the remnants of Judaism with a decent burial, it has not been found in his writings, but was attributed to him in a necrology published shortly after his death in the German zionist periodical Jüdische Rundschau by the young orientalist Gotthold Weil, who had recently been one of Steinschneider’s students.[11] Weil had participated in the short-lived zionist “National-jüdische Verein der Hörer an der Lehranstalt für die Wissenschaft des Judentums in Berlin,” which numbered among its members Arthur Biram, Judah Magnes, and Max Schloesinger.[12] An active zionist leader in Germany, he later came to the Hebrew University of Jerusalem after the Nazis dismissed him from his post as professor of oriental literature at the university of Frankfurt. The context of Steinschneider’s reported comment is a discussion that Weil conducted with Steinschneider about the latter’s alleged proto-zionistic activity in his youth, when he supported Jewish colonization in Palestine as a possible solution for anti-Jewish discrimination in Germany. One imagines that this was a topic of considerable interest among Steinschneider’s zionist students, considering the elderly scholar’s open antagonism towards zionism. According to Weil, Steinschneider admitted to participating in a scheme in the1830’s to further the colonization of persecuted German Jews in Palestine. But he felt that the events of 1848 obviated the need for a separatist political solution to the Jewish problem. According to Steinschneider, Weil informs us, the history of the Jews had ceased in 1848 and that as a result, “the only task we have left is of giving the remains of Judaism a decent burial.”[13] It is easy to see how political zionists like Weil and Scholem would see an offhand comment as an epitaph for Jewish people as a nation; according to Scholem, “a breath of the funereal did in fact cling to the atmosphere of this discipline for a century; occasionally there is something ghostlike about this literature.”[14] They interpreted Steinschneider as holding that Jewish national existence was rendered obsolete by political emancipation, and that assimilation was inevitable and desirable. But there is no indication from Steinschneider’s writings that the scholar felt that the end of Jewish history, or for that matter, the extinction of the Jews as a “nation” had occurred in 1848, or that it was inevitable or even desirable. True, political emancipation had at least in principle removed the necessity for the Jews to segregate themselves in their own land in order to escape persecution. But almost fifty years later Steinschneider would write that the Jews indeed constituted a nation, in the original meaning of that word…united, at least thus far, by an ideal fatherland and Scripture reaching back into their remotest antiquity…We affirm, in fact, that the concept “Jewish” cannot be understood merely in terms of dogmas and rituals, but that the entire Jewish cultural evolution must be viewed as a mirror of the underlying religious and moral ideas and national convictions.[15] It was not the history of the Jews that ceased in 1848, according to Steinschneider, but the history of the Jews as an entity that required a political solution in its own state. He considered anti-Jewish discrimination not to be a Jewish problem but rather a human problem that should be solved within the confines of the modern liberal state. What Steinschneider increasingly detested was the romanticism, sentimentality, and separatism that he found in nationalism in general and zionism in particular. Not a great admirer of nationalism to begin with — according to Weil, he would occasionally say that “Nationalism is brutality; humanity is freedom and truth” — he never missed an opportunity to show his despisal of romantic Jewish nationalism, even in the oddest of places. Thus in his great work on the Hebrew translations of the Middle Ages, while mentioning that Judah ha-Levy had been driven to emigrate to Palestine by a somewhat mystical — another disparaging term for Steinschneider — national sentiment, he adds in a footnote that the Hungarian scholar David Kauffman, “der Apologet von Daniel Deronda,” called such an attraction “realistic.”[16] This was a disparaging reference to Kaufmann’s enthusiastic review of George Eliot’s proto-zionistic novel that Steinschneider had sharply criticized.[17] The reference, completely out of place in a footnote on translations of Halevy, showed how passionate this supposedly cold, rationalist scholar could be on the subject of Jewish national revival. Steinschneider’s ironic remark to his student Weil on the task of scholars of Wissenschaft is best seen within the context of his deeply rooted antipathy towards zionism, as well as his opposition towards tendentious scholarship of all sorts. The task of Jewish scholarship, he wished to say, is not to serve the interests of Jewish political interests, national or otherwise. “My intention,” he wrote in 1902 “is the most objective and historical portrayal possible, neither apologetically nor polemically painted, nor nationally or theologically prepared.”[18] Steinschneider intended to produce an objective scholarship possible that avoids apologetics, polemics with Christians, nationalism, and theology. Given this antipathy, his comment to Weil was perhaps intended to preach the gospel of independent scholarship. Although his students may have thought that the task of Wissenschaft was to help revive the spirit of the nation, Steinschneider did not. Given his negative views of Graetz,[19] it is not difficult to see how he would have viewed the excesses of the Jewish nationalist historians of the twentieth century. But this explanation of Steinschneider’s comment seems inadequate. For there are many ways to emphasize the virtues of objective scholarship without using the image of death and burial. Why did he employ this particular phrase? Perhaps his remark should be read as an ironic appropriation of Samuel Raphael Hirsch’s attack on Wissenschaft des Judentums. Hirsch wrote that the scholars of Wissenshaft keep alive the memory of the old Judaism as it is carried to its grave; in another metaphor of death, he called Wissenschaft “the fine dust wafting from the stone coffins of moldering corpses.”[20] Steinschneider was a master of the ironic retort. Perhaps he was saying to his student Weil, “Just as Hirsch and the orthodox have said, we are burial societies — let’s at least make sure that the burial is an honorable one.” On the other hand, Steinschneider may have been genuinely pessimistic about the future of the Jews in Germany, not because of assimilation, but because of the steep rise of antisemitism in the last two decades of the nineteenth-century. In 1893 he writes “The history of the daughter religions is a constant series of attempts to murder their own mother; if one of them ever succeeds, the crime will bring down the criminal.”[21] Nine years later he commented dryly on a historical pamphlet written by a Prussian gymnasium teacher that calls on Germany to emulate the example of Spain and Portugal and expel its Jews. “The self-appointed historian wisely omits that the brutality of the mob was aroused not only by bull fights but by the live burnings of hundreds of Jews and apostates.”[22] Steinschneider feared German nationalism, according to Weil. Perhaps he felt that the remains of Judaism deserved a decent burial because the Jews themselves were in for difficult times from antisemitism. But these are mere speculations. It is futile to read too much into the sarcastic quip of an aged scholar, which, if reported accurately, was never intended for publication. Can there be anything more indecent than having this comment serve as the summation of Steinschneider’s attitude towards the academic study of Judaism, or the task of its scholars? It is not surprising that both neo-Orthodox Jews like Hirsch and secular Zionists like Scholem assigned to the practitioners of Wissenschaft the role of gravediggers of Jewish nationalism.[23] If their visions of the Jewish nationalism were not only mutually exclusive but exhaustive, then it is a role that Steinschneider would have accepted willingly. But his vision of the Jewish nation was different from theirs. It is ironic that in articulating the differences between the visions of Wissenschaft “now” and “then,” Scholem reaffirmed much of the vision of Steinschneider – not of Steinschneider the “gravedigger,” but of Steinschneider the advocate of an open, unapologetic, and untendentious scholarship that only a university-setting could enable. Steinschneider would indeed have been pleased with the establishment of centers of the academic study of Judaism, such as the Institute of Jewish Studies at Hebrew University, where, in Scholem’s words, “everyone is free to say and to each whatever corresponds to his scholarly opinion without being bound to any religious (or anti-religious) tendency.”[24] After all, Steinschneider was the most consistent advocate of the idea that Jewish studies can only flourish in such an atmosphere. Scholem also reaffirmed Steinschneider’s distaste for nationalist history when he noted with regret that “the heritage of an apologetics in reverse, an apologetics which now, so to speak, has revised everything in terms of zionism, has produced notable examples in our scholarly work.”[25] Steinschneider consistently opposed apologetic scholarship of all kind. In sum, what connects the scholarship of Steinschneider and Scholem seems vastly to outweigh the differences, once we have adjusted the scale to allow for changing tastes and fashions in scholarship. The view of the Jewish people as a living and organic phenomenon was no doubt foundational in Scholem’s scholarly approach, but the growth in Jewish studies in the second half of the twentieth century had more to do with the sociology, economic abilities, and changing identities of the Jewish communities than with the growth of Jewish national consciousness. More to the point — if the “antiquarian” scholarship of the nineteenth century had given way to the “scientific and empirical” scholarship of the twentieth – both of Scholem’s phrases seem a bit quaint today – the reason was not because of Jews had undergone a national revival, but because scholarly tastes and methods had changed. Steinschneider’s scholarly approach was no more “antiquarian” than that of contemporary orientalists like LeClerc, Wenrich, or Wüstenfeld; just as Scholem’s scholarly approach was shaped by his intellectual training and cultural context. One shouldn’t make judgments about the scholarship of a bygone age by using contemporary fashions as a yardstick. The presence of university-trained scholars in the history of medieval Jewish culture and history would have pleased Steinschneider greatly, even more so when he learned that some of the leading scholars are not Jewish. One suspects that here too Scholem would agree. Notes: This post for the Seforim blog — dedicated to Dan Rabinowitz’s weekly shiur following hashkamah minyan at his local synagogue — is based on my article, “Steinschneider’s ‘Decent Burial’: A Reassessment,” Study and Knowledge in Jewish Thought Vol. I., ed., Howard Kreisel (Jerusalem: Mossad Bialik, 2006), 239-251. [1]Some of the correspondence has recently been published. See Briefwechsel mit seiner Verlobten Auguste Auerbach, 1845-1849: ein Beitrag zur jüdischen Wissenschaft und Emanzipation, eds., Marie Louise Steinschneider and Renate Heuer (Frankfurt/New York, 1995). The longest biographical treatment is still Alexander Marx, “Moritz Steinschneider,” in his Essays in Jewish Biography (Philadelphia, 1947), 112-184. Marx has a very useful bibliography on pp. 294-95. For a list of Steinschneider’s writings, see George Alexander Kohut, “Bibliography of the Writings of Professor Dr. Moritz Steinschneider,” in Festschrift zum Achtzigsten Geburtstage Moritz Steinschneider’s (Leipzig, 1896), v-xxxix. Steinschneider’s secretary, Adeline Goldberg, published additions to the bibliography in Zeitschrift fur hebräische Bibliographie 5 (1901): 189-91; 9 (1905): 90-92; 13 (1909): 94-95. [2] Die Arabischen Überzetungen aus dem Griechischen (Leipzig, 1897) and Die Europäischen Übersetzungen aus dem Arabischen (Graz, 1956). See D. Gutas, Greek Thought, Arabic Culture: The Graeco-Arabic Translation Movement in Baghdad and Early ‘Abbâsid Society (2nd-4th/8th-10th centuries) (London/New York, 1998), p. 195: “There is as of yet no modern bibliographical survey of the Arabic translations of all the Greek philosophers; Steinschneider’s Die Arabischen Überzetungen aus dem Griechischen remains the only single treatment.” [3] “Mi-tokh hirhurim al hokhmat yisrael” in Devarim be-go (Tel Aviv, 1975), pp. 385-405. This celebrated essay was published first in Luah ha-Arez and republished several times during Scholem’s lifetime. It has recently been translated into English by Jonathan Chipman as “Reflection on Modern Jewish Studies,” in On the Possibility of Jewish Mysticism in our Time and Other Essays, ed. A. Shapira (Philadelphia and Jerusalem, 1997), pp. 51-71. Scholem, who planned to publish a similar critique in Walter Benjamin’s journal in the early 20’s, returned to the same issue several times during his career, notably in “Wissenchaft vom Judentum einst und jetzt” (see n. 14 below) and “Hokhmat yisrael ve-yahadut” (“The Science of Judaism and Judaism,” which was printed in German, English, and Hebrew, in Perspectives of German-Jewish History in the 19th and 20th Centuries (Zur Geschichte der Juden in Deutsch-land im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert), the proceedings of a symposium on Jewish studies organized by Ephraim Urbach (Jerusalem, 1971) and reprinted in ‘Od Davar (Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1989), pp. 143-5. For an assessment of the impact of Scholem’s zionism on his scholarship, see Daniel Abrams, “Presenting and Representing Gershom Scholem: A Review Essay,” Modern Judaism 20:2 (2000): 226-243. [4] Mi Berlin li-Yerushalayim (Tel Aviv, 1982), p. 141. This and most other comments about Steinschneider are not in the original German edition of the memoir, from which the English translation was made, but appear in the expanded German edition of the book based upon the Hebrew translation. See Von Berlin nach Jerusalem, trans. Michael Brocke and Andrea Schatz. Erweiterte Fassung (Frankfurt am Main, 1994), p. 148. Scholem’s enthusiasm for Steinschneider also earned him the favor of Prof. Aaron Freimann, who had served as librarian of the Judaica collection of the Frankfurt municipal library, and who had been Steinschneider’s student (Hebrew: 184, German: 193). One cannot but wonder why Scholem decided to add to the Hebrew version of his book several anecdotes testifying to his admiration for Steinschneider. [5] Hebraeische Bibliographie 9 (1869), pp. 76-78. A partial translation is offered by J. Hessing and P. Mendes-Flohr in Paul Mendes-Flohr and Jehuda Reinharz, The Jew in the Modern World: A Documentary History, Second Edition (New York and Oxford, 1995), pp. 230-2. I cite from that translation here, with slight emendation. [6] “Die Aufgabe unserer Zeit scheint mir vorzugsweise die zeitweileige Dotirung von Privatdocenten für jüd. Geschichte und Literatur an den Philosophischen Fakultäten, damit die Regierungen zur Errichtung von Professuren getrieben werden und Lehranstalten in welchen regelmässige Gymnasiasten sich für das Studium der hebr. Literatur vorbreiten können. Nur keine Internate, in welchem bachurische Unmanier, Unbeholfenheit und Bettelhaftigkeit in ihrem Dünkel erhalten und beschönigt werden. See Alexander Marx, “Steinschneideriana II,” in Jewish Studies in Memory of George A. Kohut, eds. Salo W. Baron and Alexander Marx (New York, 1935), pp. 492-527, esp. p. 521. [7] Ibid, p. 521. [8] Die Arabische Literatur der Juden (Frankfurt a. M., 1902), p. ix. [9] Ibid., p. x. [10] Ibid., p. viii. [11] No. 6, February 8, 1907, pp. 53-5. [12] See Yehuda Eloni, Ziyyonut be-Germaniyah mi-Reishitah ‘ad 1914 (Tel Aviv, 1991), p. 372 n. 55. [13] “Wir haben nur noch die Aufgabe die Ueberreste des Judentums ehrenvoll zu bestatten,“ p. 54. [14] See Scholem’s German Essay in the Bulletin of the Leo Baeck Institute 3 (1960):10-20; Hebrew version in De’ot 4:19 (1961), pp. 8-9, rept. in ‘Od Davar (Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1989), pp. 136-142; English trans. by Michael Meyer in The Messianic Idea in Judaism and Other Essays on Jewish Spirituality (New York: 304-313.) The quotation is from Meyer’s translation on p. 307. [15] See Hebraeische Bibliographie 2 (1859): 82-83 (Steinschneider’s review of M. Kayserling’s Sephardim: Romanische Poesien der Juden in Spanien), as translated by S. Baron in, “Steinschneider’s Contributions to Historiography,” in Alexander Max, Jubilee Volume (New York, 1950), 83-148, esp. 90-1. [16] Die Hebraeischen Übersetzungen des Mittelaters und die Juden als Dolmetscher (Berlin, 1893), p. 402 n. 227. [17] Baron, “Steinschneider’s Contributions,” p. 135. [18] Die Arabische Literatur der Juden, p. viii. [19] Baron, “Steinschneider’s Contributions,” pp. 119-120. [20] See, for example, “Die Trauer des 9. Av,” Gesammelte Schriften (Frankfurt am Main, 1902), vol. 1, pp. 130-1. A partial translation is offered by J. Hessing in Paul Mendes-Flohr and Jehuda Reinharz, The Jew in the Modern World, pp. 234-5. [21] Die Hebraeischen Übersetzungen des Mittelalters, p. xxiv. [22] Die Arabische Literatur der Juden, p. x, n. 1. [23] The similarity between the neo-Orthodox and Zionist critique is noticed by Mordecai Breuer in “Three Orthodox Approaches to Wissenschaft” (Hebrew), in the Jubilee Volume for R. Joseph Dov Soloveitchik (Jerusalem/New York, 1984), vol. 2, pp. 856-60, esp. p. 857. [24] “The Science of Judaism – Then and Now, ” trans. Meyer, p. 310. [25] Ibid., p. 312.

How Did Rashi Make a Living?[1]

Mayer I. Gruber

Professor in the Department of Bible Archaeology and the Ancient Near East

Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, Beersheva, Israel

It has long been taken for granted that Rashi engaged in viticulture, which is to say, the cultivation of vineyards and the preparation and sale of wine made from the grapes he cultivated.[2] However, in 1978 the question of how Rashi made a living was reopened by Haym Soloveitchik.[3] Indeed, Soloveitchik asserted: “Indeed the presumption is against anyone being a winegrower in Troyes. Its chalky soil is inhospitable to viticulture. . . .”[4] Soloveitchik went further and declared, “Rashi may nevertheless have been a vintner; but by the same measure he may have been an egg salesman.”[5]

Since, on the face of it, Soloveitchik had declared that being a vintner, i.e., a cultivator of vineyards, and being an egg salesman were equally plausible careers for Rashi, notwithstanding Soloveitchik’s unequivocal declaration that the soil of Troyes was “inhospitable to viticulture,” it seemed worthwhile to me to explore three questions. These were 1) Rashi’s association with eggs; 2) the plausibility and implausibility of viticulture in Rashi’s vicinity; and 3) alternative careers for Rashi in view of the alleged inhospitability of Rashi’s native city of Troyes to viticulture.

A perusal of the published responsa of Rashi reveals that, in fact, eggs were a favorite in Rashi’s diet. Rashi’s famous disciple Shemayah[6] tells us that on more than one occasion he had seen that Rashi was served grilled meat[7] or fried eggs with honey.[8] The latter delicacy was called in Old French ab-bstr.[9] Moreover, Shemayah informs us that Rashi was wont to pronounced the berakhah shehakkol ‘by whose will all things come into being’ and consume these foods prior to beginning the meal with washing of the hands and the berakhah over bread.[10] Shemayah explains that Rashi informed him that the reason he did not wash his hands and recite ha-motzi over bread before eating eggs fried with honey is as follows: “This is much more enjoyable to me than bread, and I like bestowing my benedictions to laud my Creator with respect to [the food that I love].”[11]

What this halakhic text tells us about Rashi and eggs is that fried eggs mixed with honey were among his favorite foods, which he enjoyed so much that he ate them as an appetizer before the meal itself which began with the washing of the hands and ha-motzi. Fried eggs mixed with honey[12] were among the food items for which Rashi had no patience to wait. Notwithstanding Rashi’s enjoyment of fried eggs, neither this text nor any other text so far published intimates that Rashi was engaged in either the retail or wholesale trade in eggs. On the contrary, the following responsum demonstrates that Rashi received eggs and other edible products for his personal consumption from others:

It happened to me, Solomon ha-Yitzhaqi. A Gentile sent me cakes and eggs on the eighth day of Passover. The Gentile entered the courtyard and called to my wife, and my wife sent a messenger to the synagogue. Thereupon, I gave instructions to keep the eggs in a corner until the evening. In the evening [after the end of Passover] I permitted their use allowing the amount of time that it would have taken [to bring them to my house had they set out for my house after the this time [when the holiday had already ended].[13]

Cows and Sheep

Several of Rashi’s responsa suggest that he and other Jewish residents of Troyes from time to time owned pregnant cows and ewes.[14] None of these texts accounts suggest that either Rashi or the other Jews mentioned in these responsa owned herds of cattle or flocks of sheep. The one cow or sheep was probably the family’s source of dairy products. In each of the recorded instances Rashi advised divesting oneself of ownership in favor of a Gentile so as to avoid being subject to the mitzvah of redeeming the firstborn male of a cow or ewe, a mitzvah which cannot be accomplished in the absence of the Temple (see Deut. 12:6, 17: 14:23). In the one instance where one of Rashi’s Jewish neighbors made the mistake of acquiring and slaughtering for meat a firstborn lamb born of a ewe of which the Jew was legal owner, Rashi decided that the only recourse was to bury the slaughtered lamb half on Rashi’s property and half on the other Jew’s property so that the act of burying all that meat would be less conspicuous and the Jews would not be suspected by their neighbors of engaging in some kind of witchcraft.[15]

According to Rashi’s own testimony he acquired and ate eggs. To date, however, there is no evidence that he was an egg salesman. Likewise, on more than one occasion Rashi owned a cow or a sheep. However, owning an occasional cow or sheep did not make Rashi into a rancher or a cowboy. Likewise, numerous testimonies both in his response as well as in his commentary to Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 18a and in his biblical commentary on Jer. 25:30 to Rashi’s familiarity with the details of wine production do not prove that Rashi actually cultivated vineyards either for private use or for commercial purposes.[16] As argued by Soloveitchik, all the texts bearing upon Rashi’s familiarity with wine production serve only to demonstrate that, in fact, the Jews of Troyes in Rashi’s era had to produce their own wine because halakhah prohibited Jews from consuming wine produced by Gentiles.[17]

Wine barrel with Rashi’s seal

The reference in a responsum by Rashi to a wine barrel that bore Rashi’s seal[18] does not necessarily make Rashi a commercial producer of either grapes or wine any more than does his ownership of a pregnant cow make him a cowboy. On the other hand, another responsum by Rashi refers to a Jewish borrower who pledged a vineyard as collateral for a loan.[19] The latter text is one of a number of texts[20] which suggest that Soloveitchik may have gone too far in arguing that one of the reasons that Rashi could not have been a vintner is that the region in which he lived could not support viticulture.[21]

So how then did Rashi make a living?

In the conventional presentation of Rashi’s biography[22] Rashi is assumed to have been a vintner by profession and the head of an academy of Jewish learning as an avocation. However, when Baron so described Rashi, the corpus of Rashi’s Responsa had not yet been published by Elfenbein.[23] The facts, which can be culled from examination of the responsa, hardly portray Rashi as an amateur rabbi/scholar or his yeshivah as a hobby.

In fact, the conventional presentation of Rashi’s biography also fosters the widely accepted notion that religious instruction, the study of sacred texts whether from a historical, halakhic, or a theological perspective, whether in the university, the yeshivah, the modern rabbinical seminary, the Jewish day school, or seminaries for teachers, or wherever, is or should be essentially a leisure activity. Careful reading of Rashi’s responsa for what they tell us about daily life among Rashi and his disciples reveals that Rashi himself succeeded by his very professionalism in his very careful and by no means subtle design for making his yeshivah an intellectual and spiritual center for all of world Jewry and indeed, for all persons both friendly and hostile, who wished to understand the Torah.

It is no accident therefore that Rashi’s yeshivah was called Yeshivat Geon Yaakov “the Yeshivah of the Glory of Jacob,” the official name of the academy that still functioned in Baghdad in Rashi’s time, and which claimed to have been founded by Rav in 219 CE in Sura. Likewise, Rashi’s title was Rosh Yeshivat Geon Yaakov, “Head of the Yeshivah of the Glory of Jacob.”[24] Also, like the heads of the Babylonian Jewish academies, Rashi referred to himself by the title of the spiritual leaders of Babylonian Jewry, Gaon.[25]

Apparently, it was from the funding he received from communal assets paid on behalf of his students by the communities from which they came,[26] Rashi was able to dress himself, his wife, and his daughters in the style that befits a spiritual, intellectual, and communal leader of Jewry far beyond the boundaries of Troyes.

Implications for Today

Indeed, it may change the way we relate to our schools of Jewish learning and our programs of Jewish learning, both religious and secular, if we can liberate ourselves from the view that for Rashi, Rabban shel Yisrael,[27] our mentor, par excellence, studying Torah, teaching Torah, and adding to the corpus of Torah literature, were all hobbies, rather than aspects of a profession. Once it is grasped that Rashi’s Torah activities constituted a profession, we may begin to treat not only the people who raise money for and administer Torah institutions and programs for the academic study of Judaism as persons who deserve to make a living from what they do but also those who study and teach to extend the frontiers of our knowledge and to broaden the base of persons, who are privy to this rich heritage. Likewise, seriously treating day school teaching as a profession might have a positive effect on both the working conditions and pay of day school teachers and the way in which the children of the fortunate treat their teachers.

Notes:

[1] This article is based upon material found in the Introduction to Mayer I. Gruber, Rashi’s Commentary on Psalms (Brill Reference Library of Judaism, vol. 18; Leiden & Boston, Brill, 2004), and is published at the Seforim blog with permission of Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden. Special thanks are due to Editor Michiel Klein Swormink of Koninklije Brill in Boston.

[2] Maurice Liber, Rashi, trans. Adele Szold (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1906), 56; Irving Agus, The Heroic Age of Franco-German Jewry (New York: Yeshiva University Press, 1969), 173; Israel S. Elfenbein, “Rashi in His Responsa,” in Rashi, His Teachings and Personality, ed. Simon Federbusch (New York: Cultural Divison of the World Jewish Congress, 1958), 67; Salo W. Baron, “Rashi and the Community of Troyes,” in Rashi Anniversary Volume, ed. H. L. Ginsberg (New York: American Academy for Jewish Research, 1941), 60.

[3] Haym Soloveitchik, “Can Halakhic Texts Talk History?” AJS Review 3 (1978): 153-196.

[4] Ibid., p. 172, n. 54.

[5] Ibid.

[6] For the important contributions of Shemayah, who was Rashi’s personal secretary, who edited Rashi’s personal correspondence, wrote commentaries on the piyyutim of Eliezer ha-Kalir, helped Rashi edit the final versions of Rashi’s commentaries on Isaiah, Ezekiel, and Psalms, and composed glosses on Rashi’s commentary, which are preserved in Leipzig Stadtbiliothek, Ms. Wagenseil, B.H. fol. I, see the extensive discussion in Avraham Grossman, The Early Sages of France (2d ed.; Jerusalem: Magnes, 1997), 174, 347-426 (in Hebrew).

[7] For the different possible textual readings and their respective meanings see Israel Elfenbein, Responsa Rashi (New York: Shulsinger, 1943),114 #86, nn. 4-5.

[8] Elfenbein, Responsa Rashi, 310-11 #270.

[9] Ibid., 310, n. 1.

[10] Ibid., 215.

[11] Ibid.

[12] The text of the responsum refers, in fact, to eggs fried in honey. In light of the commentary of Nissim Gerondi (commonly known in the yeshivah world as “the RaN, at the top of Babylonian Talmud, Nedarim 52b, it appears that “fried in honey” is a literary convention in Rabbinic Hebrew for “mixed in honey and fried [in oil].” For this information I am indebted to Professor Alan Witztum, Professor of Botany at Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, Beersheva, Israel.

[13] Elfenbein, Responsa Rashi, 142 #114. Here Rashi takes for granted the principle attributed to Rav Papa in Babylonian Talmud, Betza 24a: If a Gentile brought a Jew a present at night just after the end of a Jewish festival, the Jew may benefit from the gift only after the elapse of enough time for the Gentile to have prepared the gift after the end of the festival.

[14] Elfenbein, Responsa Rashi, 202-03, #182-184; contrast Emily Taitz, The Jews of Medieval France (Contributions to the Study of World History, no. 45; Westport, Ct.: Greenwood Press, 1994), 85.

[15] Elfenbein, Responsa Rashi, 202 #182.

[16] Contrast Moche Catane, La Vie en France aus lle siecle e’apres les ecrits de Rachi (Jerusalem: Editions Gallia, 1994), 130-31; cf. Taitz, 72-77.

[17] Soloveitchik, 172-73. Of course, the original reason for the prohibition was the presumption that virtually all Gentiles worshipped a multiplicity of gods and that wine from virtually any barrel of wine they sold or gave to Jew had been poured out as a libation in the worship of “other gods.” Later the Rabbinic Sages (Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 17b) extended this prohibition to any wine that had been touched by any Gentile so as to discourage socializing that might lead to intermarriage and thereby to the total assimilation of the Jewish people.

[18] Oxford Bodleian Ms. Oppenheim 276, p. 35a, cited by Grossman, The Early Sages of France, 132; 135, n. 45.

[19] Elfenbein, Responsa Rashi, 66, #61; see also the discussion in Taitz, 84.

[20] Note, for example, the “ordinance of Rashi” in Louis Finkelstein, Jewish Self Government in the Middle Ages (2d printing; New York: Feldheim, 1964), 147, which specifically exempts from taxation by the self-governing Jewish community of greater Troyes household items, houses, vineyards, and fields; see the discussion in Robert Chazan, Medieval Jewry in Northern France: A Political and Social History (Baltimore & London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1973), 16. See also the account of the case that came before R. Joseph b. Samuel Tob-Elem (Bonfils) at the end of the 10th and the beginning of the 11th century CE concerning the attempt of the community of Troyes to ignore, with respect to a certain Leah, the community’s traditional exemption of vineyards from taxation. Fortunately for this Leah, the learned R. Joseph agreed with her that the traditional exemption should be upheld. See Chazan, 15-16. Irving Agus, Urban Civilization in Pre-Crusade (2 vols.; New York Yeshiva University Press, 1965), 438-446 anticipates Soloveitchik’s attempt to play down the importance of vineyards in the economic life of the Jews of Troyes in the time of Rashi, and he goes so far as to argue from silence that Leah was at that time the only owner of a substantial vineyard. In any case, both the litigation in question and the reference to vineyards along with household goods and houses in the so-called “ordinance of Rashi” should put to rest the contention that the soil of greater Troyes was inhospitable to viticulture. See also the numerous references to wine production in Rashi’s commentaries on the Babylonian Talmud where Rashi frequently contrasts the realia referred to in the Talmud with the corresponding realia in 11th-12th century CE Troyes; these sources are listed and analyzed in Catane, La Vie en France aus lle siecle d’apres les ecrits de Rachi, 130-133; see also the references in Rashi’s responses to Jews’ hiring Christians to carry wine casks; see Elfenbein, Responsa Rashi, #160; #260; see Taitz, 84.

[21] Soloveitchik, 172, n. 54.

[22] In addition to Baron and the other authorities cited in n. 2 above, see passim in Taitz; and see also Herman Hailperin, Rashi and the Christian Scholars (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1963), 268, nn. 10-11; Grossman, The Early Sages of France, 121, n. 1; 130, n. 31; and see also Mordechai Breuer, “Toward the Investigation of the Typology of Western yeshivot in the Middle Ages,” in Studies in the History of Jewish Society in the Middle Ages and in the Modern Period: Presented to Professor Jacob Katz on his Seventy-Fifth Birthday, ed. E. Etkes and Y. Salmon (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1980), 49, n. 26 (in Hebrew).

[23] See above; additional responsa are discussed in Grossman, The Early Sages of France, 127-159; see also Soloveitchik, 153-196.

[24] Elfenbein, Responsa Rashi, 93 #73.

[25] Ibid., 245-246 # 115.

[26] Gruber, Rashi’s Commentary on Psalms, 20-22; see Norman Golb, The Jews in Medieval Normandy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 154-196.

[27] For the sources of this explanation of the acronym Rashi see Gruber, Rashi’s Commentary on Psalms, 1, n. 1.

Most books, and Hebrew books are no exception, contain introductions. The introduction may lay out the author’s vision for the book, or describe the motivation for publication. Additionally, it is not uncommon to find material which has little to nothing to do with the work which follows. One example, is the introduction to the third edition of the work Or Enayim.[1] This work by R. Shlomo b. Abraham Peniel discusses “the fine attributes of the Jews and the good that is awaiting for them in the world to come.” It is divided into three parts, the first part discusses the heavens and their effects on the Jews, the second part discusses the Creation story, and the final part discusses the Avot.

In 1806, this work was republished with an introduction from the editor of this edition. The editor was R. [Yisrael] Aryeh Leib ben Saul, the Chief Rabbi of Stettin.[2] The editor was the son of R. Saul Berlin, the latter who is perhaps most well-know for editing/authoring the Teshuvot Besamim Rosh. (For earlier discussions of the Besamim Rosh at the Seforim blog, see here.) The introduction contains some unusual items. It mentions Thomas Paine, Aristotle and other Greek philosophers, as well as the French Revolution and the bloody aftermath.[3] He specifically vocalises the name Abarbanel with that reading.[4] As is common in introductions, R. Aryeh Leib includes a brief history of his upbringing and eduction. He notes that he studied with both his grandfathers, R. Tzvi Hirsh Levin the Chief Rabbi of Berlin, as well as his maternal grandfather. Additionally, R. Aryeh Leib studied with R. Pinchas Horowitz, the author of the Haflah.

While all the above is interesting in its own right, the more interesting and important portion of the introduction discusses R. Areyeh Leib’s father, R. Saul. R. Aryeh Leib notes that his father left numerous works in manuscript and specifically lists them. R. Saul himself also discusses his unpublished works in his last will and testament – although only to issue a warning that “all of [his] writings, however… shall be forbidden to anybody to take even one leaf and to read it. Everything shall be left in paper, be sealed up and sent to my above-named father or to my children…” R. Saul doesn’t provide any other information about these “writings.” R. Aryeh Leib, however, discusses them in detail. First, he explains his father left notes and thought on the entire Sha’s titled Perek Hasheg Yad. The other titles, also on GeFeS, include Deh Lachmo, Resisi Lilah, as well as Ateres Zekanim on various aggadot. Finally, R. Saul left “his piskei dinim.”

R. Aryeh Leib continues that his father left extensive notes on a work, Or Zarua of R. Isaac of Vienna. At this time the Or Zarua had not been published, instead, the Or Zarua although well-known, wasn’t actually first published until 1862 and then only a portion of it. R. Aryeh Leib wanted to publish this work, it seems with his father’s notes.[5] As R. Aryeh Leib was well aware of the controversy his father prior works had caused, he took a proactive stance and sent the manuscript to two persons, R. Chanina Lipman Meisels of Peiterkov and R. Tzvi hirsch David HaLevi of Krakow. R. Aryeh Leib was fearful of “the kat ha’tzvoim who are unfortunately very common in this generation, they always treat as suspect the holy works as perhaps they will find something objectionable in these works, and [when they locate something they claim is objectionable] they stir up the populace with this.”

R. Aryeh Leib never was able to publish the Or Zarua, however, his discussion enabled one scholar[6] to cast serious doubts on the traditional story associated with the discovery and printing of the Or Zarua. Specifically, in the introduction to the Or Zarua, there is a description of the travels of the manuscript, and the relevant part states “[i]n earlier days this beautiful book used to be the proud possession of the author of the work Besamim Rosh, R. Saul, son of Tzvi Hirsch, Chief Rabbi of Berlin, as it is written on the cover of the [manuscript]…. After [R. Saul’s] death the book was sent to another city … by ship over the sea, and the ship and everything that was in it was wrecked, and the manuscript that was inside went under the sea and the waves went over it … God … protected this book and prevented it from going down to the depths and saved it from destruction. He sent a stream through the mighty waters a brought the book to the border … and led a fisherman to the place. He saw the book, lifted it from the sea and brought it to a certain Jew.” From there it was transfered to another and was then published. While this story makes for good reading, based upon the introduction in the Or Enayim it seems that it is not true. Contrary to the story, R. Saul did not send the manuscript only to have the ship wreck – instead, as R. Aryeh Leib says, he received the book from his grandfather, R. Yitzhak Yosef Toemim who R. Saul had given it to. It was not then lost in the sea, rather, as we have seen, in 1806 R. Areyeh Leib had it and was hoping to publish it.

What is true from the above story, and is confirmed in part by R. Aryeh Leib, is that the manuscript which the Or Zarua was published from, contains the notes of R. Saul. These notes have never been published although the manuscript is still extant in the Bibliotheca Rosenthalina in Amsterdam and is available at the JNUL (Mss. R. R. Film No. F 10455).

Notes:
[1] On the title page of this edition it states that it is the second edition of this work. This is incorrect. The Or Enayim was first published in Istanbul in approximately 1520. It was then published for a second time in Cremona in 1557. In 1806, we reach the edition discussed above. Thereafter, in 1967, a photomechanical reproduction of the Cremona edition was published together with R. Emmanuel Benevento’s Leviat Chen. [It is worth noting that although the Leviat Chen is also a photomechanical reproduction of the earlier, and only, 1557 Mantua edition, for some reason there are two pages missing at the end. Specifically, these two pages are a dirge bemoaning the 1554 burning of the Talmud in Ancona.]

[2] On the title page his name appears as Aryeh Leib – as the two approbations address him, while he signs the introduction with the additional Yisrael Aryeh Leib. R. Aryeh Leib had a rather colorful life, including converting to Christianity later in life. According to some, however, he repented and returned to Judaism. For more on Aryeh Leib, see Landshuth, Toldot Anshe ha-shem u’Polosum (Berlin, 1884) pp. 109-110. Landshuth cites E. Rosenthal, Yode’a Sefer p. 16 no. 93 as the source for the story that Aryeh Leib converted and that at the end of his life returned to Judaism. R. Saul also had a daughter, Hena, who married R. Abraham Hertz and they had a son, Saul.

[3] These persons and events are included to highlight the distinction, according to R. Aryeh Leib, between Jews and non-Jews. He claims that although one may find wisdom in non-Jewish as well as Jewish sources, in order to fully appreciate wisdom one can only do so through the study of the Torah and fulfilling its commandments. Thus, Duschinsky’s conjecture that R. Areyeh Leib mention was “to impress the reader with his profound knowledge in all subjects,” has little basis. See Charles Duschinsky, “The Rabbinate of the Great Synagogue, London, from 1756-1842,” Jewish Quarterly Review (n.s.) 9:3/4 (January – April, 1919): 383.

[4] See S. Z. Leiman, “Abarbanel and the Censor,” Journal of Jewish Studies (1968): 49, n. 1.

[5] Although Schrijver, see next note p. 78 n. 63, alleges there is “no clear textual evidence to support [the] assumption that Aryeh Leib wanted to include his father’s notes in a printed edition.” It seems from the fact R. Aryeh Leib went so far out of his way to defend the work against possible detractors I don’t think it far fetched to understand that the detractors would question the work of his father.
The above noted works are not the only works of R. Saul, R. Saul himself mentions other works he authored, none of which were published, in his notes Kasa D’harsena. For a complete list see Landshuth, supra n. 2, pp. 105-106.

[6] Emile G.L. Schrijver, “Some Light on the Amsterdam and London Manuscripts of Isaac ben Moshs of Vienna’s Or Zarua’,” Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester, 75:3 (Autumn 1993): 53-82, esp. 73-82 where he includes an appendix on “The Story of the Shipwreck of the Rosenthaliana Or Zarua’ and its Demystification.”