Ari Kinsberg is one of the great young scholars of American Jewish History (under 40), as he has spent several years researching and editing the two-volume magisterial Hebrew Printing in America 1735-1926: A History and Annotated Bibliography (see Seforim blog reviews here and here).

In honor of Purim 5767 [2007], Ari has recently written about Judah Wistinetzky (1844-1908) and the latter’s Ayelet ha-Shahar, given as mishloach manot gift to his friends. For those of us who have not yet seen a copy of Ayelet ha-Shahar, Kinsberg provides a description of the small volume and also provides some biographical background to Judah Wistinetzky, highlighting the latter’s American connections. (For example: Did you know that he had arrived in America several years prior to publishing Sefer Hasidim in 1892?!?)

See here for Ari Kinsberg’s “A Litvish Maskil and His Literary Mishlo’ah Manot,” where he also provides a brief biography of Wistinetzky, based on Hebrew Printing in America (vol. 1, p. 376).

The Origins of Hamentashen in Jewish Literature:
A Historical-Culinary Survey
By Eliezer Brodt

I. Introduction

As Jews, most of our holidays have special foods specific to them; and behind each culinary custom, lays enveiled the reasoning behind them. Shavuot brings with it a vast array of customary dairy delicacies – in some parts of the world, cheesecake is practically obligatory – not to mention different customs in regard to how and when to eat them. Rosh Hashanah in renowned for the different fruits and vegetables eaten as physical embodiments symbolizing our tefillot; Chanukah has fried foods (no trans-fats please); whether latkes sizzling in the frying pan, or the elusive Israeli sufganiyot (jelly doughnuts) seen for a month before but not to be found a minute after Chanukah’s departure, and on the fifteenth of Shevat a veritable plethora of fruits are sampled in an almost ‘Pesach Seder’-like ceremony. Of course, on Purim we eat hamentashen.

Hamentashen. Those calorie-inflated, Atkins-defying, doughy tri-cornered confections filled with almost anything bake-able. The Mishpacha reports that this year in Israel alone, an astounding 24.5 million hamentashen will be sold, weighing 1225 tons, and yielding an approximate 33 million NIS in sales.[1] The question that many will be asking themselves is “where did this minhag to eat hamentashen come from?”

Recently I started researching this topic; thus far (and I hope to find more) my results are as follows.

The earliest source I have located so far is in a liturgical parody from the seventeenth century, where it includes a reference to eating hamentashen.[2] In an 1846 cook book called The Jewish Manual by Lady Judith Cohen Montefiore we find a recipe for “Haman fritters.”[3]

R. Barukh ha-Levi Epstein, in his Mekor Barukh, relates the following interesting anecdote which highlights the importance his grandfather placed on eating hamentashen:

One year in the beginning of the month of Adar he [my grandfather] noticed that the bakeries were not selling hamentashen. When he inquired as to why this was so, he discovered that there was a shortage of flour. He promptly went ahead and gave the biggest bakers in the city a large sum of money to enable them to buy flour to bake hamantsashen.[4]

In a Nineteenth Century Lithuanian memoir again the import of hamentashen is apparent. The author recalls that “my sister spent the day preparing the baked delicacies of Purim. Most important were the hamentashen.”[5] A. S. Sachs in his memories on shtetl life notes that his “grandma would add a Haman-tash for the kiddies” in the meshloach manot.[6] Professor Simha Assaf, in an article describing Purim, also writes that people made special foods called hamentashen.[7] Shmarya Levin recollects in his autobiography with great detail the hamentashen:

The much-loved little cakes, stuffed with nuts and poppy seed, which are called ‘Haman’s ears’ – sometimes ‘Haman’s pockets’ – had been prepared for us in vast numbers. Their shape alone was a joy. They were neither round, like rolls, nor long, like the loaf; with their triangular shape they were like nothing else that we ate during the year. The stuffing was made of poppy-seeds fried in honey, but there was not enough of it, so we used to eat the cake cagily, in such wise that with every mouthful we got at least a nibble of honeyed poppy seed.[8]

We also find hamentashen being eaten in Amsterdam[9] and Jews from Bucharia, as well, make אזני המן, similar to hamentashen. [10] לאה אזני המן מנין is a comedy listed in Avraham Yari’s bibliographical listing of comedies.[11]

As we can see, the custom of eating hamentashen is widespread and common from at least the 17th century. In fact, R. Shmuel Ashkenazi pointed to some sources which may demonstrate that hamentashen were eaten even earlier. Ben Yehuda in his dictionary claims that as early as the time of the Abarbanel (1437-1508), hamentashen were consumed. The Abarbanel, discussing the food which fell from heaven, the Mon, describes these cakes as:[12]

This sounds like our hamentashen although there is no reference to eating them on Purim. But R Ashkenazi pointed out to me that if this is the source, you might then be able to suggest that hamentashen was already eaten much earlier, as this piece of the Abarbanel is word for word taken from R Yosef ibn Kaspi who lived several hundred years earlier (Kaspi was born in 1298 and died in 1340)! Ben-Yehudah, in his dictionary also cites to a manuscript excerpt of a Purim comedy penned by R Yehudah Aryeh de Modena, where he writes יום שבו שלחן ערוך ומזומן בני ישראל הכו את המן יום שבו עשרת בניו תלו ואת תנוך אזניו אכלו and in the comments to this manuscript, it connects these foods to hamentashen.[13]

Irrespective when the custom of eating hamentashen began, the question we need to now explore is why hamentashen, what connection do hamentashen have with Purim? Hayyim Schauss explains that in actuality the origins of the hamentashen are not Jewish, rather, we originally appropriated them from another culture. He explains that:

“the hamentashen are also of German origin. Originally they were called mohn-tashen, mohn meaning poppy seed and tashen meaning pockets and also signified dough that is filled with other food stuffs. The people therefore related the cake to the book of Esther and changed the mahn to Haman [due to its similarity]. In time the interpretation arose that the three cornered cakes are eaten because Haman wore a three cornered hat when he became prime minister to Ahasuerus. The three corners were also interpreted as a symbolic sign of the three patriarchs whose merit aided the Jews against Haman.”[14]

Another reason offered for eating hamentashen also deals with the meaning (more correctly a pun) of the word – hamentashen, because Haman wanted to kill us out and Hashem weakened him, preventing him from doing evil to us. Thus, the treat is called המן תש (Hamen became weakened). Eating these pastries is representative of our faith that the same result will befall all our antagonists.[15]

The next reason offered by Menucha u-Kedusha has to do with the pastry itself, more specifically, how the filling is hidden. Until the events which occurred on Purim, the Jews were accustomed to open miracles like those in their battle with Sisra, whereas the Purim miracle appeared to be through natural events – only Mordechai knew that this was a miracle. To remember this, we eat pastries that the main part – the filling – is hidden in the dough, similar to the miracle which was hidden in nature. The filling chosen was specifically zeronim (seeds – poppy seed – mahn) to remind us of Daniel having eaten only seeds (and not non-kosher food) while in captivity at Nevuchadnezar’s court. Furthermore, according to this source the triangular shape also has meaning. The Talmud (Megillah 19b) records a three way argument from where to start reading the megillah. As the halakhah is to follow all three opinions and start from the beginning, we cut the pastries in triangular shape to symbolize our accordance to all three opinions. Another reason mentioned in Menucha u-Kedusha for the filling is based on the writings of R. Moshe Alsheikh, who states the Jews did not really think they were going to get completely wiped out until Mordechai finally convinced them so. The possibility arises that Mordechai was afraid to keep on sending out letters, so pastries were baked and the letters hidden therein. These pastry-letters saved the Jews; in turn we eat filled pastries. This reason is a bit interesting for itself, but what is even more interesting is that he never calls the pastries hamentashen.[16] A possibility might be kreplach, meat filled pockets boiled in soup, but the theory is unlikely as kreplach are not something special eaten exclusively for Purim – we eat it other times such as Erev Yom Kippur and Hoshana Rabah.

R. Yaakov Kamenetsky offers yet another reason for eating hamentashen on Purim. As we eat the hamentashen and eating is a form of destroying the item being eaten. Therefore, in eating hamentashen, we are fulfilling the commandment (figuratively) of destroying Amalek we are eating Hamen.[17]

Yom Tov Lewinsky and Professor Dov New both suggest that the reason for eating the hamentashen is because the custom in the Middle Ages was to cut off the ears of someone who was supposed to be hung,[18] to remember that we eat pastries from which a part had been cut off. Another point mentioned both by these authors is an opinion that the filling in the pastries [this is specific to poppy seeds] is in remembrance to the 10,000 silver coins that Haman offered to contribute to Achashverosh’s coffers.[19]

Aside from the general merrymaking on Purim, there is also a long tradition of written fun. Specifically, since the famous Massekhet Purim of R. Kalonymus ben Kalonymus (1286-1328), there have been many versions of these type of comedies written throughout the ages. One such was R. Avraham Mor, Kol Bo LePurim (Lemberg, 1855), which is a complete sefer all about Purim written to be humorous. Included therein is a question regarding changing the way hamentashen should be made from a triangle to make them square shape! He answered that it would be terrible to make hamentashen square. If the hamentashen are square they would have four corners which in turn would obligate the attachment of tzitzet like any clothes of four corners.[20]

One last interesting point in regard to hamentashen can be found within Prof. Elliott Horowitz’s recent book-length discussion related to Purim[21] where he notes that as recent as 2002, a Saudi ‘scholar’ Umayna Ahamad al Jalahma claimed that Muslim blood can be used for the three cornered hamentashen.[22] Horowitz also notes that in middle of the Damascus affair in 1840, a work from 1803 was discovered which claimed that Christian blood was used in the ingredients for Purim pastries.[23] Again in 1846, Horowitz writes that “on the holiday of Purim it was claimed the Jews would annually perform a homicide in hateful memory of Haman, and if they managed to kill a Christian the Rabbi would bake the latter’s blood in triangular pastries which he would send as mishloach manot to his Christian friend.”[24] In 1938 the Jews were once again accused of murdering an adult Christian and drying his blood to be mixed into the triangular cakes eaten on Purim.[25]

Thanks to Rabbis Y. Tessler, A. Loketch and Yosaif M. Dubovick, and the two anonymous readers, for their help in locating some of the sources.

Sources:
[1] Mishpacha (27 Shevat 5767), 30.
[2] שתו אכלו אזני המן – Israel Davidson, Parody in Jewish Literature (New York, 1907), pg. 193; Davidson also suggests eating twenty-seven dishes on Purim (see p. 22).
[3] Lady Judith Cohen Montefiore, The Jewish Manual (London, 1846)
[4] R. Barukh ha-Levi Epstein, Mekor Barukh (vol 1, pg. 974)
[5] Pauline Wengeroff, Rememberings: The World of a Russian-Jewish Woman in the Nineteenth Century, ed. Bernard Dov Cooperman, trans. Henny Wenkart (University Press of Maryland, 2000), pg. 29.
[6] A. S. Sachs, Worlds That Passed (Jewish Publication Society of America, 1928), pg 229.
[7] Simha Assaf, Sefer Hamoadim, p. 29.
[8] Forward from Exile: The Autobiography of Shmarya Levin, ed. and trans. Maurice Samuel (Jewish Publication Society of America, 1967)
[9] Minhagei Amsterdam pg 149 # 12
[10] Yalkut ha-Minhagim, pg. 210
[11] Hamachazeh Ha-Ivri, p. 76 n.654.
[12] This source is also quoted in the Otzar ha-Lashon ha-Ivrit, however the editors simply describe it as a phrase from the Middle Ages (vol 1 pg 59).
[13] Parashat Beshalach, end of chap. 16; Though I was unable to pin-point the comedy, it might be the one called La Reina Esther; see Mark R. Cohen, The Autobiography of a Seventeenth-Century Venetian Rabbi: Leon Modena’s Life of Judah (Princeton University Press, 1988), p. 235.
[14] Hayyim Schauss, The Jewish Festivals (Random House, 1938; Hebrew, 1933), pg. 270. The source for the first reason can be found in Judah David Eisenstein, Otzar Dinim u-Minhagim (New York, 1917), p. 336, and for the last reason in Yitzhak Lifshitz, Sefer Ma’atamim (Warsaw, 1889), p. 86.
[15] Avraham Eliezer Hershkowitz, Otzar Kol Minhaghei Yeshrun (St. Louis, 1918), p. 131.
[16] R. Yisrael Isserl of Ponevezh writes in his Sefer Menucha u-Kedusha (Vilna, 1864), pg 271-272.
[17] Yaakov Michoel Jacobs, Bemechitzas Rabbeinu: Hagaon Rav Yaakov Kamenetzky, zt”l (Feldheim, 2005), p. 142.
[18] Yom Tov Lewinsky, Sefer Hamoadim (153-154); Dov New, Machanaim # 43; See also the forthcoming post at the Seforim blog about Hanging Haman.
[19] Ibid.
[20] R. Avraham Mor, Kol Bo LePurim (Lemberg, 1855), pg. 6.
[21] Elliott Horowitz, Reckless Rites: Purim and the Legacy of Jewish Violence (Princeton University Press, 2006)
[22] Ibid, pg. 9.
[23] Ibid, pg. 218.
[24] Ibid, pg. 219.
[25] Ibid, pg. 228.

As I mentioned before, Elliott Horowitz wrote an excellent book on Purim and its connection with violence. But, as some are wont to do, instead of reading a book objectively they come into a book with all sorts of preconceived notions. This was typified by Hillel Halkin’s review of Horowitz’s book. In the June 2006 issue of Commentary Magazine, Halkin reviewed Horowitz’s book. I did not bother to mention this, solely because it was painfully obvious Halkin did not read the first half of the book, or chose to ignore it (as Horowitz points out in his response), and that Halkin was only interested in finding fault. Halkin takes issue with the very notion that Jews could be violent and thus can not believe (or address) most of Horwitz’s points. In fact, much of Horowitz’s thesis had already been published years ago in his articles on the topics. (Perhaps Halkin doesn’t read academic journals? Although he feels it fine to review an academic work).

Well in the October 2006 issue of Commentary Magazine, Elliott Horowitz responses as does Halkin. Halkin’s response, however, is so juvenile and void of content, he does more to undermine his position than anything Horowitz could have done. Halkin to buttress his position resorts to name calling and a general ad hominem attack. So, for example, Halkin starts by noting

As I stated in my review, Elliot Horowitz wrote an interesting but not entirely honest book. How he has written an uninteresting and thoroughly dishonest letter.

Setting aside Halkin’s vitriolics, Horowitz, as he is wont to do, uses the terrific image of the Godfather movies to prove his point. He notes that there is a distinction between the Godfather and Bonnie and Clyde, one which just has violence and the other which explores it. Horowitz, thus illuminates his purpose of exploring the sources and theological underpinnings of his thesis. [Now, there are not that many Jewish academics who cite to movies (or as he does in another of his articles compares the imagery in a haggadah to Bugs Bunny) so this somewhat is refreshing.] Halkin, of course, fails to note this (apparently he is not one for subtleties) and instead turns the movie quote into a childish retort of

If Horowitz wanted to write a Jewish version of The Godfather . . . he should have done a movie script.

Additionally, Halkin fails to address most of Horowitz’s most salient points. So, Halkin still ignores the entire first half of Howowitz’s book and fails to explain the rampent use of the term Amalek to this day. It is disappointing that Commentary publishes such drivel, but does demonstrate that one should not judge a book by its cover nor a review (or reviewer) by its inclusion in Commentary.

You can read the full exchange here for yourself until the end of October 2006.

While it is a bit out of season, I wanted to review Elliott Horowitz’s new book Reckless Rites. In this book, subtitled “Purim and the Legacy of Jewish Violence,” everything is viewed through the prism of the violence inflicted by the Jews upon their enemies at the end of Esther.

While arguably, the violence at the end is only a minor part of the story for some that aspect has clouded everything about the Book of Esther and Purim. First Horowitz looks at how the Book was viewed by non-Jews. Some had a very negative view due to the Jewish revenge. They considered that motif, un-biblical (read non-Christian). Horowitz goes through each of the characters and how first non-Jews interpreted their actions. For instance, Mordechi was treated rather harshly by many of these commentators as was Esther due to her passivity. What is especially fascinating is how these non-Jewish understandings, at times, crept into Jewish thought as well. Thus, Horowitz documents Jews parroting these rather un-Jewish, at it were, interpretations.

Horowitz then tackles the overarching theme of Amalek and how this has been understood throughout history. Some hold there is no obligation of destroying Amalek today while others are willing to label any perceived enemy of Jews as deserving of the harsh consequences of Amalek. Some of these examples are rather disturbing.

After dealing with the Book of Esther specifically, Horowitz turns his focus to Jewish practice on Purim. Specifically, he deals with Jewish violence or violent acts on Purim directed at non-Jews. He provides a discussion of the stereotype of the “mild” (read the wimp) Jew including its origins and whether it is borne out by history. He then discusses numerous, diverse examples spanning from the 5th century until today of Jewish violence. Some is not physical violence, instead it is host desecration or general enmity of non-Jewish symbols while other, most recently Barukh Goldstein is physical violence in its worst form.

In an effort to play down some of these incidents, we have Jewish historians who decided to avoid discussion of such matters, or at times downplay their significance. However, in light of the many examples here, it is very difficult to ignore such examples. Horowitz is very convincing in the scope of this idea and how prevalent this is. It is especially telling when tracing and seeing how systematically Jews have decided to sweep under the rug these examples, it demonstrates that censorship is not limited to any one group and even amongst supposedly dispassionate scholars, they too can fall prey to their own biases.

The detail and research is amazing , Horowitz leaves no stone unturned. All in all, this book sheds new light of the story of Purim, the Book of Esther and Jewish history. It provides a new way of viewing the story of Esther and Jewish ideas towards violence.

Although the Megilah only lists mishloch monot, matnot l’evyonim, and reading the Megilah as the customs on Purim, many others have become accepted. Most are of the ilk of boofunery or merrymaking. From making noise to drinking in excess, all have become part of the Purim landscape. With these, however, there are some lesser known customs. What is perhaps of interest is that it seems that there are those authorities that permit much if not all of these types of customs, there are others who seem set on shutting down much of the Purim fun.

For instance, the Rabbi Judah of Minz permits cross-dressing on Purim. This is so, even though this runs counter to a law in the Torah prohibiting these actions. What is lesser know, is that R. Minz also permits mixed dancing on Purim as well. In the Taknot of Padua it says “we decree that no one is permitted to dance with a married woman, no man with any married woman, with the exception of Purim.” (emphasis added).

Rabbi Yehuda Herzl Henkin in his Beni Banim vol. 1 no. 37 (5), links the two statements of R. Minz. R. Henkin says, just as R. Minz permitted cross-dressing as it was done for the joy of Purim, he permitted the mixed dancing under the same rational. That is, the dancing was just an outgrowth of the joy and not for licetnioius purposes.

Or, in the Customs of Worms, they not only celebrated Purim on the day, on the Shabbat after Purim they celebrated with similar merrymaking. Including, after the Friday night prayers all the people would first go to the Rabbi for a blessing, and then proceed to the women’s section where the Rabbi’s wife “would place her hands on their heads and bless them.” Additionally, R. Hayim Yosef Azulai in his travelogue, Ma’agel Tov, records that the Jews in Amsterdam would party all night long on the Friday night after Purim.

Although R. Minz was a proponent of happiness and its outgrowth on Purim, there were others that did not view Purim in the same vein. Rather, they seem bent on outlawing as much as possible even on Purim.

For instance, R. Samuel Aboab takes issue with at least two such Purim customs. First, he says in his Sefer Zikhronot, an ethical work and published anonymously, that he was befuddled his entire life how R. Minz and in turn R. Moshe Isserles in his Rama could allow for cross dressing on Purim. He spends at least four pages to demonstrating why this is incorrect. He states even if R. Minz is correct he should have kept that to himself. This is not his only negative opinion regarding Purim. In his responsa, Devar Shmuel, he says it is absolutely prohibited to read or even own the parody Mesachat Purim. He says any such copies should be destroyed.

Another person who looked with askance on the merry making was R. David ben Shmuel haLevi (Taz). He first follows the ruling of his father-in-law, R. Joel Sirkas (Bach), that cross-dressing is prohibited. R. Levi then also states in the law of Tisha B’av, that the prohibition of filling ones mouth with joy, is applicable even at at wedding and even on Purim.

So it seems that just as in society at large there are those who dislike the merrymaking on Purim, this is reflected in the Halakhic authorities as well. And conversely, there are those that viewed the merrymaking as a positive thing and therefore permitted many other things in connection with that merrymaking.