From Kitzingen to London, From Berlin to Boston
Charting the Pathways of an Intriguing Siddur Translation

Yaakov Jaffe

The vast library of Koren English-language Siddurim generally follow the same translation of the prayers, authored by the late Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, including “The Koren Siddur” (Sacks, 2009),” The Koren Soloveitchik Siddur (2011), “The Magerman Edition” (Goldmintz, 2014), “Zimrat Ha-Aretz Birkon” (2015), ”Birkon Mesorat Harav” (Hellman, 2016), “Rav Kook Siddur” (2017), and others.  Of note is their translation of Psalm 37:25, the penultimate verse of the Grace After Meals: “Once I was young, and now I am old, yet I have never watched a righteous man forsaken or his children begging for bread.”  This translation followed an interesting path from its original formulation to the siddur, and simultaneously addresses Hebrew lexicography, theology, and poetics.  This essay will investigate the impact and origins of this translation, within the context of the original verse, Psalm 37.  

Psalm 37 and the Pursuit of Wisdom 

The 37th Psalm is one of the 8-9 acrostic Psalms (9-10, 25, 34, 37, 119, 111, 112, 119, 145); in this Psalm every letter of the Hebrew alphabet begins one long verse or two average-size verses.  The acrostic Psalms have much in common besides just their format or structure as they share common themes and also common phrases.[1] Many of the acrostic Psalms contain basic principles of Jewish thought, a basic, foundational outlook on Judaism, without some of the deeper theological musings of some of the other, non-acrostic Psalms.[2] They provide basic guidance and encouragement on how to live one’s life, without considering deeply or in any detail the outcomes of living the religious life. 

For that reason, it is common to find broad, overarching promises of good for the righteous in these chapters.  Not intended philosophically but intended educationally, they paint in broad strokes that good things befall the righteous.  Guarding one’s tongue yields life (34:12-15), Hashem saves the righteous and none of their bones are broken (34:18-23, 37:39-40, 145:19-20), the righteous person is wealthy (112:3), the righteous will inherit land (“Yirshu Aretz” 37:9, 11, 22, 29, 34), will merit peace (37:37), will be full at a time of famine (37:19), will lack nothing (34:10-11, which also appears at the end of the Grace After Meals).

Thus, the key verse in question, 37:25, “Once I was young, and now I am old, yet I have never seen/watched a righteous person forsaken or his children seeking for bread” is consistent with the wider tone of this Psalm and this type of Psalm; it speaks in simple absolutes about the benefits of religious experience without attending to the details of theodicy and the real world, practical experiences of the righteous individual.  The words “le-olam,” and “La-ad,” “forever” appear four times in the chapter (37:18, 27, 28, 29).  The chapter paints a picture for the righteous to strive for; it doesn’t describe factual realities experienced by the author and Psalmist.

Talmudic Solutions to the Problem of Psalm 37

The student of literature and poetry would, thus, not be bothered by 37:25 and its implication that no righteous person ever went hungry. The genre and tone of the Psalm indicate that the verse isn’t meant to be understood as literally describing the goings-on of the world.  It is aspirational and hortatory more than it is descriptive.

Still, the simple reading of the verse is troubling to many, especially when read out of its originally literary context. The simple translation appears to state that the Psalmist has never seen righteous never go hungry, something we know to not actually be the case. Numerous answers have been given and can be given to this question; one appears to be given in the Talmud even.  Before turning to Rabbi Sacks’s approach to the verse, we survey these earlier approaches.

Psalm 37:25 finds many parallels with 37:32-33, and it is helpful to look at these two verses side by side, with shared words in bold:

Once I was young, and now I am old, yet I have never seen/watched a righteous person forsaken or his children seeking bread.

The wicked watches for the righteous person and seeks to kill him. Hashem does not forsake him into his hands and will not cause him to be incriminated in his judgment.

The two verses share three words in common, and also convey the same idea in unequivocal terms – the righteous faces nothing bad, and is always protected by G-d.  Though the Talmud never discusses any theological problems with 37:25, it has a lengthy discussion of the parallel problem in 37:32-33, and the same Talmudic solution for the latter verse can also solve the problem with the former.

The Talmud reads (Brachot 7b): 

Rav Hunah said, what is the meaning of the verse [in Habakuk’s theodicy] ‘Why do You look at treacherous ones, are you silent when a wicked person swallows someone more righteous than him’?  Does a wicked person swallow a righteous person?  But does it not say: ‘Hashem does not forsake him into his hands’…?”  Rather, he swallows someone ‘more righteous than him,’ but he does not swallow someone who is fully righteous (Tzadik Gamur).

The Talmud provides a solution to understanding why the blessings to the righteous person of Psalm 37 are not entirely fulfilled today. The Psalm refers to someone fully righteous, with no sins or faults, a rare individual; perhaps everyone to reach this lofty status does, indeed, never lack from bed.  The Talmud uses the same phrase “fully righteous” (Tzadik Gamur) on the previous page to solve the general problem of theodicy; when there is a righteous person who faces difficult times, our interpretation is that this righteous person is not “fully righteous.”[3] This argument can apply to the entire chapter, and surely also to 37:25, the verse which shares so much which 37:32-33.  The word “Tzadik,” righteous, appears nine times in the chapter (37:12, 16, 17, 21, 25, 29, 30, 32, 39), and once the Talmud limits one of the nine to someone fully righteous, it would follow that all nine occurrences, and thus the entire chapter, only speaks of the rare, special, fully righteous Tzadik Gamur.  The word Rasha, which Brachot 7a says can similarly be limited to someone totally wicked also appears frequently in the Psalm (13 times -37:10, 12, 14, 16, 17, 20, 21, 28, 32, 34, 35, 38, 40).[4]

I have never “seen a truly righteous person forsaken,” because this unique, singular, generational figure is never forsaken by G-d, never goes starving and never lacks anything.

Other Solutions to 37:25

The literary solution to 37:25 and the Talmudic solution to 37:25 should suffice to explain the verse fully, and no additional solutions to the problem are necessary.  Still, traditional commentaries have offered many more solutions to the problem, listed below:

• Ibn Ezra and Radak explain that the righteous are never totally forsaken, lacking bread and clothing (based on Bereishit 28:15), even if they sometimes face poverty, lack, or destitution.

• Malbim explains that the speaker has never seen the righteous and his children forsaken, for any setback is temporary, and success always follows for the righteous in the next generation.  This view was also offered by Kli Yakar to Devarim 15:10.[5]
• Rabbi Sampson Raphael Hirsch explains that the righteous are never forsaken by G-d, such that even if they are impoverished, G-d sends agents, sometimes other charitable human beings, to provide for the needs of the righteous. They are not forsaken, because other people performing the Mitzvah of Tzedakah take care of them.

• Maharam Shik to Yevamot (16b) says that the verse means to say that the righteous never feel forsaken.  Even when facing difficulty, even when starving for bread, the righteous always feel Hashem is with them, and are never emotionally, spiritually alone.[6]

• Others take the descriptions of physical want as being mere metaphors of spiritual want.  Perhaps the righteous go starving, but they never lack from the real, true spiritual “bread.”[7]
• Still others offer different translations for “seen”:  I never “mocked” (Riva Bereishit 28:15), or never “understood” (Pnei Shlomoh Brachot 7a)

The Preferred Translation of Rabbi Jonathan Sacks

With many possible interpretations and solutions for the line, each reader can choose the interpretation and translation that resonates best for them, and Rabbi Jonathan Sacks already expressed his preferred translation in 2005, before the publishing of his siddur translation.  In To Heal a fractured World: The Ethics of Responsibility (New York: Schocken Books, 2005), Rabbi Sacks wrote (57):

I cherished an interpretation Mo Feuerstein offered (he had heard it, I think, from Rabbi Joseph Soleveitchik) of one of the most difficult lines in the Bible: ‘I was young and now am old, yet I have never seen the righteous forsaken or their children begging for bread’… The verb ‘seen’ [ra’iti] in this verse, said Feuerstein, is to be understood in the same sense as in the book of Esther: ‘How can I bear to see [ra’iti] disaster fall on my people?’ (Esth. 8:6). ‘To see’ here means ‘to stand still and watch’. The verse should thus be translated, ‘I was young and now am old, but I never merely stood still and watched while the righteous was forsaken or his children begged for bread.’ (pp. 57-58, italics in the original)

This solution is different from all the other ones, because it turns the narrator of the chapter from a passive reporter of events to an active participant in the conversation of moral action and righteousness.  Instead of passively narrating that the righteous never lack food, he makes an active statement about his own righteous action, saying that as a good person, he would never allow the righteous to go hungry.  This answer provides a wonderful interpretation for the verse, albeit one that does not exactly conform with the role of the narrator over the course of the chapter.  Out of context, however, the translation works and create a resounding charge for how we should ask.

There is no reason to doubt that Rabbi Sacks preferred this explanation, or that he heard it from Mo Feurstein, a leader of the Jewish community in Brookline, Mass. when Rabbi Sacks visited in the late 1970s.[8] There is also no reason to doubt that Mr. Feurstein had heard this explanation from one of the leading rabbis of the Brookline community at the time.  However, there is some reason to question whether this view was indeed the translation preferred by Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, the Rav z”l.

Beiurei Ha-Tefillah and the Rabbis of Maimonides School

There are three reasons to doubt whether the Sacks translation should be associated with the Rav z”l.  First, it seeks to solve a theological or Biblical-exegetical problem using Biblical lexicography – which was not the conventional way Rabbi Soloveitchik generally addressed Biblical or theological problems in his other writings.[9]  Second, when considering Turkel’s extensive index of the Rav’s writing, one finds no entry for Psalms 37:25.[10]  Though this index does not include every last one of the Rav’s writings, and surely also doesn’t include his oral addresses and personal conversations, its absence from the list is telling.  Ironically, the idea that the Bible asks us to respond to the experience with poverty through action and not idle speculation is an idea that finds resonance in the Rav’s writings,[11] but the author has not found this particular reading of Psalms 37:25 yet in the Rav’s writings.

The best reason to doubt the attributions can be found in the writings of Rabbi Isaiah Wohlgemuth, another leading Rabbi in Brookline at the time.  A holocaust survivor, Rabbi Wohlgemuth taught at Maimonides for decades, later focusing his attention on a course on the prayers, affectionately titled “Beiuri Ha-Tefillah.”  The course notes were later published as a book, which has since been republished a number of times.[12] and Rabbi Sacks’s preferred translation does, indeed, appear on the 231^st page of that book, without attribution to any earlier scholar by name.  Rabbi Wohlgemuth often quotes the Rav z”l in the volume, his colleague and neighbor for decades.  Why would this explanation be introduced cryptically with the words “I have seen it interpreted the following way” instead of being directly attributed to the Rav?  Given how many times the Rav is mentioned by name in the volume,[13] one imagines Rabbi Wohlgemuth heard this translation for someone else, or better still read it in the name of someone else, and not from the Rav, otherwise it would have been attributed to Rabbi Soloveitchik.

To review the provenance of the translation, we now see that Rabbi Isaiah Wohlgemuth heard or read the translation from a hitherto unidentified commentator, and that he communicated this translation to his students in Maimonides, and to other residents of the Brookline community, including Mo Feurstein or a third party who then shared the translation with Mr. Feurstein.  Mr. Feurstein shared the explanation with Rabbi Sachs, with the slight error that the view was associated with Rabbi Wohlgemuth and his teachers, and not specifically with Rabbi Soloveitchik.  But who originated the translation?  We must look back earlier to the start of the 20th century to discover who first offered this translation.

The Hildesheimer Rabbinical Seminary

Before moving to Boston, Rabbi Isaiah Wohlgemuth’s (1915-2008) first position was in Kitzingen, Germany, a Rabbinical post he began after concluding the Hildesheimer Rabbinical  Seminary in Berlin in 1937, shortly before the school was closed upon the eve of the Holocaust.[14] One of the teachers in the Seminary who died shortly before Rabbi Wohlgemuth attended, was Dr. Abraham Berliner, best known for his critical edition of Rashi’s Bible Commentary and his work behind the Mekitzei Nirdamim publishing society.[15] Berliner also wrote a short work on prayer, later translated into Hebrew and published by Mossad Ha-Rav Kook.

In a short paragraph at the end of a chapter of collected short notes on the siddur, Berliner suggests the same very reading found in the Sacks translation, noting that it goes against the exegetical tradition found in the Book of Psalms, and nevertheless offers the idea as his own, with the proof text from Esther cited above.[16] Berliner is the first and the only translator to offer this interpretation and not to cite it in the name of any other source, and so it is fair to say that he is the original author of this translation.[17] Thus, even if the Rav was part of the chain of the transmission of the insight, it ought not be attributed to him, given that Berliner had already began to circulate the insight when the Rav z”l was only nine years old.

Though Berliner had passed away before Rabbi Wohlgemuth arrived at the seminary, there were less than 20 years in between the two, and so the insight was either passed down orally in Berlin and possibly also accessible through Berliner’s book in the seminary.  Given that Berliner was essentially unknown to his students at Maimonides – in noted contradistinction to the Rav – Rabbi Wohlgemuth intentionally chose not to provide his name when sharing the idea with his students. But he had read the idea in the name of Berliner, not in the name of the Rav.

Chains of Transmission

The Siddur is one of the biggest repositories of the Jewish tradition – recited daily in synagogues and in homes, with a safely guarded set of customs for each Jewish community.  So much of what we say today can be traced back to a specific historical moment of time, and each generation adds a new element or aspect to the siddur.  Users of the Koren siddur now can appreciate the lengthy and somewhat circuitous history of their translation.  Birthed by Dr. Abraham Berliner in Berlin in the early 20th century, a young Rabbi Isaiah Wohlgemuth learned the idea in the late 1930s and brough the insight out of the destruction of the holocaust to Brookline and Boston by way of a small synagogue in Kitzingen.  A major community leader, Moses Feurstein heard the insight in Boston in the 1960s, internalized its message, and then shared it with a young Rabbi Jonathan Sacks upon his visit to Brookline in the late 1970s.  Rabbi Sacks treasured the idea for decades, returning to it in his writings and his siddur translation, back in Europe although now in London, publishing it in the Koren siddur roughly one century after the idea was first formed.  London and Berlin are less than 600 miles apart as the crow flies, but ideas sometimes take a somewhat more complicated route to get from one place to another.  And anyone using said siddur now continues the path of insight, from Europe to your own home, wherever it may be.

“Praiseworthy are You Talmidei Chachamim”
Self-Definition, Torah Study, and Jewish Martyrdom

Yaakov Jaffe

There is a unique genre of video on youtube, facebook, or twitter, featuring Yeshivah students of a wide variety of ages, locations, and types of dress singing the song “Ashreichem Talmidei Chachamim” while standing or dancing around the Beit Midrash of their school or Yeshivah.  The song, often also heard at wedding, praises the portion of students of Torah scholars with the following words:

Praiseworthy are you, O students of the wise,
As words of Torah are exceedingly beloved[1] to you.
How much do I love Your [=G-d’s] Torah,
All day long she is my speech.

The words of the song are a quote from the Talmud (Menachot 18a, with the last two lines, themselves, being a quote from Psalms 119:97), and the implication of the song is that those that sing it (or those that dance at the wedding when it is sung) have achieved the status of Torah scholars and are aptly described as those for whom the words of Torah are “exceedingly beloved.”  The song exists as a quasi-performative, self-definitional, transformational act, as the singing of the words, themselves, confer a status and title upon those whom it is sung about.

Like many other Hebrew songs, this quote from the Talmud is taken out of context, and consequently it disguises what exactly are the conditions to consider Torah to be “exceedingly beloved” to someone.  The context is fascinating, and it provides necessary insight for the understanding of this song.

  

Thought-Based Invalidations of Temple Sacrifices

Tractate Menachot is a challenging Tractate, one of the dozen longest, studied through the Daf Yomi and in elite sub-groups of elite schools of Torah study; it is not for the faint of heart.  While some of the very lengthy Talmudic tractates are frequently studied on account of their contribution to the practice of Jewish ritual and family law (Shabbat, Chullin, Psachim, Yevamot and Ketubot), and others as they are vital for building the principles of community and social law (the three Bavot), Menachot is lengthy and on the whole not particularly relevant for contemporary Jewish life and practice.

The first 18 pages are the hardest part of the Tractate, focused less on the Korban Mincha, itself, but more on thought-based invalidations of a Korban Mincha, a Mincha that becomes invalid because of the intentions the Kohein had when performing the sacrifice.  Large parts of Menachot are concrete as they involve the process of the offering and real-world errors made while performing the sacrifice; the first dozen-and-a-half pages are formal, where the sacrifice looks no different from how it always looks but may be invalidated on account of improper thoughts. In these cases, even if the sacrifice was physically offered exactly as required, it might still be invalid because of the ruinous intent.

Much of the discussion focuses on invalidations that are at least alluded to in the Bible: “Pigul,” intent to eat or burn the sacrifice at the wrong time, or “Lo Leshmah,” intent for the action to find favor as a different sacrifice type than required by the owner or a different sacrifice substance.  The long, challenging discussion concludes with another type of thought-based invalidation, so rare that is only discussed in two pages in the entire Talmud, and never in the Bible commentaries or Midrash Halacha, intent to leave over the sacrificial substances of the sacrifice unused indefinitely.  Leaving over the eaten part of a sacrifice, “Notar,” is discussed in the Torah and frequently in the Talmud; leaving over the sacrificial substances is not discussed beyond Menachot 18a and Zevachim 36a.  Intent to sacrifice sacrificial substances on the wrong day, “Pigul,” is discussed in the Torah and frequently in the Talmud; intent to leave over sacrificial substances indefinitely, never to be used, is not discussed beyond Menachot 18a and Zevachim 36a.

In the final outcome, intent to leave over blood un-sprinkled until the next day does not invalidate a sacrifice according to the majority opinion, and so Rambam rules (Psulei Ha-Mukdashim 13:8).  The focus of Menachot 18a is how Yosef Ha-Bavli was interested in exploring the question, nevertheless.  Few realize that this often-sung tune is grounded in an esoteric, arcane sub-sub-topic of sacrificial law, irrelevant to daily practice, rejected in the final halachic conclusion, disconnected from the Biblical text, and regarding largely settled law, which still bothered the praiseworthy student of the wise, Yosef Ha-Bavli.

Who was Yosef Ha-Bavli?

Yosef Ha-Bavli is known for one teaching regarding a Kohen in mourning or who had not yet offered his post-impurity sacrifices who burned a red heifer (Tosefta Para 4:3, cited in Zevachim 117b and Yevamot 74a).  The Talmud (Psachim 113b, Yoma 52b) says that he was also known by a number of pseudonyms which would increase the number of teachings associated with his name from one to a handful; whether the Talmudic teaching should be taken literally is outside the scope of this essay (but see Tosafot and Aruch La-Ner, Nidda 36b and Hyman, Toldot Tanaim Ve-Amoraim, 152).  Yosef Ha-Bavli is not unique among the sages for having composed many Mishnayot, having taught many students, having mastered much Torah, or possessing deep insight; what makes him unique is precisely his care and concern for this rather esoteric topic. Yosef Ha-Bavli was a grand-student of Rebbi Akiva, and so appears to have lived in the late 2nd century, just around the time of the publication of the Mishnah.  Any law related to thought-based invalidations had not been relevant for a century when he lived, and was a detailed, theoretical question about a Temple that was fading from memory.

In his youth, Yosef Ha-Bavli had learned from his teacher, Rebbi Yehudah, that a Kohein’s intent to leave blood un-sprinkled indefinitely invalidates a sacrifice.  Yet, as he grew older, Yosef Ha-Bavli only heard discussions of the opinion of the other rabbis that it was valid.  One Shabbat, he sat before Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua, who taught him evening, morning, and midday that it was valid, in accordance with the majority opinion.  “Afternoon he said to him ‘It is Kosher, but Rebbi Yehudah says it is invalid.’  Yosef Ha-Bavli’s face brightened from joy… ‘Rebbi Yehudah taught me that it was invalid,[2] and I went after all his students and searched for a colleague [who had the same recollection as me] and did not find one.  Now that you taught me ‘invalid’ you have returned to me my lost object.’ ”

Seeing this scene, Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua burst into tears of joy and commented how beloved Torah was for Yosef Ha-Bavli.  Note, however, that it was not Yosef Ha-Bavli’s application of Torah, mastery of Torah, or even mere study of Torah that earned him praise, it was the passionate, deep connection to Torah that led him for years to travel, ask, and search for a sage that confirmed Yosef Ha-Bavli’s studies of his own youth.  Torah is exceedingly beloved when one passes by day from land to land, asking, inquiring, confirming the exact details of every possible law.  Learning the daily practical Halacha or the parsha is not evidence of a passionate, intimate relationship a scholar has with Torah; being madly driven to confirm every last piece of minutia that one has ever learned does.  That is what means for the Torah to be exceedingly beloved, in the view of the author of the text of the song, Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua.

Who was Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua?

We have demonstrated how the identity of the object of the quote, the Talmid Chacham Yosef Ha-Bavli, and the context of the conversation, thought based invalidations, is crucial in understanding the meaning of the quote in question.  Knowing the background of the speaker, Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua, is also vital.  

Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua was a student of Rebbi Akiva (Yeavmot 62b), and so he lived through a number of challenging times, including the various Roman persecutions which followed the Bar Kochva revolt and the death of Rebbi Akiva’s earlier generation of students.  A teacher of Rebbi (Yoma 79b, Eiruvin 53a), he was an important bridge figure between two different illustrious ages of sages of the Mishnah who lived an unusually long life (Megillah 27b).  Sanhedrin 14a relates that Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua was ordained by Rebbi Yehudah ben Bava just before the latter was martyred by the Romans for having perpetuated the chain or ordination.  He is a critical figure in the perpetuation of the tradition, and his eyes witnessed how close the tradition was to being lost.[3]

Moreover, the Midrash[4] and liturgy (Tisha B-Av’s Kinah “Arzei Ha-Levanon,” and Yom Kippur’s Slicha “Eileh Ezkera” [Reish]) count Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua among the 10 Martyrs, in which case he was the last of the 10 great sages who lost their lives Al Kiddush Hashem, for no reason other than the fact that they were Jewish.  According to these sources, Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua died at the start of Shabbat, while in the middle of reciting Kiddush; his soul departed while performing a Mitzvah.  

The costs of living a life of a Talmid Chacham are much lower today than they were in the past.  Jews across the globe live without fear of persecution for their Torah study and the financial stability of our community means that Jews who study Torah are mostly free of the fear of financial distress that may have been felt in the past.  Yet, speaking just before the year 200 and knowing the dramatic cost of being a Torah scholar, Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua proclaimed how praiseworthy Yosef Ha-Bavli was for his dedication to Torah, a statement that he would not make cavalierly or apply to just anyone who studied Torah in a situation of basic security.    

By Choice or by Necessity?

Today’s Torah scholars become Torah scholars by choice; they enjoy Torah study, feel nourished by, see its value, and are prodded and supported by a community to embrace that avocation.  Rebbi Eleazar ben Shamua was a Torah scholar by necessity – perpetuating a chain nearly lost, which would not have survived were it not for his dedication, and for which he eventually was murdered.  Yosef Ha-Bavli, too, felt similarly, the heart within himself burning for decades as he passed from land to land desperate with agony to substantiate the teachings of the earlier sages.  He didn’t choose to study the esoteric, complicated details of thought-based-temple-invalidations because he found it enjoyable, meaningful, applicable, or valuable, but because of an obsession and a dedication to both the truths of the Torah and to the concept of the tradition.

Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua doesn’t cry because of happiness that a student of his made a good choice to dedicate himself to Torah.  Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua cries because he sees the perseverance of the Torah and the legacy of the tradition even through challenging times, even decades after the Temple’s destruction, through the selfless dedication of students of the wise.[5] Indeed, had Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua not lived so long, and had Yosef Ha-Bavli not persevered to ask him the same question four times that one Shabbat, the teaching of Rebbi Eliezer might have been lost to Judaism for all of time and never have made its way into the Talmud.  100 years and one long summer Shabbat were needed to preserve one detail of Torah and ready it for inclusion in the Talmud.  And so, this is less a song for a wedding feast, as the words of Rebbi Elazar the martyr leave one of sense forlorn.  It’s a song of dedication and commitment to Torah, not a song of joy and happiness.

In the words of the Chazon Ish (Emunah U-Bitachon 3:20): 

The words of are sages are like fine oil which descends upon the bones to excite the hearts towards the love of Torah, and to enjoy the luster of its delight, until the soul of Yosef Ha-Bavli wasted away having lost one law, such that his face brightened upon the intense happiness in having his lost object returned.  And the enthusiasm of Rebbi Elazar upon his affection to his student, that he cried tears of happiness and pleasure of the luster of being exact in one’s learning.[6]

Those are the Talmidei Chachamim, and praiseworthy are they.

No, Achashverosh Never Served a Stable-Boy

Yaakov Jaffe

Writings about Purim from virtually every stripe make reference to a well-known myth that Achashverosh, King of Persia, rose to power from being a former stable-boy. A simple google search yields dozens of online results for this myth, some in passing and others expanded,[1] some academic[2] and others some more traditional;[3] some on blogs and others in books.[4] Yet, it seems that these references to Achashverosh the stable-boy are all rooted in a common mistranslation of the Talmud in Megilah.

This essay will investigate the myth that Achashverosh was a stable-boy from a bibliographical, traditional, and textual perspective, and not from a Biblical, historical, or archeological perspective. Our goal is not to prove – based on historical or archeological evidenced – that a king of Persia did or did not rise to power from the stables; it is to analyze whether Jewish tradition has such a view about one specific king of Persia.

Before looking at the key texts, we should note two important factors in this midrash about Achashverosh and reasons to be skeptical about it:

1. Most Midrashim are grounded in some Biblical textual evidence. Haman comes from Amaleik as he is “Agagi” the name of the prior king of Amaleik; the king’s party recalls the exile from Jerusalem as Mordechai’s exile from Jerusalem and the subsequent dispersal of all Jews is a leitmotif across the megillah. But there is no textual evidence anywhere in Tanach connecting Achashverosh with stables or horses.

2. Many of the Midrashim related to Megilat Esther, find numerous echoes across the many Midrashic texts about Esther – the Midrashim in the Talmud (Megilah 11-17), Esther Rabba, and the two Targumim to Esther. Indeed, the idea that Haman came from Amaleik or that the king’s party and garments related to the temple appear numerous times across the many Midrashim. Yet, outside of the gloss of one line in the Megilah found in Talmud Megilah, the other extended Midrashic tradition never develops the idea of the king who was once a stable boy.

We should already therefore be skeptical whether the Jewish Midrashic tradition treats Achashverosh as a former stable-boy or stable-mater. Closer inspection of the Talmud reveals that the Talmud, itself, seems also to not consider him a former stable master, either.

Megilah 12b

The Talmud reads as follows (Megilah 12b):

“ויקצף המלך מאד” אמאי דלקה ביה כולי האי? אמר רבא, שלחה ליה “בר אהורייריה דאבא אבא ‘לקבל אלפא חמרא שתי‘ ולא רוי; וההוא גברא אשתטי בחמריה.” מיד “וחמתו בערה בו“

This Talmudic quote begins and end with the same verse in Megilat Esther (1:12), that the king became very angry, and his anger burned hot within him. In between the quotes from the Megillah, the Talmud wonders why the king became so angry, and answers that it was because his first wife Vashsti had sent a particularly egregious insult in his direction. The thrust of the insult is that Achashverosh had gotten drunk, intoxicated after a little bit of wine, but that a greater figure from Vashti’s own family had the capacity to drink wine in the presence of 1000 other people[5] and not become drunk. Essentially, the king’s virility is insulted through his inability to consume large quantities of alcohol. The queen has successfully insulted her husband the king, but without invoking stables or horses.

But is there a second insult here as well? The insult includes an unusual Talmudic word “בר[6] אהורייריה” that appears to be part of the criticism. The word is used in only one other occasion in the Talmud (Bava Metziah 85a and its verbatim parallel in Shabbat 113b), and its meaning is not clear in that context either. The traditional translation of the word is that the אהורייריה runs the stables of a king or another wealthy individual, and so explain Rashi (to Megilah,[7] Bava Metziah, and Shabbat[8]) and Aruch (אהורייר).[9]

As a result, Soncino and most Talmudic translations take the reference to stables to be a second insult:

She sent him back answer: Thou son of my father’s steward![10] My father drank wine in the presence of a thousand, and did not get drunk, and that man [=Achashverosh] has become senseless with his wine. Straightway, his wrath burnt within him.

Clearly, this translation is the basis of the view that Achashverosh served as a stable-master prior to becoming king. Yet, the translation should give us pause for grammatical reasons. At the start of Vashti’s answer, Achashverosh is addressed directly “Thou son of my father’s steward!” But at the end, he is referenced coldly in the third person as “that man.” The shift from the second to the third person renders the sentence clunky and difficult to read. We have already been skeptical of this view to begin with, and the feel of the translation seems to be lacking somehow.

Comparatives and Stable-Masters

The wider context of the Talmud in Bava Metzia is a conversation about the great wealth of Rebbi Yehudah Ha-Nasi. His wealth is demonstrated using a comparative sentence, contrasting Rebbe’s great wealth, with the wealth of the Persian King Shapur. The comparative sentence follows the structure that the stable masters of Rebbi were wealthier than King Shapur. The stable master is not an actual person who exists in the story, the stable master provides an even more extreme basis of comparison: not only was Rebbi great, even his stable-masters were great! We can diagram as follows:

“a”	Were more “Y”	Than “b”
אהורייריה דבי רבי	הוה עתיר	משבור מלכא
The stable master of Rebbe	were wealthier	than King Shapur

This suggests that referring to a wealthy individuals stable masters is a turn of phrase to indicate how great the wealthy person’s attendants were, and not an actual fact or reference about his stables, horses, or mules. Indeed, a similar quip appears also in Hebrew regarding the comparison between the mules of Yitzchak and king Avimelech (Bereishis Rabba 64:7 cited by Rashi 26:13), “the dung of the mules of Yitzchak, and not the gold and silver of Avimelech (see Ritva Bava Metziah).

Having deduced this special אהורייריה sentence form, which is a special comparative for a very wealthier or powerful individual, suggests a different punctuation of the Gemara in Megillah, consisting of one insult not two:

“a”	Were more “Y”	Than “b”
אהורייריה דאבא אבא	חמרא שתי ולא רוי לקבל אלפא	וההוא גברא אשתטי בחמריה
The stable master of grandfather	Drank more and did not become intoxicated	Compared to that man who has become intoxicated

Punctuated not בר אהורייריה דאבא! אבא ‘לקבל אלפא חמרא שתי‘ ולא רוי, וההוא גברא אשתטי בחמריה

But בר אהורייריה דאבא אבא ‘לקבל אלפא חמרא שתי‘ ולא רוי, וההוא גברא אשתטי בחמריה

In this view, the only insult was that the stable master of Vahsti’s grandfather could hold his alcohol better than Achashverosh could. The virility of her grandfather’s lowly stablemaster demonstrates how greater her grandfather was. This translates fits the grammar of the sentence in Megilah better, and has the added benefit of not inventing a new Midrash that Achashverosh served as a stable master. Indeed, one version of the Talmud in megillah reads: בר אהורייריה דאבא ‘לקבל אלפא חמרא שתי‘ ולא רוי וההוא גברא אשתטי בחמריה, and in this version the deletion of the second word “aba” necessitates our reading as well: my parents stable master drunk before 1000..

Which ancestor of Vashti’s was worthy of a boast?

Our reading of the Talmud confers yet another benefit, besides its consistency with the rest of Midrashic literature and its conformity to the grammar and sentence structure of the Talmud. It shifts the queen’s boast from her father Belshatzar, to her grandfather Nevuchadnetzar. The Talmud and Midrash often present Vashti as the granddaughter of Nevuchadnetzar; see Megilah 10b where as part of two separate drashot, one from Isaiah 14 and one from Isaiah 55, she is called the granddaughter of Nevuchadnetzar. Targum Esther 1:11 also refers to “Nevuchadnetzar Avuy de-aba,” her grandfather.[11] Associating her more with her grandfather than her father is sensible, because Nevuchadnetzar is a heroic, conquering figure throughout Tanach – expanding territory, exiling the Jews, “even the beasts of the field I have given to him” (Jeremiah 28:14). Nevuchadnetzar’s sons were not heroic figures, and Belshatzar the second son (see Daniel 5:2, 11, 13, 18, 22[12]) was stricken by fear and then defeated by the Persians in the famous story of the handwriting on the wall (Daniel 5). Thus, when boasting of Vashti’s lineage, it would make more sense that she would boast of the virility of her grandfather more than of her father. Our reading correctly connects her with the great Nevuchadnetzar, and not with his less impressive sons.

The common mistranslation of the Talmud, in contrast, connects the boast to her father, ostensibly Belshatzar.[13] Was Belshatzar known for holding his alcohol? Daniel 5:1 does indicate that Belshatzar was able to drink large quantities of wine, but the balance of the chapter suggests the exact opposite of Vashti’s boast – that he was indeed affected by his drinking, weakened by it, and not that he was strong and able to overcome it. As the last Babylonian king, defeated by the Persians, Belshatzar would be a curious choice to be included in any boast about the strength of the Babylonians.[14]

Vashti’s boast speaks about having the capacity to drink in the presence of 1000 men, a turn of phrase which recalls the party of Belshatzar in Daniel 5. But does the Talmud intend to quote and reference the party and drinking of Belshatzar directly? Or does it just use the turn of phrase that appears in that context? The Torah Ohr Commentary of Yehoshua Boaz to the standard Vilna Shas does not source the quote – implying the Talmud uses the language of the phrase but does not intend to reference Belshatzar’s party. In contrast, Rashi does explicitly connect the words to Daniel 5, implying Vashti boasted of her father Belshatzar’s own virility, and not of the fortitude of the stable-masters of her grandfather Nevuchadnetzar.[15]

Was Achashverosh born into royalty?

One final topic related to the stable-boy myth is the question whether Achashverosh was born into royalty or not. Clearly, had the Talmud referenced humble, stable boy origins, then we would see him as a warlord or ruthless strongman who rose to power from outside. Yet, the Midrashim give no account of him exterminating the previous royal family or rebelling and usurping power from the previous king.

In contrast, Targum Sheni argues that Achashverosh was the son of Darius the Mede;[16] thus even if Beltshatzar was Vashti’s father, Achashverosh would still not be considered a stable master. Midrash Aba Gurion shares this view as well. Yalkut Esther (1049) is also of the view that Achashverosh was born into royalty, and was not her father’s stablemaster – but yet still quotes the boast of the king being unable to hold his alcohol compared to the stablemasters of Nevuchadnetzar. The primary boast stands, whether or not Achashverosh was a stable master.

The story of the stable-boy who rose to become king is an imaginative one that grips the mind and inspires the imagination. Yet, it seems to be a particularly late addition to Rabbinic literature, and one based in its core on a mistranslation of the Talmud.