Hebrew Union College Annual 2020 (Hebrew Union College Annual, 91) [Annual ed.] 087820606X, 9780878206063

Citation preview

hebrew union college annual volume 91

David H. Aaron and Jason Kalman, Editors Sonja Rethy, Managing Editor Editorial Board of Directors Jordan Finkin, Joshua Garroway, Alyssa Gray, Ruth Langer, Laura Lieber, Michael Marmur, Haim Rechnitzer, Richard Sarason

HEBREW UNION COLLEGE ANNUAL Volume 91

Hebrew Union College Press 2020

©2021 by Hebrew Union College Press ISBN 978-0-87820-606-3 (hardback) ISBN 978-0-87820-607-0 (ebook) Typesetting by Raphaël Freeman MISTD, Renana Typesetting Printed in the United States of America

The editors thank Shelly Shor Gerson for her generous continued support of the Hebrew Union College Annual

Submissions Hebrew Union College Annual is a peer-reviewed journal that publishes scholarly treatments of all aspects of Jewish and Cognate Studies in all eras, from antiquity to the contemporary world. Unlike most journals, we particularly encourage large studies that will yield between 25 and 85 pages in print. We also welcome the publication of primary sources in most European and Semitic languages, as long as they entail commentary and are translated. For instructions on how to submit your article, please visit http://press.huc.edu/submissions.

Subscriptions For Libraries and Institutions: Electronic subscriptions to the Hebrew Union College Annual can be acquired through your chosen subscription agency or through JSTOR directly. For more information, visit http://about.jstor.org/content/ordering or contact [email protected]. Print subscriptions can be purchased through your chosen subscription agency or directly through ISD. Please call, email, or write to the following address and ask to establish a subscription to the Hebrew Union College Annual: ISD, 70 Enterprise Drive, Suite 2, Bristol, CT, 06010. Phone: 1-860-584-6546 Email: [email protected]. For Individuals: Print and e-book subscriptions can be purchased through ISD. Please call, email, or write to the above address and ask to establish a subscription to the Hebrew Union College Annual. Back Issues: Back issues of the Hebrew Union College Annual are available through ISD for most volumes back to 1924. Please use the contact information above.

Supplements Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi. The Lisbon Massacre of 1506 and the Royal Image in the Shebet Yehudah. 1976. Mark E. Cohen. Sumerian Hymnology: The Ershemma. 1981. William C. Gwaltney, Jr. The Pennsylvania Old Assyrian Texts. 1982. Kenneth R. Stow. “The 1007 Anonymous” and Papal Sovereignty: Jewish Perceptions of the Papacy and Papal Policy in the High Middle Ages. 1984. Martin A. Cohen. The Canonization of a Myth: Portugal’s “Jewish Problem” and the Assembly of Tomar 1629. 2002. Stephen M. Passamaneck. Modalities in Medieval Jewish Law for Public Order and Safety. 2009.

Contents

1 Yalta – The Third Rib: Redaction and Meaning in Bavli Berakhot, Chapter 7 Ido Hevroni, Shalem College; Kogod Research Center for Contemporary Jewish Thought, Shalom Hartman Institute



53 An “Edge” in Space or an “Edge” in Time: The Commandment of Pe’ah in Tannaitic Midrash Halakhah Aaron Amit, Bar-Ilan University



77 “For Your Work Will Be Rewarded” – On the Development of the Sign Tradition Bracha Elitzur, Herzog College



127 Nafīs al-Dīn’s Samaritan-Arabic Translation of Thirteen Verses from the “Song of Moses” Ali Watad, Beit Berl College



157 The Earliest Published Yiddish Tehinnot (1590–1609) Morris M. Faierstein, Meyerhoff Center for Jewish Studies, University of Maryland



207 The Societal Role of the Man of Spirit According to Martin Buber Admiel Kosman and Yemima Hadad, Institut für Jüdische Theologie/ School of Jewish Theology, University of Potsdam



261 Leo Baeck’s “Individuum Ineffabile” Introduced by David Ellenson and Paul Mendes-Flohr; translated by Gabriel E. Padawer and Bernard H. Mehlman, with Alisa Rethy

vii

Yalta – The Third Rib: Redaction and Meaning in Bavli Berakhot, Chapter 7 Ido Hevroni

Shalem College; Kogod Research Center for Contemporary Jewish Thought, Shalom Hartman Institute At the end of the seventh chapter of Bavli Berakhot there is a story about Yalta, a woman who acts aggressively against Rav Naḥman and ‘Ulla, who refuse to share the Cup of Blessing with her. The story has been the subject of many analyses, but none has offered a reading in light of the complete chapter. This article suggests a reading of the story in light of the halakhic deliberations, the stories, and the derashot that appear in the chapter, with an emphasis on identifying the recurring motifs and on the temporal aspect of the act of reading. The article’s conclusion is that although the chapter does not offer a halakhic deliberation on the mishnah’s ruling that women do not join in the quorum (of three) for the formal invitation (‫ )זימון‬to join in the Grace after Meals, it does deal intensively with the status of women in its non-halakhic sections and it offers a more complex picture than that which emerges from the halakhic passages alone. The story of Yalta brings the tension between the various attitudes toward women to a crescendo: ‘Ulla presents the chapter’s most offensive stance toward women, and Yalta struggles against him with full force, demonstrating an independent outlook. The editors have granted her the last word in the story, and almost the last word in the entire chapter, thereby making it clear toward which side their own opinion leaned.

Yalta, the wife of Rav Naḥman, is one of the few women mentioned by name in the Bavli, and she is usually presented as confronting the male rabbinic culture.1 At the end of the seventh chapter of tractate Berakhot, a story appears that presents such a confrontation: a guest dining with Yalta’s husband refuses to pass the Cup of Blessing to her, and she, enraged, smashes four hundred containers of wine and launches a verbal attack against the men. The story has

1 That Yalta is Rav Naḥman’s wife is the accepted view. Tal Ilan thinks one cannot claim with certainty that she is his wife, but only that she is his relative. See Tal Ilan, Mine and Yours are Hers: Retrieving Women’s History from Rabbinic Literature (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 121–29. The central stories about Yalta other than the one under discussion here are: b. Ḥul. 109b, b. Qidd. 70a–b, and b. Nid. 20b. For a survey of all the talmudic sources that relate to her, see Ilan, Mine and Yours.

1

2

Ido Hevroni

been the subject of vast scholarship, based on reading it as an independent unit or, at most, in the context of the adjacent halakhic discussion.2 This article offers an analysis based on reading the story in the context of the whole chapter in which it appears. This translation is based on MS Munich 95 without reference to textual variants in other manuscripts, to make it easier to follow the discussion. A detailed examination of the Aramaic original in comparison with other versions appears later in the article. Insertions into the text appear within square brackets; explanatory notes appear within parentheses. ‘Ulla happened to come to Rav Naḥman’s house. He (=‘Ulla) said the blessing after the meal, and gave the Cup of Blessing to him (= to Rav Naḥman). Rav Naḥman said to him: “Are you, sir, not of the opinion (‫לא סבר לה‬ ‫ )מר‬that you should send the Cup [of Blessing] to Yalta?” ‘Ulla said [to him]: “Thus said Rabbi Yoḥanan: ‘The fruit of a woman’s belly (i.e., womb) is blessed only through the fruit of the man’s belly, as is written: He will bless the fruit of your belly (‫( )בטנך‬Deut 7:13) – it is not said “her belly,” but “your belly” (in the second-person masculine singular).’” Meanwhile, Yalta heard this. Her anger was aroused. She went to the wine cellar and broke four hundred vats of wine. He sent to her: “All these [vats] are a Cup of Blessing.” She sent to him: “From peddlers – words, and from rags – vermin.” It is plain to see that this story has great potential for shedding light on the status of women in the world of the Talmud. But what can be learned from it? Previous scholarship has offered varied, even contradictory, answers to the central questions arising from the story: is Yalta a victim of a patriarchal world

2 For interpretations that have been suggested for the present story, see Rachel Adler, “Feminist Folktales of Justice: Robert Cover as a Resource for the Renewal of Halakha,” Conservative Judaism 45/3 (Spring 1993): 40–55; Tal Ilan, Integrating Women into Second Temple History (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 171–74; Judith Baskin, Midrashic Women: Formations of the Feminine in Rabbinic Literature (Hanover, NH: University Press of New England for Brandeis University Press, 2002), 83–87; Admiel Kosman, ‫( מסכת נשים‬Jerusalem: Keter, 2007), 171–77; Alieza Salzberg, “Feminist/Gender Interpretation of Rabbinic Literature” in Reconstructing the Talmud: An Introduction to the Academic Study of Rabbinic Literature, ed. Joshua Kulp and Jason Rogoff (New York: Mechon Hadar, 2014), 194–202; Michal Shirel, “‫הדיאלוג במעשי חכמים בתלמוד‬ ‫”הבבלי כהשתקפותו בסיפורים על חכמים ונשותיהם‬. PhD diss., The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2014, 74–82; Ruth Calderon, ‫ אוסף פרטי‬:‫( אלפא ביתא תלמודי‬Tel Aviv: Miskal, 2014), 127–31; Ruhama Weiss and Avner Hacohen, ‫ מסע פסיכולוגי־ספרותי עם גיבורות התלמוד‬:‫( אימהות בטיפול‬Tel Aviv: Yedioth Ahronoth, 2012), 35–46; Noam Sachs Zion, Wine, Women and the War of the Sexes (Cleveland: Zion Holiday Publications, 2018), 135–286.

Yalta – The Third Rib

3

that drives her out of her mind to the point that, in her anger, she behaves like a madwoman?3 Or is she acting deliberately, trying to change the patriarchal norms (whether she is right or not)?4 And what is the aim of the story – to weaken the status of women or to strengthen it?5 It may be that scholars’ varied attitudes toward the question of the status of women in the Jewish tradition contributed to this multiplicity of interpretations, but it appears that the central cause for these many interpretations is the story itself, which provides almost none of the necessary information an interpreter needs in order to ground his arguments. Like many other talmudic stories, this one does not explicitly reveal its stance regarding its characters – it uses words frugally, and it is devoid of judgmental descriptions. Because of this – and in contrast to Jonah Fraenkel’s opinion that talmudic stories should be read independently – this study offers an analysis based on reading the individual story within the broader matrix of the sugya, as a carefully edited piece.6 In the present instance, the chapter in which the story appears will serve as the main context for the analysis.7 As we shall see, the chapter under discussion combines various genres – halakhic discussions, stories, exegesis of verses – in order to







3 This is the direction taken by Kosman, ‫מסכת נשים‬, and Calderon, ‫אלפא ביתא‬. 4 Salzberg, “Feminist/Gender Interpretation,” and Weiss and HaCohen, ‫אימהות‬, see the smashing of the vats of wine as a conscious, symbolic, and sophisticated act. Ilan, Integrating Women, sees smashing the vats as a capricious move, but she regards the concluding aphorism as a distinctly erudite and creative act. 5 Baskin, Midrashic Women, makes the case for reading the story as weakening women’s status, and Ilan, Mine and Yours, is of the same opinion. It appears that Calderon, ‫אלפא ביתא‬, also leans in that direction. The opposite view is advanced by Shirel, “‫”הדיאלוג‬, and apparently also by Ilan, Integrating Women. 6 Jonah Fraenkel, ‫– אחדות של תוכן וצורה‬ ‫( סיפור האגדה‬Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuhad, 2001), 11–50. For a survey of developments that led to the understanding that talmudic stories should be read in their contexts, see Jeffrey L. Rubenstein, Talmudic Stories: Narrative Art, Composition, and Culture (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins, 1999), 1–33. In his subsequent books, Rubenstein developed that approach: Jeffrey L. Rubenstein, The Culture of the Babylonian Talmud (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 2003); Jeffrey L. Rubenstein, Stories of the Babylonian Talmud (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins, 2010). Yonatan Feintuch shows how reading a talmudic story in its context sheds new light on the story and on the halakhic deliberation. See, e.g., Yonatan Feintuch, “Reading Talmudic Stories in Multiple Halakhic Contexts: The Hasid in the Graveyard, Rav Ada b. Abba and the Lovesick Man,” Journal of Jewish Studies 58 (2017): 284–307. 7 Analyses of large talmudic units from a position similar to mine have been published in recent years: Devora Steinmetz, “Perception, Compassion, and Surprise: Literary Coherence in the Third Chapter of Bavli Ta‘anit,” Hebrew Union College Annual 82–83 (2011–2012): 61–117; Julia Watts Belser, Power, Ethics, and Ecology in Jewish Late Antiquity: Rabbinic Responses to Drought and Disaster (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015); Mira Wasserman, Jews, Gentiles, and Other Animals: The Talmud After the Humanities (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2017); Julia Watts Belser, Rabbinic Tales of Destruction: Gender, Sex, and Disability in the Ruins of Jerusalem (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018).

4

Ido Hevroni

give expression to different voices.8 Nonetheless, as in Fraenkel’s approach, this study deals with the text from a literary-ideational angle, and not through the lens of the historical world of its editors.9 Despite the justifiable critiques of the common distinction between aggadah and halakhah, I will employ those terms, for several reasons. First, this distinction can be traced back to the discourse of the talmudic sages themselves. Second, the distinction has been employed, and continues to be used, in a substantive (if at times incorrect) fashion in traditional Jewish discourse. Third, even though I think the traditional hierarchical dichotomy between aggadah and halakhah is problematic, one cannot dismiss the differences between these different literary genres in the composite weave of talmudic discourse.10 The act of reading takes place in time. A text is not encountered as a whole, all parts of which are perceived simultaneously (like a picture, for example), but in a dynamic fashion, as a gradual process of constructing meaning. Understanding is a cumulative process in which new information is read in light of previous information, creating a more complex understanding. This is particularly important regarding a recurring motif in a work: an expression’s first appearance establishes the modes in which it is understood in subsequent appearances, and its later appearances project backward on the earlier appearances.11









8 For different approaches to the talmudic sugya as giving expression to multiple voices, see Daniel Boyarin, Socrates and the Fat Rabbis (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2009); Barry Scott Wimpfheimer, Narrating the Law – A Poetics of Talmudic Legal Stories (Philadelphia: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2011); Moshe Simon-Shoshan, “Talmud as Novel: Dialogic Discourse and the Feminine Voice in the Babylonian Talmud,” Poetics Today 40 (2019): 105–34. 9 In this sense, the approach taken here is close to that of Boyarin, Socrates, 202–3: “My project here is more literary, inquiring into the stamma not so much as a historical construct of a real author(s) of the Talmud, but as a literary structure within the Talmud, the implied stamma, if you will.” 10 On the Talmud’s own distinction, see Rubenstein, Stories of the Babylonian Talmud, 1–11; Jonah Fraenkel, “‫נחזור על הראשונות‬ – ‫האגדה בספרות התלמודית‬,” Netuim 11–12 (Elul 5764): 63–79. Among the first to suggest reading talmudic stories in their textual context is Shulmit Valler, ‫נשים ונשיות‬ ‫( בסיפורי התלמוד‬Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuhad, 1993). Despite the many developments in the field since then, the present article comes to a conclusion not far removed from hers about the relationship between halakhah and aggadah with regard to discussions of women in the Talmud. 11 See Menakhem Perry, “Literary Dynamics: How the Order of a Text Creates Its Meanings [With an Analysis of Faulkner’s ‘A Rose for Emily’],” Poetics Today 1 (1979): 35–64, 311–61; Benjamin Harshav, ‫ מסות בתיאוריה של ספרות ומשמעות‬:‫( שדה ומסגרת‬Jerusalem: Carmel, 2000), 22–23; Robert Alter, The Pleasures of Reading in an Ideological Age (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1989), 141–70. That approach is exemplified throughout this article.

Yalta – The Third Rib

5

Mishnah: Foundations The seventh chapter of Tractate Berakhot in the Mishnah deals with the requirement to call together a quorum (of 3 or 10) for the Grace after Meals (using a formula known as ‫ )זִ ּמוּ ן‬and, in particular, with the rules governing this practice. Three sections can be discerned.12 The first section (mishnayot 1–2) opens with the statement, “Three [people] who ate as one must form a zimmun,” and goes on to note the boundaries of that rule: in which instances it applies and in which it does not. In that context, the Mishnah makes it clear that “Women or slaves or minors may not be included [in forming a zimmun].” The second section (mishnah 3) opens with the question, “How do they form a zimmun?” and goes on to specify the various categories of the number of participants, according to which the formula of the zimmun will vary. The third section (mishnayot 4–5) deals with the possibilities of joining together or splitting up within the groups of people at the meal. At the end is a statement that appears to have no connection to this chapter: “One does not recite a blessing over wine until he adds water to it . . . ”13 The central motifs of this chapter in the Mishnah are: three males; the nature of a shared meal (people eating together, what they ate, two groups); the hierarchical relationship among the diners; the status of women, slaves, and minors in relation to the group that gathers for a zimmun; and the Cup of Blessing (seemingly without connection to the previous topics). The talmudic discussion of Chapter 7 deals with these topics in a variety of ways. It opens with a clarification regarding the number of diners (“two who ate as one”). It deals at length with the nature of the shared meals, especially through stories that describe various sages taking part in meals. The status of women in relation to the zimmun is mentioned only briefly in the course of the halakhic discussion, but it is treated in the two most complex stories in the sugya, as well as in another short tale, and in a midrash. The Cup of Blessing is the subject of a halakhic discussion, and it appears as a significant motif in the two complex stories that deal with women. This article, as stated above, will offer an interpretation of Yalta’s story in light of the discussions and stories that appear in the course of the talmudic chapter. A detailed list of the stories and central motifs appears in the appendix. In this article, references to stories will use their numbers in that appendix.



12 The division of the chapter into sections follows Avraham Walfish, ‫ עיון ספרותי ורעיוני‬:‫מרבדי משנה‬ ‫( במשנת ברכות‬Alon Shvut: Tevunot, 2018), 109–29. 13 On the connection of that statement to this chapter and the preceding chapter, see Walfish, ‫מרבדי‬ ‫משנה‬, 124–25, 129, 152–53, 159–60.

6

Ido Hevroni

MOTIFS IN THE YALTA STORY Identifying the central motifs in the Yalta story paints an interesting picture: it appears that every central motif arising in the chapter has a place in the story. The story begins with a meal shared by two sages, a topic that was raised in the opening discussion of the sugya and appeared as an active motif in many stories throughout the chapter. Like many other meals described in the chapter, the two men’s meal was marked by tension. The tension between the diners is amplified by the use of other motifs that have also appeared earlier in the chapter: a sage from Babylonia and a sage from the land of Israel; and a guest who happens to come to the house. The tension develops around a Cup of Blessing, as had occurred in the previous story. The guest acts according to a particular conception of halakhah opposed to the custom of the host, and the latter, in response, criticizes him for his behavior, as had almost all the householders who were the hosts in the previous stories. The guest responds by proposing derashot on biblical verses and by relying on a ruling by Rabbi Yoḥanan, as was done by all the Palestinian sages who entered into disputes in the preceding stories. The host’s wife also has a significant place in the story, as she does in the previous story in the sugya. Like the protagonists of previous stories, she expresses her opinion through an aggressive act and an offensive expression. Such a density of motifs in one story cannot be accidental. It invites the interpreter to decode the story using his familiarity with the other stories. Since the story appears at the end of the sugya, the reader approaches it already equipped with a rather fully formed idea of the meaning of the motifs that appear there. The “reader” in this context is not a particular reader, but a name for “a ‘maximal’ concretization of the text that can be justified from the text itself.”14 In that sense, the concept of “reader” is related to the concept of “redactors”/“storytellers.”15 The “reader” is the meaning that emerges from the reading process, the effect on the reader that the redactors/storytellers sought to create through the act of redacting/telling. While the redactors are familiar with the sugya as a whole, the reader encounters it in a temporal process of accumulating meaning.

14 Perry, “Literary Dynamics,” 43, and see also Harshav, ‫שדה ומסגרת‬, 14. 15 The term “storyteller” is used here in the sense expressed by Rubenstein: “We can safely conclude that an important compositional technique of the storytellers was to borrow material from other sources and adapt, change, or manipulate it as needed. . . . [T]hese compositional processes allow us to identify the storytellers as redactors . . . ” (Talmudic Stories, 57).

Yalta – The Third Rib

7

HIERARCHY AT THE MEAL The question of hierarchy at a meal receives extensive treatment in this chapter. As Ruhama Weiss has noted, the chapter is particularly rich in stories that she labels “meal tests,” which she defines as “the meal as a tool for expressing a hierarchical struggle and test in the world of the sages.”16 More than a third of the stories of this type that appear in Tractate Berakhot are found in this chapter.17 The question of hierarchy develops in the talmudic sugya from its outset. The sugya opens with a search for the biblical source on which the Mishnah’s ruling is based, suggesting two solutions: Rav Asi said: As the verse states: “Exalt the Lord with me; / Let us extol His name together” (Ps 34:4). Rabbi Abbahu said, from this verse: “For the name of the Lord I proclaim / Give glory to our God!” (Deut 32:3). Both sources depict a situation in which there is a “caller” and those he is summoning. The caller, in both instances, is an important person. The first is King David, who invites his listeners to exalt, together with him, the God who had rescued him from Abimelech, and the second is Moses, who, in the Song of Ha’azinu (Deut 32), invites the people to declare God’s name great. These sources buttress the hierarchical view hinted at in the second section of our chapter of the Mishnah, which deals with the relationship between the caller and the respondents.18 After these sources, a short discussion ensues about the relationship between the caller and the respondents, following which there is another discussion, which displays most of the central motifs the sugya will engage from that point on: It was stated: Two who ate as one [and wish to form a zimmun, are they permitted to do so]? Rav and Rabbi Yoḥanan disagreed: One said: If they wanted to join together, they may form a zimmun. The other said: Even if they wanted to join together, they may not form a zimmun. In a reading that regards the sugya as an integrated matrix of meaning, it is appropriate to consider the figures quoted in the discussion and not just those who appear in the stories. This is Rabbi Yoḥanan’s first appearance in the chapter,

16 Ruhama Weiss, ‫ תפקידן התרבותי של הסעודות בספרות חז״ל‬:‫( אוכלים לדעת‬Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuhad, 2010), 16–19. 17 Weiss, ‫אוכלים לדעת‬, 225, identifies 11 stories. My own count is 17 such stories, since I relate to the entire chapter and include some stories and a derashah that she does not include. 18 See Weiss, ‫אוכלים לדעת‬, 231–33.

8

Ido Hevroni

and as the discussion continues, a question arises regarding the relevance of where he lives to the topic of the discussion.19 As we shall see, the question of the source of a custom and the question of the sage’s place of origin play a significant role in the stories that raise hierarchical issues. In order to try to prove that two men may form a zimmun, the following tradition is cited: Come and hear: Women form a zimmun for themselves and slaves form a zimmun for themselves. Women, slaves, and minors – even if they wish to form a zimmun together, they may not form a zimmun. Since one hundred women are equal to two men [in that they cannot constitute a zimmun quorum], and the baraita teaches that “Women form a zimmun for themselves . . . ,” [apparently, like women, two men can form a zimmun on their own]. [The Gemara rejects:] There (i.e., in the case of women’s zimmun) it is different since there are [at least three individual] minds. [The Gemara objects:] If so, state the latter clause of this baraita: “Women [and] slaves . . . – even if they wish to form a zimmun together, they may not form a zimmun.” Why not? Aren’t there [at least three individual] minds? [The Gemara responds:] There (i.e., in the case of women joining slaves for zimmun) it is different since this is licentiousness. This discussion, which opens the chapter that the Yalta story concludes, includes many components that are connected to the final story. The discussion begins with a disagreement between Rabbi Yoḥanan and Rav and tries to tie that disagreement to their different places of origin, Babylonia and the land of Israel. It tries to draw a comparison between men and women, with the claim that “one hundred women are equal to two men,” an argument that relegates women to a particularly low status. That view is rejected by the argument that one hundred women (and, in fact, even just three) have an advantage over two men by virtue of their “minds.” The discussion ends with this assertion: Abaye said: We have a tradition [that] two [people] who ate as one – it is a mitzvah [for them] to separate [and for each to recite a blessing for

19 Jonah Fraenkel deals with the connections among the various stories that deal with a particular sage. Despite his position that each story stands on its own, Fraenkel does think that in a case in which a topical connection can be demonstrated between stories, they may be analyzed in light of each other. See Fraenkel, ‫סיפור האגדה‬, 273–94. In the present instance, the context that unites the various appearances of Rabbi Yoḥanan is the use of his sayings by Palestinian sages confronting Babylonian sages.

Yalta – The Third Rib

9

himself]. This was also taught in a baraita: Two [people] who ate as one – it is a mitzvah [for them] to separate. In what case are these matters stated? [Only] when both individuals are learned people (soferim). However, if one of them was a learned person and the other an ignoramus, the learned person recites the blessing and the ignoramus thereby fulfills his obligation. The treatment of the relationship between the learned person and the ignoramus clearly raises the question of hierarchy between the diners, connecting status to their relative levels of Torah knowledge and leading us into the next discussion, which will deal with that question in a substantive fashion. Later in the chapter it becomes evident that “learned person” and “ignoramus” are relative terms, and over the course of the sugya, sages will be presented who are perceived by their colleagues as ignoramuses (‫)עמי הארצות‬ – so much so that those colleagues do not count them in a zimmun.20 Let us examine these motifs one at a time.

Babylonia and the Land of Israel The relationship between the traditions of Babylonia and the land of Israel is a fraught one in the Talmud.21 The topic is raised in the opening discussion of our sugya in an effort to identify which of the disputants (Rabbi Yoḥanan or Rav) offered which opinion, but, as the deliberation continues, it becomes one of the components of the hierarchical tension between the diners. In three stories further along in the sugya, the last of which is the Yalta tale, a tension arises in relation to the hierarchy between a sage whose origin was in the land of Israel and a sage whose origin was in Babylonia [2, 5, 17]. In each of those stories, the sage from the land of Israel cites the words of Rabbi Yoḥanan as the basis for his practice, which is at variance with that of the host. The opening discussion of the sugya is categorized as “halakhic” and not “aggadic,” but can it be claimed with certainty that the question of the 20 As, for example, the story about “Rami bar Hamma [, who] did not include Rav Menashya bar Tahlifa in a zimmun” (b. Ber. 47b). 21 Bavli Berakhot contains numerous allusions to the ideological and political tensions and disputes between the rabbinic communities of Babylonia and the land of Israel. The most explicit example of this contention can be found in b. Ber. 63a–b, which describes the Babylonian attempt to assume authority over intercalation of the Hebrew calendar. See Isaiah M. Gafni, Land, Center and Diaspora: Jewish Constructs in Late Antiquity (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), 107–11. A more subtle reflection on Babylonia’s growing self-image as a spiritual center equal to that of the land of Israel is the attempt to transform the site of “Zion” from a geographical designation to a spiritualized center of Torah (b. Ber. 8a; cf. Isaiah M. Gafni, Jews and Judaism in the Rabbinic Era [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2019], 189).

10

Ido Hevroni

relationship between the land of Israel and Babylonia regarding Rabbi Yoḥanan’s opinion is not related to the significant presence of this motif in the stories that follow? A reading that regards the sugya as a sophisticated editorial composition cannot ignore that fact.

Two Who Have Eaten The motif of two diners also appears for the first time in this sugya in the context of a discussion of halakhah. However, many of the stories that appear over the course of the chapter relate specifically to two sages. In most of those stories, it is clear that there are other people present, but they play no role in the plot. The stories focus on two individuals who have eaten “as one,” and the central question is, “Who is greater?” The issue of “as one” is treated in the Mishnah as a legal matter: what does each participant have to eat in order for the meal to be considered shared? What is the halakhic status of each category of person who may join the diners: of a waiter, a Samaritan, a woman, a minor, a slave? The talmudic discussion, though, deals less with halakhic status and more with the question of the hierarchical relationship between the diners, to the point of stating that certain rabbis are not worthy of being invited to join a zimmun. This is how the first story in the chapter [1] presents the problem: Yehuda bar Mareimar, Mar bar Rav Ashi and Rav Aha of Difti ate bread together (‫)כרכי ריפתא בהדי הדדי‬. None among them was greater than the other. They sat down and wondered: [It is reasonable to assume that] “Three [people] who ate as one must form a zimmun” applies only when there is a great man among them, but where they are on a par with each other, separating [and reciting independent] blessings is preferable. Each person recited the blessing for himself. [Later,] they came before Mareimar [and told him what they did]. He said to them: You fulfilled your obligation to recite a blessing [over your food]; you did not fulfill your obligation to form a zimmun. This story presents, for the first time in the sugya, one of the repeating expressions that serve as a description of the meal’s character. The three equal participants “ate bread together.” As Weiss has shown, this expression always indicates a meal among equals, as is indicated by the discussion at the center of this story: because they are all equal, there is no one of greater status to recite the benediction.22 This story, like many of the meal stories in the sugya, also presents diners who act inappropriately and are reprimanded for doing so, with the use of a halakhic statement. As we shall see, the following are recurring

22 Weiss, ‫אוכלים לדעת‬, 235–39.

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11

motifs in the sugya: the character of the meal is tied directly to the relative hierarchical status of the various people present (who is greater?); and an action performed by the participants, or by one of them, is understood as an error by another, who presents an opposing halakhic position. The next story in the sugya [2] is more developed in terms of plot and offers additional variations on the same motifs: Rabbi Zeira was sick. Rabbi Abbahu went to visit him and took upon himself that if the little man with the scorched legs (Rabbi Zeira’s nickname) would be cured, he would make a feast for the sages. [Rabbi Zeira] was cured. [Rabbi Abbahu] made a feast for all the sages. When it came time to break the bread [at the beginning of the feast, Rabbi Zeira] did it for them.23 [Rabbi Abbahu] said: Are you, sir, not of the opinion [that] the master of the house breaks bread [and makes the blessing over it]? After they ate bread, when [the time] came to recite the Grace [after Meals, Rabbi Abbahu] said [to Rabbi Zeira]: [Please,] sir, recite the Grace.24 [Rabbi Zeira] said to him: Are you, sir, not of the opinion of Rabbi Huna of Babylonia, who said: He who breaks bread recites Grace [after Meals]?25 And he (=Rabbi Abbahu) – with whose opinion is he in accordance? [He is in accordance with the opinion] of Rabbi Yoḥanan who said in the name of Rabbi Shimon ben Yohai: the master of the house breaks bread and the guest recites Grace [after Meals]. The master of the house



23 In some mss, the text here reads “Rabbi Abbahu said to Rabbi Zeira: ‘Sir, please break the bread.’” For a discussion of the differences in meaning between that version and the version in MS Munich, see Weiss, ‫אוכלים לדעת‬, 239–44. 24 Weiss, ‫אוכלים לדעת‬, 243, thinks that in the MS Munich 95 version, it is Rabbi Zeira who invites his host to break the bread, and Rabbi Abbahu wonders if that the right thing to do. It is more plausible, though, to regard Rabbi Abbahu, the sage from Eretz Yisrael, as adhering consistently to the approach of Rabbi Yoḥanan, cited further along in the story, according to which “the master of the house breaks the bread and the guest recites Grace [after Meals].” 25 It might appear that this contradicts the identification of the speakers suggested here: did not Rabbi Zeira break the bread, and therefore is it not odd that he refused to say Grace based on the argument that “he who breaks bread recites Grace [after the meal]?” He is instead responding to the previous statement of Rabbi Abbahu, who insisted that the master of the house should recite Grace. In Rabbi Zeira’s mind, “he who breaks bread recites Grace,” and since the master of the House thought that he had to be the one to break bread, he should also think that the master of the house has to recite Grace.

12

Ido Hevroni breaks bread so that he will break bread generously, and the guest recites Grace [after Meals] so that he may bless the host. What blessing does he say? “May it be Your will that the master of the house shall not suffer shame in this world, nor humiliation in the World-to-Come.”26

The story comprises two parts. The second part, which begins with “[Rabbi Abbahu] made a feast,” is a meal story similar in structure to other stories in the sugya: two sages take part in the meal – a host and a guest; the guest does something not in accordance with the halakhic position of the master of the house (the host), who responds by citing the halakhah that he adheres to. The hierarchy between the diners is what is in dispute in this case, and it is this, it seems, that motivates each of them to act as he does. The first part of the story is included, it seems, to clarify the roots of the dispute that erupts during the meal regarding the status of each of the two diners and his concomitant role. It presents a particular relationship between the story’s two protagonists: one is ill, the other has come to visit him. Who is greater? Is the healthy guest greater than the sick resident, or is the one being paid the honor of a visit greater than the visitor? The guest unilaterally declares that he will arrange a festive meal in honor of the patient’s recovery. Is the patient interested in that? The story offers no information that might assist the reader in determining the answer to that question. The meal intensifies the tension: it can be reasonably assumed that the greater participant in the meal is the host, and that it is he who would dictate how the meal is to be managed. However, because the meal is undertaken in honor of the guest, we may assume that he is the greater participant, and it is he who should determine how things will run. The expression that the storyteller chose to describe the nature of the meal, “ate bread” (‫)כרוך ריפתא‬, takes on a particular meaning in light of the previous story in the sugya. As we shall see, most of the stories about a guest and a host that appear in the course of this sugya and raise a question of hierarchy employ the term ‫איקלע‬ – “[he] happened to come.” In contrast, the previous story in the sugya, which presented diners of equal status, described their activity in these terms: ‫כרכי ריפתא בהדי הדדי‬ – “they ate bread together.” It seems that our storyteller chose to present this meal using the first part of that expression in order to make the situation clear: Rabbi Zeira is not a guest who just happened to be in that home, but rather had been invited as the guest of honor, and therefore this is not an ‫ איקלע‬meal. On the other hand, he and the host do not see eye to eye on the question of which of them is greater, so they cannot be described as having eaten ‫בהדי הדדי‬, “together.” Through his 26 This story is partially paralleled by one in y. Ber. 12a.

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13

terminology, then, the storyteller underscores the central question: what is the hierarchical relationship between the two diners? It appears that Rabbi Zeira, who breaks the bread in his host’s home without having been asked to do so, believes that he is the greater of the two. He assumes that Rabbi Abbahu, by having visited him and declaring a feast in his honor, thus made it clear that he shares that opinion, and so Rabbi Zeira takes the initiative and breaks the bread without waiting for an invitation from the master of the house. His host, however, thinks that his guest has erred, and he criticizes his guest’s actions in a halakhic statement that opens with an expression that has not appeared before in this sugya, but will appear in additional stories, including that of Yalta: “Are you, sir, not of the opinion . . . ?” At the conclusion of the meal, the host invites the guest to recite the Grace, in keeping with the view of Rabbi Yoḥanan, which is stated afterward: “The master of the house breaks bread, and the guest recites Grace.” This time, the guest thinks that the master of the house has erred, and he criticizes him using the same language: “Are you, sir, not of the opinion . . . ?” The sources of the halakhic rulings that each one employs in order to criticize his colleague adds another hierarchical aspect to the story: Rabbi Abbahu, the land of Israel native, relies on the view of his master, Rabbi Yoḥanan, while Rabbi Zeira, who emigrated from Babylonia, cites “Rav Huna of Babylonia,” whose Babylonian origin is stressed here in an apparent effort to emphasize the tension between the two communities’ competing schools of thought.27 The hierarchy question is not directly answered in the story, but it is solved through the shaping of the narrative. The story’s structure provides the aspect that was missing from the description of the meal – “together” (‫)בהדי הדדי‬: in the end, equality between the two participants is attained. Each has acted in a manner that was unacceptable to the other, and each has been chastised by the other in the same terms. The balanced, reciprocal relationship that did not appear in the description introducing the meal is attained over the course of the event, even if the way it is achieved is unpleasant. The story presents a hierarchical tension between two persons at the table, but it creates equality between them through the plot structure. That equality is affirmed in the ensuing discussion, which locates the source of Rabbi Abbahu’s approach in Rabbi Yoḥanan’s statement that “the master of the house breaks the bread and the guest recites Grace.” According to that approach, each of those seated at the table is given an honor in turn, but each time the honor is balanced:

27 There is no other justification for mentioning Rav Huna’s place of origin. See Rashi ad loc. On the basis of this story and other stories, Avraham Goldberg identifies Rabbi Zeira as fighting an “obligatory war” (‫מלחמת מצוה‬, Goldberg’s term) to inculcate Babylonian halakhic standards in the land of Israel. See Avraham Goldberg, ‫ ר׳ זירא ומנהג בבל בארץ ישראל‬Tarbiz 36 (1966/7): 319–41.

14

Ido Hevroni

the master of the house does not break bread because he is more important, but rather in order to honor the guest; the guest does not recite Grace after Meals because he is more important, but rather in order to demonstrate respect for the master of the house. The built-in hierarchical tension between the guest and the host is resolved here in a unique fashion, by evenly dividing the honors at the meal and justifying each of the honors as a demonstration of respect for the other diner. This story presents a model of a shared meal, and the stories that follow it (among them that of Yalta) will be read in light of this one.

‫איקלע‬ As the sugya proceeds, more stories appear about fraught encounters between a householder and his guest. In most of the them, the meal is described with the term ‫[ איקלע‬3, 11, 12, 15, 17] – in only one story was the guest invited by the host [9]. As we shall see, while stories telling about an invited guest end with an equal status between the participants (even if there is tension), the ‫איקלע‬ stories end with unilateral insulting reactions on the part of the host. All the ‫ איקלע‬stories describe a guest who happens to be at the host’s home and performs a particular halakhic act dealt with earlier in the sugya. In all of them, other than the first, the host responds aggressively, since he considers what the guest does unacceptable. The first ‫ איקלע‬story in the chapter [3] tells of Mar Zutra coming to the home of Rav Ashi shortly after a close relative of Rav Ashi had died.28 The guest recited Grace, adding a special formula of consolation, which conforms to the halakhic ruling that preceded the story. The story does not tell the host’s reaction, and thus the significance the story takes on is support for that ruling. The next ‫ איקלע‬story [11] presents a guest who recites Grace in the home of the Exilarch, but this time the guest encounters an aggressive response, backed by a halakhic ruling contrary to his behavior. The discussion following the story strengthens the critical view. In the next ‫ איקלע‬story [12], which we will deal with in detail below, Rav Ḥisda comes to the Exilarch’s home and recites Grace in a fashion inconsistent with the halakhic rulings that preceded the story. The response is an aggressive gesture: in his words, “Rav Sheshet stretched out his neck at me like a serpent,” and a colleague to whom he was relating the incident afterward attacked him as well: “You abandoned all those other Tannaim and Amoraim and followed Rav?!” Rafram bar Pappa is the next guest in the chapter who winds up in a place other than his home [15]. This time it is a synagogue and not at a meal, but the



28 Weiss does not count this story (‫אוכלים לדעת‬, 330).

Yalta – The Third Rib

15

pattern is identical. He uses language in prayer that violates a halakhic ruling that preceded the story, and the response he earns is a halakhic attack, opening with the insulting epithet, “You black pot!” All the ‫ איקלע‬stories, then, present the same structure: a guest happens to come to a house and performs a halakhic act there connected to the halakhic discussion into which the story has been placed. When he adopts a position opposed to the halakhic ruling in the sugya, the host responds harshly. The violent nature of the reactions testifies, it appears, not only to disagreement but to insult as well. The critics’ responses are not worded as polite suggestions, in the manner in which Rabbi Zeira and Rabbi Abbahu addressed each other [2] – “Are you sir, not of the opinion . . . ?” – but are instead aggressive gestures or insulting expressions directed toward those who, in their opinion, have insulted them. From the reader’s perspective, the hosts in the ‫ איקלע‬stories function as the ones who set things back into proper order. The sugya had established a norm for how some matter should be handled. The guest violates that norm, and the host firmly puts him in his place. Each one of these stories is a mini-tragedy, as Aristotle defines the term in his Poetics: the protagonist, with whom the reader identifies, disrupts the established order, but in the end order is restored. This manner of presentation gives the editors of the sugya (as it does to authors of tragedies) a double advantage: they present voices that are opposed to the halakhic norm of the sugya and even enable the reader to identify with those voices (especially in the Rav Ḥisda tale [12], told in the first person). In the end, though, they confirm the accepted normative ruling.29 This is our first example of the playing out of a motif in a full “symphony.” The motif ’s first appearance is rather simple, the second appearance repeats the same structure but adds a new chord – criticism from the host. The stories that follow intensify the critical response. When the reader gets to the Yalta story (which also begins with ‫)איקלע‬, s/he is equipped with a set of rather wellfounded expectations. In the discussion that opens the Chapter 7, additional questions are raised about the hierarchical relations among the diners. In total, seven stories appear that deal with the topic, and the discussion ends with “The law, however, is that the greatest says grace” (b. Ber. 47a). The long opening discussion, as noted, presented almost all the motifs that appear in the Yalta story: it began with the question of “two who have eaten together,” then enriched the discussion with various hierarchical aspects – a learned person and an ignoramus, a 29 For an extensive discussion of the relationship between stories and the halakhic sugya, see Wimpfheimer, Narrating the Law, and Simon-Shoshan, “Talmud as Novel.”

16

Ido Hevroni

great man and the other diners, host and guest, Babylonia and Eretz Yisrael. Along the way, the status of women vis-à-vis men in the matter of forming a zimmun also came up for discussion, which added a central motif: “mind.” Women indeed do not join in forming a zimmun with men (because of fear of licentiousness), but they can form a zimmun for themselves because they have competent minds. After the opening discussion, one finds short discussions of rulings in the Mishnah about someone who ate in a different fashion, as well as about the non-Jew (‫כותי‬, Samaritan), and about the attendant (‫)שמש‬. The next part of the sugya is devoted to a discussion of the section of the Mishnah that begins, “Women or slaves or minors . . . ”

WOMEN AND MEN The sugya that deals with the Mishnah’s statement that “women or slaves or minors may not be included [in forming a zimmun]” (b. Ber. 47b–49b) does not offer a halakhic deliberation about the question of women joining (or not joining) a zimmun. It devotes a little space to discussing whether a slave can join in forming a zimmun, and it deals extensively with the question of the status of a minor. Most of the sugya is devoted to a topic unconnected to the Mishnah passage from which it stems – the source of the obligation to recite Grace, and what is included in it. Even so, one can learn about women and their status in the context of a meal, since the sugya offers meaningful insights in a few stories and exegeses (drashot) connected to that topic. The sugya opens with an attempt to reverse the Mishnah’s ruling about a minor joining in forming a zimmun: “Rabbi Yose said, ‘A minor lying in a cradle is included in a zimmun.’” That statement leads to the offering of other opinions (rather odd ones) regarding who may join in a minyan – a Torah ark was suggested, or a zimmun – Shabbat was suggested). These suggestions come under attack from Rav Naḥman, Yalta’s husband, and the discussion concludes by accepting his view: “The halakhah is not in accordance with all of these statements. Rather, the halakhah is in accordance with this statement made by Rav Naḥman: ‘A minor who knows (‫ )יוֹ ֵד ַע‬to Whom one recites a blessing is included in a zimmun’” (b. Ber. 48a). Are the appearance of Rav Naḥman in the sugya and his statements in this discussion relevant for understanding his actions in the sugya’s concluding story? That is a complex question that will be addressed when we offer an interpretation of the story. What is clear is that we can learn from his statement that having a sufficiently developed mind (‫)דַּ ַעת‬ is a necessary condition for joining a zimmun, as we saw in the opening sugya. As though Rav Naḥman’s statement were not enough, the sugya adds a story wherein children meet that criterion [8]:

Yalta – The Third Rib

17

Abaye and Rav, son of Rav Hannan, [when they were children], were seated before Rabba. [Rabba] said to them: “To whom does one recite blessings?” They said to him: “To the Merciful One.” [Rabba asked them]: “And where does the Merciful One reside?” Abaye pointed to the highest part of the ceiling. Rav went outside [and] pointed toward the heavens. [Rabba] said to them: “You will both become sages.” It is as the popular saying goes: The Bosina (= kind of plant) is recognizable from its early growth. What is the point of this story? Later on, we shall suggest a broader explanation, but for now, one can see that it enriches the meaning of the word ‫“( דַּ ַעת‬mind”). Without this story, one might think that ‫ דעת‬refers to familiarity with particular knowledge (“To whom does one recite blessings? To the Merciful One”). The rabbi is not satisfied with that correct answer, though, and continues to probe. The youngsters offer creative answers, each one’s different from the other’s, and only then is the rabbi satisfied. In that way the story broadens our understanding of the concept of ‫דַּ ַעת‬: it is not just a demonstration of knowledge, but of understanding – the product of cognitive abilities and individual creativity.30 Thus, even though there is no direct discussion here of the status of women in relation to forming a zimmun, one can learn about one related aspect, since in the opening discussion they are referred to as possessing ‫ דַּ ַעת‬and in the present sugya we learn the meaning of that statement: women possess the ability to understand and to know, no less than men. The motif of ‫דַּ ַעת‬, which appeared at the beginning of the sugya without any explanation of its meaning, takes on here a richer and clearer meaning. After this opening discussion, the rest of the discussion is even more removed from the question of women joining in forming a zimmun and instead is devoted mostly to questions related to the Grace after Meals. Into the course of discussion are woven four stories about tense meals [9, 11, 12, 13], of which two examine the question of women’s place in the event. These are joined by exegeses that also deal with that topic [10]. As we shall see, the stories and the sermon offer variations on motifs that have already appeared in the course of the sugya, and they broaden the meanings of motifs that will appear later in the Yalta story.



30 Contra Weiss, ‫אוכלים לדעת‬, 266–67, who argues that the term ‫ דֵּ עוֹ ת‬does not refer to knowledge and understanding.

18

Ido Hevroni

King Yannai and the Queen Following the opening discussion, which raised, among other things, the question of individuals joining in who differ from most of the participants (minors, slaves), the Talmud ponders the matter of whether those who took part in the meal but did not eat grain with the other diners (“nine ate grain and one ate vegetables”) may join in. The conclusion reached is that someone who had not eaten grain with the other diners may join in, as long as an “obvious majority” of the diners did eat grain. Immediately after this statement comes the next story [9], with nothing expressed to clarify its connection to the discussion:31 King Yannai and the queen ate bread together. And since Yannai executed the sages, they had no one to recite the Grace [after Meals] for them. He said to his wife: “Who will give us a man to recite the blessing for us?” His wife said to him: “What can I do for you, since you executed all the sages? Swear to me that if I bring you [such] a man, you will not torture him.” He swore. She brought Shimon ben Shataḥ. He sat him between himself and her. [The King] said to him: “[Do you] see how much honor I am according you!?” He [Shimon] said: “It is not you who honors me; rather, the Torah honors me, as it is written: ‘Exalt her and she shall promote you.’” (Proverbs 4:8) Yannai said [to him]: “I see that you do not [accept my authority].” They gave him [Shimon] a cup of wine. He [Yannai] said to him: “Recite the Grace!” He said: “How shall I recite the blessing? Shall I say: ‘Blessed is He from Whom Yannai and his companions have eaten’?!” He drank that cup of wine. They gave him another cup, and he recited the Grace [after Meals] blessing. This is the most complex meal story that has appeared in the sugya to this point, and it comprises two parts, each of which presents a meal story with a typical structure: in the first part, the two characters dine “‫בהדי הדדי‬,” (together) and in the second part a guest dines with a host and has a confrontation with him. This story is also the first story in the chapter that introduces a woman into 31 This absence stands out even more when this passage is compared with its parallel in the Yerushalmi, where such a link does appear.

Yalta – The Third Rib

19

the complex web of relationships that exists at a meal. The presence of women at the meal does not contribute anything in the context of the present halakhic discussion (about whether someone who has not eaten grain with the other diners can join them), but it is connected to the section of Mishnah on which the discussion is based, where we read: “Women . . . may not be included in forming a zimmun.” Is that a coincidence? Comparison to the Yerushalmi The story of Yannai and Shim‘on ben Shataḥ appears in the parallel sugya in the Yerushalmi as well. While the two sugyot are quite similar in structure and topics, in the Yerushalmi there are some major changes.32 Comparing the parallel texts provides support for the assumption that the point of the story in the present context transcends the halakhic deliberation about how much one must eat in order to qualify to join a zimmun. The Yerushalmi, like the Bavli, deals with the question of participation by individuals who did not eat like the other diners, and the story of Yannai and Shim‘on is brought as an example of a diner who refuses to say Grace as long as he is different from the rest of those who dined: It was taught: Three hundred Nazarites went up [to Jerusalem to have their vows annulled] in the time of Rabbi Shim‘on ben Shataḥ. He [Shim ‘on] found a way out of the vows for one hundred and fifty of them. But he did not find a way out of the vows for [the remaining] one hundred and fifty. He went to King Yannai [and] said to him: “We have here three hundred Nazarites who must offer nine hundred sacrifices [to fulfill their vows]. If you give half, I will give half.” [Yannai] sent him four hundred and fifty [animals]. One informer went and told him [Yannai]. King Yannai heard this and became angry. Shim‘on ben Shataḥ was afraid and fled. After some time, several senior men from the kingdom of Persia came to King Yannai. When they were sitting and eating, they said to him, “We recall that one old man used to be here, and used to speak words of wisdom to us.” [Yannai] told them about the deeds [of Shim‘on]. They said to him: “Send for him and bring him.”

32 For a critique of the historical credibility of the Babylonian version in light of the Palestinian parallels, see Joshua Efron, ‫( חקרי התקופה החשמונאית‬Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuhad, 1980), 137–41.

20

Ido Hevroni

He sent for him and gave him his word [that he would not harm him], and he came and he took a seat between the king and the queen. [Yannai] said to him: “Why did you make fun of me?” [Shim‘on] said to him: “I did not make fun of you. You gave from your money, and I gave from my Torah as it is written, ‘For the protection of wisdom is like the protection of money.’” (Eccl 7:12) [Yannai] said to him: “Why then did you flee?” He said to him: “I heard that my master was angry at me, and I wanted to fulfill this verse: ‘Hide but a little moment, until the indignation passes.’” (Isa 26:20) And it was said concerning him, “and the advantage of knowledge is that wisdom preserves the life of him who has it.” (Eccl 7:12) [Yannai] said to him: “Why did you take a seat between the king and queen?” He said to him: “In the book of Ben Sira it is written: ‘Exalt her, and she shall promote you; and she will seat you among kings.’” He [Yannai] said: “Bring him the cup so that he may recite the Grace.” He [Shim‘on] took the cup and said: “Let us recite a blessing for the food which Yannai and his companions have eaten.” [Yannai] said to him: “You are still steadfast in your stubbornness.” [Shim‘on] said to him: “What then should I say, ‘[Let us recite the blessing] for the food which we have not eaten?’” [Yannai] said: “Bring him food so that he may eat.” They brought him [food] and he ate, and he said, “Let us recite the blessing for the food which we have eaten.” (y. Ber. 11b, based on ed. Hebrew Language Academy, 2005) The evident reason for bringing in the story of Yannai in the two Talmuds resides in the story’s second part, which is quite similar in the two versions: Shim‘on is brought in with a promise that he will not be harmed, and he is placed, or chooses to sit, between the king and the queen; a fraught dialogue develops between the king and the sage, with one emphasizing his power and the other his scholarship, after which Shim‘on receives the Cup of Blessing, inappropriately offers a blessing over it, and then, appropriately, offers a blessing over a second cup. Shim‘on acts here in contravention of the views cited earlier, and in both Talmuds the discussion rejects his approach immediately after presenting the story. The first part of the story forms the background of the fraught meal of king and sage, and it adds nothing to the halakhic discussion at hand. In it, as is plain

Yalta – The Third Rib

21

to see, there are extensive changes in the Bavli’s version. In the Yerushalmi’s version the queen plays no part in the first half of the story, and in the second she is described only as sitting passively next to Shim‘on. The differences between the two versions provide information about the editors’ intentions. Ruhama Weiss thinks that citing the story in the context of the Bavli, and the changes that were made to it, were intended to bring it closer to the other stories of a test at a meal that appear in the chapter.33 Her explanation, however, does not clarify why there are significant changes to the first part of the story, since in her view the focus of the story is still in the second part. It is clear that the story is shaped here in a manner that weaves together three themes: the immediate context of the discussion (participation in a zimmun by someone who did not eat like the others present), the meal tests (the tension between Yannai and Shim‘on), and a discussion of a woman’s place at a meal. A comparison with the Yerushalmi version makes the Bavli version’s interest in the third theme obvious. Back to the Bavli The Bavli story describes a volatile trio (host-guest-hostess) with significant parallels to the story of Yalta and ‘Ulla. In both, the meal story is composed of two parts: in one, a dialogue takes place between the host and an aggressive guest who acts contrary to the view of the host regarding the blessing over the cup of wine, attacking the host’s view with the aid of biblical verses; in the other part, the host conducts a tense dialogue with his wife. The story of Yannai and his wife makes use of motifs that appeared in the earlier meal stories. At the beginning, the couple are portrayed as having “[eaten] bread together,” like the students of Maremar in the first meal story [1]. The reader, who has already read the earlier story, assumes that here too there are diners of equal rank between whom there is agreement. As with the students of Maremar, there was no greater one to recite Grace. However, comparison with the story of Maremar’s students brings to the fore the ironic aspect of the present story. Why do Yannai and his kingdom not have a great man who can recite Grace? – Because he made sure to wipe out all the “great men,” as his wife reminds him. This is another example of the “thickening” of a motif. The motif first appeared in the sugya in simple fashion, but now it plays a multivalent role, which one can only grasp by knowing its previous appearance. The present story does not explain in detail what led Yannai to kill all the sages. It seems reasonable to assume that it is the story that appears in b. Qidd. 66a, or a similar version of that story, which describes a struggle for superiority

33 Weiss, ‫אוכלים לדעת‬, 292–94.

22

Ido Hevroni

that takes place at a meal. Yannai returns from a great campaign of conquest and invites the sages of Israel to a victory banquet, during which he adorns himself with the crown of Priesthood as well. That arouses criticism from the sages. In response, Yannai kills all the sages, since they are calling his greatness into question, “and the world was desolate of Torah until Shim‘on ben Shataḥ came and restored the Torah to its former [state].”34 The irony is intensified as the reader considers why Yannai needs someone to recite Grace. The context of the sugya sheds some light on this: earlier, the sugya had stated that “the learned person recites the blessing and the ignoramus thereby fulfills his obligation.” The one who slaughtered the sages in the course of struggle for superiority is presented here as an ignoramus in need of their assistance. The king’s wife comes to his aid and brings in Shim‘on ben Shataḥ. Where does she fetch him from? Here too it is fair to assume that the background is the talmudic story (or some version thereof) that deals with the slaughter of the sages: “When King Yannai was executing the sages, Shim‘on ben Shataḥ was hidden by his sister” (b. Sotah 47a). It seems that under the surface there was a profound disagreement between the royal couple: the king executed the sages, but his wife acted contrary to his wishes and hid the sage. Given that information, it seems that the queen has every good reason in the world not to assist Yannai. First, it is his own fault that there is no one to recite Grace. Second, in order to help him she is forced to reveal her own guilt. Third, she is endangering Shim‘on. Why does she help him nevertheless? Apparently because “they ate bread together.”35 He treats her as an equal, and therefore she grants him a blessing (literally and metaphorically). Although Yannai and the queen disagree (like many other people whose meals are described in preceding stories), they are able to cooperate with each other. He turns to her to seek help, and she, in response, “births” something new. She also protects her brother and requires the king to guarantee his safety. The outcome is equality and reconciliation. He got what he was missing, and she got what she was missing. He got someone to recite Grace, and she got a pardon for her brother, and apparently for herself as well. In the second half, the second meal story, the queen is present, but not as an active participant. The protagonists are the host and the guest. Here, the guest 34 One cannot state with certainty that the story in Tractate Berkahot of the Bavli “knows” the story in Tractate Qiddushin, but they share many identical motifs (Yannai, Shim‘on, a struggle over superiority at a meal, the murder of the sages) that indicate a certain amount of familiarity between them, as least. 35 Weiss, ‫אוכלים לדעת‬, 288, argues that the description of the shared meal in this story is ironic, given the previous tension between the king and his wife. In my view, in light of its previous appearance in the sugya, it is an indication of genuine equality.

Yalta – The Third Rib

23

comes (‫ )אתא‬to the meal, or is brought there; he does not just happen to be there (‫)איקלע‬. A description of a guest as having been brought to, or coming to, the meal not by chance appeared in some of the previous stories in the chapter: in the story of Rabbi Abbahu and the ailing Rabbi Zeira [2], discussed above, and in two short stories that conclude the opening sugya: the first presents a colleague/guest who is late to join the meal of equals and creates dissention among them [6], and the second presents a great man who joins a meal late and criticizes the diners’ behavior [7].36 In both instances, the guest stirs up tension at the meal. In the first story he sets the diners against each other, and in the second he admonishes them over a misunderstanding. How will Shim‘on behave? As in the story of Rabbi Zeira and Rabbi Abbahu, here is a guest who brings with him a set of hierarchical tensions: who is more important, the invited guest or the host who issued the invitation? In light of the Grace recited by the guest cited after that story, the reader’s question is sharpened: How will this guest recite Grace? Will he be able to heap blessings on the head of the murderous king? And indeed, the guest facetiously suggests a blessing of a completely different sort. The stories of the two other guests who came to a meal offer two additional possibilities: will the guest stir up controversy among the diners, who are of equal status? Will he castigate them, as the great man had done to his inferiors? What is the nature of the “shared” meal of the king and the guest? The storyteller chooses a unique expression, one that does not appear in any other story in the sugya: “He sat him between him and her” (‫)בין דידיה לדידה‬. That expression echoes the expression that describes the meal of the king and queen, ‫“( בהדי הדדי‬together”). While the king and queen had earlier dined together, now the guest was placed in the middle, between them. The expression clarifies his status – between the one who seeks to do him harm and the one who seeks his welfare. It is this status that protects him. In light of his insolent behavior, we may assume that the king would have been happy to get rid of him as he had done to his comrades. The only thing protecting Shim‘on from being eliminated is the queen, who had earlier hidden him and has now made her husband swear not to make trouble for him. The host boasts about the honor he bestowed upon his guest, and the guest responds belligerently, basing his comments on the exegisis of a verse. As we have seen, a diner who acts in a way that earns him an aggressive response has already appeared a few times in the sugya. Here, though, for the first time in the sugya’s stories, the guest responds and backs up his stance with a biblical proof text. The king responds with a counterattack, and then gives the guest the Cup of

36 See Weiss’s analysis, ‫אוכלים לדעת‬, 256–63.

24

Ido Hevroni

Blessing. The guest uses it in a way that runs counter to the host’s wishes. The king, though, does not attack him again, but instead gives him another cup. This time the guest does as the host has asked. At the end of the story‚ as at the end of the story of Rabbi Abbahu and Rabbi Zeira, a mutuality is achieved between host and guest. Each one receives part of what he wanted: the king gains someone to recite Grace, and the guest receives a place of honor and a pardon. This story presents, for the first time in the sugya, the triangle of host–host’s wife–guest, which will appear again in the Yalta story. The host is the connector between the two parts of the story. He is the only one present throughout the plot and conducts two separate dialogues – connected but distinct – with the other two characters. With his wife he has a fruitful dialogue: he needs something and she can meet his need; she needs forgiveness for herself and protection for her brother, and he agrees to grant them. In contrast to that, his relations with the guest are much more fraught. Yannai needs his guest to recite the blessing, but he wants to make the hierarchical relationship between them clear. The guest needs a pardon, but refuses to recognize the greatness of the king. Each of them will get part of what he wants, but not all. Yannai will get someone to recite the Grace, but not recognition of his status as a great man; Shim‘on will receive a pardon, but not recognition of his status as a great man. Who brought this about? A woman of sound and clever mind (‫)דעת‬. Even though the queen does not make an appearance in the second part, she plays a central role in mediating between the two men caught in a struggle with each other. Unlike all previous meals, in which men were present without women, here the men manage to reach a compromise, despite very poor conditions at the outset. The story of Rabbi Abbahu and Rabbi Zeira concluded on an equal basis, but neither performed the action that was acceptable to the other. The present story succeeds in bringing the contending diners each to do the will of the other, even if they do not grant each other the desired respect. The story of Yannai and his queen nicely exemplifies the editorial art of the Babylonian storytellers. They took existing materials (the stories about the tension between Yannai and Shim’on and the role of the sister/queen in the story) and wove them into the present sugya in a way that: connects the story to the concrete halakhic discussion (about who may join in a zimmun); to a theme that recurs in the sugya (meal tests); and to motifs from the Mishnah that have not yet been dealt with in the sugya (women, the glass of wine). The glass of wine that appears in an unlinked fashion in the Mishnah is embedded here into the warp and weft of the sugya and attains a significant place in the talmudic discussion. Women, who had appeared in the Mishnah but were not dealt with in the halakhic discussion, here are given an even more significant place. A woman

Yalta – The Third Rib

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appears in this story as one of a group of three, which is the basic unit for a zimmun. While it is true that she does not join in the zimmun, nonetheless, despite her apparent inferior status, in this story she takes on a much more significant role than simply joining in a zimmun. Only with her help can the men live together without doing each other in. While the notion that two men are worth one hundred women was suggested at the beginning of the sugya, this story offers two men set against one woman, and it is plain to see that her mind is superior to theirs.

Women are Chatterers The sugya rejects the halakhic possibility that emerges from the story of Yannai and his wife and moves on to deal with the source of the requirement to recite Grace. In that discussion, the following opinion is cited: Rabbi Natan says: “[That previous source for the obligation to recite a blessing before eating] is not necessary, as it says: “(As they were climbing the ascent to the town, they met some girls coming out to draw water, and they asked them, ‘Is the seer in town?’ ‘Yes,’ they replied. ‘He is up there ahead of you. Hurry, for he has just come to the town because the people have a sacrifice at the shrine today.) As soon as you enter the town, you will find him before he goes up to the shrine to eat; the people will not eat until he comes; for he must first bless the sacrifice and only then will the guests eat.” (“Go up at once, for you will find him right away.” 1 Sam 9:13) Why [was these girls’ speech] so [long]? Rav said, “It is because women are chatterers.” And Shmuel said, “In order to gaze upon Saul’s beauty [longer], as it is written: ‘[No one among the Israelites was more handsome than he;] he was a head taller than any of the people.’” (1 Samuel 9:2) “Go up at once, for you will find him right away” (1 Sam 9:13)37 – Rabbi Yoḥanan said, “Because one sovereignty does not overlap with its counterpart, even one hairbreadth.” This passage appears here, it would seem, only to suggest a biblical source for the requirement to recite a blessing before consuming food, which we learn from the statement that “he must first bless the sacrifice and only then will the guests eat.” Along with that statement, some other exegeses are “dragged along” that offer an explanation for the behavior of the young women in that situation. 37 The citation of this verse appears only in MS Munich.

26

Ido Hevroni

In the parallel sugya in the Yerushalmi (y. Ber. 11a) that verse appears, as in the Bavli, as a source for the requirement that one recite a blessing before consuming food or drink, but without “dragging in” additional exegeses. Moreover, it appears in the Yerushalmi in a discussion of the first mishnah in the chapter, which seems to be its natural place. In the Bavli, in contrast, it appears in the present discussion, which seems less appropriate. In addition, if those additional exegeses did not appear, the reader’s attention would apparently have been focused on the part of the verse that is cited, dealing with Grace. However, the accompanying exegeses do not relate at all to the verse that was cited as a proof text, but relate instead to the general situation from which it is taken, therefore requiring the reader to take into account (and perhaps even to reread) the full context of the biblical story. In that sense, the cited verse functions here as a literary allusion, an “indicator”: The term “indicator” is intended to designate a linguistic unit in an alluding text that directs the reader to the text to which allusion is made. This independent text constitutes an object of reference additional to those that are found in the linguistic components of the unit and can be understood in their immediate context. The indicator, then, is not essentially a roundabout way to relate to some reference, and it does not supply the alluding text with the information included in it alone. Its primary importance is in its especial communicative function: pointing the reader’s attention to the fact that he has to forge a connection between texts in order to enjoy maximal realization of the meaning potential of the text before him, and directing the reader to a specific text.38 I do not claim that every verse cited in the course of the talmudic discussions brings its context with it, but in the present instance, the exegeses bring the broad biblical context into the discussion, seemingly unnecessarily, strengthening the assumption that the exegesis on women was not “dragged” here, but was added intentionally by the redactors, with the goal of enriching the discussion of the status of women opened by the story of Yannai and Shim‘on. This passage offers a treatment of the central motifs of the chapter, but in a different guise – neither a halakhic deliberation nor a story, but derashot, exegeses of verses. The framework is indeed a halakhic discussion (asking what is

38 Ziva Ben-Porat, “‫ הטקסט והרמיזה הספרותית‬,‫הקורא‬,” Hasifrut 26 (1978): 1–25 (here: 2n3). See also Emmanuel Levinas, Nine Talmudic Readings (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994): “[E] ach time a biblical verse is brought in as a proof it is not likely that the sages of the Talmud are looking in these texts, squeezed every which way in spite of grammar, for a direct proof of the thesis they are upholding. It is always an invitation to search out the context of the quotation” (166; see also 55, 103).

Yalta – The Third Rib

27

the biblical source for reciting blessings before and after food), but the biblical story from which the halakhic ruling is derived describes a meal in which host and guest take part, with the hierarchical relationship between them likely to be tense, and women take a place in it as mediators between the two. This host is a local person, Samuel, a leader who had fallen from greatness, but opposes the popular desire to take on a king.39 The guest is Saul, a natural candidate for the kingship (as his appearance indicates), who is as yet unaware of his destiny and not familiar with the true greatness of the prophet.40 The encounter between them could well be explosive.41 This state of affairs resembles the fraught relations between Yannai and Shim‘on: the king and the sage are in positions of tension over the question of hierarchy and leadership, with each of them not recognizing the value and role of the other. In the interstices stand the women, the length of whose statement attracts attention from the exegetes. While Saul addresses them in laconic fashion (three words in the original), they reply with a long, detailed answer (forty-four words). Their words urge him to move quickly, but they slow him down by the length of their speech. The sages offer explanations for their disproportionate response. Each of the sages contributes to the discussion of women’s status. The first ascribes the length of their reply to characteristic loquaciousness, and the second to their interest in Saul’s appearance. Both of them, it seems, contribute to the characterization of women as weak-minded and/or tending to licentiousness.42 The words of the third sage, Rabbi Yoḥanan, can be understood in either of two ways: perhaps he is ascribing the situation to the invisible hand of God directing reality, but it may also be that he ascribes to women particular wisdom that perceives the fraught situation and leads them to take a mindful action to prevent friction between the two pretenders to the throne.43 39 In the previous chapter (8), Samuel saw the people’s desire for a king in a negative light (v. 6), and, even after God commands him to heed the people (vv. 7–9) and set a king over them (v. 22), he does nothing. More than that, in light of the fact that young women describe him as someone who has just returned to town, it appears that he had gone back to his old practice of traveling around from town to town judging the people (7:15–17). 40 This is evident from his conversation with his attendant (vv. 6–9), in which the prophet is described as an anonymous soothsayer who, it can be assumed, is prepared to accept as payment one fourth of a silver shekel, a negligible sum that would be in a servant’s possession. 41 Support for concern about a potentially fraught encounter can be found in the previous encounter between the king and the prophet, in which the roles are reversed: the king arranges a sacrificial feast and the prophet announces to him that the kingship has been torn away from him (chap. 15). 42 See Weiss, ‫אוכלים לדעת‬, 266. 43 The first manner of reading the statement is the most common one. See, for example: Jonathan Jacobs, “The Role of the Secondary Characters in the Story of the Anointing of Saul (I Sam ix–x),” Vetus Testamentum 58 (2008): 495–509. For the opposite view, which identifies the young women’s actions as intentional and meaningful, see Frank Polak, “‫הרובד העיקרי בפרקים א׳–ט״ו של ספר‬

28

Ido Hevroni

The young women, hearing Saul inquire about the whereabouts of “the seer,” understand that he is not cognizant of Samuel’s true greatness; they gaze at Saul’s appearance (most impressive of anyone among the entire people!) and make the connection between Saul and the request to establish a kingship. Unlike the reader, they do not know that Saul has a very different goal (finding the missing asses), but as local people they are familiar with the people’s demand to set up a king over them and Samuel’s opposition to such a move. Combining those pieces of information, they come to the conclusion that Saul has come to present his candidacy for the position, or even, perhaps, to usurp it. Their words are intended, then, to fill him in. That is the reason that they add many seemingly unnecessary descriptions about Samuel’s role and the people’s attitude toward him. Only from the women’s information can Saul learn that the man he is looking for is the most prominent person in town, so that at the sacrificial meal no one will eat before Samuel recites a blessing. Their attempts to hurry Saul along seem also to be aimed at building up Samuel’s prestige: he is not a soothsayer holed up in his home awaiting clients’ requests, but a prophet, a leader who travels about among the towns of Israel and, in a rare fashion, arrived here just today. It may well be that they slow Saul down with their remarks so that he will not arrive at the meal before Samuel, since otherwise the people might discern his royal potential and make Saul king without waiting for the prophet’s approval. This way of reading the incident suggests a more positive interpretation of the first two speakers in the rabbinic discussion: looking at Saul’s impressive appearance testifies to an analysis of the situation (identifying his royal potential), and the women’s loquaciousness is not empty verbiage but rather a demonstration of psychological and diplomatic skills. In any case, whether the young women act out of awareness or whether they are only an instrument in God’s hands, they function in this story like the queen in the previous story: only because of them are the men able to live together. We see here, then, another example of the art of the Bavli’s redaction. Through a verse brought as a halakhic proof text, the redactors introduce another triangle situation, and by means of it they enrich the discussion of women and their social status.

‫( ”שמואל א׳‬PhD diss., Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1984), 179; Aryeh Gealya, “‫לקראת המפגש‬ ‫ א–יג( שבין שאול לשמואל‬,‫”)שמו״א ט׳‬, in ‫ספר פרופ׳ חמ״י גבריהו; מחקרים במקרא ובמחשבת ישראל‬, vol. 2, ed. Ben Zion Luria (Jerusalem: Israel Society for Biblical Research: Kiryat Sefer, 1991). Retrieved from https://mikranet.cet.ac.il/pages/item.asp?item=8799 (9.10.20); Robert Alter, The David Story: A Translation with Commentary of 1 and 2 Samuel (New York: W. W. Norton, 1999), 4.

Yalta – The Third Rib

29

Rav Ḥisda at the Home of the Exilarch The next part of the discussion that sets out from the Mishnah’s ruling that “women . . . may not be included in forming a zimmun” deals with the topic of what should be mentioned in the Grace after Meals and cites the dictum that “whoever does not mention the covenant and the Torah in the blessing of the land and the kingdom of the house of David in ‘who builds Jerusalem’ has not performed his obligation.” In the course of the discussion, additional opinions are cited that support that contention, and no opposing view is mentioned. After citing those opinions, the following story appears [12]: Rabbi Zeira said to Rav Ḥisda: “Let the Master come and teach.” He said: “I have not yet learned Grace after Meals, and I will teach?” He said: “What is this?” He said: “I happened to come to the house of the Exilarch and recited Grace after Meals, and Rav Sheshet stretched out his neck over me like a snake. And why? [Because] I mentioned neither Covenant nor Torah nor Sovereignty in Grace after Meals.” [Rabbi Zeira asked]: “And why did you not mention [those themes]?” [He answered: “Because I accept the opinion of] Rav Ḥananel who said in the name of Rav . . .: ‘If one does not mention Covenant, Torah or Sovereignty in Grace after Meals, he nevertheless fulfilled his obligation, [because] Covenant does not apply to women; Torah and Sovereignty apply neither to women nor to slaves.’” [Rabbi Zeira said:] “And you abandoned all of these Tannaim and Amoraim [who hold that one is not fulfilling his duty if he does not mention these themes] and followed Rav?!” This is a story within a story. The frame story describes the dialogue between Rabbi Zeira and Rav Ḥisda, and the story at the center is a meal story, similar to the previous ‫ איקלע‬stories. A guest happens to come to a home, acts contrary to the view of the host and draws an aggressive response. The aggressive response is doubled through the frame story: in the inner story the householder expresses his disagreement through a threatening gesture, and in the frame story Rabbi Zeira expresses his disagreement through gentler assertiveness, as expected from a colleague, or a student (which is how he presented himself at the beginning of the story, when he invited Rav Ḥisda to teach). The inner story presents Rav Ḥisda’s recitation of Grace in the home of the Exilarch, during which he acts contrary to the custom of the host and contrary

30

Ido Hevroni

to all the opinions quoted earlier in the discussion.44 What motivates him to act that way? Why does he rely on the unique dissenting opinion of Rav Ḥananel in the name of Rav? Is Rav Ḥisda a sort of proto-feminist, protesting discrimination against women (and slaves and minors) in his acts? That appears, at least, to be how the redactors want to portray him. As we have suggested, the ‫ איקלע‬stories provide an opportunity to present opinions contrary to the halakhic line of the sugya in a manner that allows the reader to identify with them. This is particularly evident in the present story, which allows Rav Ḥisda to tell his story in the first person (beginning with a self-denigrating statement), enhancing the reader’s empathy for him.45 In light of the sugya in which the story has been placed, his behavior appears to be a protest, a refusal to include in the Grace any references that are not relevant to the women taking part in it.46

The Anomaly of the Zimmun The redactors’ choice to insert this story near the end of a discussion of the statement that “women or slaves or minors may not be included [in forming a zimmun]” is not accidental. The story brings to the surface the unique complexity of the zimmun. The halakhot that appear in Tractate Berakhot deal with two principal categories of mitzvot (“commandments”): ritualistic mitzvot – required religious actions such as Keri’at Shema and the daily prayers (chapters 1–5), and mitzvot that stem from non-obligatory mundane activities, such as eating or building a new house, that if undertaken create a halakhic obligation, (chapters 6–9). The former are generally carried out in a public setting, and women, minors, and slaves are exempt from most of them. Women are obligated to perform the latter just as are men. The obligation of zimmun is unusual. As it stems from a mundane act, it apparently belongs to the second type of mitzvot, but it functions as a mitzvah of the first category, the public ritual type. The zimmun transforms a quotidian event with family or friends into a religious ritual. 44 In accordance with R. Yoḥanan’s statement at the end of [2]: “the guest recites Grace.” 45 Weiss, ‫אוכלים לדעת‬, 279–86, perceives an attack against the Exilarch here, but does not note the positive aspect of identifying with the viewpoint of women (and slaves and minors). If hierarchy were the focus of the struggle, Rav Ḥisda would have included Covenant and Torah in his blessing and only refrained from mentioning Kingship. 46 Support for viewing him as having a clear stance regarding the importance of women can be found in a sugya that suggests a preference for the birth of sons over the birth of daughters, where Rav Ḥisda’s presents a dissenting opinion: “To me daughters are dearer than sons” (b. B. Bat. 141a).

Yalta – The Third Rib

31

Regular religious ceremonies, such as prayer with a minyan (prayer quorum of ten), flow from a basic, equal obligation of all those participating, so do not raise questions of hierarchy in such a stark manner. A social meal, by contrast, as the sugya shows, is an event in which hierarchy occupies an important place. That arises in clear fashion in a discussion in which Persian customs are cited as an example of a proper hierarchical meal (b. Ber. 46b). Therefore, it is no surprise that the halakhot connected with it seek to reflect that reality. A meal is also a domestic, family event. Therefore, it raises questions connected to those who generally take part in a family meal, such as women, slaves, and minors. It appears that the redactors of both Talmuds were interested in changing the attitudes cited in the Mishnah. In the case of a minor, views contrary to the Mishnah were cited, and the conclusion from the discussion is contrary as well: “A minor who knows [‫]יוֹ ֵד ַע‬ to Whom one recites a blessing is included in a zimmun.”47 After the conclusion is stated, the story dealt with above appears, about Abbaye and Rav son of Rav Ḥanan as youngsters [8]. What does the story contribute to the ruling that had already taken shape about an intelligent, aware minor? It does, of course, offer a nice example of minors who know to Whom one offers the blessing (and enriches our understanding of the term ‫)דַּ ַעת‬, but we can assume that this does not represent an unwavering standard regarding the precise answer that the minor has to give in order to qualify for joining a zimmun. Apparently, the depictions of the childhood of people who will later become great and famous sages of Torah were added here to reinforce the goal of the sugya in its halakhic aspects as well to change the social status of minors, The sugya appears to do the same regarding women.48 True, it does not present a halakhic ruling opposed to that of the Mishnah, but it does devote extensive space to dealing with the social status of women. It seems to be important to the redactors of the sugya to make it clear that, despite the fact that women are excluded from the status of those included in a zimmun, one cannot infer from this that they are unimportant. Through the stories, the redactors offer some compensation and balance for the demeaning portrayal that might be understood from the halakhic ruling of the Mishnah.49

47 The attempt to change the Mishnah’s ruling regarding a minor appears earlier in the parallel passage in the Yerushalmi, although the conclusion there seems to be that the minor does not join in the zimmun. 48 A comparison to the Yerushalmi parallel supports that conclusion since it contains no treatment of the status of women. 49 See also the summary in Valler, ‫נשים ונשיות‬, 112.

32

Ido Hevroni

YALTA The deliberations with which the chapter ends deal with the Mishnah’s final statement: “One does not recite a blessing over wine until he adds water to it . . . ” The sugya opens with statements concerning the status of undiluted wine, directions, and stories that develop from that situation, after which the following baraita appears, opening the final discussion of the chapter:50 Ten things were said with regard to a Cup of Blessing. It requires rinsing and washing, being full [of wine];51 adorning and wrapping; he takes it in his two hands and places it in his right hand, and he lifts it at least one handbreadth from the table, and when reciting the blessing he fixes his eyes upon it, and he sends it as a gift to members of his household [= his wife]. Rabbi [Yoḥanan]52 said: “We only have four [things]: Rinsing, washing, the wine must be undiluted, and the cup must be full.” Rabbi Yoḥanan said: “Anyone who recites a blessing over a full cup, they give him a boundless inheritance, as it is stated: ‘And full of the Lord’s blessing, take possession on the west and south.’” (Deuteronomy 33:23)53 The opening statement lists ten actions that should be undertaken with the Cup of Blessing. Rabbi Yoḥanan’s opinion is presented, disagreeing with the stated position and requiring only four actions. Immediately afterward, attributed to Rabbi Yoḥanan, is a derashah on biblical verses that enriches the concept of the “Cup of Blessing.” While until this point, the concept was technical, a “Cup of Blessing” being a cup over which one performs a halakhic ceremony of saying a blessing, from this point on it is a cup that brings blessing, abundance, upon anyone careful with it. Following up are short discussions dealing with the various actions listed in the baraita, in the order of their appearance there – how one adorns the cup, what wrapping it means, why one should grasp it with two hands, and so on. Given the interest in all the ten actions and not only in the four suggested by 50 Other than the short statement at the very end about “one who eats and walks . . . ” 51 In MS Munich 95 the word ‫=( ״חי״‬unmixed) is inserted in this point between the lines. This addition, which appears in other manuscripts as well, changes the number of actions one must undertake with the Cup of Blessing, making “he sends it as a gift to members of his household” the eleventh action. Since it appears here between the lines, I assume that originally “and he sends it as a gift to members of his household” was the tenth action and that the addition is late, influenced by other manuscripts. 52 Absent from MS Munich 95. 53 51a.

Yalta – The Third Rib

33

Rabbi Yoḥanan, it seems that the suyga’s redactors do not accept his position.54 The deliberation comes to the final ruling, but instead of a short elaboration, as was done regarding previous rulings, it offers the Yalta story: 55.‫״ומשגרו לאנשי ביתו במתנה״‬ ‫עולא איקלע לבי רב נחמן‬ ‫ יהב ליה כסא דברכתא‬,‫בריך ברכת מזונא‬ ?‫ לא סבר לה מר נשדר כסא לילתא‬:‫אמר ליה רב נחמן‬ ,‫ אין פרי בטנה של אשה מתברכת אלא מפרי בטנו של איש‬:‫ הכי אמר רבי יוחנן‬,‫אמר ליה‬ ‫ ״(וַ ֲא ֵה ְב ָך ֵוּב ַר ְכ ָך וְ ִה ְר ֶּב ָך) ֵוּב ַר ְך ּ ְפ ִרי ִב ְטנְ ָך (וּ ְפ ִרי ַא ְד ָמ ֶת ָך ְ ּד ָגנְ ָך וְ ִתיר ׁ ְֹש ָך וְ יִ ְצ ָה ֶר ָך ׁ ְש ַגר‬:‫שנאמר‬ ָ ‫יך וְ ַע ׁ ְש ְּתרֹת צֹאנֶ ָך ַעל ָה ֲא ָד ָמה ֲא ׁ ֶשר נִ ׁ ְש ַּבע ַל ֲאב ֶֹת‬ ָ ‫ֲא ָל ֶפ‬ ‫ ״פרי‬.)‫יג‬:‫יך ָל ֶתת ָל ְך)״ (דברים ז‬ .‫ אלא ״פרי בטנך״‬,‫בטנה״ לא נאמר‬ 57‫ אזלא לבי חמרא ותברא ארבע מאה דני דחמרא‬56,‫ קם [ז]יהרא‬,‫אדהכי והכי שמע׳ ילתא‬ ‫ דברכת׳ היא‬59‫ כל היוי נגב׳‬58:‫שלח לה‬ .‫ ממהדורי מילי ומסמרטוטי כלמי‬:‫שלחה ליה‬ This story nearly closes out the chapter. Following it is one short halakhic ruling, seemingly unconnected to the chapter, which we will relate to below. This is certainly the last story in the chapter. As mentioned above, this story contains all the motifs that have appeared in the course of the sugya. The story deals with a meal at which a guest and host are present, from Eretz Yisrael and from Babylonia, who happen to enter into a hierarchical face-off over the Grace after Meals. It takes up the question of a woman’s role in the Grace; it contains a dispute between a householder and his wife; it features a Cup of Blessing; and it contains expressions of disagreement among the participants (from “Are you not, sir, of the opinion . . . ?” to aggressive gestures and expressions). It seems that the redactors chose it – or created it – as the closing piece of the entire chapter. The following interpretation of the story is based on the various motifs that appeared earlier in the chapter, on the story’s structure, and on a comparison to the story closest to it in the sugya, the story of Yannai and his queen. The order of these analyses is based on an assumption about the ideal reader’s manner of

54 That is the view of Shirel, “‫”הדיאלוג‬, as well. 55 Several manuscripts add here: “‫ ”כי היכי דליבריך דביתהו‬and that addition entered the printed editions. According to those versions, it is clear that Yalta is Rav Naḥman’s wife, at least in the present story. 56 The first letter of the word is blurred and difficult to identify with certainty. The gap is filled here on the basis of other versions. 57 The printed editions add a sentence here: “‫”אמר ליה רב נחמן נשדר לה מר כסא אחרינא‬, which of course influences how the continuation of the dialogue is to be understood. 58 Who sends this message? That will be discussed below. 59 In other sources, “‫”נבגא‬.

34

Ido Hevroni

reading: first s/he will read the story in the continuum of the sugya and fill in its gaps on the basis of prior information and his or her general knowledge. Later, s/he may choose to go back and have a closer look at the story, discerning in it more complex patterns that are not evident on the first reading. The only two components of the story that have not previously appeared in the chapter are the characters ‘Ulla and Yalta. The fact that neither of them has been mentioned before in this chapter presents a challenge to the reader, one with which s/he will attempt to grapple with the help of various exegetical tools: similarity of sound, lexical knowledge, their role in the story in light of the earlier stories, and general familiarity with the culture and society.60 The source of the name ‘Ulla [‫ ]עולא‬is apparently the root ‫על״ל‬. The term ‫ עללתא‬means “product,” “yield,” “income.”61 ‘Ulla is a guest, so there is the expectation of the guest’s blessing. ‘Ulla is a sage from Eretz Yisrael and he is a guest in the home of a Babylonian sage. The tension between Eretz Yisrael and Babylonia has already been mentioned in several of the meal stories, so the reader expects tension to come up. The meal is described as an ‫ איקלע‬event. As we have seen, such meals bring to the fore a hierarchical tension between guest and host. In this instance as well, the guest behaves contrary to the halakhic position that appears before the story, so the reader’s expectation is that the host will respond aggressively and the story will end with his response, as has happened in the previous stories. Statements in the name of the host, Rav Naḥman, have appeared a few times in this sugya, as has a story that deals with an error of his regarding the Grace after Meals. As we have seen, the first statements in his name presented him as someone who bases his arguments on realistic, concrete thinking. He refused to accept the creative views that suggested including the Shabbat in a zimmun and a Torah ark in a minyan. His literal and concrete understanding can also be seen in other sugyot and stories that involve him, which present him as someone who consistently fails to grasp metaphorical meanings.62 60 Identifying the exegetical tools that are available to the ideal reader and the decisions it can be assumed he will make is more speculative than noting motifs and their changing use in the course of the sugya. Nonetheless, every act of reading involves, perforce, exegetical tools of various types, which rely on a certain familiarity with the cultural context in which the text was created. 61 Michael Sokoloff, A Dictionary of Jewish Biblical Aramaic [below, DJBA] (Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press; Baltimore–London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2002), s.v. ‫עללתא‬. 62 Thus, for example, in the story of Rabbi Yitzhak’s meal, which also cites derashot of verses in the name of Rabbi Yoḥanan (b. Ta‘an. 5b). Addressing Rav Naḥman’s limited metaphorical understanding in that story, Joseph Heinemann writes, “This whole game of facts that are not facts and truth that is truth despite the facts . . . was beyond the ken of a man of halakhah and jurisprudence like Rav Naḥman” (Joseph Heinemann, ‫[ אגדות ותולדותיהן‬Jerusalem: Keter, 1974], 164–65).

Yalta – The Third Rib

35

The guest is given the honor of reciting the Grace, as had been the guests in the previous stories of conflict. Honoring him with reciting Grace forges a link between this story and the story of Rabbi Abbahu’s and Rabbi Zeira’s meal. The expectation is that the guest’s recitation of Grace brings blessing to the host’s home. ‘Ulla, however, like the other guests who “happened” to be in their hosts’ homes, does not bring blessing but instead takes a position different from that suggested in the halakhic discussion that preceded the story. He does not send the Cup of Blessing to the woman of the house.63 We may assume that he is acting according to the opinion of Rabbi Yoḥanan that appears a few lines earlier in the sugya, which reduces the number of actions done with the Cup of Blessing to four and does not include sending the cup to the woman of the house. The Cup of Blessing had been mentioned for the first time at the end of the chapter of Mishnah. In the talmudic sugya, it first appeared in the story of Yannai and Shim‘on [9] and there too it brought to the fore a hierarchical tension between host and guest. The meaning of the Cup of Blessing was enriched in the present discussion, as we have noted, by Rabbi Yoḥanan’s statement regarding the abundance it brings to those who show it respect. Therefore, it is all the more significant in the present situation. It highlights the question of hierarchy between the men, but it also highlights the question of abundance and blessing and the place of women. Up to this point, the story has unfolded in a pattern similar to the earlier ‫ איקלע‬stories: a guest happens to be at a home and acts contrary to the host’s view. Rav Naḥman, as expected, criticizes his guest’s behavior. Unexpectedly, however, he uses different language than the previous householders. In the earlier ‫ איקלע‬stories, the guest’s unacceptable act draws an aggressive response backed by a halakhic ruling. Here, not only does Rav Naḥman not respond with an aggressive gesture, but instead he uses the language of the response that characterized the peers’ meals – “Are you, sir, not of the opinion . . . ?” Reading the story on its own cannot direct the reader’s attention to that difference. Only reading it in the context of the chapter can make it clear how unusual an act that was. The reader, whose expectation is an aggressive response, will stop here and wonder what led Rav Naḥman to act not as a host aggressively asserting his position but as a colleague suggesting to an equal an alternative halakhic possibility. Familiarity with the previous times when a halakhic alternative has been suggested using the opening formula “Are you, sir, not of the opinion . . . ” directs the reader’s attention to an additional element of strangeness in Rav Naḥman’s 63 Zion, Wine, 142–44, thinks that ‘Ulla is trying to educate Rav Naḥman so that he, in turn, will educate his wife.

36

Ido Hevroni

response. Instead of citing a halakhic ruling, he presents an alternative for the guest’s action that, while based on a halakhic opinion, is phrased in a personal way: “ . . . that you should send the Cup [of Blessing] to Yalta?” Were he to act as the critics responded in the previous stories in the chapter, he would have said, “Are you, sir, not of the opinion stated by Rabbi Zeira, ‘and he sends it to the members of his household?’” What impels Rav Naḥman to word his suggestion as he did? Why does he not aggressively assert his position as the master of the house and put his guest in his place? And why does he suggest a halakhic alternative not as a principle valid in all circumstances but as a request related personally to his wife? These oddities, together with previous positions in the chapter and the story about his error, direct the reader to cast a critical eye on Rav Naḥman. The reader’s expectations that things will be set back into order were not fulfilled, and s/he is likely to be frustrated and wonder whether the continuation of the story will bring him the desired catharsis. In his statement, Rav Naḥman mentions the present/absent woman in this part of the story. Yalta is the only woman mentioned by name in this chapter. The meaning of her name is apparently “the one who gives birth” (‫)ילדתא‬, a meaning of great significance in the present story, which deals with blessing of birth.64 What can the reader assume about her? One who has read the chapter from the beginning knows that although there are three people present in the house, they cannot form a zimmun because Yalta is a woman. S/he can also assume that she possesses mental ability (‫)דעת‬, the ability to discern and think independently: that is an assertion that appeared back in the opening discussion and was strengthened by the various stories about women who possessed those abilities. That assumption is supported by other talmudic stories about Yalta, in which she is revealed to have clear intellectual abilities.65 What cannot be known on the basis of the other stories is how she will act in the present story – if she will support her husband or oppose him. The actions of the queen and the girls at the well point toward the former possibility, but a comparison to the story of Yannai’s queen also raises doubts. There the woman of the house ate together with her husband, while here the wife is absent. We will have more to say about this when we compare those stories.



64 Sokoloff, DJBA, s.v. ‫ילדתא‬. The identification of Yalta with ‫ ילדתא‬was suggested by Prof. Shaul Shaked in a personal correspondence. I am grateful to Dr. Thamar E. Gindin for assistance in identifying the meaning of this word and others. 65 See Ilan, Mine and Yours; Shulamit Valler,‫( נשים בחברה היהודית בתקופת המשנה והתלמוד‬Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuhad, 2000), 186–87. Although it cannot be claimed with certainty that the reader of the present sugya knows the other stories, there is a high probability that s/he, as part of talmudic culture, knows her character, at least in a general way.

Yalta – The Third Rib

37

The guest responds to his host’s criticism by quoting a derashah by Rabbi Yoḥanan. The very fact that he responds constitutes a variation from the pattern of the ‫ איקלע‬stories that have appeared up to this point in the chapter. In all those stories the host’s aggressive response closes off the discussion. In the present instance, it appears that Rav Naḥman’s measured response invites ‘Ulla’s counter-response. The host’s speaking in polite terms phrased as a question makes it possible for his guest to lay out his view and to increase the insult to the customs of the home and to its hostess. ‘Ulla’s response is based on a ruling of Rabbi Yoḥanan, as was done in all the previous stories of confrontation between a sage from Eretz Yisrael and a Babylonian sage. But instead of citing Rabbi Yoḥanan’s ruling that only four things are said about the Cup of Blessing, and sending it to the woman of the house is not among them, he chooses a generalized derashah that insults women wherever they are and not only in the specific context of including them in the Cup of Blessing.66 Given his host’s reaction to him ignoring his wife, he had to be aware that the situation was sensitive. The derashah that he quotes, then, strengthens the frustration of his female listener from every direction: the guest acts according to the custom of Eretz Yisrael, with disregard for his Babylonian host’s way of doing things; he attacks the host in his derashah on a biblical verse, as Shim‘on ben Shataḥ had done; as a follower of Rabbi Yoḥanan he apparently thinks that the Cup of Blessing brings blessing, but he keeps women away from that blessing entirely. That is, he not only excludes them from a specific halakhic event, but from the totality of involvement in the blessing of life’s abundance. Rav Naḥman does not react to ‘Ulla’s derashah, and the first part of the story concludes, then, with the guest victorious, something that has not happened until now in the guest stories, and certainly not in any ‫ איקלע‬story.67 Rav Naḥman’s non-response can be interpreted as indicating either weakness or acceptance of his guest’s argument. For the reader, it seems, this at least engenders surprise, if not genuine discomfort.

The Second Half: Yalta and Rav Naḥman The second part of the story describes a dialogue between the host and his wife: she breaks the vats of wine, he responds with a statement, she makes a statement in return. That dialogue, like other dialogues in the chapter, is 66 Adler, “Feminist Folktales,” regards the use of a non-halakhic derashah instead of a halakhic ruling as an attempt to diminish the status of women on a theological basis and not solely a halakhic basis. She understands ‘Ulla as trying to keep women out on a biological basis, even from realms from which halakhah had not excluded them. 67 Other than the first, unusual, story in which the guest acts as expected.

38

Ido Hevroni

a tense and fraught one, in which the wife undertakes actions that resemble those of hosts in the earlier ‫ איקלע‬stories. Her first response is an aggressive act, and her second is an aggressive expression. Here too, comparison to the previous stories suggests insights that cannot be inferred from reading the story standing on its own. Before suggesting an interpretation of this part, let me explain why I assume that this dialogue takes place between Yalta and Rav Naḥman and not between her and ‘Ulla, as previous scholars have understood. My assumption is based on the following facts: 1) It appears that most scholars are influenced by the version in the printed editions, in which a second request by Rav Naḥman of ‘Ulla has been added: to send another cup to Yalta (see n. 57 above). That line requires reading the rest of the dialogue as taking place between the guest and the woman of the house; 2) The comparison to the story of Yannai and his wife, the only previous story in the sugya that involves a woman in the plot, strengthens the assumption that the host is present in both parts of the story and that he conducts the dialogue each time with the other participant; 3) The use of the unique word ‫ נבגא‬for “cup” in the statement “All these [vats] are a Cup of Blessing” in the man’s response to Yalta’s actions. ‫נבגא‬, a Persian word meaning “cup” or a measure of wine, appears only rarely in the Talmud.68 Other than in the present story, it appears only twice: once in a quotation of a non-Jewish inscription on a gate, and a second time as an expression used by none other than Rav Naḥman in a conversation with a guest who came to his home.69 The use of this expression there stimulates the anger of the guest, who sees it as an act of haughtiness and suggests that the host should use more common words. Yalta, who is listening to this conversation as well, admonishes her husband and suggests to him how to behave toward a guest; 4) It is more likely that the husband conducts a conversation of this sort with his wife than that a foreign man does. In light of all this, it appears probable that the man who conducts the conversation with Yalta in the second part of the story is Rav Naḥman, not ‘Ulla. Yalta’s first act (smashing the vats of wine) is described as being done in ‫זיהרא‬ (“anger”) – a unique word, which in the Talmud usually means “venom.”70 This word appears in just one other talmudic story, describing an aggressive reaction of a woman to a man who denigrated her value.



68 For the meaning of the word, see Shaul Shaked, “Between Iranian and Aramaic: Iranian Words Concerning Food in Jewish Babylonian Aramaic,” Irano-Judaica 5 (2003): 128, which defines ‫ אנפקא‬as “1. A large glass of wine. 2. Wine not mixed with water.” 69 For the gate, see b. B. Bat. 58b; for the conversation with the guest, see b. Qidd. 70a. 70 Sokoloff, DJBA, s.v. ‫זיהרא‬, 2.

Yalta – The Third Rib

39

A certain non-Jewish merchant woman [‫ ]טייעתא‬brought a bag of tefillin [= phylacteries] to Abbaye. [He] said to her, “Would you give me each pair for a date?’ Her anger was aroused [‫]אתמלי זיהרא‬, and she took them and threw them into a river. [Abbaye] said, “I should not have disrespected her so much.” (b. Git. 45b) In this story, the one who is angry is a non-Jewish merchant woman who is looking to sell phylacteries. Abbaye, who thinks she does not understand the value of her merchandise, suggests acquiring them at a low price. She is filled with anger (‫ )זיהרא‬and destroys them. Abbaye admits that he made a mistake and should not have treated her with such derision. As mentioned above, the literal sense of ‫ זיהרא‬is venom, a poisonous substance used by animals for defense. In an ‫ איקלע‬story that appeared earlier in the sugya, we saw a householder who, faced with an unacceptable blessing by a guest, responded with a gesture taken from the same semantic field: he “stretched out his neck like a serpent.” Yalta, it appears, is acting here like a householder protecting his territory from a hostile force that had penetrated into it. If the reader knows the story about Abbaye and the tefillin, s/he can also assume that the storyteller thinks that here too the wife is right and the man/men is/are acting in error. The smashing of the vats hurts Rav Naḥman and not ‘Ulla, and therefore it seems that Yalta is responding more to her husband’s feebleness than to the guest’s refusal.71 It seems that Rav Naḥman’s odd behavior – adopting a conciliatory language rather than responding aggressively, and phrasing a halakhic rule in personal terms – is what motivates her to take action. In the story about her in b. Qiddushin as well, she puts her husband, not the guest, in his place. It seems that his polite style and the personal tone indicate, in her eyes, his position: he apparently shares ‘Ulla’s opinion that there is no need to send the Cup of Blessing to the woman of the house (and perhaps also that “the fruit of a woman’s belly is blessed only through the fruit of the man’s belly”), but because he is afraid of his wife’s reaction, he asks his guest to send her the cup. The smashing of four hundred vats of wine beckons the reader to look for a symbolic significance in that action.72 In the first chapter of the tractate (b. Ber. 71 Adler, “Feminist Folktales,” claims that she is castrating ‘Ulla metaphorically in this act; Zion, Wine, 142, n. iii, cites the view of a colleague, Yosi Gordon, that she is responding not to her husband but to ‘Ulla. 72 Adler, “Feminist Folktales,” regards the act of smashing the vats as a symbolic castration, excising the source of male abundance. Salzberg, “Feminist/Gender Interpretation,” sees them as womb images, and smashing them as symbolizing an attack on fertility.

40

Ido Hevroni

5b), in a sugya on the sufferings that overtake a person to awaken him to the need for examining his behavior and finding the sins of which he was not aware, we read about Rav Huna, whose four hundred vats of wine turned to vinegar. The rabbi’s colleagues demand that he reconsider his behavior. He is defensive at first, arguing that he has done nothing wrong, but with his colleagues’ help he succeeds in identifying the sin that had been hidden from his awareness. The identical description of the damaged object, four hundred vats of wine, calls us to understand the present event in light of the earlier one. There, God hinted to the rabbi about his sins, while here the wife performs that task. It appears that the storyteller uses this description to strengthen the reader’s perception of Rav Naḥman as a sinner who should examine his behavior, and his wife as bringing God’s will to fruition. Rav Naḥman reacts to her extreme deed, but instead of sending his wife the Cup of Blessing, he sends her words. It is hard to understand just what the content of his response is. Is he angry? Perplexed and wondering? Trying to apologize?73 In any case, he does not right the wrong (by sending the cup of wine himself) and does not apologize for ‘Ulla’s words, which he had greeted with silence.74 Later I will offer an interpretation of his statement on the basis of a comparison between the two parts of the story. Yalta responds to him similarly to other hosts in the ‫ איקלע‬meal stories: she replies with a sharp expression in two clauses. In the first clause the itinerant peddlers are depicted as passing words from place to place, and in the second the vermin are born from rags. This time too, the response is not concrete but metaphorical. And as in previous ‫ איקלע‬stories, the sharp retort seals the discussion. An interpretation of the meaning of her aphorism will be suggested further on. The description of Yalta’s responses (as an aggressive act and an aggressive statement), as in the style of responses characteristic of hosts in previous stories, indicates the meaning that the story attributes to her actions. The reader, who knows the patterns of the earlier ‫ איקלע‬stories, perceives the failure of the present host and sees that Yalta’s actions are carried out in the same pattern as those of the hosts in preceding stories. In other words, she is taking the place of the host who failed to defend the accepted norms of the sugya. She reacts

73 Adler, “Feminist Folktales,” thinking that ‘Ulla is the one who sends her these words, argues that he makes the “Cup of Blessing,” with its sacred significance, into a ‫נבגא‬, which in her view has secular significance only, reducing it to a simple cup of wine, just as, in his exegesis, he had reduced “blessing” from a general term for abundance to one referring solely to biological fertility (and distancing women from it). Salzberger too, in “Feminist/Gender Interpretation,” identifies the ‫ נבגא‬as a non-sacred cup, and argues that by using it ‘Ulla creates an equality between a woman’s consumption of wine and spilling wine on the floor. Kosman, ‫מסכת נשים‬, sees ‘Ulla’s reaction as a critique of the woman’s desire for wine and her husband’s conciliatory behavior. 74 Were he to have done either of those things, Yalta would not have responded with such ferocity.

Yalta – The Third Rib

41

assertively to the guest’s undermining of the way things are done in that house, and like the householders in the earlier stories, she takes the prerogative of the last word and restores the order that had been upset.

Yalta in Comparison In order to suggest a fuller interpretation of the story, we will present two comparisons. The first is a comparison of the first part of the story with the second; the other is a comparison to the story of Yannai and his queen. Comparing the two parts of the story supports the exegetical direction we have taken thus far: Meanwhile 1a ‘Ulla

Yalta heard this.

1b

happened to come

Her anger was aroused. She went

1c

to Rav Naḥman’s house

to the wine cellar [lit. the house of wine]

2a He (=‘Ulla) said the blessing after the meal

[heard the blessing]

2b and gave the Cup of Blessing to him.

and broke four hundred vats of wine.

3

Rav Naḥman said to him: “Are you, He sent to her: “All these [vats] are a Cup of Blessing.” sir, not of the opinion that you should send the Cup [of Blessing] to Yalta?”

4

‘Ulla said [to him]: “Thus said Rabbi Yoḥanan: ‘The fruit of a woman’s belly (i.e., womb) is blessed only through the fruit of the man’s belly . . .

She sent to him: “From peddlers – words, and from rags – vermin.”

This comparison yields the following insights: 1. a. ‘Ulla and Yalta are positioned in parallel to one another. The assonance of their names and their (assumed) similar meanings place them in competition for the same thing: he is the one who brings productivity, or blessing, and she is the child-bearer who brings productivity or blessing.75 75 Assonance is a characteristic poetic way of connecting words whose semantic denotations are

42

Ido Hevroni b. Each of them acts in a realm that is not his or her natural realm (he in a host’s home, she in the wine cellar). But while his presence is by chance, she acts out of clear intention. c. Assonance: bei rav naḥman (“Rav Naḥman’s house”) and bei ḥamra (“wine cellar”). The similarity of sound links the two events and suggests that the protagonists are acting in a similar fashion: he acts consciously in Rav Naḥman’s house, and she acts consciously in Rav Naḥman’s wine cellar.

2. a. ‘Ulla says Grace and she hears. (The verb “hear” appears earlier in the second part of the story – part 1.) b. The smashing of the vats is a reaction to not receiving the cup. The Cup of Blessing that did not get to her becomes a cup of curses. Instead of the household property increasing, the house is damaged and diminished. One act is set opposite the other. The wife’s action is the counterweight to the man’s (in)action. 3. As stated above, Rav Naḥman’s reaction is hard to understand on its own, but meaning does emerge from the parallel. While Rav Naḥman speaks words to ‘Ulla, he sends words to his wife, which emphasizes her distance from the situation. ‘Ulla is there in Rav Naḥman’s presence, and gets to have a direct, face-to-face conversation with him, while to Rav Naḥman’s own wife words are sent from a distance, not at all face-toface. Additionally, instead of doing something to correct the situation, he responds verbally. The choice to depict his words using the same expression used earlier to describe the (wished) passing of the cup to his wife, the verb ‫“( שדר‬send”), underscores the irony. Rav Naḥman sticks to words and does not take appropriate action. It seems that he did not understand his wife’s symbolic display, or that he responded to it aggressively. After all, he could have sent her the cup that the guest refused to send her, but he did not do so. 4. Yalta’s verbal response relates directly to Rav Naḥman’s words, but the comparison suggests a connection to ‘Ulla’s second statement as well. Previous scholars have suggested some explanations for the closing aphorism. Adler suggests seeing it as a learned response to the second Cup of Blessing sent to her (not mentioned in MS Munich). Just as that cup is lacking all

not necessarily connected. See Roman Jakobson, “Closing Statement: Linguistics and Poetics,” in Style in Language, ed. Thomas Sebeok (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1960), 350–59.

Yalta – The Third Rib

43

significance, so is the teaching of ‘Ulla, who is like a peddler offering vermin.76 Kosman regards the aphorism as a direct response to ‘Ulla, who sees himself as an important personage, but who is, in Yalta’s eyes, a beggar, clothed in rags and in need of the meal she prepared for him (an assumption of Kosman, not founded in the story).77 Salzberg explains that Yalta turns ‘Ulla’s teaching into gossip – an activity attributed by the Talmud to women – and male fertility (which is in no need of women, according to his claim) into the spontaneous generation of lice.78 Ilan suggests an explanation that ascribes to Yalta exceeding erudition, since she sees in the aphorism a sophisticated variation on two negative statements of Ben Sira regarding women.79 It is reasonable to assume that the different meanings attributed to the aphorism by these scholars are indeed to be found in it, as reflecting the storytellers’ intentions, but it is difficult to ascribe these meanings to Yalta’s intent. It is not likely that she creates on the spot such a rich, well-formed, multivalent aphorism.80 It seems more likely that she uses an available popular maxim. On the level of plot, Yalta appears to be responding to Rav Naḥman, who, instead of sending her the Cup, sent her words, and so she sends back words, which themselves deal with words. While her husband had responded with a snobbish high register word (‫)נבגא‬, she responds in juicy demotic terms ripe with meaning, as though she were telling him, “Your words are meaningless and hurtful like the speech of peddlers – people whose business is unproductive – who describe their shabby wares in lovely, empty words. Their words – peddlers’ only creative act – are born the way vermin (damaging creatures) are born out of rags.” The parallel to the first part of the story (which is the work of the storyteller) builds another stratum of meaning, since it presents her words as paralleling Rabbi Yoḥanan’s derashah, cited by ‘Ulla. Just as the previous parallel stood alongside an act (2.b.), this parallel sets narrative genre alongside narrative genre. The contrast is shaped, then, on two levels: that of action and that of ideas. Through the parallel on the level of action, the storyteller is issuing a warning that anyone who does not have his wife share in the Cup of Blessing (that is, who does not make recognition of her significant role in bringing blessing upon the household) is in danger of bringing a curse on his house. On the level of ideas, the structural parallel places a derashah alongside an aphorism. While 76 Adler, “Feminist Folktales.” 77 Kosman, ‫מסכת נשים‬. 78 Salzberg, “Feminist/Gender Interpretation.” 79 Ilan, Integrating Women. 80 Zvi Talmon, “‫( ”בחנים לשוניים בפתגם הארמי שבתלמוד הבבלי‬PhD diss., Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1984), 29–32, offers a precise discussion of the meter, sound, and structure of the aphorism, concluding that it is a well-constructed aphorism by any measure.

44

Ido Hevroni

‘Ulla cites a derashah on biblical verses, taken from the world of the beit midrash, Yalta responds with a maxim that probably originated in the marketplace. ‘Ulla offered a concept of self-reproduction: men alone are responsible for physical fertility, and for wisdom as well, it would appear, since the source of knowledge from which he draws his information is rabbinic tradition (he cites Rabbi Yoḥanan), and the conclusion is reached by means of a common beit midrash technique – the exegesis of verses, which is the way the sages “deliver” new meaning from the sources.81 Yalta, on the other side of the parallel, offers an aphorism – a distilled expression of popular wisdom, relying on knowledge born of interaction with the real world.82 The two genres share a common aspect that points to the vast difference between them. The use of both derashah and aphorism expresses the reliance of the one who quotes them on an authority beyond himself or herself.83 Authoritative knowledge, created in another context, is brought into the immediate context as an aid to explaining it and in order to advance the views of the one who cites it. The parallel, then, creates a confrontation between concepts of exegetical authority.84 ‘Ulla relies on a saying by a religious authority to understand reality (who is fertilizing?), while Yalta relies on the authority of anonymous collective wisdom, created by women and non-Jews even more than by rabbis. Setting the aphorism as the mirror of the derashah at the end of the story suggests a criticism of the status of scholarly erudition, which can be disconnected from reality, from women, and from the wisdom of the masses.85 The content of the aphorism takes on additional meaning through the parallel.







81 Male responsibility for physical fertility was an idea accepted in the ancient world. For references see Adler, “Feminist Folktales,” n. 28. On the derashah, the midrashic exegesis of biblical verses, Fraenkel wrote, “There was no meaning for the verb ‫ דרש‬by itself other than searching for and finding a new interpretation within Scripture.” See Jonah Fraenkel, ‫( דרכי האגדה והמדרש‬Tel Aviv: Modan and Yad La-talmud, 1996), 11. See also the discussion in Paul D. Mandel, The Origins of Midrash: From Teaching to Text (Leiden–Boston: Brill, 2017), 289–305. 82 See Galit Hasan-Rokem, “‫ עיון במשמעויות של ׳כי עוף השמים יוליך את הקול׳‬:‫הפסוק המקראי כפתגם וכציטט‬ ‫”בספרות חז״ל ובסיפורת העממית‬, Jerusalem Studies in Hebrew Literature 1 (5741/1981): 155–66 [here: 155]; Talmon, ‫״בחנים לשוניים״‬, 2. 83 See Hasan-Rokem, ‫״הפסוק המקראי״‬, 155. 84 Dina Stein, “‫– עה ע״ב‬ ‫ עיון בבבא בתרא עג ע״א‬:‫”דברים שרואים משם לא רואים מכאן‬, Jerusalem Studies in Hebrew Literature 17 (1999): 21–26, presents an act of redaction that creates a similar confrontation between the genre of midrashic exegesis of verses and a more down-to-earth genre, in this case travel stories. 85 On the relationship between the Torah scholars’ view and the view of worldly folk, see Ido Hevroni, “)‫ היחס שבין ה׳תורה׳ ל׳עולם׳ בסיפור תלמודי (תענית כ ע״א–ע״ב‬:‫ הארז והרוח‬,‫ ”הקנה‬in ‫ מחקרים‬:‫מעשה סיפור‬ ‫בסיפורת היהודית‬, vol. 2, ed. Avidov Lipsker and Rella Kushelevsky (Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 5769 [1998/9]), 103–15.

Yalta – The Third Rib

45

In contrast to the concept of male fertility that has no need of women, as proposed by ‘Ulla, the opposite is proposed here: the words of men, produced by internal negotiation without entering into a dialogue with women and with reality, are like lice, which in the ancient world were thought to reproduce individually on their own. Or, in other words, not everything men deliver in the beit midrash is fruitful and brings blessing. Many of the stories in the chapter support the argument that men’s words can be empty, unproductive, and even damaging. It may also be that the storytellers placed here a wink toward the argument that “women are chatterers.” While the men in the story pile on the words (a total of thirty-four words) and take no action, Yalta first of all acts and only afterward speaks, and even then in a laconic and barbed fashion (four words).

Comparison to the Story of Yannai The story about Yannai and the story about Yalta, as we have seen, are similar in many details: they are the only two stories in the entire chapter that introduce a triangle of husband–wife–guest; each of them comprises two sub-stories, in both of which the (male) host is present; he conducts a dialogue with the guest in one half and with his wife in the other half. These are also the only two stories that introduce tension over a Cup of Blessing. The major differences between the stories are: 1) The order in which the two sub-stories appear; 2) The opposite results. The Yannai story begins as a dialogue between the host and his wife and goes on to the story of the tension-filled meal for the host and his guest. The Yalta story begins with the tension-filled meal for the host and his guest and concludes with the tension-filled dialogue between the host and his wife. The results are opposite as well: while the queen brings a literal blessing to the husband and a positive atmosphere, Yalta brings a curse: she damages household property and strikes out verbally at her husband/the guest. Placing side-by-side the parts of the stories that describe the fraught encounter between the men shows the reverse symmetry between the two and sharpens the distinctions between the behavior of the two hosts: Yannai and His Queen

Rav Naḥman and Yalta

A guest is brought in.

A guest happens to be present.

There was prior tension between him and the host.

There was prior tension between him and the host.

The host shows him respect.

The host shows him respect.

46

Ido Hevroni

1. He attacks the host using a derashah 4. He offers a blessing over a cup of on a verse. wine. 2. The host attacks him and orders him to say a blessing over a cup of wine.

3. He does something untoward with the Cup of Blessing.

3. He does something untoward with the Cup of Blessing.

2. The host requests that he send a cup of wine.

4. He offers a blessing over a cup of wine.

1. He attacks the host using a derashah on a verse.

This comparison shows that the dynamic between the host and the guest plays out in the two stories in reverse order. Comparing the Yannai story to its parallel in the Yerushalmi shows that although the Bavli preserved, more or less, the dynamic described in the Yerushalmi, the presentation of the dialogue is quite different, making it easy to see that there is a guiding hand behind it. The comparison makes clear what Rav Naḥman’s weak spot was. While Yannai acts as someone who is in charge of his household, criticizing the guest and demanding that he act according to his host’s will, Rav Naḥman addresses his guest in a conciliatory manner (2). The second part of the Yalta story opens with the expression ‫אדהכי והכי‬ (“meanwhile”), which has not yet appeared in this chapter. Comparing the Yalta story to the story of Yannai and his queen loads this expression with particular significance. In both sound and structure, there is great similarity between the expression ‫“( בהדי הדדי‬together”), which marked the character of the meal shared by the king and queen, and ‫אדהכי והכי‬. On the semantic plane as well, there is a connection between them. Both expressions describe two related actions, with each suggesting a different relationship. The phrase ‫בהדי‬ ‫ הדדי‬describes two people carrying out similar actions together. In this chapter, as we have noted, the phrase has meant that the two protagonists act in concert as equals. The phrase ‫אדהכי והכי‬, in contrast, denotes two actions connected only by being simultaneous: while A does this, B does that. What loads this connection with significance is, on the surface, accidental, not something that stems from an intentional coordination between the actors. The mutuality here comes about by chance and not because of intended cooperation. Rav Naḥman and Yalta are described at the beginning of the second story as undertaking parallel actions, the connection between which does not result from intentional mutuality but rather from coincidence. While he is dining and debating with ‘Ulla, she hears them. And what she hears moves her to act. In sharp contrast to Yannai and his queen – the only other couple depicted

Yalta – The Third Rib

47

in the chapter – who eat together, Rav Naḥman and his wife are presented as acting individually, each on a separate plane. The parallel sets up the story of Yalta as the antithesis of the successful model of Yannai and his queen. Instead of acting as a colleague and partner toward his wife and as ruler over the stranger, Rav Naḥman relates to the aggressive visitor at the price of insult to his wife. Therefore, instead of receiving aid and support from his independent spouse, he receives criticism and curse.

CONCLUSION Tracing the interweaving of the meal stories and their unique motifs in the sugya has revealed a complex and sophisticated editorial craft – a textual symphony. Motifs were woven in and developed, changing as they went from story to story, thus preserving a unitary network of meanings across the chapter, despite the varied and sometimes apparently unrelated topics that were addressed in the various deliberations. We have also seen that the redactional work responded to topics that came up in the Mishnah. One of the interesting responses involves the Cup of Blessing, which had appeared in the mishnah at the end of the chapter with no connection to matters discussed previously, yet the redaction connected it to the central questions of the chapter. With regard to the status of women, the chapter offered a richer and more complex picture than might have emerged from the mishnah. While the mishnah stated laconically, “Women . . . may not be included in forming a zimmun,” the talmudic sugya, from the very outset, brought in different voices concerning the question of women’s status. The opening sugya presented the question of two men and compared them in a rhetorical assumption to one hundred women. It thus presented a radical voice denigrating the value of women, only to reject this conclusion with the ruling that women possess minds (‫)דעות‬. That is the only halakhic deliberation in the chapter in which women are mentioned. A variety of voices contribute to the discussion regarding the status of women. The story of Yannai presented a strong-willed, independent woman who attained a position of respect and acted in cooperation with her husband. The discussion of the story of Saul’s encounter with the young women presented – subject to the various manners of reading it that were suggested – a positive stance regarding women’s contribution to the male social order. The story of Rav Ḥisda brought in a voice of protest against the exclusion of women, but came in for sharp criticism from the host and a colleague. Another aspect of this editorial craft is the way the stories about the queen

48

Ido Hevroni

and Yalta use patterns and terms familiar from earlier stories. First, the basic patterns were presented (the “ate together” meal and the ‫ איקלע‬meal) with male protagonists. Following those came the stories making use of those patterns but substituting female protagonists. The queen was described – as were the rabbi’s students – as eating together with her husband (‫)בהדי הדדי‬, in a meal for peers. Yalta acted in keeping with the behavior patterns of the masters of the house, who castigated the guests who deviated from the halakhic rulings in the sugya, restoring proper order. Placing these women in the men’s place, the redactors strengthened those women’s status, implicitly bringing it to parity with that of the men. The story of Yalta brings the tension between the different attitudes toward women to a crescendo. ‘Ulla presents the most insulting stance toward women in the chapter, and Yalta struggles against him with all her might, demonstrating an independent mind. The redactors granted her, like the hosts in previous stories, the right to have the last word (in the story itself, but also nearly the last word in the chapter), thus making it clear where their own opinion lies.86

A Note on the Conclusion of the Chapter The story of Yalta nearly concludes the chapter, but not quite. After it appears this statement: One who eats and walks recites the blessing [of Grace after Meals] standing [in one place]. One who eats standing recites the blessing while seated. One who eats sitting recites the blessing while reclining. One who eats reclining recites the blessing wrapped [in his cloak]. And the halakhah is: in all of these cases one recites the blessing while seated. The connection between this discussion and the entire chapter is difficult to fathom. It is tempting to argue that it replicates the relationship between the chapter of Mishnah and its conclusion with a statement that is not connected to the whole chapter (“One does not recite a blessing over wine . . . ”), but it is difficult to prove that contention. Reading the chapter as a carefully redacted weave of elements compels us to look for a meaning here that responds to the entire chapter. What follows is a tentative suggestion. After reading the chapter, it seems there is no hope for conducting a quiet, easy-going meal with others – every meal described in the chapter became a battleground over status among the participants. The last 86 So Ilan, “Integrating Women,” as well.

Yalta – The Third Rib

49

story added tension between husband and wife as well. The halakhah cited at the end appears to provide a counterweight to the main themes of the chapter. While the chapter dealt with shared meals, the closing statement relates to meals eaten alone. While in the chapter we have encountered family meals and wondered about the role of women in them, here we have a peripatetic individual (whether man or woman). While the chapter cited stories of meals conducted at home, the ruling at its end offers a meal eaten on the road. In a way, that ruling balances out, or responds to, the course of the chapter. This too, perhaps, may be part of the complex and rich editorial achievement that we have uncovered in this chapter.

ADDENDUM: Index and Table of Comparison of Motifs in the Stories in Chapter 7 The Stories:

.‫ לא יצאתם‬. . . ‫ כרכי ריפתא בהדי הדדי‬. . . ‫] מר בריה דרב יהודה‬1[ .‫ בעל הבית‬. . . ‫] ר׳ זעירא חלש‬2[ .‫ לחיים‬. . . ‫] מר זוטרא איקלע‬3[ .‫ קאמר לך‬. . . ‫] רב ורבי חייא הוו יתבי בסעודתא קמיה דרבי‬4[ .‫ מזוזה‬. . . ‫] רבין ואביי הוו קא אזלי באורחא‬5[ .‫ אכלינן‬. . . ‫] רב ושמואל הוו יתבי בסעודתא‬6[ .‫ מברך‬. . . ‫ על רב‬,‫] תלמידי דרב הוו יתבי בסעודתא‬7[ .‫ ידע‬. . . ‫] אביי ורב בריה דרב חנן הוו יתבי קמיה דרבה‬8[ .‫ ואיברוך‬. . . ‫] ינאי מלכא ומלכתא כרוכו רפתא בהדי הדדי‬9[ .‫ נימא‬. . . ‫] ר׳ נתן אומר אינו צריך‬10[ .‫ בשתיים‬. . . ‫] רבה בר רב הונא איקלע‬11[ .‫ כרב‬. . . ‫ דאקלעי‬. . . ‫] אמר ליה רבי זירא לרב חסדא‬12[ .‫ עלה‬. . . ‫] גידל בר מניומי הוה קאי קמיה דרב נחמן‬13[ .‫ רבי עקיבא‬. . . ‫] רבינא ורב חמא בר בוזי אקלעו‬14[ .‫ ישמעאל‬. . . ‫] רפרם בר פפא איקלע‬15[ .‫ ממאיס‬. . . ‫] אמימר ומר זוטרא ורב אשי כרכו ריפתא בהדי הדדי‬16[ .‫ כלמי‬. . . ‫] עולא איקלע‬17[

‫‪50‬‬

‫‪Ido Hevroni‬‬

‫‪Motifs:‬‬ ‫‪page‬‬ ‫‪mishnah‬‬

‫‪men‬‬

‫‪women‬‬

‫‪hierarchy‬‬

‫‪wine‬‬

‫‪45a‬‬

‫‪3‬‬

‫‪+‬‬

‫מזמן ועונים‬

‫‪+‬‬

‫‪45a–b opening‬‬ ‫‪discussion‬‬

‫‪+‬‬

‫‪+‬‬

‫בבל‪/‬א״י‬

‫–‬

‫‪meal’s‬‬ ‫‪character‬‬

‫‪action‬‬

‫‪response‬‬

‫אכלו כאחת‬ ‫הלכה בשם‬ ‫רבי יוחנן‬

‫‪[1]a‬‬

‫‪45b‬‬

‫‪3‬‬

‫–‬

‫שווים‬

‫–‬

‫כרכי ריפתא‬ ‫בהדי הדדי‬

‫התלבטות‬ ‫הלכתית‬

‫הלכה‬ ‫(שגויה)‬

‫‪[1]b‬‬

‫‪45b‬‬

‫‪3+1‬‬

‫–‬

‫רב־תלמידים‬

‫–‬

‫אתו לקמיה‬

‫(שאלה)‬

‫נזיפה ‪+‬‬ ‫הלכה‬

‫‪[2]a‬‬

‫‪46a‬‬

‫‪2‬‬

‫–‬

‫בעה״ב־‬ ‫אורח‬ ‫חולה־מבקר‬ ‫א״י‪/‬בבל‬

‫–‬

‫על לגביה‬

‫הכרזה על‬ ‫סעודה‬ ‫לכבוד‬ ‫החולה‬

‫‪[2]b‬‬

‫‪46a‬‬

‫‪2‬‬

‫–‬

‫בעה״ב־‬ ‫אורח‬ ‫מכבד־‬ ‫מכובד‬ ‫א״י‪/‬בבל‬

‫–‬

‫כרכי ריפתא‬

‫בצע‬ ‫הזמין‬ ‫לברכה‬

‫]‪[3‬‬

‫‪46b‬‬

‫‪2‬‬

‫–‬

‫בעה״ב־‬ ‫אורח‬ ‫אבל־מנחם‬

‫–‬

‫איקלע‬

‫ברך הטוב‬ ‫והמיטיב ‪. . .‬‬

‫]‪[4‬‬

‫‪46b‬‬

‫‪2+1‬‬

‫–‬

‫רב־תלמידים‬

‫–‬

‫הוו יתבי‬ ‫בסעודתא‬ ‫קמיה‬

‫ציווי של‬ ‫הגדול‬ ‫חשש של‬ ‫הקטן‬

‫ביטוי‬ ‫תוקפני‬

‫]‪[5‬‬

‫‪47a‬‬

‫‪2‬‬

‫–‬

‫א״י‪/‬בבל‬

‫–‬

‫הוו קאזלי‬ ‫באורחא‬

‫אי כיבוד‬ ‫בדרך‬ ‫כיבוד‬ ‫בביה״כ‬

‫הלכה בשם‬ ‫רבי יוחנן‬

‫]‪[6‬‬

‫‪47a‬‬

‫‪1+2‬‬

‫–‬

‫שווים‬

‫–‬

‫הוו יתבי‬ ‫בסעודתא‬ ‫אתא‬

‫התלבטות‬ ‫הלכתית‬

‫מחלוקת‬

‫]‪[7‬‬

‫‪47a‬‬

‫(‪)1+2‬‬

‫–‬

‫א‪ .‬שווים‬ ‫ב‪ .‬רב־‬ ‫תלמידים‬

‫–‬

‫הוו יתבי‬ ‫בסעודתא‬ ‫(קמיה)‬ ‫אתא‬

‫סברה‬ ‫הלכתית‬ ‫שגויה‬

‫הלכה‬

‫–‬

‫לסל״מ‪+ 87‬‬ ‫הלכה בשם‬ ‫רבי יוחנן‬ ‫לסל״מ ‪+‬‬ ‫הלכה‬ ‫–‬

‫לסל״מ = ״לא סבר לה מר?״ ‪87‬‬

‫ ‬

‫‪51‬‬

‫‪Yalta – The Third Rib‬‬ ‫‪page‬‬

‫‪men‬‬

‫‪women‬‬

‫‪wine‬‬

‫‪hierarchy‬‬

‫‪meal’s‬‬ ‫‪character‬‬

‫‪action‬‬

‫‪response‬‬

‫]‪[8‬‬

‫‪48a‬‬

‫‪2+1‬‬

‫–‬

‫רב־תלמידים‬

‫–‬

‫הוו יתבי‬ ‫(בסעודתא?)‬ ‫קמיה‬

‫שאלות‬ ‫ותשובות‬ ‫נכונות‬

‫פתגם‬ ‫משבח‬

‫‪[9]a‬‬

‫‪48a‬‬

‫‪1‬‬

‫‪1‬‬

‫בעה״ב־‬ ‫רעייתו‬

‫–‬

‫כרכי ריפתא‬ ‫בהדי הדדי‬

‫בקשה‬

‫ביקורת ‪+‬‬ ‫מענה‬

‫‪[9]b‬‬

‫‪48a‬‬

‫‪2‬‬

‫)‪(1‬‬

‫בעה״ב־‬ ‫אורח‬ ‫בור־סופר‬

‫‪+‬‬

‫בין דידיה‬ ‫לדידה‬

‫כבוד‬ ‫ציווי‬ ‫כוס ‪2‬‬

‫דרשת פסוק‬ ‫ביטוי‬ ‫תוקפני‬ ‫ביצוע רצון‬ ‫בעה״ב‬

‫]‪[10‬‬

‫‪48a‬‬

‫‪2‬‬

‫‪+‬‬

‫בעה״ב־‬ ‫אורח‬ ‫נביא־מלך‬

‫–‬

‫]‪[11‬‬

‫‪49a‬‬

‫‪2‬‬

‫–‬

‫בעה״ב־‬ ‫אורח‬

‫–‬

‫איקלע‬

‫לא מקובלת‬ ‫על בעה״ב‬

‫ביטוי‬ ‫תוקפני ‪+‬‬ ‫הלכה‬

‫]‪[12‬‬

‫‪49a‬‬

‫‪2‬‬

‫‪(+)88‬‬

‫בעה״ב־‬ ‫אורח‬

‫–‬

‫איקלע‬

‫לא מקובלת‬ ‫על בעה״ב‬

‫מחווה‬ ‫תוקפנית‬ ‫הלכה‬

‫]‪[13‬‬

‫‪49a–b‬‬

‫‪2‬‬

‫–‬

‫רב־תלמיד‬

‫–‬

‫קאי קמי‬

‫הרב טעה‬ ‫דיאלוג‬ ‫הלכתי‬

‫הלכה‬

‫]‪[14‬‬

‫‪2+ 50a‬רבים‬

‫–‬

‫שווים‬

‫–‬

‫אקלעו‬

‫לא מקובלת‬ ‫על חברו‬

‫הלכה‬

‫]‪[15‬‬

‫‪2+ 50a‬רבים‬

‫–‬

‫בעה״ב־‬ ‫אורח‬

‫–‬

‫איקלע‬ ‫(לבית‬ ‫כנסת)‬

‫לא מקובלת‬ ‫על בעה״ב‬

‫ביטוי‬ ‫תוקפני ‪+‬‬ ‫הלכה‬

‫]‪[16‬‬

‫‪50b‬‬

‫‪3‬‬

‫–‬

‫שווים‬

‫–‬

‫כרכו ריפתא‬ ‫בהדי הדדי‬

‫לא מקובלת‬ ‫על חברו‬

‫לסל״מ ‪+‬‬ ‫הלכה‬

‫‪[17]a‬‬

‫‪51b‬‬

‫‪2‬‬

‫)‪(1‬‬

‫בעה״ב־‬ ‫אורח‬ ‫א״י‪/‬בבל‬

‫‪+‬‬

‫איקלע‬

‫לא מקובלת‬ ‫על בעה״ב‬

‫לסל״מ ‪+‬‬ ‫הלכה?‬ ‫דרשת‬ ‫פסוקים‬ ‫בשם רבי‬ ‫יוחנן‬

‫‪ 88 Women are one of the subjects of the debate.‬‬

52

Ido Hevroni

response ‫מחווה‬ ‫תוקפנית‬ ‫ביטוי‬ ‫תוקפני‬ )‫(פתגם‬

action ‫לא מקובלת‬ ‫על הרעיה‬

meal’s character ‫אדהכי והכי‬

wine +

hierarchy ‫בעה״ב־‬ ‫רעייתו‬

women 1

men 1

page 51b

[17]b

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS My thanks to Prof. Isaiah Gafni and Prof. Menachem Kellner, who assisted me with advice throughout my work on this article. Prof. Ruhama Weiss read an early draft and provided helpful and important comments. Prof. Jeffrey Rubenstein generously shared with me his wisdom and knowledge and contributed greatly to the quality of this article.

An “Edge” in Space or an “Edge” in Time: The Commandment of Pe’ah in Tannaitic Midrash Halakhah Aaron Amit

Bar-Ilan University

The commandment to leave a part of a field unharvested for the poor – referred to in the Hebrew as pe’ah – literally “edge” or “corner,” is mentioned in Leviticus 19:9 and Leviticus 23:22. Medieval authorities who addressed the commandment disagreed on whether pe’ah is a spatial corner which must be separated at the edge of the field, or if pe’ah is defined as the end of the harvest, and is only distributed after the owner has finished his or her own work in the field. In this article I demonstrate that the key to understanding the development of these two competing views of pe’ah is best understood by identifying the earliest rabbinic formulation of the law of pe’ah regarding the time and placement of pe’ah in the field. I argue that the earliest formulation of the commandment of pe’ah in rabbinic literature is found in Sifra Qedoshim, Parashah 1:10, and the formulations of the commandment in Tosefta and Mishnah Pe’ah are dependent upon this source. Confusion engendered by the source in the Sifra can account for the development of these two conceptions of pe’ah, as an edge in space and an “edge” in time. In the Sifra we find an internal tension between the earliest tannaitic position that the pe’ah, the “edge” mentioned in Leviticus, refers to location, in line with the plain meaning of Scripture, versus the opinion of the second-century sage Rabbi Shimon bar Yoḥai, that it is related to time. Rabbi Shimon believed that the simple understanding of Scripture which left pe’ah entirely dependent on place could create unfair situations for the poor. Making pe’ah dependent primarily on time and the concluding act of the harvest corrected the potential for injustice in the eyes of Rabbi Shimon.

The last few years have seen important scholarly contributions on the topic of agricultural gifts to the poor and charity in rabbinic sources.1 The primary

1 A useful list of discussions on poverty and support for the poor is found in Gregg Gardner’s recent article, “Who is Rich? The Poor in Early Rabbinic Judaism,” Jewish Quarterly Review 104 (2014): 515–16, note 1. Gardner argues that the sages had diverse levels of economic wealth; however, he notes that no sage “is depicted in Tannaitic compilations as poor,” 526. Therefore, according

53

54

Aaron Amit

Tannaitic texts on agricultural gifts, found in Mishnah and Tosefta Pe’ah, have been the subject of detailed study. Gregg Gardner has argued that the primary concern of the Tannaim in this area of halakhah was to ensure an equity of opportunity for the poor, with emphasis on “the fairness of the process over the equity of the outcome.”2 Gardner has argued that the Tannaim understood pe’ah as being “distributed by God directly to the poor” – and that in the eyes of the rabbis, “the householder gives nothing of his own and does not enter into a cycle of gift exchange with either God or the poor.”3 In the present article I will address an important aspect of pe’ah that has gone unnoticed in recent studies, an aspect stemming from a careful reading and comparison of the earliest Tannaitic sources on the topic. I will argue that while the earliest form of the halakhah formulates pe’ah as a spatial corner at the edge of the field, the second-century sage Rabbi Shimon bar Yoḥai, in an important departure from this position, made the distribution of pe’ah dependent primarily on time. This position went unnoticed in previous studies which have tended to group the Tannaim together as a monolithic whole rather than appreciating the nuanced differences in the varied layers of Tannaitic literature. In addition, my study will show how Gardner’s observation regarding the Tannaitic emphasis that pe’ah must be distributed with “the avoidance of favoritism” was in fact the driving force behind Rabbi Shimon’s position.4 The point of departure for my examination of the Tannaitic sources will be





to Gardner, the poor are perceived by the Tannaim as “other.” On the economic status of the sages see also S. J. D. Cohen, “The Rabbi in Second-Century Jewish Society,” in The Cambridge History of Judaism: Volume 3: The Early Roman Period, ed. William Horbury, W. D. Davies, and John Sturdy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 930–36. Gardner also devoted a study specifically to allocations to the poor at the harvest: “Pursuing Justice: Support for the Poor in Early Rabbinic Judaism,” Hebrew Union College Annual 86 (2015): 37–62. This study is most relevant to my arguments and will be discussed in detail below. 2 Gardner, “Pursuing Justice,” 39. 3 Gardner, “Pursuing Justice,” 42. Later Gardner formulates his point as follows: “He [= the owner of the field] does not give the produce because these items never belonged to him in the first place,” 45 (see also Gardner’s note on previous scholarship on this point, 45n29). See also Yael Wilfand, Poverty, Charity and the Image of the Poor in Rabbinic Texts from the Land of Israel (Sheffield, UK: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2014). Wilfand writes: “ . . . in Mishnah Pe’ah, the descriptions of almsgiving are not articulated with the language of patronage. Rather produce gifts are presented as the poor’s share of the harvest, as instructed in the Torah. According to this view, God is the real owner of the land of Israel who allocates portions of its yield to the poor,” 124. Accordingly, since pe’ah is not given physically and directly by the owner of the field to the poor, it can be seen as coming directly from God. However, it is worthy of note that the owner of the field decides how much pe’ah is to be given. Moreover, the Tannaim are well aware that the owner can manipulate situations to either avoid giving pe’ah or give to someone he knows and thereby create an expectation for reciprocity. 4 Gardner, “Pursuing Justice,” 54.

An “Edge” in Space or an “Edge” in Time

55

a medieval disagreement on the commandment of pe’ah between Maimonides and Gersonides. I begin here only to demonstrate that the biblical commandment of pe’ah, even in medieval times, was understood in two different ways: Maimonides, adopting the position of the early halakhah, understood pe’ah to be a spatial corner, while Gersonides understood pe’ah to be dependent on time – to be given at the end of the harvest in any part of the field. This article is dedicated to the Tannaitic sources; however, the fact that the medieval authorities argue over this basic point shows that the Tannaitic sources were indeed ambiguous and created two different concepts of pe’ah. My argument, wherein I intend to show the importance of differentiating between the layers of the Tannaitic corpus, has significance both for our understanding of pe’ah and for the study of Rabbinics.5 While differentiating these layers is not new, my argument regarding the relationships among the main corpora is important for further research in the field. In his work on the Tannaitic corpus, Shamma Friedman has argued that there is a tendency for the midrash halakhah to represent the earliest formulation of the halakhah, followed by a reworking in the Tosefta and finishing with a more polished form in the Mishnah.6 In my study this is clearly the direction of development: the earliest form of the halakhah is found in Sifra Qedoshim, Parashah 1:10, developed further in t. Pe’ah 1:5–6, and finally developed a step further in m. Pe’ah 1:3. This study demonstrates the importance of differentiating between early and later layers of text in the Tannaitic corpus, and shows how this differentiation can enlighten our understanding of the development of halakhah. In the earliest formulation of the law in the Sifra we find an apodictic formulation of Scripture, which translates the verse into practical, clearly formulated law.7 This





5 A full discussion on the reliability of attributions to specific Tannaim and Neusner’s approach to attributions in rabbinic literature is beyond the scope of this article. Nonetheless, it is important to emphasize that my approach consists of careful analysis of Tannaitic attributions which can be used to understand and reconstruct the development of halakhah in rabbinic texts. Center to my methodology is the comparison of parallel Tannaitic traditions which strengthen the reliability of these attributions. 6 Shamma Friedman, ‫ אסופת מחקרים מתודולוגיים ועיוניים‬:‫( לתורתם של תנאים‬Jerusalem: The Bialik Institute, 2013), ‫ = יד‬14. Friedman uses the following graph to illustrate his point: Midrash Halakhah > Tosefta > Mishnah. In his study “Concerning Poverty, Mishnah Pe’ah, Tosefta Pe’ah and the Re-imagination of Society in Late Antiquity” (Envisioning Judaism: Studies in Honor of Peter Schäfer on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday, vol. 1, ed. Ra’anan S. Boustan, Klaus Herrmann, Reimund Leicht, Annette Yoshiko Reed and Giuseppe Veltri [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013], 205–16), Gregg Gardner compared m. Pe’ah 8:7 and t. Pe’ah 4:8, finding that: “It is very possible that the Tosefta reflects an earlier tradition . . . As the Tosefta does at times, this particular passage explains the background and origins of the concepts that have been abridged in the Mishnah, perhaps using earlier traditions” (215). 7 Interestingly, quite similar to the formulation of Maimonides which will be explained below.

56

Aaron Amit

is contrasted with the understanding of Rabbi Shimon, who found the literal interpretation of Scripture problematic. Rabbi Shimon believed that if pe’ah is entirely a spatial command and can be given at any point in the harvest, this would create unfair situations for the poor and possibly give rise to abuses of power on the part of the owner of the field. Making pe’ah dependent primarily on time and the concluding act of the harvest corrected the potential for injustice in the eyes of Rabbi Shimon.8

[I] The Biblical Commandment of Pe’ah and the Disagreement of Maimonides and Gersonides The commandment to leave a part of the field unharvested for the poor – referred to in the Hebrew as pe’ah – literally “corner,” is mentioned in Leviticus 19:9 and Leviticus 23:22. Leviticus 19:9–10 reads: When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap all the way to the edge of your field, or gather the gleanings of your harvest. You shall not pick your vineyard bare, or gather the fallen fruit of your vineyard; you shall leave them for the poor and the stranger: I the Lord am your God.9 The words: ‫ לא תכלה פאת שדך לקצר‬translated – “you shall not reap all the way to



8 In the context of the discussion of Rabbi Shimon’s unique position, in addition to Gardner’s observation regarding the centrality of fairness, I would point to Alyssa Gray’s article, “The Formerly Wealthy Poor: From Empathy to Ambivalence in Rabbinic Literature of Late Antiquity,” Association for Jewish Studies Review 33 (2009): 101–33. Although Gray’s description of empathy in Tannaitic sources relates to the formerly wealthy, the emphasis on empathy and compassion towards the poor is consistent with Rabbi Shimon’s position vis-à-vis the commandment of pe’ah here. Rabbi Shimon has empathy for the poor and his departure from the literal scriptural command, which emphasizes location, seems to derive from a desire for fairness. 9 English translations of Scripture are from the NJPS translation while translations of rabbinic literature are my own. Sources are quoted in translation in the body of the text, and original text important for the argument is quoted in the original in the notes. Verse 9 contains the important formulation: ‫לא תכלה פאת שדך לקצר‬, translated in the NJPS: “you shall not reap all the way to the edges of your field.” In his commentary to Leviticus, Jacob Milgrom argues that the singular “edge” should be used instead of the plural “edges” (which I follow in my translation above). Milgrom writes: “Hebrew pe’a, as it [sic] cognates Ugaritic p’t and Akkadian patu, means ‘side, edge, corner’ . . . It should not be rendered (as in most translations) ‘edges,’ namely, as a distributive. Only one side is intended” (Leviticus 17–22, A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. The Anchor Bible (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000), 1625. The Septuagint does not use the word “border” or “corner” at all, rendering this part of the verse: οὐ συντελέσετε τὸν θερισμὸν ὑμῶν τοῦ ἀγροῦ ἐκθερίσαι, “you shall not finish the harvest of your field, harvesting completely.” The word ἐκθερίσαι, from the verb ἐκθερίζω, is unusual and means “to reap or mow completely” (see A Greek – English Lexicon of the Septuagint, Part I, compiled by J. Lust, E. Eynikel and K. Hauspie [Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft: Stuttgart, 1992]),

An “Edge” in Space or an “Edge” in Time

57

the edge of your field” at first glance sound like a spatial command. The edge of the field should be left unharvested to enable the poor to easily identify their portion and collect a part of the harvest. According to m. Pe’ah 1:1, pe’ah, like the bringing of the first fruits; appearing in the Temple during the festivals; deeds of loving kindness, and the study of Torah, has no measure. However, in m. Pe’ah 1:2 the Mishnah opens: ‫“ אין פוחתין לפיאה מששים‬one should not give less than one-sixtieth [of the field as pe’ah].” These two positions would seem to contradict each other. Commentators have explained the contradiction by arguing that the first Mishnah addresses the fact that there is no maximum measure of pe’ah, while the second addresses the minimum requirement.10 The edge of the field is easily identifiable and a good place for the owner of the field to leave pe’ah for the needy. Indeed, this is the way that Maimonides describes the commandment of pe’ah in his code: Pe’ah should be left only at the edge of the field, so that the poor know where [lit. “the place”] to come [and collect it], and in order that it be recognizable to passersby [that pe’ah is given] and they not be suspicious [that it is not given].11 In light of this logical explanation, it is quite surprising that another medieval authority, Gersonides, frames the commandment of pe’ah as relating not





135). A similar formulation is found in Leviticus 23:22: ‫ובקצרכם את־קציר ארצכם לא־תכלה פאת שדך‬ ‫בקצרך‬, rendered in translations the same as Leviticus 19:9. 10 In a study devoted to things with no measure and in comparison to sectarian law at Qumran, Aharon Shemesh (“‫דברים שיש להם שיעור‬,” Tarbiẓ 73 [2004]: 387–405) noticed that in the Damascus Document it is apparent that pe’ah does have a required measure according to sectarian law. Thus, Shemesh argues that the original position in rabbinic sources, as in sectarian law, was that pe’ah does have a measure; however, in reaction to sectarian law the rabbis emphasized that pe’ah is among the things that have no measure. This means that the opening of Mishnah Pe’ah is actually later than the first part of the second Mishnah which designates a minimum measure for the commandment of pe’ah. However, Shemesh mentions (p. 388) the position of Shlomo Naeh, who argues that the early Mishnah is represented by the second part of m. Pe’ah 1:2, which reads, according to MS Kaufman A50: ‫ אף על פי שאמרו אין [ל]פאה שיעור‬. . .  “even though [the sages] said – pe’ah has no measure . . . ”. Thus, Naeh understands the first part of m. Pe’ah 1:2: ‫אין פוחתין לפיאה מששים‬, “one should not give less than one-sixtieth [of the field as pe’ah],” as a later addition. The form of the quotation in the second part of the Mishnah strengthens Naeh’s argument. The phrase ‫אף על פי שאמרו‬, “even though [the sages] said” is a mechanism for quoting an early halakhah (see below notes 22 and 23). In my opinion this is strong evidence that the early Tannaitic position was that pe’ah has no measure. Compare the views of Gardner, “Pursuing Justice,” 48n41 and 50n46. 11 Rambam, Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Matanot Ani’im 2:12. The Hebrew reads: ‫אין מניחין את הפאה אלא‬ ‫ כדי שיהיו עניים יודעין מקום שיבאו לו‬,‫בסוף השדה‬. Maimonides emphasizes that the commandment is spatial by using the word ‫מקום‬ – place. In his commentary to m. Pe’ah 1:3, Maimonides also emphasizes the spatial aspect of pe’ah, see below section III.

58

Aaron Amit

to space, but to time.12 Gersonides writes as follows in his commentary to Leviticus 19:9: The pe’ah, as defined [by the Torah] is [described as] “the end of the field,” [and this is] because it is the end of the harvest [process]. And this is clear on its own, in whichever place the harvest ends – he can leave the pe’ah, even if it is in the middle of the field; because the Torah only took care that some of the standing grain should be left for the poor, and it makes no difference to the poor whether the grain is in the middle or at the end of the field.13 Gersonides emphasizes that the commandment of pe’ah is to be fulfilled at the end of the harvest; in his opinion, the placement of the pe’ah does not matter, it can be left in any part of the field. The distinction between pe’ah as an edge or corner in space versus an “edge” in time creates two different concepts of the commandment.14 First and foremost, the distinction creates a practical difference of how to fulfill the commandment. If pe’ah is a spatial commandment distribution can occur at any stage in the harvest and, although the owner of the field decides how much pe’ah to separate, there is no clear boundary between the owner’s harvest and the harvest of the poor. If pe’ah must be given at the edge of the field, the poor know where to come to take it, and the two harvests, that of the owner and that of the poor,



12 In his commentary on t. Pe’ah 1:5 in, ‫ באור ארוך לתוספתא‬:‫תוספתא כפשוטה‬, Part 1, Second Augmented Edition (Jerusalem: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America 1992), 127–28, which will be discussed below, Saul Lieberman discusses the disagreement between medieval commentators who understand pe’ah as dependent on place versus those who see it as dependent on time (in the framework of his discussion Lieberman quotes both Maimonides and Gersonides). Lieberman understood the position of Rabbi Shimon to be that pe’ah is dependent on both time and place, writing in reference to the Sifra (which will be discussed below in section II): “According to the words of Rabbi Shimon pe’ah is given only at the end of the harvest, and at the end of the field” (p. 128). 13 My translation is based on the version of Gersonides’ commentary in the Rabbinic Pentateuch with Commentary on the Torah by R. Levi ben Gershom, Leviticus, Part II, ed. from MSS by Baruch Braner and Carmiel Cohen (Jerusalem, 2006), 240. Gersonides emphasizes that it is the end of the harvest process: ‫כי הוא מה שתכלה אליו הקצירה‬, literally “because it is the end of the harvest.” For an analysis of aspects of the legal methodology of Gersonides in his Torah commentary, see Carmiel Cohen, “‘Straightforward’ Halachic Exegesis in Gersonides’ Commentary on the Torah.” PhD diss., The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2007. 14 There are many places where temporal issues are at the center of the discussion in halakhah. In her recent book, Time in the Babylonian Talmud, Natural and Imagined Times in Jewish Law and Narrative (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), Lynn Kaye studies the temporal concepts of sages in the Babylonian Talmud. Kaye does not address issues regarding the commandment of pe’ah since she is mainly interested in the Babylonian sources.

An “Edge” in Space or an “Edge” in Time

59

can potentially take place simultaneously, creating a model closer to classic gift giving and setting an expectation for reciprocity.15 On the other hand, if pe’ah is dependent on time and represents the end of the harvest, it can only be given to the poor once the owner of the field has finished his or her own work. This creates a clear separation between the landowner and the poor, who are only allowed to enter the field once the owner has finished the harvest. This creates a model in which the owner cannot interfere with the fair distribution of the yield. These two concepts create differing pictures of the interplay between owners and the poor. One might make the argument that having pe’ah be dependent on location has an advantage over having it dependent on time. First, location better represents the plain meaning of Scripture, and second, landowner and poor can harvest at the same time allowing a greater level of awareness of giving and sharing. However, one can ask: what is the relationship between the poor person collecting and their benefactor when they work together? This can lead to the owner taking advantage of their position of power and interfering in the process of the poor collecting their share. Here we can see the advantage of having pe’ah be dependent on time. When the owner has finished his or her harvest they vacate the field, allowing any poor person to harvest undisturbed. While this is not necessarily the literal fulfillment of Scripture, it might be a more compassionate way of allowing the poor to collect their portion. As Alyssa Gray explains, agricultural gifts are not tzedaqah and are not meant to demonstrate the superiority or generosity of the land owner.16 Having pe’ah be dependent on time emphasizes this understanding. Obviously, one could argue that the commandment of pe’ah really requires both the end of the harvest and a placement at the edge of the field. However, that really avoids the question; if pe’ah is dependent on time and can only be separated at the end of the harvest, then, logically, standing grain left in any part of the field would be considered pe’ah.17 An analysis of the sources on pe’ah shows that support can be found for both 15 See Gardner’s discussion of gift-giving in rabbinic literature in his “Charity Wounds: Gifts to the Poor in Early Rabbinic Judaism,” in The Gift in Antiquity, ed. Michael L. Satlow (Hoboken, NJ: Wiley-Blackwell, 2013), 174–77. Gardner argues that “gift-giving and the reciprocity that it entails was a central element of the wider world in which the rabbis lived,” 177. See also Tzvi Novick, “Chairty and Reciprocity: Structures of Benevolence in Rabbinic Literature,” Harvard Theological Review 105 (2012): 33–52. 16 Alyssa Gray, Charity in Rabbinic Judaism: Atonement, Rewards, and Righteousness (London and New York: Routledge, 2019), 17: “[ . . . ] agricultural provisions for the poor are indeed commanded, but they are not “tzedaqah.” The rabbis describe tzedaqah as money charity (y. Pe’ah 1:1, 15b–15c; b. Sukkah 49b). While the poor are entitled to the various agricultural gifts the Torah sets out, nothing in the Torah entitles to [sic] the poor to a specific donor’s money.” See note 3 above on the views of Gardner. 17 See section III below for the discussion of m. Pe’ah 1:3.

60

Aaron Amit

positions in rabbinic literature. The key to understanding the development of these two views lies in identifying the earliest rabbinic formulation of the law of pe’ah with regard to the time and placement of pe’ah in the field. The earliest formulation is found in the Sifra – the halakhic midrash to the Book of Leviticus – and the formulations in the Tosefta and Mishnah are dependent upon this source. Confusion engendered by this source, Sifra Qedoshim, Parashah 1:10, can account for the development of these two conceptions of pe’ah, as an edge in space and an “edge” in time. In the Sifra we find an internal tension between the earliest Tannaitic position that the pe’ah, the “edge” mentioned in Leviticus, refers to location, in line with the plain meaning of Scripture, versus the opinion of the second-century sage Rabbi Shimon bar Yoḥai, that it is related to time. The textual difficulties in the original midrash, which will be discussed in detail, led to a modification of the formulation of Rabbi Shimon. This caused much confusion in later sources and generated debate among medieval authorities as to the correct interpretation of the sources. Understanding the direction of development from the original halakhic midrash to the Tosefta and Mishnah is key to resolving the tension between space and time in the rabbinic interpretation of the commandment.18

[II] Rabbi Shimon’s Four Concerns We will begin our in-depth investigation of the Tannaitic sources with what I believe is the earliest formulation of the halakhah on our topic, Sifra Qedoshim, Parashah 1:10.19 In order to strengthen my argument that this is indeed the earliest formulation I will compare it to all the parallel sources, showing how and why it changed during transmission. It is worth keeping in mind that these sources were transmitted orally and not written down until much later. I begin with the first part of Rabbi Shimon’s tradition in the Sifra:20



18 As we will discuss below, understanding the tradition of Rabbi Shimon as preserved in the Sifra as the original, explains well the development of the other versions. However, arguing that the original reading is that of the Mishnah or in the Tosefta would introduce serious problems in explaining the creation of the version in the Sifra. Thus the principle lectio deficilior best explains the development of the traditions. For further detail, see Aaron Amit, “:‫ממראית עין לחשד ובחזרה‬ ‫ ”מעברים בטעמי הלכה בפאה ובחנוכה‬Te’uda 31 (2021), 349–64. 19 The text of the Sifra will be translated in the body of the text and quoted in the notes according to the best manuscript, MS Vatican 66. When there are important differences in the other manuscripts these will be cited in notes (the manuscripts of the Sifra were consulted on the website “Torat Ha-Tannaim” of Bar-Ilan University, https://www.biu.ac.il/JS/tannaim/). Compare the Weiss edition of Sifra, 87c. This tradition has parallels in t. Pe’ah 1:6 (ed. Lieberman, 42), y. Pe’ah 4:3 (18b), and b. Shabbat 23a. 20 The section in the Sifra begins with a quotation of Leviticus 19:9. We will address the full context

An “Edge” in Space or an “Edge” in Time

61

And so too Rabbi Shimon said, “Because of four concerns [the sages] said ‘a person should only give pe’ah at the end of his field’: because of theft from the poor, because of the idleness of the poor, because of [ misleading] appearance, and on account of what the Torah says, you shall not reap all the way to the edge.”21 The first point that needs to be emphasized in this source is that Rabbi Shimon is quoting and reacting to an early halakhah, using the technical term ‫אמרו‬ “[the sages] said”; his reason for adding the reasons behind that early ruling is to add his own understanding of the early halakhah.22 As J. N. Epstein argued: “It is common that our Mishnah brings traditions from the ‘first Mishnah’, the Mishnah that preceded it; [these traditions are introduced] with the term ‘They said’ (that is, the sages said).”23 Here Rabbi Shimon quotes an early ruling, and gives his interpretation of the reasons for it. The early ruling is short and simple: of this section of the Sifra below in section III. The editor of the Sifra has drawn material from different sources. 21 MS Vatican 66 reads: :‫וכן היה ר׳ שמעון או׳ בשביל ארבעה דברים אמרו לא יתן אדם פיאה אילא בסוף שדהו‬ ‫ משם שאמרה התורה לא תכלה פאת‬,‫ מפני מראית העין‬,‫ מפני בטל עניים‬,‫מפני גזל עניים‬. The phrase that opens the sources is “And so too Rabbi X said.” This formulation usually connects an independent tradition to an existing source. It is used widely in the Tosefta and is found less often in the Halakhic Midrashim. In this context it connects the early recorded position of Rabbi Shimon with a later version to which there is a parallel in the Tosefta. See below, section III. 22 A similar example can be found in t. Shabbat 13:1 (ed. Lieberman, 57): Even though [the sages] said: one is not allowed to read from kitvei ha-qodesh [here the intention is specifically to the Hagiographa, on the Sabbath], one may recite them [by heart] and give interpretations of them, and if one needs to check something, one may take [the Hagiographa] and check. Rabbi Nehemiah said, what is the reason [the sages] said one is not allowed to read from kitvei ha-qodesh [on the Sabbath]; it is because of secular documents, so that [people] will say: [if] it is forbidden to read from the Hagiographa, all the more so it is forbidden to read secular documents [on the Sabbath]. This example was discussed at length by Shamma Friedman in his ‫ ליחס מקבילות‬:‫״תוספתא עתיקתא‬ ‫ א)״‬,‫– כל כתבי הקדש (שבת טז‬ ]‫ המשנה והתוספתא [א‬Tarbiẓ 62 (1992–1993), 313–38. Friedman argues (p. 321) that the early halakhah is found in this example in t. Shabbat 13:1, where it is quoted in the regular Tannaitic formulation for the early Mishnah – “the sages said.” This early halakhah stated ]‫אין קורין בכתבי הקדש [בשבת‬ – “one should not read from the writings [on the Sabbath].” The Tanna Rabbi Nehemiah explained the reasoning for the early halakhah: that the prohibition against reading Hagiographa is to make it clear that one is also prohibited from reading secular documents on the Sabbath. Friedman argues that in the editing of the Mishnah the original formulation of Rabbi Nehemiah was smoothed over in order to create an easier and clearer formulation: ‫מפני ביטול בית המדרש‬, “because of cancelling the study of Torah.” In his discussion of the parallels (328–31), Friedman emphasizes his disagreement with Lieberman who understood Rabbi Nehemiah as disagreeing with the reason brought in the Mishnah. 23 J. N. Epstein, ‫מבוא לנוסח המשנה‬, vol. 2, 3rd ed. (Jerusalem: Hebrew University Magnes Press, 2000), 726. These terms are also used in other Tannaitic sources. Epstein’s conclusions on this point have been widely accepted in modern scholarship and are used in many studies (see the arguments

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“a person should only give pe’ah at the end of his field.”24 This is in line with the simple meaning of the verse in Leviticus and Maimonides’ understanding of it cited above: the corner referred to as pe’ah is primarily a spatial corner; pe’ah is to be given at the end or corner of the field so that it can be easily identified by the poor. This apodictic formulation is in essence a simple explanation of the words in the verse in Leviticus 19:9: ‫לא תכלה פאת שדך לקצר‬ – “you shall not reap all the way to the edge of your field,” translating them as: “a person should only give pe’ah at the end of his field.” Obviously, leaving the corner of the field for the poor can also have a time component: if the owner of the field has not yet started the harvest the poor will not be able to identify which end or corner the owner intends to designate for pe’ah. This is only absolutely clear at the end of the harvest. Nonetheless, technically the owner could also give pe’ah at the end or corner of the field at the beginning of the harvest by simply marking the area designated for the poor. That would still be considered “the end or corner of his field.” I therefore interpret the early halakhah ‫לא יתן אדם פיאה אילא‬ ‫“ בסוף שדהו‬a person should only give pe’ah at the end of his field,” as primarily concerned with space. As we shall see in our analysis of the words of Rabbi Shimon below, he did not interpret the early halakhah according to its plain meaning. Rather, Rabbi Shimon emphasized that pe’ah must be given at the end of the harvest process and provided reasons why this is necessary. We will see that Rabbi Shimon’s position created a tension between the plain meaning of the early halakhah and his own understanding which centers on time. Rabbi Shimon is quoted as citing four reasons for giving pe’ah only at the end of the harvest process. The first three are introduced with the Hebrew word ‫ מפני‬which is used in Tannaitic sources to cite a logical reason for a ruling. The fourth is introduced with another technical term: ‫משם‬ – this term25 introduces





of Shamma Friedman cited in the previous note, and his discussion of ‫ שאמרו‬on p. 321 and in notes 11 and 14). 24 As we will note below, Rabbi Shimon’s explanation of the halakhah would have been more in line with the early halakhah had it read: ‫“ לא יתן אדם פיאה אלא בסוף‬a person should only give pe’ah at the end,” without the word ‫שדהו‬, “field.” The addition of the word “field” emphasizes location. 25 In MS Vatican 66 (quoted in note 20) it is written ‫( משם שאמרה התורה‬this is the reading also in MS New York, JTS Rab. 2171 and MS Parma 139). MS Vatican 31 reads ‫משום שאמ׳ התורה‬, while the reading in MS London 341 is corrupt, reading ‫ומפני שאמרה תורה‬. On the variant ‫משום‬/‫ משם‬see J. N. Epstein, ‫מבוא לנוסח המשנה‬, vol. 2, 1263, and more recently Shamma Friedman, ‫ למילים‬:‫״שום דבר‬ ‫בעלות גון־משמע נויטראלי בלשון חכמים״‬, in ‫( עיונים בלשון חכמים‬Jerusalem: The Institute for Advanced Studies, Hebrew University, 1996), 79–84. Friedman opens his article by citing Mishnah Makkot 1:2: ‫שלא השם המביאו לידי מכות מביאו לידי תשלומין‬, pointing to Rashi’s understanding that the word ‫ שם‬means “verse,” thereby rendering a translation of the Mishnah as follows: “because the verse that brings upon him the flogging does not bring upon him the [obligation] for restitution.” The use of the word ‫משום‬/‫ משם‬as citing the scriptural source for a negative commandment (‫משום‬ ‫ בל‬. . .) is common in the Halakhic Midrashim and the Tosefta.

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63

not a logical reason, but the scriptural basis for the ruling: ‫לא תכלה פאת שדך‬. As in other places, the term ‫ משום‬is used to quote the verse that lies at the source of the law. This creates a textual difficulty since Rabbi Shimon says there are “four” reasons that pe’ah is given at the edge of the field; as we shall explain, it is this point that confused later transmitters of this source and caused changes in the formulation.26 Before following these differences, I would like to return to Rabbi Shimon’s understanding of the first three logical reasons for the early halakhah: “because of theft from the poor, because of idleness of the poor, [and] because of [misleading] appearance.” Each of these on its own is not immediately understandable and each requires explanation. As we progress through the next section of the passage in the Sifra, which contains the explanations of the three reasons introduced by ‫מפני‬, my attention will center on whether these reasons relate to space or time.27 We will proceed to quote them from the next section of the Sifra one at a time: because of theft from the poor – How is this the case? Lest he [the owner of the field] spot an opportune moment and say to his poor relative “come and take the pe’ah.”28 We should notice here that the situation described is connected with time. The “theft from the poor” would be accomplished by the owner of the field calling his poor relatives or friends at any stage in the harvest, and telling them to

26 Reading the Sifra it would seem that there are actually only three reasons for leaving the pe’ah at the end of the field. Rabbi Avraham ben David of Posquieres (Ra’avad), in his commentary on the Sifra (Weiss ed. 87c), explains the difficulty in the text by arguing that the “principal” together with the other “reasons” come to a total of four reasons for giving the pe’ah at the end. Thus, the Ra’avad counts the verse (which he calls the “principal”) as one of the reasons and also the main catalyst for them. 27 It is worthy of note that as the term ‫ משום‬develops it is also used as a reason, similar to the term ‫מפני‬. It is interesting to note that in the Gaonic work Halakhot Gedolot there is a complete assimilation of the two terms in the citation of the tradition of Rabbi Shimon. See MS Vatican 142 of Halakhot Gedolot, Hilkhot Pe’ah, which reads: ]‫ משום גזל עניים ומשום בטול עניים ומשום מראית העין [ומשום‬. . . ‫דתניא אמ׳ ר׳ שמעון מפני ארבעה דברים‬ .‫ ומשום הרמאין‬. . . ‫ מפני מראית העין‬. . . ‫ מפני בטל עניים‬. . . ‫ מפני גזל עניים‬,‫הרמאין‬ Translated: “As was taught [in a baraita]: Rabbi Shimon said that it is because (mipnay) of four concerns . . . because (meshum) of theft from the poor, because (u’meshum) of idleness of the poor, because (u’meshum) of [misleading] appearance, and because (u’meshum) of the deceivers, because (mipnay) of theft from the poor . . . because (mipnay) of idleness of the poor . . . because (mipnay) of [misleading] appearance, . . . and because (u’meshum) of the deceivers. See also the similar reading of the text in Naftali Zevi Hildesheimer, Sefer Halakhot Gedolot, Hilkhot Pe’ah, vol. 3, (Jerusalem, 1987), 388–89. 28 MS Vatican 66 reads: ‫מפני גזל עניים כאיז׳ צד? שלא יראה אדם שעה פנויה ויאמר לקרובו העני בוא וטול לך‬ ‫את הפיאה‬.

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quickly take pe’ah from the field.29 We should notice that the description is chronological: ‫שלא יראה אדם שעה פנויה‬ – “that the owner not spot [literally: see] an opportune moment” (sha’ah penuyah). This implies that the correction or way to avoid this “theft” would be to give the pe’ah at the end of the harvest process – an issue of time, rather than space. The next section addresses the “idleness of the poor”: because of the idleness of the poor – How is this the case? lest the poor be required to continually sit and wait all day and say: “now [the owner of the field] is leaving pe’ah, now [the owner of the field] is leaving pe’ah.” Instead they will go and collect in another field and come again at the time of the finishing [of the harvest].30 Like the previous explanation this concern also centers on time. The pe’ah should be given at the end of the harvest process so that the poor don’t have to constantly wait around guessing when the owner will leave pe’ah. We should notice the expression ‫ בשעה הכילוי‬at the end of this section. This expression literally means “the time of the finishing,” emphasizing that the solution is that the pe’ah be given at the end of the process. This is derived from the scriptural phrase ‫לא תכלה‬ – “do not finish [reaping].” Once again we see that the primary factor is not where the pe’ah is given but when it is given.31 We now move to the third explanation of Rabbi Shimon: because of marit ha-aiyen [misleading appearance]: and because of [misleading] appearance – how is this the case? That passersby not say: “look how [the owner] harvested his field and did not leave pe’ah for the poor.”32 29 See Gardner, “Pursuing Justice,” 48n38. On m. Pe’ah 5:6, which also mentions theft from the poor, Gardner writes: “No poor individual should receive preferential treatment over any other poor individual” (55). 30 MS Vatican 66 reads: ‫ שלוא יהוא העניים יושבים ומשמרים כל היום ואומרים עכשיו הוא‬,‫מפני בטל עניים כיצד‬ ‫נותן פיאה עכשיו הוא נותן פיאה אילא ילכו וילקטו בשדה אחרת ויבואו בשעה הכילוי‬. 31 This is also a place where we clearly see compassion and empathy for the poor. As Yael Wilfand writes in Poverty, Charity and the Image of the Poor relating to the repetition of the line “now [the owner of the field] is leaving pe’ah’” in the parallel source in the Tosefta: “By providing the voice of the poor who wait and wonder when they can gather their portion, the Tosefta teaches that practical details, such as where and when pe’ah is designated, affect the daily lives of the poor” (p. 155). Wilfand referenced this point in the language of the Tosefta because printed editions of the Sifra do not have this repetition. 32 MS Vatican 66 reads: ‫ ראו היאך קצר איש פלוני את‬:‫ שלוא יהוא העוברין ושבין אומרין‬,‫מפני מראית העין כיצד‬ ‫שדהו ולא הניח פיאה לעניים‬. The phrase ‫מפני מראית העין‬, meaning “because of concern for appearance,” is found in another nine pericopes in the Tosefta, including t. Shevi‘it 2:2 (ed. Lieberman, 169), t. Shevi‘it 2:11 (ed. Lieberman, 172), t. Shevi‘it 2:15 (ed. Lieberman, 174), t. Shabbat 4:9 (ed. Lieberman, 19), t. Yoma 4:1 (ed. Lieberman, 249), t. Bava Metzi‘a 5:18 (ed. Lieberman, 91), t.

An “Edge” in Space or an “Edge” in Time

65

On first glance, this explanation could be interpreted to be primarily concerned with location. If the owner does not leave the pe’ah in the corner of the field, people will think that he did not give pe’ah at all. However, if the intention is really to completely avoid confusion, time is crucial. If the pe’ah is given at the conclusion of the harvest – passersby will see the unharvested section of the field and know that the owner separated pe’ah; however, if pe’ah is separated in the beginning of the process or in the middle – even if it is in the corner or edge of the field – when people see the owner of the field finishing the harvest they could mistakenly believe that pe’ah was not separated at all. Thus, all three of these explanations, which center on the timing of the giving of pe’ah, create an undertone of contradiction to the early halakhah quoted in the first part of the Sifra. Given the fact that these explanations indicate that pe’ah is an “edge” in time rather than space, it would have been better for the position of Rabbi Shimon had the early halakhah read: “a person should only give pe’ah at the end,” without the word field, since according to all of the explanations the location of the pe’ah is either secondary or irrelevant. Had the early halakhah been formulated this way, it would have been clear that the primary factor was time. This tension between the early halakhah and the position of Rabbi Shimon reveals a paradigm shift in the commandment of pe’ah and brings up the question: why would Rabbi Shimon make the distribution of pe’ah dependent on time, instead of simply the spatial corner of the field? I believe that returning to the positions of Gardner and Gray, cited above, can help us understand this shift. Gardner argues that the Tannaim were concerned with procedural justice33 and process more than actual outcome, while Gray writes that “the poor are entitled to the various agricultural gifts the Torah sets out,” without dependence on the owner of the field.34 While I agree with Gardner on his main point of procedural justice, and with Gray on the difference between pe’ah and tzedaqah, my analysis shows that we have to be careful when presenting the position of the Tannaim on this issue. Our careful reading of Sifra Qedoshim demonstrates that there were differing Tannaitic positions, and tension between them. Accordingly, the early Tannaitic position of pe’ah as a spatial corner is in line with a literal interpretation of Scripture. Rabbi Shimon’s shift away from Bava Metzi‘a 8:10 (ed. Lieberman, 105), t. Bekhorot 5:2 (ed. Zukermandel, 539). The phrase also appears in m. Kil’ayim 3:5, m. Kil’ayim 9:2, m. Shevi’it 3:4, m. Shabbat 19:6, m. Bekhorot 7:3 and m. Bekhorot 7:5. In these Tannaitic sources the phrase is used as a reason to avoid behavior that could arouse suspicion that one is not following the law. 33 On the term “procedural justice” see Gardner, “Pursuing Justice,” 56–57. Gardner writes: “The focus on procedure takes the decision as to ‘what, when, and to whom one gives’ out of the hands of the householder” (57). 34 Gray, Charity in Rabbinic Judaism, 18, my emphasis (see note 16 above).

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this literal interpretation35 fits in well with Gardner’s argument of procedural justice. According to Rabbi Shimon, having pe’ah be the spatial corner of the field presented a procedural problem. If pe’ah is simply a spatial corner, it can be given at any point in the harvest, making it possible for the owner of the field to avoid providing equal opportunity in the distribution of pe’ah in ways described in the examples from the Sifra above. Moreover, Rabbi Shimon’s insistence that pe’ah be open to collection only after the owner has completed his or her harvest removes the owner from the field during the poor’s harvest of pe’ah and enables them to collect undisturbed. This clearly removes pe’ah from the realm of tzedaqah.36 It is important to understand that this concern for procedure does not represent the original Tannaitic view, but is actually the unique contribution of Rabbi Shimon bar Yoḥai.37 With this internal contradiction and the two differing concepts of pe’ah freshly in mind, we can now analyze what I believe to be later formulations of this midrash halakhah in parallel sources. We will begin with t. Pe’ah 1:6, according to MS Vienna which is directly parallel to the Sifra. In the Tosefta we find a secondary reworking of the original formulation of the halakhah in the Sifra. We will begin our analysis with the first part of the halakhah, showing how the editor of the Tosefta changed it in transmission: Rabbi Shimon said that it is because of four concerns that a person should only give pe’ah at the end: because of theft from the poor, because of idleness of the poor, because of [misleading] appearance, and because of the deceivers.38 We should first note that in the Tosefta version the technical terms ‫[“ אמרו‬the sages] said,” and ‫משום שאמרה התורה‬,“on account of what the Torah says,” do not appear; we will return to discuss the reasons for these changes below. The 35 Rabbi Shimon’s shift is not the only movement from the position of an early halakhah in the laws of pe’ah towards a new understanding. As mentioned, there is a similar development regarding the question of whether pe’ah has a required measure. As I argued above (note 10), it is likely that the early Tannaitic position was that pe’ah has no measure. However, this position was replaced by the ruling that pe’ah does have a minimum measure. 36 As Gardner describes it, the focus on procedure also “prevents the householder from exercising discretion and, in turn, personal generosity” (Gardner, “Pursuing Justice,” 57). This is clearly accomplished by having the owner of the field vacate the field to the poor, after finishing the harvest process. 37 There are numerous other areas of halakhah in which Rabbi Shimon presents unique opinions. A complete discussion of these sources is beyond the scope of this article. See for example, Moshe Benovitz, “‫ קריאת שמע במשנתו של רבי שמעון בר יוחאי‬:‫”שינון‬, Sidra 20 (2005): 25–56. 38 The reading is from MS Vienna which reads: ‫אמ׳ ר׳ שמעון מפני ארבע׳ דברים לא יתן אדם פיאה אלא‬ ‫ ומפני הרמאין‬,‫ ומפני מראית העין‬,‫ ומפני בטול העניים‬,‫ מפני גזל העניים‬:‫בסוף‬. See below for discussion and comparison to MS Erfurt.

An “Edge” in Space or an “Edge” in Time

67

removal of the term “[the sages] said” marks a critical difference because we can no longer recognize the quotation from the early halakhah. Moreover, in the Vienna manuscript there is no mention of the field in this line: instead of the line in the Sifra: ‫אמרו לא יתן אדם פיאה אילא בסוף שדהו‬,“[the sages] said that a person should only give pe’ah at the end of his field,” the Vienna manuscript reads: ‫לא יתן אדם פיאה אלא בסוף‬, “a person should only give pe’ah at the end,” with no mention of place. In my opinion this change was made because of the tension we described between the reasons cited by Rabbi Shimon in the Sifra, revealing his understanding that, in his opinion, the primary issue was time and not location. This is a departure from the early halakhah as quoted by the technical term ‫ אמרו‬in the Sifra. However, the editor of the Tosefta went a step further, and took out the word “field” in order to make this quotation of the halakhah – no longer quoted as an early halakhah with the term ‫אמרו‬ – more in line with the explanations offered by Rabbi Shimon that are centered on time, as we see in the explanations for “theft from the poor” – lest the owner find a time when no one is there and gives to the poor person of his choice – or in the explanation “because of idleness of the poor” – lest the poor be forced to waste their time waiting. For this reason, the editor of the Tosefta left out the word “field” and thereby stressed time over place. It is important to point out that as the Tosefta was transmitted in the Gaonic period further modifications were made to the text. These modifications are found in the Erfurt manuscript of the Tosefta, which tends to contain a more developed version than the version in the Vienna manuscript (which was chosen by Saul Lieberman as the best representative of the Toseftan text). MS Erfurt tends to integrate parallel versions, and even changes the language in light of formulations of the Tannaitic sources in the Bavli.39 In this case, the



39 See Yaakov Sussmann, “‫”׳ירושלמי כתב־יד אשכנזי׳ ו׳ספר ירושלמי׳‬, Tarbiẓ 65 (1995), n166, 61–63, and Shamma Friedman, “The Primacy of Tosefta to Mishnah in Synoptic Parallels,” in Introducing Tosefta: Textual Intratextual and Intertextual Studies, ed. Harry Fox and Tirzah Meachem (New York: KTAV, 1999), 107. Adiel Schremer has argued that the prevalence of the view that MS Erfurt is emended on the basis of the Bavli has been exaggerated. Rather, Schremer argues that many of the differences between MS Erfurt and MS Vienna can be traced to an ancient split in the manuscript branches (see his “‫ עיון ראשוני בעקבות שאול ליברמן‬:‫”למסורת נוסח התוספתא‬: JSIJ 1 (2002), 11–43 [Hebrew]). Robert Brody challenged Schremer’s conclusions in his Mishnah and Tosefta Studies (Jerusalem: Hebrew University Magnes Press, 2014), 91–107, pointing out problems in Schremer’s categorizations. Brody argues that in textual criticism we should consider: “the tendency to emend the readings of less prestigious works within the corpus of rabbinic literature in favor of the readings of more prestigious ones. We may safely assume that many if not all of the scribes who copied a relatively obscure work such as the Tosefta would have been thoroughly familiar with more central works of the rabbinic corpus such as the Mishnah and the Babylonian Talmud [ . . . ]” (p. 96).

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Erfurt manuscript has a secondary reading, containing additions from the parallel version of this baraita in Bavli Shabbat 23a. MS Erfurt reads: Rabbi Shimon said that it is because of four concerns that the Torah said that a person should only give pe’ah at the end of his field, because of theft from the poor, because of idleness of the poor, because of [misleading] appearance, and because of the deceivers.40 There are two additions in MS Erfurt compared with MS Vienna: the Erfurt manuscript uses the phrase ‫אמרה תורה‬, “the Torah said” and adds the word “field” (both are marked in bold lettering). This is exactly the reading found in this sentence in a parallel version of the baraita in b. Shabbat 23a: As it was taught [in a baraita]: Rabbi Shimon said that it is because of four concerns that the Torah said that a person should leave pe’ah at the end of his field.41 This makes the whole argument problematic. It is not the Torah that said that a person should only give pe’ah at the end of his field; the Torah said ‫לא תכלה פאת‬ ‫שדך‬, “you shall not reap all the way to the edge of your field.” It was the sages who said ‫לא יתן אדם פיאה אילא בסוף שדהו‬. In other words ‫ אמרה תורה‬should be a quote from the Torah – not a quote from the early Mishnah. In addition, the word ‫שדהו‬, “field,” was added by this later redactor to the end of the sentence as it appeared in parallel versions. Returning to the Vienna version of the Tosefta, which is the closest version to the original text produced by the redactor of the Tosefta, we can now understand the other change that was made. Based on the language of the early halakhah as presented in the Sifra, the editor of the Tosefta did not understand why Rabbi Shimon opened his statement with the claim that he will cite four reasons that a person should give pe’ah at the end of the harvest. In reality there were only three. The last argument “because of what is written in the Torah” is not a reason, but the source for the reason! Rabbi Shimon should have opened with the statement that there are three reasons a person should give pe’ah at the end. Therefore, the editor of the Tosefta added a new reason: “because of the deceivers,” in place of the quotation of Scripture.42 Interestingly,

40 MS Erfurt reads: ‫א׳ ר׳ שמעון מפני ארבעה דברים אמרה תורה לא יתן אדם פיאה אלא בסוף שדהו מפני גזל עניים‬ ‫ומפני בטל עניים ומפני מראית העין ומפני הרמאים‬. The printed edition agrees here with MS Erfurt. 41 The translation is according to MS Vatican 127, which reads as follows in the baraita in the Bavli: ‫דתני׳ א״ר שמע׳ בשביל ארב׳ דברי׳ אמ׳ תור׳ יניח אדם פיאה בסוף שדהו‬. For a full discussion of the manuscript readings in the sugya in the Bavli, see Aaron Amit, “‫ מעברים‬:‫ממראית עין לחשד ובחזרה‬ ‫”בטעמי הלכה בפאה ובחנוכה‬, Te’uda 31 (2021), 356–64. 42 In my opinion, the editor of Tosefta Pe’ah took this reason from Tosefta Ketubbot 12:2, which reads:

An “Edge” in Space or an “Edge” in Time

69

the reason “because of the deceivers” has two explanations in the Tosefta, the second introduced by the technical term ‫“( דבר אחר‬another explanation”): because of the deceivers – how is this the case? Lest [the owners] say we already gave [pe’ah]. Another explanation: Lest the owner leave the quality [grain for himself] and give [pe’ah] from grain of poor quality.43 The first explanation for “because of the deceivers” in the Tosefta is centered on time. The deceivers can avoid giving pe’ah by lying and telling the poor who come to collect that the field was opened for distribution at an earlier stage. The poor who show up at the end of the harvest would have shown up too late. The editor of the Tosefta, who removed the word “field” as found in the original formulation in the Sifra, teaching: ‫לא יתן אדם פיאה אלא בסוף‬, correctly understood Rabbi Shimon as stressing time over location, which fit in with Rabbi Shimon’s other original explanations. For this reason, the editor of the Tosefta, based, as we argued, on Tosefta Ketubbot, made the logical argument that deceivers could potentially use the time element to trick the poor, if it were not required that pe’ah be left at the chronological end of the harvest. We now come to the second explanation in the Tosefta for the added reason “because of the deceivers” introduced by ‫דבר אחר‬. The fact that this is introduced with the technical term ‫ דבר אחר‬shows that it was added later, after the initial editing of the Tosefta.44 This ‫ דבר אחר‬states: “So that the owner not leave the quality [grain for himself] and give [pe’ah to the poor] from the bad quality



What is the reason that [the sages] said that damages are estimated from the best [property]? It is because of the robbers (‫ )הגזלנין‬and the thieves (‫ )החמסנין‬. . . What is the reason that the sages said that a lender collects from the middle quality? It is because of the deceivers (‫)הרמאין‬, so that lenders should not set their eyes on the field of their fellow, or the courtyard of their fellow, lend them money and then immediately proceed to seize the field or the courtyard. It is easy to see how an editor familiar with t. Ketubbot 12:2 would find the reason “because of the deceivers” connected and relevant to Tosefta Pe’ah. In both cases we have the reasoning described – “because of ” and in both we have the field of a fellow mentioned. Therefore, this source was used to create the fourth reason in Tosefta Pe’ah. It should be noted that in y. Pe’ah 4:3 (18b) this additional reason was added to the baraita at a later stage and created a unique reading in the version of the baraita in the Yerushalmi: “It was taught in the name of Rabbi Shimon, because of five concerns a person should only give pe’ah at the end of his field, because of theft from the poor, because of idleness of the poor, because of the deceivers, because of [misleading] appearance, and because the Torah says ‘you shall not reap all the way to the edge.’” The editor of the baraita in the Yerushalmi did not want to delete the quotation from Scripture and therefore changed the baraita to read that it was because of five reasons that a person should give pe’ah at the end. 43 MS Vienna reads: ‫ דבר אחר שלא יניח את היפה ויתן מן הרע‬.‫ומפני הרמאים כיצד? שלא יאמרו כבר נתננו‬. The reading in MS Erfurt is almost exactly the same in this case. 44 See Shamma Friedman, ‫ מקבילות המשנה והתוספתא ופירושן בצרוף מבוא‬:‫תוספתא עתיקתא מסכת פסח ראשון‬ ‫( כללי‬Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 2002), 418–19, and note 18.

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grain.” It would seem that this deception would be accomplished by identifying the poorest quality grain in the field and making sure to leave it unharvested and designated for the poor. Although this looks to be more related to space than time, there is also a time element. The pe’ah must be given at the chronological end of the harvest in the corner of the field and not in a part of the field that has low quality grain.

[III] The Tannaitic Dispute Regarding Beginning, Middle and End Immediately preceding the above-cited passages in the Sifra and the Tosefta, both works cite a Tannaitic dispute regarding the beginning, middle and end: Sifra Qedoshim, Parashah 1:9–10 (according to MS Vatican 66)

t. Pe’ah 1:5–6 [according to MS Vienna]

A “You shall not reap all the way to 1:9 the pe’ah,” pe’ah implies that all else is reaped, pe’ah implies something that can be designated explicitly, pe’ah implies the end, from here they said: if one gave [pe’ah] either at the beginning, the middle or

[5] Pe’ah may be given at the beginning, the middle and the end.

the end – they have fulfilled their obligation. Rabbi Shimon says: they have not fulfilled their obligation, if one gave either at the beginning, the middle or the end that is considered pe’ah, providing one does not give less than one-sixtieth at the end.45



If one gave [pe’ah] either at the beginning the middle or the end – they have fulfilled their obligation. Rabbi Shimon says: if one gave either at the beginning, the middle or the end that is considered pe’ah, however it is necessary to give the correct measure at the end. Rabbi Yehudah says if one leaves one single stalk [of grain] one can rely on it being pe’ah, and if not it is considered as ownerless property. [ . . . ]

45 MS Vatican 66 reads: ‫ אין פיאה אילא שיש לה שם אין פיאה אילא‬,‫׳לא תכלה פאת׳ אין פיאה אילא מחמת הכילוי‬ ‫ ור׳ שמעון או׳ לא יצא [נתן] בין מתחילה בין באמצע בין‬,‫ מיכן אמרו נתן בין בתחילה בין באמצע בין בסוף יצא‬,‫בסוף‬ ‫בסוף הרי זו פיאה ובלבד שלוא יפחות באחרונה אחד מששים‬. The Sifra opens with three points about what constitutes pe’ah. The first and third appear to be one and the same. The first point is that pe’ah can only be separated once the reaping of the field has been completed, while the third point is

An “Edge” in Space or an “Edge” in Time B And so too Rabbi Shimon said: 1:10 because of four concerns [the sages] said “a person should only give pe’ah at the end of his field,” because of theft from the poor, because of the idleness of the poor, because of [misleading] appearance, and on account of what the Torah says “you shall not reap all the way to the edge.”

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[6] Rabbi Shimon said that it is because of four concerns that a person should only give pe’ah at the end: because of theft from the poor, because of idleness of the poor, because of [misleading] appearance, and because of the deceivers.

Comparing the Sifra with the Tosefta it becomes clear that the Sifra quotes a source very similar to the version we have in the Tosefta using the term, ‫מיכן‬ ‫“ אמרו‬from here they said,” a term used in the Halakhic Midrashim for quoting mishnayot and baraitot.46 In both the Sifra and the Tosefta the halakhah reads: “at the beginning the middle or the end,” and there is no mention of the word ‫( שדה‬field), emphasizing time over place in the commandment of pe’ah.47 In





that pe’ah must be given at the end of the harvest. If pressed, one could find a fine distinction between the two points. If one has almost finished their own reaping it is still too early to give the pe’ah, even though it could be defined as the end of the harvest. The first point is that pe’ah is defined by the owner of the field finishing his or her own harvest and actively leaving some of the standing grain for the poor. The last point is that it has to be the final act in the harvest. This is the only place in rabbinic literature where we find the expression ‫מחמת הכילוי‬. In parallel sources that we analyzed above a similar expression is used: ‫בשעת הכילוי‬, meaning “the time of the finishing.” 46 On the term and its use in the Halakhic Midrashim, see J. N. Epstein, ‫מבוא לנוסח המשנה‬, vol. 2, 3rd ed. (Jerusalem: Hebrew University Magnes Press, 2000), 728–47; also see Menachem Kahana, “The Halakhic Midrashim,” in The Literature of the Sages, Second Part: Midrash and Targum, Liturgy, Poetry, Mysticism, Contracts, Inscriptions, Ancient Science and the Languages of Rabbinic Literature, ed. Shmuel Safrai, Zeev Safrai, Joshua Schwartz, and Peter Tomson (Assen, Netherlands: Royal Van Gorcum; Fortress Press, 2006), 55–56. Kahana writes regarding the use of the term in the Halakhic Midrashim from the school of Rabbi Akiva: “The Akivan works make frequent use of the extant Mishna, often seek to link it with the verses and their interpretation, and generally cite it verbatim” (p. 56). 47 In MS Erfurt the word “field” is added to the first sentence, reading: ‫נותן אדם פיאה מתחילת השדה‬ ‫ובאמצע ובסוף‬: “pe’ah may be given at the beginning of the field, the middle and the end” (this is also the reading in the printed editions). However, in the rest of the halakhah in MS Erfurt there is no mention of the word “field.” The addition of the word “field” is clearly based on m. Pe’ah 1:3 where “field” is found in all of the extant witnesses (see below note 50). There are a couple of other textual corruptions in the text in MS Erfurt in this halakhah. In MS Vienna the continuation of the anonymous opinion reads “If one gave [pe’ah] either at the beginning the middle or the end”; however, MS Erfurt deletes the word “middle,” reading “If one gave pe’ah at the beginning or the end.” In addition, there is a corruption in Rabbi Yehudah’s opinion; MS Erfurt reads: ‫אם שייר קלח אחד סמוך לו נותן משום פיאה‬,“if one leaves one single stalk [of grain] next

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both sources Rabbi Shimon’s view in section A is consistent with his opinion that pe’ah must be given at the end of the harvest process and in line with the reasons attributed to him in section B of both the Sifra and Tosefta passages.48 In my opinion, the citations of Rabbi Shimon’s opinion in section A of both the Sifra and Tosefta represent a later formulation of his opinion than the formulations in section B discussed at length above. The disagreement between the anonymous opinion and Rabbi Shimon in section A is that according to the anonymous opinion, pe’ah can be given at any point in the harvest process and does not have to be left for the end. Rabbi Shimon agrees that pe’ah given at any point in the harvest is indeed considered to be pe’ah;49 but argues that, in order to fulfill the commandment of pe’ah, a proper measure of standing grain must be left at the end of the harvest process. Comparing the two versions of the disagreement between the anonymous opinion and Rabbi Shimon, the version in the Sifra looks to be based on the version in the Tosefta passage. The editor of the Sifra adds to Rabbi Shimon’s opinion the words ‫לא יצא‬, [ “they have not fulfilled their obligation”]. This addition clarifies the disagreement between the parties. A second change is made at the end of Rabbi Shimon’s opinion. In the Tosefta he is quoted as saying “however it is necessary to give the correct measure at the end,” while the Sifra specifies the accepted measure of pe’ah: “providing one does not give less than one-sixtieth at the end.” This formulation is based on m. Pe’ah 1:2, which stipulates that the minimum amount of pe’ah required is one-sixtieth of the field. Thus, we see that both sources make no mention of pe’ah as an edge dependent on place. However, the spatial aspect of pe’ah and the notion that it represents the corner of the field was not abandoned completely in the Tannaitic era. We find an emphasis on location in the field in Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi’s m. Pe’ah 1:3: Pe’ah is given at the beginning of the field and the middle [of it]. Rabbi Shimon says: providing that a correct measure is given at the end. Rabbi

to it, one gives as pe’ah.” This reading makes no sense, and was caused by mistakenly changing the position of the vav in the word ‫ סומך‬to ‫סמוך‬. Consequently, the word ‫ נותן‬was added in an attempt to make a coherent sentence. 48 In the Sifra the quote of the teaching of Rabbi Shimon “and so Rabbi Shimon said . . . ”, comes directly after he is quoted as saying: “providing one does not give less than one-sixtieth at the end.” In the Tosefta it comes in halakhah 6 immediately following (see Lieberman edition, 42–43). 49 According to Rabbi Shimon, although the produce left before the end of the harvest would be technically considered pe’ah, and therefore free from the obligation of tithing, it does not fulfill the commandment of pe’ah. This is because Rabbi Shimon believes the Torah commanded that pe’ah be given at the end.

An “Edge” in Space or an “Edge” in Time

73

Yehudah says if one leaves one single stalk [of grain] one can rely on it being pe’ah, if not it is considered as ownerless property.50 As is common in the Mishnah, the brevity of the opinions create difficulty in interpretation. Nonetheless, the use of the word “field” makes it clear that the anonymous opinion in the Mishnah understands that pe’ah can be given in any part of the field. While placement in the field is mentioned, there is a clear departure from the early halakhah, in accordance with the plain meaning of Scripture, that pe’ah must be a spatial corner, left at the edge of the field. What is unclear according to the anonymous opinion is whether pe’ah separated in the beginning or middle of the field would have to be given at the end of the harvest process, or could be given at any point in the harvest. This is where the interpretation of Rabbi Shimon’s opinion in the Mishnah becomes critical. According to Hanoch Albeck in his Mishnah commentary, because Rabbi Shimon’s words in the Mishnah relate to the anonymous opinion, the editor of the Mishnah expects us to mentally add the word “field” to the end of Rabbi Shimon’s statement in the Mishnah, rendering: “providing that a correct measure is given at the end of the field.” This understanding is possible in the Mishnah because the full opinion of Rabbi Shimon (section B in the Sifra above) is not quoted. As we demonstrated above, it is clear that originally Rabbi Shimon understood “end” to be an end in time – the end of the harvest process and not a location in the field.51 However, the placement of his opinion



50 The bold in the translation is my emphasis. MS Kaufman reads: ,‫נותנין פיאה מתחילת השדה [ו]מאמצעה‬ ‫ ר׳ יהודה אומ׳ אם שייר קלח אחד סומך לו משום פאה ואם לאו אינו‬.‫ר׳ שמעון אומ׳ ובלבד שיתן בסוף (ב)[?כ?]שיעור‬ ‫נותן אלא משם הבקר‬. For variant readings see ‫משנה זרעים עם שינויי נוסחאות מכתבי־היד של המשנה ועם‬ ‫ כרך ראשון‬,‫ גאונים וראשונים‬,‫=השוואות להבאות מהמשנה בחז"ל‬, ed. Nissan Sacks (Jerusalem: Institute for the Complete Israeli Talmud, 1975), p. ‫= צו‬96. All extant versions of the Mishnah have the word ‫השדה‬. In the context of my argument here I will not relate in detail to Rabbi Yehudah’s opinion in the Mishnah since I believe it is also found in a more original form in the Tosefta quoted above. Rabbi Yehudah disagreed with Rabbi Shimon that a full measure of one-sixtieth must be separated at the end of the harvest. He argues that even one stalk of standing grain would be enough. 51 In his Mishnah commentary, Zeev Safrai argues that differentiating between time and place in pe’ah is “artificial,” adding: “a field does not have a beginning or end that are fixed. The owner [of a field] can start the harvest wherever he desires. The place that he decides to begin the harvest is the beginning of the field, and therefore, any attempt to include in the Mishnah the distinction [between time and place] distances us from the plain meaning of the Mishnah.” ‫משנת ארץ ישראל‬ ‫ סדר זרעים מסכת פאה‬,‫( עם פירוש ספראי‬Jerusalem: Lifshitz College, 2012), 63. While it is obvious that the owner can start the harvest anywhere in the field, Safrai misses the point entirely and ignores the meaning of the word pe’ah, which is “corner,” not “end.” While the owner can begin harvesting the field in any place he wishes, that does not mean that the field has no physical “corners.” The use of the Hebrew word ‫ סוף‬is therefore critical: ‫ סוף השדה‬means the corner of the field, while the word ‫ סוף‬used alone means the end of the harvest.

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in the Mishnah, adjacent to the anonymous opinion, creates the possibility of interpreting Rabbi Shimon as insisting that pe’ah be separated at the edge of the field. This is indeed the interpretation of Maimonides in his commentary to the Mishnah: The anonymous [first] opinion believes that pe’ah may be separated in any place [the owner of the field] desires, and Rabbi Shimon says that it is pe’ah in any place [in the field] it is left, however [the owner] has not completed the commandment of pe’ah until the correct measure of pe’ah for the entire field is left at the end of the field.52 If we accept this interpretation of the Mishnah it means that in contrast to Rabbi Shimon, Rabbi Yehudah Ha-Nasi accepted the anonymous opinion in the Mishnah that pe’ah could be separated anywhere in the field. However, it could still be argued that pe’ah would have to be given at the end of the harvest process. Otherwise, how would the poor know when they could come and collect the grain? Ironically, this is consistent with the original opinion of Rabbi Shimon found in the Sifra, who emphasized time over place in the commandment of pe’ah. Obviously, the final form of the disagreement between Rabbi Shimon and the anonymous opinion in the Mishnah had a strong impact on the understanding of the commandment of pe’ah. Later transmitters of the Tosefta added the word ‫( שדה‬field) to the parallel line in t. Pe’ah 1:5 and to Rabbi Shimon’s detailed opinion quoted in t. Pe’ah 1:6.53 This led to even more confusion as to whether pe’ah is primarily dependent on time or place.

CONCLUSION We have shown that the earliest formulation of the distribution of pe’ah is found in Sifra Qedoshim, Parashah 1:10, and that it can account for the development of two conceptions of pe’ah, as a corner in space and an “end” in time. In the Sifra we see the internal tension between the earliest Tannaitic position that the pe’ah, the “edge” mentioned in Leviticus, refers to location, in line with the plain meaning of Scripture, versus the opinion of the second-century sage Rabbi Shimon bar Yoḥai, that it is related to time. This led to confusion as the texts were transmitted. Rabbi Shimon believed that the simple understanding 52 My translation is based on the Kapaḥ edition: Mishnah with the Commentary of Rabeinu Moshe ben Maimon, translated from original Judeo-Arabic by Joseph Kapaḥ (Jerusalem: Mossad HaRav Kook, 1963), vol. 1, 95. 53 As we argued above these additions were made to MS Erfurt, which often represents a more developed version of the Tosefta.

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75

of Scripture which left pe’ah entirely dependent on place would create unfair situations for the poor. On the other hand, making pe’ah dependent primarily on time – as the concluding act of the harvest – corrected the potential for injustice and better represents what Gregg Gardner terms procedural justice. This study has strengthened elements of previous scholarship on the laws of pe’ah. However, I have argued that we must be careful not to assume a monolithic Tannaitic position on pe’ah. Tannaitic literature is layered, and knowledge of the terms and distinguishing the positions of specific Tannaim enables us to better understand the development of the halakhah. Our study shows that in the halakhot discussed, the centrality of procedure over outcome is not the only Tannaitic position. The early halakhah did not address procedure, but represented a literal interpretation of Scripture, understanding pe’ah as the physical “edge” of the field. It was Rabbi Shimon bar Yoḥai, in a concern for fairness, who made pe’ah primarily dependent on time. Finally, our study has ramifications for the study of Tannaitic literature in general. Our methodology of thorough comparison of all the attestations of material in the Tannaitic corpus, and the weighing of different models of development, provides an opportunity to demonstrate how early material developed and changed in transmission. The picture that emerges in this case is fascinating: we witness active editing and changes in the Tosefta of early material preserved in the Sifra, which was followed by further editing and development in the Mishnah.

“For Your Work Will Be Rewarded” – On the Development of the Sign Tradition Bracha Elitzur Herzog College

The framework of the biblical story describing the switching of Jacob’s wife Rachel for her older sister Leah by their father on the wedding night (Gen 29:21–25) does not specify the practical conditions that made the duplicitous act possible. Although the deceit is carried out at the sensitive moment the spouses were in the midst of a highly intimate act, no suspicion arises in the mind of the deceived Jacob until sunrise. Radak (David Kimḥi, 1160–1235, Southern France), in his commentary on the verse describing the exposure of the deceit (Gen 29:25), explains: “He did not recognize her until morning, as we have already explained; and the aggadic explanation according to which Rachel gave her [Leah] signs [to disguise her identity by imitating Rachel] is well known.”

As Radak writes, the midrash about the signs is indeed well known, and this interpretation has become a common component in Torah stories told to children. So what is the well-known derashah to which Radak refers in his remarks? In the present article, I will deal with the development of the “well-known” sign tradition, as Radak puts it. I will suggest that the broad tradition placing the story about the signs in the mouth of Rachel, whose request for divine mercy toward her children is based upon it, arose from its first mention in petichtah 24 of Lamentations Rabbah. Beyond that it does not appear again in its full version – neither in the ancient and later midrashic works in our possession, nor in the targumim and the piyyutim (liturgical poems).1 The components of the story as brought in the petichtah of Lamentations Rabbah differ from and sometimes even contradict the descriptions found in the rest of the ancient

1 The extended version of the midrash is found in Eliyahu Rabbah 28, but there Rachel does not plead for mercy in reward for the act. There are additional differences between the version in Eliyahu Rabbah and the version in Lam. Rab. Yalkut Shim‘oni brings parallels to the sign traditions from ancient midrashim, but the Lam. Rab. version does not appear in this work. I will discuss this further below.

77

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and later midrashim, the targumim, and the piyyutim dealing with the story of the wife exchange.2 Buber remarks on the Lamentations Rabbah version that “its linguistic style seems to indicate that it was added from a late midrash, or the editor of the petichtot added it from some late midrash,” but he does not suggest any alternative dating.3 Does the late date of the midrash explain its absence from earlier works, or was this tradition perhaps familiar to the editors of the works but they chose to ignore it because they opposed its content and message? I will now turn to the exceptional message of the midrash as it appears in Lamentations Rabbah compared to the parallel versions. I will discuss features of the tradition that may indicate its antiquity despite the fact that it was added to petichtah 24 of Lamentations Rabbah at a late date. I will present clues which suggest that it was ignored by traditions that appear to have been acquainted with it. And finally, I will try to explain why it may have been censored by the editors of the ancient midrashim but included in Lamentations Rabbah at a later stage.

THE EXCEPTIONAL NATURE OF THE SIGN TRADITION AS REFLECTED IN THE ADDENDUM TO LAMENTATIONS RABBAH The noble character of Rachel as it emerges from the signs that she gave to her sister appears in the addendum to Lamentations Rabbah (henceforth: Add. Lam. Rab.). Accentuating Rachel’s character is part of the efforts made by the patriarchs and Moses to arouse the mercy of God following the destruction of the Temple, and to convince Him that their own merits suffice to atone for the sins of the people. Rachel entering the scene following the failure of her predecessors is described in the following way: At that moment, our mother Rachel suddenly appeared before the Holy One and said: Master of the Universe, as You know, Your servant Jacob loved me greatly, and served my father seven years for me. And when those seven years were complete, and it was time for me to marry my husband, my father advised me to give my sister to my husband instead of me.



2 For a recent analysis of the tradition in its immediate context and of its theatrical function, see Fotini Hadjittofi & Helena Sivan, “Staging Rachel: Rabbinic Midrash, Theatrical Mime, and Christian Martyrdom in Late Antiquity,” Harvard Theological Review 113, 3 (2020): 299–333. 3 Buber, Lamentations Rabbah (Vilna 1899), 13. For scholarly opinions on the date of the composition and the time of the editing of the petichtot, see below, pp. 96–98.

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But I found this exceedingly difficult to do, as I fully understood the implications of this advice. And I revealed to my husband a sign that would enable him to distinguish me from my sister, so that my father would not be able to replace me. But afterwards, I regretted and conquered my desire, and I had compassion on my sister lest she be shamed. And in the evening, they gave my sister to my husband instead of me, and I revealed to my sister all the signs that I had revealed to my husband, so that he may take her for me. More than this, I even located myself under the bed on which he lay with my sister talking to her while she was keeping silent, and it was I who conversed with him, so that he would not recognize my sister’s voice. I was being benevolent toward her, not jealous, and I prevented her from being shamed. Therefore, if I, a creature of flesh and blood, dust and ashes, did not envy my rival and did not cause her shame and disgrace, how could You, O living and merciful king, be jealous of idol worship, which is nothing but folly, and exile my children, who were killed by the sword, the enemies doing to them as they pleased. Immediately, the mercy of the Holy One, blessed be He, was aroused, and He said: “For your sake, Rachel, I will return Israel to their place.” This is what is written: “Thus says the Lord: ‘A voice is heard in Ramah, lament and bitter weeping. Rachel is weeping for her children; she refuses to be comforted for her children, because they are no more’” (Jer 31:14);4 and it is written: “Thus says the Lord: ‘Keep your voice from weeping, and your eyes from tears, for there is a reward for your work’” etc. (Jer 31:15); and it is written: “‘There is hope for your future,’ declares the Lord, ‘and your children shall come back to their own country.’ ” (Jer 31:16) (Lam. Rab. petichtah 24) To sum up, in this tradition, we see Rachel describing an altruistic deed she has carried out for the sake of her sister and begging that the memory of this deed will make God ease the punishment of exile imposed on her children. She is portrayed as taking an active part in the exchange deceit, first when she informs Jacob about her father’s intentions, and next when she reveals secret signs about herself which will allow Jacob to thwart her father’s intentions. During the course of the story, however, Rachel undergoes a radical change. She



4 Translations of biblical verses appearing in midrashic sources follow the English Standard Version. Sometimes, slight modifications have been made by the author to make them fit the formulations used in this study.

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helps her sister to impersonate her, thereby removing the possibility that Leah would be exposed. Finally, the memory of Rachel’s deed and the reverberations of her rebuke arouse God’s mercy, whereupon He accedes to her request and promises her to put an end to the exile. We will compare these points to other traditions found in the talmudic and midrashic literature which also seek to clarify the nature of Laban’s deceit, the reason for its successful outcome, and Rachel’s role in the process.

The Meritorious Deed and its Reward Various traditions interpreting the events in the life of Rachel attempt to explain the connection between her meritorious deed and the reward she received. On the face of it, Rachel suffered an unfortunate fate: she was replaced by her sister, suffered years of barrenness, and died at a young age. So why did the darshanim point to the so-called reward that Rachel won, forcing them to search for a deed that made her merit it? The explanation for this is found in Jeremiah’s prophecy of consolation: “For there is a reward for your work, declares the Lord, and they shall come back from the land of the enemy” (Jer 31:14–15). According to the plain meaning of these verses, the prophet connects Rachel’s weeping to God’s response as expressed in the pardoning of the children. Rachel’s meritorious deed consists in her weeping and her refusal to be comforted, and her reward is a promise that her children will be redeemed. In the sign tradition as reflected in Lamenations Rabbah, on the other hand, the darshan does not rest content with this connection, and creates a connection between the deed that was carried out in the past and its future result. The tradition describes how the remembrance of Rachel’s former altruism helps her achieve what the great men of the nation failed to achieve in their attempt to subdue God’s attribute of justice. Rachel’s relinquishment of her honor when she gave up her right to marry Jacob first, as well as her rebuke of God for not behaving as nobly as she did, even when facing an entity lacking true substance (idol worship), trigger God’s attribute of mercy. Rachel is rewarded with a reversal taking place in the stance of God – “for your sake, Rachel” – in recognition of the truth of her argument. In the parallel traditions dealing with Rachel’s merit, the equation of deed– merit–reward is preserved, but the nature of the deed and of the reward, as well as the biblical basis for the connection found between them, are fundamentally different. In Genesis Rabbah, Rachel’s meritorious deed explains Scripture’s foreword to her becoming pregnant: Then God remembered Rachel [and God listened to her and opened her womb] (Gen 30:22). What did He remember concerning her? – her

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keeping silent for the sake of her sister [while Leah was being given to him, she knew about it but kept silent, wherefore God remembered Rachel,] who inevitably had brought her rival into her own house. (Gen. Rab. 73, 847–48) The darshan points out the deed that redeemed Rachel from her barrenness. However, in contrast to the motif of speech and rebuke developed in Add. Lam. Rab., here, when Rachel promotes her sister’s marriage to Jacob, her silence intensifies.5 Another possibility suggested by the darshan is that Rachel’s merit is unrelated to her confrontation with Leah, but stems from her consent to bring in Bilhah as a concubine, similar to the gesture Sarah made to Abraham when bringing in Hagar. In this case, the darshan does not attribute to Rachel any active deed contributing to the success of the exchange deceit. Rachel’s reward is personal and local, the direct result of her renouncement of her marriage to Jacob. Rachel promoted Leah’s intercourse with Jacob, and for this she was rewarded with an intercourse that redeemed her of her infertility.6 The motif of Rachel’s silence continues to develop in additional midrashim describing her merit, but the meaning of the silence changes, as does the nature of the reward: R. Levi said: “He withdraws not His eye from the righteous” (Job 36:7)– Rachel adopted the virtue of silence, wherefore all her descendants became discreet people. [The stone of] Benjamin: “Jasper” (Exod 28:20) – there is a mouth, meaning that he knew about the selling of Joseph but did not reveal;7 Saul – “but about the matter of the kingdom he did not tell him anything” (1 Sam 10:16); Esther – “Esther had not made known her kindred.” (Esth 2:20) (Gen. Rab. 71, 828–29)8 In this tradition, passive silence turns out to be an act of shrewdness. While



5 A midrash in Gen. Rab. brings a similar explanation for why Lot merited being saved from the overthrow of Sodom:[“And it came to pass, when God destroyed the cities of the plain, that God remembered Abraham”] etc. What did He remember concerning him? That he kept silent for Abraham’s sake. When Abraham claimed Sarah to be his sister, he knew the truth but kept silent” (Gen. Rab. 51:29, p. 537). On the meaning of silence, its cultural status, and its legal admissibility as a symbol of opposition or acceptance, see Michal Efrat, ‫– עיון בלשני בשתיקה כאמצעי‬ ‫מדברים שתיקה‬ ‫( הבעה‬Jerusalem: Hebrew University Magnes Press, 2014). Efrat distinguishes between silence by choice and silence resulting from an external restriction (see pages 45–60). The darshan who described Rachel’s silence as meritorious seems to have viewed it as voluntary. 6 Silence as a meritorious act for which Rachel merited descendants is also mentioned in Tanḥuma [w], Vayetze 6, but the reason for the silence is different. We will discuss this version again below. 7 This is a wordplay between ‫ישפה‬, “jasper,” and ‫יש פה‬, “there is a mouth.” 8 See also the parallels in Midr. Sam. 28:1; Esth. Rab. 6:12; Shocher Tov Gen. Vayetze 30:13.

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the words “her keeping silent for the sake of her sister” refer to the meritorious act of refraining from protesting against the injustice done to her, in the tradition attributed to R. Levi the silence is a matter of concealing information. This is evidenced by the fact that she bequeathed this trait to her descendants Benjamin, Saul, and Esther, who all conceal crucial information.9 Thus, Rachel’s reward is that the trait of reticence was bequeathed to her descendants.10 In the version found in the Babylonian Talmud, Rachel’s deed advances yet another step, with the addition of an active dimension. In this tradition, the signs are mentioned for the first time: Rabbi Elazar said: What is the meaning of that which is written: “He withdraws not His eye from the righteous” (Job 36:7)? This teaches that due to her modesty, Rachel merited that Saul descended from her, and in reward for the modesty shown by Saul, he merited that Esther descended from him. How did Rachel display her modesty? This is what is written: “And Jacob told Rachel that he was her father’s brother” (Gen 29:12). But was he in fact her father’s brother? Wasn’t he rather the son of her father’s sister? Rather, this is what he meant: Will you marry me? She answered him: Yes, but my father, Laban, is a swindler, and you will not be able to outwit him. He answered her that he is her father’s brother with regard to deceit. She said to him: But is it really permitted for the righteous to be involved in deceit? He said to her: Yes, “with the pure you will show yourself pure, and with the perverse you will show yourself subtle” (2 Sam 22:27). He asked her: What is the deceit that he plans to carry out? She said to him: I have a sister who is older than me, and he will not marry me off



9 “While Leah was being given to him, she knew about it but kept her silence, wherefore God remembered Rachel” (in the midrash above, Gen. Rab. 73), is an addendum by the editor of the version in the Theodor-Albeck edition, as he himself notes: “And I added ‘while Leah was being given to him’ etc.” See also part 50 there, p. 848. This exegetical addition disconnects the motif of silence from Rachel’s passive character and attributes to her a more active dimension of information encoding. 10 Theodor and Albeck explain ‫עינו‬, “his eye,” to mean “his like.” “He withdraws not his like from the righteous – sons and sons of sons who resemble him” (p. 828). It is interesting to compare this tradition to another tradition in Gen. Rab. which infers the chatty nature of women from the character of Rachel: “Jacob said to them, ‘My brothers, where do you come from?’ They said: ‘We are from Charan’ [ . . . ]. He said to them: ‘Is there peace between him and you?’ They said: ‘There is peace, and if you look for chatter, look, Rachel his daughter is coming with the sheep.’ This is the meaning of the saying that women are chatty” (Gen. Rab. 70:4–6, 809–10). Despite the fact that both traditions employ the motif of silence, they differ considerably in their evaluation of Rachel’s silence. According to the first midrash, which appears in Gen. Rab., Rachel submissively accepts the exchange decree. Her silence expresses lack of protest against the injustice done to her and that she is coming to terms with reality. According to the second midrash, Rachel becomes her father’s partner in the deceit.

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before her. So he gave her certain distinguishing signs. When the wedding night arrived, Rachel said to herself: Now my sister will be shamed, so she gave them to her. And this is what is written: “And it came to pass that in the morning, behold, it was Leah” (Gen 29:25). Does this imply that until now she was not Leah? Rather, due to the distinguishing signs that Rachel had given to Leah, he did not know until now. Therefore, she merited that Saul descended from her. And how did Saul display modesty? It is written: “But of the matter of the kingdom, of which Samuel spoke, he did not tell him” (1 Sam 10:16). He thereby merited that Esther descended from him. (b. Meg. 13a–b)11 In this tradition, there is no silence, no concealment of information, and no concession, for Rachel knew that her sister would be married before her. Rachel’s meritorious deed of passing on the signs that Jacob had given her prevents her sister from being shamed. The following points can support the possibility that the story about the signs, which first appears in the Bavli, was superimposed on an earlier tradition dealing with the merit of Rachel, similar in form to the tradition found in Genesis Rabbah:12 • Transition to Aramaic in the story about the passing on of the signs. • Use of the verse “He withdraws not His eye from the righteous.” In the

older tradition in Genesis Rabbah, this verse is understood as referring to the merit of Rachel, while here it describes how her righteousness lies in her silence.

• Subsequently, the talmudic discussion describes Rachel’s reward in the

form of descendants carrying the trait of the mother. However, the trait that Saul inherits is silence in the sense of concealing information, not Rachel’s trait of modesty as described in the introduction to the sign story. Had there been a desire to prove that Rachel bequeathed her modesty to Saul, this should have been proved from the verse describing Saul’s shyness (1 Sam 10:22). The distinct reward of the Genesis Rabbah tradition, linking the nature of the act to its result, fades in the version in the Bavli, where a rather forced affinity is suggested between the modesty of Rachel and the reticence of her descendants.13

11 Translation of talmudic passages rely on The William Davidson Talmud (https://www.sefaria. org.il), with occasional minor modifications. 12 The boundaries of the story of the sign motif are demarcated by the words “but is he her father” and “until now he didn’t know.” On the components of the sign story, its versions, its parallels, and the stages of its editing, see Eliezer Segal, The Babylonian Esther Midrash: A Critical Commentary II (Atlanta. GA: Scholars Press, 1994), 70–80. 13 Contrary to Segal and his positive hermeneutic appreciation of the sign tradition in the Bavli:

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I will try to trace the possible origin of the differing components in the discussion in the Bavli: • The opening section of the discussion, which applies the verse “He with-

draws not His eye from the righteous” to Rachel, is taken from another tradition in Genesis Rabbah, which describes the reward of the righteous as the bequeathment of their traits to their descendants.

• The substitution of the word “reticence” for “modesty” may be based on

the tradition attributed to R. Yonathan in b. Bava Batra 123a: “It was appropriate for the child receiving the status of firstborn to emerge from Rachel, as it is written: ‘These are the generations of Jacob. Joseph . . . ’ (Gen 37:2); but Leah advanced ahead of Rachel with appeals for mercy. However, due to the modesty of Rachel, the Holy One, blessed be He, returned it to her.”

• The link connecting the opening statement to the sign story is also known

from an older tradition: “But was he in fact her father’s brother? Wasn’t he rather the son of her father’s sister? [and Jacob told Rachel that he was her father’s brother] etc. When it comes to deceiving, he is her father’s brother, when it comes to righteousness, he is the son of Rebecca” (Gen. Rab. 70:11, 812).

• The sign story appears in b. Bava Batra, within the context of a discussion

on the inheritance rights of the firstborn son. There, the story is used to explain the reward given to Rachel. Her son Joseph received the inheritance of the firstborn thanks to Rachel’s display of modesty when she conceded her right to marry Jacob first and thereby renounced her son’s right to receive the inheritance of the firstborn. The sign story in Bava Batra integrates more coherently with the surrounding discussion; it seems to have appeared there first and only afterwards to have been borrowed by the tradition in b. Megillah.14

• The end clause about the reward of Saul takes us back to the tradition

found in the opening clause.

If our assumption regarding the components of the midrash is correct, then it must be assumed that the editor of the discussion in b. Megillah created a link



“[ . . . ] the Babylonian Esther-Midrash seems to be the most polished in its integration of hermeneutical and narrative techniques to uncover the deeper literary, psychological and moral meanings of biblical narrative” (p. 80). 14 An additional parallel based on the Bavli tradition is found in Kallah Rab. 3:14. There the story about the transmission of the signs is brought as a proof for the saying “cancel your will before the will of your friend.” The tradition about Rachel cancelling her will for the sake of her sister serves as a fine example of the social guidance in the story’s opening.

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between the different traditions, in order to reinforce Esther’s concealment of her identity from Ahasuerus as being due to the inspiration she derived from Rachel helping Leah to conceal her identity from Jacob. • Both stories describe a relationship between an uncle and his niece.15 • In both stories, the uncle replaces the father figure.16 • Both stories describe an occurrence happening to the women destined

for marriage.

• In both stories, the nieces are instructed by their uncles with regard to

the concealment or exposure of their identity.

• In both stories, the exposure of the identity arouses astonishment.

An additional benefit derived from the reshaping of the sign story in b. Megillah is the description of the reward Rachel receives thanks to her passing on the signs – a component which is missing in the version in b. Bava Batra. The Babylonian version of the tradition thus adds a new tier to the description of Rachel’s active deed of passing on to Leah the signs given to her by Jacob. It was for this deed that she was rewarded with the bequeathment of the trait of modesty to her descendants.17 Yet, despite the reference to the sign tradition in the midrash in the Bavli, the account there differs greatly from the tradition in Add. Lam. Rab. The main differences concern the shaping of Rachel’s character, the nature of the sign deceit (as we shall see below), and the nature of the personal and hereditary reward she receives, which contrasts with the prophecy about the future national redemption described in the parallel version.

The Reason for Exchanging the Wives According to the Bible, Laban’s reason for exchanging the wives was the local custom of marrying off the eldest sister before the younger one.18

15 See Barry Walfish, “Kosher Adultery? The Mordecai-Esther-Ahasuerus Triangle in Midrash and Exegesis,” Prooftexts 22,3 (2002): 305–33, which describes the efforts of the creators of the midrash to legitimize Esther’s possible marriage to her uncle. 16 With regard to Rachel, “are we not regarded by him as foreigners?” (Gen 31:15); and with regard to Esther, her orphanhood. 17 In another midrash dealing with Saul, the trait of modesty is mentioned as something that distinguishes his dynasty from the dynasty of David. The tradition mentions the word “modesty,” but there it seems to refer to modesty of dress. See y. Sukkah 5:4 (55c). 18 On wedding customs in Charan, see Calum M. Carmichael, Women, Law and the Genesis Traditions (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1979), 99; James Arthur Diamond, “The Deception

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In Genesis Rabbah another – economic – incentive for the exchange is elaborated: [So Laban] gathered together all the people of the place and made a feast] – he assembled all the people of the place and said to them: “As you know, we have been short of water, but since the arrival of this righteous man, the water has been blessed.” They said to him: “Do to him as you see fit.” He said to them: “If you so wish, I will deceive him and give him Leah, but since he loves Rachel more, he will work for me another seven years.” (Gen. Rab. 7:22, 817–18) Laban explains to his neighbors that Jacob’s presence in his home has showered a blessing upon the region and that delaying him for another seven years would allow the blessing to continue. In the Bavli tradition, Rachel describes her father’s deceptive nature as the motivation for his actions: “‘What is the deceit?’ She answered him: ‘I have a sister that is older than me, and he will not marry me off before her’” (b. Meg. 13b); but she does not explain how Laban profits from the deceit. In Tanḥuma, Laban is described as being unable to stand the sight of Leah suffering in the face of her defective match, and he therefore decides to marry her off to Jacob before Rachel: To teach you that, since Leah had remained because of Esau, Jacob said to Laban: I shall serve you seven years. . . . Now, when Laban saw that, he said: See here, I am giving away the elder immediately. And, when it was evening, he took his daughter Leah . . . ” (Tanḥuma [b] Vayetze 12)19 Because the broad tradition found in Add. Lam. Rab. focuses on the character of Rachel, there is no reference to the question of Laban’s incentives for carrying out the wife exchange.

The Time of the Exposure of the Deceit The story about the wife exchange shows that only in the morning Jacob became aware of the deceit. The biblical verses do not reveal when Rachel became aware of the plan, but according to Add. Lam. Rab. Rachel learns of her father’s intention to replace her with Leah shortly before the time of the marriage, at the end of seven years of tense anticipation: “And when those seven years were

of Jacob: A New Perspective on an Ancient Solution to the Problem,” Vetus Testamentum 34 (1984): 211–13. 19 Citations from Tanḥuma Buber rely on Midrash Tanḥuma, trans. John Townsend (Hoboken, NJ: KTAV, 1989), with occasional minor modifications.

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complete, and it was time for me to marry my husband, my father advised me to give my sister to my husband instead of me.” None of the parallel traditions mention the painful discovery as something that became clear to Rachel at such a late stage. In one of the traditions found in Tanḥuma, Laban’s intentions are also exposed at a late stage. From this tradition, however, it is not clear when Rachel became aware of them. Another interpretation: Why was Leah hated? Not because she was more ugly than Rachel. In fact she was as beautiful as Rachel, as stated. “Laban had two daughters” (Gen 29:16). They were equal in beauty, in loveliness, and in stature. Why does it say: “And Leah’s eyes were weak” (Gen 29:17)? Simply when Rebekah bore Esau and Isaac, there were born to Laban two daughters, Leah and Rachel. They sent letters to each other and agreed among themselves that Esau would take Leah; and Jacob, Rachel. Now Leah would ask about Esau and would hear that his conduct was bad. So she would cry all the time [and] say: Thus my lot has fallen to this wicked man. And for this reason her eyes became weak, as stated: And Leah’s eyes were weak. [ . . . ] Jacob said: Because of the blessing he wanted to kill me; so when I take his wife Leah, who knows if he will leave Mahalath bat Ishmael, come against me, and say: Was it not enough for you to take my birthright and my blessing, that you have taken my betrothed as well! He therefore said to Laban: I shall serve you seven years for Rachel. Apart from such a situation, would a man taking a wife leave the older and take the younger? Rather to teach you that, since Leah had remained because of Esau, Jacob said to Laban: “I shall serve you seven years . . .” (Gen 29:18). Now, when Laban saw that, he said: See here, I am giving away the elder immediately. And, when it was evening, he took his daughter Leah. . . . Jacob said to him: Now were these the terms? Did I not serve with you for Rachel? Then Laban said: It Is not the custom in our place . . . (Tanḥuma [b], Vayetze 12) According to another tradition found in Tanḥuma, Rachel exposes her father’s plans already during Jacob’s seven years of work for her, but does not share her discovery with Jacob: No one was more beautiful than Rachel, and because she was beautiful, Jacob was eager to marry her. He sent Rachel many gifts, but Laban gave them to Leah instead. Yet she remained silent. (Tanḥuma [w], Vayetze 6)20 20 Midrash Tanḥuma -Yelammedenu, trans. Samuel A. Berman (Hoboken, NJ: KTAV, 1996) (https:// www.sefaria.org.il).

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In the BT tradition, Rachel is described as being acquainted with her father’s character traits, and even as warning Jacob against him already at their first meeting. And Jacob told Rachel that he was her father’s brother (Gen 29:12). But was he in fact her father’s brother? Wasn’t he rather the son of her father’s sister? He said to her: “Will you marry me?” She said to him: “Yes, but my father, Laban, is a swindler, and you will not be able to outwit him.” Jacob then falsely told her that he was her father’s brother. She said to him: “But is it really permitted for the righteous to be involved in deceit?” He said to her: “Yes, ‘with the pure you will show yourself pure, and with the perverse you will show yourself subtle’” (2 Sam 22:27). [He asked her:] “What is the deceit?” She said to him: “I have a sister who is older than me, and he will not marry me off before her.” [b. Meg. 13b) According to this tradition, Rachel is aware both of her father’s intention to marry off her sister before her, and of the fact that her father will not explicitly say this to Jacob but will deceive him into thinking that Rachel will be given to him for his work.

Rachel’s Response to the Exchange Plot The Bible does not record how Rachel felt about being replaced by Leah, or if the replacement left any scars in her soul. Rachel complains to Jacob about her father’s misdeeds: “Are we not regarded by him as foreigners? For he has sold us, and he has indeed devoured our money” (Gen 31:15); but she does not mention the postponement of her wedding night. The traditions in Genesis Rabbah and Tanḥuma Buber describe Rachel as having cooperated with Laban and explain her motives for doing so. The tradition in Genesis Rabbah interprets the meaning of the name given by Rachel to the son of her maidservant, Naphtali, as indicating that Rachel had the opportunity to expose the exchange plot and marry Jacob before her sister. However, she refrained from doing so in order that the world should be built up from her sister: [Then Rachel said: “With mighty wrestlings I have wrestled with my sister and have prevailed”] [ . . . ]. R. Yoḥanan said: “I ought to have been made a nimfe bride before my sister; had I sent [for Jacob] and told him: ‘Beware, they are deceiving you,’ wouldn’t he have canceled?! But I thought: ‘If I am not worthy that the world should be built up from me, then at least let it be built up from my sister. Weren’t his vicissitudes also mine?! Did not Jacob come to Laban for my sake?!” (Gen. Rab. 71:8, 832)

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The word nimfe has developed a rich etymology. In Greek, the nymph is simply a young woman, whereas in Greek mythology she is described as possessing irresistible sexual attractiveness and perceived as a supernatural creature with powers that resemble those of the Gods.21 The meaning of the word nimfe as used by the darshan in the context of Rachel’s words can be ascertained from an explanation found in the parallel tradition in Tanḥuma. It seems that erotic connotations are alluded to in this explanation: “The meaning of the word ninfe is that in the overseas cities a bride is called ninfe. The wedding canopy was my struggle; since the entire fourth day it was adorned and ready to be entered, but Leah entered. Thus, my vicissitudes were that my sister entered. ‘With my sister’ and ‘I also prevailed’” (Tanḥuma [b], Vayetze 19).22 Rachel could have employed seduction tricks in order to become a bride before her sister, in which case Jacob would have left Leah immediately. But Rachel saw that the world was going to be built up from her sister, and so even though she knew Jacob had gone all the way through the obstacles with Laban for her, she allowed her sister to precede her.23 In another tradition found in the printed edition of Tanḥuma, Rachel is described as thinking that if she tells Jacob about the exchange plot she had exposed, she will thereby thwart her own chances of ever marrying him, wherefore she imposed silence on herself: Why did she remain silent? Said Rashbi: “She said to herself: ‘If I . . . inform Jacob that father is giving my sister the presents that he sends me, he will not marry me and father will not give me to him, and I will be distanced from this righteous person.’” Said the Holy One, blessed be He: “You kept silent, I therefore swear by your life that through the merit of this silence

21 See, for example, Jennifer Lynn Larson, Greek Nymphs: Myth, Cult, Lore (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001). 22 See the Theodor-Albeck edition, p. 832, for varying meanings and possible translations. 23 The darshan possibly hints that Rachel was aware of her own barrenness even before marrying Jacob, and thus helped to hasten the marriage of Leah to Jacob, from which children would be born. It is interesting that the darshan does not notice this explicitly here. In other midrashim, the prophetic powers of Rachel are inferred from the explanation she provides for the name of Joseph, also here in the context of fertility. See for example: Gen. Rab. 72:21, 845: “R. Chaninah ben Pazi said: ‘The matriarchs were prophetesses, and Rachel was one of the matriarchs. It is not written: ‘May the Lord give me more sons,’ but ‘another son.’ She said: ‘He will make yet another one rise, who will be borrowed from me.’ Said R. Chaninah: ‘The matriarchs assembled and said: ‘We have given birth to enough males, let her become pregnant.’” See also y. Ber. 9:3 (14b).

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I will remember you,” as it is written: “And God remembered Rachel.” (Tanḥuma [w], Vayetze 6)24 In Add. Lam. Rab., the central focus is on Rachel’s feelings from the moment she learns about her father’s intention to give Leah to Jacob: “Master of the Universe, You know that Your servant Jacob loved me greatly, and served my father seven years for me, and when those seven years were complete, and it was time for me to marry my husband, my father advised me to give my sister to my husband instead of me. And I found this exceedingly difficult, as I understood the implications of this advice. But afterwards, I regretted and conquered my desire.” Rachel giving up was not through considerations of personal or national gain and loss, but through a sincere concern for her sister’s honor combined with willingness to suppress the longings of her own heart.

The Nature of the Deceit and How it Was Carried Out The darshan of Add. Lam. Rab. assumes that the exchange scheme succeeded thanks to Rachel’s cooperation with the conspiracy. Master of the Universe, You know that Your servant Jacob loved me greatly, and served my father seven years for me. And when those seven years were complete, and it was time for me to marry my husband, my father advised me to allow my sister to marry Jacob instead of me. And I found this exceedingly difficult, as I understood the implications of this advice, and I informed my husband about a sign that would enable him to distinguish me from my sister, so that my father would not be able to replace me. But afterwards, I regretted this and conquered my desire, and had compassion on my sister lest she be shamed. And in the evening, they gave my sister to my husband instead of me, and I revealed to my sister all the signs that I had revealed to my husband, so that he would take her for Rachel. According to the midrash, Laban informs Rachel about his intentions. Rachel informs Jacob about her father’s plans and initiates the sign code that will help Jacob distinguish her from her sister and thwart the exchange plot. And finally, Rachel reveals to her sister the sign that eventually allows Laban to carry out his plan. These details are necessary in order to fill a narrative gap, but if we compare them to ancient and parallel traditions that also fill this narrative gap, it seems that the ways of doing so differ. Josephus Flavius, in The Antiquities of the Jews, separates Rachel from the 24 In this tradition, the noble silence and the cunning silence of the Gen. Rab. tradition turns into silence that is useful for the object of the silence.

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exchange scheme, and explains its success through Jacob’s drunkenness and the darkness of that night: After the time was over, he made the wedding feast. And when it was night, without Jacob noticing it, he put his other daughter into bed with him, who was both elder than Rachel and of no comely countenance. And Jacob lay with her that night, being both drunk and in darkness, and only later, when it became day, did he know what had been done to him, and he reproached Laban for having deceived him. (A. J. 1.301–2, p. 32) In Genesis Rabbah the darshan describes how Laban persuades his neighbors to help him carry out the wife exchange. According to this tradition, too, Rachel takes no part in the deceit: [So Laban gathered together all the people of the place and made a feast] – he assembled all the people of the place and said to them: “As you know, we have been short of water, but since the arrival of this righteous man, the water has been blessed.” They said to him: “Do to him as you see fit.” He said to them: “If you so wish, I will deceive him and give him Leah, but since he loves Rachel more, he will stay with you for another seven years.” They said to him: “Do what is good for you.” He said to them: “Give me pledges that none of you will reveal it to him.” They gave him pledges, and he went and brought oil and meat and wine on those pledges. O, this is why he is called Laban the Aramean, etc. All that day they would praise and sing happily in honor of the bride and groom, and as the evening hours approached and they were singing and celebrating before him, Jacob said to them: “What is this? That is, why are you being so benevolent toward me?” They said to him: “You have also been benevolent toward us, as the water was blessed due to your merit.” And they were praising him and saying in a loud voice “it’s Leah, it’s Leah” – in order to hint to him about the deceit, but in his naiveté, he did not notice. (Gen. Rab. 70:19, 81–19) Here Laban concocts a plot through his neighbors and manages to outwit Jacob without exposing the plot. Rachel is not a partner in the planning, nor is she described as helping to actualize it. Laban’s dubious character is at the center of the midrash: the wife exchange is not done out of concern for the feelings of the firstborn Leah, but stems from material interests – Laban’s recognition of the blessing that accompanies Jacob staying in his home. Laban entices his fellow townsmen to cooperate with him by expressing his concern for their well-being, and by inviting them to the rich feast he is going to hold on the wedding night. The darshan reinforces the criticism of Laban by intervening in the story with “O, this is why he is called Laban the Aramean, because he deceived even the men of his own town,” and also by contrasting the malice

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of Laban’s heart to the conscientiousness of the townsmen, who try to hint to Jacob about the plot. The main focus of the tradition in Add. Lam. Rab. is the sign motif that would enable Jacob to know beyond doubt that he is with her and not with her sister. And I revealed to my sister all the signs that I had revealed to my husband, so that he may take her for Rachel. In the tradition of Genesis Rabbah, the signs are not mentioned at all. The traditions that do allude to signs describe them differently than how they are represented in Lamentations Rabbah with regard to the initiator of the sign plot, and the identity of the character represented by the signs. In the BT tradition presented above, Jacob initiates the signs, which constitute secret details about him, the knowledge of which will prove to Jacob that this is the woman to whom he revealed them: “She said to him: ‘I have a sister who is older than me, and he will not marry me off before her.’ So he gave her certain distinguishing signs” (b. Meg. 13b). Other midrashim mentioning the sign plot completely adopt the sign tradition of BT and describe Jacob as the planner of the stratagem and as the object of the signs.25 The sign scheme in Add. Lam. Rab., which is described as Rachel’s initiative – the signs constituting a means of identifying her character – is not mentioned again in any of the known traditions. The motif of signs as a means to expose improper marital relations is highly reminiscent of the story of Judah and Tamar, which probably served as the source of inspiration for the creator of the sign midrash. In the sign tradition of Lamentations Rabbah, as in the story of Judah and Tamar, the female figure initiates the use of signs. However, in the story about Judah and Tamar the signs constitute, as in the tradition of the Bavli, identifying details about the character

25 See Lekaḥ Tov 29:25: “And in the morning, behold it was Leah. It was because of the signs that Jacob gave to Rachel at the well, which Rachel passed on to Leah, that Jacob our forefather did not recognize her. For this Rachel merited that her descendants became modest and discreet people.” Likewise in Shocher Tov Midrash 29:25: “Because Rachel, due to her modesty, passed on the signs she had received from Jacob to her sister, so that she should not be shamed”; Midrash Aggadah (Buber), Vayetze 29:25: “And in the morning, behold it was Leah. From here we learn that until then she was not Leah, but Rachel passed on to her the signs that Jacob had given her, to avoid shaming her”; 30:22: “The Holy One, blessed be He, remembered the humility of Rachel, who passed on to her sister the signs given her by Jacob, so as not to shame her sister”; 30:15: “‘Is it a small matter to you to take’ etc. Said Leah to Rachel: ‘Is it not enough for you that you have taken my husband, who is attracted to you?!’ Said Rachel to Leah: ‘No, Leah, he is not your husband but mine, and for my sake he came from Beersheba, and he became your husband only because I gave you the signs.’” It is not stated here that Jacob was the object of the signs.

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of Judah.26 It seems that the allusion to the story about Judah and Tamar stems from the darshan’s desire to present Rachel’s deed as carrying impact beyond the boundaries of the present time and the family.

The Reason for the Success of the Deceit In Add. Lam. Rab. there is no description of Leah’s role in the deceit. On the contrary, even after Rachel has passed on the signs to her, Rachel remains in the room and continues to deceive Jacob and to answer his questions from her place under the bed: And I revealed to my sister all the signs that I had revealed to my husband, so that he may take her for Rachel. More than this, I even located myself under the bed on which he lay with my sister talking to her while she was keeping silent, and it was me who conversed with him, so that he would not recognize my sister’s voice. In the parallel traditions, Jacob and surrounding individuals accuse Leah of having carried out the deceit. As suggested above, the editor of Genesis Rabbah does not seem to have been acquainted with the tradition about the signs that Rachel allegedly passed on to Leah. Laban’s townsmen tried to hint to Jacob that the person intended to marry him was Leah: “They were praising him, saying: ‘it’s Leah, it’s Leah’” (Gen. Rab. 70:22, p. 818), while Leah cooperated with Laban, as can be learned from Jacob’s rebuke of her: All that night he would call her ‘Rachel’ and she would answer him. In the morning he discovered that she was Leah. He said: “She is a deceiver, the daughter of a deceiver.” She said to him: “Is there a scribe who has no disciples? Did not your father call you Esau and you answered him? So you called me, and I answered you.” (Gen. Rab. 70:22, pp. 817–19) In Add. Lam. Rab. we read, “he was speaking to her while she kept silent,” while in Genesis Rabbah we find “he would call her Rachel, and she would answer him.” Another tradition in Genesis Rabbah expands on the motif of Leah being accused of the deceit by people near and far:



26 It is interesting that in the story about Cherutah, who seduced her husband by disguising herself as a prostitute, the sign motif appears as a means of neutralizing her husband’s regret for having enjoyed apparently illegitimate intimate relations. For a comparison of the stories, see Ruhama Weiss and Avner HaCohen, ‫– ספרותי עם גיבורות התלמוד‬ ‫ מסע פסיכולוגי‬,‫( אימהות בטיפול‬Tel Aviv: Miskal, 2012), 100–101.

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And God saw that Leah was unbeloved [ . . . ] and everyone was mocking her: the seamen were mocking her, the wayfarers were mocking her, even the women were mocking her from behind the weaving loom, saying: “This person, Leah, is not what she pretends to be. She looks like a righteous woman, but she is not. Had she been a righteous woman, would she have deceived her sister?!” (Gen. Rab. 71, 821 –23) In the Genesis Rabbah tradition, disregard or unfamiliarity with the sign tradition stands out clearly, since Leah is accused of deceiving her sister and acting behind her back. Leah hurting her sister saddens Jacob more than her deceiving him, which is why he wants to divorce her: R. Yehuda bar Simon, R. Ḥanan in the name of R. Shmuel bar Rav Yitzchak: “When Jacob saw that Leah deceived her sister, he decided to divorce her [ . . . ].” (Gen. Rab. 71, 823) Also the darshan in Tanḥuma as well as later traditions accuse Leah of pretending to be Rachel and elaborate on the consequences of the deceit for the relationship between Jacob and Leah. Nothing is said about Rachel’s contribution to the successful outcome of the deceit: All night she pretended to be Rachel. When he arose in the morning, there was Leah. He said to her: “Daughter of a swindler, why did you trick me?” She said to him: “[What about] you! Why did you trick your father? When he said to you: ‘Is this my son Esau,’ you said to him: ‘I am Esau your first-born.’ Now you are saying: ‘Why have you tricked me?’ And did your father not say [to Esau]: ‘Your brother came with deceit?’” So because of these things with which she scolded him, he began to hate her. (Tanḥuma [b], Vayetze 11)27 In contrast to the positive evaluation of Rachel’s deed in Add. Lam. Rab., stemming from her willingness to forfeit her own honor, in all other traditions Leah is blamed for her role in actualizing the scheme. Thus, two main differences emerge from the comparison between the traditions that explain the success of the deceit. One difference concerns the identity of the dominant figure in the act of deception, while the second difference concerns the disparity between the different assessments of the person who committed the actual act of deceiving. In the tradition found in Add. Lam. Rab., Rachel is portrayed as the dominant figure in the act of deceiving, and yet not a shred of criticism is voiced against her violation of her loyalty to Jacob, and of the way she performs the deceit by grossly intruding on the intimate marital 27 See also Genesis Rabbati, Vayetze, 29:25, 119; Sekhel Tov, Genesis, Vayetze 29:25; Ag. Ber. 49.

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act.28 In contrast, in the parallel traditions, Leah is the dominant figure in the act of deceiving, and the negative assessment of the act is consistent with the generally negative attitude of the talmudic sages toward deception. There is, of course, a difference between one who deceives for the welfare of another person and one who themself benefits from the deceit. And yet, the reason for the darshan’s decision in Add. Lam. Rab. to demonstrate Rachel’s altruistic character through her initiation of the deceit and also actually carrying it out is not immediately evident. * Comparing the sign tradition as found in Add. Lam. Rab. to parallel traditions dealing with the story of the wife exchange discloses a significant gap between them. The main difference seems to be the degree of dominance attributed to Rachel in the story and the nature of the deed’s impact. In Add. Lam. Rab., Rachel is the dominant character, and is characterized by her various traits: sorrow, determination, sensitivity, leniency, and even a hint of aggression and manipulativeness. In the other traditions, the main focus is on the twisted character of Laban, the pain of Leah, and Jacob’s thoughts both before the deceit takes place and after it is exposed. The tradition in Add. Lam. Rab. is the only one to describe Rachel’s sorrow upon hearing about her father’s intentions. It is also the only tradition to describe the sign deceit as Rachel’s initiative, and Rachel as placing herself at the center of the deceit. The fact that Laban’s deceit was revealed to Rachel so close to her wedding night, in Add. Lam. Rab., intensifies her pain, which deepens her sensitivity toward her sister and requires her to muster an enormous degree of emotional strength in order to convey the identifying signs to her sister and thus cancel her marriage to Jacob. The impression of Rachel’s virtue is also enhanced by the midrashic addendum depicting her intrusive and daring act of lying under the couple’s bed and witnessing her sister realizing the communion that she herself had anxiously anticipated. The sign tradition in Add. Lam. Rab. is the only one to depict Rachel as trespassing the borders of the intimate family unit and moving beyond the story in its biblical context, and as intervening with the divine decree of exile. Rachel’s reward mentioned in the prophecy of Jeremiah 28 The tradition echoes the story about Rav Kahana who was lying under the bed of his teacher and master, talking to him while he was being intimate with his wife: “Rav Kahana entered and lay beneath Rav’s bed. He heard him chatting and laughing with his wife and seeing to his needs. He said to him: ‘The mouth of father is like one whom has never eaten a cooked dish.’ He said to him: ‘Kahana, you are here? Leave, as this is an undesirable mode of behavior.’ He said to him: ‘It is Torah, and I must learn’” (b. Ber. 62a). Rav Kahana’s answer, which justifies the intrusion of privacy by including it in the category of studying Torah with his master, ostensibly intensifies the criticism of Rachel, who did the same in order to mislead the person destined to marry her.

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Bracha Elitzur

is the starting point for the Add. Lam. Rab. tradition, which struggles with the question why only Rachel’s weeping had the power to arouse God’s mercy and lead Him to forgive His children. Intensifying Rachel’s exemplary behavior in the past and highlighting her daring rebuke of God in the present on account of a past event are needed to explain the process that led to the promise that “they shall come back from the land of the enemy.”

HYPOTHESES REGARDING THE TIME OF THE SIGN TRADITION It is widely agreed that Lamentations Rabbah was edited in Palestine around the fifth or sixth century CE.29 Many of the darshanim whose midrashim we have brought in the first section are believed to have been acquainted with the traditions of Lamentations Rabbah, which were ostensibly edited more or less simultaneously with the traditions in Genesis Rabbah, but before the Bavli and Tanḥuma traditions dealing with the deceit. However, the situation is more complicated. For, despite the early date of the editing of Lamentations Rabbah, many scholars point to parts of petichtah 24, in which the sign tradition is incorporated, as having been added toward the end of the tenth century or perhaps even later.30 In what follows, I will present the evidence that scholars have brought for this late editing. I will also present evidence for the claim that, although the tradition was added to Lamentations Rabbah at a later time, it is likely that this tradition existed earlier but for various reasons the editors of the different works chose to ignore it.

Proofs for the Late Editing of the Addendum in Petichtah 24 Buber was the first to note that parts of petichtah 24 were added at a later stage, but he neither explained how he reached this conclusion nor suggested the time of the addendum.31 Mandel divides the traditions incorporated in petichtah 24 into three parts and offers a possible date of editing.32

29 See Anat Reizel, ‫( מבוא למדרשים‬Alon Shvut: Tvunot, 2011), 183–84. 30 On the late date of petichtah 24 as an addendum to Lam. Rab., see Pinchas Mandel, “‫מדרש איכה‬ ‫( ”רבתי‬PhD diss., Hebrew University, Jerusalem, 1997), 194–96; Zvi Meir Rabinovitz, ‫גנזי מדרש‬ ‫( לצורתם הקדומה של מדרשי חז״ל לפי כת״י מן הגניזה‬Tel Aviv: The Chaim Rosenberg School of Jewish Studies, 1977), 118n5, 127n77; Jacob Reifman, ‫״קונטרס רוח חדשה״‬, Beit Ha-Talmud 4:181. Also see Susan Starr Sered, “Rachel’s Tomb: The Development of a Cult,” Jewish Studies Quarterly, 2, 2 (1995):103–48. 31 Buber edition, 13n15 until the end of the petichtah. 32 I would like to express my thanks to Pinchas Mandel for kindly allowing me access to both

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Part 1: The section opening with the words “R. Yoḥanan said: ‘The oracle concerning the Valley of Vision,’” which are attached to the rebuke of Isaiah describing the sin of the people in the Valley of Vision, in the city of Jerusalem. Part 2: “An alternative explanation: ‘In that day, the Lord, God of Hosts, called [ . . . ]’ – this is what Scripture uttered through the Holy Spirit,” describing the weeping of the congregation of Israel because of the vicissitudes of the destruction and the absence of God’s Indwelling. Part 3: Begins with a quote from Isaiah 22:12: “In that day the Lord God of Hosts called.” Mandel divides this third part into five sub-sections: 1. A description of God weeping as He looks at the ruins of the Temple, and His request to call upon the patriarchs and Moses to weep with Him. 2. Abraham and the ministering angels protest before God about the intensity of the His punishment, and Abraham’s attempts to justify the people’s deeds. 3. Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Moses ask that their deeds be considered as merit for their children. Moses tells the patriarchs about the people’s plight in exile, and they all voice laments. 4. Moses protests against God’s silence in the face of the slaughter of children and their mothers. 5. Rachel enters and asks for mercy on her children. Mandel assumes that the first part is original to Lamentations Rabbah, as it appears in all the text witnesses of the composition. In contrast, the second and third parts appear only in some manuscripts but are missing in others. On the basis of this, he concludes that these are later additions. Mandel presents a number of proofs for the claim that these parts are later additions to the midrash, beginning with a codicological argument: that the full passage is documented only in one manuscript (MS Munich) and in the printed edition, but since these two text-witnesses are very close to each other, it is clear that they actually reflect only one text witness. Mandel also points to the style of the passages. The petichtah is characterized by an unusual poetic style, which is not found at all in the midrashim of the period during which Lamentations Rabbah was edited. For example, the darshan prefaces the quote of Isaiah 22:12 with: “This is what Scripture said through the Holy Spirit.” This expression is not found in the “classical” midrashim, but characterizes midrashim that were edited in a later period. In addition, Mandel notes a reference to Metatron (p. 25) and a description of Moses as ‫רעיא מהימניא‬, “the materials and his findings from the synoptic edition of Lam. Rab. he will be publishing through the Schechter Institute Press.

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faithful shepherd,” both usages unknown in the ancient midrashic literature of Palestine. Finally, The “laments” of Moses are written in a non-Palestinian Aramaic dialect that shows the influence of Babylonian Aramaic. Mandel conjectures that the fact that Isaiah 22:12 served both as the end of the original petichtah and as the beginning of the addendum caused a scribe from Spain or North Africa, not before the tenth century and possibly later, to insert the passage close to the original opener. Rashi (eleventh-century Ashkenaz) and Radak (twelfth-century Provence) were the first ones to incorporate elements known only from the tradition of petichtah 24 in Lamentations Rabbah into their commentaries on the prophecy of Jeremiah. The only work to quote this tradition in its entirety is R. Joseph Al-Neqawe’s (fourteenth-century Spain) Menorat Ha-Maor (part 2, 329–30).

Evidence Indicating the Antiquity of the Sign Tradition Although there are reasons to believe that the addendum is late, one must ask whether the entire addition is late, in which case the reason for its creation must be clarified, or whether parts of it were formed earlier33 – in which case it should be asked why these are not mentioned in the ancient midrashim before their late incorporation in Lamentations Rabbah (according to Mandel’s conjecture). We are not in a position to answer this question with regard to all parts of the addendum, but we will offer some data that may indicate the antiquity of the sign tradition. The late date indicators mentioned by Mandel do not characterize the part of the addendum that describes the entry of Rachel (3:5). The nature of this description does not differ from other ancient midrashim. The idioms of the tradition about Rachel are known from the time of the Mishnah and the Talmud. The expression ‫באותה שעה קפצה‬, “at that moment she suddenly appeared” is found two more times in Lamentations Rabbah, in traditions that have been found to precede the date of the editing, and in both

33 David Stern, “Imitatio Hominis: Anthropomorphism and the Character[s] of God in Rabbinic Literature,” Prooftexts 12 (1992): 151–74, deals with aspects of anthropomorphism in talmudic literature. On pages 158–64 he analyzes petichtah 24 of Lam. Rab. and introduces a distinction between the nature of the anthropomorphisms found in the different parts of the petichtah. Stern even distinguishes between the parts of the addendum (according to Buber and Mandel) of the original petichtah, and believes there is an essential narrative difference between the anthropomorphisms found in parts 1c and 3b, respectively. In part 1c, God seeks to mourn and weep (on the definition of the division, see above, p. 97) and asks for the assistance of the patriarchs and Moses “who know how to weep.” In part 3b, which opens with the words: “R. Shmuel bar Nachman said,” God refuses to surrender to the weeping of the patriarchs and Moses and hardens his stance concerning the punishment of the people.

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of these traditions, like in the tradition about Rachel, this expression precedes an argument with God.34 The a fortiori formula that Rachel uses when addressing God in order to describe an absurd situation, “therefore, if I, a creature . . . ,” appears also in Genesis Rabbah 4, p. 27: “Therefore, If I, a creature of flesh and blood, makes the water stand with my finger . . . ” Also the appellation “You are the living, existing king” is also found in early traditions as an appellation for God.35 Furthermore, the expression ‫נתגלגלו רחמיו‬, “his mercy was extended,” in the context of a quest for mercy, appears in early midrashim.36 Regarding the content of the tradition, many of the midrashim describing Rachel’s deed for the sake of Leah view it as meriting reward. Thus, in Genesis Rabbah: “What did He remember concerning her? – Her keeping silent for the sake of her sister” (Gen. Rab. 73, 847–48); and in the Bavli: “In reward for the modesty shown by Rachel she merited that Saul descended from her” (b. Meg. 13a–b); this understanding appears also in the midrashim based on these traditions. The story in Genesis does not relate that Rachel received any unusual reward during her lifetime. On the contrary, her pregnancy after years of barrenness (which in Genesis Rabbah describes her reward) seems more like a punishment, as does her early death on the way to the land of Israel. It would have been possible to insert the sign story to explain how Jacob was misled on the wedding night, without describing it as a meritorious deed for which Rachel was rewarded – a reward that is not evident during her life in Charan or outside it. Rachel’s reward is mentioned in a verse from Jeremiah, brought in Add. Lam. Rab., which explicitly states “there is a reward for your work,” and the midrash points out the deed for which Rachel earned the promise: “there is hope for your future [ . . . ] and your children shall come back to their own country.” Thus, it is possible that the darshanim who dealt with of Rachel were familiar with the view that she earned her unique reward due to her deed for

34 Cf. Lam. Rab. 1:3: “At that moment, the attribute of justice appeared before the Holy One, blessed be He, and said to Him: ‘Master of the Universe, does it honor You that people say that flesh and blood has burned down the temple? Does it honor You that the wicked will boast and say: ‘I have burned down the house of God?’”; Lam. Rab. 2:1: “At that moment, the Prosecutor appeared before the Holy One, blessed be He, and said to Him: ‘Master of all the worlds, why do You have pity on them?’” 35 See b. Hag. 13a; Eicha Zuta 1:21; Tanḥ [b], Shelach 2; Shocher Tov 86:2, Pesiq. Rab. Kah. 1. It is interesting that the Yalkut Shim‘oni (Beshalach 58), quoting a tradition from Mek. D’Rashbi (Beshalach, Vayissah 2), adds the title “ the everlasting king” to God, even though this is not found in the original. 36 See Mek. D’Rabbi Yishma’el, Neziqin 18, Horowitz, p. 312: ‫לפיכך גלגל המקום עמו‬, “therefore God extended [His mercy on] His people”; b. Pes. 87a: ‫גלגל רחמיך עליהן‬, “extend Your mercy on them.”

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the sake of Leah, but they did not refer to this reward as a national reward. In this way they cut it off from its basis in the prophecy of Jeremiah. Further evidence of the antiquity of the sign tradiditon can be garnered from clues from an inner-midrashic process of integrating traditions. The sentence that precedes the entry of the patriarchs: “Go and summon Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Moses from their graves, since they know how to weep” (3:1), does not include Rachel, although it is Rachel who eventually fulfills the weeping mission for which the patriarchs and Moses were summoned. It seems that the midrash was intended to end with the patriarchs’ agreement to join the weeping of God, and thus fulfill Isaiah’s prophecy: “In that day the Lord God of Hosts called for weeping and mourning.” This section contains most of the evidence for the late date of this tradition (except for proof 4, above, pp. 97–98). The addendum opening with the words of R. Shmuel Bar Nachman (this attribution, assuming it is authentic, also indicates the early date of this part), ascribes a different role to the patriarchs – asking atonement for the sins of the people in the present on account of their righteous deeds in the past. This does not seem to be a continuation of the late midrash brought previously. In this midrash, Rachel is included as one of the mothers who try their hand at subduing God.37 The end of the midrash also points to an earlier date. Most of the petichtot end with verses of lament or retribution (except for petichtah 16). The different parts of the midrash in petichtah 24 that appear before the addendum on Rachel fit in, despite their late date, with the lament style of the ends of the petichtot, in the chilling words: “Have they not already killed many sons and their mothers together while You keep silent?” The comforting ending of the sign tradition contrasts with its immediate context and reinforces the assumption that the different parts of the midrash were created at different times. In the early composition known as Eliyahu Rabbah, a tradition is found that also betrays acquaintance with the sign tradition in Lamentations Rabbah: [ . . . ] My children have gone from me, and they are not (Jer 10:20) – Since the time Israel had become exiled among the nations of the world, the Holy One, blessed be He, had no intention to bring them back to their place, until Rachel arose and entreated before Him, saying: “Master of the Universe, may You recall that I did not insist with regard to my rival wife, and my husband worked seven years for me. Rather, when I entered the

37 In saying this, I do not wish to argue for the early date of all parts of the addendum from 3b–5e (the Aramaic segment of the laments of Moses is presumably late, as claimed by Mandel), but to point out an inner process of editing and the combination of different traditions even within the apparently late midrashic unit, strengthening the claim that the traditions were created at different times. See also Stern (“Imitatio Hominis,” 162) on the sudden transition between the two narratives ostensibly included in the later addendum.

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wedding canopy my sister Leah replaced me, and I did not speak to Jacob lest he distinguish between my voice and my sister’s voice. Therefore, if I, a creature of flesh and blood, did not insist with regard to my rival wife, all the more so is it improper for You to insist with regard to Your idolatrous rivals of whom it is written: ‘They have eyes but do not see, they have ears but do not hear’” (Jer 5:21). Immediately, His compassion was aroused, and He swore to Rachel that He would return them to their place, as it is stated: “Thus says the Lord: ‘A voice is heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping. Rachel is weeping for her children,’” etc. (Jer 31:14). Do not read “Rachel [‫ ]רחל‬is weeping for her children,” but “the spirit of God [‫ ]רוח אל‬is weeping for her children, she refuses to be comforted for her children, because they are no more” (Jeremiah 31). “Thus says the Lord: ‘Keep your voice (and throat) from weeping, etc. For there is a reward for your work,’ declares the Lord.” (Jer 31:15) (Eliyahu Rabbah 28) Following is a list of components shared by the traditions in Lamentations Rabbah and Eliyahu Rabbah that are not found in the parallel traditions: • Rachel succeeds in breaking God’s determination to abandon the people

of Israel in exile by drawing a parallel between the deed of the signs and the expectation that God forgive His children

• The exchange plot becomes known to Rachel shortly before she enters

the wedding canopy.

• The characterization of Leah as ‫צרה‬, “rival wife.” • The presentation of an a fortiori argument in the almost exact wording:

‫ומה אני שאני בשר ודם עפר ואפר לא קנאתי לצרה שלי‬, “therefore, if I, a creature of flesh and blood, dust and ashes, did not envy my rival wife . . . ”

• Similar descriptions of the result of Rachel’s entreaties: “Immediately, his

compassion was aroused.”

• The midrash ends with a quote from the verse in Jeremiah.

The date of the editing of Eliyahu Rabbah has been a matter of scholarly dispute for seven hundred years. Some believe that this midrash was edited as early as around the third century. Others conjecture that the composition was edited in the tenth century, the editor using and processing ancient materials that were at his disposal.38 In any case, even those who view Eliyahu Rabbah as a late

38 For an extensive discussion, see Reizel, ‫מבוא למדרשים‬, 346–53, who surveys the various opinions. Also Joshua Brand, “)‫“סדר תנא דבי אליהו רבא וזוטא (זמנו ומחברו‬, in ‫ קובץ מחקרים במקרא‬:‫זר לגבורות‬ ‫ בלשון ובספרות התלמודית‬,‫בידיעת הארץ‬, ed. B. Z. Luria (Jerusalem: Kiryat Sefer, 1973), 597–617.

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composition agree that the tradition about Rachel was known to the editor of this work before it was incorporated into Lamentations Rabbah (according to those who view petichtah 24 as a late addendum). These findings taken together help us draw a picture of a tradition that may have developed separately from the other parts of the midrash, and not necessarily during the estimated period of their editing. The proofs for the late date of some parts of the midrash do not apply to the sign tradition. On the contrary, this tradition contains idioms known from ancient midrashim, and shows evidence of familiarity with the story in a period preceding its assumed date of editing.

Indications of the Possibility that the Tradition or the Message It Conveys Were Ignored I have so far pointed out the exceptional nature of the sign tradition as found in Lamentations Rabbah compared to other midrashim that explain the wife exchange plot. Our discussion has shown that although this tradition was incorporated into Lamentations Rabbah at a late date, this does not necessarily mean that its creation was also late. In what follows, I will present certain phenomena characterizing the traditions dealing with various aspects of Rachel’s story, and will set forth a hypothesis according to which the uniqueness and anomaly of the sign tradition as found in Add. Lam. Rab. does not necessarily follow from earlier unfamiliarity with it. I will present findings to the effect that this tradition was deliberately ignored by works believed to be acquainted with it, even according to those who view it as a late tradition. I will present traditions found in the midrashim and additional types of literary corpora, such as the targum and the piyyutim, which hint to this tradition while at the same time blurring the message emerging from it. And I will point out traditions that seemingly preferred to leave some of the biblical verses unexplained than to engage with the “problematic” sign tradition. Late Midrashic Collections, Anthologies, and Exegetes Dealing with the Story of the Wife Exchange The stories in the Book of Genesis have been dealt with in more midrashim than have stories from any other book of the Bible. Apart from the ancient midrash of Genesis Rabbah, Midrash Tanḥuma, and Midrash Aggadah (Buber), which cover the stories of the entire Torah, there are several independent midrashic compositions dealing specifically with the Book of Genesis.39 The motif of the 39 E.g., Ag. Ber.; Bereshit Rabbati; Midrash Sekhel Tov (also to Exodus and Leviticus); and the short midrash Vayis‘u. The interesting question is if the broad preoccupation with the stories

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signs must have been known to the editors of these midrashic collections, which are dated later than Add. Lam. Rab. Yet, quite a few of them ignore the sign motif altogether, and those that do bring it stick to the version of the tradition found in the Bavli and do not disclose the slightest familiarity with the version found in Lamentations Rabbah. Midrash Lekaḥ Tov, which according to widespread scholarly opinion was edited in the eleventh century – later than the conjectured date of Add. Lam. Rab.40 – does not mention it. Instead, it offers a novel explanation for Leah’s success in concealing her identity during the entire night, and emphasizes that the voice heard by Jacob was Leah’s voice and not Rachel’s: Now in the evening he took his daughter Leah. This teaches that the candles had gone out, and he brought her to him in darkness, as it is forbidden to have intercourse by the light of candles. The sages have also stated: “One who engages in intimacy by candlelight will have epileptic children.” Throughout the entire night he would call her Rachel, and she would answer him as if she were Rachel. (Lekaḥ Tov Bereshit, Vayetze 29:23) The darshan does allude to the motif of the signs, but does not place them at the time of their supposed giving at the well. He refers to the motif for the first time when describing the exposure of the deceit at dawn, emphasizing that the signs were given by Jacob to Rachel: And in the morning, behold, it was Leah. The signs that Jacob had given to Rachel at the well, Rachel had passed them on to Leah, and this is why Jacob our father did not recognize her [ . . . ]. (Lekaḥ Tov Bereshit, Vayetze 29:25) The author of Yalkut Shim‘oni creates, as usual, a mosaic from different interpretations of the wife exchange.41 He begins by explaining why signs were needed and by describing the ways they were used, in accordance with the Bavli version. Then he describes how Rachel’s silence was rewarded with the bequeathment of the attribute of silence to her descendants. Next, he brings the version of Genesis Rabbah explaining how Laban persuaded his townsmen, and closes with the version of Tanḥuma describing Jacob’s bitter rebuke of Leah



of Genesis is due to the narrative nature of this book and the basis it provides for producing didactic messages, or if it stems from the lack of legal midrashic literature on this book, which does not contain commandments. 40 On the time and character of the midrash, see Reizel, ‫מבוא למדרשים‬, 370–72. 41 According to widespread scholarly opinion, the anthology was edited by R. Shimon the darshan of Frankfurt, who lived at the beginning of the thirteenth century. See Reizel, ‫מבוא למדרשים‬, 383–84.

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and how she justified her actions by pointing out Jacob’s own deceptive actions in the past.42 The version of Lamentations Rabbah is not mentioned at all. Rashi, in his commentary on the prophecy of Jeremiah, uses elements from Lamentations Rabbah without describing Rachel’s deeds in detail, but his words clearly betray the structure of the midrash that lies as their basis: Rachel weeping for her children – The midrash aggadah states that the patriarchs and the matriarchs went to appease the Holy One, blessed be He, concerning the sin of Manasseh who placed an image in the Temple, but He was not appeased. Rachel entered and stated before Him: “O Lord of the Universe, whose mercy is greater, Your mercy or the mercy of a flesh and blood person? You must admit that Your mercy is greater. Now did I not bring my rival into my house? For all the work that Jacob worked for my father he worked only for me. When I came to enter the nuptial canopy, they brought my sister, and it was not enough that I kept my silence, but I gave her my password. You, too, if Your children have brought Your rival into Your house, keep Your silence for them.” He said to her: “You have defended them well. There is reward for your deed and for your righteousness, that you gave over your sign to your sister.” (Rashi, commentary on Jer 31:15)43 However, in his commentary on the story of the wife exchange, Rashi prefers the Bavli version: And it came to pass, that in the morning, behold, it was Leah – But at night it was not Leah, because Jacob had given Rachel certain secret signs by which they could at all times recognize one another, and when Rachel saw that they were about to bring Leah to him for the marriage ceremony, she thought: “My sister may now be put to shame,” and she therefore readily transmitted these signs to her. (Rashi, commentary on Gen 29:25)44 The late targum to the Torah (attributed to Jonathan ben Uzziel), which describes Jacob’s amazement at seeing Leah in his bed, discloses its familiarity with the sign motif and incorporates some of its components into the translation:



42 Yalkut Shim‘oni, Torah, remez 125. On the ancient sources of the anthology, see ‫מקורות ילקוט שמעוני‬, Heiman-Shiloni edition (Jerusalem: Mossad HaRav Kook, 1965), 91. 43 The translation is based on Jeremiah, English translation by H. Freedman (London: Soncino Press), 1949 (https://www.sefaria.org.il), with slight modifications. 44 Pentateuch With Rashi’s Commentary, trans. M. Rosenbaum and A. M. Silbermann (London: Shapiro, Vallentine & Co. 1929–).

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In the morning he saw her, and behold, she was Leah, whom all the night he had thought to be Rachel; because Rachel had shared with her all the things Jacob had presented her. But when he saw this, he said to Laban, what is this that you have done to me? Was it not for Rachel that I served you? Why have you deceived me? (Pseudo-Jonathan 29:25)45 Shinan demonstrates the tendency of the targum’s author to incorporate midrashim into his translation, assuming that his audience is familiar with the midrash and that its importance for a full understanding of the verses needs only to be hinted at. Shinan writes with regard to this translation: This tradition, as given in the translation, lacks two necessary details, which, for example, appear in the clear parallel in the Bavli:(1) Jacob and Rachel feared that Laban would deceive Jacob and bring him another wife in the dark, wherefore Jacob gave Rachel signs so that he could make sure that the one brought to him was indeed Rachel; (2) Rachel saw Leah being led to Jacob’s room, and as she did not want to see her sister shamed, she gave her the signs. These two details constitute the essence and the foundation of the plot; their absence in targum Jonathan testify to his assumption that it is enough to hint at them and that the listener would probably be able to complete them himself.46 Shinan mentions there in a note that he views the Bavli as the source of the midrash implied in the targum, and not Lamentations Rabbah, since the targum describes the signs as having been given by Jacob to Rachel and not vice versa.47 Thus, even the late translator refers to the sign tradition of the Bavli and not to the tradition brought in Add. Lam. Rab.48 Rachel’s Burial Place and Her Weeping The verse in Jeremiah describing the weeping of Rachel creates an affinity between the fate of the exiles and the character of Rachel. This affinity brings up the question of why it was Rachel who succeeded in arousing God’s compassion on her children and not one of the other patriarchs or matriarchs. Also, what was the deed for which Rachel merited the pardoning of her children? 45 Translation based on The Targum of Jonathan ben Uzziel, trans. J. W. Etheridge (London: 1862) (https://www.sefaria.org.il). 46 Avigdor Shinan, ‫( תרגום ואגדה בו‬Jerusalem: Hebrew University Magnes Press, 1993), 93. 47 Shinan, ‫תרגום ואגדה בו‬, 94n189. 48 On the time and the character of the included materials see Shinan, ‫תרגום ואגדה בו‬, 15–39. Shinan believes it was edited around the seventh or eighth centuries, while according to Pozen it contains hidden references to the Crusades, which began in the eleventh century. See Rafael B. Pozen, ‫״התרגומים הארמיים למקרא״‬, Ha-Ma’ayan 48, 2 (2008): 49–62.

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Bracha Elitzur

According to the solution suggested by Targum Jonathan, the name “Rachel” should be substituted for The House of Israel: Thus says the Lord: “A voice is heard at the top of the world, the House of Israel lamenting and weeping bitterly for the prophet Jeremiah when Nebuzaradan the captain of the guard had sent him from Ramah, weeping bitterly. Jerusalem is weeping for her children; she refuses to be comforted for her children, because they have been exiled.” (Targum Yerushalmi to Jer 31:14)49 In a late addendum to Midrash Tehillim (Shocher Tov), the darshan finds it difficult to believe that Rachel wept for her children, since she only merited seeing one of them in her lifetime.50 Hence, he understands her name as an allusion to the prophets of Israel: Thus he says: “A voice is heard in Ramah [ . . . ] Rachel is weeping for her children” (Jer 31:14). Did Rachel really live to see the descendants of Joseph, did she not die while giving birth to Benjamin? Rather, what is meant is that the prophets weep because Israel does not keep the Torah. The Holy One, blessed be He, said to them: “You have wept over the neglect of the Torah, but thus says the Lord: ‘keep your voice from weeping’” etc. (Jer 31:15). Therefore it is said: “My eyes run down with streams of water.” (Shocher Tov 119) The darshan in Genesis Rabbah creates a connection between the choice of Rachel’s burial place on the road to Ephrath near Bethlehem and the prophecy of Jeremiah about Rachel weeping for her children. Rachel is described in these midrashim as awakening when her children pass by her grave on their way to exile. This is when she weeps inconsolably as described in the prophecy of Jeremiah, and refuses to be comforted until she is guaranteed that her children will eventually return to their own territory. [So Rachel died, and she was buried on the way to Ephrath] etc. Why did Jacob see fit to bury Rachel on the way to Ephrath? Jacob foresaw that the exiles would pass through there, wherefore he buried her there



49 Miriam (Laor) Kahana, ‫״נשים בתרגום יונתן לנביאים״‬. Massekhet 14 (2009): 47–75, believes that the targum perceives women as being physically weak, and sees their place in the home and not in public leadership roles. The targum presents women engaging in Torah study (like Deborah and Chulda) as an anomalous reality. Kahana did not refer to the verses in the targum dealing with the weeping of Rachel. See also F. Hadjittofi & H. Sivan, “Staging Rachel,” 318. 50 On the late date of the midrashim beginning with Psalms 119, see Buber’s introduction, ‫מדרש‬ ‫( תהילים‬Vilna: H’almana veh’achim Reem, 1888), 4–5: “But from Psalms 119 to the end of Psalms 121 is a later addition by a late editor.”

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so that she may ask for mercy on their behalf, and this is what is written: “Rachel is weeping for her children [ . . . ]. Thus says the Lord: ‘Keep your voice from weeping [ . . . ] there is hope for your future [ . . . ].’ ” (Jer 31:14, 16) (Gen. Rab. 82:19, 988) Despite the connection made by the author of this midrash, the questions of why exactly Rachel was chosen, and the nature of the deed for which she merited pardon for her children, remain unsolved. Add. Lam. Rab. answers these questions by describing Rachel’s unique deed through which she softened the heart of God and led him to pardon the people. Most of the midrashim that are later than the formation of the tradition, which cope with the darshan’s question in Genesis Rabbah concerning Rachel’s unusual burial place, do not help fill in the gaps proposed in it, but rather rest content with the answer already given by the darshan in Genesis Rabbah, not occupying themselves with the exact nature of Rachel’s meritorious deed.51 As we have noted, the wording of the midrash in Eliyahu Rabbah betrays familiarity with the sign tradition of Lamentations Rabbah. Nevertheless, if we compare the wordings of the traditions, we may notice omissions and even distortions of the unique emphases of the Lamentations Rabbah tradition. The darshan links the verses in Jeremiah describing Rachel’s weeping to the story of Rachel’s concession to Leah, but greatly reduces Rachel’s activity by ignoring her moral considerations and the nature of the deceit she initiated. The diminution of the significance of Rachel’s deed is especially evident in the intervention of the darshan: “Do not read ‘Rachel [‫ ]רחל‬is weeping for her children’ but ‘the spirit of God [‫ ]רוח אל‬is weeping for her children.’” This addition is most puzzling, as the darshan first describes Rachel’s role in softening God’s plans to bring about exile, but after having mentioned Rachel as taking on this role, he ignores her contribution and attributes the mitigation of the exile to the weeping of God’s spirit.52 Pesiqta Rabbati contains a petichtah that is reminiscent of the introduction 51 See, for example, Midrash Aggadah (Buber), Genesis 35; Lekaḥ Tov 35:19, 48:7; Sekhel Tov, Vayishlach 35:19. The darshan in Ag. Ber. asks why specifically Rachel, and answers that this is a compensation for her short life span: “Why did she die on the way to Ephrat? Because the Holy One, blessed be He, said: ‘My children need her, while they are busy sinning and stealing, she will mention Me like I mentioned her, as it is written: ‘Thus says the Lord: ‘A voice is heard in Ramah,’ etc. (Jer 31:14), and He said to her: ‘Keep your voice from weeping’ (Jer 31:15). And what is the reward she will receive for her life having been shortened and dying on the way? That she may mention Me in connection with My children, as it is written: ‘For there is reward for your work, declares the Lord [etc.] and the children will come back to their own territory’” (Jer 31:15–16). 52 On the attitude of the editor of Eliyahu Rabbah toward women, see Brand, ‫״סדר תנא דבי אליהו רבא‬ ‫וזוטא (זמנו ומחברו)״‬, 604–5.

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to the midrash in Lamentations Rabbah:53 The people of Israel ask the forefathers to plead on their behalf, but the entreaty of the fathers is of no avail. Only when the people arrive at Rachel’s burial place, and she asks for mercy on them, are they answered: That which is known to Him, that the temple will eventually be destroyed, and His children will go into exile. And they will approach the forefathers asking them to pray on their behalf, but to no avail. And only when they will be on the way and arrive at the burial place of Rachel, she will ask the Holy One, blessed be He, for mercy, saying to Him: “Master of the Universe, listen to the voice of my weeping and have mercy on my children, or give me my reward.” And immediately the Holy One, blessed be He, will hear the voice of her prayer. – From where do we know all this? Because it is written: “Bitter weeping. Rachel is weeping for her children” (Jer 31:14), and it is also written: “There is hope for your future [declares the Lord] and your children shall come back to their own territory.” Thus he appeased him with regard to the fact that his mother did not enter the grave. (Pesiq. Rab. 3) What was Rachel’s meritorious deed? Here, the long and detailed description of Lamentations Rabbah is replaced by an obscure sentence describing Rachel as threatening God with the words “give me my reward,” and God immediately answering her prayer. What is the nature of this reward, and why does the darshan rest content with this obscure sentence? The preface to the midrash and the reference to Rachel’s advantage over the patriarchs likely indicate familiarity with the Add. Lam. Rab. tradition. The decision to censor this midrash with a short and obscure sentence describing Rachel’s deed is odd and needs to be explained. The Merits of the Forefathers The preface to the sign tradition in Lamentations Rabbah describes the efforts of the patriarchs to obtain mercy on behalf of the people of Israel, efforts that failed until Rachel appeared on the scene: At that moment, our mother Rachel suddenly appeared before the Holy One, blessed be He [ . . . ] (LR, petichtah 24) This part of Lamentations Rabbah, in which the patriarchs become aware of the plight of the people and present to God their own merits as having the power to skew the fate of the people for good, appears also in Midrash Zuta Lamentations. However, the midrash ends after the entreaty of Moses, and

53 On the hypothesis regarding the time of the work’s editing, see Benjamin Elitzur, ‫–פרקי‬ ‫פסיקתא רבתי‬ ‫מבוא״‬,” PhD diss., Hebrew University, 1999. Also see Reizel, ‫מבוא המדרשים‬, 245–47.

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leaves out Rachel joining in with the patriarchs and Moses to arouse the mercy of God. Parts of this midrash appear also in Yalkut Shim‘oni Lamentations 997, where the part in which Rachel appears is also missing. Rachel is mentioned in several piyyutim, but even though these allude to the various midreshei aggadah, it is difficult to find in them traces of the wording of the petichtah. On the other hand, it is also doubtful whether it is possible to find in them a reference to the sign tradition of the Bavli.54 Mandel believes that the midrashim in Lamentations Rabbah were well known to the poet Eleazar ben Kalir, who interweaves them into his poetic laments,55 and it is possible that the language of Lamentations Rabbah is also interwoven into the poetry of Yannai.56 In the lament “When the Plenty Had Become Full,” Kalir describes Jeremiah as inviting the patriarchs and Moses to join his lament over the destruction of Israel. He uttered a supplication before his creator, full of mercy, like the mercy of a father on his son He shouted: Woe to the father who has exiled his own offspring, and woe to the son who is no longer seated at his father’s table

54 Yannai hints at Rachel’s silence in the piyyut “A Sister Called Rachel”: “And He remembered the silence of her merit” (line 7), and later on: “And He opened the lock of the closure of her deed” (line 17), but he does not mention any active deed for her sister’s sake. Sixth poem of the kedushtah to the order “And God Saw that Leah was Hated,” Rabinowitz edition (Jerusalem: Bialik, 1985–1987), 1, p. 176. 55 See P. Mandel, “‫מדרש איכה רבתי‬,” 14. In note 14, he refers to the laments of the Kalir, which contain hints to midrashim in Eichah Rabbati, such as in the lament “Remember How”: “They sprawled and wandered around, but in the end they fed me with gravel, they heard how I was sighing,” ‫סדר הקינות לתשעה באב כמנהג פולין וקהילות האשכנזים בארץ ישראל‬, ed. Daniel Goldschmidt (Jerusalem: Mossad HaRav Kook, 1968), 37, line 21, which seems to be based on the midrash in Lam. Rab. 3: “They did not do this, rather since they had been exiled, when someone wished to knead his dough but did not own a vessel to knead it in, he would dig a pit in the ground and knead his dough in it, and it would be mixed up with earth and turn into clumps. And when he put it into his mouth, his teeth were damaged, and this is the fulfillment of the verse ‘he has made my teeth grind on gravel,’ and many more.” 56 See the kedushtah for the Day of Atonement attributed to Yannai: “Whose origin was in bastardy / fasting and tormenting themselves in vain,” ‫מחזור פיוטי רבי יניי לתורה ולמועדים‬, 2, ed. Bialik (Jerusalem: Bialik, 1985–1987), 221 (column 146). According to Mandel, the words “whose origin was in bastardy” hint at Midrash Eichah 3:7 (Buber, p. 123), where we find the story about the Holy One, blessed be He, going around among the nations to give them the Torah. When He came to the Ammonites and the Moabites and told them that one of the commandments forbids adultery, they refused to receive it arguing that “the origin of all these people is in bastardy.” In the opinion of Nahum M. Bronznick, ‫– ביאורים ופירושים‬ ‫( פיוטי יניי‬Jerusalem: R. Mas, 2001), 1, p. 403, the words “whose origin was in bastardy” are part of a Jewish-Christian polemic, the poet hinting at the circumstances surrounding the birth of Jesus.

110

Bracha Elitzur

Stand up, Jeremiah, why do you keep silent? Go, summon the fathers and Aaron and Moses The shepherds shall come, a lament shall be voiced, because evening wolves have devoured the lamb The prophet Jeremiah roared like a lion next to the Machpelah, he growled like a lioness Let your weeping voices be heard, O fathers, your children have been lost, they are in captivity.57 The content of the call, the choice of the three patriarchs and Moses, and the location of Jeremiah’s roar at the Makhpelah seem to be based on petichtah 24.58 Although the continuation of this lament, “when Jeremiah went to the tombs of the patriarchs,” mentions Rachel, she is only described as an accomplice of the patriarchs, not as the one who, all on her own, manages to ease God’s anger and make Him promise to redeem the children.59 Rather, it was the joint action of all the weepers that ultimately brought about the promise of redemption: The voice of Leah’s weeping is knocking on her heart Her sister Rachel weeps for her children Zilpah is slapping her own face Bilhah is lamenting with both her hands: Come back, you upright people, to your resting place I shall surely fulfill all your requests I was sent to Babylon for your sake Behold, I shall return your exiled children:60 The omission of Rachel from the midrashim referring to the merits of the fathers is peculiar for two reasons: the first, is because Rachel is the only matriarch described in the Bible as weeping for her children and succeeding in arousing heavenly mercy. The second is odd because of the existence of a tradition (which was known to these midrashim, as can be learned from their use of other parts of it) describing how she achieves what her predecessors had failed to achieve. It is extremely puzzling that the editors of the midrashim in Midrash 57 ‫סדר הקינות לתשעה‬, 102 (columns 17–22). 58 Cf. “at that hour the Holy One, blessed be He, was weeping and saying: ‘woe to Me for My house [ . . . ] go and summon Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Moses from their graves, since they know how to weep’ [ . . . ] immediately Jeremiah went to the Machpelah cave and said to the fathers: ‘Stand up, the time has come for you to plead before the Holy One, blessed be He’ [ . . . ]” (LR 24). 59 See Goldschmidt, who notices that although most editions bring “When Jeremiah Went” before “When the Abundance had Become Complete,” the latter is actually the first part of two connected laments (pp. 9–100). 60 Goldschmidt, ‫סדר הקינות‬, 100 (columns 28–32). See also the analysis of Hadjittofi & Sivan, “Staging Rachel,” 316–18.

“For Your Work Will Be Rewarded”

111

Zuta Lamentations and Yalkut Shim‘oni chose to end their descriptions at the stage of heavy mourning and complete lack of hope following the failed efforts of the patriarchs and Moses to arouse divine mercy. One cannot but get the impression that they wanted to avoid mentioning Rachel’s intervention and her success in changing the evil decree at any cost. The Puzzling Midrashim Explaining the Meaning of the Promise “Because There Is Reward for Your Work” Jeremiah’s words of encouragement to Rachel, “because there is a reward for your work,” seem to require a description of the deed for which Rachel merited the promise given her (unless, of course, her weeping and her refusal to be comforted are understood to constitute this deed). Add. Lam. Rab. seeks in the stories about Rachel a deed for which she may have earned her reward. It describes her altruistic behavior towards Leah and her use of this behavior as an element of comparison in her rebuke of God, thus filling the gap that arises from reading the prophecy. A study of other midrashic traditions dealing with the question of the reward creates the impression that these traditions try to evade the connection between Rachel and the prophecy of the return of the exiles. Jonathan, in accordance with his perception of Rachel as symbolizing the House of Israel, translates the prophecy as referring to the general reward of the righteous of Israel – the servants of God – due to whose deeds the people will merit God’s mercy and the return from exile: Thus says the Lord: Keep your voice from weeping, and your eyes from tears, for there is a reward for the deeds of your righteous fathers, declares the Lord, and they shall come back from the land of their enemy. In Tanḥuma, the words “there is reward” are explained as referring to Issachar the son of Jacob: All the names of the tribes have been mentioned [elsewhere] in reference to their redemption. Reuben (r’wbn): “And the Lord said: ‘I have surely seen’ (r’yti)” (Exod 3:7); Simeon (shm’wn): “And God heard (shm’) their moaning” (Exod 2:24); Levi (lwy): “And many nations shall join themselves (lwy) unto the Lord” (Zech 2:15): Judah (ydh): “And in that day you shall say: ‘I give thanks (ydh) to you, O Lord’” (Isa 12:1); Issachar – “For there is reward (ysh shkr) for your labor” (Jer 31:15); Zebulun: “I have surely built you a celestial (zbwl) house” (1 Kgs 8:13); Dan: “But I am also judging (dan) the nation which they shall serve” (Gen 15:14); Naphtali (nptly): “Your lips drip nectar (npt), O bride” (Song 4:11); Gad [is mentioned] in reference to the manna: “Now the manna was like coriander (gad) seed” (Num 11:7); Asher (‘shr) [is mentioned] in reference to the redemption: “All the

112

Bracha Elitzur

nations shall account (‘shr)” (Mal 3:12); Joseph: “And it shall come to pass in that day, the Lord will extend (yosif ) his hand a second time” (Isa 11:11); Benjamin (bnymn): “The Lord has sworn by his right hand” (bymyn) (Isa 62:8). Ergo: All the names of the tribes have been mentioned [elsewhere] with reference to their redemption. (Tanḥuma [b] Exodus 5) Although the verse is mentioned in the context of redemption, the hint to the redemption is explicitly connected to the name of Issachar. In Yalkut Shim‘oni, the explanation of the verse is brought in connection with Rachel, but the editor prefers the connection offered by the darshan in Genesis Rabbah – who ignores the giving of the signs – over the closer connection suggested by Add. Lam. Rab.: “Do you know Laban the son of Nachor” (Gen 29:5) – do you know the one who will turn their iniquities white (‫ )ללבן‬as snow? They answered: “We know him.” He said to them: “Is it well with him?” They said: “It is well” (29:6). Through which merit? “And behold, his daughter Rachel is coming with the sheep” (29:6). This is what is written: “Thus says the Lord: ‘A voice is heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping [ . . . ] Thus says the Lord: Keep your voice from weeping, and your eyes from tears, for there is a reward for your work, declares the Lord, and they shall come back from the land of the enemy. There is hope for your future, declares the Lord, and your children shall come back to their own territory.’ ” (Yal. Shim‘oni, Vayetze, remez 123)61 * The sign story in Add. Lam. Rab. harmonizes the different biblical verses dealing with the character of Rachel. It also bridges between the question of how the exchange of Jacob’s wives on the wedding night was practically possible, on the one hand, and the later reference to Rachel as the mother of the nation who manages to arouse the mercy of God and make him promise to return the exiled children, on the other. The midrash contains the well-developed element of an altruistic act justifying the choice of Rachel as the one who receives the consoling tidings about her children. Quite a few other midrashim deal with the aforementioned practical difficulty, but the tight connection required by the midrashic genre between the 61 It seems that the darshan in Gen. Rab. 70, 809–10 was unfamiliar with the tradition of Lam. Rab. and created his own midrash, which explains the connection between the merit of Rachel and God’s mercy on His children and the atonement for their iniquities. The darshan does not mention any specific deed – only that the fact that Laban begot a daughter like Rachel made him merit the purification of the sins of Israel.

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verses dealing with the reward of Rachel is found exclusively in the tradition in petihtah 24 of Lamentations Rabbah. We have seen that quite a few darshanim view Rachel’s deed as an altruistic act of concession to her sister and seek to clarify the nature of the reward she received for this deed. But why did these darshanim rest content relying on verses in which the reward is questionable instead of relying on the prophecy of Jeremiah that explicitly describes the reward of Rachel? Why did darshanim prefer an allegorical interpretation of Rachel’s weeping even though the idea of the patriarchs asking for mercy on their descendants is a well-developed motif in the midrashic genre? And why did late darshanim, who supposedly were familiar with the addendum after its incorporation into Lamentations Rabbah, refrain from mentioning it? In the next unit, we will try to answer these questions.

DID DARSHANIM AND EXEGETES IGNORE THE SIGN TRADITION AS REFLECTED IN LAMENTATIONS RABBAH, AND WHY? The Bible describes the family into which Rachel and Leah were born as functioning according to a patriarchal structure in which the daughters of the family are controlled by their father and his sons. The head of the family, Bethuel, complied with the servant’s request to marry his daughter to Yitzchak without asking for his daughter’s approval: “Laban and Bethuel answered [ . . . ] here is Rebecca before you, take her and go, and let her be the wife of your master’s son [ . . . ]” (Gen 24:50–51).62 Laban is described as walking in his father’s footsteps when he responds to Jacob’s offer: “I will serve you seven years for your younger daughter Rachel,” with the words: “It is better that I give her to you [ . . . ]” (Gen 29:18–19), without asking for Rachel’s opinion on the marriage proposal. The wife exchange, too, is described as the sovereign initiative of Laban, who did not ask for the approval of the objects of the exchange. Rachel is characterized as fighting against the patriarchal structure of her family. She blames Jacob for the suffering of her childlessness and angers him

62 This patriarchal conduct stands out against the background of the rest of the story, when the servant leaves the father’s house and enters the mother’s house with the gifts to Rebecca, and they seek to delay Rebecca’s departure: “Her brother and her mother said: ‘Let the young woman remain with us a while, at least ten days; after that she may go.’” And when the servant begs not to delay the completion of his task, they condition it on Rebecca’s will: “Let us call the young woman and ask her,” and only after her consent do they release her and give her into the hands of the servant (Gen 24:54–59). On the splitting of the events between two different stages in the house of Bethuel, see Menakhem Perry, “‫ והקואליציה של אלוהים עם הנשים בסיפור‬,‫רבקה וחתנה העבד‬ ‫ ”המקראי‬Thought and Literature 29 (2006): 193–278.

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Bracha Elitzur

by the very fact that she turns to him. She interferes with the accepted order of Jacob’s intimate relations with his wives: “Therefore he may lie with you tonight in return for your son’s mandrakes” (Gen 30:15). She delivers a defiant speech against Laban’s family leadership and backs Jacob’s decision to flee: “Then Rachel and Leah answered and said to him: ‘Is there any portion or inheritance left to us in our father’s house? Are we not regarded by him as foreigners? For he has sold us, and he has indeed devoured our money. All the wealth that God has taken away from our father belongs to us and to our children’” (Gen 31:14–16). She steals a valuable item from her father’s house, hides it under the pad of the camel on which she is riding, and denies any involvement in the disappearance of the idols. This is how Lear describes Rachel’s daring: The act of stealing the idols provides one of the most picturesque depictions of courage and female heroism. From Laban’s words to Jacob – “why did you steal my Gods” (Gen 30:31), it may be inferred that he was an idolater and that he attributed magical powers to the idols. The act of stealing the idols neutralizes Laban’s power not only in the sense understood by Ibn Ezra – “because her father Laban was an expert in the zodiac signs, and she feared that her father would look at the zodiac signs to know which way they escaped” – but also in the sense of female power seeking to castrate the power of an oppressive father. The picturesque depiction of her sitting on the camel on which the phallic fetish objects are hidden and the use of a female excuse about the way of women in order to stay on the camel while the father runs around the camp and gropes all sorts of objects creates a sense of female victory.63 The midrashic literature of the Mishnaic and Talmudic periods adopts a predominantly negative attitude towards female leadership and seeks to reduce expressions of female biblical leadership.64 Protests voiced by women are

63 Shlomit Lear, “‫ הידיים ידי לאה‬,‫ ”הקול קול רחל‬in ‫ צדק חברתי מגדר ומדרש‬:‫א־מיתיות‬, ed. Avigdor Shinan et al. (Tel Aviv: Miskal, 2011), 97. 64 See b. Meg. 14a and the description of female prophecy, which focuses on the managing of domestic matters or areas typical of women. Much research deals with the attitude towards female leadership in talmudic literature, see, for example, Shulamit Valler, “‫האשה במדרש ובהלכה‬,” in ‫נשים במקורות ישראל‬, ed. A. Levy-Feldblum et al. (Jerusalem: Beit HaNassi, 1996); Avishag Ayali-Weinberg, “‫ ”מעמד האישה בעיני חז״ל על פי סיפורים במשנה‬in ‫הישן יתחדש והחדש יתקדש‬: Essays on Judaism, Identity, and Culture in Memory of Meir Ayali, ed. Y. Friedlander et al. (Tel Aviv: The United Kibbutz, 2005), 27–45; Michael Kaufman, The Woman in Jewish Law & Tradition (Northdale, NJ: Jason Aronson, 1993); Judith R. Baskin, Midrashic Women: Formations of the Feminine in Rabbinic Literature (Hanover and London: University Press of New England for Brandeis University Press, 2002); Judith Romney Wegner, “The Image and Status of Women in Classical Rabbinic Judaism,” Jewish Women in Historical Perspective, ed. Judith R. Baskin (Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1998), and many more.

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criticized,65 and in the exceptional cases in which women are provided a platform to voice their protest, it is limited to marriage- and fertility-related matters.66 The Bavli describes Hannah as “speaking impertinently toward God” (b. Meg. 31b), but her complaints appear to relate to her longings for fertility.67 The midrash attributes to Miriam words of rebuke uttered both against her parents for refraining from fulfilling the commandment of procreation, and against Moses who ceased “visiting” his wife. However, despite the scathing criticism in Miriam’s words, they do not in any way show her deviating from her responsibility with regard to the familial conduct of her relatives.68 The daughter of Jephthah is described in a painful midrash as seeking to protest against her father and the Sanhedrin for having sentenced her to death, and despite the erudite character ascribed to her by the midrash, her aim is to obtain personal pardon and to fulfill her destiny as a woman.69 The belligerent elements of the biblical character of Rachel go slightly beyond the boundaries of female protest in rabbinic literature, although the behavior attributed to her does not have a pretense of influence outside family 65 See for example the midrash about Achsah: “‘When she came to him, ‘she urged him to ask her father for a field. And she got off her donkey.’ What does ‘and she got off ’ mean? Said Rava in the name of R. Yitzchak: ‘She said to him: ‘Like this donkey that brays when there is no more food in its trough, so also a woman who has no produce in her house will immediately shout out’’” (b. Tem. 16a). 66 Galit Chazzan-Rokem, ‫ בעקבות ״ישראל של הבשר״‬,‫ זוגיות ונשיות ביצירת חז״ל״‬,‫– על מיניות‬ ‫״החוט המשולש‬ ‫ מסורת וביקורת( מאת דניאל בויארין‬7 [1995]), criticizes the scholarly generalization (as expressed in Boyarin’s study) regarding the attitude of the talmudic sages toward women, claiming that “a picture emerges according to which it is clear that the sages’ treatment of women was uneven and included a wide range of attitudes, from complete oppression of female voices to allowing such voices to express themselves clearly” (p. 259). Chazzan-Rokem demonstrates this by comparing three stories. However, even the story upon which she bases her conclusion–the story about the woman who would arrive home late on sabbath evenings due to the great length of R. Meir’s sermon in the synagogue (Leviticus Rabbah 9, pp. 191–93,) – her status does not transcend the domestic sphere of home and family. 67 On the hidden meaning of Hannah’s defiant words, see Yishai Rozen-Tzvi, “‫״׳האשה הנצבת׳‬ – ‫תפילת‬ ‫ חנה בדרשות חז״ל״‬in ‫תרבות יהודית בעין הסערה‬, ed. A. Pikar et al. (Ein Tzurim: The United Kibbutz, 2002), 675–98. 68 On the meaning of Miriam presented as the spokeswoman of matrimony and childbirth, see Bracha Elitzur, ‫”נישואין וילודה בדרשות חז״ל על מרים הנביאה״‬. Massekhet 14 (2019): 11–46. 69 On empathy toward Jephthah’s daughter in talmudic literature, see Shulamit Valler, ‫״סיפור בת יפתח‬ ‫ במדרש״‬in ‫– בין הזמן הזה לימים ההם; מחווה למיכאל בהט‬ ‫ספר מיכאל‬, ed. A. Sagi (Even Yehuda: Reches, 2007); Leila Leah Bronner, From Eve to Esther: Rabbinic Reconstructions of Biblical Women (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1994); Phyllis Silverman Kramer, “Jephthah’s Daughter: A Thematic Approach to the Narrative as Seen in Selected Rabbinic Exegesis and in Artwork,” in Judges: A Feminist Companion to the Bible, ed. Athalya Brenner (Sheffield, UK: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), 67–92.

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boundaries. In contrast, in the sign tradition of Add. Lam. Rab. Rachel is portrayed as a national leader of equal status to the three patriarchs and the greatest leader of Israel, and she even succeeds where they failed. Rachel is portrayed as a model of humility, who does not envy her competitors. She exemplifies the forgiveness that God is expected to demonstrate toward the people despite their betrayal of Him, and leads to their pardon. The involvement of women in the redemption of Israel is also mentioned in relation to the redemption from Egypt: “In the merit of the righteous women that were in that generation, the Jewish people were redeemed from Egypt” (b. Sot. 11b). Yet, the act attributed to the pious women – continued engagement in procreation despite the decrees of Pharaoh – fits in in with the perception of women as being responsible for the continuity of the family. The description of Rachel in the tradition of the petichtah breaches the boundaries of what the sages considered to constitute legitimate female empowerment. The first part, which describes Rachel’s feelings and how she represses them to protect her sister’s honor, does not deviate from the noble character traits attributed to other biblical women, such as Tamar70 and Hannah.71 The second part, in which Rachel stands before God and persuades Him to imitate her actions, is counter to the midrashic tendency of curtailing public leadership roles for women and to midrishic expectations of the general nature of prayers uttered by women before God. In contrast to the prayers of the other biblical women, which position the misery of women over against the power of God, Rachel stands up and positions her ability to forfeit her own honor as a behavioral model expected of God in relation to His children.72 The advantage of the sign tradition in the petichtah is its integration of the stories about Rachel in the Book of Genesis with the puzzling prophecy of Jeremiah. However, despite its important description of the power of modesty, concession, and prayer, it does not fit in with the midrashim that reduce female leadership roles to the administration of family life.73 The message emerging 70 See b. Ber. 43b: “And she sent to her father-in-law, saying: ‘I am pregnant by the man to whom these belong.’ Why didn’t she tell him explicitly? And Rav Zutra bar Toviya said that Rav said; and some say Rav Chana bar Bizna said that Rabbi Shim‘on Chasida said; and some say Rabbi Yoḥanan said in the name of Rabbi Shim‘on ben Yochai: ‘It is preferable for one to throw himself into a fiery furnace rather than humiliate another in public. From where do we derive this? From Tamar [ . . . ] ‘Please recognize’ – the word ‘please’ refers to a request. She said to him: ‘Please, recognize your Creator and do not ignore me.’” 71 See Pesiq. Rab. 43, which describes Hannah bringing her rival into her home, and, despite Peninnah’s provocations, praying for her sons. 72 See, for example, the midrash on the words of Hannah in b. Ber. 31b: “Hannah said before the Holy One, blessed be He: ‘Master of the Universe, of all the hosts of hosts that You have created in Your world, is it difficult in Your eyes to grant me a single son?’” 73 See for example Gen. Rab. 18, 160–61: “It is customary for women to stay home, and for men to

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from this tradition with regard to the ability of women to set national processes in motion, and the harsh language of Rachel’s criticism of God’s refusal to become reconciled with His people, is unusual and even foreign to female representations in ancient and late midrashic literature. In the midrashim dealing with the story of the deceit and Jeremiah’s reference to the unique deed of Rachel, various methods are employed to circumvent the explosive charge inherent in the sign tradition of Lamentations Rabbah: some sought for alternative plots enabling Laban to carry out the deceit: “Her keeping silent for the sake of her sister”; “Rachel adopted the virtue of silence”; “by the merit of this silence I will remember you”; “this teaches that the candles had gone out, and he brought her to him in darkness.”74 Some reduced the heroism of Rachel’s act of passing on the signs, which also reduced the need for such a great reward: “Because Rachel had given her all the things that Jacob had given to her”; “Rachel had passed them on to Leah, and this is why Jacob our father did not recognize her”; “give me my reward.”75 Yet others noted the performance of a noble deed, but rested content with describing Rachel’s reward as a financial or genetic inheritance within the boundaries of the family: “She merited that Saul should descend from her”; “it was appropriate for the child receiving the status of firstborn to emerge from Rachel, [ . . . ] however, due to the modesty of Rachel, the Holy One, blessed be He, returned it to her”; “by the merit of this silence I will remember you, as it is said: ‘And God remembered Rachel [ . . . ] and opened her womb.’”76 In the midrashim dealing with the prophecy of Jeremiah, the reference to Rachel is mostly ignored: “The House of Israel is heard’”; “the prophets are crying for Israel”; “do not read ‘Rachel is weeping for her children’ but ‘the spirit of God is weeping for her children.’”77 I would like to suggest that Rachel’s belligerent spirit, as described in the Bible, undergoes a process of refinement in the midrashic traditions describing her actions. These traditions portray her as being concerned with the well-being of her sister, for whom she is willing to give up her preemptive right to establish a family and give birth to children. The militant and defiant version of the sign tradition in Add. Lam. Rab. does not at all fit in with this refining trend. Had it not been for its late incorporation, its redemption from the abyss of oblivion, and its joining to the tradition about the great men of the nation entreating go out into the market and learn wisdom from human beings.” 74 See, respectively, Gen. Rab. 73, 847–48; Gen. Rab. 71, 828–29; Tanḥuma [w], Vayetze 6; Lekaḥ Tov Genesis, Vayetze 29:23. 75 See, respectively, Talmud Yerushalmi, Gen 29:25; Lekaḥ Tov Genesis, Vayetze 29:25; Pesiq. Rab. 3. 76 See, respectively, b. Meg. 13a–b; b. Bat. 123a; Tanḥuma [w], Vayetze 6. 77 See, respectively, Talmud Yerushalmi, Jer 31:11; Shocher Tov 119; Eliyahu Rabbah 28.

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for the redemption of Israel, the version in Add. Lam. Rab. would have been doomed.78 What remains to be clarified is the reason it was added to the midrash in Lamentations Rabbah, despite the fact that it contains elements that do not match the general attitude of rabbinic sermons on biblical women.

THE BACKGROUND OF THE ADDITION OF THE SIGN TRADITION TO LAMENTATIONS RABBAH As we have seen, the sign tradition in Lamentations Rabbah is incorporated into a long midrash describing the entreaties of the patriarchs and Moses before God, asking Him to have mercy on His children and to redeem them. Our working assumption is that the broad midrash integrates various traditions edited at different times, and that at its early stages it did not include the sign tradition about Rachel. Chazzan-Rokem, in her study of Lamentations Rabbah, has noted the exceptional nature of this tradition even compared to other midrashic traditions with a feminine aspect. She wrote: “It is precisely in this surprising context that one of the most powerful female voices in talmudic literature is heard. Its power is multiplied by the fact that this section was preceded by the masculine voices of the patriarchs and Moses, who also asked for mercy.”79 Chazzan-Rokem compares this tradition to another story found in the work (LR 3, Buber, p. 123), in which the woman is presented as someone “whose inner world is completely closed to us, and the men treat her as an object thrown from one man to another. She is valued according to her price in money [ . . . ] the woman [ . . . ] is nothing but a part of the household and the inheritance, property passed on from one male hand to another.”80 According to Chazzan-Rokem, in Lamentations Rabbah women are generally given the role of mourners and described through images such as widowhood, bereavement, and keening. Women express and represent the emotional grief over the destruction.81 Chazzan-Rokem conjectures that the 78 Hadjittofi and Sivan (“Staging Rachel”) wonder about the precedent that Rachel voices as a means of persuading God to act like her. The patriarchs (Abraham and Isaac) pleaded that their willingness to sacrifice their sons or themselves would constitute atonement for the sins of their descendants. This gesture was answered with a divine refusal to recognize this heroic act as an atonement in the present. Rachel, on the other hand, presents an act that on the face of it seems immoral, on the verge of adultery, and yet she manages to appease the wrath of God through it and even demands that He act like her. 79 Chazzan-Rokem, ‫ זוגיות ונשיות ביצירת חז״ל״‬,‫– על מיניות‬ ‫״החוט המשולש‬, 263. 80 Chazzan-Rokem, ‫ זוגיות ונשיות ביצירת חז״ל״‬,‫– על מיניות‬ ‫״החוט המשולש‬, 260. 81 Galit Chazzan-Rokem, ‫– היצירה העממית בספרות חז״ל‬ ‫( רקמת חיים‬Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1996). See also Galit Chazzan-Rokem, ‫ ״דמויות נשים וסמלים נשיים במדרש איכה רבה״‬in Y. Atzmon, ‫אשנב לחייהן‬ ‫של נשים בחברות יהודיות‬, ed. Y. Atzmon (Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar, 1995), 95–111.

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tradition about Rachel was written by a woman who presents a female voice that does not rest content with the motif of the mourning woman, and who seeks to characterize Rachel as taking an active part in the process of redemption. What, then, led to the incorporation of this subversive midrash with its anomalous gender-related messages even compared to the adjacent midrashim in the same work? Why was it attached to the failure of the fathers of the nation to arouse the mercy of God? How does the militant female voice expressed here fit in with the cries and laments of the other women described in the work?

The Jewish-Christian Controversy Over the Essence of the Redemption Many talmudic traditions contain a latent polemical charge, which becomes evident only in light of the Christian theology that developed simultaneously with them or a few years earlier. Traditions of a more visible polemical nature deal with the questions of chosenness, the importance of the commandments, and the identity of the Savior,82 or open with an obviously polemical argument

82 On eternal chosenness, see, for example, God’s rebuke of Hosea for speaking out against Israel: “The Holy One, blessed be He, said to Hosea: ‘Your sons have sinned.’ He should have said: ‘But they are Your sons; they are the sons of Your beloved ones, the sons of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Extend Your mercy over them.’ Not only did he fail to say that, but instead he said before Him: ‘Master of the Universe, the entire world is Yours; exchange them for another nation.’ The Holy One, blessed be He, said: ‘What shall I do to this elder? I will say to him: Go and take a prostitute and bear for yourself children of prostitution. And after that I will say to him: Send her away from before you. If he is able to send, I will also send away the Jewish people,’ as it is stated: ‘The Lord said to Hosea: Go, take for yourself a wife of prostitution and children of prostitution’ (Hos 1:2). And then it is written: ‘So he went and took Gomer the daughter of Divlaim’” (b. Pes. 87a). Also see Benjamin Uffenheimer, ‫״הקדשת ישעיהו וגלגוליה במסורת חז״ל״‬, in ‫( המקרא ותולדות ישראל‬Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, 1971), 18–50; Benjamin Uffenheimer, ‫״מעמד‬ ‫ הנבואה ובחירת ישראל בפולמוס חז״ל״‬,‫הר סיני‬, Molad 8.39/40 (1980): 91–110. On the importance of the commandments, see the midrashim describing the patriarchs as observing them: “You find that whoever is meticulous about the commandments receives much reward. Now Abraham was meticulous about the commandments. R. Aha said in the name of R. Alexandri and R. Samuel bar Naḥmani in the name of R. Jonathan: ‘They even kept eruvim of cooked foods in Abraham’s house, as stated: Because Abraham heeded my voice [and kept my charge: My commandments, my statues, and my torahs]. But is there not a single Torah? [The plural usage here] simply [indicates] that he was meticulous with all commandments which are in [oral and written] Torah. The Holy One said: You are meticulous with my commandments; so should you dwell with those who serve idols? Go out from among them. [Where is it shown? Where they read on the matter]: Now the Lord said unto Abram: GO” (Tanḥuma [b], LekhLekha 1); and also: “Said R. Acha in the name of R. Alexandri and R. Shmuel bar Nachmani in the name of R. Yonathan: ‘Abraham knew even the laws of Eruv Hatzeirot [lit. merging of domains]’” (Gen. Rab. 49:17, 500–501). On the identity of the savior, see mainly midrashim ruling out the possibility of prophecy

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such as: “If he should say to you . . . ”.83 But latent controversy, on the other hand, may often be discerned by examining midrashic intensifications of biblical deeds or characters – intensifications that do not rely directly on the biblical description of the deed or the character. These traditions rely on a seemingly marginal detail, which they turn into the central feature.84 In such cases, when the midrash presents characters in unusual ways, the scholar should ask why the midrash attributed one or another dominant feature or description to this character, and should look for (identical or contrasting) analog elements in the way characters were shaped in contemporary anti-Jewish traditions. The unique tradition found in petichtah 24 connects the story of Rachel’s personal, family-related, self-sacrifice to God’s forgiveness of the sins of the nation and the redemption of His children. The two different expressions of her character rely on verses in the books of Genesis and Jeremiah, but the connection formed between them through the conversion of Rachel’s weeping into a powerful rebuke goes far beyond what is described in the verses themselves. In Christian literature, many traditions developed over the generations concerning Mary the mother of Jesus. At the council at Ephesus in 431 CE, the status of Mary as the mother of God – θεοτόκος – was asserted.85 In the literature that developed in the East, the main emphasis was on Mary’s virginity and its significance for her status as atoning for the primordial sin of Eve,86 whereas after the destruction of the Temple, thus undermining the Christian view of Jesus as the son of God. “Said R. Yoḥanan: ‘From the day the Temple was destroyed prophecy was taken from the prophets and given to fools and infants’” (b. Bat. 12b); and also: “Like Benjamin was the last of the tribes, so Jeremiah was the last of the prophets. But did not Chaggai, Zekhariah, and Malakhi prophesy after him? R. Elazar and R. Shmuel bar Nachmani: R. Elazar said: ‘They received only a few prophecies.’ R. Shmuel bar Nachmani said: ‘Prophecies were entrusted in the hands of Chaggai, Zekhariah, and Malakhi’” (Pesiq. Rab. Kah. 13:14, p. 238 [Mandelbaum]). 83 Such as y. Ta‘an. 2:1 [65b]: “If someone says to you: ‘I am a god’ – he is lying”; also see Oded Irsai, “‫ אם יאמר לך אדם אל אני מכזב הוא‬:‫”אמר ר׳ אבהו‬, Zion 47.2 (1982): 173–77. Visotzky enumerates four kinds of anti-Christian statements detectable in Leviticus Rabbah, but they also seem applicable to additional midrashic works. See Burton Lyle Visotzky, “Anti-Christian Polemic in Leviticus Rabbah,” Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research, vol. 56 (1990): 88–100. 84 Thus, for example, the midrashim based on the words of Esau upon his return from the field, which attribute to him the gravest kinds of sin; also see Israel Jacob Yuval, :‫שני גויים בבטנך‬ ‫ דימויים הדדיים‬- ‫יהודים ונוצרים‬. Perceptions of Jews and Christians (Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 2003); and Ephraim Elimelech Urbach, “.‫”תשובת אנשי נינוה והויכוח היהודי נוצרי‬, Tarbiz 20 (1950): 118–22; Amram Tropper, “‫” ׳המקדיח תבשילו ברבים׳ על גיחזי וישו הנוצרי‬, ‫( כחומר ביד היוצר‬Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar, 2011), 89–110; Elitzur, “‫”נישואין ולידה בדרשות חז״ל על מרים הנביאה‬, 11–46. 85 For an extended discussion, see Miri Rubin’s historical and geographical analysis of the perception of the gospel as embodied in Mother of God: A History of the Virgin Mary (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press 2009), 43–49. 86 See, for example, Ephrem the Syriac, Hymns on Paradise, trans. Sebastian Brock (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary, 1990), 99. See also Rubin, Mother of God, 37–40.

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in the literature of the West, the emphasis was mainly on Mary’s character as the mother of the church and her function as its advocate before her son.87 The Christian literature of Palestine nurtured both approaches.88 The development of the literature surrounding the character of Mary occurred at the same time that many talmudic traditions were edited in the midrashic collections of Palestine. Visotzky often points out traditions that he characterizes as “a parody on church doctrine.”89 In many talmudic traditions, Miriam the prophetess is described as a married woman who has experienced intercourse, who encourages matrimony and childbirth, and who speaks out against people who do not fulfill the commandment of procreation. In other words, she is the antithesis of the character of Mary. The shared name as well as additional elements in the New Testament’s shaping of Mary in the image of the prophetess Miriam form the basis of the comparison.90 Ancient Christian literature also shapes Mary in the image of Rachel. Both gave birth to children through divine intervention after having experienced sorrow;91 the son born to each of them is destined for greatness; both are described as pleading for their sons and being answered;92 both are described as suffering.93 Their destinies are both connected to the town of Bethlehem.94 Apart from these similarities, Christian polemicists appropriated Rachel for themselves, while leaving Leah and her ugliness to represent the people of

87 Rubin, Mother of God, 34–42. 88 Martha Himmelfarb, “The Mother of the Messiah in the Talmud Yerushalmi and Sefer Zerubbabel,” in The Talmud Yerushalmi and Graeco-Roman Culture III, ed. P. Schäfer. Texte und Studien zum antiken Judentum 93 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002), 367–89. 89 Visotzky, “Anti-Christian Polemic,” 88–100. 90 For extended discussions, see: Elitzur, “‫ ;”נישואין ולידה בדרשות חז״ל על מרים הנביאה‬Ephraim Shoham Steiner, “The Virgin Mary, Miriam, and Jewish Reactions to Marian Devotion in the High Middle Ages,” Association for Jewish Studies Review 37 (2013): 75–91, who proves that contrasting the characters continues also in the midrashic and exegetical literature of the Middle Ages. 91 Compare Gen 30:22 with John 16:21. 92 On this comparison, see David Flusser, Jaroslav Jan Pelikan, and Justin Lang, Mary Images of the Mother of Jesus in Jewish and Christian Perspective (Philadephia, PA: Fortress Press, 1986), 11–12. 93 Rachel perpetuates her anguish through the name she calls her son (Gen 35:18). On the suffering of Mary, see William David Davies and Fred C. Allison Jr., A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel according to Saint Matthew, 3 vols. International Critical Commentary (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1988, 1991, 1997), 2:458. 94 On this comparison see Susan Starr Sered, “Rachel’s Tomb,”103–48. For additional aspects of the comparison between these two women see Brant James Pitre, Jesus and the Jewish Roots of Mary (New York: Image, 2018), chapter 7.

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Israel. Justin Martyr writes as follows: “But Leah is indeed your people and the synagogue, while Rachel is our Church.”95 The sign tradition about Rachel can be seen to polemicize against many aspects of church doctrine. It stresses the points of difference between the two characters, and positions Rachel as proving the absurdity of the Christian belief that God has canceled His covenant with His children, emphasizing the people of Israel’s eternal chosenness. I will therefore focus on the parallels and contrasts between the sign tradition and the character of Mary as shaped during the first centuries of Christianity and especially during the Byzantine period. In Christian literature, Jacob’s marriage to two women is described as symbolic: “Jacob’s marriage was a symbol (typoi) of the act that was to be completed by Christ; for it was contrary to the laws of God that Jacob should marry two sisters at the one and same time [ . . . ].”96 In contrast, the sign tradition in petichtah 24 contains a detailed and highly realistic description of the wife exchange and its practical execution: “And more than this, I even located myself under the bed on which he lay with my sister talking to her while she was keeping silent, and it was I who conversed with him, so that he would not recognize my sister’s voice,” The tradition of the petichtah contravenes the possibility of explaining Jacob’s marriage to Rachel and Leah as a mere symbol by stressing the practical aspect of its realization – “on which he lay with my sister.” Several church fathers describe Mary as a model of benevolence, courage, and righteousness, and also attribute to her the qualities of silence and caution. See, for example, Alexius: “Therefore the Blessed Virgin Mary was steadfast in purpose, self-controlled in silence, prudent in inquiry, just in confessing”97 The quality of silence was attributed to Rachel in ancient sign traditions,98 but in the tradition in petichtah 24 it is exactly her decision not to keep silent and through this to promote her sister’s marriage that expresses the qualities of benevolence and modesty: “And more than this, I even located myself under the bed on which he lay with my sister talking to her while she was keeping silent, and it was I who conversed with him, so that he would not recognize my sister’s voice.” The depiction of Rachel as standing before God and harshly rebuking Him stands in stark contrast to the silent and cautious character of Mary.

95 David Rokéah, ‫– דיאלוג עם טריפון היהודי‬ ‫( יוסטינוס מרטיר‬Jerusalem: Hebrew University Magnes Press, 2005), 306. On the shaping Mary’s character in the image of Rachel, see also Brant, Jesus and the Jewish roots of Mary. 96 ‫דיאלוג‬, 305–6, and Irenaeus, Adversus omnes Haereses, 4:21. 97 Bernard of Clairvaux, Monastic Sermons. Cistercian Fathers Series 68, trans: Daniel Griggs (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2016), 254. 98 See above, pp. 80–81.

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Another parallel between the sign tradition and the character of Mary is the trope of mothers crying over the fate of their children (their people), who are asked to stop crying while being promised a vocation for their sons. In Christian literature, Mary is portrayed as mourning the fate of her son, and through this she becomes the model of a mother mourning the fate of her people.99 Mary’s son comforts her and asks her not to spoil the vocation given to him, and instructs her not to damage her voice with the crying.100 It is likely that the laments associated with Mary have their source in the prophecy of Jeremiah describing Rachel’s weeping, the prophet’s call to her to stop weeping, and the vocation he promises her. In the midrash of the signs, the recounting of the causes for Rachel’s weeping undergoes a certain development. The weeping stems not only from her great longing for her children, but also from her feeling that God has abandoned them in exile and does not intend to redeem them. In the midrash, Rachel complains to God: “How could You, O living and merciful king, be jealous of idol worship, which is nothing but folly, and exile my children, who were killed by the sword, to whom the enemies did as they pleased?” This complaint seems to reflect the Christian claim that the plight of the exiled people of Israel testifies that the covenant between them and God has come to an end. But here, God’s response completely refutes this claim. Rachel is promised that her altruistic renunciation of Jacob’s love in the past will lead to a renewal of the covenant of love between God and the people of Israel (despite their betrayal), and that their future redemption is guaranteed. In Christian doctrine, it is her virginity that turns Mary into a figure who atones for the sins of mankind and has the power to bring about the redemption of the Church.101 In contrast, in the tradition of the petichtah, Rachel is promised that her children will be redeemed due to her courageous realization of Jacob’s marriage to both of his two wives.102 The virtue of female prayer compared to the prayers of the patriarchs and prophets is also common to both traditions. The power of Mary’s prayer is 99 See, for example, the prayer of an anonymous Christian, attributed to the third–fourth centuries CE: “We take refuge in your mercy, Mother of God. Do not disregard our prayers in troubling times, but deliver us from danger, O only pure one, only blessed one.” Quoted in Stephen Shoemaker, The Ancient Dormition Apocrypha and the Origins of Marian Piety: Early Evidence of Marian Intercession from Late Ancient Palestine (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 130. 100 Margaret Alexiou, The Ritual Lament in Greek Tradition (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1974); Gregory W. Dobrov, “A Dialogue with Death: Ritual Lament and the Trēnos Theotokou of Romanos Melods,” Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 35 (1994): 393–97. 101 For references to the relevant Christian literature, see Rubin, Mother of God, 37–40. 102 According to the extreme formulation of Hadjittofi & Sivan (“Staging Rachel,” 299), the contrasts are even starker: “This scandalous autobiography transforms an apparent instance of illicit sex, the ideal material for theatrical stage mimes, into an act of martyrdom and sublime compassion.”

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described in a psalm by Peter Damian, an eleventh-century Christian who endorsed the replacement of the Christian custom of self-flagellation in favor of the recitation of prayer hymns: The blessed chorus of angels. The order of prophets and apostles affirm thee to be exalted over them and second only to the Deity. Neither the chorus of the patriarchs for all their excellence. Nor the company of the prophets for all their powers of foretelling the future. Nor the senate of the apostles for all their judicial authority.103 The power of Mary’s prayers, as we see, is seen in the psalm as transcending the power of the patriarchs, the prophets, and the apostles, and it is her prayers that will bring redemption to mankind. According to our hypothesis, the late editor’s decision to incorporate the sign tradition of the petichtah in Lamentations Rabbah, which describes the attempts of the fathers of the nation and the greatest of its prophets to arouse God’s mercy, is connected to a development taking place in the traditions about Mary which culminated in Damian’s prayer hymn. In Christian literature from the eighth century onwards, Mary is given a new role – she serves as Mediatrix. Mary was seen as a mediator between humanity and God, whose role was to bring salvation to humanity even many generations after her own death. This prerogative was granted her thanks to the unique mission that she took upon herself of doing good to humanity at the expense of her son.104 Mary overpowering the prayers of the prophets and the patriarchs for the sake of redeeming the church seems to constitute a polemical response to the third part of the midrash in petichtah 24, which describes the failed attempts of the patriarchs and Moses to change the evil decree and put an end to the suffering of the exiled people of Israel. The power of Mary’s prayers transcends the power of the patriarchs, and seeks the salvation of the church. According to our hypothesis, the late editor feared that Christian propaganda would exploit the potential inherent in this midrash to prove the abolition of the Old Covenant on the basis of God’s neglect of the exiled people of Israel. The sign tradition he founded, which seems to have been ignored by the editors of the early and late works due to its exaggerated emphasis on female power, was appreciated for its potential in a different context. It had the potential to neutralize the Christian doctrine of abolition and to state clearly the reward for Rachel’s deed: “For you, Rachel, I will return Israel to their place.” 103 Translated into English in Mary Through the Centuries, 134. 104 See Mark I. Miravalle, Introduction to Mary: The Heart of Marian Doctrine and Devotion (Goleta, CA: Queenship Publishing, 1992), 156.

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* The prophecy of Jeremiah concerning Rachel weeping for her children written hundreds of years after her death has an exegetical potential to fill narrative gaps in the story of the wife exchange in the Book of Genesis. Connecting these two stories relies upon the kind of creativity common in the integrative thinking which often characterizes the midrashic corpus. Nevertheless, the only documentation for the integration of these two plots is the addendum to the last part of petichtah 24 in Lamentations Rabbah, which is believed to have been attached to the composition at a late stage, approximately five hundred years after the date of its editing. Creating a connection between Rachel’s deed in the past and the demand that God imitate it in the future required a broad development of the nature of that deed, which became a model of altruism and positioned Rachel as meriting the end of the exile and a promise concerning the return of her children. Many of the darshanim whose sermons make up the midrashic collections were reluctant to clothe biblical women in heroic acts that go beyond the biblical description or do not fit in with a patriarchalist view of women’s place in society. They therefore sought to minimize Rachel’s involvement in the deceit of her father. All the more did those darshanim refrain from positioning a female figure as defying God, criticizing His leadership, and converting His attribute of justice into mercy. In their view, it was inconceivable to find a connection to Rachel’s relatively unimportant deed of “keeping silent for the sake of her sister” in the deed mentioned by Jeremiah: “for your work will be rewarded,” which led to the long-awaited result that “at that moment His compassion was aroused.” On the other hand, darshanim arose who had been exposed to the Christian writings and had witnessed how Christian polemicists appropriated the character of Rachel for themselves, to the point of shaping Mary in Rachel’s image and seeking to strengthen Mary’s national role. This ambition caused them to accentuate and add to Rachel’s noble traits and to broaden her involvement in the realization of Jacob’s marriage. These additions qualified her to serve as advocate on behalf of the people of Israel, and to receive the promise of the Old Covenant’s eternal validity.105 The tragic end of the first part of the petichtah, continuing the abandonment of the people of Israel and the insufficiency of ancestral merit, explains the rescue of the sign tradition from oblivion. Rachel mediates between God and the people of Israel, asks for mercy on her children, and succeeds in breaching the wall of judgment. Her

105 See Neusner on the deliberate comparison between Rachel and Mary: Jacob Neusner, “Can People Who Believe in Different Religions Talk Together?” Journal of Ecumenical Studies 28, 1 (1991): 89–100 (here 98–99).

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success is not owed to the sacrifice she has made (as the patriarchs put it) but to the compassion, grace, and love that is reflected in her giving the signs to a member of her family, thereby arousing the compassion of God and bringing about the redemption of the people.

Nafīs al-Dīn’s Samaritan-Arabic Translationof Thirteen Verses from the “Song of Moses” Ali Watad Beit Berl College

Nafīs al-Dīn Abū al-Faraj ibn al-Kaṭār (thirteenth century), known as “Šams al-Ḥukama’ā” (“sun of the scholars”), composed the commentary, Šarḥ īm biḥkōtyi (‫)شرح אם בחקותי‬. This commentary is written in Middle Arabic, in Arabic script, but biblical verses and Samaritan poems quoted in it are written in Samaritan Hebrew characters. The composition is extant in a number of Samaritan manuscripts. Although the title is Šarḥ īm biḥkōtyi, the treatise deals with numerous topics taken from a variety of domains, including linguistics, biblical exegesis, and religious law. In the field of linguistics there are discussions of issues involving phonology, morphology, syntax and semantics. The exegesis includes a commentary on a part of the “Song of Moses” (Deut 32), as well as the author’s translation of thirteen verses of the poem into Arabic.

The Samaritan Pentateuch was translated into Arabic before the thirteenth century. According to Shehadeh, there exist a number of versions of the Arabic translation. The earliest, ascribed to Av Ḥisda (in Arabic: Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ṣūrī), dates from the eleventh century. Another translation was edited by the thirteenth-century scholar Abū Sa‘id. A third translation is based on Sa‘adia Gaon’s Tafsīr. In this article I examine Nafīs al-Dīn’s translation and compare it to the abovementioned Samaritan translations, to the Samaritan lexicon published by Ben-Ḥayyim, to Sa‘adia’s Rabbinite translation, and to the Karaite translation by Yefet ben Ali. In so doing, I examine whether Nafīs al-Dīn was influenced by any other translation, and highlight his innovations with respect to other translations.

INTRODUCTION Over the course of their history, the Samaritans have written and spoken in four languages – Hebrew, Greek, Aramaic, and Arabic; literatures of varying

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extents have been produced in each one.1 With the Muslim conquest, Arabic, which replaced many languages in the Middle East, began to take hold among the Samaritans, slowly supplanting Samaritan Aramaic (the remnants of the erstwhile vernacular in Palestine). By the end of the eleventh century, Middle Arabic had risen to prominence in intellectual circles as well, and was predominant in Samaritan literature. As a result, the use of Hebrew and Aramaic was relegated to use in the synagogue, i.e., Torah reading, prayer,2 and religious services, while Arabic was used for speech, writing, and study.3 Here I wish to discuss Samaritan works written in Arabic.4 An extensive literature attests to the use of Arabic among the Samaritans: Arabic works of halakhah, philosophy, grammar, translation, exegesis, and lexicography are extant.5 The present article pertains to Arabic translations of and commentaries on the Pentateuch – specifically, an Arabic translation of thirteen verses from the Song of Moses (Deut 32:31–43). We find such translations, some more complete than others, in several works of Arabic translation and exegesis – such as the Arabic translation of the Pentateuch (see below). Sometimes we find translations of passages or individual verses from the Pentateuch in works that are not specifically dedicated to translation but rather to exegesis or law.6 These translations deserve scholarly attention and publication. One such exegetical work is Šarḥ īm baqqüti (this is how it is pronounced by the Samaritan community, but henceforth I will use the









1 Haseeb Shehadeh, “‫ מבוא למהדורה ביקורתית‬,‫התרגום הערבי לנוסח התורה של השומרונים‬.” PhD diss., The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1977; Haseeb Shehadeh, “‫מתי תפסה הערבית את מקום הארמית‬ ?‫השומרונית‬,” in ‫מחקרי לשון מוגשים לזאב בן־חיים בהגיעו לשיבה‬, ed. Moshe Bar-Asher et al. (Jerusalem: Hebrew University Magnes Press, 1983), 516; Ali Watad, “‫ המילון העברי (שומרוני)־‬:‫מיהו מחבר ׳המליץ׳‬ ?‫ערבי‬,” Te‘uda 16 (2001): 477. 2 It should be noted that some Samaritan prayers were written in Arabic – for example, al-Kāfī (‫ )الكايف‬composed by Yosef ben Shlomo al-‘Askarī in 1041 CE. al-‘Askarī lived in the vicinity of Nablus and Ashkelon. See Shehadeh, “‫התרגום הערבי‬,” 1:102. 3 See Shehadeh, “‫מתי תפסה‬,” 518; Ali Watad, “‫ كتاب الرتجمان המיוחס לפינחס הכהן בן יוסף הרבן‬- ‫”ספר המליץ‬. (Jerusalem: The Academy of the Hebrew Languge, 2021), xv. 4 This raises an important question: When did Arabic supplant the Aramaic vernacular of the Samaritans? Shehadeh was the first scholar to address this issue. See Shehadeh, “‫מתי תפסה‬,” 515–28; Shehadeh, “‫התרגום הערבי‬,” 1:3–12. Shehadeh shows there how the answer to this question can shed important light on Arabic-Samaritan literature. 5 See Yitzhak Ben-Zvi, ‫ דתם וספרותם בצרוף תמונות‬,‫ מושבותיהם‬,‫ תולדותיהם‬:‫( ספר השומרונים‬Tel Aviv: A. Y. Shteebel, 1935), 169–77; Yaakov Ben-Uzi “‫קדמוני השומרונים וחברי החכמים בלשון הערבית‬,” Knesset 4 (1939): 321–27; Ali Watad, “‫כתבי השומרונים בלשון ערבית‬,” A. B. Hadashot HaShomronim, 980–81 (2007): 10–19. For a discussion of grammar, see Zeev Ben-Ḥayyim, ‫עברית וארמית נוסח שומרון‬ (Jerusalem, 1957–1977), 1:xxix–lxviii; 2:440–616; Watad, “‫ספר המליץ‬,” 14–43. 6 Regarding this subject Shehadeh has written: “There are many ancient and modern Samaritan manuscripts in Arabic that include the aforementioned verses found in al-ma‘ād. Furthermore, it bears noting that Nafīs al-Dīn [ . . . ] cites the aforementioned translation in his Šarḥ īm Biḥkōtyi without attributing it to its author.” See Shehadeh, “‫התרגום הערבי‬,” 1.94.

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more familiar pronunciation, biḥkōtyi). I will analyze the Arabic translation of thirteen verses from the Song of Moses (Deut 32:31–43), compare it to parallel translations, and publish the text within the framework of this article.

ŠARḤ ĪM BIḤKŌTYI AND ITS AUTHOR The author of Šarḥ īm biḥkōtyi is Abū al-Faraj ibn al-Kathār. Due to his status and fame, he was awarded the epithets Nafīs al-Dīn (precious of the faith) and Šams al-Ḥukama’ā (sun of the scholars).7 Nafīs al-Dīn is known for his Šarḥ īm biḥkōtyi as well as another, untitled work: a summary of the laws and precepts of the Samaritan faith. Interestingly, it is structured around a scheme of 613 commandments, 365 positive and 248 negative.8 Nafīs al-Dīn was active in the thirteenth century and perhaps at the beginning of the fourteenth century.9 Excerpts from hymns and references to famous Samaritan poets and exegetes provide important testimony about the education and knowledge of the book’s







7 The famous twelfth-century grammarian Abū Iṣhaq Ibrāhīm ibn Faraj ibn Mārūṭ was also known as Šams al-Ḥukama’ā. He wrote the grammatical work Kitāb al-tawṭīah fī naḥu al-luġah al-ʿibrānyah (‫كتاب التوطية يف نحو اللغة العربانية‬, Introduction to Hebrew Grammar). See Ben-Ḥayyim, ‫עברית וארמית‬, 1:xxx–xxxiv. It should be noted that this grammarian was the son of Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ṣurī. See Shehadeh, “‫התרגום הערבי‬,” 1:119–57. Nihaad Haji has recently published the work as part of his doctoral dissertation. See Nihaad Haji, Kitab al-Tawtiya fi naḥu al-luga al-ibraniyya as-Samiriyya de Abu Ishaq Ibrahim b. Farag b. Marut as-Samiri, Introducción, Estudio y Edición (Granada: Departamento de Estudios Semíticos Universidad de Granada, 2013). In a recent study, Watad discussed Ibn Mārūṭ’s understanding of the grammatical concept “ʿiwad” (compensation). See Ali Watad, “The Term ‫“( ِعوض‬Compensation”) in ‫( كتاب التوطية‬Sefer Ha-Maslul), Its Meaning There and among Rabbinic and Arab Grammarians,” Intellectual History of the Islamicate World (2020), 237–54. 8 Some have argued that he is the author of Kitāb al-maʿād (Book of the Final Judgment). See e.g., Shehadeh, “‫התרגום הערבי‬,” 1:37. Shehadeh bases this assertion on the account of Samaritan scribe Yaakov ben Uzi. See Shehadeh, “‫התרגום הערבי‬,” 1:37, n. 286. Ben Uzi, “‫קדמוני השומרונים‬,” 21. In Šarḥ īm biḥkōtyi, the author states twice that he intends to write a commentary on the Song of Moses twice. The one appears on p. 64: “‫وسنورد أنشاء اهلل يف تفسير האזינו جميع ما ذكر من النصوص‬ ‫”الدالة على الميعاد (= المعاد) وآرا الناس فيها ودليل كل واحد منهم على سبيل االختصار‬. Translation: “God willing, in our commentary on Ha’azinu, we will cite all those texts which prove the existence of the Final Judgment. Likewise, we will cite men’s opinions about them and discuss each one’s proof in short.” The second appears on p. 76: “‫ويف هذا الكالم كالم متسع يطول شرحه سنستقصي انشاء اهلل تعالى يف شرحنا‬ ‫”האזינו‬. Translation: “There is a long discourse on this subject [i.e., the world of commandments as opposed to the world of recompense] which will be explained at length. We will study and investigate it with the Help of God the Supreme in our Commentary on Ha’azinu.” 9 Ben-Ḥayyim, ‫עברית וארמית‬, 1:xlviii; Abraham Tal, “Nafīs ad-Dīn,” in A Companion to Samaritan Studies, ed. Alan D. Crown, Reinhard Pummer, and Abraham Tal (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck Verlag, 1993), 164.

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author – specifically, his familiarity with a range of Samaritan literatures written in Aramaic, Hebrew, and Arabic. Nafīs al-Dīn’s book is entitled Kitāb šarḥ īm biḥkōtyi (Book of Commentary on Behukotay) i.e., Leviticus 26–27. It comprises 236 pages (in MS ‫א‬.)10 and is written in Middle Arabic in Arabic script. Citations from verses and from Samaritan hymns are written in Samaritan-Hebrew script in red ink. The work is not a focused or methodical commentary on the biblical passage but rather a discursive treatment of various subjects. It begins with a linguistic introduction about parts of speech leading to a discussion of the Hebrew prepositional phrase “im be-” (if in), fitting well with the main body of the work which discusses the passage “im beḥuqotai.” Going far beyond scriptural exegesis, the author uses scriptural citations (most of them from Leviticus 26) as springboards to launch into broad, comprehensive discussions of diverse issues such as halakhah – the description of the negative and positive commandments11 (describing how they can be fulfilled, listing them, and providing examples and short explanations); the attributes of a believer; the prophecy of Moses and the proofs for its veracity; and proofs for a Last Judgment.12 As one of his proofs, Nafīs al-Dīn cites the text of the Song of Moses, Deuteronomy 32:31–43, including both the Hebrew text as well as an Arabic translation.13 As befits the book’s exegetical-legal character, the translation is not strictly literal and incorporates the author’s own explanations.14 Nafīs al-Dīn’s discussions include excerpts from the Samaritan Pentateuch,







10 MS ‫ א‬is held at the Ben Zvi institute in Jerusalem. It has a blue binding with a brown fabric cover. It has 236 pages and is written in Middle Arabic. Pages 5, 6, 103, and 122 are missing. Pages 151–56 are bound out of order and appear as follows: 151, 154, 155, 152, 153, 156. The copyist is Abū al-Ḥasan ibn Yaʿaqūb ibn Harūn ibn Salāmā ibn Ġazāl Hakohen Halevi. The text was copied in 1938. I have based my discussions in this article on this manuscript. For a catalogue of the Samaritan manuscripts held by the Ben-Zvi institute, see Haseeb Shehadeh, “The Samaritan Manuscripts at Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi Library in Western Jerusalem.” http://shomron0.tripod.com/ articles/ben-zvi-sam-mss.pdf. 11 For a discussion of the use of the negative-positive commandment scheme among Samaritans, see Ali Watad, “‫) לקראת‬13‫שרח אם בחקותי לשמס אלחכמא נפיס אלדין אבו אלפרג׳ בן אלכת׳אר (המאה ה־‬ ‫הוצאתו לאור במהדורה מדעית‬,” Sefunot 26 (2019): 17–18 and nn. 26–28. 12 For a discussion of the Samaritan conception of the Final Judgment, see Shehadeh, “‫התרגום הערבי‬,” 1:36–37. 13 We find a very similar discussion in Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ṣūrī’s Kitāb al-ma‘ād. See below. For a discussion of the author, see below n. 16. For a discussion of the book see n. 29. Shehadeh has noted that an Arabic translation of these verses appears in several medieval and modern Arabic manuscripts. See Shehadeh, “‫התרגום הערבי‬,” 1:94, n. 522. 14 As part of his discussions of the issues which I have listed above, Nafīs al-Dīn delves into linguistic explanations. See Watad, “‫שרח אם בחקותי‬,” 24–36; Ali Watad, “A Linguistic Issue in ‫كتاب‬ ‫ شرح אם בחקותי‬by Nafīs al-Dīn Abū l-Faraj ibn al-Kathār (thirteenth century),” Journal of Semitic Studies (2020): XV/2: 531–48.).

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stanzas (or parts of stanzas) from the works of distinguished Samaritan hymnists, as well as excerpts from his exegetical predecessors, all of which are enlisted to support and validate his explanations. He mentions the fourth-century figure Marqah – considered one of the greatest Samaritan poets and renowned for his work Tībåt Mårqe (‫)תיבת מרקה‬.15 Nafīs al-Dīn also quotes Al-Šayḫ abū al-Ḥasan (the beautiful) al-Ṣūrī, also known simply as Al- Šayḫ al-Ḥasan, a figure who appears to have lived in the eleventh century.16 Poetry was not Nafīs al-Dīn’s primary occupation; he also wrote exegetical works such as al-Ṭabbāḫ (‫)الطباخ‬.17 Furthermore, the ancient Arabic translation of the Samaritan Pentateuch is attributed to him as well.18 Nafīs al-Dīn also mentions Al- Šayḫ Ġazāl ibn Dartah (in Hebrew: Hazaqen [i.e., the scholar] Tabiah ben Dartah [late tenth and early eleventh centuries]) and Ṣāḥib al-Durān, i.e.,







15 The author writes Marqah’s names in different ways: Marqah (in either Arabic or Hebrew characters), Hakohen Marqah, and al-Imām Marqah; al-Sayd Marqah (“Marqah” being written in either Arabic or Hebrew characters). See Watad, “‫שרח אם בחקותי‬,”19–20, nn. 32­–33. Many of Marqah’s hymns were turned into rhymed and metered poetry in later generations. He earned the Aramaic title badu’ah deḥokhmah (founder of wisdom) not because of his hymns, but rather because of his famous Tībåt Mårqe which is considered an important work among the Samaritans. See Ben-Ḥayyim, ‫עברית וארמית‬, 2:15. Ben-Ḥayyim also published a critical edition of Tībåt Mårqe. See Zeev Ben-Ḥayyim, ‫ והיא אסופת מדרשים שומרוניים יוצאת לאור מקור‬:‫תיבת מרקה‬ ‫( תרגום ופירוש‬Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1988). 16 His name in Hebrew is Yitsḥaq ben Marḥiv ben Mārūṭ, and, as I mentioned above, his main activity was not poetry but rather halakhah and translation. See Ben-Ḥayyim, ‫עברית וארמית‬, 3:17. Shehadeh dedicated an entire chapter to this Samaritan scholar. See Shehadeh, “‫התרגום‬ ‫הערבי‬,” 1:13–48, 109–10, 116–18. Shehadeh notes there that his full name was Abū Sa‘id bin abi al-Ḥasan bin abi Sa‘id. The names Abū al-Ḥasan and Abū Sa‘id have been mistakenly conflated. See Shehadeh, “‫התרגום הערבי‬,” 1:122. It should be noted that Shehadeh was the first scholar to reveal Abū al-Ḥasan’s full name. His many epithets attest to his prestige: al-Šayeḫ (elder, a term of respect for an learned or honored person); Šayeḫ al-Mašayeḫ (elder of elders) al-Sadīd (the upright, the innocent); al-Rabīṣ (High Priest, an ancient Samaritan title); Sadīd al-Dīn (correct of religion), al-‘Ālim (he who knows, the wise one); al-Fāḍil (the virtuous); al-‘Āmil (executor [of justice]), al-Qūdwah (the role model), al-Zāhid (the ascetic). See Haseeb Shehadeh, “Ab Ḥisda” in A Companion to Samaritan Studies, ed. Alan D. Crown, Reinhard Pummer, and Abraham Tal (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1993), 3, 7. 17 The work includes discussions of theology, halakhah, polemics, exegesis, religious philosophy, and aggadah. According to Haseeb Shehadeh, a Hebrew translation of the work was prepared by the priest Av Ḥisda ben Ya‘akov ben Aharon at the request of Moses Gaster. See Shehadeh, “‫התרגום הערבי‬,” 1:29 n. 232. Giessen Wedel published the Arabic source and translated approximately half of the work into German. See Giessen Wedel, “Kitāb aṭ-Ṭabbāḫ, des Samaritaners Abū l-Ḥasan aṣ-Ṣūrī: Kritische Edition und Kommentierte Übersetzung des Ersten Teils.” PhD diss., Freie Universität Berlin, 1987. 18 See above n. 16. Nafīs al-Dīn also composed a commentary on the Song of Moses which was published by Avraham Halkin with a modern Hebrew translation. See Avraham Halkin, “‫מן‬ ‫ פירושו של אבו־ל־חסן הצורי לפרשת האזינו‬:‫הפרשנות השומרונית‬,” Leshonenu 32.1–2 (1968): 208–46.

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Ali Watad

‘Amram Dārā – the famous fourth-century Samaritan hymnist and Marqah’s father.19 ‘Amram Dārā’s hymns were written in Aramaic and he also served as the Samaritan high priest.20 Nafīs al-Dīn also mentions exegetes such as Al-Dastān, who wrote a commentary on Numbers and also composed liturgical hymns.21

THE ARABIC TRANSLATIONS OF THE SAMARITAN PENTATEUCH With the shift in Samaritan speech to Arabic, the Samaritan Pentateuch was naturally translated into this language,22 just as it had previously been translated into Aramaic.23 There exist two primary types, or versions, of Samaritan-Arabic translations. The first type dates to ca. eleventh-early twelfth century. It is attributed to the prominent Samaritan scholar Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ṣūrī (Yisḥak ben Marḥiv ben Mārūṭ Hatzuri; in Hebrew he is known as Av Ḥisda, the Aramaic equivalent of Abū al-Ḥasan). He lived in Damascus in the late eleventh or early twelfth century. The second type of translation is the text compiled by Abū Saʿid bin abi al-Ḥusain bin abi Saʿid, who was active in Egypt during the second half of the thirteenth century. Realizing that existing Arabic translations used by the Samaritans in Egypt were heavily indebted to Sa‘adia Gaon’s rabbinic Tafsīr, Abū Saʿid took it upon himself to rework and correct them. Besides these two major versions we can note two less famous translations as well. The first is an eclectic translation, a combination of Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ṣūrī’s translation with that of of Abū Saʿid, the second an anonymous Samaritan translation based on Sa ‘adia Gaon’s Tafsīr.24 19 Ben-Ḥayyim, ‫עברית וארמית‬, 1:xlix–l; 3.2:20; Abraham Tal, “ Ṭabya ibn Darta,” in A Companion to Samaritan Studies, ed. Alan D. Crown, Reinhard Pummer, and Abraham Tal (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1993), 223. 20 Ben-Ḥayyim, ‫עברית וארמית‬, 2.3:12–15; Moshe Florentin, “ A ʿ mråm Dārā,” in A Companion to Samaritan Studies, ed. Alan D. Crown, Reinhard Pummer, and Abraham Tal (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1993), 13. 21 Florentin, “ A ʿ mråm Dārā,” 17–18. He lived before the thirteenth century. During that time, Aramaic was still the Samaritan vernacular. 22 Shehadeh has studied and clarified this subject in his doctorate. He has also published the entire Arabic translation: ‫התרגום הערבי לנוסח התורה של השומרונים‬, 2 vols. (Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1990–2002). In his edition, Shehadeh presents the two major versions of the translation in two columns: on the right the early translation attributed to Av Ḥisda, on the left the adapted translation of Abū Sa‘id. 23 Abraham Tal has studied the Samaritan translation of the Aramaic Pentateuch and published it as a critical edition: Abraham Tal, ‫ מהדורה ביקורתית‬:‫התרגום השומרוני לתורה‬, 3 vols. (Tel Aviv: University of Tel Aviv, 1980). 24 See Shehadeh, “‫התרגום הערבי‬,” 1:158–263; Haseeb Shehadeh, “‫מיון התרגום הערבי השומרוני‬

Nafīs al-Dīn’s Samaritan-Arabic Translation

133

TRANSLATION OF THE SONG OF MOSES (SHIRAT HA’AZINU) As mentioned, Nafīs al-Dīn provides an Arabic translation for thirteen verses from the Song of Moses.25 Each verse is copied according to the text of the Samaritan Pentateuch and transcribed in Samaritan-Hebrew script. The Arabic translation, which faces each verse, is written in Arabic script. This article includes both the Hebrew source and the Arabic translation, and I compare the latter to those appearing in Shehadeh’s edition of the two primary SamaritanArabic translations of the Pentateuch, as well as to the Samaritan translation based on Sa‘adia Gaon’s Tafsīr.26 Furthermore, I compare Nafīs al-Dīn’s translation to the Arabic column of the tri-lingual Melitz (‫מליץ‬, a Samaritan dictionary, including Hebrew, Arabic, and Aramaic),27 the bi-lingual Melitz attributed to fourteenth-century Pinhas ha-Kohen ben-Yosef Haraban,28 Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ṣūrī’s translation in his Kitāb al-ma‘ād (‫كتاب المعاد‬, “The Book of the









‫לסוגיו וזיהוי שמות בעלי־חיים על פיו לתורה‬,” Leshonenu 48–49 (1984): 1–3; Haseeb Shehadeh, “The Groups of the Samaritan Manuscripts of the Arabic Translation of the Pentateuch,” in Études samaritaines Pentateuque et Targum, exégèse et philologie, chroniques: Actes de la table ronde: “Les manuscrits samaritains. Problèmes et méthodes” (Paris : Institut de Recherche et d’Histoire des Textes, 7–9 Octobre 1985), ed. Jean-Pierre Rothschild and Guy D. Sixdenier (Louvain : E. Peeters, 1988), 205–18. 25 Shehadeh writes that Nafīs al-Dīn al-Kathār brings the translations of these verses without citing a source. See Shehadeh, “‫התרגום הערבי‬,” 1:94. Shehadeh is referring to Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ṣūrī who brings a translation of these verses in his Kitāb al-ma‘ād. See below n. 29. 26 Tamar Zewi published a critical edition of the work on the basis of MS London, British Museum Or. 7562. Each page of the manuscript has three columns: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Arabic – all written in Samaritan Hebrew script. The Arabic column is based on Sa‘adia Gaon’s Tafsīr; this was the basis of Zewi’s study. Abraham Tal labelled the manuscript MS J. For a full description of the manuscript see Shehadeh, “‫התרגום הערבי‬,” 1:252–58. He briefly discusses there the translation and its characteristics; Tal, ‫התרגום השומרוני‬, 15. See also Tamar Zewi, The Samaritan Version of Saadya Gaon’s Translation of the Pentateuch: Critical Edition and Study of MS BL OR7562 and Related MS. (Leiden: Brill, 2015). 27 Published by Ben-Ḥayyim on the basis of a single manuscript. See Ben-Ḥayyim, ‫עברית וארמית‬, 2:435–622. Ben-Ḥayyim maintains that the dictionary was written in two stages. In the first stage, some time before the eleventh century, the dictionary was composed with only two columns: one Hebrew the other Aramaic. The middle column, in Arabic, was only added later. According to Ben-Ḥayyim this column was composed after the Aramaic column and it is actually a translation of the Aramaic and not of the Hebrew. Ben-Ḥayyim concludes that the Arabic column was composed some time between the second half of the eleventh century and the beginning of the fourteenth at the latest. See recently Ali Watad, “‫מיהו מחבר הטור הערבי בהמליץ המילון התלת‬ ?‫ עברי־ערבי־ארמי‬:‫לשוני‬,” Leshonenu 82 (2020): 284–95. 28 See Watad, “‫ספר המליץ‬,” 848–93.

134

Ali Watad

Last Judgment”),29 the rabbinic Tafsīr of Sa’adia Gaon, and finally the Karaite translation of Yefet ben Ali.30 My purpose in doing so is to determine whether the translation in question is merely an adaptation or variant of well-known Samaritan translations that were prevalent in his period or if it constitutes a textually independent work composed by Nafīs al-Dīn.

TEXT: SOURCE AND TRANSLATION Introduction Below I present the original text of the manuscript: both the Hebrew source and Arabic translation. I will transcribe the Hebrew text – which in the source is represented using Samaritan-Hebrew script – in standard Hebrew letters. The text spans pages 64–67 of Šarḥ īm biḥkōtyi. In what follows, I explain how I have presented the text visually: The text is presented verse by verse, each verse including the Hebrew text of the Samaritan Pentateuch (transcribed in standard Hebrew letters), Nafīs al-Dīn’s Arabic translation, and an English translation of the Arabic.

Apparatus The apparatus is presented in the form of footnotes, one for each verse. Each note includes the following the information: 1. Variants for the Hebrew text of the Pentateuch (SP = Samaritan Pentateuch; MT = Masoretic Text) This information is followed by two asterisks separating it from the information that follows. 2. Variants of the Arabic text (in order to shorten the apparatus, I have only cited major variants without referencing small orthographical variations or scribal errors that have no major bearing on meaning).31 29 About Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ṣūrī see above n. 16. Kitāb al-ma‘ād is extant in manuscripts but has never been prepared in a critical edition. See Shehadeh, “‫התרגום הערבי‬,” 1:35–46. In this article I have based my discussion on a manuscript belonging to the Ben-Zvi institute in Jerusalem, shelf mark: 7050. I will refer to it from here forward as MS ‫ג‬. The manuscript has a grey binding. It is comprised of 33 pages (the copyists skipped the numbers 27, 28, 31 and 32 in his numbering; so that the final page number of the manuscript is 37). The copyist added a page at the beginning of the manuscript in which he briefly describes the book, its author, and the contexts in which it is read. This description is written in Arabic in Arabic script. Each page has 16 lines of text. Citations from the Pentateuch are written in Samaritan script in red ink and are usually translated into Arabic. The copyist was Abū al-Ḥasan ben Ya‘aqub Memishpaḥat Aharon. The manuscript was copied in 1937. 30 A Karaite scholar who lived in the tenth century. See further details below in n. 59. 31 The manuscripts will be designated with Hebrew letters. They are MSS ‫ ר‬,‫ ל‬,‫כ‬,‫ י‬,‫ ח‬,‫ ז‬,‫ב‬. For a

Nafīs al-Dīn’s Samaritan-Arabic Translation

135

3. Comparison of the translation to other Arabic translations: the early Arabic translation of Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ṣūrī (Av Ḥisda) (AḤ) [Hebrew letters in parentheses refer to different manuscripts]; the adapted translation of Abū Sa‘id (AS) [Hebrew letters in parentheses refer to different manuscripts]; the Samaritan translation based on Sa ‘adia Gaon’s Tafsīr (ASRT); and Sa‘adia Gaon’s Tafsīr (Taf) 4. Comparison to Samaritan dictionaries as needed: Melitz 1 (M1) and Melitz 2 (M2). After this, I will compare the texts, both Hebrew and Arabic, to the translation of the Song of Moses that appears in Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ṣūrī’s Kitāb al-ma‘ād.32

Edition Page 64 Deuteronomy 32:31 ‫כי לא כצורנו צורם‬ ‫ואיבינו פללים‬ ‫ان ليس كقدرتنا قدرهتم اي اصنامهم‬ 33‫واعدانا حكام‬ Our power (=our God) is unlike their power – that is, their idols And our enemies reign. * Page 65 (of MS ‫)א‬ 32:32 ‫כי מגפן סדם גפנם‬ ‫ומשדמות עמרה‬



description of these manuscripts see Watad, “‫שרח אם בחקותי‬,” 20–24 § 4. None of these manuscripts cite the Hebrew text brought above, with the exception of MS ‫ ר‬which cites the verses in its margins but not in the main text. 32 See above n. 29. Shehadeh published this version of the translation as part of his doctoral dissertation (see above n. 22). See Shehadeh, “‫התרגום הערבי‬,” 1:93–94. 33 [‫ ]פללים‬SP. Cf. MT ‫ילים‬ ִ ‫ ]واعدانا[ * ּ ְפ ִל‬MS ‫( واعداؤهم ב‬their enemies) ** [‫ ]كقدرتنا‬likewise in AS & AḤ(‫)י‬. Cf. AḤ ‫كقادرنا‬, ASRT ‫מקדרתנא‬, Taf ‫כמעתמדנא‬, M2 ‫( = قدر‬power) [66:814] see my comments there; [‫ ]قدرهتم‬AḤ ‫ =( معبودهم‬that which they serve), AḤ (‫اقتدارهم )בוט‬, AḤ (‫صنامهم )?ז‬, AS ‫اصنامهم‬, ASRT ‫קואהם‬, Taf ‫ ]واعدانا[ ;מעתמדהם‬likewise in AḤ and ASRT. Cf. AS ‫( واعداؤنا‬a difference in orthography but not meaning), Taf ‫ ]حكام[ ;ולא אעדאונא‬likewise in AḤ, AS, ASRT. Cf. Taf ‫יפקהון‬.

136

Ali Watad ‫ענביהם ענבי ראש‬ ‫ואשכולי מררות למו‬

For their vines are from the vines of Sodom And from the vines of Gomorrah, Their grapes are grapes of poison And they have bitter clusters.

‫الن من جفن سادم جفنهم‬ ‫ومن دوالي عاموره‬ ‫اعناهبم اعناب سمًا‬ 34‫وقطوف ُمره لهم‬

* 32:33 ‫חמת תנינים יינם‬ ‫וראש פתנים אך זרי‬

Their wine is the blaze of serpents, The venom of the spotted snake who bears a grudge.

‫حمية االفاعي خمرهم‬ 35‫وسم الرقش الحقده‬ ّ

* 32:34 ‫הלוא הוא כנוס עמדי‬ ‫חתום באוצרותי‬



34 [‫ ]ומשדמות‬SP. Cf. MT ‫ ]ענביהם[ ;וּ ִמ ּ ַש ְדמֹת‬SP. Cf. MT ֹ‫ ]ראש[ ֲ;ענָ ֵבמו‬SP. Cf. MT ‫ ]ואשכולי[ ;רוֹ ש‬ST; Cf. MT ‫ ]מררות[ ַ;א ְש ְּכלֹת‬SP. Cf. MT ‫ ]سادم[ * ְמרֹרֹת‬MSS ‫ ]عامورة[ ;سدم זכלר‬MSS ‫ ] ُم ّرة[ ;عموره בחל‬MSS ‫בטי‬ ‫مرارة‬, MSS ‫זכ مرار‬, MSS ‫مرارت ח‬, MSS ‫ ]من جفن[ ** مراير לר‬likewise in AḤ, AS, ASRT. Cf. Taf ‫אנהם‬ ‫ ]سادم[ ;יעאקבון כאן מן ג׳פן‬likewise in AḤ (‫)ט‬. Cf. AḤ, AS, ASRT, and Taf: ‫سدم‬, M1 ‫[ סדם‬534:15]; [‫ ]جفنهم‬likewise in AḤ, AS, ASRT, and Taf; [‫ ]ومن دوالي‬likewise in AḤ, AS, ASRT, and Taf; [‫]عاموره‬ likewise in AḤ (‫)חט‬. Cf. AḤ, AS, ASRT, and Taf: ‫ ]اعناهبم[ ;عمرة‬likewise in AḤ (‫)בגוזחטי‬, AS, and ASRT. Cf. AḤ ‫عنبهم‬, Taf: ‫ ]اعناب[ ;כד׳אך ענבהם‬likewise in AḤ (‫)בגוזחטי‬, AS, and ASRT. Cf. AḤ ‫عنب‬, Taf ‫ ]سمًا[ ;ענאב‬AḤ, AS, and ASRT ‫سم‬, Taf ‫ ] ُم ّره[ ;אלסם‬AḤ ‫مراير‬, AḤ (‫مررات )ב‬, AḤ (‫ ُمرات )הוט‬, AḤ (‫مرارات )י‬. Cf. AS, ASRT: ‫ ;مرارات‬Taf: ‫מר ّה‬. 35 [‫ ]תנינים‬SP. Cf. MT ‫ ]אך זרי[ ַּ;ת ִּנינִ ם‬SP. Cf. MT ‫ ]حمية[ * ַא ְכזָ ר‬MSS ‫לר‬: ‫ ]حمية[ ** حيث‬AḤ & AS ‫سم‬, AḤ & Taf ‫وكحميه‬. Cf. ASRT ‫זבד‬, M1 ‫[ חמיה‬464:174], M2 ‫[ حميه‬528:196]; [‫ ]االفاعي‬likewise in AḤ & ASRT. Cf. Taf ‫אלתנאנין‬, M2 ‫[ االفاعي‬917:297]; [‫ ]خمرهم‬likewise in AS, ASRT, and Taf. Cf. M2 ‫خمر‬ [566:366–67, as a translation of ‫( יין‬wine)]; [‫]وسم‬ likewise AḤ & Taf. Cf. AS & ASRT ‫مع سم‬, M2 ّ ‫[ وسم‬495:1118]; [ ‫ ]الرقش‬likewise in AḤ, AS, ASRT and Taf; [‫ ]الحقده‬likewise in AḤ, AS, and ASRT. Cf. Taf ‫אלצ׳ארה‬, M2 ‫[ الحقده‬514:82–83].

Nafīs al-Dīn’s Samaritan-Arabic Translation

137

‫اليس هو مكنوز عندي‬ 36‫مختوم يف خزايني‬ Is it not stored with me, Closed away in my treasuries? * 32:35 ‫ליום נקם ושלם‬ ‫לעת תמוט רגלם‬ ‫כי קרוב יום אידם‬ ‫וחש עתידות למו‬ ‫الى يوم االنتقام وآلمكافاه‬ ‫وقت تزل اقدامهم‬ ‫اذ قريب يوم تعسهم‬ 37‫وتسرع المستعدات لهم‬ [Ready] for the day of vengeance and recompense [i.e., the Last Judgment] For the day when the [enemies’] feet stumble, Indeed, their day of misfortune draws near, And they rush to prepare for their future. * 32:36 ‫כי ידין יהוה עמו‬



36 [‫ ]כנוס‬SP. Cf. MT ‫ ]חתום[ ָּ;כ ֻמס‬SP. Cf. MT ‫ ]באוצרותי[ ָ;ח ֻתם‬SP. The reading ‫ באוצרתי‬is also attested in the SP. See Von Gal, Der hebräische Pentateuch der Samaritaner, vol. 5 (Giessen: De Gruyter, 1918), ad locum. Cf. MT ‫ ]مختوم[ * ְּבאוֹ ְצר ָֹתי‬MSS ‫مختوم عليه יר‬. ** [‫ ]مكنوز‬Cf. AḤ, AS, and ASRT ‫مجموعا‬. In Taf and AḤ (‫مكنوز )בגהוחט‬. Cf. M1 ‫[ כמח׳זון‬496: 312] [translated from Aramaic, the letter kaf being read as the particle used for denoting comparison and similarity]. [‫ ]مختوم‬likewise AḤ, AS, ASRT, and Taf; [‫ ]يف خزايني‬likewise in AḤ, AS, ASRT, and Taf. 37 [‫ ]ליום‬SP. Cf. MT ‫ ]עתידות[ ִ;לי יוֹ ם‬SP. Cf. MT ‫ע ִתדֹת‬.ֲ * [‫ ]الى يوم‬MS ‫ ]االنتقام[ ;ليوم ל‬MSS ‫;االنصاف בזחטיר‬ [‫ ]وآلمكافاه‬MSS ‫والوفاء בזחטיר‬, MS ‫ ]االنتقام وآلمكافاه[ ;والسالم ל‬MS ‫]اقدامهم[ ;االنتقام وآلمكافاه واالنتصاف والوفا כ‬ MS ‫ ]االنتقام[ ** ارجلهم ל‬likewise in AS, ASRT, Taf as well as AḤ(‫ה–י‬,‫)בג‬. Cf. AḤ ‫االنتصاف‬, M2 ‫القيامة‬ [731:338]. There, the other translations provided are ‫ االنتصاف‬and ‫[ االنتقام‬731:336–37] which are essentially synonymous and all refer to Deut 32:41; [‫ ]وآلمكافاه‬likewise AS & AḤ(‫)בוחטי‬. Cf. AḤ ‫والوفا‬, ASRT ‫אלכאפאה‬, Taf ‫ואלתופיה‬, M2 ‫ والمكافاه‬,‫[ والتويف‬500:1190–1191] and also ‫ المكافاه‬,‫[ قضا‬877:326–27]; [‫ ]وقت‬likewise in AS. Cf. AḤ & ASRT ‫الى وقت‬, Taf ‫פי וקת‬. [‫ ]تزل‬likewise in AḤ, AS, and ASRT. Cf. Taf ‫ ]اذ قريب[ ;תזוּ ל‬AḤ, AS, and ASRT ‫ان قريب‬. Cf. Taf ‫ ]وتسرع[ ;אנה מא אקרב‬Taf ‫ ]المستعدات[ ;ואסרע‬Taf ‫ ]لهم[ ;אלמעדּ את‬AS ‫ليهم‬.

138

Ali Watad ‫ועל עבדיו יתנחם‬ ‫כי יראה כי אזלת יד‬ ‫ואפס עצור ועזוב‬ ‫اذ يدين اهلل قومه‬ ‫وعن عبيده يصفح‬ ‫اذ يرى ان زالت اليد‬ 38‫وانحسر المحبوس والمطلوق‬

Indeed, God will judge his nation, And He will forgive those who serve him, Indeed he sees that the hand is helpless, And the imprisoned and the freed withdraw. * 66 32:37 ‫ואמרו איה אלהימו‬ ‫צור חסיו בו‬ ‫فيقولون اين الهتهم القويه‬ 39‫التي يجتمعوا هبا‬ Then they will say, “Where are their powerful gods, in whom they sought refuge? *





38 [‫ ]يدين‬MS ‫ ]قومه[ ;يحكم ז‬MS ‫ ]زالت[ ;على قومه ז‬MSS ‫ ]وانحسر[ ;دهبت זכ‬MSS ‫ ]والمطلوق[ ;وزال זכ‬This expression is attested in Judeo-Arabic as well. See Joshua Blau, ‫מילון לטקסטים ערביים־יהודיים מימי‬ ‫( הביניים‬Jerusalem: Academy of the Hebrew Language, 2006), 408a; Joshua Blau, ‫דקדוק הערבית־‬ ‫( היהודית של ימי־הביניים‬Jerusalem: Hebrew University Magnes Press, 1980), 73 § 68. MS ‫والمطلق י‬ ** [‫ ]يدين‬Taf ‫יחכם‬, M2 reads ‫ يحكم‬,‫[ يدين‬555: 171–72]; [‫ ]قومه‬Taf ‫ ]وعن[ ;שעבה‬ASRT ‫ ]يصفح[ ;ואלי‬M2 does not have an entry for this specific word but does have a translation of a word belonging to the same root [520:53]; M2: ‫[ يصفح‬608:1013]; [‫ ]اذ‬ASRT ‫אן‬, Taf ‫ ]يرى[ ;אדא‬ASRT ‫ינט׳ר‬, Taf ‫;ראי‬ [‫ ]زالت‬Taf ‫קד ד׳הבת‬, M2 renders ‫[ زالت‬245:235]; [‫ ]اليد‬Taf ‫ ]وانحسر[ ;אלמקדרה‬AḤ, AS, and ASRT ‫وانقرض‬, Taf ‫וכ׳לא‬, M2 renders ‫[ انقرض‬285:876] as the translation of the Hebrew ‫]المحبوس[ ;אפס‬ AḤ, AS, and ASRT ‫المحاصر‬, M1 renders ‫[ אלחביס‬556:441]; [‫ ]والمطلوق‬AḤ, AS, and ASRT ‫والمطلق‬, Taf ‫אלמתרוך‬, M1 renders ‫[ ואלמטלק‬556:442]. 39 [‫ ]ואמרו‬SP. Cf. MT ‫ ]איה[ ;וְ ָא ַמר‬SP. Cf. MT ‫ ]يجتمعوا[ * ֵאי‬MSS ‫استحموا בזחכ‬, MSS ‫]فيقولون[ ** سيحتموا טי‬ Taf ‫ ]الهتهم[ ;וקאל אלעדו‬ASRT & Taf ‫ ]القويه[ ;אלאההם‬ASRT ‫אלח׳אלק‬, Taf ‫ ]يجتمعوا[ אלמעתמד‬ASRT ‫יסתט׳לו‬, Taf ‫ ]هبا[ ;אסתכנו‬Taf ‫אליה‬.

‫‪139‬‬

‫‪Nafīs al-Dīn’s Samaritan-Arabic Translation‬‬ ‫‪32:38‬‬

‫אשר חלב זביחהם יאכלו‬ ‫וישתו יין נסכם‬ ‫יקומו ויעזרוכם‬ ‫ויהיו עליכם סתרה‬ ‫الذي شحم ذبايحهم ياكلون‬ ‫ويشربون خمر سكبهم‬ ‫يقوموا وينصروكم‬ ‫ويكونوا عليكم وقاية‪40‬‬ ‫‪[Where are the idols] who eat the fat of their sacrifices,‬‬ ‫?‪And drink their poured wine‬‬ ‫‪Let them rise to your aid‬‬ ‫”‪Let them be your protection.‬‬ ‫*‬ ‫‪32:39‬‬ ‫ראו עתה כי אני אני הוא‬ ‫ואין אלהים עמדי‬ ‫אני אמית ואחיי‬ ‫מחצתי ואנכי ארפא‬ ‫ואין מידי מציל‬ ‫انظروا االن ان انا انا هو‬ ‫وليس اله معي‬ ‫انا اميت واحيي‬ ‫امرضت وانا اشفي‬ ‫وليس من يدي مخلص‪41‬‬ ‫]‪Look now [=realize] that I, I am He [God‬‬ ‫‪There is no god beside me,‬‬ ‫‪I put to death and I bring to life‬‬ ‫יכם ‪] SP. Cf. MT‬נסכם[ ;יִ ְש ּתוּ ‪] SP. Cf. MT‬וישתו[ ;זְ ָב ֵחימוֹ ‪] SP. Cf. MT‬זביחהם[ ‪40‬‬ ‫‪] SP. Cf. MT‬ויעזרוכם[ ;נְ ִס ָ‬ ‫نسكهم בח ‪] MSS‬سكبهم[ ;‪, my correction‬سحم ‪] Manuscript reads‬شحم[ * ‪.‬יְ ִהי ‪] SP. Cf. MT‬ויהיו[ ;וְ יַ ְעזְ ֻר ֶכם‬ ‫‪] AḤ‬ياكلون[ ;شحوم ‪] AḤ, AS, and Taf‬شحم[ ;אלד׳ין ‪, Taf‬التي ‪] AḤ and AS‬الذي[ ** ‪.‬وقار זכ ‪] MSS‬وقاية[‬ ‫‪, AS‬وتعضدهم ‪] AḤ‬وينصروكم[ ;تقوم ‪] AḤ & AS‬يقوموا[ ;מזאג׳הם ‪] Taf‬سكبهم[ ;وتشرب ‪] AḤ‬ويشربون[ ;ياكل‬ ‫‪.‬גּ ׳נה ‪, Taf‬سرته ‪, AS‬وقيه ‪] AḤ‬وقاية[ ;وتكون ‪] AḤ & AS‬ويكونوا[ ;פיעינוכם ‪, Taf‬ויעינוכם ‪, ASRT‬وتعينكم‬ ‫‪. See Von Gal, Der hebräische Pentateuch, ad locum.‬ואחיה ‪] SP. Some versions of SP read‬ואחיי[ ‪41‬‬ ‫‪] MS‬انا[ ;هوالحق זכ ‪] MSS‬هو[ ;انني ז ‪] MS‬ان انا[ ;انني כ ‪] MS‬ان[ * ‪.‬וַ ֲאנִ י ‪] SP. Cf. MT‬ואנכי[ ;וַ ֲא ַח ֶ ּיה ‪Cf. MT‬‬ ‫‪] ASRT‬اله[ ;הו וחדי ‪] Taf‬انا هو[ ;אנא ‪, ASRT‬انني ‪] AḤ, AS, and Taf‬ان انا[ ** ‪.‬الشايف כ ‪] MS‬اشفي[ ;واين זכ‬ ‫‪.‬ולם אזל אשפי ‪] Taf‬وانا اشفي[ ;כמא טאלמא קד אוהנת ‪] Taf‬امرضت[ ;אלאה ‪, Taf‬אלה אח׳ר‬

‫ ‬

‫ ‬

‫‪Ali Watad‬‬

‫‪140‬‬

‫‪I make sick and I heal,‬‬ ‫‪No one can be saved from my hand.‬‬ ‫*‬ ‫‪32:40‬‬ ‫כי אשא אל השמים ידי‬ ‫ואמרתי חי אנכי לעולם‬ ‫اذ اقسم بعالى مكاين‬ ‫واقول بقاي انا لالبد‪42‬‬ ‫‪Because I make an oath by my lofty abode,‬‬ ‫‪And I will say I shall live forever.‬‬ ‫*‬ ‫‪32:41‬‬ ‫[א]ם שנתי ברק חרבי‬ ‫ותאחז במשפט ידי‬ ‫השיב נקם לצרי‬ ‫ולמשנאי אשלם‬ ‫السنن بارق سيفي‬ ‫وتحيط بالحكم قدريت‬ ‫اعيد االنتقام لباغضي‬ ‫والعدأي اكايف‪43‬‬ ‫‪I will whet the blade of my sword,‬‬ ‫‪My power will be encompassed by judgment,‬‬ ‫‪I shall return vengeance to those who hate me,‬‬ ‫‪And exact recompense from my foes.‬‬ ‫*‬ ‫;ש ַמיִ ם ‪] SP. Cf. MT‬השמים[ ‪42‬‬ ‫‪” is also attested. See Von Gal, Der hebräische‬לעלם“ ‪] SP. The variant‬לעולם[ ָ‬ ‫‪] MSS‬انا لالبد[ ;قدرتى י ‪] MS‬مكاين[ ;بسامى י ‪] MS‬بعالي[ ְ;לע ָֹלם ‪Pentateuch, ad locum. Likewise, MT‬‬ ‫‪] AS‬بقاي[ ;באלסמא ‪, Taf‬بسامي ‪] AḤ, AS, and ASRT‬بعالى[ ;ואנא ‪, Taf‬אן ‪] ASRT‬اذ[ ** ‪.‬الدائم ابدا בזחטיכלר‬ ‫‪.‬אלדאים ‪, ASRT & Taf‬الدائم ابدا ‪, AS‬الدايم ابدا ‪] AḤ‬انا لالبد[ ;وبقائي‬ ‫;שנּ וֹ ִתי ‪] SP. MT‬שנתי[ ‪43‬‬ ‫‪” is also attested. See Von Gal, Der hebräische‬אשיב“ ‪] SP. The variant‬השיב[ ַ‬ ‫‪, MSS‬واجازي בלר ‪] MSS‬اعيد[ ;بقدريت ל ‪, MS‬يدي בזחכ ‪] MSS‬قدريت[ * ָ‪.‬א ִשיב ‪Pentateuch, ad locum. MT‬‬ ‫‪,‬ولمبغدي ח ‪, MS‬ولمبغضني בזטי ‪] MSS‬والعدأي[ ;اضدادي זחטיכלר ‪, MSS‬اضادي ב ‪] MS‬لباغضي[ ;واجزى זחטיכ‬ ‫;ותמסך ‪, Taf‬واتمسك ‪] AS‬وتحيط[ ;بريق ‪] AḤ & Taf‬بارق[ ;אן אסנן ‪] ASRT‬السنن[ ** ‪.‬ولباغضي כלר ‪MSS‬‬ ‫‪, AS‬אגאזי ‪, ASRT‬فاجازي ‪] AḤ‬اعيد[;يدي ‪] AḤ, AS, ASRT, and Taf‬قدريت[ אלחכם ‪, Taf‬بالقضاء ‪] AS‬بالحكم[‬ ‫‪, Taf‬على اعدائي ‪, AS‬معاندي ‪] AḤ & ASRT‬لباغضي[ ;באלאנתקאם ‪, ASRT‬باالنتصاف ‪] AḤ‬االنتقام[ ;وار ّد ‪& Taf‬‬ ‫‪.‬ואלמכאפה ‪] Taf‬اكايف[ ;עלי שאניי ‪, Taf‬ولشاين ‪, AS‬ولباغضي ‪] AḤ and ASRT‬والعدأي[ ;לאעדאיי‬

‫ ‬

‫ ‬

‫‪141‬‬

‫‪Nafīs al-Dīn’s Samaritan-Arabic Translation‬‬ ‫‪67‬‬ ‫‪32:42‬‬

‫אשכיר חצי מדם‬ ‫וחרבי תאכל בשר‬ ‫מדם חלל ושביה‬ ‫ומראש פרעת אויב‬ ‫اسكر من الدم سهامي‬ ‫وسيفي يفتدي اللحم‬ ‫من اجل دم الصريع والسبي‬ ‫ومن بداية اهنتاك العدو‪44‬‬ ‫‪My arrows will be drunk from the blood‬‬ ‫‪And my sword redeems the meat‬‬ ‫‪On behalf of the blood of the slain and the captive,‬‬ ‫‪Ever since the beginning of the besmirching of the enemy’s honor.‬‬ ‫*‬ ‫‪32:43‬‬ ‫הרנינו גוים עמו‬ ‫כי דם עבדיו יקם‬ ‫ונקם ישיב לצריו‬ ‫וכפר אדמת עמו‬ ‫هللوا يا شعوب قومه‬ ‫فان دم عبيده مستويف‬ ‫وباالنتقام يجازي اضاده‬ ‫ويطهر تربة قومه‪45‬‬ ‫‪O ye peoples, praise His nation,‬‬ ‫‪For the blood of his servant He will fulfill in its entirety,‬‬ ‫‪ is also attested. See Von Gal, Der hebräische Pentateuch, ad locum.‬מראש ‪] SP. The reading‬ומראש[ ‪44‬‬ ‫فانني ‪] AS‬اسكر[ ** ‪.‬انتهاك ב ‪] MS‬اهنتاك[ ;الدم ב ‪] MS‬اللحم[ * ּ ַ‪.‬פ ְרעוֹ ת ‪] SP. Likewise MT‬פרעת[ ֵ;מרֹאש ‪MT‬‬ ‫]اللحم[ ;يقطع ‪, AS‬ياكل ‪] AḤ, ASRT, and Taf‬يفتدي[ ;من دمائهم ‪] AS & Taf‬من الدم[ ;פכאני אסכר ‪, Taf‬اسكر‬ ‫]والسبي[ ;אלקתלא ‪, ASRT‬الصرعى ‪] AḤ‬الصريع[ ;من ‪, AS, ASRT, and Taf‬الجل ‪] AḤ‬من اجل[ ;לחומהם ‪Taf‬‬ ‫‪, Taf‬קואד ‪] ASRT‬اهنتاك[ ;מן רוס ‪, Taf‬ומן רווס ‪, ASRT‬من ابتداء ‪, AS‬مد ابتدا ‪] AḤ‬ومن بداية[ ;ואלסבאיא ‪ASRT‬‬ ‫‪.‬אלאעדא ‪] Taf‬العدو[ ;פראענה‬ ‫‪] AḤ, AS, and ASRT‬هللوا[ ** ‪.‬اغبطوا זטיכלר ‪] MSS‬ه ّللوا[ * ַ‪.‬א ְד ָמתוֹ ‪] SP. Cf. MT‬אדמת[ ;יִ ּקוֹ ם ‪] SP. MT‬יקם[ ‪45‬‬ ‫‪, Taf‬ان دم ‪] AḤ, AS, and ASRT‬فان دم[ ;שעבה ‪] Taf‬قومه[ ;יאיהא אלאמם ‪] Taf‬يا شعوب[ ;אמדחו ‪, Taf‬اغبطوا‬ ‫‪,‬يقتص ‪] AḤ & AS‬مستويف[ ;לאנה דם‬ ‫;תלך אלנקמה ‪, Taf‬ואלאנתקאם ‪] ASRT‬وباالنتقام[ ;ינתקם ‪ASRT & Taf‬‬ ‫ّ‬ ‫;ויגפר ל ‪] Taf‬ويطهر[ ;אעדאיה ‪, Taf‬معانديه ‪] AḤ, AS, and ASRT‬اضاده[ ;פירדּ עלי ‪, Taf‬יגלב ל ‪] ASRT‬يجازي[‬ ‫‪.‬ושעבה ‪] Taf‬قومه[ ;בלאדה ‪] Taf‬تربة[‬

‫ ‬

‫ ‬

142

Ali Watad

With vengeance He will pay back his opponents, And He will purify the graves of his people.

Discussion and Comparison Our comparison of Nafīs al-Dīn’s translation to other translations and dictionaries suggests that his translation represents an independent text; it is not a copy or adaptation of existing Samaritan-Arabic translations or of translations belonging to other traditions such as the rabbinic translation of Sa‘adia Gaon, the Karaite translation Yefet ben Ali, or Arabic-Christian translations (for a discussion of these last two traditions, see below). In order to further support this conclusion, I will present and analyze examples of parallels between Nafīs al-Dīn’s translation and those of other Arabic translations of the Pentateuch. When Nafīs al-Dīn’s translation is unattested in other sources, it has been highlighted in a light gray. However, when Nafīs al-Dīn’s translation has parallels in other translations, it – and the parallels – have been colored in a darker shade of grey. Verse 31

Word ‫כצורנו‬ ‫צורם‬

32

‫סדם‬ ‫עמרה‬

Nafīs al-Dīn ‫كقدرتنا‬

‫قدرهتم أي‬ ‫اصنامهم‬

‫سادم‬

‫عامورة‬

AS

AḤ ‫كقادرنا‬

‫קואהם‬

‫מעתמדהם‬

‫سدم‬

‫سدم‬

‫סדם‬

‫סדם‬

‫עמרה‬

‫עמרה‬

‫אענאבהם‬ ‫אענאב‬

‫ענבהם‬ ‫ענאב‬

‫מראראת‬

‫מרּ ה‬

‫זבד‬

‫וכחמה‬

‫מגמוע‬

‫מכנוז‬

‫عمره‬

‫ُم ّرة‬

‫مراير‬

‫חמת‬

34

‫כנוס‬

35

‫נקם ושלם‬

36

‫ואפס‬ ‫עצור‬ ‫ועזוב‬

‫حمية‬

‫مكنوز‬

‫االنتقام‬ ‫وآلمكافاه‬ ‫وانحسر‬

‫المحبوس‬

‫والمطلوق‬

‫כמעתמדנא מקדרתנא‬

‫اصنامهم‬

‫عنبهم عنب‬

33

‫كقدرتنا‬

Taf

‫معبودهم‬

‫اعناهبم اعناب ענביהם‬ ‫ענבי‬ ‫מררות‬

ASRT

‫سم‬

‫مجموعا‬

‫االنتصاف‬ ‫والوفا‬ ‫وانقرض‬

‫المحاصر‬ ‫والمطلق‬

‫عمره‬

‫اعناهبم‬ ‫اعناب‬

‫مرارات‬

‫سم‬

‫مجموعا‬

‫االنتقام‬ ‫وآلمكافاه‬ ‫وانقرض‬

‫المحاصر‬ ‫والمطلق‬

‫אלאנתקאם אלאנתקאם‬ ‫ואלתופיה ואלכאפאה‬ ‫ואנקרץ׳‬

‫וכ׳לא‬

‫אלמחאצר‬

‫אלמחבוס‬

‫ואלמטלק‬

‫ואלמתרוך‬

‫‪143‬‬

‫‪Nafīs al-Dīn’s Samaritan-Arabic Translation‬‬ ‫‪Taf‬‬

‫‪ASRT‬‬

‫שחום‬

‫שחם‬

‫פיעינוכם‬

‫ויעינוכם‬

‫גּ ׳נה‬

‫וקאיה‬

‫‪AS‬‬ ‫شحوم‬

‫وتعينكم‬ ‫سرتة‬

‫‪AḤ‬‬ ‫شحوم‬

‫وتعضدهم‬

‫وقيه‬

‫‪Nafīs‬‬ ‫‪al-Dīn‬‬ ‫شحم‬

‫وينصروكم‬

‫وقاية‬

‫‪Word‬‬ ‫חלב‬

‫‪Verse‬‬ ‫‪38‬‬

‫ויעזרוכם‬ ‫סתרה‬

‫אנני הו‬ ‫וחדי‬

‫אנא אנא‬ ‫הוא‬

‫انني انا هو‬

‫انني انا هو‬

‫انا انا هو‬

‫אני אני‬ ‫הוא‬

‫‪39‬‬

‫‪Not‬‬ ‫‪translated‬‬

‫קדרתי‬

‫يدي‬

‫يدي‬

‫مكاين‬

‫ידי‬

‫‪40‬‬

‫ובקאי‬ ‫אלדאים‬

‫ובקאי‬ ‫אלדאים‬

‫وبقاي الدايم وبقاي الدايم بقاي انا لالبد‬ ‫ابدا‬ ‫ابدا‬

‫בריק‬

‫בארק‬

‫ידי‬

‫ידי‬

‫וארדּ‬

‫אגאזי‬

‫وأر ّد‬

‫עלי‬ ‫שאניי‬

‫ולבאע׳צי‬

‫ولشاين‬

‫יאכל‬

‫יאכל‬

‫يقطع‬

‫אלצריע‬

‫אלקתלא‬

‫פראענה‬

‫קואד‬

‫אמדחו‬

‫אע׳בטו‬

‫ינתקם‬

‫ינתקם‬

‫עלי‬ ‫אעדאיה‬

‫למעאנדיה‬

‫بارق‬ ‫يدي‬

‫אלאנתקאם באלאנתקאם االنتقام‬

‫الصريع‬ ‫اهنتاك‬

‫اغبطوا‬ ‫يقتص‬

‫معانديه‬

‫بريق‬ ‫يدي‬

‫فاجازي‬

‫باالنتصاف‬

‫ولباغضي‬ ‫ياكل‬

‫الصرعى‬ ‫اهنتاك‬

‫اغبطوا‬ ‫يقتص‬

‫معانديه‬

‫بارق‬

‫قدريت‬ ‫اعيد‬

‫االنتقام‬

‫חי אנכי‬ ‫לעולם‬ ‫ברק‬ ‫ידי‬ ‫השיב‬ ‫נקם‬

‫والعدأي‬

‫ולמשנאי‬

‫يفتدي‬

‫תאכל‬

‫الصريع‬

‫اهنتاك‬

‫ه ّللوا‬

‫مستويف‬ ‫اضاده‬

‫‪41‬‬

‫‪42‬‬

‫חלל‬ ‫פרעת‬ ‫הרנינו‬

‫‪43‬‬

‫יקם‬ ‫לצריו‬

‫‪A review of the table shows that Nafīs al-Dīn’s translation of these thirteen‬‬ ‫‪verses is independent – in the sense that he created an entirely new transla‬‬‫‪tion-version, even if the meaning remained essentially the same. The table‬‬ ‫‪yields the following information: sometimes, Nafīs al-Dīn’s translations are‬‬ ‫‪unique; at other times, his translations do parallel one or two other transla‬‬‫‪tions, yet differ from others. Below I present a discussion and comparison of‬‬ ‫‪the different translations:‬‬

144

Ali Watad

Nafīs al-Dīn presenting a unique translation, unattested by others Verse 31 Nafīs al-Dīn translates the word ‫ צורם‬as ‫=( قدرهتم أي اصنامهم‬their power, that is, their idols). By contrast, AḤ renders ‫“=( معبودهم‬that which they serve” i.e., their idols); AS renders ‫=( اصنامهم‬their deities, their idols); ASRT renders ‫קואהם‬ (=their strength); and Taf renders ‫=( מעתמדהם‬those upon whom they rely). Verse 32 Nafīs al-Dīn transcribes the city-names ‫ סדם‬and ‫ עמרה‬as follows: ‫ سادم‬and ‫عامورة‬.46 By contrast, AḤ and AS offer the following Arabic transliterations: ‫ سدم‬and ‫عمره‬. ASRT and Taf render the names as in Hebrew. Verse 36 Nafīs al-Dīn translates ‫ אפס‬as ‫=( وانحسر‬and withdraws). By contrast, AḤ, AS, and ASRT render ‫=( وانقرض‬and is exterminated) and Taf renders ‫=( וכ׳לא‬and passes, is absent). Nafīs al-Dīn translates the word ‫ ועזוב‬as ‫( والمطلوق‬the freed, the dismissed, the released). By contrast, AḤ, AS, and ASRT render ‫( والمطلق‬freed). [For a discussion of the difference between these two forms, see below.] Taf renders ‫( ואלמתרוך‬the abandoned). Verse 38 Nafīs al-Dīn translates ‫ ויעזרוכם‬as ‫( وينصروكم‬rise to your aid; support you). By contrast, AḤ renders ‫( وتعضدهم‬and help them); AS, ASRT, and Taf use various words based on the Arabic root ‫ عون‬which means “assistance, help” – AS renders ‫( وتعينكم‬help you); ASRT and Taf render ‫( יעינוכם‬they will help you). [The difference between AS on the one hand and ASRT and Taf on the other is based on grammatical agreement. However, the difference between them and Nafīs al-Dīn pertains to word choice as well. See below.] Verse 40 Nafīs al-Dīn translates the word ‫ ידי‬as ‫=( مكاين‬my stage, my abode). By contrast, AḤ and AS render ‫=( يدي‬my hand, which could also mean “my strength”) and ASRT translates ‫=( קדרתי‬my power). Taf offers no translation [see below]. Nafīs al-Dīn translates the phrase ‫ חי אנכי לעולם‬as ‫=( بقاي انا لالبد‬living forever, eternal). By contrast, AḤ and AS render ‫( بقاي الدايم ابدا‬my eternity which is forever eternal); ASRT and Taf render ‫( בקאי אלדאים‬my eternal eternity).

46 It should be noted that while in the translation of the verses the author presents this reading, when he is interpreting the verses within the book itself, he writes the word without an alef like other translators. It is a well attested practice among Samaritan scribes to copy Hebrew words with Arabic letters. See, e.g., Shehadeh, “‫התרגום הערבי‬,” 1:183; Watad, “‫ספר המליץ‬,” 2:435 esp. n. 72.

Nafīs al-Dīn’s Samaritan-Arabic Translation

145

Verse 41 Nafīs al-Dīn translates the word ‫ ידי‬as ‫=( قدريت‬my power), while the other translators render ‫=( يدي‬my hand, which could also mean “my strength”) (see below). Nafīs al-Dīn translates ‫ השיב‬as ‫( اعيد‬I will return [transitive]). By contrast, AḤ and AS render ‫=( فاجازي‬I will recompense [in a negative sense]); ASRT and Taf: ‫=( وأر ّد‬I will return [transitive]; seemingly a synonym of ‫)اعيد‬. Nafīs al-Dīn translates ‫ ולמשנאי‬as ‫( والعدأي‬and to my enemies). AḤ and ASRT render ‫( ولباغضي‬and to those who bear a grudge against me); AS renders ‫ولشاين‬ (to those who hate me) [a classical, literary word]; Taf renders ‫( עלי שאניי‬to those who hate me). Verse 42 Nafīs al-Dīn translates ‫ תאכל‬as ‫( يفتدي‬he redeems). By contrast, AḤ, ASRT and Taf render it ‫=( ياكل‬he eats); AS renders ‫=( يقطع‬he cuts off). Verse 43 Nafīs al-Dīn translates ‫ הרנינו‬as ‫( ه ّللوا‬praise [imperative]). By contrast, AḤ, AS, and ASRT render ‫=( اغبطوا‬rejoice [imperative]); Taf renders ‫( אמדחו‬praise [imperative]). Nafīs al-Dīn translates ‫ יקם‬as ‫ =( مستويف‬uphold in its entirety). By contrast, AḤ and AS render ‫=( يقتص‬exact vengeance from/punish); ASRT and Taf render ‫=( ינתקם‬take vengeance). Nafīs al-Dīn translates ‫ לצריו‬as ‫=( اضاده‬those who oppose Him). By contrast, AḤ, AS, and ASRT render ‫=( معانديه‬those who stubbornly compete with him); Taf renders ‫=( אלי אעדאיה‬to his enemies). Nafīs al-Dīn’s translation is similar to AS and different from others Verse 31 Both translate the word ‫ כצורנו‬as ‫=( كقدرتنا‬like our power). By contrast, AḤ translates ‫“=( كقادرنا‬our omnipotent God,” one of God’s ninety-nine names in Islam); ASRT renders ‫=( מקדרתנא‬our power); Taf renders ‫=( כמעתמדנא‬like the source of our support). Verse 35 Both translate the phrase ‫ נקם ושלם‬as ‫=( االنتقام وآلمكافاه‬the revenge and the recompense, i.e., the Last Judgment). By contrast, AḤ renders ‫( االنتصاف والوفا‬receiving all the rights that one deserves), ASRT renders ‫אלאנתקאם ואלכאפאה‬, and Taf renders ‫( אלאנתקאם ואלתופיה‬both meaning the revenge and the recompense).

146

Ali Watad

Nafīs al-Dīn’s translation is similar to ASRT and different from the others Verse 38 Both translate ‫ חלב‬as ‫=( شحم‬fat). By contrast, AḤ, AS, and Taf render ‫شحوم‬ (=fats) – i.e., the former translates as singular and the latter as plural. Both translate ‫ סתרה‬as ‫( وقاية‬defense, protection). By contrast, AḤ renders ‫( وقيه‬literally an ounce, but this was likely not the intention and it seems that this is merely another rendering of the same word used by Nafīs al-Dīn and ASRT but with a different spelling reflecting a vernacular pronunciation). AS renders ‫=( سرتة‬defense, cover). Taf renders ‫=( ג׳נה‬defense). Verse 39 Both translate the phrase ‫ אני אני הוא‬as ‫=( انا انا هو‬I, I am He). By contrast, AḤ and AS render ‫=( انني انا هو‬it is I, I am He); Taf renders ‫=( אנני הוא וחדי‬it is I who is alone). Nafīs al-Dīn’s Translation is Similar to Sa‘adia Gaon’s Tafsīr and Differs from the Translators Mentioned Above Verse 32 Both translate ‫ מררות‬as ‫=( ُم ّرة‬bitter [adj. feminine]). By contrast, AḤ renders ‫=( مراير‬bitter);47 AS and ASRT render ‫=( مرارات‬tragedies, catastrophes).48 Verse 33 Both translate the word ‫ חמת‬as ‫=( حمية‬blaze/rage).49 By contrast, AḤ and AS render ‫=( سم‬venom) and ASRT ‫=( זבד‬fury, wrath).50 Verse 34 Both translate the word ‫ כנוס‬as ‫=( مكنوز‬stored). By contrast, AḤ, AS, and ASRT render ‫( مجموعا‬gathered, accumulated). Verse 36 Both translate the word ‫ עצור‬as ‫=( المحبوس‬the imprisoned). By contrast, AḤ, AS, and ASRT render ‫=( المحاصر‬the surrounded, besieged).



47 I.e., ‫ َم َرائِر‬which is the plural of ‫ ُم ّر‬which means “bitter.” Cf. Edward W. Lane, Arabic-English Lexicon (Kalpaz: London, 1980), vol. 7, 2701c who incorrectly writes that it is the plural of ‫مرير‬. 48 See Blau, ‫מילון לטקסטים‬, 655b–656a. 49 See Blau, ‫מילון לטקסטים‬, 148b. 50 ʿAbd al-Laṭīf al-Barġūṭy, ‫( القاموس العربي الشعبي الفلسطيني‬al-Bireh : Inash al-Usra Association, 1993), 2:67.

Nafīs al-Dīn’s Samaritan-Arabic Translation

147

Nafīs al-Dīn’s Translation is Similar to AS and ASRT but Differs from the Translators Mentioned Above Verse 32 Both translate ‫ ענביהם ענבי‬as ‫( اعناهبم اعناب‬their grapes are grapes of-). Other translators use different (but ultimately synonymous) forms: AḤ renders ‫عنبهم‬ ‫ عنب‬and Taf renders ‫ענבהם ענאב‬. Verse 41 Both translate the word ‫ ברק‬as ‫=( بارق‬shining, brilliant). By contrast, AḤ and ASRT render ‫( بريق‬radiance). Nafīs al-Dīn uses these verses from the Song of Moses as one of several proofs to demonstrate the veracity of the Last Judgment. While the first proof was based on logic and intellect, the second is based on a homiletical reading of Scripture. To this end, he cites a number of verses. Among these, he cites these verses from the Song of Moses, which constitute, in his opinion, the fourth and most important proof in favor of the Last Judgment. We find a similar discussion in Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ṣūrī’s Kitāb al-ma‘ād.51 Al-Ṣūrī notes there – unlike Nafīs al-Dīn – that these verses are the third of three homiletical-exegetical proofs in favor of a world to come – this in addition to the proof based on logic and intellect.52 Due to the similarity of their discussions, it behooves us to compare the respective translations of these verses provided by each author. In the following table I present their translations alongside each other. Differences are displayed in bold.

Verse

32:31

Hebrew Text

Nafīs al-Dīn’s Translation

‫ان ليس كقدرتنا כי לא כצורנו‬ ‫قدرتهم أي اصنامهم‬ ‫צורם‬

Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ṣūrī’s Translation (based on MS ‫)ג‬ ‫اى انه ليس‬ ‫كقدرتنا ما‬ ‫يقدرون يعنى‬ ‫اصنامهم‬

Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ṣūrī’s Translation (based on H. Shehadeh’s edition)53 ‫אנה ליס כקדרתנא מא‬ ‫יקדרון‬

51 See above, n. 29. 52 See Shehadeh, “‫התרגום הערבי‬,” 1:42–46. 53 Shehadeh published Abū al-Ḥasan’s Arabic translation based on two manuscripts of Kitāb al-ma‘ād. See Shehadeh, “‫התרגום הערבי‬,” 1:112.

‫‪148‬‬

‫‪Ali Watad‬‬ ‫‪Abū‬‬ ‫‪al-Ḥasan‬‬ ‫‪al-Ṣūrī’s‬‬ ‫‪Translation‬‬ ‫‪(based on‬‬ ‫)ג ‪MS‬‬

‫‪Nafīs al-Dīn’s‬‬ ‫‪Translation‬‬

‫‪Hebrew‬‬ ‫‪Text‬‬

‫ואעדאינא חכאם‬

‫واعداينا حكام‬

‫واعدانا حكام‬

‫ואיבינו‬ ‫פללים‬

‫לאן מן ג׳פן סדם ג׳פנהם‬

‫الن من جفن‬ ‫סדם جفنهم‬

‫‪Abū al-Ḥasan‬‬ ‫‪al-Ṣūrī’s‬‬ ‫‪Translation (based‬‬ ‫‪on H. Shehadeh’s‬‬ ‫‪edition)53‬‬

‫ומן דואלי עאמורה‬ ‫אענאבהם אענאב סם‬ ‫וקטוף מראראת להם‬ ‫חמיה׳ אלאפאעי‬ ‫ח׳מרהם‬ ‫וסם אלרקש אלחקדה׳‬ ‫אליס הו מכנוזא ענדי‬ ‫מטבועא פי ח׳זאיני‬ ‫אלי יום אלאנתקאם‬ ‫ואלמכאפאה‬ ‫וקת תזל אקדאמהם‬ ‫פאן קריבא יום תעסהם‬ ‫פתסרע אלמעדה׳ להם‬

‫ومن دوالى‬ ‫عامورة‬

‫اعناهبم اعناب‬ ‫سم‬

‫وقطوف مرارات‬ ‫لهم‬

‫الن من جفن سادم כי מגפן סדם‬ ‫جفنهم‬ ‫גפנם‬

‫ومن دوالي عامورة‬

‫اعناهبم اعناب سمًا ענביהם ענבי‬ ‫ראש‬ ‫وقطوف ُم ّرة لهم‬

‫حمية سم حمية األفاعي خمرهم‬ ‫األفاعي خمرهم‬

‫חמת תנינים‬ ‫יינם‬

‫وسم الرقش الحقدة‬ ‫ّ‬

‫וראש פתנים‬ ‫אך זרי‬

‫اليس هو مكنوزا اليس هو مكنوز عندي‬ ‫عندي‬

‫הלוא הוא‬ ‫כנוס עמדי‬

‫مطبوعا يف‬ ‫خزايني‬

‫الى يوم االنتقام‬ ‫وآلمكافاه‬ ‫وقت تزل‬ ‫اقدامهم‬

‫فان قريبا يوم‬ ‫تعسهم‬

‫فتُسرع المعده‬ ‫لهم‬

‫אד׳ יחכם אללה עלי اذ يحكم اهلل على‬ ‫قومه‬ ‫קומה‬

‫‪32:32‬‬

‫ומשדמות‬ ‫עמרה‬

‫ואשכולי‬ ‫מררות למו‬

‫اى وسم الرقش‬ ‫الحقده‬

‫‪Verse‬‬

‫مختوم يف خزايني‬

‫חתום‬ ‫באוצרותי‬

‫الى يوم االنتقام‬ ‫وآلمكافاه‬

‫ליום נקם‬ ‫ושלם‬

‫وقت تزل اقدامهم‬

‫לעת תמוט‬ ‫רגלם‬

‫اذ قريب يوم تعسهم‬

‫כי קרוב יום‬ ‫אידם‬

‫و ُتسرع المستعدات‬ ‫لهم‬

‫וחש עתידות‬ ‫למו‬

‫اذ يدين اهلل قومه‬

‫כי ידין יהוה‬ ‫עמו‬

‫‪32:33‬‬

‫‪32:34‬‬

‫‪32:35‬‬

‫‪32:36‬‬

‫‪149‬‬

‫‪Nafīs al-Dīn’s Samaritan-Arabic Translation‬‬

‫‪Abū al-Ḥasan‬‬ ‫‪al-Ṣūrī’s‬‬ ‫‪Translation (based‬‬ ‫‪on H. Shehadeh’s‬‬ ‫‪edition)53‬‬ ‫וען עבידה יצפח‬ ‫אד׳ ירי אן אליד זאלת‬ ‫אי ד׳הבת‬ ‫וזאל אלמחבוס‬ ‫ואלמטלק‬ ‫פיקולון אין אלהתכם‬ ‫ד׳וי אלקוי אללד׳ין‬ ‫אסתחבו‬

‫‪Abū‬‬ ‫‪al-Ḥasan‬‬ ‫‪al-Ṣūrī’s‬‬ ‫‪Translation‬‬ ‫‪(based on‬‬ ‫)ג ‪MS‬‬ ‫وعن عبيده‬ ‫يصفح‬

‫اذ يرى ان اليد‬ ‫زالت اى ذهبت‬

‫وزال المحبوس‬ ‫والمطلق‬ ‫فيقولون اين‬ ‫آلهتكم‬

‫‪Nafīs al-Dīn’s‬‬ ‫‪Translation‬‬

‫‪Hebrew‬‬ ‫‪Text‬‬

‫وعن عبيده يصفح‬

‫ועל עבדיו‬ ‫יתנחם‬

‫اذ يرى ان زالت اليد‬

‫כי יראה כי‬ ‫אזלת יד‬

‫وانحسر المحبوس‬ ‫والمطلوق‬

‫ואפס עצור‬ ‫ועזוב‬

‫فيقولون اين آلهتهم‬

‫ואמרו איה‬ ‫אלהימו‬

‫ذوى القوى القوية التي يجتمعوا هبا‬ ‫اللذين استحبوا‬

‫בו צור חסו‪54‬‬

‫אלד׳י שחם דבאיחהם‬ ‫תאכל‬

‫الذي شحم‪55‬‬ ‫ذبايحهم تاكل‬

‫الذي شحم ذبايحهم‬ ‫ياكلون‬

‫אשר חלב‬ ‫זביחהם‬ ‫יאכלו‬

‫ותשרב ח׳מר סכבהם‬

‫ويشرب خمر ويشربون خمر سكبهم‬ ‫سكبهم‬

‫וישתו יין‬ ‫נסכם‬

‫יקומוא ית׳בת פינצרוכם‬ ‫פתכון עליכם וקאיה׳‬ ‫אנט׳רוא אלסאעה אלאן‬ ‫אנני אנא הו‬

‫يقوموا يثبت‬ ‫فينصروكم‬

‫فتكون عليكم‬ ‫وقاية‬

‫انظروا الساعه‬ ‫اآلن اننى انا‬ ‫انا هو‬

‫וליס אלה מעי‬

‫وليس إله معى‬

‫אנא אמית ואחיי‬

‫انا أميت وأحيي‬

‫يقوموا وينصروكم‬

‫יקומו‬ ‫ויעזרוכם‬

‫ويكونواعليكم وقاية‬

‫ויהיו עליכם‬ ‫סתרה‬

‫انظروا اآلن ان انا‬ ‫انا هو‬

‫ראו עתה כי‬ ‫אני אני הוא‬

‫وليس إله معي‬

‫ואין אלהים‬ ‫עמדי‬

‫انا أميت وأحيي‬

‫אני אמית‬ ‫ואחיי‬

‫‪Verse‬‬

‫‪32:37‬‬

‫‪32:38‬‬

‫‪32:39‬‬

‫‪ in accordance with the SP.‬חסיו ‪54 Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ṣūrī reads‬‬ ‫‪ – a scribal error which I have corrected.‬سحم ‪55 The source reads‬‬

‫ ‬ ‫ ‬

‫‪150‬‬

‫‪Ali Watad‬‬ ‫‪Abū al-Ḥasan‬‬ ‫‪al-Ṣūrī’s‬‬ ‫‪Translation (based‬‬ ‫‪on H. Shehadeh’s‬‬ ‫‪edition)53‬‬ ‫אמרצ׳ה ואנא אשפי‬ ‫וליס מן ידי מח׳לץ‬ ‫אד׳ אקסם בעלי מכאני‬ ‫פאקול ובקאי אלדאים‬ ‫אבדא‬ ‫לאסנן בארק סיפי‬ ‫ותחיט באלחכם ידי‬ ‫אג׳זי באלאנתקאם‬ ‫אצ׳דאדי‬ ‫ולמבע׳צ׳י אכאפי‬

‫‪Abū‬‬ ‫‪al-Ḥasan‬‬ ‫‪al-Ṣūrī’s‬‬ ‫‪Translation‬‬ ‫‪(based on‬‬ ‫)ג ‪MS‬‬ ‫ضت وانا‬ ‫مر ُ‬ ‫َأ َ‬ ‫اشفى‬ ‫وليس من يد‬ ‫مخلص‬

‫اذ اقسم بعالي‬ ‫مكاين‬

‫מן אג׳ל דם אלצריע‬ ‫ואלסבי‬

‫ضت وانا اشفي מחצתי ואנכי‬ ‫مر ُ‬ ‫َأ َ‬ ‫ארפא‬ ‫وليس من يدي‬ ‫مخلص‬

‫ואין מידי‬ ‫מציל‬

‫اذ اقسم بعالي مكاين‬

‫כי אשא אל‬ ‫השמים ידי‬

‫وأقول بقاي انا لالبد‬

‫ואמרתי חי‬ ‫אנכי לעולם‬

‫السنن بارق سيفي‬

‫שנתי א]ם‪[56‬‬ ‫ברק חרבי‬

‫وتحيط بالحكم وتحيط بالحكم قدرتي‬ ‫يدى‬

‫ותאחז‬ ‫במשפט ידי‬

‫فا قول وبقاي‬ ‫الدايم ابدا‬ ‫السنن بارق‬ ‫سيفى‬

‫اجزى باالنتقام‬ ‫اضدادى‬

‫ولمبغضى اكاىف‬

‫אסכר סהאמי מן אלדם اسكر سهامى من‬ ‫الدم‬ ‫וסיפי יפני אללחם‬

‫‪Nafīs al-Dīn’s‬‬ ‫‪Translation‬‬

‫‪Hebrew‬‬ ‫‪Text‬‬

‫وسيفى يفنى‬ ‫اللحم‬

‫من اجل دم‬ ‫الصريع والسبى‬

‫اعيد االنتقام لباغضي‬

‫השיב נקם‬ ‫לצרי‬

‫والعدأي اكايف‬

‫ולמשנאי‬ ‫אשלם‬

‫اسكر من الدم سهامي‬

‫אשכיר חצי‬ ‫מדם‬

‫وسيفي يفتدي اللحم‬

‫וחרבי תאכל‬ ‫בשר‬

‫من اجل دم الصريع‬ ‫والسبي‬

‫מדם חלל‬ ‫ושביה‬

‫מן בדאיה׳ אנהתאך‬ ‫אלעדו‬

‫ومن بداية اهنتاك ومن بداية اهنتاك‬ ‫العدو ומראש פרעת‬ ‫ّ‬ ‫العدوا‬ ‫אויב‬

‫אע׳בטוא יא שעוב קומה‬

‫הרנינו גוים‬ ‫עמו‬

‫اغبطوا يا شعوب‬ ‫قومه‬

‫‪Verse‬‬

‫ه ّللوا يا شعوب قومه‬

‫‪32:40‬‬

‫‪32:41‬‬

‫‪32:42‬‬

‫‪32:43‬‬

‫‪.‬אם משנתי ‪ instead of‬משנתי ‪56 Abū al-Ḥasan also reads‬‬

‫ ‬

Nafīs al-Dīn’s Samaritan-Arabic Translation

Verse

Hebrew Text

Nafīs al-Dīn’s Translation

‫כי דם עבדיו‬ ‫יקם‬

‫فان دم عبيده مستويف‬

‫ונקם ישיב‬ ‫לצריו‬

‫وباالنتقام يجازي‬ ‫اضاده‬

‫וכפר אדמת‬ ‫עמו‬

Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ṣūrī’s Translation (based on MS ‫)ג‬

151

Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ṣūrī’s Translation (based on H. Shehadeh’s edition)53

‫فان دم عبيده‬ ‫يستويف‬

‫פאן דם עבידה יסתופי‬

‫ويطهر تربة قومه‬ ّ

‫ויטהר תרבה׳ קומה‬

‫ובאלנתקאם יג׳אזי وباالنتقام يجازي‬ ‫معانديه‬ ‫מעאנדיה‬

‫ويطهر تربة قومه‬ ّ

This table clearly demonstrates the similarity between the two manuscript versions of Abū al-Ḥasan’s translation; any small differences can, in my opinion, be ascribed to the vagaries of scribal transmission. By contrast, a comparison between the manuscripts of Abū al-Ḥasan’s translation to that of Nafīs al-Dīn yields more than a few discrepancies. These suggest that Nafīs al-Dīn’s translation is distinct from that of Abū al-Ḥasan. If we examine the nature of these differences, we find that most of them are semantic – i.e., they represent variations within a single semantic field, a consequence of Arabic’s rich vocabulary and extensive dialectical variety.57 These differences do not, however, yield any major differences in meaning. For example: Verse

Hebrew word

32:36

‫ואפס‬

32:41

‫לצרי‬

32:41

‫ולמשנאי‬

32:43

‫הרנינו‬

32:43

‫לצריו‬

Nafīs al-Dīn ‫وانحسر‬

‫لباغضي‬

Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ṣūrī ‫وزال‬

‫اضدادى‬

‫والعدأي‬

‫ولمبغضى‬

‫اضاده‬

‫معانديه‬

‫ه ّللوا‬

‫اغبطوا‬

57 The existence of several words in the same semantic field seems to allow a translator a wide range of choice. See Haseeb Shehadeh, “The Arabic of the Samaritans and its Importance,” in Essays in Honour of G. D. Sixdenier, New Samaritan Studies of the Société D’Études Samaritaines, volumes III and IV, ed. Alan D. Crown and Lucy Davcy (Sydney: Mandelbaum House, 1995), 521–75; Gregor M. Schwarb “Vestiges of Qaraite Translations in the Arabic Translation(s) of the Samaritan Pentateuch,” Intellectual History of the Islamicate World 1 (2013): 115–57.

152

Ali Watad

Other differences are grammatical in nature, resulting from the degree of affinity to a literal rendering of the Biblical Hebrew. Nafīs al-Dīn’s translation adheres more closely to Hebrew syntax resulting in a less-natural sounding Arabic. Below are some examples: Verse

Hebrew word

Nafīs al-Dīn

Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ṣūrī

32:38

‫וישתו‬

‫ويشربون‬

‫ويشرب‬ ‫ותשרב‬

32:38

‫ויהיו‬

‫ويكونوا‬

‫فتكون‬

32:6

‫ועזוב‬

‫والمطلوق‬

‫والمطلق‬

Other differences are a consequence of attempts by one translator, and not the other, to avoid portraying God in physical-anthropomorphic terms. Thus, Nafīs al-Dīn translates the word ‫( ידי‬my hand) in Deuteronomy 32:41 as ‫قدريت‬ (=my power). Abū al-Ḥasan, however, translates literally: ‫=( يدى‬my hand).58 However, there are some differences between the two translations which are, in my opinion, significant. Below are some examples: Verse

Hebrew word

32:32

‫מררות‬

32:35

‫עתידות‬

32:37

‫חסו בו‬

Nafīs al-Dīn

Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ṣūrī

‫ُم ّرة‬

‫مرارات‬

‫يجتمعوا هبا‬

‫استحبوا‬

‫المستعدات‬

‫المعده‬

These differences may represent an intentional move on Nafīs al-Dīn’s part – an attempt to distinguish his own translation from that of his predecessor Abū al-Ḥasan in his Kitāb al-ma‘ād. To complete our discussion, I present here some differences between Nafīs al-Dīn’s translation on the one hand and the translations of the Karaite Yefet ben Ali and certain Arabic-Christian translations, on the other.59 The Karaite Translation of Yefet ben Ali: 58 For a discussion of attempts to eschew anthropomorphism, see Gerhard Wedel, “Abu l-Hasan as-Suri and his Inclinations to Mu’tazili Theology,” in Samaria, Samarians, Samaritans: Studies on Bible, History and Linguistics, ed. József Zsengellér (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2011), 261–86 59 My citations of Yefet ben Ali’s translations are based on Moshe Sokolow’s edition which he prepared as part of his doctoral dissertation. See Moshe Sokolow, “The Commentary of Yefet Ben Ali on Deuteronomy xxxii.” PhD diss., Yeshiva University, 1974. Yefet ben Ali was a Karaite scholar, liturgical poet, grammarian, and exegete who lived in the tenth century. His Arabic name was Abū ‘Ali Ḥasan bin ʿAlī Al-Baṣri.

153

Nafīs al-Dīn’s Samaritan-Arabic Translation Number Verse 1

31

2 3

‫כצורנו צורם‬ ‫פללים‬

32

4 5

Word in Hebrew Source Text

‫ואשכולי‬ ‫מררות‬

33

6

‫תנינים‬ ‫פתנים‬

7

34

‫כנוס‬

8

35

‫יום אידם‬

Nafīs al-Dīn’s Translation ‫كقدرتنا قدرهتم‬ ‫حكام‬

‫وقطوف‬ ‫ُمره‬

‫االفاعي‬ ‫الرقش‬ ‫مكنوز‬

‫يوم تعسهم‬

Yefet ben Ali’s Translation ‫מעבודנא מעבודהם‬ ‫פקהא‬ ‫ענאקיד‬ )‫אלזערא (=הרשעות‬ ‫אלתנאנין‬ ‫אלערביד‬ ‫מדכור‬ ‫יום עטבהם‬

In this table we can see how different word choices distinguish Nafīs al-Dīn’s translation from that of Yefet ben Ali. However, here again, the differences do not extend to major distinctions in meaning.60 Thus, for example, Nafīs al-Dīn renders the word ‫ פללים‬as ‫حكام‬, meaning “rulers” or “adjudicators,” while Yefet ben Ali uses the word, ‫ פקהא‬which has a similar meaning: scholars or experts in law. Likewise, while Nafīs al-Dīn renders the word ‫ תנינים‬as ‫( االفاعي‬a generic term for snakes), Yefet ben Ali translates ‫ אלתנאנין‬as the plural of ‫תנין‬, designating a specific type of snake.61 Thus, while Nafīs al-Dīn’s translation may be textually distinct from that of Yefet ben Ali, this did not necessarily result in any substantial differences in meaning. Christian Translations (MS Sinai 1 and MS Sinai 2)62 A cursory review of the two Christian translations attested in MS Sinai 1 and MS Sinai 2 clearly show that they bear no resemblance to Nafīs al-Dīn’s own work. 60 Shehadeh, “The Arabic of the Samaritans”; Schwarb “Vestiges of Qaraite Translations.” 61 Jamāl al-Dīn bin Mukaram ibn Manẓūr, ‫لسان العرب‬, vol. 13 (Beirut, 1990), 74b. 62 The tenth-century manuscript, Sinai 1, is housed in Saint Catherine’s Monastery in the Sinai Peninsula. The translator is Al-Ḥārith ibn al-Howrānī. See Aziz S. Atiya, Arabic Manuscripts of Mount Sinai: A Hand-List of the Arabic Manuscripts and Scrolls Microfilmed at the Library of the Monastery of St. Catherine (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins Press, 1970), 17–19. MS Sinai 2, also housed in Saint Catherine’s Monastery, is an early Arabic-Christian translation belonging to the tradition of Arabsyr1 (the translation is dated to the mid-eight century; see Ibrahim Bassal, “‫ جوانب من لغتها وصنعة ترجمتها‬:‫ أقدم ترجمة عرب ّية للتوراة‬2 ‫مخطوطة سيناء‬,” Al-Majallah 8 [2017]: 61–70). The manuscript is a complete translation of the Pentateuch and Daniel. The copy itself was prepared in the tenth century. The identities of the translator and copyist are unknown. See Ibrahim Bassal, “?‫ האמנם שתי מסורות שונות‬:‫שני כתבי יד מזרחיים לתורה בערבית־נוצרית‬,” Beit Miqra 64 (2019): 58–59.

154

Ali Watad

To demonstrate this, I trace the divergent rendering of three phrases across the different translations. These examples showcase the major differences between Nafīs al-Dīn’s translation and those of the Christian manuscripts, ruling out any lines of influence or textual affinities: Verse 31 Nafīs al-Dīn translates the word ‫ פללים‬as ‫حكام‬. MS Sinai 1, by contrast, renders ‫قضاهتم‬. Both translations are synonyms for “judges.” In MS Sinai 2, however, the word ‫ جهال‬is used, meaning “fools,” a substantial difference in meaning from the previously mentioned translations. Verse 37 Nafīs al-Dīn translates the phrase ‫ חסיו בו‬with the Arabic ‫يجتمعوا هبا‬, i.e., “they find refuge in them [=the idols].” MS Sinai 1 and MS Sinai 2, by contrast, render as ‫يتوكلون على‬ – “they rely upon [the idols]”. Verse 43 Nafīs al-Dīn translates the expression ‫ וכפר אדמתו‬using the Arabic phrase ‫ ويطهر تربة‬meaning “And [God] will purify the graves [of his people].” MS Sinai 1, by contrast, uses the phrase ‫الرب ارض‬,‫[“ يطهر‬God] will purify the land [of his people],” and MS Sinai 2 translates ‫ويغفر على ارضه‬, “[God] will forgive his [people’s] land.”

DISCUSSION AND SUMMARY There is no doubt that the translation explored in this article is nothing close to the complete translation of the Samaritan Pentateuch attributed to Nafīs al-Dīn – a translation which, at this stage, I am uncertain ever existed. Regardless, by comparing this short translation of thirteen verses of the Song of Moses to other Arabic translations of the Pentateuch – Samaritan (Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ṣūrī, Abū Sa‘id, the Samaritan translations based on Sa‘adia Gaon’s Tafsīr, Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ṣūrī’s translations in Kitāb al-ma‘ād, and the translations appearing in Samaritan dictionaries); Rabbinic (Sa‘adia Gaon’s Tafsīr); Karaite (Yefet ben Ali’s translations); and Christian (MS Sinai 1 and 2); – we can cautiously suggest that the text of Nafīs al-Dīn’s translation represents an independent translation project that was distinct on a textual level from those of his coreligionists. These differences are expressed in distinct word choices, the use of Arabic script, a more faithful and literal translation of the biblical text, and sometimes substantial differences in meaning. This does not mean that Nafīs al-Dīn was unaware of these earlier translations. Without a doubt he was assisted by both the translation – not to mention the exegesis – of Abū al-Ḥasan on the subject

Nafīs al-Dīn’s Samaritan-Arabic Translation

155

of “the world to come, and the final judgment,” a discussion revolving around the aforementioned verses appearing in the Song of Moses. Abū al-Ḥasan discusses this subject in his book Kitāb al-ma‘ād, which was written before Nafīs al-Dīn’s time. Nafīs al-Dīn even notes this fact in his book Šarḥ īm biḥkōtyi. The Arabic translation of the Pentateuch attributed to al-Ḥasan also predates Nafīs al-Dīn. Abū Sa‘id’s adapted translation was, it seems, composed during Nafīs al-Dīn’s lifetime and it is, therefore, impossible to determine whether Nafīs al-Dīn was influenced by it or not. The two Samaritan dictionaries, by contrast, were certainly composed after Nafīs al-Dīn’s time and thus could not have had influence. The fact that Nafīs al-Dīn’s translation differs, in several respects, from all others indicates that he indeed composed an independent text. That being said, due both to the small sample size and the inherent richness and dialectical variety of Arabic, in which a single semantic field can encompass many words, it is difficult to reach any definitive conclusions about what constitutes a substantial difference in meaning. For this reason, we cannot assert conclusively that Nafīs al-Dīn’s translation was textually independent in the fullest sense of the word. If further samples of the author’s translations come to light, thus broadening the corpus, perhaps we can characterize with greater confidence the nature of his activity.

APPENDIX 1: MANUSCRIPTS MS ‫א‬ MS Ben Zvi 7071 Hard blue binding. Brown fabric back. 236 pages in total. Manuscript written in middle Samaritan Arabic. Excerpts from the Pentateuch and from Samaritan hymns are written in Hebrew in Samaritan script in red ink. Pages 5–6, 103, and 122 are missing. Pages 151–56 are bound out of order as follows: 151, 154, 155, 152, 153, 156. The copyist is Abū al-Ḥasan ibn Yaʿaqūb ibn Harūn ibn Salāmah ibn Ġazāl Ha-Kohen Ha-Levi. The text was copied in 1938.

MS ‫נ‬ The manuscript is owned by Namar Zaki Tsedakah; it was inherited by his father. There would seem to be 248 pages, but there are some errors in the page counts. Page 218 was numbered incorrectly as 229. Therefore, the total number of pages is 238. The following pages are missing: p. 4 (from line 5)–12, 93 (from line 5)–94, 107 (from line 7), 109, 127 (from end of page), 129 (from beginning of page). The manuscript is written in middle Samaritan Arabic. Excerpts from

156

Ali Watad

the Pentateuch and from Samaritan hymns in Hebrew in Samaritan script. The copyist was Namar ben Salāmah ben Ismāʿīl ben Ṣāliḥ Ṣadaqa al-Ṣabaḥī al-’Isra’ʿīlī. The manuscript was copied in 1913.

MS ‫ג‬ The manuscript has a hard, grey binding. It has 33 pages (the copyists skipped the following page numbers: 27, 28, 31, and 32, thus the last page number is 37). The copyist added a page at the beginning of the manuscript in which he briefly describes the book, its author, and the contexts in which it is read. This description is written in Arabic in Arabic script. Each page has 16 lines of text. Citations from the Pentateuch are written in Samaritan script in red ink and are usually translated into Arabic. The copyist was Abū al-Ḥasan ben Yaʿaqūb Me-mishpaḥat Aharon. The manuscript was copied in 1937.

APPENDIX 2. IMAGE OF MANUSCRIPT

The Earliest Published Yiddish Tehinnot(1590–1609) Morris M. Faierstein

Meyerhoff Center for Jewish Studies, University of Maryland Prayers of supplication [tehinnot] are among the oldest forms of Jewish prayer. King Solomon’s prayer at the dedication of the Temple is the earliest prayer in the Bible that uses the term tehinnah. The Talmudic rabbis distinguished between the three daily statutory prayers and personal prayers of petition that were uttered by individuals in a variety of circumstances, positive or negative. From the post-Talmudic period through the early modern period a variety of prayers of supplication were composed that were called tehinnot or tahanunim. Most of these prayers were in Hebrew and some in Aramaic. Some of these prayers even entered the regular orders of prayer and prayer books. There may have been tehinnot in other Jewish vernaculars, but they remain to be discovered. The subject of this study is a subset of this genre of literature, tehinnot in Yiddish, the vernacular of Ashkenazi Jewry, and its purpose is to reconsider some of the basic assumptions of the conventional wisdom concerning this genre. The earliest published Tehinnah in this study is from Prague, 1590 and the last collection of tehinnot in this study is from Basel, 1609. The tehinnot are found in a variety of publications, including freestanding pamphlets and individual tehinnot included in larger works. The audience for these works included both men and women. The tehinnot discussed are published in the original Yiddish and translated into English with annotations. The history of Tehinnot as a genre of Early Modern Yiddish literature remains to be written. This study is a first attempt at writing the first chapter of this history.

INTRODUCTION The term tehinnah is first found in the Bible, where its meaning is “a prayer of supplication” – a prayer that asks something of God.1 This is in contrast to the more common form of prayer which praises and thanks God. The earliest use of

1 The scholarly literature on tehinnot is modest. The earliest survey of the subject is J. D. Eisenstein, “Devotional Literature,” in The Jewish Encyclopedia, 12 vols. (New York: Funk & Wagnalls, 1901– 1916), 4: 550–52. A Hebrew version of this article, “Tehinnah,” can be found in J. D. Eisenstein, ‫אוצר ישראל‬, 10 vols. (New York: J. D. Eisenstein, 1913), 10: 249–50. Other studies include Solomon Freehof, “Devotional Literature in the Vernacular,” CCAR Yearbook 33 (1923): 375–424; Jean Baumgarten, Introduction to Old Yiddish Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005),

157

158

Morris M. Faierstein

tehinnah in this sense is found in King Solomon’s prayer at the dedication of the Temple.2 In any prayer or supplication [tehinnah] offered by any person among all Your people Israel, each of whom knows his own affliction, when he spreads his palms toward this House (I Kings 8:38).3 There are many other examples in the Bible. For example, “They said to the prophet Jeremiah, grant our plea (tehinnatenu), and pray (ve-hitpalel) for us” (Jeremiah 42:2), and “The Lord heeds my plea (tehinnati), the Lord accepts my prayer (tefilati)” (Psalms 6:10).4 The concept of tehinnot as prayers of personal supplication also appears in the Talmud, where one finds several relevant discussions in tractate Berakhot. For example, the Talmud describes personal prayers that various rabbis added to the end of the Amidah, the central prayer of Jewish liturgy.5 Later in the same tractate, the personal prayers of rabbis uttered on certain occasions, such as entering and leaving the house of study, were also called tehinnot. Here, a tehinnah is defined as a prayer that is not part of the fixed liturgy. “Rabbi Eliezer said, if one’s prayer is fixed, it is not supplication (tehinnah).”6 For the talmudic rabbis, prayers of supplication were an integral part of prayer, although there were differences of opinion concerning the appropriate place for these prayers: before, in the middle of, or after the statutory prayer, the Amidah.7 The practice of adding spontaneous and private prayers to the fixed liturgy was praised and encouraged by a number of medieval sources. Ashkenazi authorities such as the Maḥzor Vitry encouraged private spontaneous prayer along with or after the standard liturgy. The Maḥzor Vitry, compiled by Rabbi Simḥah of Vitry, of the school of Rashi’s disciples (twelfth century), was the most influential early compilation of Ashkenazi prayers and customs. The Maḥzor states, “on Monday and Thursday, after the petitionary prayers the prayer leader should recite the tehinnot and intentions of the heart and the whole community should repeat after him.” Following this instruction is a lengthy prayer in the tradition of tehinnot, petitioning God’s help for a long list of troubles and afflictions.8 The Siddur of Rashi, from the same period and





274–85; Edward Fram, My Dear Daughter: Rabbi Benjamin Slonik and the Education of Jewish Women in Sixteenth-Century Poland (Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 2007), 66–70. 2 The term tehinnah refers to the genre and to individual prayers, while the term Tehinnah [capitalized] refers to the printed books and pamphlets containing these prayers. 3 Translations of Scripture are from the Jewish Publication Society Tanakh (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1999). In some cases the translation of a verse has been modified to better conform with the meaning of the Yiddish text. 4 More examples can be found in Eliezer Ben Yehudah, ‫מלון הלשון העברית הישנה והחדשה‬, 8 vols. (New York, London: Thomas Yoseloff, 1960), 8:7724. 5 b. Berakhot 16b–17a. 6 b. Berakhot 28b. Fixed prayer refers to the regular prayers mandated three times a day. 7 See the discussion in b. Avodah Zarah 8a. 8 Simḥah of Vitry, ‫מחזור ויטרי‬, ed. S. Hurwitz (Nürnberg: Bulka, 1923), 71–72.

The Earliest Published Yiddish Tehinnot

159

school, states that at the end of the regular prayers it is appropriate to add a prayer of personal petition and gives an example of such a prayer.9 This positive attitude to private petitionary prayer was later codified in the Tur by Jacob ben Asher and in Joseph Karo’s Shulḥan Arukh.10 However, examples of such prayers that have been preserved are few.11 This relative paucity does not mean that such personal prayers were not composed and recited, but only that they were not copied and preserved. The advent of printing and publication in the second half of the fifteenth century played a major role in the dissemination of knowledge and the development of new genres of literature.12 Printing made possible not only wider distribution of classic works, but also facilitated the preservation of works that were considered to be of lesser importance. A significant factor in this was the lower cost of printing versus manuscript copying. A category of books and other writings that particularly benefited were works in the vernacular aimed at a non-elite audience. In Ashkenazi Europe this meant books in Yiddish. The first Yiddish book was published half a century after the beginning of Hebrew printing. These Yiddish books, and the popular culture that created and consumed them, have so far attracted little interest or study. Our knowledge of this literature and its cultural impact is still for the most part in its infancy. One genre of early modern Yiddish literature that has attracted some attention in recent years are the Yiddish Tehinnot. The primary reason behind this attention is feminist interest in the tehinnots’ association with the religious life of women and the aim to recover a women’s religion within Judaism. The most influential recent scholarly study based on this association is Chava Weissler’s Voices of the Matriarchs.13 An excellent Yiddish-English anthology of tehinnot by and for women is Tracy Guren Klirs, et al., The Merit of Our Mothers.14 Both of these works, however, along with much of what has been written about tehinnot, make a basic assumption that needs reconsideration: that the term tehinnah is synonymous with prayers by and/or for women. Second, it is generally assumed that the earliest Tehinnah was published in Amsterdam in 1648.15 The majority of Tehinnot that are known and studied begin with this work and include 9 ‫סידור רש״י‬, ed. Solomon Buber (Berlin: Itzkowitzi, 1912), 25, para. 38. 10 Tur and Shulḥan Arukh, Oraḥ Ḥayyim, 119.1, 122.1. 11 See Freehof, “Devotional Literature in the Vernacular,” 386–87. 12 The history of the printing revolution has become so well known and is so significant that it has spawned whole field of scholarship called the history of the book. 13 Chava Weissler, Voices of the Matriarchs (Boston: Beacon Press, 1998). 14 Tracy Guren Klirs, et al. The Merit of Our Mothers (Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 1992). 15 For a study and translation of this Tehinnah, see Devra Kay, Seyder Tkhines: The Forgotten Book of Common Prayer for Jewish Women. (Philadelphia, PA: Jewish Publication Society, 2004).

160

Morris M. Faierstein

volumes published up to the beginning of the twentieth century. A comprehensive study of this genre and its history remains a desideratum. This study is an effort to reconsider this definition of tehinnot as by and/or for women, and to expand our knowledge of the earliest tehinnot, which were published more than half a century before the Amsterdam 1648 Tehinnah. We will see that the audience for Yiddish tehinnot was not restricted to women, but also included men from the beginnings of the genre. I have addressed in several studies the widespread idea that Yiddish religious literature was only for women and a small group of ignorant men, and have concluded that this is a misconception based on a misunderstanding of the sources or on an ideological bias of earlier scholars.16 I hope in this article also to contribute to the study of early modern Yiddish literature and popular Jewish culture. My method is an analysis and translation of the earliest known Yiddish tehinnot, published between 1590 and 1609. I have chosen to translate these tehinnot into English because the number of readers who can navigate early modern Yiddish texts is very small, and simply describing a text does not enable a reader to appreciate its significance. A second reason for translating and publishing the full texts is that some of these early texts were pamphlets of eight or sixteen pages and have been preserved in only one or two copies. This study is divided into four parts. Following the introduction, the second part describes and analyzes the texts, and the third part offers general conclusions. The fourth part consists of a translation of each of the texts discussed in this study, including the relevant paratexts. In addition, each translation will be accompanied by brief comments and annotations that elucidate specific aspects of the text. A transcription of the original Yiddish is also included. The texts are divided into two groups. The first group includes Tehinnot that are independent publications. The second section consists of a sample of tehinnot that are found embedded within larger works published during this period and is not meant to be comprehensive.

DESCRIPTION AND ANALYSIS OF INDIVIDUAL TEHINNOT Tehinnah Zu (Prague 1590) This small pamphlet is the earliest known Yiddish Tehinnah. It is seven pages in length, consisting of a title page, two pages of Hebrew tehinnot, three-and-a-half 16 My most recent summary of this argument is found in my article, “The Melits Yosher and the Audience for Early Modern Yiddish Literature,” PaRDeS: Journal of the German Association for Jewish Studies 25 (2019): 23–42.

The Earliest Published Yiddish Tehinnot

161

pages of Yiddish tehinnot, and a final page containing a Hebrew elegy, taking up more than half of the page. Some authorities have attributed the pamphlet to Abraham Aptheker of Ludmir, author of the moralistic work Sam Ḥayyim [The Medicine of Life],17 which was published by the same press and in the same year as the Tehinnah Zu.18 Both works were also printed by the same printer, and utilized the same fonts. Another similarity is that both works are bilingual, with the Hebrew text followed by a Yiddish translation. The primary basis for this identification is a passing reference to Sam Ḥayyim in the Tehinnah Zu, although this reference has nothing to do with Aptheker and his work. Moritz Steinschneider noted in his entry on the Tehinnah Zu in his Bodleian catalog that the connection was due the fact that Bezalel, the brother of the printer of the Tehinnah Zu, was working on printing the Sam Ḥayyim when he suddenly died. He then printed the Tehinnah Zu as a memorial to his brother, who is the subject of the elegy at the end of the pamphlet.19 The first part consists of five tehinnot in Hebrew that ask for God’s protection from enemies, success in one’s endeavors, and God’s forgiveness for sins or other transgressions against God and one’s fellows. The second part consists of Yiddish translations of these tehinnot. The last page concludes the work with the Hebrew elegy by the printer, for his brother who died during the printing of the Sam Ḥayyim. The quality of the fonts is poor. The Hebrew is readable with difficulty, while the Yiddish font is virtually illegible.20 To the extent I was able to decipher passages in the Yiddish text, they appear to be a translation of the Hebrew. The language of the Hebrew text is sophisticated and would not be readily understandable by an ordinary Jew, even one with some yeshiva education. This would explain the Yiddish translation, since the intended reader was most likely a man who could read the unpointed Hebrew text but not necessarily understand it completely. The nature of the prayers, requests, and petitions are clearly designed for a male audience; there is no evidence that women were the intended audience for any of these tehinnot. Thus, it would seem that the first printed Tehinnah known was a work for men, not for women. 17 Concerning the Sam Ḥayyim see Jacob Elbaum and Chava Turniansky, ‫ ספר סם‬:‫מוסר בעלי בתים‬ ‫חיים לר׳ אברהם אשכנזי אפיטיקר מלודמיר‬, Creation and Re-Creation in Jewish Thought: Festschrift in Honor of Joseph Dan on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday, ed. Rachel Elior and Peter Schäfer (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005), 111*–145*. 18 See Yeshayahu Vinograd, ‫אוצר הספר העברי‬, 2 vols. (Jerusalem: Institute for Computerized Bibliography, 1993–1995, Prague, no. 49). That these books were printed by the same printers at the same press is verified by the colophons of both works where the printer is identified. 19 Steinschneider, Moritz. Catalogus Librorum Hebraeorum in Bibliotheca Bodleiana, 2 vols. (Berlin: Friedlander, 1852–1860), hereafter, C. B., no. 3336. 20 I was only able to work from a printout of the microfiche and did not examine the actual work. It is possible that the original text is more readable.

162

Morris M. Faierstein

A Very Nice Tehinnah (Prague, ca. 1600) This Tehinnah is an eight-page pamphlet containing two tehinnot. The first appears on pages 1–7; another tehinnah, not connected to the first, appears on page 8. The pamphlet has no identifying information about its author or its place and date of publication. The experts at the National Library of Israel, where this text is found, have concluded, on the basis of font, paper, and other physical characteristics, that it was most likely published in Prague around 1600. At the top of the first page there is a statement in a frame stating that this tehinnah was in the possession of some women, who decided to share it and allowed it to be printed. The intended audience was clearly women, as the repeated references to female biblical figures would not be found in tehinnot intended for a male audience. Also lacking in this tehinnah is a context that could elucidate what occasions would be appropriate for its recitation. Many tehinnot were written to be read as a daily prayer, or for events, usually of religious significance, or for times considered to be auspicious [et razon]. For women these might include candle lighting on Sabbaths and festivals, taking ḥallah, or going to the mikveh.21 The text of this tehinnah is of such a general nature that it is impossible to identify a particular context for this prayer. Perhaps, like two other of the tehinnot discussed here, it is a general prayer meant to be recited daily or at times of spiritual need. The second tehinnah, which would seem to be an addition to fill the last page of the pamphlet, does have a heading that indicates a specific purpose: that the tehinnah is to be recited every day. This is likely one of the shorter prayers to be recited daily to fulfill the obligation of daily prayer.

Tehinnot u-Bakashot22 (Basel, 1609) The only information we have about this text are the few comments, in Hebrew and Yiddish, found on the title page. There is no introduction or colophon. My assumption is that the Hebrew comments are a signal to men that there is something in this work for them. The statement, “at the command of Rabbi Ḥayyim, son of the Ḥaver, Rabbi Simḥa Ashkenazi,” implies that he was the one who paid for the printing, but not necessarily the author. The contents include six items, divided for men and women. The first three are for men, since they are related to the synagogue and daily prayer. The fourth is a Seliḥah (penitential prayer) that can be appropriate for both men and women. The instruction 21 These are the three classic “women’s commandments.” 22 Bakashot is a synonym for Tehinnot, also meaning prayers of petition. The two terms are parallel. In the Sephardi liturgical tradition, Bakashot is the preferred term, while in the Ashkenazi tradition Tehinnot is the preferred term.

The Earliest Published Yiddish Tehinnot

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to read the prayers every day is also found in the prayers for women, and the text here also appears in both Hebrew and Yiddish. The last two tehinnot are specifically for women. The first is a group of prayers for a pregnant woman and the second relates to tehinnot recited prior to candle lighting for the Sabbath and festivals. An interesting aspect of the first two tehinnot is their kabbalistic association. They are two versions of the prayer Berikh Shemeh, a passage from the Zohar that became an integral part of the service for taking the Torah from the Ark. Both of these tehinnot were introduced by Safed kabbalists at the end of the sixteenth century. I have discussed elsewhere the early adoption of kabbalistic ideas and customs among Ashkenazi Jews.23 The two prayers in this Tehinnah add to the evidence of early Ashkenazic adoption of kabbalistic customs.

Miscellaneous Tehinnot Tehinnot of this type are embedded in a variety of texts. The three tehinnot I have included are representative samples. The common characteristic of many of these tehinnot is that they are recited before the performance of a commandment or a ritual. Others are included at the end of other works and often have the superscription, “To be recited every day.” A. Tehinnah at end of The Story of the House of David in the Persian Period (Basel 1599) In the spring of 1599, the press of Konrad Waldkirch published a small Yiddish book entitled The Story of the House of David in the Persian Period, by Rabbi David ben Joseph of Toeplitz.24 This book was an adaptation of Isaac Arkisch’s Hebrew work of the same name, published in Constantinople in 1577. At the very end of the book, on a separate page after the colophon, is found the tehinnah that is discussed here. It has no relation to the rest of the book, and there is no information about the author. The last part of the prayer makes it clear that this was a prayer intended for women and that it was to be recited every day, as the inscription at the top of the page states. The likeliest connection between the main part of the book and the tehinnah is that the primary audience for both was women. This was a work of history, and as such was seen as more suitable for women, since men were expected to occupy themselves with religious works. The most plausible reason that the tehinnah was added was to fill an 23 Studies include Morris M. Faierstein, “Kabbalah and Early Modern Yiddish Literature Prior to 1648,” Revue des études juives, 168, 3–4 (2009): 505–18; Faierstein, “The Brantshpigl (1596) and the Popularization of Kabbalah,” Kabbalah 27 (2012): 173–93. 24 For a comprehensive discussion of this work see Clemens P. Sidorko, Basel und der jiddische Buchdruck (1557–1612): Kulturexport in der Frühen Neuzeit (Basel: Schwabe Verlag, 2014), 288–95.

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empty last page of the quire.25 Another possible reason would have been to provide a daily prayer for the woman reading this book, enabling her to fulfill her religious obligation. B. Other miscellaneous tehinnot These tehinnot are interspersed in larger texts and do not have separate introductory materials.

CONCLUSIONS The genre of printed Tehinnot developed in a variety of directions in the course of its history. Without a careful historical survey of the development of the genre and its bibliography, which remains a desideratum, conclusions may not rest on a solid foundation.26 To take one example, a tehinnah found in Tehinnah Imrei Shifrah discussed by Chava Weissler, that described a woman lighting Sabbath candles as similar to the High Priest lighting the Candelabrum in the Temple.27 Weissler draws a number of conclusions from this text about women and their knowledge of and exposure to kabbalistic ideas.28 However, the motif was already mentioned in Moshe Henochs Altschul’s Brantshpigl,29 which contains a significant amount of kabbalistic imagery and ideas, as do other Yiddish works published as early as the late sixteenth century.30 Did the author of the eighteenth-century Tehinnah cited by Weissler find the analogy in the Brantshpigl or is there a source that precedes both works? For the present the question remains open, but we can assuredly date the trope as early as the Brantshpigl. Another example of uncertain provenance is the tehinnah

25 Sidorko, Basel und der jiddische Buchdruck, 292. 26 An additional issue in the study of the early tehinnot is that many of them only exist in unique copies or no more than a handful of copies at best. 27 Like many similar pamphlets, it was published without a place or date of publication. The best guesstimate is that it was published in eastern Europe at the end of the eighteenth century. See Weissler, Voices of the Matriarchs, 93n18. 28 Weissler, Voices of the Matriarchs, 100–102. 29 Altschul, Moshe Henochs, ‫( ספר ברנט שפיגל‬Basel, 1602), chapter 37. The term Brantshpigl has been translated in a number of ways, most commonly “Burning Mirror.” Altschul explains at length what he means by this term in his introduction to the work. The term “Spiegel,” in the sixteenth century, could also mean “glass,” as in Johann Reuchlin’s book, Augenspiegel, which is translated as “eyeglasses.” Consideration of all the evidence leads to the conclusion that the best modern translation of this title is “magnifying glass.” 30 See above, note 23.

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for candle lighting in the Basel 1609 Tehinnah, which is already found in the Birkhat ha-Mazon published in Basel in 1600.31 The questions raised by the Tehinnot included in this study are many. The answers I offer are preliminary but can be useful as guides to further research and study. The first question is, why are there no printed Tehinnot before the end of the sixteenth century? As mentioned above, Yiddish printing lagged behind Hebrew printing, and it is likely that printing works considered to be classic or educational had a higher priority. It is also interesting that the early Tehinnot were printed in central Europe (Basel and Prague) and not in Poland (Cracow). The production of booklets and pamphlets in the vernacular aimed at a popular audience was common in Protestant Europe, but not in Catholic lands like Poland. Perhaps Tehinnot were a Jewish parallel to German pamphlets. Two basic questions about tehinnot are, who was the intended audience and who were the authors of these prayers? The conventional wisdom, as noted, is that the audience was predominantly women and the authors men. The evidence, however, shows that the answer is more complicated. There are tehinnot written for men and those aimed at women, and it is fairly clear for whom a specific tehinnah is intended. The question of authorship is more complicated, since most tehinnot are anonymous. Among the few that are attributed, many of the attributions to women cannot be verified with any certainty. The Basel 1609 Tehinnah contains tehinnot for men that are bilingual and were most likely aimed at a category of men that has been largely ignored in the scholarly literature. This audience is traditionally termed “ba’alei batim” [householders], and was the primary audience for bilingual books and even for some books entirely in Yiddish in the early modern period. They had some education beyond the ḥeder, could read Hebrew and probably understand basic texts, but would have trouble with more poetic or difficult texts. Contemporary analogies in the English-speaking world would be the “Artscroll” texts, or in the Israeli context, the Steinsaltz Modern Hebrew translation of the Talmud. Prayers for men were often associated with the daily prayers or the fulfillment of specific commandments. This Tehinnah also contains a bilingual tehinnah whose theme is asking for divine protection, and may well be a general tehinnah suitable for both men and women. A man might feel more comfortable reciting it in Hebrew, but could look at the Yiddish to be certain what the Hebrew says, while a woman could read the Yiddish without feeling any inadequacy about her inability to comprehend the Hebrew. That there might be women whose knowledge of Hebrew is sufficient to read, but perhaps not fully comprehend, the text must also be considered. The tehinnot for women were primarily in Yiddish, and can be divided into 31 Concerning this work see Sidorko, Basel und der jiddische Buchdruck, 223–28.

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several categories: general prayers for help and protection, and prayers for specific events – both recurring events like candle lighting on Friday night or special times like childbirth. A characteristic of tehinnot for women is the invocation of female biblical figures as role models, or as figures whose prayers were answered. It is also common for the tehinnah to state that the prayers of the woman reciting the tehinnah should be answered, as were the prayers of the biblical figures. A header that is found at the top of many of the general tehinnot states that the tehinnah should be recited every day. Although women are not obligated to fulfill time-bound commandments, and they do not need to pray three times a day like men, women are obligated to pray to God in a generic way.32 Perhaps these tehinnot were seen as a way of fulfilling this religious obligation. Tehinnot for specific events were usually associated with times of special grace, or of danger. Lighting candles would be an example of the first category, and childbirth of the second. A question regarding Tehinnot for women is their authorship. Early Tehinnot are for the most part anonymous. The Prague 1600 Tehinnah begins with a statement that it was composed by women, who only now allowed the printer to publish it. This text has two parts: the first seven pages are one tehinnah, and the last page is a separate tehinnah. A comparison of the two parts of this text demonstrates one possible method that would be helpful in answering the question of authorship. The style and language of the first, larger, tehinnah is straightforward and simple. The imagery and the heroic figures to whom one might appeal and might emulate include a significant number of biblical women. The biblical references and midrashic elements in the first tehinnah could have been found, for example, in Yiddish texts like the Ḥumash published by Leib Bresc in 1560 and reprinted several more times.33 There were also other Yiddish texts available to Jewish women at this time where one could find the stories alluded to in this Tehinnah.34 The Ze’enah U-Re’enah, first published shortly after 1600, is also a very rich source of rabbinic and midrashic materials about

32 m. Berakhot 3.3. Rabbi Avraham Gumbiner in ‫מגן אברהם‬, his commentary on Shulḥan Arukh, Oraḥ Ḥayyim, 106. 2, suggests that women are only required to pray once a day, in any form they choose, so long as the prayer contains praise (berakhot), requests (bakashot), and thanks (hodot) to God. More recently, the Sephardic authority, Rabbi Ovadiah Yosef, ruled similarly in his classic halakhic compendium, ‫יביע אומר‬, 6: 17. 33 Concerning Bresc and his Yiddish Humash see Edward Fram, “Some Preliminary Observations on the First Published Translation of Rashi’s Commentary on the Pentateuch in Yiddish (Cremona, 1560),” Hebrew Union College Annual 86 (2016): 305–42. 34 A more comprehensive study of Yiddish biblical texts during this period is Morris M. Faierstein, The Early Modern Yiddish Bible: From the Mirkevet ha-Mishneh to Blitz and Witzenhausen (forthcoming).

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biblical figures, both male and female.35 The second text, on the last page of the Prague Tehinnah, has a completely different style and feel. The language is sophisticated, and one can almost hear the biblical verses that are behind virtually every sentence. Despite the petitioner being referred to as “your servant and maid,” the imagery is very masculine, and it is difficult at best to believe that this text was composed by a woman or an unsophisticated man. The following passage from this tehinnah is illustrative: I ask God one thing; this I desire from Him: that I might sit in God’s house all the days of my life, that He should protect me. May my lifelong intent be that the appropriate worship be fulfilled. He hides me in His tent. He has placed me on a high rock. Now He will lift my head over my enemies, he gives me power. I want to make sacrifices with trumpets, in his tent. I also want to sing and praise God. I call; hear my voice God, have compassion. Answer me God, hear me. My heart speaks to You with prayer, to see Your Glory is my desire. You should not hide Yourself from me nor turn away from me with wrathfulness. Do not be angry with Your servant and maid. You are my helper in all things. Another possible answer to the question why published Tehinnot first appear at the end of the sixteenth century could be the influence and popularity of kavvanot – kabbalistic meditations recited before fulfilling specific commandments – and the penchant of kabbalists in the wake of the Safed revolution in the second half of the sixteenth century to engage in liturgical creativity.36 The Basel 1609 Tehinnah shows kabbalistic influence in its citation of two prayers that were part of this Safed revolution. There is also a growing body of evidence that popular Jewish culture and religion were influenced by kabbalistic ideas at the turn of the sixteenth century. Currently these parallels are suggestive, but the evidence is still largely circumstantial. Further research is needed before one can speak of specific influences. In any case, Tehinnot are an integral aspect of early modern Jewish popular culture and religion. No manuscripts of such prayers in the vernacular have survived prior to this period. The Tehinnot arose as a literary genre at the end of the sixteenth century, but the dramatic growth of this literature occurred in the second half of the seventeenth century and continued to the end of the nineteenth century.

35 Ze’enah U-Re’enah: A Critical Translation into English, ed. and trans. Morris M. Faierstein, 2 vols. Studia Judaica 96 (Berlin: De Gruyter), 2017. 36 See Moshe Hallamish, ‫( חקרי קבלה ותפילה‬Be’er Sheva: Ben-Gurion University Press, 2012), 42–45.

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IV. THE TEXTS 1. Tehinnah Zu (Prague 1590)37 Title Page [Hebrew and Yiddish] [Hebrew, rhymed text].

THIS TEHINNAH

Praised and laudable its value – Pleasing in everything and in its organization And the one who reads it according to custom and law – on Monday and Thursday38 Will be saved from harm and entanglements – and will find eternal blessings [Yiddish, rhymed text] Recite this Tehinnah well every day. Thus, you will be protected from every pain. When you see my introduction, you will not think my book’s of no account! Buy my book today, before Moses travels on and runs away.39 [Hebrew] PRINTED HERE IN THE HOLY COMMUNITY PRAGUE THE CAPITAL In the house of the wealthy, venerable, Mordecai bar Gershom ha-Kohen By his son, the young, beloved, Solomon Kohen C. Text.

350 [1590], in the small counting

In this case I have not translated the text for the reasons discussed in the Introduction to this text above. The Yiddish text is so poorly printed that it is virtually unreadable.

37 Bibliographical information can be found in Leopold Zunz, “Annalen der hebräischen Typographie von Prag, vom Jahre 1513 bis zum Jahre 1657,” in his Zur Geschichte und Literatur, vol. 1 (Berlin: Veit und Comp., 1845), 277, no. 47; C. B., no. 3336; C. B., “Jüdisch-Deutsche Literatur,” Serapeum, 1848–1849 (rep. Jerusalem: Department of Yiddish Literature, 1961), 277, no. 47; National Library of Israel, Microfiche no. 305. This is part of the Rabbi David Oppenheim collection of Yiddish books in the Bodleian Library. 38 These are the two days when the Torah is normally read during the morning service. 39 It is not clear who Moses is. Perhaps he is the publisher.

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2. A VERY NICE TEHINNAH (Prague, ca. 1600)40 A VERY NICE TEHINNAH 41 [Statement in frame at top of first page.] [This Tehinnah was kept] as a secret for a long time, by a few pious women. They kept it among themselves and did not allow anyone to copy it. Now, they have reconsidered, and brought it into print: Text. Praised are You, God our God, King over the whole world. You are full of compassion and goodness. You are close to all who call on You in truth, and You, Lord, should not close Your ears to my request. You should not despise my prayer. Like the prayer of Eve our ancestress, who unified Your name and prayed that You would put into her husband, Adam’s, mind that he should return to her, after he separated from her when his son, Cain, killed his brother Abel. You increased his desire for her, more than he had before. Receive my prayer like You received the prayer of Sarah our mother who asked Your holy name that You should protect her from Pharaoh and Abimelech, who wanted to sleep with her. You plagued them and their whole household. Like the prayer of Rebecca our mother that she would give birth to Jacob the righteous one. Like the prayer of Rachel that she should be protected from the evil Esau, who hoped she would be his wife. Because she was incapable of having children, she thought that Jacob would divorce her, and he would marry her. And the prayer of Leah that she also be protected from the evil Esau who had hoped that she would be his portion because she was [1] the oldest daughter of Laban and he was the oldest son of Rebecca. Like the prayer of Miriam, the prophetess, who prayed, because she must put her brother, Moses our Teacher of blessed memory, in the pond, that he should be protected from the water. Like the prayer, and the oath, of the righteous woman, Hannah, that she bore the prophet Samuel, and who was as esteemed as Moses and Aaron the priest. And the prayer of the righteous woman Deborah, that Sisera and his whole people you gave into the hands of Israel. And the prayer of Bathsheba, the mother of King Solomon, who prayed that she should have a son with King David, who was a scholar and righteous man, that You fulfilled for her, so too You should fulfill for us all of our prayers. As You received the prayer of Queen Esther who prayed to the Holy One that he should protect the people of Israel from the evil Haman. And like the prayer of Judith, the righteous woman, that You answered and put the evil Holofernes 40 The text is available online at: https://beta.nli.org.il/en/books/NNL_ALEPH001069028/NLI 41 The numbers in square brackets [ ] in the text refer to the page numbers in the original Yiddish text.

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into her hands, so that she cut off his head. You protected Your people Israel from the kingdom of Antiochus. So too, God, who is the Lord over all lords, Your holy name should also hear my prayer. You should let me benefit from the merit of all the righteous men and women who are in the Garden of Eden and in the World to Come. Let me benefit from the merit of all those who serve Your holy name with piety. Now, dear Lord God, receive my prayer and open Your compassion and give to us people good fortune in Your eyes, and in the eyes of all who see me, and feed me from Your holy goodness, and not from the hands of any person. Cause me in my heart to sanctify Your name, and that I should serve You out of love, and restrain my evil inclination that it should not rule over me. Guard and protect me and all of my family from all those who wish us evil, and from all evil, and from evil decrees and prisons. Dear God, illumine the eyes of my children with Your Torah and fill their hearts that they should love Your name through Torah, good deeds, and pleasantness, and cause us all to love Your name. Protect us with Your holy name and also our descendants, that they should be pious. Nourish me and my children and all of Israel from Your hand in [2] all misfortunes, as you nourished and protected Abraham our Patriarch from the flames of the furnace into which he was thrown in Ur of the Chaldees. When You rescued Isaac our Patriarch when he was bound on the altar to be offered as a sacrifice, and as You helped Jacob from Laban, and Joseph the righteous from the prison, and Moses our Teacher from Pharaoh, and King David from Goliath the Philistine, and Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah from the fires of the furnace where Nebuchadnezzar had thrown them, and as You helped Daniel out of the lion’s den, and then helped Mordecai and Queen Esther from the evil Haman, and from the evil thoughts that he had against the Jews. So too God, You should protect all Jewish children from the hands of the nations and from all evil. Preserve us and protect us that no flaw should come into the family of Israel. We should go out from our houses with joy and we should return home in peace. Protect us and preserve us from enemies that await us on the way and in the streets, from evil encounters and from demons, from Lilith and from the demon called Ketev Meriri.42 Dear Lord God, do not allow any Jewish child to come under investigation or slander, and all the wanderings of Jewish children should be like the wanderings of Enoch and the prophet Elijah, who themselves went about day and night, and were not harmed and were not abused or attacked. So should it be for me and all my dear



42 “‫ ”קטב מרירי‬is a phrase that appears in Deuteronomy 32:24. According to b. Pesaḥim 111b, it is the name of a demon that appears before noon.

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friends and all of Israel wherever we go, by day and by night, that we should not be injured with any kind of harm: Dear Lord God, it should be Your will that You should command the angel Metatron, who places the crown on You, who wipes away Your wrath against Israel, and who writes down all the commandments fulfilled by Israel and places them before Your phylacteries. The same angel who appeared to Moses our Teacher in the thorn bush, and the same angel you sent with Israel through the wilderness. He also helped Joshua and Israel to kill the thirty-one kings that were in the land of Israel. Dear Lord God, You will also send the same angel to us that he should also guard us in all of our works, and in all of our paths, and the angel Michael should be on my right side, [3] on my left side, the angel Gabriel, before me the angel Uriel, and behind me Raphael. And on my head, there should always be the Shekhinah of God, blessed be His name. Dear Lord of the World accept my prayer. You should not withhold Your ears from my prayer, from my prayer and all the prayers brought forth by Your people Israel, who believe in Your Holy name. Help Your people Israel and nourish them and lift them up always and eternally. My words that I have prayed to You should be before You, God my God, and the God of my parents, they should be close to You, God our God, day and night, to do Your will and the will of the righteous men and women, Your servants. We should benefit from their merit and be compassionate to Your people Israel every day and night, in the expectation that all the nations will know that God is God, my Creator. How should we come before our eternal dear Lord and how should we do His will when we have no longer have a High Priest, and also no sacrifices such as went before him when he came to the Temple, in the Holy of Holies. The Shekhinah of our dear Lord rested on him when he served and prayed. He was forgiven for his sins and the sins of Israel, since he was their representative and leader all their days and removed the wrongs from their hearts. They made evildoers into righteous people. We have lost our honor and respect, and the house of our holiness has been destroyed. We are unable to offer our prayers, yet through the merit of all the righteous and pious, we easily find compassion before our dear Lord: Dear Lord God grant my prayer as if it were from the High Priest and equal to the atonement offering that he brought: I will praise our dear Lord with humility and will beautify Him. My mouth is only capable of uttering a portion of His praises. All the tongues of all humankind cannot express the beauty and the honor of our dear Lord. He is strong in all of His works. He is worthy of respect and praise. Honor Him without end and without a thought to personal advantage. He is ever examining the thoughts of all people. He recompenses a person according to his works. He is all-seeing and all-knowing. He should push us toward [4] the Living One, the One who lives forever. Thus, His name

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is the crown of the kingdom. I want to magnify His name with praise: I want to praise our dear Lord always. All the world’s tongues cannot describe the beauty of our dear Lord. He is strong and truthful. He is just and complete. His eyes see all things. He is beyond blessing and praise. He made the heavens, but they that cannot escort Him. God reigns, God has reigned, God will reign forever and for eternity. The honor of our dear Lord God fills the whole world and no eye can see him. He nourishes everyone with His goodness and His truth. He is righteous and just, blessed be the name of His glorious majesty forever and ever. He loves strangers, orphans, and widows, and gives each one clothes from His hand, and our longing is that He should protect and provide. He is the king who is eternal, Lord of Hosts is his name. He is the king over everything, the Lord our God, the Lord is one. He is the crown over all holiness. He decorated the Throne of Glory with four creatures. The angels take leave of each other singing, bless the Lord, the one who is blessed. He makes a crown on His head from the prayers of Israel that come from a whole heart. You should capture the city of Zion soon with Your might, and you should bring the dead back to life, so that all eyes should see the great honor of our dear Lord. We will say, God was eternal and will be eternal. God our helper and redeemer. He receives the holiness from the prayers of Israel: I pray to You so that You should accompany us and protect us from Gehenna and from hardship, since You are our helper. I rely on You, since you are compassionate and gracious. I want to crown You with my prayers. Do not bring any evil on me. If I have sinned, I did it inadvertently. It is written that the one who desires to atone for his sins will receive compassion. Concerning this, I have consoled myself that I have purified my heart before You. Dear Lord, grant us protection from the destroying Satan, and from this hardship. You should be our redeemer through Your [5] compassion. For the sake of the great merit of our ancestors, since You have recompensed much good. For their sake, I will pray and praise You, since You are God, the first and You will be the last. I ask You like Adam asked: if You seek my sins may You not find them and forgive my misdeeds like the misdeeds of the high priest. Compassionate God, hear my prayer like You heard the prayer of Noah in the Ark. He found guiding happiness in Your eyes. Dear Lord God let my prayer be in your eyes like the prayer of Abraham our Patriarch who recognized You at the age of three years. Remember my family for a good memorial before You. My prayer should be public before You like the prayer of Isaac, who was bound on Mount Moriah. Remove injustice from our hearts and we will serve You and honor You, as Jacob our Patriarch served You. Hear my prayer and accept it like the prayers of Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah, and the twelve tribes, as I want to be part of them. Like the righteous Joseph prayed in prison, so too my prayer should go before Your throne. Like

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the shouts of the children of Israel who cried out to You in Egypt, who served in hardship with mortar and with bricks. Forgive our sins when we come knocking on Your door. Our redeemer, You should answer us as You answered Miriam and healed her of leprosy. Make us rejoice and redeem us. Give us our share of Leviathan and hear our prayer as You heard the prayer of Aaron the priest when he stopped the plague in Israel. Hear my prayers as You heard the prayer of Deborah the prophetess who made wicks in the Temple. My prayer should be before You like the prayer of Joshua in Jericho, and show us the light from Your eyes. Our redeemer, You should tell us good news, better than the good news that the angel told to Manoaḥ and his wife, that You will cause a son to come from them, like the one who came from Hannah. I want to crown You with my prayer. I ask You like the prophet Samuel prayed to You that You cause it to rain on the land in the heat. [6] Dear Lord God . . . 43 King Saul, the first king. Send upon us blessings with all blessings and forgive me like You forgave the sins of King David that he committed with Bathsheba. So should my prayer be before You, sweet as honey from roses. Hear my prayer as you heard the prayer of the prophet Elijah when he stopped the rain, and as You heard the prayer of Elisha when he brought the child back to life. Send us the Messiah and comfort us as You comforted Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi. The words of my lips should be sweet as honey before You and bless my body along with the other righteous ones in the Garden of Eden. We hope to You, since You are my redeemer, God of Israel. Dear Lord God, all of Your good angels should bring before You my prayers with honor, and all of my enemies should be destroyed before the court of the other world. My body should live, and my soul should be purified of all sins. The good inclination should rule within me, to serve our dear Lord. To do his will with reverence and with a whole heart, and do not allow the evil inclination to rule within me: I am certainly Your child and pray before God the Most High. The Shekhinah must rest upon us and have compassion on me, like a father has compassion for his children. Send blessing and success in all of our works. So we and our children become free, and what we own, as it is written, we are adorned in joy. The mountains will be flattened before the whole world. The trees will praise You; the trees will applaud with their branches. Thus, we should know the end of times, which God will give us for good: I take leave of our Lord God, blessed be He, and from the angels. I pray to You dear Lord God that You should be our guarantor that we will come to rest at Your holy dwelling, for ever more, and eternally. Amen. Selah. 43 This is the first line of the page; the rest of the line is not readable.

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[The tehinnah ends at this point. The tehinnah on the next page is separate from the preceding seven pages. I believe that this tehinnah is a pastiche of paraphrases of biblical passages and not a prose statement, but is rather almost a form of poetry.] [7] Recite this tehinnah every morning and you will not have to worry about any evil.44 God is my light. I do not fear anyone: My life force is God the Lord; whom should I fear? Therefore, when they desire to war against me, to eat my flesh and consume it, my persecutor and his [helpers] should stumble and fall and should be completely destroyed: When I am faced with conflict, I am assured by You; About them I do not care. I ask God one thing; this I desire from Him: That I might sit in God’s house all the days of my life, that He should protect me. May my lifelong intention be that the appropriate worship be fulfilled. He hides me in His tent. He has placed me on a high rock. Now He will lift my head over my enemies, he gives me power. I want to make sacrifices with trumpets, in his tent. I also want to sing and praise God. I call – hear my voice God, have compassion. Answer me God, hear me. My heart speaks to You with prayer, to see Your Glory is my desire. You should not hide Yourself from me; do not turn away from me with wrathfulness. Do not be angry with Your servant and maid. You are my helper in all things. Take me and do not turn aside from me. My father and mother have completely left me, but God has gathered me in and drawn me forth. Show me Your way God, and lead me on the right path. I want to go, revering You, whole and complete, publicly before my enemies. Do not give me into the hands of those who lie about me, this I ask first. They place lies over me, secretly and in public. If this does not occur, still I believe I will see God’s goodness in the land of eternal life. Hope to God, my heart, with all your strength. Hope to God, he will answer you. [8]

3. Tehinnot and Bakashot (Basel, 1609)45 I. Title Page [Hebrew] [1a] Tehinnot and Bakashot that have never been in print and I found written on old paper, and have printed them also in the Yiddish language, to benefit men and women, since they are pleasant and beautiful tehinnot, and you will “behold what is right” [Psalms 17:2]: 44 This top of the page is damaged; this title is the best I could reconstruct of the remaining text. This tehinnah appears to be a collection of biblical passages translated into Yiddish. The common theme is asking for God’s help. 45 Bibliographical information can be found in Joseph Prijs. Die Basler Hebräischen Drucke (Freiburg i. B.: Urs Graf Verlag, 1964), no. 197. The only known copy is in the British Library.

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[Yiddish] Therefore, dear pious women may well also buy these tehinnot, since they are very beautiful tehinnot that have not yet been translated – as you will certainly discover in this small book. You should recite them with kavvanah. Thus, God will benefit you in the World to Come, and will reward your request and the prayer that you offer to Him. Amen, so may it be His will. [Hebrew] Printed In the year, 369, in the small counting.46 At the command of Rabbi Ḥayyim, son of the Ḥaver, Rabbi Simḥa Ashkenazi, of blessed memory. Of the Levi family from Swabia, currently rabbi in the land of Bohemia, in the holy community of Leipa. By the great noble Konrad Waldkirch, may he be exalted Here in Basel the Praiseworthy II. Berikh Shemeh. A. Introduction. Berikh Shemeh is the name of a prayer that is recited when the Torah scroll is taken from the Ark. Its recitation was first recommended in Moshe ben Machir’s compendium of kabbalistic customs and practices, Sefer Seder ha-Yom (Venice 1589). The source for this new custom is a passage from Zohar II: 206a, in which Rabbi Simeon bar Yohai instructs his disciples to recite this prayer whenever the Torah is taken from the Ark. A recent study by Avishai Bar-Asher has found fascinating new sources relating to this prayer and its history prior to and aside from its inclusion in the Zohar.47 However, his findings do not directly affect the role of Berikh Shemeh in this work. The author possibly took the whole passage directly from the Zohar, since the preface and postscript to the prayer are in the Zohar but not in Sefer Seder ha-Yom. The Yiddish introduction, the Aramaic text of the prayer, and the Yiddish postscript are all taken from Zohar II: 206a. The Yiddish translations of the Berikh Shemeh passages are by the author of the Tehinnah.

46 The partial verse cited is 1 Chronicles 16:8. Selected letters are highlighted to indicate the year. 47 Avishai Bar-Asher, “‫ לתולדותיה של תפילה ארמית עלומה שנתגלגלה אל ספר ה׳זוהר׳ ואל סידור‬:‫׳בריך שמיה׳‬ ‫התפילה‬,” Tarbiz 86, 1 (2018): 147–98.

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B. Text 1. [2a]48 [Yiddish] Rabbi Simeon bar Yohai said, at the time when one takes the Torah Scroll to read from it, the Gates of Compassion are opened, and at that time the love of the Holy One for Israel is awakened. Therefore, each person should recite this when the Torah Scroll is being taken out.49 2. The Text of Berikh Shemei in Aramaic. “Blessed be the Name of the Lord of the Universe. Blessed be Your crown and Your dwelling place. May your favor be with Your people Israel forever. May Your right hand redeem and reveal Your holy Temple. Extend to us the goodness of Your light, that you might accept our prayers in mercy. May it be Your will to prolong our life in well-being. Let me also be numbered among the righteous so that You may be merciful to me, and have me in Your keeping, with all those who belong to me and to your people Israel. You are He who feeds and sustains all. You are He who rules over all. You are He who rules over kings, for dominion is Yours. I am the servant of the Holy One, blessed be He, before whom and before whose glorious Torah I prostrate myself at all times. Not in man do I put my trust, nor upon any angel do I rely, but upon the God of Heaven, who is the God of truth and whose Torah is true, whose prophets are prophets of truth, and who abounds in deeds of goodness and truth. In Him I put my trust, and to His holy and glorious name I utter praises. May it be Your will to open my heart to Your Torah; give me sons who will do Your will and fulfill the wishes of my heart and of the hearts of all Your people Israel for good, for life and for peace (amen).” 3. [2b] [Yiddish] When the Torah scroll is brought to the reading table, Rabbi Simeon bar Yohai said that the whole congregation should be ordered with great awe and trembling, should attune their hearts as if they were standing at Mount Sinai to receive the Holy Torah, and should turn their ears to listen to the cantor. No one should open their mouth to speak, not even words of Torah. How much more so, of other things. Rather, a person should stand with great awe, just as if he were mute, and could not speak, as the verse says: as he opened it, all the people stood up [Nehemiah 8:5], and the ears of all the people were given to the scroll of the Torah [Nehemiah 8:3]. In Yiddish this is: “at the opening of the Torah, the whole nation stood, and the ears of the whole people inclined to 48 These numbers are page numbers in the original text. 49 This passage is Rabbi Simeon’s introduction to the prayer that follows.

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the Torah Scroll.” No one should read from it except for the cantor. The others should be silent so that one will be able to hear each word that the cantor reads, as if they were hearing the Torah from the Holy One on Mount Sinai.50 4. This is the translation of Berikh Shemeh de-Marei Alma. [A Yiddish translation of Berikh Shemeh continues to 3a. The translation follows the Aramaic text and is the same as the English translation of the Aramaic text above.] III. The Prayer of Rabbi Meir ha-Levi. [3a–3b] 1. Introduction. This prayer, including the introductory paragraph mentioning Rabbi Meir ha-Levi, was first published by Rabbi Eleazar Azikri in his Sefer Haredim.51 BarAsher offers additional information about the origins of this prayer, suggesting it is possible that the Rabbi Meir ha-Levi mentioned was Rabbi Meir ha-Levi Abulafia, an important Spanish rabbi at the end of the thirteenth century. This identification is strengthened by his discovery that the Aramaic text is very similar to version B of the early Berikh Shemeh texts he found. In addition, later sources attributed this text to Naḥmanides or his student Rabbi Jonah Gerondi, both late thirteenth- century Spanish rabbis.52 The key difference between this version of Berikh Shemeh and the earlier one is context. The earlier version is connected with the ritual of taking the Torah from the Ark at any time. This one is based on the idea that Minḥah on the Sabbath is a time of special grace. It has been customary since the early Middle Ages to recite Psalm 69:14 before opening the Ark at the Minhah service.53 Thus, the recitation of Psalms 69:14 is joined with this version of Berikh Shemeh that was considered specific to that service. 2. Text A. Introduction to the Prayer. [Aramaic] These are the words of Rabbi Meir ha-Levi, of blessed memory. This order of prayer is acceptable to the One King; it is a short prayer [to be recited] when one takes out the Torah Scroll to read it before the community. When the doors of the Ark below are opened, the doors of mercy are opened above, and awaken [God’s] love. Even more so at the afternoon prayer on the Sabbath, since it is 50 This passage is found in the Zohar immediately following the text of the prayer. 51 Venice, 1601, 79b. This edition can be found online at http://www.hebrewbooks.org/45039 BarAsher, ‘Berikh Shemeh’, 177n87 agrees that this was the first publication of this prayer. 52 Bar-Asher, ‘Berikh Shemeh’, 177–78. 53 Seligmann Baer, ‫( סדר עבודת ישראל‬Frankfurt am Main: Schocken, 1937), 260, note “ve-Ani Tefilati.”

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written about that hour, As for me, etc.54 It is the hour of grace when favor is found, and brings the person to prayer.55 B. Text of the Prayer. The prayer begins with, As for me, may my prayer come to You, O Lord, at a favorable moment; O God, in Your abundant faithfulness, answer me with Your sure deliverance [Psalms 69:14], and continues with the version of Berikh Shemeh in Aramaic. There is no Yiddish translation of this prayer. IV. The Prayer of Rabbi Judah the Pious. [4a–8a] 1. Introduction. The Amidah concludes with a prayer of personal petition known by its opening words, My God, guard [Elohai Nezor].56 This prayer of personal petition is based on various personal prayers attributed to a number of talmudic rabbis in tractate Berakhot 16b–17a. Over time a standard prayer evolved, which is appended to the end of every version of the Amidah, regardless of occasion. This prayer, attributed to Rabbi Judah the Pious – the central figure of the medieval Ḥasidei Ashkenaz – differs from the traditional prayer in that Rabbi Judah specifies specific prayers to be recited on specific days, morning and evening for the six days of the week.57 I have not found a source for this prayer. It is mentioned in Steinschneider, C. B., no. 3350, but this citation just refers to no. 3337, which is a Tehinnah published in Prague in 1615. Because the Tehinnah that is the subject of this study was published in 1609, the other Tehinnah cannot be seen as its source. Rather, this text may be the source for the Prague Tehinnah. The prayers, with the exception of the prayers for Thursday morning and evening, are taken from the personal prayers mentioned in tractate Berakhot. All of the prayers in the text are in Hebrew, followed by a Yiddish translation. My translation follows the text of the prayer as it appears in the Talmud when the Hebrew and Yiddish versions do not significantly deviate from the talmudic text. 2. Text. A. Introduction to the prayer [Hebrew] Rabbi Judah the Pious, of blessed memory, offered the following prayer the entire week, a prayer that in ancient times the Amoraim used to pray, as it is

54 Psalms 69:14. 55 Zohar, I: 156a. 56 Concerning the history and role of this prayer in the liturgy see Baer, ‫סדר עבודת ישראל‬, 104–105, note “Elohai Nezor”; Ismar Elbogen, Jewish Liturgy: A Comprehensive History, trans. Raymond P. Scheindlin (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1993), 53–54. 57 There are no prayers for the Sabbath in Rabbi Judah’s list. A possible reason is the rabbinic tradition that the Sabbath liturgy normally includes prayers of praise but not of petition.

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written in chapter two of tractate Berakhot. he used to read.58 Rabbi Judah the Pious recited this all six days of the week, after the prayer, “My God, guard [Elohai Nezor],” and before “May the words of my mouth be pleasing”: [This passage is repeated in Yiddish.] B. Text of the prayer [Hebrew] 1. Sunday morning he would say: “May it be Your will, O Lord our God, to look upon our shame, and behold our evil plight, to clothe Yourself in Your mercies, to cover Yourself in Your strength, to wrap Yourself in Your lovingkindness, and to gird Yourself with Your graciousness. And may the attribute of Your kindness and gentleness come before You.”59 2. Sunday evening he would say: “May it be Your will, O Lord our God, to cause to dwell among us love and brotherhood and peace and friendship, and may You make our borders rich with disciples and cause our latter days to prosper with good prospect and hope, and set our portion in Paradise, and confirm us with a good companion and a good impulse in Your world, and may we rise early and obtain the yearning of our heart to fear Your name, and may You be pleased to grant the satisfaction of our desires.”60 3. Monday morning he would say: “May it be Your will, O Lord our God, that our Torah may be our vocation,” and may you establish it in our hands.61 “May we not be envious of others, and may they not be envious of us.”62 4. Monday evening he would say: “May it be Your will, O Lord our God, that we sin not nor bring upon ourselves shame or disgrace before our fathers.”63 May our descendants be engaged in [Torah study] for the sake of Heaven. May our days and years be lengthened through awe of You and redeemed to increase on the face of the earth. 5. Tuesday morning he would say: May it be Your will, O Lord our God, to grant us long life, a life of peace, a life

58 b. Berakhot 16b–17a. 59 b. Berakhot 16b. Attributed to Rabbi Yoḥanan. 60 b. Berakhot 16b. Prayer of Rabbi Eleazar. 61 b. Berakhot 16b. Prayer of Rabbi Hiyya. 62 y. Berakhot 4.2. Prayer of Rabbi Eleazar. 63 b. Berakhot 16b. Prayer of Rabbi Zeira.

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of good, a life of blessing, a life in which there is fear of sin, a life free from shame and confusion, a life in which Your knowledge rests within us.64 6. Tuesday evening he would say: May it be Your will, O Lord our God, and God of our fathers, to deliver us from the impudent and from impudence, from the evil impulse, from a difficult lawsuit and from a difficult opponent, whether he is a son of the covenant or not a son of the covenant.65 7. Wednesday morning he would say: May it be Your will, O Lord our God, to establish peace among the celestial family, and among the earthly family, and among the disciples who occupy themselves with Your Torah whether for its own sake or for other motives; and may it please You that all who do so for other motives may come to study it for its own sake.66 8. Wednesday evening he would say: May it be Your will, O Lord our God, to station us in an illumined corner and not in a darkened corner; and let not our heart be sick nor our eyes darkened.67 9. Thursday morning he would say: May it be Your will, O Lord our God, that we should do Your will in this world, and not be ashamed in the World to Come. May Your fear be on our faces so that we should not sin. Open the Gates of Mercy to our prayers, for the sake of Your great name. 10. Thursday evening he would say: May it be Your will, O Lord our God, that You should gather us from our exile and should build Your Temple on the highest mountain and make our boundaries precious stones. 11. Friday morning he would say: Sovereign of the Universe, it is known full well to Thee that our will is to perform Your will; and what prevents us? The yeast in the dough and subjection to foreign Powers. May it be Your will to deliver us from their hand, so that we may return to perform the statutes of Your will with a perfect heart.68 64 b. Berakhot 16b. Part of the Prayer of Rab. It is also part of the prayer for the Blessing of the New Moon. 65 b. Berakhot 16b. Part of the Prayer of Rabbi Judah the Prince. 66 b. Berakhot 16b–17a. Part of the Prayer of Rabbi Safra. 67 b. Berakhot 17a. Prayer of Rabbi Alexandri. 68 b. Berakhot 17a. Prayer of Rabbi Alexandri.

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12. Friday evening he would say: My God, before I was formed, I was not worthy [to be formed], and now that I have been formed, I am as if I had not been formed. I am dust in my lifetime, all the more in my death. Behold I am before You like a vessel full of shame and confusion. May it be Your will, O Lord my God, that I sin no more, and that the sins I have already committed You wipe out in Your great mercies, but not through evil chastisements and diseases.69 END END END V. Prayer for God’s help. 1. Introduction. This prayer is in the style of petitionary prayers known as Selichot. It has two parts that share a reference to the number seventy-two, which is an allusion to the seventy-two-letter name of God, often called “the explicit name of God” [Shem ha-Meforash]. 216 is three times seventy-two, which is why one recites the second prayer three times. There are many versions of the Selichot prayers in the prayer books of the various communities, making it difficult to determine the source of this particular selichah. The second prayer is more in the form of a magical formula invoking God’s protection, as was promised in the verse that is invoked. The fact that this prayer has seventy-two letters alludes to the divine name and its theurgic powers. Both prayers are presented in Hebrew and in Yiddish. I have not translated the Yiddish text since it does not deviate in any significant way from the Hebrew. There is no specific gender identification in this prayer which indicates it could be directed at both men and women. 2. Introduction to the prayer [Hebrew] It is good to say this prayer every day, which I found in an old document. The first two words, like Our Father, Our King, [Avinu Malkenu] add up to 216 in gematria. The first letters of the first seven words add up to seventy-two, and all the words add up to 5520 [Hitpil], until here.70 The header for the Yiddish translation of this prayer states: This prayer should be recited every day and it is a very important prayer. 3. Text of the first Selichah [Hebrew] [8a–b] Our Father, our King, our Creator, the Great God, the Mighty and Awesome, Merciful and Compassionate, long suffering and full of lovingkindness, guard us and rescue us from all of our troubles, for many enemies think many evil

69 b. Berakhot 17a. Prayer of Raba. 70 The gematria of the first two words [Avinu Malkenu] adds up to 215, not 216. The second gematria, of the first letters of the first seven words, does add up to 72.

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thoughts about us. Have mercy on us and the remnant of Your people Israel. Have mercy on our young children and our nursing infants. Remember for us the merit of our righteous and pious ancestors. “I am that I am” [Exodus 3:14], for the sake of Your great name be gracious to us, and act with us in charity, lovingkindness, and mercy, as You did miracles for our ancestors, as it is written, As they set out, a terror from God fell on the cities round about, so that they did not pursue the sons of Jacob [Genesis 35:5]. 4. Text of the second prayer [Hebrew] [8b] [Header] There are seventy-two letters in this verse, and it should be said three times. The Yiddish translation of the header reads: say this verse three times. Our Father, our King, fulfill what is written, No man shall stand up to you: the Lord your God will put the dread and the fear of you over the whole land in which you set foot, as He promised you [Deuteronomy 11:25]. VI. Prayer for pregnant women. 1. Introduction. This prayer for a pregnant woman is a collection of verses from the Psalms that ask for God’s help in difficult circumstances and concludes with hopeful verses that would signify a successful conclusion to the pregnancy. The second prayer is well known and is found in every prayer book. Thus, the author does not feel the need to print the Hebrew text, as it is readily available. It is not certain if he found this collection of verses already composed as a tehinnah or if it is his original composition. The second is a prayer commonly recited in times of need or trouble. 2. Introduction to the prayer [Yiddish] [9a] This tehinnah should be recited by every woman who is pregnant from the time she is the in the seventh month until she gives birth. I write this tehinnah in Yiddish and I also write From the depths in Yiddish in the hope that every woman should know what she is saying, so that she can recite this important tehinnah with the proper intentions.71 3. Text of the first prayer [Hebrew and Yiddish] [9a–9b] Happy is he who is thoughtful of the wretched; in bad times may the Lord keep him from harm. May the Lord guard him and preserve him; and may he be thought happy in the land; do not subject him to the will of his enemies. The Lord will sustain him on his sickbed; You shall wholly transform his bed of suffering. I said, O Lord, have mercy on me, heal me, for I have sinned against 71 Psalms 118:5–29. A part of the Hallel prayer.

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You.72 In their adversity they cried to the Lord, and He rescued them from their troubles.73 He said the word and healed them; He delivered them from the pits. Let them praise the Lord for His steadfast love, His wondrous deeds for mankind.74 For He shattered gates of bronze, He broke their iron bars.75 He is like a groom coming forth from the chamber, like a hero, eager to run his course.76 Hurry my beloved, swift as a gazelle or a young stag, to the hill of spices.77 Following the Hebrew text there is a Yiddish translation of these verses. The only verse missing from the Yiddish translation is the last one, from Song of Songs. 4. Text of the second prayer. [Yiddish] [10a] One recites From the depths78 which is included in the Hallel, and I write the Yiddish translation here. Following this statement is a Yiddish translation of this prayer that follows the Hebrew text. VII. A Prayer before candle lighting on Friday night. Introduction. Shalom Aleichem are the opening words of a popular hymn sung on Friday night upon returning from the synagogue prior to the Kiddush. The hymn is based on a statement in the Talmud: R. Jose son of R. Judah said, “Two ministering angels accompany man on the eve of the Sabbath from the synagogue to his home, one a good [angel] and one an evil [one]. And when he arrives home and finds the lamp burning, the table laid, and the couch covered with a spread, the good angel exclaims, ‘May it be even thus on another Sabbath,’ and the evil angel unwillingly responds ‘amen’. But if not, the evil angel exclaims, ‘May it be even thus on another Sabbath and the good angel unwillingly responds, ‘amen’.”79 The earliest published reference to this song and its usage is in Sefer Tikkunei Shabbat, a collection of kabbalistic customs relating to the Sabbath and attributed to Rabbi Isaac Luria. This work was first published in Prague in 1641.80 The text of the version of Shalom Aleichem in this second prayer differs 72 Psalms 41:2–5. 73 Psalms 107:6. 74 Psalms 107:20–21. 75 Psalms 107:16. 76 Psalms 19:6. 77 Song of Songs 8:14. 78 Psalms 118:5–29. 79 b. Shabbat 119b. 80 Berliner, Abraham. Randbemerkungen zum täglichen Gebetbuche (Siddur) (Berlin: Poppellauer, 1909), 45. For the publishing history of Sefer Tikkunei Shabbat see, Hayyim Liberman, “Sefer Tikkunei Shabbat,” Kiryat Sefer 38 (1962–1963): 401–414; 39 (1963–1964): 109–116.

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significantly from the text found in Sefer Tikkunei Shabbat. It is based on the last page of the Birkhat ha-Mazon published in Basel in 1600.81 The Birkhat ha-Mazon only contains the Hebrew text of this song. The Yiddish version is more of a paraphrase than a precise translation, so I have translated both versions. 1. Introduction to the prayer. [Yiddish] [10b] The women should recite this blessing after lighting the candles on Friday night. 2. Text of the Prayer [Hebrew] [10b–11a] Peace unto you, angels of peace, in your coming in peace, as you have been commanded by our Lord, the Honored and Holy King, the Lord of peace, Sovereign of the Universe, the Lord of all creatures, and the Lord of all that [He] has made and will make in the future. Act mercifully with me and Your creatures. Blessed are the angels who do Your will, Lord of Peace. Bless me with peace, and remember me in peace, for a good life and for peace. Make me worthy to do Your commandments, and give me grace and wisdom in Your eyes, and in the eyes of all who see me. Dismiss and forgive all of my transgressions, sins, and negligence, and make me worthy to receive the Sabbaths and festivals with much wealth and honor, and through the diminution of sins, and remove from me, my children, and my descendants, from now and forever, all illness, poverty, privation, and penury. There should be no trouble on the day of our rest, and give me a good inclination with love and awe, that I should be honored in Your eyes and in the eyes of all who see me, for You are the King. Amen. Selah. 3. Text of the Prayer. [Yiddish] [11a] Peace unto you angels of peace, in your coming in peace, as you have been commanded by our Lord, the Honored and Holy King, the Lord of peace, Sovereign of the Universe, the Lord of all creatures, and the Lord of all that [He has] made and will make in the future. Act, [Lord], mercifully with me and Your creatures. Blessed are the angels who do Your will, Lord of Peace. Bless me with peace, and remember me in peace, for a good life and for peace. Make me worthy Page 11a ends at this point. The next page does not continue the text of the Hebrew tehinnah but appears to be the middle of another tehinnah. It is the last page of text and is a verso page, so there is no page number [which only appear on the recto page]. As this is a unique copy, only found in the British Library [formerly British Museum], it can only be presented as found. 4. Last page [page number unclear] [Remove] from us plague and the sword, hunger and unsteadiness, despair and 81 For more information on this work see Sidorko, Basel und der jiddische Buchdruck, 223–28.

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the evil inclination, the truly evil disease and the difficult evil events. Command good decrees for me and for my whole household. Your compassion should be revealed through Your attributes. You, God our God, should lead us with the necessity of grace and the necessity of compassion. You should act leniently toward us, and accept our prayer and our cry, since You hear all prayer:

4. Miscellaneous Tehinnot. 1. Tehinnah at end of The Story of the House of David in the Persian Period (Basel 1599)82 Text. This tehinnah should be recited every day and it is widely used: Yehi Ratzon [May it be Your will], our God, Lord of the whole world, that You should give me this day a good gift, and good sustenance. You should remember me and preserve me for good. You should command me with helpful commands and compassion, according to the will of Your holy name. You should give me a good share and a good reward, and good deeds, so that I will be truthful and be worthy for the World to Come. You should make me hear good news and You should give me long life and peace, security, wisdom, sense, understanding, and goodness, and show favor and compassion in Your eyes, before You and before Your Throne of Glory, and in the eyes of all who behold me. You should unite my heart to love You and to fear Your holy name. You should incline my heart to do Your will and to serve You with my whole heart. You should give me a good portion with the righteous people. You should satiate me from Your goodness and have compassion for me with Your help. Protect me and my husband and my children from all evil and give me children who can study Your holy Torah. You should hear my prayer from the bottom of my heart, as You heard Hannah and all the righteous women. Praised are You God who hears the prayers of Your people Israel, amen: 2. Seder Mitzvot Nashim.83 Introduction. This tehinnah is to be recited before immersing in the mikvah. It is found in chapter 49, 192. 82 The original text is available online at https://www.erara.ch/bau_1/content/titleinfo/2611258 83 The Yiddish text and English translation of Sefer Mitzvot Nashim is found in Edward Fram, My Dear Daughter,151–307. Fram, 67n156, notes that all the tehinnot included in this work were tied to the performance of specific rituals.

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Text. Say this tehinnah before you go into the water: I beg of you God, Master of all the universe, God of Abraham, God of Isaac, God of Jacob, that You should grant me the kindness that I should become pregnant from my husband tonight. And may the child that I will bear from this ritual immersion be a scholar and may he fear your Holy Name and observe the commandments of Your holy Torah. God, Master of all the universe, hear my prayer and let Your angel who is appointed over the souls take a pure soul and place it in my body and protect me from a soul that is not pure so that I do not contaminate myself with children who are not pious and are not blessed. And ward off all bad thoughts and protect me from [giving birth to] an impure soul and guard me from the evil inclination, that it not incite me.84 And do not lead me to evil, unclean thoughts. And strengthen my heart and my thoughts to do good and to observe the commandments of Your holiness in the expectation that I will be worthy that You, God, Master of all the universe, should hear my prayer and fulfill my plea that I call out to You for You are the One God who hears the prayers of all creatures. And so may it be [Your] will. Amen. Selah. 3. Brantshpigl.85 Introduction. This tehinnah is to be recited at the time of childbirth. It is found in chapter 35, 127b–128a. Text. When the time comes for the birth, they should pray with diligence and [128a] humility and with a broken heart to the Holy One and say: Lord of the whole world be gracious to me with the birth pangs and the birth and have compassion that the child should be born vigorous and healthy, with all its limbs intact and without any imperfections. Give me enough milk to nourish the child. Give me strength to raise it and accustom it to the fear of God and to keep Your commandments. No harm should come to me or my limbs from this birth.

84 The soul that will be implanted into the fetus should be a pure one and not that of an evildoer. This is an allusion to the doctrine of transmigration, that souls were reborn to rectify past misdeeds or fulfill good deeds that they did not perform in their previous life. 85 Altschul, Brantshpigl.

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4. Ze’enah U-Re’enah86 Introduction. There is a well-known tradition that a pregnant woman should bite off the stem of the etrog that had been used for the festival of Sukkot on Hoshanah Rabbah after the morning services, when the etrog is no longer needed for the rituals of Sukkot. The earliest known text that describes this custom, its rationale, and the tehinnah that is recited in conjunction with it, is this passage in the Ze’enah U-Re’enah. Text. The tree was good for eating (Genesis 3:6). . . . Others say that it was an etrog tree and that is why it is the custom for women to tear out the tip of the etrog on Hoshanah Rabbah. That is to say, they give money to charity because “charity saves from death,” and also so God should protect the child she is pregnant with. Since she did not eat from the apple, may the woman give birth to her child as easily as a hen lays an egg, without pain. The woman should say, “Lord of the universe, because Eve ate the apple, we women must suffer the terrible fate to die in childbirth. Had I been present there, I would not have derived any benefit from it, just as now I did not want to make the etrog ritually unfit.” It was used for the fulfillment of a commandment for seven days, but now on Hoshanah Rabbah the commandment is ended. I am not quick to eat it, and just as I have little benefit from the tip, so did I have little benefit from the apple that you forbade.

86 Ze’enah U-Re’enah, ed. M. Faierstein. The earliest surviving edition is the Basel/Hanau, 1622 edition.

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‫‪Morris M. Faierstein‬‬

‫‪Yiddish Text of Tehinnot‬‬ ‫‪1. Tehinnah Zu (Prague 1590‬‬ ‫‪Title Page.‬‬

‫תחינה זו‬ ‫מהללה ומשובחה ערכה שמורה בכל וערוכה‬ ‫והאמורה כדת וכהלכה וביום השני ככה‬ ‫ינצל מפגע וסבוכה ולנצה ישא ברכה‪:‬‬ ‫זאגט איר דיא תחינה אל טאג גאר ויין‪:‬‬ ‫אזוי ווערט איר בהיט פר אלי פיין‬ ‫אונ ווען איר ווערט זעהן אין דער‬ ‫הקדמה מיין דוא ווערט איר איינש ניט‬ ‫וועגן גאר קליין‪ .‬אונ טוט יוא איינש‬ ‫קויפן‪ .‬אי דער משה רייש פון הינן טוט‬ ‫איין וועק לויפן‪.‬‬ ‫נדפס פה קק פראג הבירה‬ ‫בבית הקצין הישיש כמר מרדכי בר גרשם הכהן‬ ‫ועי בנו הצעיר נערי הציון היקר כמר שלמה כהן‬ ‫ש״ן לפק‬ ‫)‪2. A VERY NICE TEHINNAH (Prague, ca. 1600‬‬

‫איין גאר שיני תחינה‬ ‫איז פיל צייט לנג אין סוד גיוועזין ביי איין טייל ֿפרומי ווייבר האבן זיא בייא זיך‬ ‫לאשין בלייבן אונ׳ נימנט לאשין אויש שרייבן נון האבן זיא זיך בידאכט אונ׳ האבן‬ ‫זי אין דרוק גיבראכֿ ט‪:‬‬ ‫גילובט זיישדו גוֿ ט אונזר גוֿ ט קיניג איבר דיא גנצי וועלט דו בישט ֿפולר דער ברמונג‬ ‫רופן מיט ווארהייט אונ׳ דוא הער‬ ‫אונ גינאד אונ׳ דוא בישט נאהנט צו דען די דיך אן ֿ‬ ‫ניט דו זולשט ֿפר העלין דיין אורן ֿפון מיינם גיבעט אונ׳ ניט דו זאלשט פר שמעהן מיין‬ ‫ֿת ֿפילה אז דיא ֿת ֿפילה ֿפון חוה אונזר עלטר מוטר די דיין הייליגן נאמן האט גיאייניגט‬ ‫אונ׳ גיבעטון דז דוא גאבשט אירן מאן אדם הראשון אין זיינם זין דז ער זיך ווידר צו‬ ‫איר קערט דא ער זיך ֿפון איר האט גישיידן דא זיין זון קין הט דרשלאגן זיין ברודר‬ ‫הבֿ ל דא מערשדו אים זיין לושט צו איר מער ווען ֿפאר האט גיהט צו איר‬ ‫תפילה פון שרה אונזר מוטר‬ ‫אנטפפאנגן דיא ֿ‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫תפילה אז דו האשט‬ ‫אנטפפאנג מיין ֿ‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫אונ׳‬

‫‪189‬‬

‫‪The Earliest Published Yiddish Tehinnot‬‬

‫דא זיא דיין הייליגן נאמן באט דז דו זיא זאלשט בשירמן ֿפער פרעה אונ׳ אבימלך דא‬ ‫זיא וואלטן ביי איר ליגן אונ׳ דו פלאגשט זי מיט אל איר גיזינד אונ׳ אז דיא ֿת ֿפילה פון‬ ‫תפילה ֿפון רחל דש זיא באט‬ ‫רבֿ קה אונזר מוטר דש זי גיוואן יעקבֿ הצדיק אונ׳ אז דיא ֿ‬ ‫הופט אויף איר זיא זולט אים‬ ‫הקב״ה דש זי גוֿ ט זולט בשירמן ֿפון עשו הרשע דער דא ֿ‬ ‫צו טייל ווערין דרום דש זי איין אונטרעכֿ טיגרין וואר זו מיינט מיינט ער יעקב ווערט‬ ‫איר גט געבן דא וואלט ער זי נעמן אונ׳ אז די ֿת ֿפילה ֿפון לאה דז דו זיא בשירמשט אויך‬ ‫האפט אויך איר זיא זולט אים צו טייל ווערין דרום דש זיא דיא‬ ‫פון עשו הרשע דער ֿ‬ ‫[‪]1‬‬ ‫גירעשט טאכטר פון לבן אונ׳ ער עשו הרשע דער גרעשט זון ֿפון רבֿ קה‬ ‫תפילה טעט דש זי אירן ברודר משה‬ ‫אונ׳ אז די ֿת ֿפילה ֿפון מרים הנבֿ יאה דא זי ֿ‬ ‫תפילה דז אין בישירמשט‬ ‫רבינו עליו השלום מישט אויף דען ווייאר וורפן זו טעט זי ֿ‬ ‫תפילה פון דער צדקת חנה דא דז איר ביווערשט דז ֿפון‬ ‫ֿפר דען וואשר אונ׳ אז דיא ֿ‬ ‫איר קאם שמואל הנבֿ יא דער וואר זו הוך גיוואוגן אז משה אונ׳ אהרן הכהן אונ׳ די‬ ‫צדקת דבֿ ורה דז דו גאבשט סיסרא מיט אל זיין ֿפאלק אין הנט ישראל‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫ֿת ֿפילה ֿפון דער‬ ‫בת שבֿ ע די מוטר פון שלמה המלך די באט דז דו בישערשט‬ ‫אונ׳ אז דיא תפילה פון ֿ‬ ‫איין זון פון דוד המלך דער וואר איין ֿתלמיד חכֿ ם אונ׳ איין צדיק דאש גיווערשטו‬ ‫איר אלזו זאלשטו אונש אויך גיווערן אין אל אונזר גיבעט אונ׳ אז דו אנטפניגשט די‬ ‫תפילה טעט ֿפער הקב״ה דז ער בשירמט דאש ֿפאלק‬ ‫ֿת ֿפילה פון אסתר המלכה דיא דא ֿ‬ ‫צדקת די האט הקב״ה דז‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫יהודית די‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫ישראל ֿפער המן הרשע אונ׳ אז דאש גיבעט פון‬ ‫דן ענטוורשט דען רשע אליפורני אין איר הנט דש זיא אים זיין הייבט אב שניד אונ׳‬ ‫דו בישירמשט דיין ֿפאלק ישראל ֿפער דען קיניגרייך אנטיוכס‬ ‫אזו אויך גוט דער דא איז איין הער איבר אלי הערין זולשט אויך ֿפר נעמן ֿפער דיין‬ ‫צדקניות‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫ות אליר צדיקים אונ‬ ‫הייליגן נאמן מיין גיבעט אונ׳ זולשט מיך לאשן גניסן זכֿ ֿ‬ ‫ות אל דיא דא האבן‬ ‫די דא זיין אים גן עדן אונ׳ אין עולם הבא אונ׳ לאש מיך גניסן זכֿ ֿ‬ ‫אנטפנג מיין‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫גרינט מיט ֿפרומקייט דיינן הייליגן נאמן אונ׳ איצונדר ליבר הער גוֿ ט‬ ‫עפין דיין דרברמונג אונ׳ גיב צו מיר לייט זעליקייט אין דיין אויגן אונ׳‬ ‫תפילה אונ ֿ‬ ‫אויגן אל מיין זעהר אונ׳ שפייז מיך פון דיינר היילגר גינאד אונ׳ ניט פון הנט קיינש‬ ‫מענשין אונ׳ גיב מיר אין מיין הערצן צו הייליגן דיין נאמן אונ׳ דז איך דיר זול דינן‬ ‫ליבשאפט וועגן אונ׳ ביצווינג מיין יצר הרע דז ער ניט זול גיוועלטיגן אן מיר‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫ֿפון‬ ‫אונ׳ בהיט אונ׳ בישירם מיך אונ׳ אל די מיינן ֿפר אל דיא אונש ביז גינן אונ׳ פר‬ ‫יסות אונ׳ ליבר הער גוֿ ט דר לייכט אויגן מיינר קינד‬ ‫תפ ֿ‬ ‫גזירות אונ׳ ֿ‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫אלין ביזן אונ׳ ֿפער‬ ‫אין דיינר ֿתורה אונ׳ ביהעפט איר הערץ דש זיא זולן ליבן דיין נאמן מיט ֿתורה אונ׳‬ ‫מעשים טובים אונ׳ לייטזעליג זי אונ׳ אונש אלין צו האבן ליב דיין נאמן אונ׳ בישער‬ ‫אונש ער ֿפון דיינר הנט אונ׳ אונזר קינדש קינדר דש זי זאלן פרום ווערין אונ׳ דר נער‬ ‫מיך אונ׳ מייני קינדר אונ׳ כל ישראל פון דיינר הייליגן הנט אן‬

‫‪Morris M. Faierstein‬‬

‫‪190‬‬

‫[‪]2‬‬ ‫אלי גיברעכֿ ניס אז דו האשט דר נערט אונ׳ בישירמט אבֿ רהם אבינו ֿפון קאליך אובֿ ן‬ ‫גיווארפן אין אור כשדים אונ׳ אז דו לידגישט יצחק אבֿ ינו‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫דאש ֿפייערש דא ער וואר‬ ‫גיהאלפן יעקב‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫דא ער וואר גיבונדן אויף דען מזבח צו דער עקידה אונ׳ אז דו האשט‬ ‫גיפענגניש אונ׳ משה רבינו ֿפון פרעה‬ ‫אבֿ ינו פון לבן אונ׳ יוסף הצדיק פון הויז דש ֿ‬ ‫אונ׳ דוד המלך ֿפון גלייות הפלשתי אונ׳ חנניה מישאל ועזריה ֿפון קאליך אובן דאש‬ ‫האלפשט דניאל אויש דער‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫ֿפייארש דא זי נבוכֿ דנצר ליש דריין ווערפן אונ׳ אז דוא‬ ‫הולפשט מרדכי אונ׳ אסתר המלכה ֿפון המן הרשע פון זייני ביז‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫ליבן גרובן אונ׳ אז דן‬ ‫גידנקן די ער אויף יהודים הט‬ ‫אזו אויך גוֿ ט זולשטו אויך בישירמן אלי יידן קינדר ֿפער גוים הענדן אונ׳ פער אלין‬ ‫ביזן אונ׳ ביווארן אונש אונ׳ היט אונש דז קיין פסול זול קומן אונטר גישלעכֿ ט ישראל‬ ‫אונ׳ דז מיר אויש גינן אויש אונזרן הייזרן מיט ֿפריידן אונ׳ ווידר היים קומן מיט ֿפריד‬ ‫אונ׳ בהיט אונש אונ׳ ביוואר אונש ֿפער ֿפיינדן די דא וורטין אויף אונש אויף דען וועג‬ ‫לילות אונ׳ ֿפער דעם‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫אונ׳ דער שטראסן ֿפער ביזי ביגעגיניש אונ׳ ֿפער שדים אונ׳‬ ‫שד דער דא היישט קטבֿ מרירי אונ׳ ליבר גוֿ ט לאז קיין יידן קינד קומן צו קיינר ֿפר‬ ‫זוכונג נאך ֿפר שמעאונג אונ׳ זול זיין אלי וואנדלונג ֿפון אלי ייודן קינדר אז וואנדרן‬ ‫ֿפון חנוך אונ׳ אליה הנבֿ יא די זעלביגן גינגן ביי טאג אונ׳ ביי נכֿ ט אונ׳ זיא ווארדן ניט‬ ‫גישעדיקט אונ׳ ניט זיא שמעקטין גישמק דש טוט אזו זול איך אויך זיין אונ׳ אל מייני‬ ‫ליבי הייבט אונ׳ כל ישראל וואו מיר גענן בייא טאג אודר ביי נכֿ ט דז מיר ניט זולן‬ ‫ווערין גישעדיקט מיט קיינר ליי שאדין‪:‬‬ ‫אונ׳ ליבר הער גוֿ ט עש זול זיין דיין ווילן צו ֿפער דיר דז דו זולשט גביטן דען‬ ‫מלאך (מטטרון) דער דיר אלי טאג די קרון אויף זעצט אונ׳ דער זעלביג מלאך דער‬ ‫ווישט אב דיין צארין פון ישראל אונ׳ שרייבט אן די מצות פון ישראל אונ׳ זעצט זיא‬ ‫ֿפארנן אן דייני תפילין אונ׳ דער זעלביג מלאך דער צייגט זיך צו משה רבינו אין דען‬ ‫דארן אונ׳ דען זעלביגן מלאך האשטו מיט ישראל גישיקט דורך דער ווישטנייא אונ׳‬ ‫ער האלף אויך יהושע אונ׳ ישראל דש זיא דר שלוגן דיא איין אונ׳ דרייסיג מלכים‬ ‫דש זיא גיוואנן ארץ ישראל ליבר הער גוֿ ט דען זעלביגן מלאך ווערשטו אויך שיקן צו‬ ‫אונש דז ער אונש אויך זול בהיטן אין אל אונזרן ווערקין אונ׳ אין אל אונזרן וועג אונ׳‬ ‫אן מיינר רעכטן זייטן זול זיין דער‬ ‫[‪]3‬‬ ‫מלאך מיכאל בייא מיינר זייטן לינקן דער מלאך גבֿ ריאל אונ׳ ֿפער מיר דער מלאך‬ ‫רפאל‪ .‬אונ׳ אויף מיינים הייבט זול זיין אלי צייט דיא שכינה‬ ‫אוריאלן אונ׳ הינטר מיר ֿ‬ ‫גוֿ טש ית״ש‪.‬‬ ‫תפילה אונ׳ ניט זאלשט ֿפער העלין דיין‬ ‫אנטפפנג מיין ֿ‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫נון ליבר הער אל דער וועלט‬ ‫ילות פון דיינם ֿפאלק‬ ‫תפ ֿ‬ ‫אורן ֿפון מיינים גיבעט ֿפון צו ברענגן ֿפער דיך מיין גיבעט אלי ֿ‬

‫‪191‬‬

‫‪The Earliest Published Yiddish Tehinnot‬‬

‫ישראל דיא דא גלויבן אן דיין הייליגן נאמן הילף דיין ֿפאלק ישראל אונ׳ שפייז זיא אונ׳‬ ‫דרהיב זיא צו אימר אונ׳ איביג‪ .‬אונ׳ זיא זולן זיין מיין ריד דיא איך האב גיבעטין צו פער‬ ‫דיר גוֿ ט מיין גוֿ ט אונ׳ גוֿ ט מיינר עלטרן דש זיא זולן זיין נאהנט צו ֿפער דיר גוֿ ט אונזר‬ ‫צדקניות דייני דינר‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫גוֿ ט טאג אונ׳ נכֿ ט צו טון דיין ווילן אונ׳ ווילן דיינר צדיקים אונ׳‬ ‫ות זאלין מיר גיניסן אונ׳ ריכט מיט דרבמיקייט דיין ֿפאלק ישראל אלי טאג‬ ‫אונ׳ אירי זכֿ ֿ‬ ‫אונ׳ נכֿ ט אין דער ווארטין דש זיא זאלן ווישן אלי ֿפעלקר דז גוֿ ט איז גוֿ ט מיין בישעפר‪.‬‬ ‫וואו מיט זולן מיר קומן ֿפער אונזרן איביגל כֿ ן ליבן הערין אונ׳ וואו מיט זולן מיר‬ ‫קרבנות דיא דא גינגן צו‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫טון זיין ווילן ווען מיר האבן קיין כהן גדול מין אויך קייני‬ ‫ֿפער אים דא קאם אין בֿ ית המקדש אין קדשי קדשים דא רואט אויף אים דיא שכֿ ינה‬ ‫תפילה דא ווארד אים ֿפער געבן זייני זוינד‬ ‫ֿפון אונזרן ליבן הערין דא טעט ער דינן ֿ‬ ‫אונ׳ דיא זינד ֿפון ישראל דען ער וואר איר ֿפער שפרעכֿ ר אונ׳ איר ֿפאר גענגר אל איר‬ ‫טאג אונ׳ טעטין דאש אונרעכֿ ט פון אירן הערצין דיא רשעים מכֿ טן זיא צו צדיקים‪ .‬נון‬ ‫האבן מיר ורלארין אונזר ער אונ׳ אכפרקייט אונ׳ איז ווארדן פר ווישט דש הויז אונזר‬ ‫תפילה צו טון אונ׳‬ ‫הייליקייט אונ׳ אונזר לייב איז ווארן דיר מיר האבן ניקש דען אונזר ֿ‬ ‫ות פון אלי צדיקים אונ׳ חסידים לייכֿ ט ֿפינדן מיר דרברמונג ֿפער אונזרן ליבֿ ן הערן‪:‬‬ ‫זכֿ ֿ‬ ‫תפילה ֿפון מיר אז ֿפון כהן גדול אונ׳ אז דאש קרבן‬ ‫נון ליבר הער גוֿ ט בווילג דיא ֿ‬ ‫לטאת דז ער בראכֿ ט‪:‬‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫איל וויל אונזרן ליבן הערין מיט גידין אונ׳ וויל אין בֿ ישינן אונ׳ מיין מונד זול זאגין‬ ‫טייל זיינש לובש עש קענן ניט דר צילן אלי צונגן דיא שונהייט אונ׳ דיא ער אונזרש ליבן‬ ‫הערן ער איז שטרק מיט אל זיין ווערקין ער איז אכפר אונ׳ לובזום ער אין אן ענד אונ׳‬ ‫פריפט ער גידאנקין אליר מענשין ער ֿפער געלט איינם מענשן‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫אן צילן אין אליר צייט‬ ‫אז זייני ווערק ער איז איין גיצייג אונ׳ ווייש אלש אונ׳ ער זול אונש טרייבן לו דען‬ ‫[‪]4‬‬ ‫לעבנדיגן דר דא לעבט אימר אזו איז זיין נאמן די קרון ֿפון דעם קיניג רייך וויל איך‬ ‫אים געבן מיט לובונג זיין נאמן‪:‬‬ ‫איך וויל לובן אונזר ליבן הערין צו אלין צייטן אלי צונגן מעגן ניט רידן דיא שונהייט‬ ‫אונזרש ליבן הערין ער איז שטרק אונ׳ ווארהפטיג ער איז גירעכֿ ט ֿפערטיג צו ֿפער‬ ‫אים זייני אויגין דיא זעהן אלי זאכין ער איז דרהיכֿ ט איבר אלי בענשונג אונ׳ לובונגער‬ ‫הוט גימכט דען הימל דז ער ניט קאן גילייטן גוֿ ט קיניגט גוֿ ט הוט גיקיניגט גוֿ ט ווערט‬ ‫קיניגן צו אימר אונ׳ איביג אונזר ליבר הער גוֿ ט זיין ער איז ֿפול די גנץ וועלט אונ׳ קיין‬ ‫אויג אין קן זעהן ער שפייזט אידרמאן מיט זיינר גוט קייט אונ׳ מיט זיינר ווארהייט ער‬ ‫יתומים אונ׳‬ ‫מלכותו לעולם ועד ער הוט ליב גרם אונ׳ ֿ‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫איז צדיק וישר ברוך שם כבֿ וד‬ ‫אלמנות אונ׳ גיבט איטלכם קליידר פון זיינר הנט אונ׳ אונזר זיל ער זול ביהיטין אונ׳‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫ביווארנן ער איז דער קיניג דער דא איז איביג יי צבֿ אות איז זיין נאמן ער איז קיניג‬ ‫דער טיברשט יי אלקינו יי אחד ער איז דיא קרון איבר אלי הייליקט‬

‫‪Morris M. Faierstein‬‬

‫‪192‬‬

‫חיות הוט ער גיצירט זיין כסא הכבֿ וד זו נעמט אור לויב איין מלאך‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫אונ׳ מיט ֿפיר‬ ‫פון דען אנדרן אונ׳ זינגן ברכֿ ו את ה׳ המבֿ ורך אונ׳ ער מכֿ ט איין קרון אויף זיינם הייבט‬ ‫תפילה ֿפון ישראל דיא דא קומן ֿפון גנצן הערצין‬ ‫ֿפון דער ֿ‬ ‫דיא שטאט ציון זולשטו בלד ווידר גווינן מיט דיינר שטרק אונ׳ דיא טוטן זאלשטו‬ ‫בלד ווידר לעבדיג מכֿ ין דז דיא אויגן זולן זעהן דיא גרוש ער אונזרש ליבן הערין אונ׳‬ ‫העלפר אונ׳ דר‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫מיר ווערין זאגין גוֿ ט איז גיוועזין אונ׳ ווערט איביג זיין גוט אונזר‬ ‫תפילה פון ישראל‪:‬‬ ‫אנטפנגט דיא קדושה ֿפון דער ֿ‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫ליזר ער‬ ‫תפילה צו ֿפער דיר דיא זול דיר זיין צו ביווילן אונ׳ בישירם אונש ֿפער דען‬ ‫איך טוא ֿ‬ ‫העלפר איך ֿפרלאש מיך אויף‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫גיהנם אונ׳ ֿפער דעם און גימאך דען דוא בישט אונזר‬ ‫תפילה ניט‬ ‫דיך דען דוא בישט דר ברמוג אונ׳ גינעדיג איך וויל דיך קרינן מיט מיינר ֿ‬ ‫קער אוף מיך איבל אונ׳ איך שון גיזינט האב צו דיר מיט אונגירעכטקייט אז עש שטיט‬ ‫גישריבן דער דא ביגערט אב צו לאשין פון זייני זינד דער ווערט דרברומט דארויף‬ ‫האב איך מיך גיטריסט דז איך רייניג מיין הערץ צו דיר ליבר הער גוֿ ט ביוויליג אונש‬ ‫המשחית אונ׳ ֿפער דעם און גימאך זולשטו זיין אונזר‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫אונ׳ בשירם אונש ֿפערד דן סטן‬ ‫דר ליזר מיט דיינן‬ ‫[‪]5‬‬ ‫ות דען דוא האשט ֿפר גאלטן ֿפיל גוטש‬ ‫דר ברמונג אונ׳ דורך ווילן זכֿ ות אונזרי אבֿ ֿ‬ ‫דורך אירן ווילן איך וויל בעטין דיך אונ׳ לובן דיך דען דוא בישט דער גוֿ ט דער ערשט‬ ‫אונ׳ ווערשט זיין דער הינטרשט איך ביט דיך אז ער באט אדם הראשון אונ׳ זיכשטו‬ ‫מייני זינד דז דו זיא ניט מעכֿ שט ֿפינדן אונ׳ ֿפער העל די מישטוט אז ֿפון כהן גדול‪.‬‬ ‫תפילה פון נח אין דער‬ ‫תפילה אז דוא הושט גיערט דיא ֿ‬ ‫דר ברמוגר גוֿ ט הער מיין ֿ‬ ‫תפילה זיין‬ ‫לאד דא ער ֿפאנד לייט זעליקייט אין דיין אויגן ליבר הער גוֿ ט לאז מיין ֿ‬ ‫תפילה פון אבֿ רהם אבֿ ינו דא ער דיך דר קעניט צו דריי יארן‬ ‫אין דיין אויגן אז דיא ֿ‬ ‫אפנטליך‬ ‫תפילה ֿ‬ ‫גידענק מיינר צו גוטר גידעכֿ טניש צו ֿפער דיר אונ׳ עש זול זיין מיין ֿ‬ ‫תפילה פון יצחק דא ער וואר גבונדן אויף דען בערג מוריה אונ׳ טו‬ ‫צו ֿפער דיר אז די ֿ‬ ‫אב אונרעכֿ ט ֿפון אונזרן הערצן אונ׳ מיר וועלין דיר דינן אונ׳ וועלין דיך ערין אז דיא‬ ‫האט גידינט יעקבֿ אבֿ ינו‬ ‫תפילה פון שרה רבקה רחל ולאה‬ ‫אנטפפנג זיא אז דיא ֿ‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫תפילה אונ׳‬ ‫הער מיין ֿ‬ ‫אונ׳ דיא צוועלף שבֿ טים אז איך אירר איין טייל וויל דר צילן‪ .‬אונ׳ אז ער באט יוסף‬ ‫תפילה גין ֿפער שטול דיינר ער‬ ‫גיפענקניס אונ׳ אזו אויך מיין ֿ‬ ‫הצדיק אין הויז דער ֿ‬ ‫אז דאש גישרייא ֿפון קינדר ישראל דא זיא צו דיר האבן גישריאן אין מצרים דא זיא‬ ‫זו הערטיגליך דינטן מיט מרטיר אונ׳ מיט ציגל אונ׳ ֿפר גיב צו אונזרן זינדן זא מיר‬ ‫קומן צו קלאפן אן דיינר טיר‪ .‬אונזר דר ליזר דו זולשט ענטוורן אונש אז דוא הושט‬ ‫צרעת‪.‬‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫גיענטוורט צו מרים אונ׳ היילשט זיא פון איר‬ ‫תפילה אז דוא‬ ‫לוויתן אונ׳ הער אונזר ֿ‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫דער ֿפריי אונש אונ׳ דר ליז אונש אונזר טייל‬

‫‪193‬‬

‫‪The Earliest Published Yiddish Tehinnot‬‬

‫מגיפה פון ישראל‪.‬‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫תפילה ֿפון אהרן הכהן דא ער אויף הילט דיא‬ ‫הושט גיהערט דיא ֿ‬ ‫תפילה פון דבֿ ורה הנבֿ יאה דיא דא‬ ‫תפילה אז דוא הושט גיהערט דיא ֿ‬ ‫אונ׳ הער מיין ֿ‬ ‫תפילה ֿפון‬ ‫תפילה זול זיין צו ֿפער דיר אז דיא ֿ‬ ‫בית המקדש אונ׳ מיין ֿ‬ ‫מכֿ ט צוכֿ ן אין ֿ‬ ‫יהושע אין יריחו אונ׳ ווייז אונש דאש לייכטן ֿפון דיין אויגן‪.‬‬ ‫אונזר דר ליזר דוא זאלשט זאגן צו אונש גוטי נייאי מער אז דער ענגל גוטש זאגט‬ ‫צו מנוח אונ׳ צו זיינם ווייב דז דוא זולשט לאשן קומן פון אים איין זון אז וויא ֿפון‬ ‫תפילה איך בעט דיך אז דיך האט גיבעטן‬ ‫חנה קומן איז איך וויל דיך קרונן מיט מיינר ֿ‬ ‫שמואל הנבֿ יא דז דוא מכֿ שט רעגיגן אויף דער ערדן אין דער היץ‪.‬‬ ‫[‪]6‬‬ ‫ליבר הער גוֿ ט [די שורה פעלט דא] שאול המלך דער ערשטר קיניג אונ׳ זענד אויף‬ ‫אונש בענשונג מיט אלי ברכֿ ות אונ׳ ֿפער גיב מיין זינד אז דוא הושט ֿפר געבן די זינד‬ ‫תפילה זיין צו ֿפער דיר זיט אז‬ ‫בת שבע אזו זול מיין ֿ‬ ‫ֿפון דוד המלך דיא ער טעט מיט ֿ‬ ‫תפילה ֿפון‬ ‫תפילה דז דוא האשט גיהערט די ֿ‬ ‫וויא איין הוניק ֿפון רוזין‪ .‬אונ׳ הער מיין ֿ‬ ‫תפילה פון‬ ‫אליה הנבֿ יא דא ער אויף הילט דען רעגן אונ׳ אז דוא האשט גיהערט דיא ֿ‬ ‫אלישע דא פר מכֿ ט לעבנדיג דאש קינד‪.‬‬ ‫תפילה פון חגי‬ ‫אונ׳ זענד אונש משיח אונ׳ עריטט אונש אז דו הושט גיהריטט דיא ֿ‬ ‫לעפצן זולן זיין זיט ֿפער דיר אונ׳ בענש לייב מיט אנדרי‬ ‫זכֿ ריה מלאכֿ י אונ׳ ריד מיינר ֿ‬ ‫צדיקים אין גן עדן‪.‬‬ ‫האפן צו דיר דען דוא בישט מיין דר ליזר גוֿ ט ישראל ליבר הער גוֿ ט אל דיא‬ ‫מיר ֿ‬ ‫תפילה מיט ערין אונ׳ אל מיין ֿפיינד‬ ‫גוטן מלאכים דיא זולן ברענגן צו ֿפער דיר מיין ֿ‬ ‫זולן ווערן ֿפר טילגט ֿפער דעם גריכט אין יעניר וועלט ער מוז לעבן מיין לייב אונ׳ מיין‬ ‫זיל רייניג ֿפער אלי זינדן ער זול גיוועלטיגן אין מירד ער גוט יצר צו דינן אונזרן ליבן‬ ‫הערין צו טון זיין ווילן מיט ֿפארכט אונ׳ מיט גאנצן הערצן אונ׳ לאז ניט גיוועלטיגן‬ ‫דער יצר הרע אן מיר‪:‬‬ ‫תפילה ֿפער גוֿ ט דען איברשטן דז אויף‬ ‫איך בין דיין קינד מיט זיכֿ רהייט אונ׳ טוא ֿ‬ ‫אונש מוז רואן דיא שכֿ ינה אונ׳ דר ברום דיך איבר מיך אז זיך דר ברומט דער ֿפאטר‬ ‫איבר זיין קינד אונ׳ זענד ברכֿ ה אונ׳ הצלחה אין אל אונזר ווערקין זא ווערין מיר ֿפרייא‬ ‫אונ׳ אונזרי קינדר אונ׳ וואש מיר האבן מיט אונש אז דא שטיט גישריבן אין ֿפרייד‬ ‫ווערין מיר גיצירט דיא בערג דיא ווערדן זיין גיעבנט ֿפער אליר וועלט עש ווערט‬ ‫לובן דיך דיא בוים קלאפן מיט אירן נעסטן זא זאלין מיר ווישן וואש איז דאש ענד‬ ‫דער וועלט דאש געב אונש גוֿ ט צו גוטן‪:‬‬ ‫איך נעם אורלויב ֿפון אונזרן הערין גוֿ ט יתברך אונ׳ ֿפון דען מלאכֿ ים איך ביט דיך‬ ‫ליבר גוֿ ט דז דוא זאלשט אונזרר גיווארטיג זיין דז מיר זולן קומן צו רוא צו דיינר‬ ‫הייליגי וואונונג צו אימר מער אונ׳ איביג אמן סלה‬

‫‪Morris M. Faierstein‬‬

‫‪194‬‬

‫[‪]7‬‬

‫]‪[The tehinnah on this page is separate from the preceding seven pages.‬‬

‫דיא תחינה זאג אלי מורגן זו הושטו ֿפער קיין ביזן צו זארגן‪:‬‬ ‫קראפט איז גוֿ ט דער‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫גוֿ ט איז מיין ליכֿ ט‪ .‬איך ֿפערכֿ ט מיך ֿפאר נימן ניכֿ ט‪ :‬מיין לעבן‬ ‫הער‪ֿ .‬פער וועם זול איך נון אנגשטן זער‪ :‬דרום ווען זי גינעהן צו שטרייטן אויף מיך‬ ‫מיין ֿפלייש צו עשין אונ׳ ֿפר צערין‪ .‬מייני ליידיגר אונ׳ וויינד זילן שטרויכֿ לין אונ׳‬ ‫ֿפאלין אונ׳ זאלשט זי גנץ ֿפר שטערין‪ :‬ווען שון איין שטרייט קומט אויף מיך‪ .‬דוך בין‬ ‫איך ור זיכֿ רט אויף דיך‪ :‬אום זיא גיב איך ניט איין וויכֿ ט‪ :‬איינש ביט איך פון גוֿ ט דאש‬ ‫טו איך ֿפון אין ביגערין דז איך מעכֿ ט זיצן אין גוֿ טש הויז דיא טאג מיינש לעבן דאש‬ ‫זול ער מיר גיווערן‪ :‬אונ׳ מעכֿ ט לעבי לנג זעהן אן‪ .‬דען צימליכן דינשט דר דא ווערט‬ ‫גיטאן‪ :‬ער ור ברגט מיך אין זיין גיצעלט‪ .‬אויף איין ֿפעלזן הוך ער מיך נידר שטעלט‪:‬‬ ‫אונ׳ איצונד ווערט ער דרהיבן מיין הייבט איבר מייני ֿפיינד ער מיר דיא מאכֿ ט געבן‬ ‫קרבנות מיט טרומיטן איך וויל אך זינגן אונ׳‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫הוט‪ .‬אין זיינם גיצעלד וויל איך שעכֿ טן‬ ‫לובן גוֿ ט‪ :‬ווער מיין שטים גוֿ ט איך רוף דר ברום דיך‪ .‬ענטפר גיב מיר דז גוֿ ט דר הער‬ ‫מיך‪ :‬צו דיר זאגט מיין הערץ מיט גיבאט‪ .‬צו זיהן דיין ענצלט עש ביגערט‪ :‬ניט דז‬ ‫זאלשט ֿפר ברגין דיך פון מיר אונ׳ קער דיך ניט פון מיר מיט צורניקייט‪ .‬ניט צירן‬ ‫הילפר בישטו צו אלין ערין‪ .‬זולשטו מיך נעמן‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫איבר דיין קנעכט אונ׳ מייד‪ :‬דען מיין‬ ‫אונ׳ ניט ֿפון מיר קערין‪ :‬דען מיין ֿפאטר אונ׳ מוטר האבן מיך ֿפר לאסן גאר‪ .‬אביר‬ ‫הרפאר‪ :‬ווייז מיר גוֿ ט דייני וועג‪ .‬אונ׳ פיר‬ ‫גוֿ ט הוט גיזמלט מיך אונ׳ הוט מיך גיצוגן ֿ‬ ‫מיך דען רעכֿ טן שטעג‪ :‬איך וויל גין אין דיינר ֿפארכֿ ט גנץ אונ׳ גאר‪ֿ .‬פער מיינן ֿפיינדן‬ ‫אפן באר‪ :‬ניט גיב מיך אין מינר ליידיגר הנט דאש בעט איך צו ֿפאר‪ .‬זי שטעלין איב‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫אפן וואר‪ :‬ווען זעלכֿ ש ניט גישיכֿ ט זו גלויב איך צו‬ ‫אמיר ֿפלשי לייגין היימליך אונ׳ ֿ‬ ‫זעהן גוֿ טש גוטקייט אין לנד דאש איביג לעבן‪ .‬הוף צו גוֿ ט מיט גנצר שטערק מיינש‬ ‫הערצן הוף צו גוֿ ט‪ .‬ער ווערט דיר עש געבן‪:‬‬ ‫[‪]8‬‬ ‫)‪3. Tehinnot and Bakashot (Basel, 1609‬‬

‫תחינות‬

‫וגם בקשת אשר כבר‬ ‫לא היה בדפוס ומצאתי‬ ‫כתוב על נייר ישן והוספתי להדפיסם גם בל״א כדי לזכו׳ בו האנשים והנשים כי הם‬ ‫תחינות נאים ויפים כאשר תחזנה מישרים‪:‬‬

‫‪195‬‬

‫‪The Earliest Published Yiddish Tehinnot‬‬

‫דרום אך ליבן ֿפרומין ווייבר מעגין וואל די תחינות‬ ‫קויפין דען עש זיין גר שוינן דיא תחינות‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫נאך ניט אין טויטש קומין זיין אלז אירז וואל אין‬ ‫דעם ביכֿ לן וינדן ווערדין אונ׳ זאלט זיא‬ ‫בכוונה זאגין זא ווערט אייך השי׳ מזכה זה זיין לחיי‬ ‫העולם הבא אונ׳ ווערט אייך גיווערין‬ ‫אויארין בקשה ותפילה דיא איר צו אים טון אמן וכי׳ר‪:‬‬ ‫נדפס‬ ‫בשנת הודו ליי קראו בשמו לפ״ק‬ ‫במצות הר״ר חיים בן החבר רבי שמחה אשכנזי ז״ל‬ ‫ממשפחת לוי אוש שוואבן הדר לע״ע במדינת פיהם בק״ק לייפום‬ ‫על ידי האדון הגדול קונראד וואלדקירך‬ ‫יר״ה‬ ‫פה בסליאה המהוללה‬ ‫[‪1‬א]‬ ‫רבי שמעון בן יוחאי דער שפריכֿ ט אין דער צייט דאש מן דיא ספר תורה אויז היבט‬ ‫גיעפנט אלי די טאר בֿ ון דער דר ברמיקייט אונ׳‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫דש מן דרויש לייאין וויל דא ווערין‬ ‫ליבשאפט בון הקב״ה צו ישראל‪ .‬דראום‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫אין דער זעלביגין צייט זא דר וועקט זיך דיא‬ ‫זאל איין איטליכֿ ר מענש דש זגין אין דער צייט ווען מן וויל דיא ס״ת אויז היבן‪:‬‬ ‫[במקור ארמית נמצא עם ניקוד]‬ ‫בריך שמיה דמרי עלמא בריך כתרך ואתרך יהי רעותך עם עמך ישראל לעלם ופורקן‬ ‫ימינך אחזי לעמך בבית מקדשא ולקבל צלותנא ברחמי יהי רעוא קדמך דתוריך לן חיין‬ ‫בטיבו ולי אנא עבדך פקידא בגו צדיקיי למרחם עלי ולמטר יתי וית כל דילי ודי לעמך‬ ‫ישראל אתה הוא זן לכלא ומפרנס לכלא אתה הוא שליט על כלא אתה הוא דשליט על‬ ‫מלכיא ומלכותא דילך היא‪ :‬אנא עבדא דהקבה דסגידנא קמיה לא על איוש רחיצנא‬ ‫ולא על בר אלהין אלא באלהא דשמיא שהוא אלהא קשוט ומסגי למיעבד טבוון וקשוט‬ ‫ביה אנא רחיץ ולשמים קדישא יקירא אנא אימר תושבחן יהי רעוא קדמך דתשלום‬ ‫משאלון דליבאי ולנא דכל עמך ישראל לטב ולחיין ולשלם‪:‬‬

‫‪Morris M. Faierstein‬‬

‫‪196‬‬

‫[‪2‬א]‬ ‫אונ׳ ווען דיא ס״ת ברענגט אויף דען אלמעמר שפריכֿ ט רבי שמעון בן יוחאי דא זאל‬ ‫כל הקהל זיך זעלברט מסדר זיין מיט גראשם וארכֿ ט אונ׳ מיט ציטרניס אונ׳ זאלין זיך‬ ‫אנפפנגין‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫מכוון זיין איר הערץ אלז ווען זיא איצונד שטענדין אויף דעם בערג סיני צו‬ ‫די הייליג תורה אונ׳ זאלן נייגין אירי אורין דעם חזן צו צו הערין אונ׳ עש דארף קייניר‬ ‫זיין מויל אויף טון צו רידין אפילו אין דער תורה ניט מכל שכֿ ן זונשט אנדרי דברים‬ ‫נייאריט ער זאל שטין מיט גראשם וארכֿ ט גלייך אלז ווען ער שטום ווער אונ׳ ניט‬ ‫רידן קענט אז דער פסוק גיט‪ :‬ובפתחו עמדו כל העם ואזני כל העם אל ספר התורה‪:‬‬ ‫אויפנן דיא תורה זא שטונדן על דש ואלק אונ׳ אורין אל‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫דש איז טויטש אונ׳ אן אירם‬ ‫דאש ואלק נייגטן צו דער ס״ת‪ :‬אונ׳ זאל נימנט אין לאיין אז דער חזן אליין‪ .‬אונ׳ דיא‬ ‫אנדרין זאלן שווייגין דש מן זאל קענין הערין איטליכֿ ש ווארט וואש דר חזן לייאט‬ ‫אלז ווען זיא הערטין בֿ ון הקבֿ ״ה די תורה אויף דעם בערג סיני‪:‬‬ ‫דש איז טויטש בריך שמי׳ דאמרי׳ עלמא‪:‬‬ ‫גלובט זייא דיין נאמין דו הער אל דיא וועלט גילובט איז דיין קרון אונ׳ איר שטט עש‬ ‫זאל זיין דיין ווילן מיט דיינים ואלק ישראל צו איביג אונ׳ דער ליזונג דייניר גירעכֿ טן‬ ‫ביגרייפין‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫האנט דש זאל‬ ‫[‪2‬ב]‬ ‫אנפפנגין איר תפילה מיט דער בארמיקייט עש‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫דיין ואלק אים בית המקדש אונ׳ צו‬ ‫זאל זיין דיין ווילן צו ואר דיר דאש דו אונז זאלשט דער לענגין אונזר לעבין אין אלים‬ ‫גוטים אונ׳ צו מיר דש איך בין דיין מאגט זאלשט מיך גידענקין צווישן דיא צדקניות‬ ‫צו דער ברמין מיך אונ׳ צו היטן מיך אונ׳ אלז וואש צו מיר גיהערט אונ׳ צו דיינים‬ ‫ואלק ישראל‪ .‬דען דו בישט דער דא שפייזט אידרמן‪ .‬דו בישט דר דא גיוואלטיגט איבר‬ ‫בישעפניס‪ .‬דו בישט דער דא גיוועלטיגט איבר אלי קיניגרייך דש קיניגרייך איז‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫אלי‬ ‫דיין‪ .‬איך בין דיין מגט צו דיר הקבֿ ״ה טוא מיך נייגין אויף קיין מענשין דו איך מיך‬ ‫בשיצן אונ׳ אויף קיין אנדרין געטר דען נייארט אליין צו גוֿ ט דעם אךמעכֿ טיגין דר‬ ‫נישעפניסן‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫ווארהפטיג גוֿ ט אונ׳ ער טוט גוטש צו זיינן‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫דא איז אים הימל ער איז דער‬ ‫אונ׳ אך ווארהייט‪ .‬אן אים טוא איך מיך בשיצין אונ׳ צו זיינים הייליגין נאמין אונ׳‬ ‫ווירדיקייט טוא איך לובן עש זול זיין דיין ווילן צו ואר דיר דש דו זאלשט ואל ברינגין‬ ‫דיא ביגערונג מייניש הערץ אונ׳ הערץ אל דיין ואלק ישראל צום גוטין אונ׳ צום לעבין‬ ‫אונ׳ צום ורידן אמן סלה‪:‬‬ ‫זה לשונו של מהרר מאיר הלוי וכל הא סדרנא צלותא לרצויי בהו למלכא חדא צלותא‬ ‫זעיר סר מפקא ספרא דאורייתא למקרי ביה בצבורא דהא כד מתפחי‬

‫‪197‬‬

‫‪The Earliest Published Yiddish Tehinnot‬‬

‫[‪3‬א]‬ ‫הרעי היכלא לתתאה מתפתחי לעי לא תרעי דרחמוי ומתעיררים את האהב׳ וכ״ש‬ ‫במנחה דשבת׳ דעל ההיא שעתא כתיב ואני וגומ׳ דאיהו שעתא דרעוא אשתכח ומבעי‬ ‫ליה לאינש לצלוי הני‪:‬‬ ‫[במקור העברית נמצא עם ניקוד]‬ ‫ואני תפלתי לך יי עת רצון אלדים ברוב חסדך עניני באמת ישעך‪ .‬פתחו לי שערי צדק‬ ‫צלותא דרעוא קמי עתיקא דעתיקון סתימא דכל סתימון יתגלי רעוא דעתיקא קדישא‬ ‫ומשהא דרנותה דאתכלילו ביה אבא ואמא עילאה ומן יובלה ירק על זקנא דאהרן כהנא‬ ‫ולויאי וישראל על הררי ציון ירקון כדדא על יוסף ודוד מלכא ויקבלוה ממלכותא ההוא‬ ‫ינוקא עבדין וכל עמך בית ישראל ונשמתא דאיהו האיבו לאסתחאה בההוא משחא תריק‬ ‫עלה מיניה ותתן בי חכמתא יקרתא ומנדעה וסוכלתנא בניי חיי ומזוני רויחי ועותרא‬ ‫למפלח קמך ולזווגי למטרוניתה כמא דאצטריך ותבשר לעמך דאיהו זמין לחיי עלמא‬ ‫דאתי ובבעו מיוך דלא אתפרש מיוך דלא תתררש מיואי בגין דלא אהוב קמך ונהדי‬ ‫השתא למטרוניתא עורי עורי זרוע ה כימי קדם דורות עולמים הלא ה היא המחצבת‬ ‫[‪3‬ב]‬ ‫רהב מחוללת תנין הלא את היא המחרבת ים מי תהום רבא השמה מעמקי ים דרך לעבור‬ ‫גאולים‪ :‬ופדויי ה׳ ישובון ובאו ציון ברנה ושמחת עולם על ראשם ששון ושמחה ישיגו‬ ‫ונסו יגון ואנחה אמן סלה‪:‬‬ ‫ורבי יהודה החסיד ז״ל היה אומר תפלתם האמוראים הראשונים החסידי׳ כאשר תמצא‬ ‫בפרק היה קורא והיה אומר החסיד כל ששת ימי המעשה לאחר תפילתו באלהי נצור‬ ‫קודש ויהיו לרצון אמרי פי‪:‬‬ ‫ביום א׳ בבקר היה אומר‬ ‫יהי רצון מלפניך ידוד אלהי ואלדי אבותי שתביט בבושתינו ותציץ ברעתינו ותתלבש‬ ‫בצדקותיך ותתכסה ברחמך ותתעטף בחסידתיך ותתאזר בחנינתיך ותבא לפניך מדת‬ ‫טובך וענותנותיך‪:‬‬ ‫רבי יודא חסיד ז״ל האט דיא גאנץ וואוך דיא תפלה אתפלל גיוועשט דיא ואר צייטין‬ ‫דיא אמוראים האבין מתפלל גוועזט וויא עש שטיט אין פרק היה קורא דא האטז דער‬ ‫חסיד מתפלל גיוועזט אל מול נאך אלדי נצור ואר יהיו לרצון אמרי פי זא זאל מנש‬ ‫אך מתפלל זיין וויא הרנוך שטיט‪:‬‬ ‫[‪4‬א]‬ ‫עש זול זיין דיין ווילן צו ואר דיר גוֿ ט מיין גוֿ ט גוֿ ט מיינין עלטרן אונ׳ זאלשט לוגין‬ ‫אויף אונזר לשטרונג אונ׳ זאלשט זעהין אויף אונזרין ביזן דש אונז גשיכֿ ט אונ׳ קלייד‬

‫‪Morris M. Faierstein‬‬

‫‪198‬‬

‫אונש אין דייניר גירעכֿ טיקייט אונ׳ בידעק אונז מיט דייניר דר ברמקייט אונ׳ גירט‬ ‫אונז מיט דיינין לייטזעליקייט אונ׳ לאש קומין צו ואר דיר דיין מדה טובה אונ׳ דיין‬ ‫דעמיטיקייט‪:‬‬ ‫בערב אומר‬ ‫יהי רצון מלפניך יי אלדי ואלדי אבותי שתשכן בפדרינו אהבה ואחוה ושלום וריעות‬ ‫ותרבה גבולינו בתלמידים העוסקים בתורתיך ותשים חלקינו בגן עדן ותצליח סופינו‬ ‫אחרית ותקוה ותקננו ביצר טוב ובחבר טוב ונצליח בעלמא בגבסיא ונמצא יחול לבבינו‬ ‫ותבא לפניך קורת נפשינו‪:‬‬ ‫אם אובנט זג דש‬ ‫עש זול זיין דיין ווילן צו ואר דיר גוֿ ט מיין גוֿ ט גוֿ ט מיינין עלטרין דאש דו זאלשט‬ ‫ברידרשאפט אונ׳ וריד אונ׳ גוטין‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫שאפט אונ׳ גוט‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫מאכֿ ין רואן אין אונזרים לוז ליב‬ ‫גיזעלשאפט אונ׳ זאלשט דרציאן אין אונזרם גימערק אייטיל תלמידים דיא אין דייניר‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫הייליגי תורה לערנין אונ׳ זאלשט טון אונזר‬ ‫[‪4‬ב]‬ ‫חלק אים גן עדן אונ׳ זאלשט מאכֿ ין בגליגן אונזר ענד אונ׳ אונזר לעטשט זאל זיין צו‬ ‫גיהאפט‪ :‬אונ׳ בירייט אונז צום יצר טוב‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫גוטם דש מיר זאלין זעהין וואש מיר לאנג הבין‬ ‫אונ׳ צום חבר טוב אונ׳ מאך אונז בגליקין אין דיזר וועלט מיט אונזרן גיטר אונ׳ טוא‬ ‫האפנונג צו אונזרי׳ הערצין דש אונז דער יצר הרע ניט זאל בצווינגן‬ ‫אונז צו איינים גוטן ֿ‬ ‫אן דיא בויזן גידאנקין די מיר בייא נכֿ ט גידענקין צו אב קערין אם מארגנש נייארט‬ ‫האפין צו דיר אונ׳ לאש ואר דיר קומין אונזר דר קוויקונג אונזר לייב‪:‬‬ ‫דש מיר זאלין ֿ‬ ‫ביום ב׳ למחרות‪:‬‬ ‫יהי רצון מלפניך ה׳ אלדי ואלדי אבותי שתהא תורתיך אמונתינו ותעמידה בידינו ולא‬ ‫תהא קנאתינו על אחרים ולא קנאת אחרים עלינו‪:‬‬ ‫אם אנדרן טג זג דש‬ ‫עש זאל זיין דיין ווילין צו ואר דיר גוֿ ט מיין גוֿ ט גוֿ ט מיינין עלטרין דאש עש זאל זיין‬ ‫דיין תורה אונזר האנט ווערק אונ׳ זיא זאל ווערדין בישטעטיקט אין אונזר הנד אונ׳‬ ‫דאש מיר זאלין קיין קנאה האבין אויף אנדר לייט‪ .‬אונ׳ אויך זאלין אנדרי לייאט קיין‬ ‫קנאה אויף אונז האבין‪:‬‬ ‫[‪5‬א]‬ ‫בערב אומר‪:‬‬ ‫יהי רצון מלפניך ידוד אלדי ואלדי אבותי שלא נחטא ולא נתבייש מאבותינו ויהיו‬ ‫צאצאנו עוסקים לשמה ויאריכו ימינו ושנותינו ביראתיך ונפדו לרוב על פני האדמה‪:‬‬

‫‪199‬‬

‫‪The Earliest Published Yiddish Tehinnot‬‬

‫אם אובנט זג דש‬ ‫עש זאל זיין דיין ווילין גוֿ ט מיין גוֿ ט גוֿ ט מיינין עלטרין דאש מיר זאלין זינדיגן אונ׳‬ ‫זאלין ניט ואר שעמט ווערדין בֿ ון אונזרן עלטרין אונ׳ אונזרין קינדר זאלין‪ :‬עוסק זיין‬ ‫דיין הייליגן תורה לשמה אונ׳ זאל דער לענגין אונזרין טעג אונ׳ אונזרין יאר אין דייניר‬ ‫וארכֿ ט אונ׳ מיר זאלין וארוכפרן זער אויף דער ערדין‪:‬‬ ‫ביום ג׳ בבקר יאמר‬ ‫ירמה אוא שתתן לנו חיים ארוכים חיים של שלום חיים של טובה חיים של ברכה חיים‬ ‫של יראת חטא חיים שאין בהם כלימה וחיים שדעתך נוחה הימנה‪:‬‬ ‫ביום ג׳ אם מורגנש זג דש‬ ‫עש זאל זיין דיין ווילן צו ואר דיר גוֿ ט מיין גוֿ ט גוֿ ט מיין עלטרין דש דו אונז זאלשט‬ ‫געבין דש‬ ‫[‪5‬ב]‬ ‫לאנג לעבין אונ׳ לעבין דז ורידן אונ׳ איין גוט לעבין אונ׳ אין לעבין דש אייטל ברכה‬ ‫איז אונ׳ איין לעבין בֿ ון יראת חטא אונ׳ איין לעבין דש קיין שאנד ניט איז אונ׳ איין‬ ‫גיזענפט בֿ ון אים איז‪:‬‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫לעבין דאש דיין דיעה‬ ‫אם אובנט זג דש‬ ‫ירמי אוא שתצילני מעזי פנים ומעזות פנים ומיצר הרע ומדין קשה ומבעל דין קשה‬ ‫בין בן ברית ובין שאינו בן ברית‪:‬‬ ‫אם אובנט זג דש‬ ‫עש זאל זיין דיין ווילן צו ואר דיר גוֿ ט מיין גוֿ ט גוֿ ט מיין עלטרין דו זאלשט אונז‬ ‫בשירמן דז מיר ניט זיין איין עזות פנים גיגין אנדר לייטין אונ׳ בשירם אונז ואר אנדרין‬ ‫עזות פנים אונ׳ ואר דעם יצר הרע אונ׳ ואר איינים בויזן דין אונ׳ ואר אינים בעל דין‬ ‫דאש מיינט ואר איינים צענקר עש זייא איין בן ברית אודר עש זייא קיין בן ברית‪:‬‬ ‫יום ד׳ בבקר אמור‬ ‫ירמה אוא שתשים שלום בפמליא של מעלה ובפמליא של מטה בין התלמידים חפצי‬ ‫תורתך בין העושים לשמה בין העושים שלא לשמה ויהיו רצון הכל עוסקים בתורה‬ ‫לשמה‪:‬‬ ‫[‪6‬א]‬ ‫יום ד׳ אם מורגנש זג דש‬ ‫עש זאל זיין דיין ווילן צו ואר דיר גוֿ ט מיין גוֿ ט גוֿ ט מיין עלטרין דאש דו זאלשט טון‬ ‫שלום אין דיינים הימלשן הער אונ׳ זאלשט אך מאכֿ ין שלום אונטן אויף דער ערדן‬

‫‪Morris M. Faierstein‬‬

‫‪200‬‬

‫צווישן אלין ועלקר אונ׳ זאלשט מאכֿ ין שלום צווישן דיא תלמידים דיא דא לערנין‬ ‫די תורה לשמה אונ׳ צווישן דיא תלמידים דיא דא לערנין דיא תורה שלא לשמה אונ׳‬ ‫עש זאל זיין דיין ווילן צו ואר דיר דש זיא אל זאלין לערנין דיא הייליג תורה לשמה‪:‬‬ ‫בערב אומר‬ ‫ירמה אוא שתעמידנו בקרן אורה ואל תעמידנו בקרן חשיכה ואל ידוה לבי ואל יחשכו‬ ‫עיני‪:‬‬ ‫אם אובנט זג דש‬ ‫עש זאל זיין דיין ווילן צו ואר דיר גוֿ ט מיין גוֿ ט גוֿ ט מיין עלטרין דאש דו אונז זאלשט‬ ‫שטעלין אין איין עק דאש אייטיל ליכֿ ט איז אונ׳ זאלשט אונז ניט שטעלין אן איין עק‬ ‫דא אייטיל וינשטרנס איז אונ׳ זאל ניט קומין אויין וויא טג אויף אונזר הערץ אונ׳ זאל‬ ‫ניט ואר וינשטרט ווערדין אונזר אויגין‪:‬‬ ‫יום ה׳ בבקר אמור‬ ‫ירמה אוא שנעשה רצונך בעולם הזה ולא‬ ‫[‪6‬ב]‬ ‫נכלם לעולם הבא ותהי יראתך על פנינו לבלתי נחטא ותפתח שערי רחמים לתפילתנו‬ ‫למען שמך הגדול‪:‬‬ ‫יום ה׳ אם מורגנש זג דש‬ ‫עש זאל זיין דיין ווילן צו ואר דיר גוֿ ט מיין גוֿ ט גוֿ ט מיין עלטרין דש מיר זאלין טון‬ ‫דיין ווילן אויף דיזר וועלט דר ווארטן דאש מיר ניט זאלין ווערדין ואר שעמט אויף‬ ‫יענם עולם אונ׳ דיין וארכֿ צום קייט זאל זיין אויף אונזר אנצליט דר ווארטין דאש מיר‬ ‫עפין אונז דיא טאר בֿ ון דער דר ברמקייט צו אונזרי תפילה אום‬ ‫ניט זאלין זינדן אונ׳ ֿ‬ ‫ווילן דיין הייליגין נאמין דער גיאכֿ פרטן‪:‬‬ ‫בערב אומר‬ ‫ירמה אוא שתנכם גליותנו ותבנה מקדשך בהר מרום הרים ותשים גבולנו לאבני חפץ‪:‬‬ ‫אם אובנט זג דש‬ ‫עש זאל זיין דיין ווילן צו ואר דיר גוֿ ט מיין גוֿ ט גוֿ ט מיין עלטרין דאש דו אונז אויז‬ ‫דעם גלות זאלשט איין זאמלין אונ׳ זאלשט אונז בויאן דש בית המקדש אן דעם בערג‬ ‫דאש הימלש אונ׳ זאלשט טון אונזר גימערק צום שטיין אונזר ביגער‪:‬‬ ‫[‪7‬א]‬ ‫יום ו׳ בבקר אמור‬ ‫רבונו של עולם גלוי וידוע לפניך שרצוני לעשות רצוניך בלבב שלם ומי מעכב השאור‬

‫‪201‬‬

‫‪The Earliest Published Yiddish Tehinnot‬‬

‫שבעיסה ושיעבוד מלכיות ירמה אוא שתכניעם מלפנינו ונשוב לעשות רצונך בלב‬ ‫שלם ובנפש חפיצה‪:‬‬ ‫יום ו׳ זג דש‬ ‫הער אל דער וועלט עש איז אן פלעגט אונ׳ ווישיגליך צו ואר דיר דז מיין ווילן איז‬ ‫צו טון מיט גאנצום הערצין אונ׳ ווער הינדרטש דער זויאר טייג אים טייג דאש מיינט‬ ‫דער יצר הרע אים גוף אונ׳ שיעבוד מלכיות עש זאל זיין דיין ווילן גוֿ ט מיין גוֿ ט גוֿ ט‬ ‫מיין עלטרין דש דו זיא זאלשט מאכֿ ין אונטר טעניק צו ואר אונז אונ׳ דאש מיר זאלין‬ ‫ווידר קערין צו טון דיין ווילן מיט גאנצום הערצין אונ׳ גאנצום לייב‪:‬‬ ‫בערב אומר‬ ‫יה אלדי עד שלא נוצרתי איני כדאי ועכשיו כשנוצרתי כאילו לא נוצרתי עפר אני בחיי‬ ‫ק״ו במיתתי הריני לפניך ככלר מלא בושה וכלימה ירמה אוא שלא אחטא ומה שחטאתי‬ ‫לפניך מחוק ברחמיך הרבים אבל לא על ידי יסורים וחלאים רעים‪:‬‬ ‫[‪7‬ב]‬ ‫אם אובנט זג דש‬ ‫בישאפין ווארדין דא איז עש ניט גנוג גיוועזין דאש איך האב‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫גוֿ ט מיין גוֿ ט אי איך בין‬ ‫בישאפין ווארדין איז גלייך אז ווער‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫בישאפין ווערדין אביר איצונד דא איך בין‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫זאלין‬ ‫בישאפין דען איך בין ערד בייא מיינים לעבין מכל שכן ווען איך טוט בין איך‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫איך ניט‬ ‫בין עבין ואר דיר אז איין כלי דש ואלר שאנד אונ׳ שמוכֿ הייט איז‪ .‬עש זאל זיין דיין‬ ‫ווילן צו ואר דיר גוֿ ט מיין גוֿ ט גוֿ ט מיין עלטרין דש איך ניט זאל זינדין אונ׳ וואש איך‬ ‫גזינד האב צו ואר דיר דאש מעק אויז מיט דייניר דר ברמקייט אביר ניט מיט יסורים‬ ‫אונ׳ ביזן קראנקהייט‪ :‬סליק סליק סליק‪:‬‬ ‫תפילה זו טוב לאומרה בכל יום ומצאת בנייר ישן‪ :‬כי ב׳ תיבות ראשונות כמו אב״ינו‬ ‫מלכ״ינו בגי׳ ארי״ה ר״ת מן ז׳ תיבות הראשונות גי׳ ע״ב וכל תיבות התפי״ל ע״ב‪:‬‬ ‫אבינו מלכינו יוצרנו האל הגדול הגבור והנורא רחום וחנון ארך אפים ורב חסד שומרנו‬ ‫והצילנו מכל צרינו כי רבים צרים חושבים עלינו ועל פליטת עמך ישראל רחם על‬ ‫עוללינו ויונקינו נא זכור לנו זכות כל אבותי‬ ‫[‪8‬א]‬ ‫הצדיקים והחסידים אהיה אשר אהיה למען שמך הגדול חננו ועשה עמנו צדקה וחסד‬ ‫ורחמים כשם שעשית ניסים לאבותינו שנאמ׳ ויסעו ויהי חתת אלדים על ההרים אשר‬ ‫סביבותיהם ולא רדפו אחרי בני יעקב‪:‬‬ ‫בזה הפסוק יש ע״ב אתיות ויאמר ג״פ‪:‬‬

‫‪Morris M. Faierstein‬‬

‫‪202‬‬

‫אבינו מלכנו קיים בנו מה שנאמר לא יתיצב איש מפניכם פחדכם ומוראכם יתן ידוד‬ ‫אלדיכם על כל פני הארץ אשר תדרכו בה כאשר דבר לכם‪:‬‬ ‫דיא תפילה זאל מן זגין אלין טג עש איז גר איין קעשטליכֿ י תפילה‬ ‫בישעפר דער גוֿ ט דער גיאכֿ פרט דער שטרק דער‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫אונזר ֿפאטר אונזר קיניג אונזר‬ ‫ֿפארכֿ צום דער דר ברמיג דער לייטזעליגי ער דר לענגט זיין צארן אונ׳ ויל איז זיין גינוד‬ ‫היט אונז אונ׳ בשירם אונז בֿ ון אל אונזרם ליידיגר דען עש זיין ויל אונזר ליידיגר דיא‬ ‫גידענקן אויף אונז בויזן גידאנקין דר בארם דיך אויף אונז אונ׳ אויף דיא אנטרינונג דיין‬ ‫ואלק ישראל דר ברם דיך אויף אונזרין יונגין קינדר אונ׳ אויף אונזרין זייגידיגן קינדר‬ ‫איך ביט דיך גידענק צו אונז דש זכות בון אל אונזרין עלטרין דיא צדיקים אונ׳ חסידים‬ ‫[‪8‬ב]‬ ‫אהיה אשר אהיה אום ווילן דיין הייליגן נאמין דער גיאכֿ פרט דו ליוט זעליגן אונז‬ ‫אונ׳ טוא מיט אונז צדקה אונ׳ חסד אונ׳ דר ברמיקייט אזו וואל אז דו האשט גיטון‬ ‫ניסים צו אונזרין עלטרין אז דער פסוק גיט אונ׳ זיא צוהין אונ׳ עש וואר אנגשט גוֿ טש‬ ‫אויף דיא בערג דאש דא וואר גרינגש הרום זיא אונ׳ זיא יאגטין ניט נאך קינדר יעקב‪:‬‬ ‫ג״פ‪:‬‬ ‫דעם פסוק זג ֿ‬ ‫אונזר ֿפאטר אונזר קיניג בישטעטיג אן אונז וויא דער פסוק גיט אונ׳ עש קאנט ניט‬ ‫בישטין איין מאן ואר אויך‪ .‬אוייר אנגשט אונ׳ אוייר ֿפארכֿ ט ווערט געבין גוֿ ט אויף‬ ‫אלי ענצליט דש לנד דא איר ווערט הין דרעטין אלז וויא ער גירעט האט לו אוייך‪:‬‬ ‫דיא תחינה זאל איין איטליכי ורויא זגין די מעוברת איז בֿ ון דעם מולט אן דש זיא אים‬ ‫זיבנטן חדש איז ביז זיא גליגט דען איך שרייב דיא תחינה אין טויטש אונ׳ מן המצר‬ ‫שרייב איך אך אין טויטש דר ווארטן דאש איין איטליכֿ י ורויא זאל ווישן זיא זגט זא‬ ‫קאן זיא דיא קעשטליכֿ י תחינה בכוונ׳ זאגין‪:‬‬ ‫אשרי משכיל אל דל ביום רעה ימלטהו יי‪ :‬יי ישמריהו ויחייהו יאושר בארץ ואל תתנהו‬ ‫בנפש אויביו‪ :‬יי יסעדני על ערם דוי על משכבי בחליי‪:‬‬ ‫[‪9‬א]‬ ‫אני אמרתי יי חנני נפשי כי חטאתי לך‪ :‬ויזעקו אל יי בצר להם ממצוקתיהם יושיעם‪:‬‬ ‫ישלח דברו וירפאה וימלט משהיתותם‪ :‬יודו ליי חסדו ונפלאותיו לבני אדם‪ :‬כי שבר‬ ‫דלתות נחושת ובריח ברזל תודע‪ :‬והוא כחתן יוצא מחפתו ישיש כגבור לרוץ אורח‪:‬‬ ‫ברח דודי ודמי לך לינבי או לעופר האולים על הרי בשמים‪:‬‬ ‫וואל דעם דער דא קליגט צום ארמין‪ :‬וען דא קומט דער בויז טאג זא מאכֿ ט אין אנטרינן‬

‫‪203‬‬

‫‪The Earliest Published Yiddish Tehinnot‬‬

‫גוֿ ט‪ :‬גוֿ ט דער טוט אין היטן אונ׳ דר הלט אים זיין לעבין אונ׳ ווערט גישטערקט אים‬ ‫לאנד אונ׳ ער גיבט אים ניט אין זיינין ויינדין הנד‪ :‬גוֿ ט דער טוט אונז לינין מיך אויף‬ ‫דין שפאן בעט דער וויאונג אונ׳ אויף מיין גילגיר דער קראנקהייט‪ :‬איך האב מיר‬ ‫גידאכֿ ט גוֿ ט טוט אונטר ליינין מיך היילט מיין לייב אונ׳ מיין זיל דען איך האב גזינד‬ ‫צו דיר אונ׳ זיא שריאין צו גוֿ ט אין אירם לייד אונ׳ אויז אירי בצווינק ניט טוט ער זיא‬ ‫העלפין‪ :‬ער שיקט זיין ריד אונ׳ טוט היילין זיא אונ׳ ער מכֿ ט אנטרינן זיא בֿ ון אירין‬ ‫ואר דערדבניס‪ :‬זיא לובן צו גוֿ ט זיין גינוד אונ׳ זיינן וואונדר די קינדר מענשין‪ :‬וען ער‬ ‫קופפר אונ׳ אייזינן ריגל טוט ער צור שניידין‪ :‬אונ׳ ער גיט אויז אז איין‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫צו ברעכֿ ט דיא‬ ‫[‪9‬ב]‬ ‫חתן אויז דער חופה זא ורייאט זיך איין העלד אין דער תורה צו גין אין רעכֿ טין וועג‪:‬‬ ‫מן זגט מן המצר דש שטיט אין הלל אונ׳ דש טויטש שרייב איך דא הער‬ ‫גירופן גוֿ ט ער האט גיענטוורט מיר אין דר ווייטי גוֿ ט‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫מן המצר בֿ ון דער ענגי איך הון‬ ‫גוֿ ט איז מיר אונ׳ איך וערכֿ ט מיך ניט וואש וויל מיר איין מענש טון‪ :‬גוֿ ט איז מיט מיר‬ ‫העלפרין אונ׳ איך ויל זעהין ראכֿ ונג אן מיינן ויינדין‪ .‬עש איז בעשר צו‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫אונטר מיינין‬ ‫בשויצן אן גוֿ ט מיר דען צו ורזיכֿ רן אן איינין מענשן‪ :‬עש איז בעשר צו בשיצן אן גוֿ ט‬ ‫מיר דין צו ואר זיכֿ רן אן דיא הערין‪ :‬אלין ועלקר האבין אום רינגלט מיך מיט דעם‬ ‫נאמין גוֿ טש וויל איך ואר שניידין זיא‪ :‬זיא הון אום רינגלט מיך אונ׳ אך אום קרייסט‬ ‫מיך מיט דעם נאמין גוֿ טש וויל איך ואר שניידן זיא‪ .‬זיא האבין אום רינגלט מיך אלז‬ ‫דיא בינן זיא זיין בֿ אר שפרונגין אז אין איינים וייאר דיא דערנער מיט דעם באמין‬ ‫גוֿ טש וויל איך ואר שניידין זיא‪ֿ :‬פאר שטוסן דו האשט ואר שטוסן מיך צו ואלין אונ׳‬ ‫גיהאלפין מיר דיא שטערק אונ׳ דיא ואר שניידונג גוֿ טש איז גיוועזין צו מיר‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫גוֿ ט האט‬ ‫צו אייניר הילף‪ :‬איין שטים גיזאנג אונ׳ הילף אין גיצעלט דער גירעכֿ טן‪ :‬דיא רעכֿ ט‬ ‫הנד גוֿ טש זיא טוט‬ ‫[‪10‬א]‬ ‫קראפט‪:‬‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫קראפט‪ :‬דיא רעכֿ ט הנד גוֿ טש טוט דר הויכֿ ן דיא רעכֿ ט הנד גוֿ טש זיא טוט‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫ניט איך וויל שטערבין נייארט איך וויל בלייבין לעבין אונ׳ איך וויל דר צילן די ווערק‬ ‫גוֿ טש‪ :‬גיקעשטיגט ער האט גיקעשטיגט מיך גוֿ ט אונ׳ דעם טוט האט ער ניט אויבר‬ ‫פפארטן דער גירעכֿ טיקייט איך וויל אין זיא קומין אונ׳‬ ‫אופנש מיר דיא ֿ‬ ‫עמטוורט מיך‪ֿ :‬‬ ‫וויל לובן גוֿ ט‪ :‬דיזש איז דאש טאר גוֿ טש דיא גירעכֿ טין זאלין דאריין קומין‪ :‬איך וויל‬ ‫לובין דיך גוֿ ט ווען דו האשט גיענטוורט מיר אונ׳ בישט גיוועזין מיר צו מייניר הילף‪:‬‬ ‫איין שטיין האבין ואר שמעכֿ ט דיא בויא מיינשטר אונ׳ ער איז גיווארדין צו איינים‬ ‫איק שטיין‪ :‬בֿ ון גוֿ ט איז דאש גישעהין עש איז איין וואונדר אין אונזרן אויגן‪ :‬דיזן‬ ‫בישאפין גוֿ ט מיר וועלין וריליך זיין און מיר וועלין אונז ורייאין אן אים‪:‬‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫טאג האט‬

‫‪204‬‬

‫‪Morris M. Faierstein‬‬

‫דיא ברכה זאלין דיא ווייבר זגין נאך דיא ליכֿ ט אן צינדן אם ֿפרייטיג צו נאכֿ ט‪:‬‬ ‫שלום עליכם מלאכי השלום בבאכם לשלום כאשר צוה אתכם אדנינו המלך הכבוד‬ ‫והקדוש אדון השלום רבון כל העולמים אדון כל הבריות ואדון על כל אשר עשית‬ ‫ואשר אתה עתיד לעשות עשה עמי חסד ועם בריותך וברוכים‬ ‫[‪10‬ב]‬ ‫המלאכים שעושים רצונך אדון השלום תברכני השלום ותפקדני בשלום לחיים טובים‬ ‫ולשלום ותזכני למצותיך ותן לי חן ושכל טוב בעיניך ובעיני כל רואי ותעבור ותמחול‬ ‫לי על כל חטאתי ועונותי ופשעי ותזכני לקבל שבתות וימים טובים מתוך רוב עושר‬ ‫וכבוד ומתוך מיעט עוונות וחסר ממני ומזרעי ומזרע זרעי מעתה ועד עולם כל חולי‬ ‫וכל דלות ועניות ואביונות ולא תהא צרה ביום מנוחתנו ותן בי יצר טוב באהבה וביראה‬ ‫ואהיה מכובר בעיניך ובעיני רואי כי אתה המלך אמן סלה‪:‬‬ ‫וריד צו אויך איר ענגיל דאש אויאר קומין זאל זיין צום ורידין אלז אוייך גיבאטן האט‬ ‫אונזר הער דער קיניג דער גיערט אונ׳ דער הייליג דער הער דש ורידן‪ :‬הער אל דיא‬ ‫בישאפין האשט אונ׳ דאש דו‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫בישעפניס אונ׳ הער איבר אלז דז דו‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫וועלט הער איבר אלי‬ ‫בישעפניסן אונ׳ גליובט‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫בישאפין ווערשט טוא מיט מיר גינוד אונ׳ מיט דיינין‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫הינטן נאך‬ ‫זיין דיא ענגיל דיא דא טון דיינן ווילן הער דש ורידן טוא בענשן מיך מיט ורידן אונ׳‬ ‫גידענק מיך מיט ורידן אונ׳ צום לעבין איינים גוטין אונ׳ צו וריד אונ׳ מך מיך ווירדין‬ ‫[‪11‬א]‬ ‫בֿ ון אונז דען דבר אונ׳ דש שווערט אונ׳ דין הונגר אונ׳ דיא גיבֿ ענקניס אונ׳ דין יאר אונ׳‬ ‫ווארהפטיגין אונ׳ הערטין בויזן גישיכֿ ניס‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫דין יצר הרע אונ׳ דיא בויזן קראנקהייט דיא‬ ‫אונ׳ גביט אויף מיך גזירות טובות אונ׳ אויף אל מיין הויז גזינד אונ׳ עש זאל ווערדין‬ ‫אנפלעגט דיין דר ברמיקייט אויף דיינין מדות אונ׳ דו זאלשט אונז וירן גוֿ ט אונזר גוֿ ט‬ ‫מיט דער מוס בֿ ון דער גינוד אונ׳ מיט דער מוס מיט דער ברמיקייט אונ׳ זאלשט איין‬ ‫גין מיט אונז לפנים משורת הדין אונ׳ דו זאלשט ואר נעמין אונזר גיבעט אונ׳ אונזר‬ ‫גישרייא דען דו הערשט אלי גיבעט‪:‬‬ ‫[‪11‬ב]‬ ‫‪4. Miscellaneous Tehinnot.‬‬ ‫‪1. Tehinnah at end of The Story of the House of David in the Persian Period‬‬ ‫)‪(Basel 1599‬‬

‫משעה בית דוד בימי פרס (בסיליאה‪ ,‬שנט לפ״ק)‬ ‫דיא תחינה זאגט מן אלה טאג אונ׳ זיא איז זער מקובל‪:‬‬

‫‪205‬‬

‫‪The Earliest Published Yiddish Tehinnot‬‬

‫יהי רצון עש זאל זיין דיין ווילן צו פור דיר גאט אונזר גאט הער אל דער וועליט אז‬ ‫דוא זאלשט מיר געבין דען טאג איין מתנה טובה אונ׳ איין גוטה שפייזונג אונ׳ זאלשט‬ ‫מיך גידנקן אין איין גוט גידעכטניס אונ׳ זאלשט מיך ביפעלן אין איין בפעלני׳ הילף‬ ‫אונ׳ דער ברמונג אום ווילן דיין הייליגן נאמן אונ׳ זאלשט מיר געבין איין גוט טייל‬ ‫אונ׳ איין גוט לון אונ׳ מעשים טובים אז דער וואר טון אז איך זאל קענין ווערדוג זיין‬ ‫צו עולם הבא אונ׳ זאלשט מיך מאכֿ ין הערן בשורו׳ טובות אונ׳ זאלשט מיר געבין‬ ‫לנג לעב טאג אונ׳ שלום אונ׳ זיכרונג אונ׳ קלוגהייט אונ׳ זין אונ׳ ֿפרשטנד אונ׳ גינאד‬ ‫אונ׳ לייט זעליקייט אונ׳ בארמיקייט אין דיין אויגן צו ֿפר דיר אונ׳ ֿפר דיין כסא כבוד‬ ‫אונ׳ אין אויגן אל מיין אן זעהר אונ׳ זאלשט אייניגן מיין הערץ צו ליב האבן דיך אונ׳‬ ‫צו ֿפערכטן דיין הייליגן נאמן אונ׳ זאלשט נייגן מיין הערץ צו טון דיין ווילן אונ׳ צו‬ ‫דינן דיר מיט גנץ מיין הערץ אונ׳ זאלשט מיר געבן איין חלק טוב מיט דען צדיקים‬ ‫אונ׳ זאלשט מיך זאט מכֿ ין ֿפון דיין גוט קייט אונ׳ דער בארם דיך איבר מיך מיט דיין‬ ‫הילף אונ׳ בהיט מיך אונ׳ מיין מאן אונ׳ מיין קינדר ֿפר אלם ביזן אונ׳ גיב מיר קינדר‬ ‫דיא קאנן לערנן אין דיין היילגה תורה אונ׳ זאלשט הערין מיין גיבעט ֿפון גרונד מיין‬ ‫הערץ אז וויא דוא האשט דער הורט חנה אונ׳ אלי ווייבר צדקנית גלובט בישטו גאט‬ ‫דער דא הערט דיא גיבעט דיין ֿפאלק ישראל אמן‪:‬‬ ‫‪2. Seder Mitzvot Nashim (ed. Edward Fram, chapter 49, 132).‬‬

‫אונ׳ דיא תחינה זאג אי דו אין וושר גישט‪:‬‬ ‫מט איך ביט דיך גֿ וט הער אל דער וועלט גֿ וט אבֿ רהם גֿ וט יצחק גֿ וט יעקב דש דו דוא‬ ‫מיר זאלשט געבן די גינוד דש זאל ווערן טראגן די נאכֿ ט ֿפון מיינן מאן אונ׳ עש זאל‬ ‫זיין דאש קינד דש איך זאל ווערן טראגן ֿפון דער טבֿ ילה איין תלמיד חכֿ ם אונ׳ איין‬ ‫ֿפערכֿ טר נאמן דיינר הייליקייט אונ׳ איין היטר גבוט דיינר הייליגי תורה גֿ וט הער אל‬ ‫נשמות‬ ‫ֿ‬ ‫דער וועלט הויר מיין גיבעט אונ׳ גיב דיינן ענגיל דער דא איז ממונה איבר די‬ ‫דז ער זאל נעמן איין נשמה אין ריינה אונ׳ זאל זיא איין טוין אין מיין לייב אונ׳ בישירם‬ ‫מיך ור איינר נשמה די ניט ריין איז אונ׳ דז איך מיך ניט טו ביזילפרן מיט קינדר דיא‬ ‫ניט ֿפרום ווערן אונ׳ ניט זעליג זיין אונ׳ וער שטער ֿפון מיר אלי ביזי גידאנקן אונ׳‬ ‫בישירם מיך וער איינר נשמה דיא דא ניט ריין איז אונ׳ בישירם מיך וער דען יצר הרע‬ ‫דש ער ניט טוט אן רייצן מיך אונ׳ ניט טוט ברענגין מיך צו ביזי אונרייני גידאנקן אונ׳‬ ‫שטערק מיין הערץ אונ׳ מיין גידאנקן צו גוטן אונ׳ צו היטן גיבאט דיינר הייליקייט‬ ‫אין דער ווארטן דש איך זאל זיין ווירדיג דש דא גֿ וט הער אל דער וועלט זאלשט דער‬ ‫הערן מיין גיבעט אונ׳ זאלשט דער ֿפילן מיין אן היישוג דיא איך דיר אן הייש דען‬ ‫דו בישט גֿ וט דער איינג דער דא הערט גיבעט אליר קרייטר וכֿ ן יהי רצון אמן סלה‪:‬‬ ‫‪3. Brantshpigl (Basel, 1602) chapter 35, 127b–128a.‬‬

‫אונ׳ ווען גנעכֿ ט דיא צייט דער גיבוירד דא זול מן מיט גראשן ולייש אונט [‪128‬א]‬ ‫שפרעכֿ ן הער בֿ ון אלר וועלט‬ ‫דעמוטיק מיט צו בראכֿ ני הערץ בעטן צו הקבֿ ״ה אונ׳ ֿ‬

‫‪Morris M. Faierstein‬‬

‫‪206‬‬

‫טוא מיר אויף דיא גיבוינט דער גבוירד אונ׳ טייל מיט מיר גנאד אונ׳ ברמהערציקייט‬ ‫דאז דאש קינד זול ווערדן גיבארן ֿפריש אונ׳ גיזונד מיט גאנצי גלידר און אלי גיברעך‪.‬‬ ‫קרפט צו דער ציהן עש‬ ‫אונ׳ גיב מיר מילך גינויגן צו גנערן דאש קינד‪ .‬אונ׳ גיב מיר ֿ‬ ‫אונ׳ גיווינן אין גוֿ טש ֿפארכֿ ט אונ׳ צו האלטן דיין גיבאט‪ .‬אונ׳ דאש מיר דיא גיבוירד‬ ‫זול קיין שאדן טון אן אל מיין גלידר‪.‬‬ ‫)‪4. Ze’enah U-Re’enah (Genesis 3:6‬‬

‫כי טוב עץ למאכל‪ . . . .‬אונ׳ עטליכֿ י דיא זאגן עש איז איין אתרוג בוים גיוועזן‪ .‬אונ׳‬ ‫אתרוג אונ׳ רייסן אויש דיא שטיל אן‬ ‫דרום איז דער מנהג דאש דיא ווייבר נעמן דען ֿ‬ ‫הושענא רבא‪ .‬כלומר זיא געבן געלט אין דער צדקה‪ .‬דען דיא צדקה איז מציל ֿפון דער‬ ‫טוט‪ .‬אונ׳ דש זיא גאט זאל בשירמן מיט איר קינד דש זיא טראגט‪ .‬דען זאלטן זיא ניט‬ ‫אפפיל‪ .‬דא מעכֿ ט דיא ֿפרויא איר קינד גרינג האבן‪ ,‬אז דיא הען‬ ‫האבן גיגעסין ֿפון דען ֿ‬ ‫איין איי ליגט און צער‪ .‬אונ׳ דיא ֿפרויא זאל רידן‪ ,‬רבונו של עולם דרום ווייל חוה האט‬ ‫אפפיל‪ ,‬זאלן מיר ווייבר אלי ליידן אזו אין גרושי צרה צו שטערבן‪.‬‬ ‫גיגעסין ֿפון דען ֿ‬ ‫אונ׳ זאלט איך זיין דער בייא גיוועזן איך העט קיין הנאה דער ֿפון גיהאט‪ :‬אזו וואול‬ ‫אתרוג ניט וועלין פסול מאכֿ ין גאנצי זיבן טאג‪ ,‬דער‬ ‫אז איצונדרט דא האב איך דען ֿ‬ ‫ווייל ער צו איינר מצוה האט גיקערט‪ .‬אבר איצונדרט הושענא רבא איז נון דיא מצוה‬ ‫אויז‪ .‬נאך בין איך ניט געך צו עסין‪ ,‬אונ׳ אזו ווינציג הנאה אלש איך האב ֿפון דען‬ ‫אפפיל הנאה‪ ,‬וואז דוא האשט ֿפר באטין‪:‬‬ ‫שטיל‪ .‬אזו ווינציג העט איך גיהאט ֿפון דען ֿ‬

The Societal Role of the Man of SpiritAccording to Martin Buber Admiel Kosman and Yemima Hadad Institut für Jüdische Theologie/School of Jewish Theology University of Potsdam

This study offers a view into Buber’s conception of the social role of the “person of spirit” – the individual who, in other contexts, would be called philosopher, thinker, or intellectual. A key element of the person of spirit’s role, according to Buber, is the evaluation of social reality – judging the public’s ability to be guided by the realm of the spirit at any given hour while responding to the challenges that this particular hour may present. The person of spirit is required to constantly mediate between “heaven” and “earth” – between the ideal and reality – even if in a particular situation the moral action which has to be taken can only be partial, and will fall short of the absolute demand of the spirit. Buber emphasizes that the influence of the spirit on reality always begins with an effort of the “person of spirit” to transform him or herself from a monological to a dialogical person. Without a dialogical affinity between the person of spirit and their community, there can be no real effect of the spirit on reality. The person of spirit is, therefore, according to Buber, fully involved in the social life of the community. Our study shows that Buber shaped this figure of the “person of spirit” by combining the model of the biblical prophet, who is sent to the people, with the model of the Hasidic leader who acts according to the principle of the “Descent of the Zaddik.” The person of spirit is required to live their life in a “Thou” relationship with their community, and is therefore frequently descending from an elevated spiritual level to the level of the people, in order to empathetically share their mundane worries, fears, and afflictions. By comparing the models of the biblical prophet and the Hassidic Zaddik to the model of the Greek prophetes and Plato’s philosopher-king, we can, according to Buber, reflect on the role of the person of spirit in society in our time as well.

In 1927 Julien Benda published his famous essay, La Trahison des Clercs (The Betrayal of the Intellectuals), in which he raised the question of the role that should be played in society by the intellectual, and, based on the understanding he presented in this work, he accused the intellectuals of his time of abandoning their role.1

1 Julien Benda, La Trahison des Clercs (Paris : Grasset, 1927). The volume later appeared in English:

207

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Admiel Kosman and Yemima Hadad

In 1932 Martin Buber responded to Benda with his lecture “‫אימתי‬.”2 In this lecture, Buber rejected the role Benda assigned to the intellectual in society. He viewed Benda’s clerc as a monological individual, an intellectual who gazes upon reality from his ivory tower, without leaving any mark on this reality. Buber presented an alternative to Benda’s type: the dialogical man of spirit, who is involved in public life and influences it. This article will examine the monological man of spirit and the contrasting dialogical man of spirit in Buber’s teachings. In later articles, Buber continued to express his opinion on the destiny and mission of the man of spirit. His “The Demand of the Spirit and Historical Reality” (1935), and “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence in Judaism” (1934) discuss men of spirit in antiquity and in the modern period.3 Buber presents two types of men of spirit who were active during the course of history, in order to enable the contemporary man of spirit to choose between these two models.4 Following Buber, from among the models of the Greek prophetes, the philosopher, the Hebrew prophet, and the tzaddik, we will attempt to elucidate the two basic models of men of spirit that were presented by Buber







Julien Benda, The Betrayal of the Intellectuals, trans. Richard Aldington (Boston, MA: Beacon Press, 1955). Regarding the terminology we use in this article: the term “clerc” in the original French (literally, “learned man”) that was rendered in English as “intellectual” refers to the same type of individual that Buber terms “‫“( ”איש הרוח‬man of spirit”), who, in other contexts, might be called “philosopher” or “thinker.” For Buber, however, the terms “a man of principle” or “Man of spirit,” included the prophetes or prophet, which the term “intellectual” does not. We see no reason to determine that Buber’s ‫ איש הרוח‬is meant to be exclusively male. However, for readability, we have generally retained Buber’s use of gendered language in this study. 2 This essay, first sent to a convention of Jewish youth in Antwerp, appeared in English translation as: “To Jewish Youth,” Jewish Frontier 4,8 (August, 1937): 20–22; “And If Not Now, When?,” in A Land of Two Peoples: Martin Buber on Jews and Arabs, ed. Paul Mendes-Flohr (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2005), 102–6. The English translation of this essay cited in the current article is taken from a second translation: Israel and the World: Essays in a Time of Crisis, trans. Olga Marx (New York: Schocken, 1963), 234–39. 3 Martin Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” trans. Greta Hort, in The Origin and Meaning of Hasidism (New York: Philosophical Library, 1948), 117–58. The original nucleus of this article was delivered at the Hebrew University on April 25, 1938, as Buber’s initial lecture. See Margot Cohn and Rafael Buber, Martin Buber: A Bibliography of His Writings (Jerusalem: Hebrew University Magnes Press; Munich: Saur, 1980), writings from 1938, 48, no. 571. 4 For Buber on the social thinker who intends to influence “the transformation of social reality” see Buber, “The Demand of the Spirit and Historical Reality,” in Pointing the Way: Collected Essays, trans. Maurice S. Friedman (New York: Harper & Row, 1963), 182. We will discuss this at length below.

The Societal Role of the Man of Spirit

209

as exemplary figures for the contemporary man of spirit: the dialogical type versus the monological.5 At this point, we should add a methodological note: scholarly research commonly distinguishes between Buber’s early period, in which the dialogical principle had not yet appeared, and the later dialogical period.6 Although the material on which the current article is based is drawn from Buber’s later period, it should be noted that for our purposes here, the arguments we will raise in this article are also consistent with Buber’s notions during his early period. This is so because, even if in his early period Buber had not yet positioned the dialogical idea (which is so well known from his later formulations) in the center of his thought, then, too, the quest for unity was the linchpin for understanding his “Jewish religiosity”; as Statman and Sagi put it: “Unity, for Buber [in his pre-dialogical period], is the fundamental motif of Judaism.”7 For our purposes, then, it really does not matter whether we use the term “dialogue” or “quest for unity” to explain the model of the dialogical man of spirit portrayed by Buber. Accordingly, just as we presented the distinction between the two “man of spirit” models as between “the dialogical man of spirit and the monological man of spirit,” we could just as easily have formulated this distinction as between “the unifying man of spirit and the man of spirit of the world of duality.” Back to the question of the role of the “man of spirit” according to Buber. It should come as no surprise to learn that Buber was occupied with these issues as a thinker, and also as an educator – in which role he could exemplify his own teaching.8 Richard Rorty distinguishes between the thinker-philosopher and the thinker-educator, drawing on the meaning of the word “pedagogue,” that is, the one who points the way.9 With Rorty’s observation in mind, we argue that Buber was not interested in interpreting the Greek or biblical literatures for their own sake. The same could be said of his use of Hasidic literature – which aroused major controversies among scholars of Hasidism.10 Indirect teaching,







5 On the prophet as the man of spirit in his time, see Martin Buber, “The Turning to the Future,” in The Prophetic Faith, trans. Carlyle Witton-Davies (New York: Macmillan, 1949), 123. 6 See Israel Koren, The Mystery of the Earth: Mysticism and Hasidism in Buber’s Thought (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 9n12. 7 Daniel Statman and Avi Sagi, “‫עיונים בשאלת היחס בין דת ומוסר בהגותו של בובר‬,” Daat 17 (1986): 102–4; see also Elliot Wolfson, “The Problem of Unity in the Thought of Martin Buber,” Journal of the History of Philosophy 27, 3 (1989): 423–44. 8 See Laurence J. Silberstein, Martin Buber’s Social and Religious Thought: Alienation and the Quest for Meaning (New York: New York University Press, 1989), 10. Silberstein views Buber as the latter type. 9 See Richard Rorty, Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1979), 360–70. See also David Barzilai, ‫– האדם הדיאלוגי‬ ‫תרומתו של מרטין בובר לפילוסופיה‬ (Jerusalem: Hebrew University Magnes Press, 2000), 47–48. 10 There is much literature on this. To mention only a few representative articles: Gershom Scholem,

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by means of a story, a legend, or a parable, is one of Buber’s didactic tactics, which we may assume he took from Hasidism.11 This tactic presents a historical or biblical figure in order to demonstrate a sweeping theoretical argument. In this article, we will examine Buber’s conception of the man of spirit’s responsibility, as deduced from the examples he utilizes. We maintain, as we will develop below, that Buber’s writings contain a number of discussions revolving around the image of the leader in past times, in order to derive from these images a characteristic Buberian typology that, in the end, presents two basic models of the man of spirit: the dialogical and the monological. It should be stressed that our conclusions are based on a comprehensive study of Buber’s thoughts on this issue, which are scattered throughout his writings; he himself did not systematically address this issue. As we shall see, such comparisons between the various types of men of spirit in antiquity set forth two fundamental types, both taken from the ancient Greek world: 1) the prophetes, who, for Buber, represents the Greek prophetic world and the world of the Greek philosopher (i.e., Plato), and 2) the prophet of Israel. Buber then argues that the model of the tzaddik as charismatic leader in the Hasidic movement is based to a great degree on the model of the Israelite prophet, a type of charismatic leader unique to the biblical world. After discussing Buber’s understanding of the role of the dialogical man of spirit, we will examine these models in light of Benda’s call to the men of spirit – the intellectuals – of his time to refrain from political involvement and concentrate exclusively on the contemplative life and the search for truth. Buber disputes Benda, and offers a vigorous response to his arguments, which we will clarify in this article. This controversy will cast further light on how Buber conceived the role of the man of spirit in society, and will enable us to discuss the relevance of Buber’s demands of the modern man of spirit.



“Martin Buber’s Interpretation of Hasidism,” in The Messianic Idea in Judaism: And Other Essays in Jewish Spirituality (New York: Schocken, 1995), 228–50; Rivka Schatz-Uffenheimer, “Man’s Relation to God and World in Buber’s Rendering of the Hasidic Teaching,” in The Philosophy of Martin Buber, ed. Paul Arthur Schilpp and Maurice Friedman (La Salle, IN: Open Court, Cambridge University Press, 1967), 403–34. Some contemporary scholars maintain that this critique misses the deep, and central, insight that Buber derived from the Hasidic literature, and find his interpretation of Hasidism to be legitimate (that it suits at least one orientation in the Hasidic movement). See Ron Margolin, ‫( מקדש אדם‬Jerusalem: Hebrew University Magnes Press, 2005), 16–18, 27–33, 428–32; Tsippi Kauffmann, ‫ תפיסת האלוהות והעבודה בגשמיות‬:‫בכל דרכיך דעהו‬ ‫( בראשית החסידות‬Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University, 2009), esp. 235–45. 11 See Avraham Shapira, “‫ ”הארות לאמצעי הביטוי‬in ‫ מגמות העיצוב בהגות בובר‬:‫( הרוח במציאות‬Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1994), 25–28.

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211

THE MODEL OF THE PROPHET IN THE BIBLE VS. THE GREEK PROPHETES: THE DIALOGICAL AND THE MONOLOGICAL In his discussion of symbolic existence, Buber compares two images of prophets in antiquity: the Greek prophetes (προφήτης) and the Israelite prophet of the Bible.12 He bases this comparison on the fact that both the prophet in the Bible and the prophetes fill a role, or mission, among their people – they transmit the divine word to the masses, who are unfit to hear this directly from the mouth of the divinity. We will begin the comparison of these two types of men of spirit with a terminological clarification: Buber calls the biblical prophet “melitz” (‫)מ ִליץ‬. ֵ Eliezer Ben Yehuda gives three meanings for this word: (1) someone who explains things to people who do not understand each other’s language (i.e., a translator); (2) someone who speaks on behalf of his fellow (an advocate); (3) someone capable of speaking eloquently, whose words influence the listener.13 Buber discusses the prophet’s role in sense (1), in his discussion on symbolic and sacramental existence, as well as elsewhere.14 Similar to melitz, the Greek word prophetes means “translator,” “one who expresses,” but unlike the Hebrew word, it has an additional meaning – a public announcer; accordingly, in everyday life the prophetes served in disparate roles, as, for example, “an expounder of a philosophy [ . . . ] or even the herald in an athletic game.”15 In this, Buber argues, he differed from the Hebrew “prophet,” a term reserved exclusively for the realm of the sacred.16 Buber writes: “It is not without significance, in the first place, that the concept [of nabi] is not used here in a secular sense, as in the Greek [ . . . ] The nabi only functions in the relation between deity and humanity.”17 12 See Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence.” 13 Eliezer Ben Yehuda, ‫מילון הלשון העברית הישנה והחדשה‬, vol. 6 (Jerusalem: Hebrew Teachers’ Organisation in Eretz Israel, 1948), 3040–41. 14 See in Buber, ‫תורת הנביאים‬, the second page of the introduction (“metavkhim”; rendered in Buber’s Introduction to The Prophetic Faith, 2, as “intermediaries”); ‫תורת הנביאים‬, 54 (“ha-metavekh”; rendered in “Holy Event,” The Prophetic Faith, 57, as “mediator”). Another point that will be discussed later: since Buber did not mention the last meaning (3), we may assume that he did not ascribe this function to the Israelite prophet, but only to the Greek prophetes. 15 Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 154. 16 Whether the etymological origin of the word “navi” in the sources that preceded Hebrew had an active or passive sense is the subject of debate among scholars of the Ancient Near East. For this dispute, see Daniel Fleming, “The Etymological Origins of the Hebrew nabi: The One Who Invokes God,” Catholic Biblial Quarterly 55, 2 (1993): 217–24; John Huehnergard, “On the Etymology and Meaning of Hebrew nabi,” Eretz Israel 26 (1999): 88*–93*. 17 Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 154–55.

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It should be stressed that Buber does not negate the possibility that the prophetes was connected, in his own way, to the supernal worlds, and does not rule out the prospect that certain individuals (such as the prophetes) possess exceptional supernatural qualities; but this possibility was not meaningful for his understanding of what is of spiritual significance. Furthermore, even if in his heart of hearts Buber doubted the veracity of the Greek oracle’s prophecy,18 he refrained from discussing this subject in the comparison that he drew between the prophet and the prophetes, so it could not be argued that the prophetes, unlike the Israelite prophet, does not truly connect with the supernal worlds.19 Buber preferred to draw the dividing line in the distinction between the prophet, who acts in a dialogical manner, and the prophetes, who is monological. We, too, will follow Buber in this, and attempt to explore this substantive difference. Buber illustrates this distinction through: (a) the direction of transmission of the prophecy; (b) the manner of its transmission.20

A. The Direction of Transmission of the Prophecy Buber argues that the prophetes brings the divine word to man in a one-way manner – from above to below. The prophet, in contrast, prophesies both from above to below and from below to above: from God to man and from man to God. Even, however, in the sphere of transmission from above to below (from God to man) – which is the realm both of these men of spirit share – differences arise between the prophet and the prophetes. As we noted above, the prophetes and the prophet functioned as intermediaries and as translators of the prophetic message. The differences between them, which we will discuss below, therefore relate to the nature of the mediation (duality vs. unity) and to the translation of the prophecy (from a pre-verbal message to a spoken one). After an examination of these differences we will discuss the plane singular 18 Thaddeus Zielinski, The Religion of Ancient Greece: An Outline, trans. George Rapali Noyes (London: Oxford University Press, 1926), 195, offers that the Pythia “fell into an unconscious state” from the vapors of a strong substance with which the priests filled her chamber. With regard to this, Buber vigorously opposed anything connected with magic, because magic, unlike prayer, is, by its very nature, not dialogical. It is basically defined as the attempt to force human will upon the upper worlds. See the extensive discussion in Admiel Kosman, “‫ מאגיה ודיאלוג‬,‫הלכה‬,” Bar-Ilan Law Studies 18,1–2 (2002): 219–47. 19 Thus, e.g., Cecil Maurice Bowra, The Greek Experience (New York: New American Library, 1959), 61, mentions that one of the embarrassing moments in the history of the oracle at Delphi occurred in 480 BCE, after the oracle had spoken of Persian power. This prophecy proved to be a “grave miscalculation.” 20 The following analysis is based on Buber’s discussion in his essay “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence.”

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to the biblical prophet, namely, the mediation of the prophet from below to above (from man to God). 1. The Transmission of Prophecy from Above to Below As we mentioned, both the prophetes and the prophet translate the divine word and transmit it to the people, but the translation and transmission by each is of a distinct nature. Each transmits the prophecy and translates it from its pre-verbal stage to a verbal one, but, according to Buber, for the prophetes the translation has a dualistic nature, while the prophet’s translation is unitary. The prophetes interprets – in a later stage, and by means of logic – what initially appeared as a “mystery”; the prophet, on the other hand, gives voice and words to what was transmitted to him with inner clarity, with neither sound nor words.21 Buber, clarifying this point, and following Plato’s Timaeus, distinguishes between the Greek prophet known as a “mantis,” who divines, and is “enraptured by the god” – whose transmission, with divine inspiration, is enigmatic – and, the one called “prophetes,” who interprets the voice and translates it into human language.22 Buber, based on the Greek poet Pindar, adds that, as noted above, at times the prophetes fills both roles: “Where a man unites both offices, we must assume that he is actually first mantis and then prophet [= prophetes].”23 In other words, in these instances the change that the prophecy undergoes, from its enigmatic stage (the “mystery”) to its intelligible stage, takes place within the personality of the prophetes himself. Buber states that: the differentiation in the person [that is, into two roles, the mantis and the prophetes] becomes a differentiation in the condition [i.e., mental state of the person himself], a transformation [i.e., the differentiation, or split] in the [one] person [himself]. [Buber consequently argues:] The duality remains [even when the Greek officiant – seemingly a single person – fills both these roles, unlike the phenomenon of Israelite prophecy, which, Buber claims, is unitary – see below].24 This spatial picture is highly significant for Buber. In the Greek world, the 21 Cf. what Buber says about the prophet in The Prophetic Faith: God does not speak with man “in riddles, which a man must still explain” (“Holy Event,” 57), but in “signs of what happens [i.e., in the surrounding reality]” (‫תורת הנביאים‬, second page of the Preface to the first edition [no pagination]). 22 See Plato’s Cosmology: The Timaeus of Plato, trans. with commentary by Francis MacDonald Cornford (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1956), 288, 71e–72b. 23 Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 154. See also Jan N. Bremmer, “Prophets, Seers, and Politics in Greece, Israel, and Early Modern Europe,” Numen 40 (1993): 159. 24 Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 154.

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message came down from the supernal world to the mantis – to the Pythia, whom Buber calls one of the “raving ones” – and the message traveling in this direction, in his understanding, is not incidental.25 Rather, it is necessary, since the ecstatic state of the Greek prophets severs them from the “low” world of others, who inhabit the inferior reality of this world. Because the “raving” ones are in a liminal state, Buber concludes that the Pythia herself cannot, by her very nature, directly deliver the secret message that is revealed to her, because she is connected to the “upper” spheres, and occupies a pre-verbal stage. Consequently, unlike the prophet, she cannot communicate with those in the realm of speech (the realm of Logos), since, in the Greek conception, these worlds are detached from one another. The prophetes did not subsequently only give logical form to the vague words of the Pythia, but also put them in hexameter verse.26 Even though the current study is dedicated to understanding Buber’s view, we should add that several of Buber’s assumptions in his discussion on the world of the prophetes are not accepted by scholars of the Greek world. For instance, Buber does not address the questions raised in scholarly research concerning the nature of the prophetes, who “translates” the words of the Pythia at Delphi (where the prophetic statements are ascribed to Apollo) and at Dodona (where they are attributed to Zeus, the father of Apollo).27 Furthermore, Herbert B. Huffmon argues that although some literary sources depict the Pythia as one of the “raving ones, enraptured by the god,” some maintain that her enthusiasm was contrived.28 Yet other sources depict her as serene and calm when she delivers her prophecies.29 Huffmon surprisingly writes that the sole extant ancient, 25 For a detailed description of these rites and the “division of labor” between the prophesying Pythia and the prophetes, see Hugh Lloyd-Jones, “The Delphic Oracle,” Greece & Rome, 23,1 (1976): 60–73; see also Huffmon’s comparison of the Pythia, the prophetes, and ecstatic prophecy in the Ancient Near East, in Herbert B. Huffmon, “The Oracular Process: Delphi and the Near East,” Vetus Testamentum 57,4 (2007): 449–60, esp. 459–60. 26 See Helmut Kraemer et al., “προφήτης,” Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, ed. Gerhard Friedrich; trans. G. W. Bromley (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1968), 6:783–96; L. Maurizio, “Anthropology and Spirit Possession: A Reconsideration of the Pythia’s Role at Delphi,” Journal of Hellenic Studies 115 (1995): 69–86; and Lene Andersen, Studies in Oracular Verses: Concordance to Delphic Responses in Hexameter (Copenhagen: Royal Danish Academy of Sciences and Letters, 1987). 27 For a description of these events at Delphi, from the perspective of one who sees the prophecy of the Pythia as a sort of fraud organized by the temple priests, see Tadeusz Zielinski, Historja kultury antycznej w zwiezlym wykladzie, vol. 1 (Warsaw, 1922), chap. 4, para. 17. (Hebrew trans. Gedalyah Alkushi: ‫[ תרבות יוון העתיקה‬Jerusalem: Rubin Mass, 1956], 159–62.) 28 As Buber puts this. See “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 153. 29 As does Zielinski (Historja kultury antycznej, chap. 4, para. 17 [Hebrew trans.: Tadeusz Zielinski, ‫( דת יוון‬trans. Gedalyah Alkushi; Jerusalem: Rubin Mass, 1951), 182]).

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contemporaneous, testimony on the state of the Pythia in these moments is a remnant of a chalice uncovered in Athens, dated to 440–430 BCE, which depicts the Pythia sitting serenely on a tripod.30 An additional question that we will not discuss here – but that could be raised in other contexts – is that of the connection between ecstasy and Israelite prophecy (and the intriguing fact that when these ecstatic elements were “translated” for the masses, in most instances they were uttered by the prophet as poetry). In “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” Buber seemingly denies, or at least disregards, this connection.31 Buber solely considers the mantis – the Pythia – as the “raving ones.” In his understanding, the mission of the prophetes, therefore, is to translate and interpret the mystery he has received from the gods into rational language, understandable to the human ear. [ . . . ] him whom his speech lays hold of, Muse or Pythia, perceives no word, only mystery that is whispered forth [in the original German: ausrant], not expressed, until at last, its hearer, the “prophetic” interpreter, proclaims it [ . . . ]. The prophet translates, but from a language that is no language to the ear of him who is not called.32 Thus, the prophetes translates only when the mystery stands by itself, finished and sealed. It is only when the mystery is complete can the prophetes come to the next stage and interpret the enigmatic prophetic utterance. Buber maintains that the translation or interpretation of the mystery is effected through a function different from that of the original, “enigmatic,” prophecy. Prophesying occurs through inspiration, whereas translation occurs through thought and 30 See Huffmon, 459; see also Joseph Fontenrose, The Delphic Oracle: Its Responses and Operations with a Catalogue of Responses (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978), 23–24; Jacob Howland, Plato and the Talmud (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 119–25. In this context, Howland, 120–21n40, reminds us of the interesting fact that LXX rendered the word ‫“( נביא‬prophet”) as prophetes. 31 Since this is marginal to our discussion, we will make do with short references to the relevant literature. First and foremost, we should mention Benjamin Uffenheimer, “‫אקדמות לשאלת האקסטזה‬ ‫הנבואית‬,” Bar-Ilan 22–23 (1987): 53–62. See also: Robert R. Wilson, “Prophecy and Ecstasy: A Reexamination,” Journal of Biblical Literature 98 (1979): 321–37; Irving King, “The Psychology of the Prophet,” The Biblical World 38,1 (1911): 8–17; Abraham Avni, “Inspiration in Plato and the Hebrew Prophets,” Comparative Literature 20 (1968): 55–63. Lastly, we should also mention the resemblance we find between the association of “raving” with prophecy, on the one hand, and, on the other, with the loss of sanity and the prediction of the future found among Arab soothsayers. On these soothsayers (who, too, delivered their visions in rhyme), see Chaim Rabin, “‫ מהותו ומוצאו‬:‫השפעל בעברית ובארמית‬,” Eretz Israel 9 (1969): 154n35. 32 Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 154. In the original German: “Der Prophet übersetzt, aber aus einer Sprache, die für das Ohr des Nichtberufenen keine ist.” Martin Buber, “Die chassidische Botschaft,” in Werke, vol. 3: Schriften zum Chassidismus (Munich: Kosel, 1963), 830.

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speech (Logos). Consequently, Buber perceives Greek prophecy, in the final analysis, as a human and artistic act, while biblical prophecy, which does not undergo a second level of interpretation, speaks directly: Because the word of Greek antiquity is worked over and hammered into shape – because it is a [human] product – it tends to be monological [ . . . ] [in contrast,] the biblical word preserves the dialogical character of living reality.33 The fact that, in Greek antiquity, the divine word is conveyed to one person and then transmitted to the masses by a second (even if, on occasion, these two individuals join together to function as a mantis-prophetes) points to a distinction, for Buber, between prophecy in ancient Greece and Israelite prophecy in which, so Buber claims, such a duality did not exist, due to its dialogical nature. For Buber, we should add, the concept of duality (“monologism”) expresses a separation between matters of the spirit and “reality,” while “dialogism” expresses unity between these realms. Although Buber does not entirely explain this distinction in his essay “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” this much is clear: the double action which occurs in the mantis-prophetes takes place differently for the prophet in the Bible.34 This is not because, in Israelite prophecy, the individual who receives the message and the one who transmits it further, to the people, are actually the same person; it is rather because the function in the human being who receives the (pre-verbal) message is the same function that verbalizes it. The following sentence from later in the essay helps to clear some of the mist surrounding this idea: [ . . . ] “he shapes to sound a secret, soundless speech, in the human sense, pre-verbal, in the divine, primordially verbal, as the mouth of a person shapes to sound the secret, soundless speech of his innermost being.” To rephrase this: the prophet utters the speech that appears in the prophecy as soundless. For Buber, this act of translation is the same act which each person – any individual, and not just the prophet – daily performs during the course of their life, that is, expressing their inner experience by means of speech. According to Buber, the transition from the first stage, when the prophet receives the pre-verbal message, to the second stage, when the divine message passes over to speech that is intelligible to the people, does not express duality (between one person and another, or between two different functions of the 33 Martin Buber, “Biblical Humanism,” in On the Bible: Eighteen Studies by Martin Buber, ed. Nahum N. Glatzer (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 2000), 214–15. 34 Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence.”

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same personality) as in the Greek world. Rather, this is a single inner transition. Prophecy demands of the prophet the united powers of soul, thought, speech, and inspiration, and not merely a single function. The prophet’s prophecy demands the unification of all the forces in his or her soul. The word of God is heard as a clarion call through the inner voice of the prophet, through his inner self.35 The Israelite prophet’s translation of prophesy to speech, accordingly, is not a hermeneutical action, like that of the Greek prophetes, that occurs after the prophecy. The prophet gives voice to what happens within him with immediacy, transmitting in a single event this occurrence, or the pre-verbal message, to speech.36 This last point is highly significant for Buber, for the temporal picture of the oracle’s activity is now depicted as completely different from that of the prophet. The activity of the prophetes presents a clearly dualistic picture, in which a distinct line is drawn between the supernal worlds (the god transmits the message from above to down below) and the lower ones (the recipients of the message, who are stuck in their base world). The supernal worlds are therefore “located” at a high spiritual perspective from which the gods know fate. The entire future is spread before their eyes, that gaze upon the fate (Μοῖραι) that is sealed; the prophetic message descends from them to the Pythia, from whom it is received and translated by the prophetes. The Israelite prophet, in contrast, is not spiritually located beyond the world or in the upper spheres. He is located within his innermost being, attentive to the divine voice that calls to him without intermediaries and which he transmits to the people, as we will continue to clarify below. 2. The Transmission of the Prophecy from Below to Above As mentioned above, Buber states that the mission of the prophetes is one-directional; the prophecy is delivered from the god to man, from above to below. In this system there is no feedback, and it does not allow for transmitting a message in the other direction, that is, from man to the god (from below to above). The biblical prophet, on the other hand, is the mediator of the dialogue conducted between humankind and God, and between spirit and the everyday (as we shall see, this characteristic recurs in what Buber writes of the tzaddik). In this dialogue, the prophet brings the word of God to humankind, and the word of the people to God. 35 We would like to take this opportunity to thank Dr. Israel Koren for his instructive comments and important scholarly references. His observations were extremely helpful during our study of this difficult issue, which Buber left as a formidable obstacle in the path of the reader. 36 See Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 156.

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This enables us to understand more clearly why the “place” of the Israelite prophet in the spatial picture that Buber describes is totally different from that in which he locates the Pythia or the mantis. The Pythia of oracular prophecy stands at the point of liminal contact between heaven and earth – between the eternal (from where she views all future events) and the temporal (the locus of creatures with limited vision). As we noted above, the Pythia or mantis can fulfill this liminal role because they do not belong to the world of speech. The Pythia is among the “enraptured” whose speech is completely unintelligible, and inhabits the ecstatic state of one who does not belong to the lower realms of the world of speech (including the prophetes). The “place” of the Israelite prophet, in contrast, is neither in heaven nor on earth. The prophet of Israel is not attached to any location; he is dynamic, and not static. The biblical prophet, following Buber, fits the image of the Hasidic tzaddik. He is the axis mundi, the “pillar” who functions as the “melitz” – the intermediary between heaven and earth through whom the word of God (which he hears in his innermost being) comes down to the masses. The prophet, within the events that he experiences together with the people, hears and delivers the word of God that comes from “above.” By the same token we can state that God (the upper spheres), too, “hears,” through the transparent innermost being of the prophet, the people’s prayer and “sees” when they repent of their evil deeds. According to Buber, the Israelite prophet could rightly be portrayed as a sort of conduit that is used to bring down the word of God from above to below, but at the same time, to also raise the people’s prayers and murmurings from the heart from below to above. Buber writes: The nabi only exists in the relation between deity and humanity, as the mediator of the speech, the “bearer of the word in vertical plan” [that is, the “pillar” or axis mundi, that connects the upper and lower spheres], and in fact, not merely from above to below, the bringer of a divine message, but also from below to above: it is as “proclaimer” that Abraham shall “interpose himself as mediator” for the Philistine king (that is the basic meaning of the Hebrew term for “to pray”), it is as “proclaimer” that Miriam sings, that Deborah sings her thanksgiving song of victory. The nabi’s task is to enable the spoken dialogue between deity and humanity.37 The role of this “pillar” that stands between heaven and earth is therefore to create a living and two-directional dialogue between the lower and upper realms. The prophet brings the word of God to humanity, and the word of humanity to God; his assignment is “to enable the spoken dialogue between 37 Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 154–55.

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deity and humanity.”38 Buber brings the example of the prophet Jeremiah, who did not enable this dialogue, and therefore was “derelict in his duty.” We will return to this point later. However, it is clear that Buber focuses on the model of the nabi as opposed to the model of the prophetes, as the latter only delivers a one-directional message. The model of the nabi as described by Buber also can apply to the tzaddik in late Hasidism: In this respect, the tsaddik is revealed as the mediator between above and below; between the holy essence of the divine realm and the concrete reality of those who dwell below, between the Nothing and Being, whose main significance is gained in the social realm of the members of the flock, their concrete material needs and ordinary passions. He is like a ladder resting upon the ground whose head reaches to the heavens. He vacillates in an endless circle between Being and Nothing, ascending and descending. The dialectics of “running and returning” (ratso va-shov) or of “smallness” and “greatness” (katnut ve-gadlut) are manifested within him continually and repeatedly.39 It should be stressed that, unlike what we might assume, the Israelite prophet mediating between God and humanity is not the ideal situation, and its true purpose is to gradually and patiently teach all humanity the direct dialogue with the divine: “Certainly, the divine intention does not aim at mediation, but at immediacy; but the mediator is the way to it.”40 Since, in their current state, the people are not attentive to these divine signs that instruct them to prefer the moral path and the values of the spirit over fleeting life, and since they draw away from the necessity of listening closely, they naturally doubt the validity of these voices (“The people does not dare to receive the voice that addresses them from heaven”).41 The Israelite prophet must therefore mediate the word of God to mankind and make it present in the world. The biblical prophet’s task is to be a “melitz” who transmits the voice of the one [unified] God to the people, so that they will be able to distinguish “between the one way of YHWH and the thousand crooked ways of the world.”42 Among the different, and even opposing, voices that humans hear in their inner thought, the prophet expresses the single voice of the divine, reproaching the people and making demands of them. 38 Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 155. 39 Yoram Jacobson, Hasidic Thought, trans. Jonathan Chipman (Tel Aviv: MOD Press, 1998), 184–85. 40 Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 155. On Buber’s “democratization” of the messianic idea and the demand to everyone, in his or her own way (instead of any “messiah”), for tikkun olam, see below. 41 Buber, ‫תורת הנביאים‬, second page of the Preface. 42 Buber, ‫תורת הנביאים‬, second page of the Preface.

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The above spatial description also elucidates the nature of the message that is transmitted to the prophetes, in contrast to that of the prophet. Unlike the prophetes, who is to present the people with cut-and-dried announcements of their fate, the prophet never receives rigid pronouncements from the upper realms, but rather receives what Buber would call directives “pointing the way.” These directives are meant to help the people read the signs in the surrounding reality of their daily lives, and direct them toward closeness to God. Buber accordingly writes in the introduction to his book, ‫תורת הנביאים‬: At the heart of the matter, the prophet’s speech is merely his interpretation of the divine word that is spoken in the signs of the present – of what happens in his personal history, in the history of the people and of humankind. The situations themselves in which and about which the prophetic word is heard are the signs of God, the language of God, and the prophet is entrusted with interpreting the signs, to translate the language.43 The message the biblical prophet receives, in Buber’s conception, cannot be a “dogmatic,” eternal one (as he describes the message of the mantis-prophetes), but rather is one for the present. “The nabi speaks to the man in a [specific] situation of this man’s present power of decision.”44 Prophecy is intrinsically dependent upon what happens at a given moment and on that moment’s surrounding human situation. Thus, for example, when the inhabitants of Nineveh repent of their evil deeds, God, similarly, retracts His decree against them (Jonah 3:10).45 In other words, prophecy for Buber is dependent upon contemporaneous circumstances, and is likely to change depending on the situation in the world, and man’s readiness to repent. In contrast, the message transmitted by the prophetes to the public is, in effect, a description of what will happen in the future by an immutable decree of fate. “The answer of the oracle is the foretelling of an unalterable future.”46 Thus, the prophecy of the biblical prophet, due to its constituting dialogue, is not necessarily a prophecy that will be fulfilled, unlike the prophecy of the oracle that is based on the conception of immutable fate. Prophecy in the Bible enables action and change, remedy and repentance. Thus Buber regards the prophecies of Israelite false prophets, whose prophecies did not relate to the demand that the people choose the good, as comparable to the art of divination of the Greeks. The true prophets of Israel, in his view, direct themselves to the

43 Buber, ‫ תורת הנביאים‬second page of the Preface. 44 Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 160. 45 Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 159. 46 Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 159.

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people’s free will and utter a decree that can be reversed – not one of irrevocable destiny.47 As Buber puts it: The prophesying of the nabi, which is no soothsaying, but its exact opposite, has in view an event whose occurrence or non-occurrence depends upon the either-or [the given different possibilities] of the moment.48 In Buber’s reading of the Bible, the God who speaks with the people does not do so in “one language and one speech” as in the Tower of Babel episode. There is no verbatim content to the divine speech that is received by the biblical prophet. Buber explains: God chooses for Himself this messenger “from in his mother’s womb,” in order that through him the admonishing and promising primal call may strike the ear of the hearer, but also in order that in him the cry from the heart of the creature may concentrate and through him be uplifted.49 The historical occurrence of prophecy itself is therefore (and, for Buber, always) conditional and indefinite, as in “If you will follow My laws” (Lev 26:3). Furthermore, laws themselves, according to Buber, are not “codified principles.” He argues that: The significance of [the divine word within the] community in Israelite law is dynamic and not static [ . . . ] There is no firmly established law, formulated once for all, but only the word of God and our current situation which we have to apprehend by listening. We do not have codified principles that we can consult, but must understand the situation and the moment.”50 In summation, in the spatial picture suitable for the Israelite prophet there is no separation between the upper (pre-verbal) world and the lower world (the world of speech). Thus, following Buber: 1. The prophet himself receives the word of God as a “melitz” only when he goes out to the people (the “lower world” with its multitude of distresses) and reads 47 See Buber, Prophetic Faith, 103–4, 123–24. 48 Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 162. In the original German: “Die Prophezeiung des Nabi, die keine Wahrsagerei, sondern deren genaues Gegenteil ist, intendiert ein Geschehen, dessen Eintreffen oder Ausbleiben am Entweder-Oder des Augenblicks hangt” (Buber, “Die chassidische Botschaft,” 836). 49 Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 155. 50 “Politics Born of Faith,” in A Believing Humanism: Gleanings, trans. Maurice Friedman (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1969), 178.

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the signs from God that are sent to humanity through the lower reality, which the prophet makes no effort to evade. The task of the prophet, accordingly, is to “read” the word of God that is sent to the people through the events of life itself – in the world of action that is always replete with signs. 2. The word of God is what is revealed to the prophet in his innermost being. This message is not “sent ” from above as fate, as a decree from God on His lofty seat in heaven. The message rather appears as an inner voice that charts for the one attentive to it the path that s/he (or the public) must take, as circumstances require. B. The Mode of Transmission of the Prophecy Now we can understand why Buber claims that the transmission of the message the prophet delivers to the people does not occur only through speech, but is rather a function of the prophet’s being, in its united totality. Buber’s dialogical principle goes beyond the realm of speech, attempting to unite spirit and reality, or, in other words, to realize the spirit which is in the reality.51 As such, the biblical prophet understands his mission not only as the act of verbally transmitting the divine message, but as its internalization within his personality and life: [ . . . ] it is not a word detachable from its speaker so that it is only “conveyed by the mouth”; the whole personal spokenness belongs to it [ . . . ] the whole man is mouth.52 Buber calls the prophetes a “mouthpiece,” a vessel into which the divine spirit is breathed, and by means of which the spirit is transformed into voice and words. As we mentioned above, Buber does not negate the possibility that the message of the prophetes does indeed have a divine source, but he highlights the importance, in Hebrew prophecy, of the realization of the divine word in the material world.53 In contrast to the prophetes, Buber, following the biblical imagery (“you shall be as My mouth,” Jer 15:19), likens the prophet to God’s

51 On the realization of spirit within reality and its connection to the problem of unity in Buber’s philosophy, see Wolfson, “Problem of Unity”; Shapira, ‫הרוח במציאות‬, 138–43, 215–33. A typical reaction in this spirit is to be found in what Buber wrote opposing Kierkegaard’s decision to cancel his engagement to Regine Olsen, who became (in Buber’s understanding) a sacrifice to God, and parallel to Isaac in Abraham’s Binding of Isaac. Buber argues that human beings were not created as a “hurdle,” they rather are the way to God: “Creation is not a hurdle on the road to God, it is the road itself ” (Buber, “The Question to the Single One,” in Between Man and Man, trans. Ronald Gregor-Smith [London: Routledge, 2002], 60). 52 Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 157–58. 53 Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 157.

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mouth. He does so because his mission is not merely speaking – it demands his entire being: “the whole human person shall be as a mouth to him.”54 As mentioned above, Buber brought the example of Jeremiah in order to demonstrate his position, since Jeremiah, as Buber puts it, “abused his office” (by seeking to be avenged of those who persecuted him (Jer 15:15). The Bible is precise in its language, stating of Jeremiah’s prophecy “‫כ ִפי‬,” ְּ and not “‫”פי‬: ִ ּ “If you produce what is noble out of the worthless, you shall be as my mouth” (Jer 15:19). Only “when he finds his way back from the all-too-human path on which he has strayed to the way of God will God reinstate him and allow him to stand ‘before His face.’”55 The nabi is then to be a dialogical man of spirit, to holistically be “God’s mouth,” and not to recite the words of God like the pronouncements of the prophetes, who is monological; that is, prophecy occurs in the world of the prophetes on a single plane, that of the spirit (eternity, the divine). The prophetes is completely detached from the world of action and the masses. Buber, as we noted, depicts the prophetes as living in the world of the spirit, being severed from reality, and as, when not prophesying, living in everyday reality while being detached from the spirit. He or she takes on the mission of transmitting spiritual truth, but the realization of the spirit in the world isn’t a concern (“he is still only the speaker of a word removed from him”).56 His monological nature ensues from the complete separation of the realm of thought from that of action. The dialogical nature of the biblical prophet, on the other hand, is expressed in a constant struggle to unite the realms of the spirit and of lived reality. Underlying this last statement is the Buberian supposition that the principle of dialogical action is basically the attempt to unify these two domains – the spirit and “reality” – which are generally characterized by opposing operating principles. This constitutes the tension in and singularity of the mission of the prophet. Consequently, we cannot find a situation in which the role of the Israelite prophet is fully executed by his receiving the prophecy and merely passing it

54 Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 156. This distinction could suit one of the four types of ecstasy Uffenheimer found in the ancient world: the ecstasy of the integrative personality (see Uffenheimer, “‫)”אקדמות לשאלת האקסטזה הנבואית‬. In short, Uffenheimer identified two types of ecstasy in Israelite prophecy: integrative ecstasy, which was characteristic of the First Temple prophets; and internalized prophecy, which is represented in the apocalyptic visions (see Koren, Mystery of the Earth, 46–47; 87–89). We, however, will not delve into Uffenheimer’s subtle distinctions in this article, since they do not directly pertain to our discussion (for an additional article that, in its own way, is concerned with similar distinctions, see Zeev Weisman, “‫דניאל בין ׳נביא׳ ל׳חוזה׳‬,” Studies in Bible and Exegesis 9 [2009]: 243–49). 55 Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 156. 56 Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 156.

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along, in a line descending from above to below.57 This is inconceivable, because the biblical prophet receives the prophecy as an inner voice (not as an external voice that he hears, as does the prophetes). Additionally (and most importantly for Buber), in order to hear this inner voice the prophet must be an active part of earthly existence, capable of sensing the question he is asked; he must be part of the public world wherein he lives his life.58 Thus, the differences between the prophetes and the prophet of Israel, and between the monological and dialogical nature of their respective prophecies, can be summarized in the following points: 1. The translation of the prophecy: the biblical prophet prophesies in his unified innermost being. He does not give himself over to any specific state of consciousness, nor does he use only one specific function of the human psyche. He prophesies by the union of inspiration and thought. It is his whole being, which is not detached from the world, that prophesies. The translation of the message is therefore not a mystery, as it is for the prophetes – it is not something unintelligible that must be explained by means the Logos. The Israelite prophecy is a message delivered very clearly, and the prophet translates it from its pre-verbal stage to the realm of speech. (Buber finds this act of translation similar to that which every person must do in his life, bringing what he senses in his innermost being to speech). In this sense, the prophecy of the Greek prophetes is characteristically dualistic, while that of the Israelite prophet is unified. 2. Mediation: the mediation of the Greek prophetes occurs within a single plane: he transmits the divine message to humans. The role of the Israelite prophet, however, according to Buber, is to generate a conversation, or dialogue, between heaven and earth, between the spirit and current reality. Absolute realization of the spirit is not in the hands of the prophet, since such realization is dependent upon the people’s “power of decision.” This is so because the prophet, by means of his rebukes and prophecies, seeks to halt the moral decline that spreads within society. 3. The prophet transmits his prophecy not only in speech, like the prophetes, but with his entire being and in the most mundane aspects of his daily life He realizes the word of God and transmits it directly (in speech), and also indirectly (by his actions).

57 On “technical” descriptions of the drawing down of the shefa (divine abundance) by kabbalists (Jonathan Garb’s “hydraulic model”), see Garb, ‫הופעותיו של הכוח במיסטיקה היהודית מספרות חז״ל עד‬ ‫( קבלת צפת‬Jerusalem: Hebrew University Magnes Press, 2005), 72–104. 58 See Buber, “Question to the Single One,” 58–67.

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The prophetes, in contrast, Buber portrays as a professional man of spirit who expresses the divine word divorced from the reality of his life. He thereby remains within the realm of the monological, that is, he remains within the bounds of the spirit, and takes no part in the realization within human reality. In the next section we will, again following Buber, discuss another outstanding man of spirit: Plato, who, unlike the prophetes, did address the question of the realization of the spirit to bring about the ideal of the just society. We will explore the differences between the Greek philosopher Plato and the biblical prophet Isaiah. Despite their shared aspiration to realize the spirit in reality, Buber classifies them differently.

MONOLOGICAL VS. DIALOGICAL MODUS OPERANDI: ISAIAH VS. PLATO In his essay “The Demand of the Spirit and Historical Reality,” Buber compares the Israelite prophet to the Greek philosopher, a comparison the purpose of which is similar to the comparison of prophet and prophetes: to show that the prophet perceives existence in its totality (spirit and reality) in dialogical fashion, while the philosopher sees it monologically.59 Ironically, Plato is probably the philosopher most closely identified with dialogue in the ancient world (most of his philosophical works are written as dialogues). Nonetheless, Buber did not view these works as true dialogues, but rather as a didactic stratagem, which might serve the philosopher or the educator as a preparatory platform for dialogue – a way to undermine a student’s certainty and sow doubt, in order to lead him to the search for knowledge. This method is not genuinely dialogical, since it was meant solely to bring the other speakers in the dialogue to the position of the figure of Socrates, who is sometimes portrayed as possessing the objective, universal, and eternal truth. Buber’s conception of the truth differs from that of Socrates and Plato. He asserts that truth arises within a true dialogue that seeks to create openness among the participants. Buber accordingly demands that the educator present his unvarnished position or, alternatively, admits his lack of knowledge, thus entering into a true dialogue with his student. On true dialogical conversation Buber says: In a real conversation (that is, not one whose individual parts have been preconcerted, but one which is completely spontaneous, in which each speaks directly to his partner and calls forth his unpredictable reply), a 59 Buber, “Demand of the Spirit.”

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real lesson (that is, neither a routine repetition nor a lesson whose conclusions the teacher knows before he starts, but one which develops in mutual surprises) [ . . . ] what is essential does not take place in the participants separately or in a neutral world which includes the two and all other things, but takes place just between them, as it were in a dimension which is accessible only to them both.60 At any rate, Buber underlined that the Greek philosopher – unlike the Greek prophetes – seeks the realization of eternal truth in the world. This desire guides the philosopher when he engages in ethics, seeks the perfection of the soul, and attempts to actualize his social vision to build a just society, all in accordance with the principles of the spirit. The Greek philosopher and the biblical prophet thus resemble one another in their aim to realize these principles in social reality, but they differ in the manner in which they seek to attain this goal. We will now turn to an examination of this difference. First, we will consider the philosopher’s conception of the perfection of the soul and compare it to that of the prophet, in order to contrast a fundamental principle at the basis of these cultures’ desire to establish a just society (or, in Jewish terminology, tikkun atzmi ‫ תיקון עצמי‬or tikkun olam ‫)תיקון עולם‬.61 In The Republic Plato presents the philosopher as the only individual who perceives the truth, in contrast with the unlettered masses who do not comprehend the principles of justice and ethics. Since the attainment of wisdom is a difficult and painful process, the masses are not truly interested in being liberated from the ignorance to which they are accustomed. Consequently, Plato maintains, the philosopher who seeks to redeem humanity from its ignorance puts his life in danger.62 In an aside, it is possible that Plato formulated this conception in the wake of his shock at the execution of his beloved teacher Socrates. Socrates, an enthusiastic supporter of Athenian democracy, argued that the citizen is obligated to obey the decision of the majority, even if it runs counter to the individual’s will, and therefore rejected his pupils’ attempts to persuade him to evade the 60 Martin Buber, “What Is Man?,” in Between Man and Man 241–42; see also Admiel Kosman, “‫מבוא‬ ‫למשנת בובר‬,” in Martin Buber, ‫אני ואתה‬, trans. Aharon Flashman (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 2013), 208 n117. On Plato’s dialogues from a Buberian perspective, see Adir Cohen, The Educational Philosophy of Martin Buber (Rutherford, NJ: Farleigh Dickinson University Press, 1983), 232–33. 61 Literally, “self-correction” and “the correction of the world.” On the connection between these terms for Buber, see Avraham Shapira, “‫תיקון עצמי ותיקון עולם באספקלריה של בובר‬,” Daat 27 (1991): 61–71. 62 For the famous cave allegory, see Plato, The Republic, ed. G. R. F. Ferrari; trans. Tom Griffith (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 220–24, para. 514a–517e.

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harsh sentence and save his life. We could assume that Plato formed his negative opinion of Athenian democracy as a result of the death of “the wisest man.” Plato accordingly viewed the masses as an ignorant herd of corrupt fools, incapable of establishing a regime based on just and ethical principles. Therefore, for him, a just society could exist only under compulsion. This is the basis for the idea that certain people rise above the masses – naturally, the philosophers – and bear a single perfect truth which is inaccessible to others. For Plato, the philosopher, the perfect individual who bears the perfect truth, is, by force of his knowledge of the principles of justice, worthy of ruling over other people. It should be noted at this point that Plato did not see honor and pleasure in ruling, but rather the commitment and responsibility undertaken by the philosopher for the good of all: “then for the benefit of the city each group must endure the trials of politics, and be rulers. They will regard it as a necessity rather than a privilege.”63 Buber does not emphasize this point in the comparison that he draws between the philosopher and the prophet. Another point that should be noted is that although Buber’ discussion gives the impression that Plato represents Greek culture in its entirety, this is not accurate. The philosopher-ruler model is not characteristic of Greek culture, but is unique to Plato. His pupil Aristotle already distinguished between the spheres of activity of philosophy and of politics, and most of the schools that followed him were also inclined to isolate the philosopher from the tumult of societal life.64 Buber, however, succinctly summarizes Plato’s position thus: [ . . . ] mankind could recover from its ills only if either the philosophers “whom are now termed useless” became kings or the kings became philosophers.65 Plato believed that the philosophical education of kings is the cornerstone of a just society. It should be recalled in this context that he assumed as axiomatic that whoever attained knowledge of justice and truth would totally refrain from any unjust action and only act in accordance with the ways of justice. Plato assumed that knowledge of the good suffices to do good, and that evil is committed out of ignorance. For him, true justice “pays off,” since the various parts of the righteous individual’s soul are in harmony with each other, and this harmony means happiness. An unjust action disturbs this inner harmony. Therefore, one who is blessed with a sense of justice will perform only just deeds, 63 Plato, The Republic, 250, para. 540b. 64 See Aviezer Ravitzky, ‫ פילוסופיה וטבע בכתבי הרמב״ם ותלמידיו‬,‫ חברה‬:‫( עיונים מיימוניים‬Jerusalem: Schocken, 2006), 12–13. 65 Buber, “Demand of the Spirit,” 185, based on Plato, The Republic, 175, para. 473c–e.

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and will refrain from upsetting the inner harmony in his soul by committing injustice.66 The prophet, in contrast – as Buber claims – represents a conception diametrically opposed to that of the philosopher. The prophet does not maintain that his soul, “as opposed to the inferior souls of the masses, is perfect.” Buber writes that the prophet Isaiah, for example, disagreed with the Platonic view: “Plato believed that his soul was perfect. Isaiah did not, regarding and acknowledging himself unclean.”67 In his essay “Biblical Leadership” Buber claimed that The biblical question of leadership is concerned with something greater than moral perfection. The biblical leaders are the foreshadowings of the dialogical man, of the man who commits his whole being to God’s dialogue with the world, and who stands firm throughout this dialogue [ . . . ] [The prophet’s entry to dialogue is] imperfect entry, but yet one which is not refused.”68 To be precise: the prophet’s awareness of the shortcomings of his soul does not confirm his imperfect condition in order to justify his imperfect ways. To the contrary, this is the perception of an individual in the process of constant inner correction. It is only the awareness of his failures that enables the prophet to rectify the imperfections in his soul. The prophet sees himself as continually put to the test, and, due to his human nature, habitually failing and taking the wrong path, knowing full well that he cannot faithfully fulfill his role as prophet unless he repents and mends his ways. In this context, again we need to bring the most powerful evidence for Buber’s thesis from the prophet Jeremiah: Jeremiah, in a critical hour, implored God for vengeance on his persecutors (15:15). He who answers him not only does not accede to the request by which the prophet has become unfaithful to his office. He gives him to understand (v. 19 f.) that only when he finds the way back from the all-too-human path on which he has strayed to the way of God will He reinstate him and allow him to stand “before His face” [i.e., to reinstate him as a prophet].69 Both Plato and Buber acknowledge that the man of spirit must self-correct in order to lead his people to social correction. Plato, however, viewed 66 See Plato, The Republic, 141, para. 443d-444a; see Samuel Scolnicov and Elazar Weinryb, ‫פילוסופיה‬ ‫יוונית‬, vol. 2 (Tel Aviv: Open University, 1997), 282. 67 Buber, “Demand of the Spirit,” 187. Buber is apparently alluding to the words of the prophet: “I cried, ‘Woe is me; I am lost! For I am a man of unclean lips’” (Isa 6:5). 68 Martin Buber, “Biblical Leadership,” in Israel and the World, 131–32. 69 Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 150.

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self-correction as a state to which one can ascend, and where, once it has been attained, one can remain permanently. The self-rectification of the Israelite prophet, in contrast, is dialectic in nature. At each moment of his life, the prophet, like every other person, faces the danger of sin, and constant effort is required to withstand this challenge. Accordingly, the prophet – again, like every person – is always in a state of “on the way,” never attaining perfection.70 Furthermore, even if it were at all possible for a flesh-and-blood creature to attain perfection, we may assume that Buber, like many kabbalistic and Hasidic sages who preceded him, believed that the challenges (from God) that await such an individual during his lifetime change, and that from time to time he would fall from his standing and find it necessary to regain it, in an endless process of ascent and descent.71 Notwithstanding this, what is common to both these models of the man of spirit is that each views the ideal of rectification of the soul as a necessary criterion for one who dedicates himself to building an ethical and just society.72





70 This expresses Buber’s existentialist, and also clearly Hasidic, stance. Often in Hasidic sources the “man [who serves God] is called mehalekh” [lit., “one who walks”]. See, e.g., R. Levi Isaac of Berditchev, ‫קדושת לוי‬, ‫ בחוקותי‬14b, “‫”אם בחקתי‬: “‘If you follow [lit., walk in] My laws’ [Lev 26:3] – accordingly, the tzaddik is seen in the aspect of walking, since he walks from one [spiritual] degree to the next.” For pre-Hasidic sources for this statement, see Jacob Elbaum, ‫תשובת הלב‬ 1348–1648 ‫ עיונים בשיטת התשובה של חכמי אשכנז ופולין‬:‫( וקבלת יסורים‬Jerusalem: Hebrew University Magnes Press, 1993), 120n8. 71 This point finds clear expression in the writings of many kabbalistic and Hasidic thinkers. See, e.g., R. Hayyim Vital, in the name of R. Isaac Luria (the Ari): “The worlds change each and every hour, and there is no hour which is similar to another.” ‫עץ חיים‬, in ‫( כתבי האר״י זצ״ל‬Jerusalem: n.p., 1988), vol. 1, p. 1; also Moshe Idel, Kabbalah: New Perspectives (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1988), 248, who understands this to mean: “each moment brings its own novel understanding.” R. Zaddok ha-Kohen, ‫ישראל קדושים‬, (Bnei Brak: Yahadut, 1973), 27, similarly writes:“Every experience is always a new one, that has never been experienced before.” 72 Although it should be emphasized that, for Buber, this aspiration is essentially religious: “The meaning of the act of decision in Judaism is falsified if it is viewed as merely an ethical act. It is a religious act.” (Martin Buber, “Jewish Religiosity,” in On Judaism, ed. Nahum N. Glatzer, trans. Eva Jospe [New York: Schocken, 1973], 83). On the relationship between the ethical and the religious in Buber’s thinking, see Statman and Sagi, “‫עיונים‬,” 99–100. Buber identifies the moral as an indispensable part of the religious, and does not consider these to be two different realms: “the difference between the ethical and the religious is suspended in the breathing-space of the divine.” (Buber, “Religion and Ethics,” in Eclipse of God: Studies in the Relation between Religion and Philosophy [Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2016], 92). By drawing this distinction, Buber may have, by implication, set himself as a disputant of Immanuel Kant: The Metaphysics of Morals, trans. and ed. Mary Gregor (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1968), who viewed moral action as performed in accordance with universal moral law. Kant, like Plato, gave reason a constitutive role in moral action, (but unlike the Greek philosopher, Kant conditioned this on a person acting out of unfettered reason, and not under external compulsion

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Nonetheless, their manners of realizing social correction vastly differ. Plato’s vision of the perfect state is based on the image of the philosopher-king, whose authority is drawn in its entirety from his intellect, wisdom, and knowledge of the truth. This absolute ruler imposes on his subjects the values of justice and truth.73 In contrast, the Israelite prophet of whom Buber speaks shakes off any trappings of authority.74 Buber writes: Being a prophet means being powerless, powerlessly confronting the powerful and reminding them of their responsibility [ . . . ] He does not himself seek for power; the special sociological significance of his office is based on that very fact.75 Thus, Buber believed that the rule of the spirit could not be forced on the masses in totalitarian fashion as Plato had prescribed in The Republic – and even if this were feasible, it would not, in the final analysis, be just or effective. According to Buber, the rule of the spirit could be established over the masses only through free choice. He wrote: But while the spirit is ready to accept power from the hands of God or man, it is not willing to seize it [by force].76 Buber presents the prophet as one whose words take their validity, not by force of his authority, but by their own moral force (which, as was noted, is divine, in essence): None but the powerless can speak the true King’s will with regard to the state, and remind both the people and the government of their common responsibility toward this will.77 Buber’s use of the phrase “the true King” alludes to the biblical conception that God is such, and there is no actual need for an earthly monarch.78 Buber was of the opinion that this was a fundamental tenet of Israelite belief, one that was [see Statman and Sagi, “‫עיונים‬,” 100]). For Buber, the ability to act morally is not dependent on reason, but rather on willingness to enter into a dialogical relation with the other and with the “Eternal Thou.” 73 See, e.g., Plato’s allegory of the cave: Plato, The Republic, 220–24, para. 514a–517e. 74 Cf. what Buber writes about the prophet as a person lacking power or office in “Holy Event,” in The Prophetic Faith, 50; also “The Great Tensions,” 82–83, 86. 75 Buber, “Demand of the Spirit,” 187. 76 Buber, “Demand of the Spirit,” 184. 77 Buber, “Demand of the Spirit,” 188. 78 See Martin Buber, Kingship of God, trans. Richard Scheimann (Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Humanities Press International, 1990(, 136–48; Jacob Licht, “‫מלכות ה‬,” in ‫אנציקלופדיה מקראית‬, 4:170; Sara Japhet, The Ideology of the Book of Chronicles and Its Place in Biblical Thought, trans. Anna Barber (Frankfurt a.M.: Lang, 1989), 400–401.

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already rooted, as a central doctrine, in the early Israelite faith.79 We nonetheless should note that Buber might have also based his use of this terminology on Hasidic exegesis (which follows rabbinic midrash) wherein the term “king,” wherever it appears, is an allusion to the concealed God.80 At any rate, Buber maintains that a just regime will be constituted only if the public is persuaded to accept the decisions of the world of the spirit. Only the educational act – in the broad sense explained above – of the prophet, the tzaddik, or the man of spirit can prepare people’s hearts to receive the message of the spirit.81 He writes: The spirit is hardly called [ . . . ] to be the dictator of things to come. But it can be the preparer and counsellor. It can educate men for what is to come.82 And this is not all: compulsion and rule by might are foreign, by their very essence, to the spirit and principles of justice and morality. The concept of justice of which Buber speaks does not originate in any authority or institution external to man, but is an inner criterion for each individual who is part of the public: When Isaiah speaks of justice, he is not thinking of institutions but of you and me, because without you and me the most glorious institution becomes a lie.83 To summarize: unlike Plato, Buber maintains that a society that conducts itself in accordance with the principles of justice only under an external compulsory order by those in power is not a truly just society, not even if it presumably acts in accordance with the mandates of justice. This is because such a society has not internalized the principles of justice and morality that are substantively linked to the inner freedom of choice of each individual. With this comparison

79 See also Japhet, Ideology, 401n19; even Wellhausen, who viewed this as a later belief, acknowledged its importance, regardless of the disagreement concerning the dating of the verses that express opposition to the appointment of a king over Israel. See Japhet, Ideology, 400–401n18. 80 See the sources brought by Admiel Kosman, Men’s World: Masculinity in Jewish Stories in a Spiritual Context, trans. Edward Levin (Wurzburg: Ergon, 2009), 28n3. 81 Buber linked politics and adult education, even in Germany in 1933. Already then he sought to present a humanistic alternative to ultranationalist Zionist factions, which, according to Akibah Ernst Simon, purveyed “cheap and uneducational” propagandist slogans along the lines of “blood and soil.” He continued in this direction beginning in 1938, after his immigration to Mandatory Palestine. See Akibah Ernst Simon, ‫ ציונות והסכסוך היהודי־ערבי במשנת מרטין בובר‬,‫ לאומיות‬:‫קו התיחום‬ ‫( ובפעילותו‬Tel Aviv: Orly, 1973), 30. 82 Buber, “Demand of the Spirit,” 191. 83 Buber, “Demand of the Spirit,” 189.

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Buber lays the foundation for a clear distinction between a law-abiding society and one that is moral.84 The prophet Isaiah, unlike the philosopher-king, does not view spirit and wisdom to be the exclusive province of some elite, but rather belonging to all. Buber, similarly, regards common people as also qualified to enter into dialogical relation: The “spiritual” man, the man who works with his brain, is not as such nearer the divine, indeed so long as he does not unify the manifoldness of his life, which lends itself to different interpretations, and so long as he has not subdued the violence of his labor to calmness, he may be further from the divine than “the simple man,” who was already despised in the Talmudic era, the “am ha-aretz” (literally, countryman), who, with peasant truthfulness, leaves his cause to heaven.85 And since the man of spirit himself is not immune to errors, he should not presume to rule others in the name of spirit. The goal of the prophet’s rebuke for acts of iniquity and governmental corruption was to make the voice of morality – an essential part of the voice of the divine – present in the world. Underlying this phenomenon is the assumption that the prophet’s moral reproach is not heard by those who do not understand what he is talking about, but rather by those who are (following Jer 9:25) “uncircumcised of spirit,” that is, those who refuse to accept the divine rebuke and have long turned their backs on it (if they had only not understood these moral reproofs, these chastisements would not endanger the prophet or the philosopher). The prophet, therefore, aims to arouse the reason and conscience of those who are capable of listening to the word of God and to cleave to Him, but who have intentionally turned their backs and closed their ears. The role of the spiritual leader, according to Buber, is therefore an educational, and not a governmental one: to move people’s hearts toward a life of justice and morality, and away from personal benefit. The prophet is quite familiar, from his own struggles, with the battle between these possibilities. This contrasts with the masses in Plato’s cave allegory as incapable of comprehending and internalizing the critique of reason, unable to escape their ignorance even through the sage’s guidance. Therefore the (perilous) attempt to speak to them 84 Moral in a religious sense. Buber, as was mentioned above, finds expressions of morality within the totality of the religious. 85 Buber, “Spirit and Body,” 94. For Buber, the tzaddik overcomes the heteronomous law, not by rejecting it, but by transforming it from routine obedience to an original relation with God. See Martina Urban, “Retelling Biblical Mythos through the Hasidic Tale: Buber’s ‘Saul and David’ and the Question of Leadership,” Modern Judaism 24,1 (2004): 71. For additional explanations of this issue, see Statman and Sagi, “‫עיונים‬,” 100.

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would be futile, and should be avoided. In diametric opposition, the prophet puts his life at stake and takes a stand, “powerlessly confronting the powerful and reminding them of their responsibility.”86 Admittedly, Buber is aware that in most cases the prophets were unsuccessful, and could not motivate the people to repent. Nonetheless, Buber distinguishes between Plato’s failure and that of Isaiah.87 In regard to Plato’s notion of the republic, Buber writes: “Plato did not regenerate the decadent Athenian democracy, and he did not found the republic he had projected,”88 alluding here to Plato’s failure to realize the idea of the republic that he wanted to establish in Syracuse in Sicily with the help of his pupil.89 In contrast, about the prophet’s failure, Buber writes: The prophetic spirit does not succeed in giving the reality of its hour what it wills to give it. But it instills the vision in the people for all time to come. It lives within the people from then on as a longing to realize the truth [ . . . ]. The Hebrew prophet invariably receives only a message for a particular situation. But for this very reason his word still speaks after thousands of years to manifold situations in the history of peoples.90 The prophet for Buber is a leader who actually is led (“being-led”).91 The prophet is the servant of God.92 His way, according to Buber, “is trod not on the surface of success, but in the depths of failure.”93 An echo of this argument is to be found in the image of the servant of God who suffers on behalf of his people, 86 Buber, “Demand of the Spirit,” 187. 87 Buber devoted an extensive discussion to the prophet’s failure and the role this failure plays in history in his essay “Biblical Leadership.” 88 Buber, “Demand of the Spirit,” 185. 89 See Eduard Zeller, Plato and the Older Academy, trans. Sarah Francis Alleyne and Alfred Goodwin (London: Longmans, Green, 1876), 29–35; Richard Kraut, “Introduction to the Study of Plato,” in The Cambridge Companion to Plato, ed. Richard Kraut (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 21–22, 37–38n25; “Letters,” in The Continuum Companion to Plato, ed. Gerald Alan Press (London: Continuum, 2012), 67–69; Lionel Jehuda Sanders, The Legend of Dion (Toronto: E. Kent, 2008), and see the bibliography brought by Sanders on pp. 14–29. 90 Buber, “Demand of the Spirit,” 190. 91 See Buber, “Biblical Leadership,” 132. 92 Buber provides an extensive treatment of the term “servant of God” in The Prophetic Faith. On this term in the Bible, see Zvi Meir (Harry M.) Orlinsky, “‫עבד ה‬,” in ‫אנציקלופדיה מקראית‬ (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1971), 6:15–22; Oded Lipschits, “‫על עבד ה׳ ועל עבד המלך‬,” SHNATON: An Annual for Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Studies 13 (2002): 157–72. In general, we can say (as summarized by Menahem Haran, “‫הכוהן המקדש והעבודה‬,” Tarbiz 48 [1979]: 177n4) that the prophets were called “servants of God,” and this is the appellation given to Moses in the Bible (except for the Priestly sources). It is commonly assumed that this appellation originated in prophetic circles. 93 Buber, “Biblical Leadership,” 133.

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to whom he has been sent. Even if we remove from this image the Christian claims that linked it to Jesus,94 we still are left with an image of one who was sent by God to reproach his people, and, although he suffers tribulations at their hand,95 the record of his achievements endures through these failures.96 The way of the biblical prophet is different from the way of history. The former, according to Buber, acts in the shadows, concealed in a “quiver [of arrows]” (see Ps 127:5).97 Its way is hidden, and is thus disparate from the accepted way of history and its manifest achievements.98 To paraphrase Buber, we can state that Plato’s deficiency was his failure to respond to dialogue, while the prophet’s failure occurs within dialogue.99 To summarize our exploration of the comparison between prophet and philosopher, we will return to the central point of our discussion, namely, the dialogical demand that is primary for Buber. The dialogical discourse that for Buber is exemplified by the Israelite prophet occurs between the man of spirit and the public. The man of spirit seeks to help the people improve through his criticism and rebuke. Out of a close inner awareness of the struggle that is

94 According to Orlinsky (“‫עבד ה‬,” cols. 21–22), the interpretation that finds, in the servant of God chapters in Deutero-Isaiah (that include the last three verses of Isa 52 and all of Isa 53), the idea, in the Christian sense, of the servant of God who suffers on behalf of others does not appear in the simple meaning of the biblical text. See Bernard Renaud, “Servant of YHWH,” Encyclopedia of Christian Theology, ed. Jean-Yves Lacoste (London: Routledge, 2005) 1:1470–73. This idea was rather the product of Christian exegesis after the death of Paul. According to the plain meaning, the servant of God in Deutero-Isaiah did not die a tortured death. To the contrary, in a straightforward reading of the text, he lived long enough to have offspring, and possibly even to see the realization of his prophetic message (for which he suffered calumny and blows at the hands of the Jewish community in Babylonia). 95 Regarding the image of the servant of God who is sent to his people, which occupied Buber, we should also add the general claim that was raised throughout the medieval period by those defending Judaism in disputations with Christians, that the Jewish people is the “servant of God” in its mission to the world, and accordingly suffers in this mission for all the other nations. See Robert Chazan, “Persecution: Jewish Experience,” Encyclopedia of Religions, ed. Lindsey Jones (Detroit, MI: Macmillan, 2005), 10:7056. It is worthwhile to note that the distinction between the dialogical and monological men of spirit is not one between the Jewish man of spirit and the non-Jewish man of spirit. Buber, as is his wont, finds models of monological men of spirit both within and outside of Judaism (in Judaism, the rabbi or Torah scholar serve for him as monological models, in contrast to the model of the Hassidic tzaddik). 96 See Buber, “Biblical Leadership,” 126. 97 Buber speaks here of divine providence that acts in a concealed fashion within historical events. 98 See Buber, “Biblical Leadership,” 133. 99 For Buber, manifest history is “the great failure, the refusal to enter into the dialogue, not the failure in the dialogue, as exemplified by biblical man” (Buber, “Biblical Leadership,” 133). See also Yemima Hadad, “Fruits of Forgetfulness: Politics and Nationalism in the Philosophies of Martin Buber and Martin Heidegger,” in Heidegger and Jewish Thought: Difficult Others, ed. Elad Lapidot and Micha Brumlik (London: Rowman & Littlefield, 2018), 201–20, esp. 210–17.

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waged in the heart of each and every person he addresses, he illustrates, with his everyday deeds, the voice of the spirit in the world. The prophet presents the people with the challenge of rectification, and through this dialogue he is aroused to correct himself as well. Plato’s monological man of spirit does not enter into dialogical discourse with the masses. He presumes that the masses are incapable of moral and spiritual elevation. Consequently, according to his worldview, the only possibility is compulsion, through which the philosopher charts out the correct moral direction for the masses.

THE HASIDIC MODEL OF THE TZADDIK AS A DERIVATIVE OF THE BIBLICAL MODEL OF THE PROPHET Buber sets against the symbolic existence of the biblical prophet the sacramental existence of the Hasidic tzaddik. For Buber, both the symbol and the sacrament express the unification of the absolute (on the part of God) and the tangible (on the part of humankind), or, in other words, the covenant between God and man: A symbol is an appearance of meaning, the appearing and becoming apparent of meaning in the form of corporeality. The covenant of the Absolute with the concrete manifests itself in the symbol. But a sacrament is the binding of meaning to the body, fulfillment of binding, of becoming bound. The covenant of the Absolute with the concrete takes place in the sacrament.100 The prophet (like the prophet Hosea who was commanded by God to marry a promiscuous woman), makes the divine message comprehensible for the masses corporeally (as we already mentioned, Buber views the prophet as “the mouth of God”). From the outset, the symbol (the prophet) bears the message of God in his body, while the sacrament bears this divine message only after the sacrament has been performed. Buber perceives the sacrament, the sanctification of the profane, as a sort of “attraction” of the Absolute into the material. While the prophet expresses the symbol of the covenant that descends “from above to below,” the tzaddik as sacrament represents the covenant in the opposite direction, “from below to above.” What is cardinal, however, is that the prophet and the tzaddik, each in his own way, embodies the covenant between the Absolute and the tangible – the spirit and matter – in their existence, their personality,

100 Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 165.

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in what they do in daily life.101 The prophet then, according to Buber, is the archetype of the tzaddik and of all the social leaders who will appear in the annals of the Jewish people: The zaddik of the early period of Hasidism, the classic zaddik, is only an especially clear, theoretically delineated stamp of the same archetype, originating in the Biblical world and pointing into a future one [that is, the archetype of the leader-Messiah].102 The prophet is therefore a model for the tzaddik; it accordingly is not surprising that along with traits unique to the tzaddik, Buber also list several attributes the tzaddik and the prophet share.103 The tzaddik, like the prophet, fully embodies the truth in all his being and actions.104 The spirit is not realized solely in rebukes, or in words, but also in the way of life of both the tzaddik and the prophet. “All [their] behavior,” even their bodies, fulfill the Torah – they do not only speak it: “The men who are truly a Torah are called zaddiks.”105 Just as a person cannot learn medicine solely from reading books, but also requires a teacher to exemplify its application, so, too, people will be aroused to repent through the figure of the tzaddik, who exemplifies repentance by means of his conduct.106 Buber calls this indirect education – education that is not effected by repetition and theoretical study, but by observation of a way of life. This is the manner in which Hasidim learned from the tzaddik: “A teaching which sets the winged ‘How’ of an act high above the codified ‘What’ is not able to hand down its substance in writing; it is again and again transmitted by life, from leader to followers, but especially from master to disciple.”107 In addition, like the prophet, the Hasidic tzaddik is a reproacher, upbraiding the people for their moral decline.108 Gershom Scholem speaks of “the 101 We would like to again express our thanks to Dr. Israel Koren for his substantial contribution to explaining this issue. 102 Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 173. In the original German: “Der Zaddik der chassidischen Frühzeit, der klassische Zaddik, ist nur eine besonders klare, theoretisch umrissene Ausprägung des gleichen, aus biblischer Welt stammenden und in eine künftige weisenden Urtypus” (Buber, “Die chassidische Botschaft,” 843). 103 See Buber, “Spirit and Body,” 73–94. For a comparison of the prophet with the tzaddik, see Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 129–44. 104 Buber, “Spirit and Body,” 73–74. 105 Buber, “Spirit and Body,” 74. 106 See Gershom G. Scholem, “Tsaddik: The Righteous One,” in On the Mystical Shape of the Godhead: Basic Concepts in the Kabbalah, trans. Joachim Neugroschel, ed. Jonathan Chipman (New York: Schocken, 1991), 123–24. 107 Buber, “Spirit and Body,” 73. 108 See Baruch Kahana, ‫ מודל חסידי לפסיכולוגיה קלינית‬:‫( שבירה ותיקון‬Jerusalem: Rubin Mass, 2010), 192–93.

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educational and inspirational function of the mokhiah [preacher-chastiser]” in his characterization of the Hasidic tzaddik.109 These itinerant preachers (the zaddikim) rebuked the rabbis, the Torah scholars, “in whom intellect had stifled all religious feeling.”110 Scholem argues that in Hasidism the figures of the chastiser and the tzaddik merged into a single figure.111 Buber, as was noted, viewed the prophet’s criticism and reproach of the people as an essential element of social leadership. It should be stressed that such reproaches for Buber are not general platitudes about universal morality, they rather always pertain to unjust actions that happen in the time and place in which the tzaddik or prophet are active.112 Another quality that Buber finds common to the prophet and the tzaddik is that as the prophet fills the role of mediator between God and the congregation, the tzaddik functions as a mediator between heaven and earth. Nonetheless, at the same time the tzaddik teaches that “the immediate relationship to God, . . . cannot be replaced by any mediation” and exemplifies in his life the realization of this relation.113 According to Gershom Scholem, the tzaddik “stands in the realm of nothingness [tehum ha-ain]” (an original Hasidic understanding, that combines the mystical and moral ).114 The tzaddik inhabits the divine Ain, the unknown realm from which all creation comes. He wants nothing for himself, and he has nothing of his own. He is solely a receptacle, a means, and a channel.115 Arthur Green speaks of the tzaddik as axis mundi, the axis that connects the lower and upper worlds. (“Zaddiq is the foundation of the world” [Prov 10:25]). The tzaddik, serving as the Tabernacle of the Testimony, is the living testimony for the dwelling of the Divine Presence in the world. Understanding God’s immanence in the world is not attainable through sensory experience, nor by intellectual inference. It is the tzaddik’s being, therefore, that embodies the presence of God in the world, as he translates the word of God into the community’s everyday life (see below, the discussion on avodah 109 Scholem, “Tsaddik,” 124. 110 Scholem, “Tsaddik,” 123; see the extensive discussion in Jacob Katz, Tradition and Crisis: Jewish Society at the End of the Middle Ages, trans. Bernard Dov Cooperman (New York: New York University Press, 1993], 145–47. 111 Scholem, “Tsaddik,” 122. On the image of the preacher-chastiser, see also Elchanan Reiner, “‫דרשן‬ ‫ פרק עלום בתולדות התרבות העברית באירופה במאה השבע עשרה‬:‫נודד מדפיס את ספריו‬,” in ‫ שי לחוה‬:‫חוט של חן‬ ‫טורניאנסקי‬, ed. Israel Bartel, et al. (Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center, 2013), 123–56. 112 Rebuke is an ancient Jewish institution, of great importance in antiquity. See Cana Werman and Aharon Shemesh, ‫ פרשנות והלכה במגילות קומראן‬:‫( לגלות נסתרות‬Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 2011), 242–44. 113 Martin Buber, “The Beginnings of Hasidism,” in Hasidism (New York: Philosophical Library, 1948), 20. 114 Scholem, “Tsaddik,” 133. 115 Scholem, “Tsaddik,” 124.

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be-gashmiyut).116 Additionally, his authority and leadership are not acquired through high position, but are awarded him by consensus in his community. Similar to his portrayal of the prophet as himself “powerless” but fulfilling a mission to the public, Buber depicts the tzaddik, not as an authority, but as a servant: [For Hasidic pansacramentalism] [ . . . ] The man of sacramental existence is no magician; [ . . . ] he really and simply gives himself [entirely to God and the community]; he exercises no power but a service, the service.117 By “magician,” Buber means someone the source of whose wondrous powers is not understood by the people, and who is therefore perceived as standing above them (the Hebrew ma’apil, rendered in English as “stake himself in it,” literally means “to rise above”).118 The tzaddik does not seek high position for himself, he has no desire to rule or lead the people, nor does he want the material benefits that come with status.119 The Hasidic tzaddik, as Buber presents him, even waives the fine spiritual pleasure to be found in contemplation, responding instead to his responsibility for a public that often does not heed him.120 A comparison of Plato’s philosopher-king with the tzaddik (Buber drew such a comparison only between the prophet and the philosopher-king, that was presented above) reveals points of similarity. Each fills leadership positions, and each assumes such roles out of moral responsibility, not with the intent of gaining standing or the pleasures of power. But they differ, according to Buber, in the manner in which they attain their leadership. While for Plato the

116 See Arthur Green, “The Zaddiq as Axis Mundi in Later Judaism,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 45,3 (1977): 327–47. 117 Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 171. 118 For a discussion from an anthropological perspective of the type of leader who “put[s] on meekness,” and is presented as the “servant(s) of the servants of God,” see Victor Turner, The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure (New Brunswick, NJ: Aldine, 2008), 195–99. 119 Although the letter of the law permits the king to benefit from public property as he wishes – as Samuel explains to the people who demand a king: “He will take your male and female slaves, your choice young men, and your asses, and put them to work for him” (1 Sam 8:16) – the model of the leader on a higher spiritual level is that of the prophet Moses, who attests of himself: “I have not taken the ass of any one of them” (Num 16:15). See Admiel Kosman, ‫( מסכת שלום‬Tel Aviv: Yedioth Ahronoth, 2014), 244–45. 120 On the tzaddik foregoing the pleasure of seclusion in order to fulfill his duty to the public, see Jacobson, Hasidic Thought, 180–90. On this tension in general in medieval thought, and for a clarification of Maimonides’ stance on this matter, see Ravitzky, ‫עיונים‬, 11–39; see also Haim Kreisel, “Maimonides’ Political Philosophy,” in The Cambridge Companion to Maimonides, ed. Kenneth Seeskin (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 193–220.

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masses are compelled to accept just rule, the tzaddik’s charismatic leadership is consensual, and his role is afforded him by the public.121 As Buber explains, the tzaddik’s influence begins in his natural environment – in his home, in his own space, in the smallest contexts of his life. Buber names this context for action “Here Where One Stands”: The environment which I feel to be the natural one, the situation which has been assigned to me as my fate, the things that happen to me day after day, the things that claim me day after day – these contain my essential task and whatever fulfilment of existence that is open to me.122 We should recall Scholem’s assertion that the Baal Shem Tov and nascent Hasidism did not intend to establish a social class of tzaddikim who would replace rabbis and Torah scholars, but rather meant to arouse the rabbis to a sense of social responsibility for the public. At that time the tzaddik was, Scholem maintains, a sort of “improved version” of the rabbis, not an alternative meant to replace them.123 Every man and woman is to follow the way of the tzaddik, since they – like him – are called upon to meet their moral responsibility in their daily life. In the final analysis, the difference between the tzaddik and the other members of his community lies only in the expansion of the circle of people and things that the tzaddik encounters in his daily life and the scope of the natural surroundings that are perceived as “home.” On this background, Buber (following his special conception of the teaching of the Baal Shem Tov) criticizes the rabbinic elite and Torah scholars (the men of spirit of the time), whose isolation, he believed, enabled the Sabbatean crisis by divorcing the Torah from real life and thus removing the people from the nearness of God; in doing so rabbinism prepared the people for accepting the false message of God’s nearness.124 The Buberian explanation of this crisis focuses on the monological nature of the world of the rabbis. Buber viewed this crisis as a consequence of the separation of spirit and reality, and of the man of spirit from the public. In the final analysis, the mission of the tzaddik is his encounter with the public, not

121 On leadership based on the (God-given) charisma of the tzaddik in Hasidism, see Rachel Elior, “The Doctrine of the Tsadik,” in The Mystical Origins of Hasidism, trans. Shalom Carmi (Oxford: Littman Library, 2006), 130–34. 122 Martin Buber, “Here Where One Stands,” in The Way of Man according to the Teachings of Hasidism (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1950), 42. 123 Scholem, “Tsaddik,” 132–33. 124 Buber, “Beginnings of Hasidism,” 15.

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seclusion or withdrawal from it. Hasidic literature describes this encounter as the “descent of the tzaddik.”125 The tzaddik views his mission as a social one, and therefore doesn’t prioritize his own spiritual elevation. He rather aims to elevate the people together with him. In Hasidic doctrine, and in Buber’s thought in its wake, this relation between the tzaddik and the public demands that he, inter alia, “descends” to mundane and everyday affairs. The tzaddik is therefore prone to “fall” at times, since he “descends” from his spiritual level when he gives himself over to the needs of his community. Gershom Scholem describes the descent of the tzaddik as “the great adventure, without which he cannot perform his mission.”126 Thus, the mission of the tzaddik is to descend to the mundane, to the “unclean places,” that by their very nature are distant from the divine, in order to raise them once again, together with him.127 Scholem speaks of the dialectical nature of the relation between the tzaddik and the people of his generation: the tzaddik risks descent in order to elevate the people, and by raising them, he, too, ascends to a spiritual level higher than before: By attempting to lift up his contemporaries, he himself is raised [ . . . ] By becoming a medium and vessel for others, the stream of life flowing through him endlessly heightens the intensity of his own life.128 This Hasidic idea is obviously intimately connected to the concept in Lurianic kabbalah of elevating the sparks. The Hasid’s service of God centers around the attempt to sanctify evil and transform it into good. Even in evil, the tzaddik finds sparks of sanctity, which must be extricated from the kelipot (husks). The tzaddik’s mission focuses on “descent” to the places where the holy sparks fell, where they lie among the kelipot. Elevating his generation is conditional upon

125 On the descent of the tzaddik, see also Netanel Lederberg, ‫ דמותו הרוחנית והנהגתו החברתית‬,‫סוד הדעת‬ ‫( של ר׳ ישראל בעל שם־טוב‬Jerusalem: Rubin Mass, 2007), 70–83; Zvi Mark, Mysticism and Madness: The Religious Thought of Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav, trans. Yaacov David Shulman (London: Continuum, 2009), 185–217, and 185–86, on the various causes of the tzaddik’s descent, either unwillingly or voluntarily. See also Kahana, ‫שבירה ותיקון‬, 193–97. 126 Scholem, “Tsaddik,” 138. 127 “The descent of the tzaddik is not expressed in the actual commission of sins, but in the very mental bond that connects the tzaddik with the sinners that he seeks to mend” (Emanuel Etkes, “‫תנועת החסידות בראשיתה‬,” in ‫ פרקים בתולדות יהודי מזרח אירופה ותרבותה‬:‫פולין‬, Unit 9–10 [Tel Aviv: Open University of Israel, 1991], 78). See also Kahana, ‫שבירה ותיקון‬, 193–94 and n. 566. For an opposing view, however, see Mark, Mysticism and Madness, 189–92, 205–6, for the daring claim that in states of katnut the tzaddik is as a minor (who would then fall under the rule that “a minor is exempt from the commandments”). 128 Scholem, “Tsaddik,” 139.



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this descent, which Hasidism calls avodah be-gashmiyut ‫( תוימשגב הדובע‬the worship of God through corporeality).129 Buber writes: [ . . . ] the hallowing of everything; nothing which is done can be condemned to remain profane on account of its nature; each act becomes divine service and divine work when it is directed towards union.130 The true demand of belief in the unity of God, for Buber, as understood by Uffenheimer, is not a “belief ” in the usual sense of the term, but an attempt to realize relation – a living relation to God.131 Avodah be-gashmiyut, for Buber, sees the challenges that God places before the individual and the public in everyday life as moral, religious, and spiritual. In order to be fit for this task, the tzaddik must be involved in the public’s life, aware of its difficulties and challenges. To summarize, Buber’s writings on the model of the tzaddik as a charismatic Hasidic leader make clear that the principle of “the descent of the tzaddik” refers not only to the realization of spirit in reality, but also includes the manner of this realization. This draws into clearer focus the line that, according to Buber, divides Plato’s philosopher-king, as an example of the monological man of spirit who seeks to realize spirit in reality by means of his elitist authority, from the dialogical models of the prophet and the tzaddik that highlight the man of spirit’s involvement in the masses’ daily affairs as the tzaddik ascends together with the public around him.

PERFECTION VS. THE ONGOING PROCESS OF BECOMING PERFECTED: THE PERCEPTION OF THE TRUTH BY THE MONOLOGICAL MAN OF SPIRIT AS COMPARED TO THAT OF THE DIALOGICAL MAN OF SPIRIT In order to highlight the general features of the dialogical man of spirit, in contrast to the monological man of spirit, in this section we will summarize the differences that were exemplified in the preceding sections. We will examine these models, in light of Benda’s demand of the intellectual of his time, and Buber’s conception of his contemporary man of spirit. 129 On Buber’s understanding of avodah be-gashmiyut as legitimate interpretation, compared to Scholem, see Tsippi Kauffman, “‫ החוזה מלובלין על עבודה בגשמיות‬- ‫ לשמרך בכל דרכיך׳‬. . . ‫׳כי מלאכיו‬,” Kabbalah 16 (2007): 259–98. 130 Buber, “Spirit and Body,” 80. 131 See Benjamin Uffenheimer, “‫ בובר‬.‫אמונת היחוד במשנתו של מ‬,” Molad 1(24), 2 (212) (1967): 214.

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As we saw from the preceding examples, Buber characterizes the monological man of spirit by means of two modes of activity. The first, that of the prophetes, draws an absolute distinction between the world of spirit and reality, with an undeniable preference for spirit. This type professes the truths of the spirit in a manner totally divorced from the reality of his life. The second mode of activity, the Platonic, perceives the realization of the spirit in the world as supremely important, but this realization is not effected by raising the spiritual and moral level of the public. It is performed against the will of the masses. Buber contrasts these monological men of spirit with the dialogical man of spirit, who acts within his people, as an organic part of them, and who wishes to infuse daily reality with spirit through dialogical and living contact with the public. In order to clarify the difference between the monological and dialogical men of spirit, we should present the roots of their disparate perceptions as ensuing from two different metaphysical conceptions, which in other discussions are depicted as the position of perfection as contrasted with the position of striving for perfection.132 This metaphysics – as we will show below – is at the base of the conception of truth of each of these men of spirit, and determines the manner in which moral truth is realized in life. Buber opposed what he viewed as the underlying assumption of both the prophetes and the Greek philosopher: that knowledge attained by revelation or by philosophical thought is complete and perfect. For Plato, and for the prophetes, truth abides in a world of eternal, unchanging entities, while the tangible world is illusory, an imitation of “the real thing.” The true world – world of ideas – can be perceived only by means of thought.133 Perfection of the type that the philosopher assumes he can access is not possible from the perspective of the dialogical man of spirit, for whom absolute perfection is the province only of the Absolute, of God Himself (the “Eternal Thou”).134 Humankind, according to this view, can aspire to progress in this direction, but, being human, a person will always remain only in the relative

132 On perfection in Jewish thought, see Yochanan David Silman, ‫ תורת ישראל בין‬:‫קול גדול ולא יסף‬ ‫( שלמות והשתלמות‬Jerusalem: Hebrew University Magnes Press, 1999). Likewise, perfection, and the striving for perfection, are central themes in the metaphysical doctrine of R. Abraham Isaac Hakohen Kook. See Yosef Ben Shlomo, ‫ פרקים במשנתו של הרב קוק‬,‫( שירת החיים‬Tel Aviv: MOD, 1992), 35. This occupation with the question of perfection is evident also in the thought of Hermann Cohen. See Hermann Cohen, Ethics of Maimonides, trans. Almut S. Bruckstein (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2004), 156–57. See also the explanations of Samuel Hugo Bergman, Dialogical Philosophy: From Kierkegaard to Buber, trans. Arnold A. Gerstein (Albany: SUNY Press, 1991), 153–55; Samuel Hugo Bergman, ‫תולדות הפילוסופיה החדשה‬, vol. 4: ‫( שיטות בפילוסופיה שלאחר קאנט‬Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1979), 192–98. 133 See, e.g., the allegory of the cave, The Republic, 213–16, para. 507b–509c. 134 On the “eternal Thou” and the “absolute Thou” in Buber’s thought, see Rivka Horwitz, “‫גילויים‬ ‫לתולדות התהוות הספר ״אני ואתה״ של מרטין בובר‬,” Proceedings of the Israel Academy of Sciences and

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world of “striving for perfection.” It is noteworthy to add at this point that this issue is also connected to Buber’s bitter polemic against Christianity, and especially against Pauline doctrine.135 Buber wrote that Paul was “handing them the sweet poison of faith, a faith that was to disdain works [‫]מעשים‬, exempt the faithful from realization, and establish dualism in the world.”136 In the beginnings of Christianity, the Jewish system of commandments was already attacked by Paul, as never realizable.137 From the Jewish perspective, however, it is not problematic that this system could be only partially fulfilled, since perfection is an attribute of God, not of man.138 The key, for Buber, to knowing the truth, for the dialogical man of spirit, is humility – the full acceptance of a person’s lack of knowledge in the face of divine reality.139 Buber’s interpretation of the narrative concerning Hananiah and Jeremiah is an example. Buber explains that when the prophet Jeremiah hears Hananiah’s consoling prophecy that foresees the removal of the yoke of Nebuchadnezzar from the neck of Israel – the opposite of the prophecy of Jeremiah, that the people would continue in servitude to the Babylonian king – Jeremiah is silent and goes on his way. Buber understands the biblical verse “and the prophet Jeremiah went on his way” (Jer 28:11) as follows: Why did he go? Obviously, because in spite of everything there were still things he did not know [ . . . ] God had, indeed, spoken to him only an hour before. But this was another hour [ . . . ] historical reality can have been changed. One must not rely on one’s knowledge. One must go one’s way and listen all over again.140 The prophet’s starting point of not knowing, according to Buber, calls him to give heed anew every time, and not presume that he already knows the will of God because he has heard it before. When the prophet acts out of humility, he is capable of listening again and again, every moment, from anew. Humanities (Hebrew series) 5,8 (1975), 169–71. For additional references relating to this Buberian terminology, see Kosman, “‫מבוא‬,” 208n117. 135 To which he devoted his book Zwei Glaubensweisen (Zurich: Manesse, 1950); English trans.: Two Types of Faith. 136 Martin Buber, “The Holy Way: A Word to the Jews and to the Nations,” in On Judaism, 128. 137 See Gal 3:10–13; see also Joshua Efron, ‫( ראשית הנצרות ואפוקליפטיקה בתולדות ישראל‬Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 2004), 30–31. 138 For Paul’s view on this question, and also Philo’s (who saw no such problem in the system of commandments), see A. Andrew Das, Paul, the Law, and the Covenant (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2001). For Buber’s vigorous opposition to any perfectionist aspiration, see Kosman, “‫מבוא‬,” 217–18 and 218n143. For material against Paul in Buber’s name see Rachel Bat-Adam, ‫כל ישראל ערבים זה‬ ‫( לזה‬Tel Aviv: Sifriyat Maariv, 1982), 330. 139 See Kosman, “‫מבוא‬,” 192–93. 140 Martin Buber, “False Prophets,” in Israel and the World, 113–14.

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Buber does not conceive of the truth as a finished and eternal transcendent domain: The ideas are just as little enthroned above our heads as they reside inside them; they walk among us and step up to us.141 Buber distinguishes between the Greek concept of truth, that truth is what is, and the biblical concept of truth, which is concerned with what could be (even if it does not presently appear before us). The truth is the project of the realization of what is: Over your heads there is truth, and one truth for all, yet it enters your world only when you are doing the truth, each one his truth; when you are living with the beings steadily and solidly; then it happens, then you experience it as your own human truth.142 The truth of which Buber speaks is a ceaseless on-the-way process toward perfection – a process that engages in an ongoing dialogical manner with God and humankind. The knowledge of the prophet, according to Buber’s interpretation of the biblical narrative, is always presented as partial, limited, and relative. His knowledge is not perfect for all time, but must be heeded now. The prophet expresses a temporal truth, for a certain time and certain circumstances. Buber, on “the will of God” and the nature and discovery of temporal truth, writes: “God has truth, but he does not have a system. He expresses his truth through his will, but his will is not a program. At this hour, God wills this or that for mankind, but he has endowed mankind with a will of its own [ . . . ] So, mankind can change its will from one hour to the next, and God, who is deeply concerned about mankind and its will, and the possible changes it may undergo, can, when that will changes, change his plan for mankind.”143 Eliezer Schweid elucidates this understanding, pointing out that Buber did not affirm a system of commandments, or a formulated halakhah, but only the “commandment of the moment” (“Buber did not accept any halakhic norm as obligatory from the outset. For the mitzvah’s realization, he always needs the commandment of the day.”)144 This explains Buber’s vigorous opposition 141 Martin Buber, I and Thou, trans. Walter Kaufmann (New York: Charles Scriber’s Sons, 1970), 65. 142 Martin Buber, “The Crisis and the Truth: A Message,” Australian Jewish Review 6,7 (September 1945): 3. 143 Buber, “False Prophets,” 114. 144 Eliezer Schweid, “‫תפיסת היהדות של בובר ומשמעותה לזמננו‬,” in ‫מרדכי מרטין בובר במבחן הזמן‬, ed. Kalman Yaron and Paul Mendes-Flohr (Jerusalem: Hebrew University Magnes Press, 1993), 168.

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to Rosenzweig’s letter, “Die Bauleute,” on the need to accept in principle the “method” of halakhah.145 For Buber, such an assertion is almost heresy: how can the prophet – the dialogical man – accept a formulated method, since, by its very nature, such a method runs counter to giving oneself over to “hearing” the divine voice, which is intrinsically and exclusively momentary.146 The prophet’s message is “present” truth; because reality is changing and dynamic, prophecy can accordingly change at any moment. The prophet, consequently, unlike the followers of the Delphic oracle, does not live in a world of unequivocal and immutable decrees of fate. Also, and importantly, Buber did not restrict this situation to the past tense. Generally speaking, Buber did not think that prophecy had left our world, but that humans had removed the possibility of prophecy when they began to regard prophecy as something exalted which we no longer merit to receive, as our great ancestors had merited. Buber did not accept this “romantic” idea. For him, every individual is entitled to receive prophecy – the insight received from “hearing” – if he is open to the encounter with the “Thou.”147 (We may surmise that this, inter alia, led to the charge of Buber’s Christianization of Judaism, since Christianity does not accept the assertion by the rabbis that the period of prophecy had come to an end, and was replaced by that of sages.)148 Thus, unlike the conception of perfection of the philosopher, with his potential ability to possess the single, eternal, and perfect truth, Buber sets forth the prophet as one who does not have a coherent canon. Buber himself also declares time and again, about his own teachings, that he has no method or clear doctrine, nor does he make any general statement about absolute truth.149 145 English trans.: “The Builders: Concerning the Law,” in Franz Rosenzweig, On Jewish Learning, ed. N. N. Glatzer (New York: Schocken, 1965), 72–92. 146 On Buber’s discussions with Rosenzweig on this issue, see Admiel Kosman, “‘Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh’: The Importance of the Biblical Passage (Exodus 3) for Understanding the Buber-Rosenzweig Dialogue Regarding the Place of Halakhah in Modern Jewish Life,” in Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh: The Name of God, ed. David Birnbaum and Martin S. Cohen; trans. Martin S. Cohen (New York: Matrix, 2019), 329–80; Yemima Hadad, “‘Ich Habe Nicht Geantwortet’: Hermeneutics of Secrecy, Religious Silence, and Dialogvergessenheit in Martin Buber’s Exchange with Franz Rosenzweig about Halakhah,” Naharaim 2020, 14:1: 103–32. 147 See Kosman, “‫מבוא‬,” 188–89. 148 On this accusation, see Yehoshua Amir, “‫אמונה והתגלות אצל מרטין בובר‬,” Bar-Ilan: Annual of BarIlan University: 22–23 (Moshe Schwarcz Memorial Volume; 1987), 287–302. On the rabbis’ position see Ephraim Elimelech Urbach, “?‫מתי פסקה הנבואה‬,” in ‫ קובץ מחקרים‬:‫( מעולמם של חכמים‬Jerusalem: Hebrew University Magnes Press, 2002), 9–20; Chaim Milikowsky, “‫סוף הנבואה וסוף המקרא בעיני‬ ‫ ספרות חז״ל והספרות שמסביב לה‬,‫סדר עולם‬,” Sidra 10 [1994]: 83–94. 149 Buber was criticized for not having a “method” whose principles could be implemented: “Although Buber shows us the goal [ . . . ] we frequently miss his directing hand” (Hugo Bergman, Martin Buber and Mysticism,” in The Philosophy of Martin Buber, ed. Paul Arthur Schilpp and

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Moreover, Buber negates the existence of any Archimedian point outside the world (that is, any inclusive “method” that enables us to deduce what is the correct direction).150 Buber’s Archimedean point – or, if you wish, his religious starting point – is only the awareness, in humility, of the human “disability” that interprets reality (including the divine) as “it.” Contact with the good is intimately linked with the personal ability to detach from egocentrism.151 In contrast with the philosopher’s notion of the eternal truth, Buber offers then his view of the prophet’s temporal truth. The truth that is revealed to the prophet will always be only the truth for this time, which the prophet contacts through a dialogical encounter with the other. The prophet’s truth is always a concrete truth, meant for the moment itself. According to Buber: The prophetic spirit does not believe, like the Platonic, that it possesses a universal and timeless ideal truth. The Hebrew prophet invariably receives only a message for a particular situation.152 The prophet, unlike Plato, does not present the public with the challenge of perfection, which stands in its perpetuity in all times and in all places. The prophet’s “truth for this time” is translated into localized actions that belong Maurice Friedman [La Salle, IL: Open Court, 1967], 305). And similarly, Gershom Scholem: “Buber’s philosophy demands of man that he set himself a direction and reach a decision, but it says nothing about which direction and which decision” (Scholem, “Martin Buber’s Interpretation,” 245). Buber responded to such criticism: “As for me, I have no doctrine. I have only an extended finger, that points to such realities. Anyone who expects to hear doctrine from me, which is different from pointing, will always be disappointed. But it seems that at this fateful hour, the main thing is not to acquire solidified doctrine, but rather to come to know the eternal reality and to forcefully withstand the current reality [ . . . ] in this wilderness night the way is not to be shown. People must be aided to persevere with upright soul, until the dawn breaks and the way will be shown – in a place where no man imagined” (Martin Buber, “‫לענין‬ ‫גוג ומגוג‬,” in ‫[ תקווה לשעה זו‬Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1992], 140–41; the article was originally published in Haaretz, December 8, 1944). 150 On Buber’s basic opposition to the creation of a method, see Shapira, ‫הרוח במציאות‬, 15–19. Buber’s attitude to method can be seen in his general negative assessment of his close friend Franz Rosenzweig’s The Star of Redemption. See Rivka Horwitz, “‫תפיסת האלוהות של מרטין בובר‬,” in ‫מחקרים‬ ‫בהגות יהודית‬, ed. Sara O. Heller Willensky and Moshe Idel (Jerusalem: Hebrew University Magnes Press, 1989), 184n31. 151 See Admiel Kosman, “‫הערות וביאורים לאני ואתה‬,” in ‫ ספר היובל לרבקה הורביץ‬:‫ספר רבקה‬, ed. Haviva Pedaya and Ephraim Meir (Be’er Sheva: Ben-Gurion University Press, 2007), 511–18; see also Admiel Kosman, “Buber vs. Weber: Future Sociological Research according to Buber’s Proposal: The I-Thou Relationship in Scholarly Research,” in The Impact of Religion on Character Formation, Ethical Education, and the Communication of Values in Late Modern Pluralistic Societies, ed. Michael Welker, John Witte, and Stephen Pickard (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2021), 103–22, esp. 106–16. 152 Buber, “Demand of the Spirit,” 190.

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to the hour’s challenge and the moment’s mission. As an outcome of this, the prophet must act at a certain historical hour and in his particular place. The prophet’s rebukes are usually not formulated as general philosophical moral principles, but are directed against unjust acts that take place in the precise society and historical time in which he is active. At this point, Buber stresses that, paradoxically, it is the prophet’s activity in the realm of the social and political reality of his time that gives his mission lasting value: But for this very reason his word still speaks after thousands of years to manifold situations in the history of peoples.153 This leads to an additional point that highlights the disparity between the philosopher and the prophet: since the process of striving for perfection is intrinsically dialogical, the dialogical man of spirit needs the other in order to so strive. Buber offers many examples of Hasidic tzaddikim (as a type) who learned and mended themselves in a meeting with the other, as he illustrates through stories in his book Gog and Magog (= For the Sake of Heaven), for example, “How I Apprenticed Myself to a Smith” and “How I Apprenticed Myself to a Peasant.”154 These parables show that Buber regarded Torah study as something that did not take place only in the academy, and not only through the study of texts, but also in the meeting with the other – with Torah scholars, and with simple people: blacksmiths, peasants, shoemakers alike – whom the tzaddik teaches, and from whom he also learns.155 Unlike the monological man of spirit – who is immersed in his spiritual or intellectual isolation and believes that he can attain perfection of the soul by refining his awareness, specifically by his detachment from the masses – the “tzaddik” type “meets” the failings of his soul and the need for self-correction by devoting himself to the encounter with the other. For the tzaddik, such a meeting is a reflection of what occurs within his soul, since the external conflict invariably attests to the struggle within.156 Buber speaks of viewing external occurrences as the reflection of inner events. Similar to psychoanalytical theory, Hasidism finds the source of external conflicts in man’s psyche. Unlike psychoanalysis, however, Buber maintains that Hasidism calls upon man to spiritually correct himself. This conception,

153 Buber, “Demand of the Spirit,” 190. 154 Martin Buber, For the Sake of Heaven, trans. Ludwig Lewisohn (Philadelphia, PA: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1945), 30, 32. 155 See Buber, For the Sake of Heaven. 156 See Way of Man, 29.

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too, is, of course, not entirely new, and its roots are to be found in rabbinic literature.157 We can formulate this last idea as follows: in contrast to the monological man of spirit, who seeks to educate and to share his wisdom with the masses, but does not believe in the ability of the simple folk to contribute to the enhancement of his own wisdom, the dialogical man of spirit regards the correction of the world and his own mending as intertwined.158 We can now easily understand that these diverse ways of fixing the world necessarily give birth to two types of utopian thought, or, in other words, two conceptions of redemption.159 For the Platonist, the world will be perfected when governmental authority will be given to (or, more accurately, taken by – even through force) the philosopher; while for Buber, the corrective move is not given over to any elite, and certainly not to a single individual (any “messiah”). Rather, for Buber (following Hasidism), this is a process of the neutralization and democratization of the messianic idea. We shall now clarify the background to Buber’s position within the debates of his time on Hasidism and its approach to messianism. Historians disagree on the question of the relationship between the crisis of Sabbateanism and the later rise of Hasidism. Some scholars, such as Gershom Scholem and Buber himself, considered Hasidism as a reaction to Sabbateanism that sought to curb the messianic drive. Buber maintained that Hasidism did so by negating belief in a personal messiah and democratizing messianism, allowing that every individual can participate in hastening the Redemption, and that every action done for Heaven’s sake is a messianic deed: “To the whole of mankind is given the power to co-operate, all ages stand immediately face to face with redemption, all action for God’s sake may be called messianic action.”160 Scholem explains that Hasidism neutralized messianism, that is, it shunted aside the hope of redemption from the center of religious thought and life.161 Other scholars, however, such as Ben Zion Dinur, argued that Hasidism arose as a 157 See Admiel Kosman, “The Mole and the Well: A Study of a Talmudic Theological Concept,” European Judaism 46,2 (2013): 99–115. 158 Buber, in the spirit of Hasidism, calls to begin the mending of the world by correcting oneself, and cautions that the task of rectification cannot come to full fruition within a person’s individual “four cubits.” See Buber, Way of Man, 34–35. 159 For Buber’s conception of redemption, see Avraham Shapira, “‫שתי דרכי גאולה בחסידות באספקלריה‬ ‫של מרטין בובר‬,” in ‫משואות‬, ed. Michal Oron and Amos Goldreich (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1994), 429–46. 160 Martin Buber, “Spinoza, Sabbatai Zevi, and the Baalshem,” in Hasidism (New York: Philosophical Library, 1948), 116. 161 Gershom Scholem, “The Neutralisation of the Messianic Element in Early Hasidism,” Journal of Jewish Studies 20 (1969), 25–55.

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movement that aimed to fan the flames of the messianic idea in order to hasten the eschatological End of Days immediately after the failure of Sabbateanism.162 Buber writes: It is a mistake to regard the Jewish teaching about the Messiah merely as a belief in a unique final event and in a unique human being as the centre of this event [ . . . ] the messiahship belonging to the end of time [is] preceded by one of all time, poured out over the ages.163 The labor of correction is therefore given to all, and no one can know who has many “merits,” and who, few – for the encounter, by its very nature, is not overt. It is the possibility that is set before each human being, that at any given moment he is called to open his heart to the meeting. Buber, then, to some degree negates the social hierarchy in religious frameworks. For him, there is no actual difference between the “righteous” and the “unrighteous”; the prophet Isaiah’s words are applicable to everyone: “And your people, all of them righteous, shall possess the land for all time” (Isa 60:21). Each individual, according to his part in the mending of reality, participates in the processes of ascent and descent of which Hasidism speaks. Each individual is a partner, in his own way, in the labor of mending, and everyone can, in whatever degree, serve as an example for his fellow. To summarize this section: the monological man of spirit acts in a manner suitable to the idea of perfection, and therefore is inclined to what Buber calls a doctrinal conception – he sets up a moral ideal that is not consistent with the “power of decision” of the public. This presents the monological man of spirit as utopian, detached from the public and from actual life. This path also deepens the rift between the spirit and reality, since the moral demand is cloaked in an outer “wrapping” of fine and high-sounding, but unattainable, ideals. On the other hand, Buber’s dialogical man of spirit aspires to bring moral ideals into the sphere of present and everyday life, to bring reality closer to the spirit. He “speaks to the man in a situation of the man’s present power of decision.”164 He is aware of his limitations as a person, and of the partial nature of his mission and of the correction. Despite these limits, he devotes himself to his mission: elevating the reality at this moment, with all his being. 162 Ben Zion Dinur, “‫ראשיתה של החסידות ויסודותיה הסוציאליים והמשיחיים‬,” in ‫ מחקרים ועיונים‬:‫במפנה הדורות‬ ‫( בראשיתם של הזמנים החדשים בתולדות ישראל‬Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1972), 181–227. For more on this debate, see Isaiah Tishby, “‫הרעיון המשיחי והמגמות המשיחיות בצמיחת החסידות‬,” Zion 32 (1967): 1–45. See also Mor Altschuler, “‫ על המחלוקת בין בן־ציון דינור לגרשם שלום בשאלת‬:‫כנגד כל הסיכויים‬ ‫המשיחיות בראשית החסידות‬,” in ‫ספר זיכרון לגרשם שלום במלאת עשרים וחמש שנים לפטירתו‬, ed. Joseph Dan. Jerusalem Studies in Jewish Thought 20 (2007), vol. 1, 1–30. 163 Buber, “Spinoza,” 112–13. 164 Buber, “Symbolic and Sacramental Existence,” 160.

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MARTIN BUBER AND JULIEN BENDA ON THE “BETRAYAL OF THE INTELLECTUALS” In light of our clarifications of Buber’s position regarding the man of spirit and his role in society, we will now examine Buber’s response to Benda’s essay, The Betrayal of the Intellectuals, taking into account the dialogical and monological models of the man of spirit that we presented above.165 Before we enter into this discussion of Buber and Benda, we should briefly examine the previous history of the debate concerning the role of the man of spirit (to which Buber does not refer in his essay). It should be noted, that this is not a new issue that arose in the modern period around Benda’s book. The Stoics generally thought that the intellectual is obligated to undertake a public role. The Epicureans, in contrast, usually adopted the opposite position, that the wise man should keep aloof from political life.166 Within Judaism itself, generally speaking, the ancient adage of Hillel: “Do not withdraw from the community” (m. Avot 2:4) is a fundamental tenet that was almost unquestionably accepted throughout the course of Jewish history, and to which even the medieval mystics adhered.167 Buber thus continues and develops this established Jewish tradition regarding the image of the ideal leader. Now we will return to Buber’s essay. We will begin with a short description of Benda’s demand of the man of spirit and the role he assigns him in society, taking into account the political events of his time and the political mobilization of his intellectual contemporaries. Benda accused the modern intellectual of engaging in social and political issues and of being at the service of nationalistic

165 Benda, Betrayal, xx. 166 See, on this point, and on Seneca regarding this debate, Martin Lowther Clarke, The Roman Mind: Studies in the History of Thought from Cicero to Marcus Aurelius (London: Cohen & West, 1956), 106–7. On the position of the Stoics on this question, see Robert W. Sharples, Stoics, Epicureans and Sceptics: An Introduction to Hellenistic Philosophy (London: Routledge, 1996), 123–24. On the Epicurean stance, see Tim O’Keefe, Epicureanism (Durham: Acumen, 2009), 145–46. On the medieval period in Europe, see Janet L. Nelson, “The Intellectual in Politics: Context, Content and Authorship in the Capitulary of Coulaines, November 843,” in Intellectual Life in the Middle Ages: Essays Presented to Margaret Gibson, ed. Lesley Smith and Benedicta Ward (London: Hambledon, 1992), 1–14. 167 See Gershom G. Scholem, “Religious Authority and Mysticism,” in On the Kabbalah and Its Symbolism, trans. Ralph Manheim (New York: Schocken, 1965), 5–31; Moshe Idel, “Hitbodedut as Concentration in Ecstatic Kabbalah,” in Jewish Spirituality, vol. 1: From the Bible through the Middle Ages, ed. Arthur Green (New York: Crossroad, 1986), 405–38; Dov Maimon, “‫גבולות המפגש‬ ‫בין יהדות רבנית ומיסטיקה מוסלמית‬,” II, Akdemot 8 (Kislev 2000), 67. On Maimonides’ view that the community takes precedence over the extraordinary individual, see Ravitsky, ‫עיונים מיימוניים‬, 63, and the entire discussion, 62–66.

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ideologies, instead of concentrating on universality and the eternal.168 He called his period “the age of the intellectual organization of political hatreds.”169 The intellectuals were responsible, in his opinion, for giving hate political – as well as moral, aesthetic, and intellectual – expression. Benda viewed this as an abandonment of their responsibility. In his opinion, intellectuals were tasked with raising the ageless voice of absolute values within the tumult of the upheavals of history. He argued that throughout history intellectuals acted in two ways: they either watched politics from the side with equanimity, thereby serving as paragons of sublime spiritual existence, or demanded, in the name of the values of justice or humanism, the adoption of exalted abstract principles opposed to the desires of the masses.170 Benda argues that in neither way did intellectuals prevent outbursts of hate and massacres throughout history, but that they were successful in keeping the masses from justifying their actions as religious or moral acts. He maintains that, thanks to the intellectuals, humankind, although doing what is evil, nevertheless continued, throughout the previous two millennia, to honor goodness.171 Benda believed that a substantive change occurred in the nineteenth century when intellectuals began to take part in the choir of nationalist hatred and increased political divisiveness.172 In light of this development, Benda, following Goethe, called upon the intellectuals of his time to “leave politics to the diplomats and the soldiers.”173 He advised them to say: “My kingdom is not of this world,”174 and to return to “the cloisters of pure spirit, therein to pursue truth.”175 It is not our purpose here to judge the correctness of Benda’s arguments; our aim is limited to explaining Buber’s response to Benda, and the manner in which Buber understood the role of the man of spirit. At any rate, the original meaning of the term coined by Benda, the “betrayal of the intellectuals,” changed in the wake of the Second World War and its horrors. From then on, the man of spirit was deemed derelict in his duty when he refrained from intervening regarding the burning issues of the hour in favor of pure study. Now the intellectual was to function as society’s judge and conscience.176 168 The critique by Benda (who was Jewish) was directed, inter alia, against Jewish intellectuals and Zionism. See Benda, Betrayal, 8–9; Shalom Ratzabi, Between Zionism and Judaism: The Critical Circle in Brith Shalom (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 274–75. 169 Benda, Betrayal, 21. 170 Benda, Betrayal, 30. 171 Benda, Betrayal, 31. 172 Benda, Betrayal, 31. 173 Benda, Betrayal, 32. 174 Benda, Betrayal, 30. 175 As formulated by Paul Mendes-Flohr, in Land of Two Peoples, 101. 176 See Ravitzky, ‫עיונים‬, 11–12.

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Buber, as mentioned above, already protested against the earlier understanding of the role of the intellectual in July 1932 in his essay “‫אימתי‬,” anticipating the prevalent current understanding. Buber concluded this essay by citing m. Avot 1:14: “‘And if not now, when?’ [ . . . ] Fulfillment in a Then is inextricably bound up with fulfillment in the Now.”177 In other words, the sublime values do not wait for the time of realization in the future, rather, every “Now” is a propitious time for their realization. Despite Buber’s polemical tone, we can see a great deal that he and Benda have in common on fundamental matters. For example, they concur that the man of spirit is to serve spiritual values, and to prefer them to material interests.178 Moreover, Buber is willing to accept Benda’s criticism of fascism, and the latter’s grievance against those intellectuals who sold their souls to political interests. Buber’s critique, however, draws a conclusion vastly different from that of Benda: men of spirit should not remain in the realm of the spirit, but should engage in critical activism against ideologies that further hatred and war, and should take a firm stand in the promotion of peace. As Buber puts it: The betrayal of the intellectuals cannot be atoned for by the intellect’s retreating into itself, but only by its proffering to reality true service in place of false.179 Men of spirit who formulate their moral critique in a theoretical and universal manner, following the path that Benda finds praiseworthy, do not satisfy Buber. He wants the man of spirit to consider and formulate his critique of events concretely. Buber maintains that, specifically in light of what he sees as the predilection of intellectuals to act on behalf of false ideologies, men of spirit must seek the realization of universal truth, within the very heart of the workings of history. In opposition to Benda’s characterization of all political activity by intellectuals in the real world as undesirable, Buber drew a distinction between improper political involvement, and that which is essential and necessary, that is, between negative racist/identitarian politics that furthers war and competition and positive politics that advances a vision of peace among societies and peoples. Additionally, Buber saw a dangerous error in Benda’s stance, maintaining that the intellectual’s retreat to the ivory tower assumes that morality and politics are disparate realms, which leaves reality bereft of spirit.180 For Buber, 177 Buber, “If Not Now,” 106. 178 Benda, Betrayal, 57. 179 Buber, “If Not Now,” 102–3. 180 This separation of realms was the goal of most schools of post-Platonic Greek philosophy. On the connection in Buber’s writings between theology, ethics, and philosophy – a connection which

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refraining from taking a position means abandoning the world to false and cynical ideologies, which can result in a loss of faith in a truth “over and above parties, above those who wield and are greedy for power.”181 Buber demands that men of spirit are active in contemporary issues: No matter how brilliant it may be, the human intellect which wishes to keep to a plane above the events of the day is not really alive. It can become fruitful, beget life, and live only when it enters into the events of the day.182 Buber’s sets the dialogical challenge before man in three realms: between man and his fellow, between man and nature, and between man and what Buber calls “spiritual beings.” In I and Thou, Buber speaks of the encounter with these three possible spheres: Three are the spheres in which the world of relation arises. The first: life with nature [ . . . ] The second: life with men [ . . . ] The third: life with spiritual beings.183 Buber asserts that monological retreat creates alienation from this purpose, and that this estrangement constitutes a grave, and misleading, error.184 A person shutting himself away from the world and concentrating on his “spiritual” (i.e., intellectual) self or, alternately, in the theological realm, diligently seeking personal redemption, completely misses the goal of the spirit, since, Buber believes, “you should not be occupied with yourself but with the world.”185 Buber, however, concedes that occasional seclusion for contemplation is a useful tool for self-correction, and from time to time it is necessary to distance oneself from the public. Buber also is cognizant that a person does not have the ability entirely to mend the world but he must first find his way from the casual, accessory elements of his existence to his own self; he must find his own self, not the trivial ego of the egotistic individual, but the deeper self of the person living in a relationship to the world.186 underlies the entire current article – see also Shalom Ratzabi, “‫ציונות כתיאופוליטיקה ואי־טבעיותה‬ ‫ הערות להגותו הלאומית של מרדכי מרטין בובר ומקורותיה‬:‫של הלאומיות היהודית‬,” Iyunim Bitkumat Israel: Studies in Zionism, the Yishuv and the State of Israel 14 (2004): 97–129. 181 Buber, “If Not Now,” 102. 182 Buber, “If Not Now,” 103. 183 Buber, I and Thou, 56–57. See in this regard the extensive discussion in Schapira, ‫הרוח במציאות‬, 177–83. 184 See Koren, Mystery of the Earth, 300–301. 185 Buber, Way of Man, 35. 186 Buber, Way of Man, 32–33.

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Withdrawal from society and seclusion, however, are merely a condition for self-correction, allowing the individual to later return to the world’s affairs. Withdrawal is not a goal in its own right: as Buber explains, if a person seeks self-rectification, it is necessary “to begin with oneself. To begin with oneself, but not to end with oneself; to start from oneself, but not to aim at oneself.”187 From the aspect of religion, Buber identifies retreat from the world for its own sake with the sin of egocentrism, even if done as a religious act. He cites the following Hasidic dictum attributed to the Baal Shem Tov: Each man is called to bring something into the world toward its completion. Each one is needed by the world. But there are people who always sit and learn, shut in their room, and who do not go out of the house to talk with other people; for this reason they are called bad people. For if they talked with others, they would bring something of that which was appointed for them to completion. This is what, ‘do not consider yourself wicked’ [)‫ י״ג‬,‫ ]ואל תהי רשע בפני עצמך (משנה אבות ב‬means: you should not spend your time sitting alone with yourself and not going out among the people; be not bad through loneliness.188 The danger of the technique of seclusion is that it leads a person to an illusion of purification and the sense of sublime “spiritual” delight that can accompany this process. Buber, however, warns against such a temptation, which he claims is addictive: True, each is to know themself, purify themself, perfect themself, but not for their own sake – neither for the sake of their temporal happiness nor for that of their eternal bliss – but for the sake of the work which they are destined to perform upon the world of the Holy One, blessed be He. We are commanded to disregard ourselves and consider the world.189 In contrast to the Christian position that underlies the institution of monasticism, Buber viewed seclusion as an end in itself as monological, without real influence to correct or change the world. He accordingly attacked the two monological possibilities (a person shutting himself away from the world and concentrating on his intellectual self; or seeking personal redemption). Just as he opposed Plato’s totalitarian model of the forced imposition of the spirit, he similarly opposed the intellectual’s isolation in Benda’s “cloisters of pure spirit.” Benda’s narrow (for Buber) interpretation of the intellectual’s responsibility as the bearer of the banner of universal, eternal values, is vastly removed from 187 Buber, Way of Man, 35. 188 Buber, “Spirit and Body,” 86. 189 Translation taken mainly from Buber, Way of Man, 37.

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Buber’s concept of the man of spirit and his role in society. The “betrayal of the intellectuals,” for Buber, means denial – in the name of ideals and values – of a reality that demands concern and response; it ignores the tension between the absolute moral imperative and the flawed world, as well as the possibility of influencing this world, even to a limited degree.190 The responsibility that Buber places on the intellectual differs, then, from that of Benda in two cardinal points: 1. Buber, unlike Benda, expects that the man of spirit who aspires to realize in his life the ideal of an exalted moral life will be involved in the life of the public (the “descent of the tzaddik” model). Here, we should recall, once again, that when Buber speaks of “morality,” he differs from Benda. As we have shown, for Buber, moral truths are never perfect, static, and eternal in the Platonic sense, in the sense that they can be fully apprehended by the intellect. Intellectual cognition is insufficient, since it does not exceed the bounds of the self and remains closed within itself. In other words, it is – monologically – sealed within itself. Buber’s moral truths are revealed to a person partially, step after step, with moderation and humility, to the degree that the individual is willing to leave his egocentric focus and open up to a life of dialogue.191 This observation is also relevant for more current views. The contemporary sociologist Patrick Baert, for example, examines the role of the intellectual in society, and suggests, in the spirit of Richard Rorty, that the intellectual should have a more modest place than did the intellectual in the past. Baert maintains that the intellectual’s ability to mend society is limited to offering alternative sociopolitical scenarios, while avoiding looking down upon the public that he addresses by presenting what he thinks is “normative.” The same can then be said of Baert as of Buber: Buber does not speak of morality or of correcting society as a sociologist (in a monological way), but as a believer, who seeks to cleave to God (in a dialogical way).192 190 See Paul Mendes-Flohr’s Introduction to Land of Two Peoples, 20. 191 See Kosman, “‫מבוא‬,” 168–69n19. 192 For Baert’s approach to the role of the intellectual, see, e.g., Peter Baert, “Why Study the Social,” in Pragmatism and European Social Theory, ed. Patrick Braent and Bryan S. Turner (Oxford: Blackwell, 2007), 45–68; Peter Baert, “The Philosopher as Public Intellectual,” in Public Intellectuals in the Global Arena: Professors or Pundits?, ed. Michael C. Desch (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2016), 163–81. See also on this issue, from a perspective not shared by Buber: Arthur M. Melzer, Jerry Weinberger, and M. Richard Zinman, eds., The Public Intellectual: Between Philosophy and Politics (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 2003); Amitai Etzioni and Alyssa Bowditch, eds., Public Intellectuals: An Endangered Species (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 2006); Ivo De Gennaro and Hans-Christian Gunther, eds., Artists and Intellectuals and the Requests of Power (Leiden: Brill, 2009); Truth to Power: Public Intellectuals in and out of

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2. The involvement that Buber demands of the intellectual, in the end, will also elevate the public with whom he comes into contact, toward rectification and repentance. This responsibility stands against Benda’s seclusion of the man of spirit, on the one hand, and on the other, it also is opposed to the Platonic authority that seeks to impose spirit on the public. Buber writes on this point: The guide of the nation is called one who knows these two: eternal truth and the temporal reality. This is the man who weighs these two evenly and teaches the people to know both: the truth from its sublime starting point and the reality in its acute contrasts, and teaches it to measure one by the other.193 Thus, as explained above, the man of spirit fulfills his mission by way of personal example.194 Like the ancient prophets, he teaches with words of rebuke and solace, infusing his listeners’ hearts with the values of the spirit. 3. Finally, while Benda viewed nationalism to be the root of the problems of his time, and regarded every type of nationalism as ultranationalism, Buber distinguished between good and bad nationalism. For Buber, nationalism – and especially Zionism, as a nationalism whose historical-spiritual development differs from those of the European nations, and whose roots Buber finds in the Bible and in the relationship between God and His people – plays an important role within the universalist ethos that advances peace and equality among nations.195 In this spirit Buber writes about the mission of the peoples of the world, and the contribution of Israel to humankind: Academe, ed. Silvia Nagy-Zekm and Karyn L. Hollis (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Pub., 2010); Reflections on Crisis: The Role of the Public Intellectual, ed. Mary P. Corcoran and Kevin Lalor (Dublin: Royal Irish Academy, 2012); The New Public Intellectual: Politics, Theory, and the Public Sphere, ed. Jeffrey R. Di Leo and Peter Hitchcock (New York: Palgrave Macmillan US, 2016). 193 “‫מתוך נאום־אזכרה לאחד העם‬,” ‫תעודה‬, vol. 2, 243. See also Akibah Ernst Simon, “‫מחנך העם‬,” in ‫מרדכי‬ ‫מרטין בובר במבחן הזמן‬, ed. Kalman Yaron and Paul Mendes-Flohr (Jerusalem: Hebrew University Magnes Press, 1992), 63–69. 194 Martin Buber, “The Education of Character,” in Between Man and Man, 125. 195 See Buber’s explanation in his essay “Learning and Education,” in Israel and the World, 153–54 (first published, in Hebrew, in 1940; first English version, in a different translation: “National and Pioneer Education,” Jewish Frontier 8 [1941], March, 39–43); see also Buber on two types of nationalism in “‫ ”להכרת הרעיון הלאומי‬and “‫( ”לתולדות הרעיון הלאומי‬both originally published, in Hebrew, in 1949; reprinted in ‫[ תעודה ויעוד‬Jerusalem: Ha-Sifriyah ha-Zionit, 1984], vol. 2, 196–207, 208–10, respectively). See also Shalom Ratzabi, “‫ לאום ויהדות בהגותם הלאומית של מ״מ‬,‫גזע‬ ‫בובר וזאב ז׳בוטינסקי‬,” in ‫ מסות ומחקרים על זאב ז׳בוטינסקי‬:‫איש בסער‬, ed. Avi Bareli, Pinhas Ginossar (Sede Boqer: Ben-Gurion Institute for the Study of Israel and Zionism, 2004), 121–57. On Buber’s view of nationalism, see Avraham Shapira, “‫למקורות תפיסתו הלאומית של מרטין בובר ברומנטיקה‬

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A people does not exist for its own sake, [ . . . ] its historic mission is to act upon its fellow nations in accordance with the task it assumed, that of “being a blessing.” The nation’s own destiny depends on whether it devotes itself to this task. National egoism may seem to result in success, but in the end it must lead to catastrophe.196

SUMMATION: THE RELEVANCE OF THE DIALOGICAL MAN OF SPIRIT MODEL FOR THE CONTEMPORARY MAN OF SPIRIT 1. According to Buber, if modern man aspires to act for tikkun olam, then he must draw the inspiration for this from the prophet of Israel, and not from the philosopher of Plato: But for the transformation of the social reality he [i.e., the contemporary social thinker] intends what is decisive. This is no Platonic task, no erection of a universally valid image of perfection; it is the prophetic task of criticism and demand within the present situation.197 Social change, for Buber, cannot come from within a moralistic doctrine. Such a monological position might lead the philosopher to involvement in the world with a patronizing and totalitarian attitude in the spirit of Plato, or could result in total detachment from worldly life in Benda’s ivory tower. 2. Regarding the dogmatism of the men of spirit (whom Buber calls elsewhere “men of principles”), he writes that they draw their conclusions concerning reality from within a conceptual-moral system, while disregarding the circumstances and demands of the hour: They come in the name of general postulates that determine what is just and what not, and they draw conclusions from these postulates on the situation and the hour. They do not reexamine each and every day what

‫הגרמנית‬,” Zionism 15 (1990): 77–106, and Yemima Hadad, “Hasidic Myth-Activism: Martin Buber’s Theopolitical Revision of Volkish Nationalism,” Religions 10,2,96, (2019): 1–33. 196 Martin Buber, “On National Education,” 153–54. Incidentally, for a conceptual and sociological analysis of the question of the Jewish intellectual’s contribution to general culture, see Paul Mendes-Flohr, “The Study of the Jewish Intellectual: Some Methodological Proposals,” in Essays in Modern Jewish History: A Tribute to Ben Halpern, ed. Frances Malino and Phyllis Cohen Albert (Rutherford, NJ: Herzl Press, 1982), 141–72. 197 Buber, “Demand of the Spirit,” 190.

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can be realized under the conditions of that day, without harming the life of the nation.198 Buber insists that the man of spirit has a “conscience which is not to be distorted,” along with “a faithful gaze into reality.”199 He requires that the man of spirit – like the prophet or the tzaddik – mediates between heaven and reality, even if, as a result, the moral act that he will be compelled to advance will be relative (dependent on historical circumstances), and not absolute and ultimate.200 3. Buber’s dialogical man of spirit does not aim to realize the principles of morality and the spirit absolutely. The prophet or the tzaddik could certainly have presented the people with the highest demands, but they did not do so, since they are aware they can only strive for perfection. The man of spirit waives his hopes for perfect realization, because he understands that his mission is not purely a matter of conscience (which Buber would find to be monological); his calling is on behalf of the public (and is performed in a dialogical spirit). 4. The man of spirit’s responsibility exceeds the bounds of his response to historical events. His responsibility does not end with a response to the reality, it rather assists in constituting it. The question that the dialogical man of spirit must ask himself is therefore not whether and how he is to react to some event or other. Rather: [ . . . ] the social thinker who understands his office must ever again pose the question: How can the spirit influence the transformation of social reality?201 An important component of the man of spirit’s task is assessing the social reality in light of the people’s power to decide (the people with whom he is in dialogical relation) and also assessing the ways in which the spirit can influence the public at a given historical moment. For Buber, the man of spirit’s ability to change reality always begins with self-change – with the effort to change oneself from a monological person who is obtuse to the other to a dialogical individual who is open to the other. The spirit cannot possibly influence the reality without a dialogical relation between the man of spirit and the public, and this relation with the public can come

198 Martin Buber, “‫במקום‬,” in ‫תעודה‬, vol. 2, 320. 199 Buber, “‫במקום‬,” 320. 200 Buber sees the dividing line as a principle that enables us to take the correct moral decision for any given time. For the dividing line in Buber’s thought, see Simon, ‫קו התיחום‬, 72. 201 Buber, “Demand of the Spirit,” 182.

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into existence only after the person himself sincerely aspires to self-change that will open him to the other. Such effort, obviously, is to a certain degree in the hands of man; however, we should always recall that Buber, as a believer, saw choice and divine grace as intertwined in a manner that human intellect cannot decipher: It is senseless to ask how far my action reaches, and where God’s grace begins; there is no common border-line; what concerns me alone, before I bring something about, is my action, and what concerns me alone, when the action is successfully done, is God’s grace. The one is no less real than the other, and neither is a partial cause. God and man do not divide the government of the world between them; man’s action is enclosed in God’s action, but it is still real action.202 5. According to Buber, the monological man of spirit cannot possibly yield any real social change, since for him the realms of spirit and reality are separate from one another. Buber contrasts this with the model of the man of spirit, whose involvement in worldly life follows the Hasidic model of the “descent of the tzaddik.” The man of spirit addresses the people, and not only in rebuke. His bond with the people resembles that of the Hasidic tzaddik with his congregation. This man of spirit must live his life in relation to the people, and must descend from his spiritual level, even if this is not in his best interests, and even if at times he feels the deep sense of revulsion typical of the refined soul. He must emphatically feel in his innermost being the tribulations, fears, and afflictions of the community with which he has a common life. Thus, for the man of spirit to influence his environment, he must establish a “Thou” relation with it, so that the members of the community can ascend together with him. Unlike Benda’s man of spirit/recluse or Plato’s ruler, the dialogical man of spirit stands among his people, with no power and no authority. He is with them “in distress” (Ps 91:15).

202 See Buber, “Spinoza,” 110. See also Kosman, “‫הערות וביאורים‬,” 519–24; Kosman, “‫מבוא‬,” 206–7.

Leo Baeck’s “Individuum Ineffabile” Introduced by David Ellenson and Paul Mendes-Flohr Rabbi Leo Baeck (1873–1956) has long been recognized as a man of extraordinary achievement.1 The last head of Hochschule für die Wissenschaft des Judentums, the Liberal rabbinical seminary that continued until 1942 to ordain rabbis for a European Jewish community on the eve of destruction, Baeck, a scholar, philosopher, and theologian, also served as head of the German Jewish community during the darkest years of Nazi rule. Though Baeck had many critics, his prominence and the respect he garnered from every sector of German Jewry cannot be gainsaid. As his biographer, translator, and student Albert H. Friedlander observed, “The leaders of a community, more often than not, are chosen for the success they have obtained in the market place, for the so-called ‘practicality’ that men can understand.” However, when the German Jewish community was called upon to choose its leader during the horrific Hitler years, “They chose their greatest rabbi. They felt that this time of need required a man who drew his full strength out of his living belief in God, out of his impassioned love for the Jewish people.”2

Leo Baeck refused numerous offers that would have allowed him to escape Germany prior to World War II. Instead, he remained with his people and in 1943 was imprisoned at Terezin along with four of his sisters. He survived, although his sisters perished there. Baeck would not leave Germany while the war still raged and the Jews remained the objects of persecution and murder. Baeck did permit himself to travel to London several times during the late 1930s to accompany German-Jewish youngsters, via Kindertransport, to safety in England. An anecdote related by Rabbi Samuel Atlas captures Baeck’s moral fiber and helps underscore why so many had love for him. Atlas, who hailed from the world of the Lithuanian yeshiva and was brought to the United States to join the faculty of Hebrew Union College in 1940, offered this anecdote in



1 As we wrote this introduction, Rabbi Leo Baeck: Living a Religious Imperative in Troubled Times (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2020), by Michael A. Meyer, had just appeared. This work constitutes the authoritative academic portrait and analysis of Baeck and his life. 2 This observation is taken from Leo Baeck, This People Israel: The Meaning of Jewish Existence, translated and with an introductory essay by Albert H. Friedlander (New York, Chicago, and San Francisco: Holt, Reinhart, and Winston, Union of American Hebrew Congregations, 1964), xii–xiii.

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a tribute in memory of his boyhood friend, Rabbi Yehiel Yaakov Weinberg, last head of the Rabbinerseminar zu Berlin prior to its closure by the Nazis in 1938. Atlas, living in London in 1938, visited Baeck while the German rabbi was in Britain. He asked Baeck to persuade Weinberg to leave Germany in a timely manner, “even though Baeck stated that he himself could not leave Germany.” Atlas observed that Baeck maintained that at “a time of distress like this even a larger responsibility fell upon him as head of Jewish Council of Germany,” and that he could not leave his people. Atlas concluded, “Such was the manner of Baeck, that he was demanding of himself and lenient to others.”3 Baeck’s character is perhaps best captured by his student, the GermanJewish refugee, intellectual historian, and HUC Professor Fritz Bamberger, in the inaugural lecture of the Leo Baeck Institute which he delivered in 1958: “Leo Baeck: The Man and the Idea.” In that lecture, Bamberger stated, “Leo Baeck, the man, was many things – rabbi, teacher, scholar, author, a leader of his people, and a great voice of humanity. He considered himself, first and foremost, a rabbi. And being a rabbi was to him not a profession, a job though concededly an elevated and meritorious job that one picks, but a vocation, a call which one answers.”4 Baeck, after his liberation from Terezin, lived in London for the remainder of his life, although, in 1949, he came to Hebrew Union College in Cincinnati, where, as Efroymson Visiting Professor in Theology, he instructed a new generation of American rabbinical students. While Baeck was a rigorous and demanding professor, it was his menschlichkeit that often left the most lasting impression upon his students. Eugene Borowitz once recalled, in an introduction to a lecture on Baeck in his class on modern Jewish thought at HUC-JIR during the 1970s, that during his student years Baeck lived with the students in the Cincinnati dormitory. Once, as Borowitz was leaving his room, he noticed that Baeck remained standing by the door at the end of their shared corridor. As Borowitz leisurely strolled up the hall, it dawned on him that Baeck was waiting for him to arrive so he could hold the door open for him. Borowitz said that he could never think of Baeck without remembering this act of thoughtfulness. Albert Friedlander, who would one day lead the Leo Baeck Rabbinical College in London, was another student who studied with Baeck at HUC. Friedlander, at the end of his introduction to his translation of Baeck’s This People Israel, writes: “The memory of a winter morning lingers with me, when

3 Samuel Atlas, “The Gaon, Rabbi Yehiel Yaakov Weinberg,” Sinai 58 (5726) [Hebrew]: 286–87. 4 Fritz Bamberger, “Leo Baeck: The Man and the Idea,” The Leo Baeck Memorial Lecture 1 (New York: Leo Baeck Institute, 1958), 1.

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Dr. Baeck and I walked through the snow-covered woods surrounding the Hebrew Union College. Dr. Baeck was in a communicative mood that morning, and spoke with a fervor and intensity on many topics. At one point, his thoughts turned to the lives of those German-Jewish children who had found a refuge in America.”5 Friedlander, himself brought as an eight-year-old boy from Germany to Mississippi, reported that Baeck then said to him, “There is a special obligation for that generation to transmit the greatness of European Jewry’s culture to America.” Baeck, in offering this charge, felt that the richness of the European heritage, blended with the dynamism of the American community, might well recreate what the forces of darkness had destroyed. And he expressed his hope and confidence for the future. “In completing this labor of love, I do not discharge the obligation placed upon me, but I begin to fulfill it.”6 The Hebrew Union College Annual consciously fulfills the charge Baeck delivered to Friedlander almost seventy-five years ago by making the “richness of the European heritage” available to an American audience through the publication of this translation by Gabriel E. Padawer, HUC alumnus Bernard H. Mehlman, and Alisa Rethy of Baeck’s “Individuum Ineffabile.” The lecture was delivered at the 1947 Eranos Conference in Ascona, Switzerland. Eranos, established by the Dutch spiritualist Olga Froebe Kapteyn at the suggestion of Rudolf Otto in 1933, was dedicated to promoting discussion in the humanities and religious studies as well as the natural sciences, and renowned figures in these disciplines continue to lecture at Eranos to the present day. Preeminent scholars of religion who have spoken at Eranos include Mircea Eliade, Henry Corbin, and Joseph Campbell, as well as – in addition to Baeck – Gershom Scholem and Martin Buber. The origins of “Individuum Ineffabile” reach back to a meeting between Rabbi Baeck and Carl Jung in October 1946 at Zurich’s Hotel Savoy Baur en Ville. Recently released from Terezin, Baeck came to Switzerland on his mission to restore the remnants of European Jewish communities. Apprised of Baeck’s presence in Zurich, Jung extended him an invitation to meet, which Baeck resolutely ignored. Although he had personally known and admired Jung before the war, he would have nothing to do with the former Nazi sympathizer. After all, as Michael Meyer has observed, in the immediate weeks and months after of the War in 1945, “Baeck held the entire German nation responsible for what had happened to the Jews,” especially “intellectuals [like Jung] who were so ready to render obedience to the [Nazi] regime.”7

5 Baeck, This People Israel, xxii. 6 Ibid. 7 Meyer, Rabbi Leo Baeck, 168.

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At the same time, Meyer also reports that “Baeck had a degree of appreciation for the pressure that the Nazi regime had placed on individuals.”8 Thus, while Baeck initially rebuffed Jung, Jung persisted and went to Baeck’s hotel where he pled with Baeck to hear him out as he explained that he was neither an antisemite nor a genuine supporter of Hitler’s diabolic policies. They conferred for two hours, and while Baeck remained somewhat skeptical of Jung and his apology for his deeds during the 1930s, he did regard Jung as “repentant” and the “relationship between the two men [which was first established in the 1920s] was restored.”9 The only record we have of the conversation between Jung and Baeck is contained in a letter by Gershom Scholem written to Jung’s secretary Aniela Jaffé (1903–1991). The relationship between Baeck and Scholem after World War II was a strong one. Baeck, Scholem, and the famed historian Salo Baron of Columbia University were members of a committee to determine how Jewish books and cultural assets impounded by the Nazis were to be distributed among American, Israeli, and English Jewish institutions. The closeness of the relationship between Baeck and Scholem was such that Baeck visited Scholem when he came to Israel in 1947 and, when Baeck returned to Israel in 1951, Scholem not only welcomed him at the airport but hosted him in his home and at the Passover seder. When Baeck was preparing to leave Israel, Scholem even held a farewell party in his home.10 Indeed, the esteem Scholem had for Baeck remained constant for the remainder of his life. A decade later, when Hannah Arendt, borrowing an appellation coined by Dieter Wisliceny, an assistant to Eichmann, referred mockingly to Baeck as “the Jewish Führer” in the hardback edition of Eichmann in Jerusalem,11 Scholem, in a letter to Arendt, objected to the “sneering and malicious tone” Arendt had taken towards Baeck and other Jewish and Zionist leaders in her book.12 Jaffé learned that Baeck had discussed the meeting he had with Jung with Scholem in Jerusalem shortly after that encounter had taken place. She knew that this Zurich meeting had led Baeck to accept Jung’s invitation to lecture at the Eranos Conference that Jung had organized. It was there Baeck delivered the lecture, “Individuum Ineffabile.”13 8 Ibid. 9 Ibid., 168–69. 10 Ibid., 177, 194. 11 Hannah Arendt, Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil (New York: Viking Press, 1963), 118. When Arendt published the second edition of the book in 1964, she removed this description of Baeck. 12 Gershom Scholem, “Letter to Hannah Arendt,” in his On Jews and Judaism in Crisis (New York: Schocken, 1976), 302. 13 Leo Baeck, “Individuum Ineffabile,” Eranos Jahrbuch XV (1947), (Zürich: Rhein-Verlag, 1948), 385–436.

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Jaffé, who was then preparing a volume on Jung, wrote Scholem to solicit his recollection of the discussion he had with Baeck about the meeting with Jung. In a letter, dated May 7, 1963, Scholem duly shared with Jaffé his recollection of Baeck’s account.14 Dear Mrs. Jaffé, As you are so interested in the story of Baeck and Jung, I will write it down for your benefit and [I have] no objection to being cited by you in this matter. In the summer of 1947 Leo Baeck was in Jerusalem. I had then just received for the first time an invitation to the Eranos meeting in Ascona, evidently at Jung’s suggestion, and I asked Baeck whether I should accept it, as I had heard and read many protests about Jung’s behavior in the Nazi period. Baeck said: “You must go, absolutely!,” and in the course of our conversation he told me the following story. He too had been put off by Jung’s reputation resulting from those well-known articles in the years 1933–34, precisely because he knew Jung very well from the Darmstadt meetings of the Society of Wisdom and would never have credited him with any Nazi and antisemitic sentiments. When, after his release from Theresienstadt, he returned to Switzerland for the first time (I think it was 1946), he therefore did not call on Jung in Zurich. But it came to Jung’s ears that he was in the city and Jung sent a message begging him to visit him, which he, Baeck, declined because of those happenings. Whereupon Jung came to his hotel and they had an extremely lively talk lasting two hours, during which Baeck reproached him with all the things he had heard. Jung defended himself by an appeal to the special conditions in Germany but at the same time confessed to him: “Well, I slipped up,”15 probably referring to the Nazis and his expectation that something great might after all emerge. This remark, “I slipped up,” which Baeck repeated to me several times, remains vividly in memory. Baeck said that in his talk they cleared up everything that had come between them and that they parted 14 Aneila Jaffé, From the Life and Work of C. G. Jung, trans. R. F. C.Hull (Einsiedeld: Damon Verlag, 1989), 100; cited in the Introduction to Murray Stein and Henry Abramovitch, The Analyst and the Rabbi – A Play (Asheville, NC: Chrion Publications, 2019), 7–9. The Jaffe volume appears in the original German as: Aneila Jaffé, Aus Leben und Werkstatt von C. G. Jung: Parapsychologie, Alchemie, Nationalsozialismus, Erinnerungen aus den letzten Jahren (Zurich: Rascher Verlag, 1968.) 15 The German has “Ich bin ausgerutscht,” which Abramovitch and Stein observe carries a meaning that is flattened by rendering it “I slipped up.” So translated, “it makes [Jung’s] apology sound rather flippant and unconvincing. In German, it sounds more serious and could be translated instead as ‘I slipped off the path,” which in the Swiss Alps is significant indeed. It is this translation we used in the play. Otherwise, it would not be credible that Baeck would have taken Jung’s apology seriously.” Introduction to Murray Stein and Henry Abramovitch, The Analyst and the Rabbi, 9.

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from one another reconciled again. Because of this explanation of Baeck’s I accepted the invitation to Eranos when it came a second time.16 Yours sincerely, G. Scholem “Individuum Ineffabile” constitutes a significant marker in the consistent yet evolving quality of Baeck’s faith over the course of his lifetime. Baeck had first catapulted to intellectual-religious attention on the German Jewish theological scene in 1901 when he penned a major review of Das Wesen des Christentums (The Essence of Christianity) by Adolf von Harnack in the Monatsschrift für Geschichte und Wissenschaft des Judentums.17 Harnack, in Baeck’s opinion, repeated a classical Christian trope that Jesus and the purity of his thought constituted a decisive break with the excessive legal casuistry of Pharisaic Judaism. He had argued that Christianity’s emphasis on ethical action was unique. Baeck disagreed. Instead, he insisted that classical biblical and rabbinic Judaism had always identified the Jewish people as a “light unto the nations” who bore a mission of bringing morality to the entire world. Baeck charged Harnack with distorting history in his failure to acknowledge that Judaism always had the ethical deed at its core. Four years later in 1905, Baeck developed his argument more fully with the publication of Das Wesen des Judentums (The Essence of Judaism). He contrasted Judaism as the “classical religion of the act” with Christianity as the “romantic religion of emotion.” As the title itself indicates, Hegelian philosophy with its emphasis on an essentialist ideal that stood at the heart of religion and which revealed itself in the course of history had a pronounced influence in the description Baeck offered of Judaism in this work. The idealism of German neo-Kantianism as expressed in the thought of the preeminent GermanJewish philosopher of the day, Hermann Cohen, also played a decisive role in prompting Baeck to define Judaism as a dynamic religion which evidenced the ongoing human response to an ethical “Ought.” The first edition of The Essence of Judaism was a thin volume that drew largely upon philosophical, rather than Jewish, sources for its exposition of Jewish religion. After his service as a military Chaplain in the German army during World War I, Baeck elected, in 1922, to write a second edition of The Essence of Judaism. This edition, as opposed to the first one, was indisputably a Jewish book. The work was more than doubled in length. While the essentialist emphasis upon the ethical character of Judaism remained, this edition buttressed that claim through the citation of countless biblical and rabbinic sources. 16 Scholem, “Zur Entwicklungsgeschichte der kabbalistischen Konzeption der Schechinah,” Eranos Jahrbuch 21 (1952): 45–107. 17 See the description of this review in Friedlander, Leo Baeck, 58ff.

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Equally if not even more significant was a new theological theme that found expression in the 1922 work. Here, in the second edition of The Essence, he asserted that “the essence of Judaism” was informed by a dialectical interplay between the twin poles upon which Jewish faith was constructed: “mystery and commandment.” These themes that found expression in the book were paralleled in a major lecture, “Geheimnis und Gebot,” where Baeck also spoke of Judaism as a “religion of polarity” tied to the anchors of mystery and commandment. While this emphasis upon “mystery” represented a novel and expanded dimension of his thought, Baeck maintained his lifelong emphasis upon the ethical deed as contained in the “commandment” as ongoing and central.18 Almost a quarter century later, in the aftermath of the Holocaust, Baeck took his thinking in yet another direction. In This People Israel: The Meaning of Jewish Existence, written principally in the concentration camp of Theresienstadt and published in German as Dieses Volk: Jüdische Existenz, Baeck abandoned the philosophical trope of “essence” that had informed The Essence of Judaism, emphasizing instead the lived reality of the relationship between God and the people Israel that was present throughout the generations. This emphasis upon peoplehood displayed a distinct turn in Baeck’s thought, and This People Israel served as a watermark for modern Jewish thought generally as Jewish theologians began to focus increasingly upon the existence of the people Israel in their post-Holocaust theological writings. “Individuum Ineffabile” can best be understood as signaling new emphases in Baeck’s thought within the framework of the transformed intellectual-historical context of a post-war Europe. The themes Baeck expressed in this 1947 lecture foreshadowed and informed his thought in This People Israel just as the concepts of mystery and commandment in his 1922 lecture paralleled and found expression in the arguments put forth in the second edition of The Essence of Judaism. “Individuum Ineffabile” itself constitutes a remarkable affirmation of the human spirit delivered in the dark aftermath of the Holocaust. Speaking in the shadows of a European Jewish world that lay in ruin, Baeck could understandably have expressed a pessimism that abandoned faith in both God and humanity. However, he rejected such positions and, in “Individuum Infallible,” displayed an unshakeable confidence in the capacity of people to affirm divine revelation and its imperatives in the human situation. In so doing, Baeck expressed a quality of compassion and confidence that even the tragedy of the Shoah could not shake. 18 The Baeck lecture, entitled “Geheimnis und Gebot,” was published in Der Leuchter: Weltanschauung und Lebensgestaltung. Jahrbuch der Schule der Weisheit, ed. Count H. Keyserling, vol. 3 (Darmstadt 1921–22).

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Introduced by David Ellenson and Paul Mendes-Flohr

In his lecture, Baeck posited God as creator and giver of the moral law and the source of human individuality. Drawing on the famous passage in Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:5,19 Baeck declared, “Human beings mint identical coins using one and the same die. In contrast, each of God’s creatures – the ‘coins’ minted by the One God – is struck from a different and ever new and unique die.” Baeck then asserted, “All of creation . . . is unique” (p. 272). Protesting the depravity to which the Nazis had subjected him and millions of others, Baeck insisted that the individual could not be reduced to a number. Instead, Baeck proclaimed a faith that each person is unique, and that God calls each man and woman to choose their own path in life. Towards the end of the first section of his lecture, Baeck concluded that “individuality implies not only existence but also task and goal . . . Existence is not only something to be asserted, it is also something to be fulfilled [through the performance of the moral law]” (p. 280). In the second part of his essay, Baeck maintained that “the human world begins anew” with the birth of each individual. Each person is singular. Nevertheless, birth involves “a paradox.” To be sure, each person “is sired by one father and borne of one mother,” but at the same time, “Every one of them is part of an ongoing continuation. . . . Thus, individuality also is supplemented by everything encompassed by the concept of heritage” (p. 287). Yet, despite the constraints of heredity, the human individual has the possibility of “rebirth.” All persons have the freedom to choose a direction that departs from the heritage bequeathed them. “One’s path and direction, if chosen in freedom, often run counter to one’s inheritance and represent, as such, a victory of individuality over inheritance.” Heritage provides a direction for each human being, but, owing to the freedom of human individuals to choose, they can be “reborn” to “a new way.” (p. 293). In articulating these stances, “Individuum Ineffabile” stands as a precursor to what Baeck wrote in This People Israel. This book, as stated above, engages the themes Baeck put forth in his Eranos lecture. At the end of This People Israel, Baeck focused on the themes of birth, heritage, and moral challenge. He contended that God assigns each life a task and asks each person to aid in the effort to forge community through response to the divine commandment. As Baeck phrased it there: Every generation by choosing its way, its present way, at the same time chooses an essential part of the future, the way of its children. . . . The way

19 The precise reading of the mishnah is, “For a human being stamps many coins with one stamp, and all of them are identical. But the King of Kings, the Holy One, blessed be He, has stamped a stamp of Adam the First, and nevertheless not one of them is like the other.”

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of the children . . . emanates from our way. [Yet], ways bind, wind, and wander. . . . Nevertheless, ever again a child is born; an individual, a promise of the image of God; the great miracle within humanity is reborn. With the birth of a human being the whole problem of humanity is raised anew. The great possibility, the message to humanity, the annunciation of the confidence that must never end, is brought anew into life through the child. . . . When people or peoples assume that they can fit history into a personally fixed pattern, they delude themselves. . . . An inheritance cannot be fabricated, let alone forced; it can only be assumed by a freedom that has the ability to build on it. . . . A man and a people are thus a question of God . . . When a man forms his life, he begins to create community. He is not only born into community as if by fate, but he has now been called to the task of molding it.20 The publication of this translation of “Individuum Ineffabile” appropriately honors the personal connection between Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion and Leo Baeck. This essay, written in the aftermath of the Shoah, and taken in concert with This People Israel, testifies to the undying religious-moral sensibility that marked Rabbi Leo Baeck. It provides the English-speaking world with a spiritual classic that celebrates the diginity of the human being and the enduring capacity of religious faith to provide hope even during the most vile era. “Individuum Ineffabile” is a needed message of optimism and faith in a world that is all-too-often justifiably cynical. The Jewish and academic worlds are indebted to Padawer, Mehlman, and Rethy for their translation.

20 Baeck, This People Israel, 394–400, passim.

Individuum Ineffabile1 Leo Baeck (1947) Translated by Gabriel E. Padawer and Bernard H. Mehlman with Alisa Rethy INDIVIDUALITY Individuality, the singularity of an existence – an existence that can be nothing other than itself, an existence which never was before and never will be again. To us humans on earth, at least, every living being manifests as individuality. We know of no way for life to present itself other than as individual existence. Whatever lives in the realm of our experience lives as individuality, lives by virtue of its individuality. Every living being reveals itself in a particular form, and individuality is synonymous with that form – synonymous with the form of life [Lebensform]. Life [Lebensform] begins where individuality is present. Life perpetuates when, in some way, another individuality – an individuality no less singular – emerges from the first. Life ceases where this individuality no longer exists. To use an admittedly rather trivial example: we have never seen a tree, we have only ever seen this individual pine or that individual beech. We must not let language lead us astray. The same could also be expressed this way: Existence, existential form as such, is a unity, a oneness, indivisible, a singularity that is prior to its parts and greater than their sum. No being exists as a result of the assembly of its parts; only the things built with tools owe their existence to such a process. Harmony exists by virtue of individuality, but individuality does not owe its existence to harmony, nor does it owe it to any parallelism, nor to any correspondence. Matter and force, body and spirit – the foundational concepts of Physics and Anthropology – are nothing more than provisional terms in the context of the world of our experience. They signify no living form, no living fact by themselves. They become a living fact only in the individual [individuum], only by virtue of the individual. They enter existential reality [Dasein] only through the oneness of the individual. In the individual they achieve reality, expression, and experiential meaning.

1 Bernard H. Mehlman and Gabriel E. Padawer dedicate this translation to the memory of their children, Marla Mehlman and Sukki Padawer.

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In our world, individuality is the given [das Gegebene], indeed the only given, the only reality, the sole a priori. Individuality belongs to all of existence; it is the way in which existence makes itself manifest. This encompasses far more than just the higher forms of life: individuality pertains to everything from the stars to the atoms, from the human to the crystal. The totality of existence, as far as we can see, presents itself to us as an infinitely varied, vast abundance of individuality. To a far-flung gaze from the furthest beyond, the view of a “Laplacian demon,” all of this existence would appear as a mighty milky way of individualities, of entities [Einheiten].2 Everything that exists is thus determined by its form of existence, by its individuality, by itself. It is a fact unto itself; it is equal to itself and to itself alone. It may be compared with others, it may be classified and grouped together with others through logic and language into broader, more general concepts; however, nothing other than its own self can explain it. It cannot be defined; it can only be. It is, what it is, as it is. As the old dictum states: individuum est ineffabile.3 The language of our religion approaches this fact as follows: each thing that lives is creation; its source, the source of its individuality, can be only in an act of creation, from the power of the creator. Or, to cite a passage from the Talmud: “ Human beings mint identical coins using one and the same die. In contrast, each of God’s creatures, the ‘coins’ minted by the One God, are struck from a different and ever new and unique die.”4 All of creation, and nothing but creation, is unique. This talmudic metaphor expresses the essence of the matter. It is individuality, it is uniqueness, that constitutes the decisive difference, the defining contrast between existence and fabrication, between the creature and the product. Creation means the creation of individuality, and nothing but the power of creation is able to bring individuality to life, to make it “fruitful,” to give it existence so that existence may emerge from it. This is the power of God, the God of creation: deus creator. The human characteristic is to employ tools: homo faber. Only when genius awakens in humans, when, as it were, the Creator speaks through them, then, what a human being is by virtue of his or her individuality achieves its full expression. Thus, the human being’s use of the tool is not primarily or solely behind the work of genius – rather, the



2 Pierre-Simon Laplace, (1749–1827); French mathematician and philosopher. 3 This dictum was used as early as Plato and Aristotle. It was also cited by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832) to the Swiss poet, Johann Kasper Lavater (1711–1801). See Dirk Kemper, Ineffabile, Goethe und die Individualitäts-problematik der Moderne (München:Wilhelm Fink Verlag), 2014. 4 See m. Sanhedrin 4:5.

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decisive role is played by individuality, by nothing other than that which a person uniquely possesses and may employ. Here, the power of creation, to a sometimes greater, sometimes lesser extent, enters a human being. Here, the human being’s creation in the image of God holds its truth. The recognition that all that exists exists as individuality, exists only because it is individuality, is only the beginning. Its full significance can only be grasped when another fact is recognized: in the world known to us there exists no individuality which is for itself alone, no “monad.” There is no such thing as an atom only for itself, or a star only for itself. Individuality, the form of life, exists only within the network, within the mold of a system. In our world we encounter concrete as well as abstract individuality as a design, a formation, a structure, that is, as a singularity in its totality, a oneness that is wholeness – as a system, a physical, chemical, astronomical, or biological system. Every advance in our understanding of the expanses and depths of nature consists in the identification of previously undiscovered systems. And indeed, whether we call it an individuality system or systematic individuality [das Individualitätssystem oder die Systemsindividualität], this is all that there is. Oneness exists only as wholeness. The recognition that each individuality only exists in the form of a system simultaneously articulates that each individuality exists by virtue of the fact and the dynamic – every fact of life is a dynamic – of a law. A system has reality if, and only if, there is a law, and a law has reality if and only if there is a system. A system is a system by virtue of a law and a law is a law by virtue of a system. Law – oneness [Einheit] – signifies continuity within discontinuity and system. Wholeness [Ganzheit] – points toward a discontinuity within continuity. The terms individuality, system, law, are only alternative names for this unity and totality, this oneness and wholeness which constitute the form in which all existence appears. System and law can be differentiated only on a conceptual level, just as both can only conceptually be separated from individuality. One could express this with the medieval idiom, Individua sunt universalia, universalia sunt individua.5 Here there is no primary or secondary, no before and no after. Where there is existence, there is individuality; where there is individuality, there is system; where there is system, there is law. Thus, individuality exists only within a system, oneness only as wholeness, and wholeness only by virtue of the law. Moreover, it is in the nature of wholeness to be total wholeness [Gesamtganzheit], in the nature of the system to be a total system [Gesamtsystem], and in the nature of law to have validity everywhere and always, to be all-encompassing, infinite, eternal. Therefore, the contemplation of individualities and systems always results in contemplating

5 Individuals are universal, the universal is individual.

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them as one, and leads to disparate concurrences coming together into a more comprehensive structure; all discontinuities merge again and again into an overarching continuity; each world is incorporated into a higher world – a world in which, perhaps, that which presents itself to us below as a mere abstraction or concept has an existence, a reality. This line of thinking finally compels us to see that all individualities, all systems, and all laws are a priori, with their oneness and wholeness derived from an ultimate or – as seen from their vantage point – original oneness and wholeness; an ultimate, original system; an ultimate, original law; an ultimate, original individuality; an ultimate, original continuity – a ἕν καὶ πᾶν 6 (the One that is All) in which every existence has its true existence, and each life form finds its elemental – and thus its total – form. This overall form presents itself as pantheism in the sphere of religion, and in metaphysics, as pancosmism in its various, sometimes theoretical, sometimes artistic guises. Pantheism, pancosmism – indeed, the two are distinguished only by a small syllable – has its validity, its significance, providing it is not seen as the final answer. Oftentimes it serves, perhaps necessarily, as a passageway, perhaps even a necessary one, to monotheism. Again, a passage in the Talmud, that oft-forgotten vault of ancient knowledge, elucidates what pantheism or pancosmism is, and what it lacks. The passage reads: “God is the place [maqom] for the world [‘olam] but the world is not God’s place.”7 However, this only partially captures the meaning of the passage, since the two repeated words, “place” and “world,” defy translation. The first word, the Hebrew “maqom,” usually translated as “place,” also signifies what we associate with “composition,” “existence,” and “the given.” The other word, “‘olam,” translated simply as “the world,” has the additional, and in fact original, meaning “eternity,” and refers to infinity in space as well as in time. One could perhaps best translate this sentence as, “ God, the One, is the existence of all infinity, but all infinity is not God’s existence.” That is, God gives the whole, gives infinity, its oneness, but infinity cannot give oneness to God: infinity is in God, but God is not in infinity. Pantheism and pancosmism only grasp the first half of the passage. Let us continue this line of inquiry in the realm of experience. On our planet, the fact of individuality and the fact of the system are attached to a third fact

6 This is apparently not an ancient Ancient Greek, but a German philosophical/aesthetic notion: the One that is All. Jacobi, quoting from memory what Lessing had replied after he had read Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s poem Prometheus to him, states: “Die orthodoxen Begriffe von der Gottheit sind nicht mehr für mich; ich kann sie nicht genießen. ‘ Έν καί πᾶν!” See Asko Nivala, “Friedrich Schlegel’s Early Romantic Notion of Religion in Relation to Two Presuppositions of the Enlightenment,” Approaching Religion, vol. 1, no. 2 (Dec. 2011): 33–45. 7 Midrash Bereshit Rabba, 68:9, ed. Theodor and Albeck, vol. 2 (Jerusalem: Wahrmann Books, 1965), 777–78.

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of existence: namely, that the whole of existence is marked by certain divisions, certain caesuras. There are forms of existence marked not only by their individual uniqueness but also by a defining difference. This difference, which only emerges at a certain point in existence, does not only appear here and there, but applies overall, dividing the forms of existence. A dualism appears. There is more: this dualism is marked not only by division but also by reciprocal interrelation. This relationality forms the character of individuality, of the system, and of the law. We do not merely have existence in itself, but rather relational existence, relational law, and relational systems. This relationality is alive and dynamic; it is a polarity, a tension. It is an attraction which repels and a repulsion which attracts. The counterposed forms of existence belong together; existence means existence in tension, and individuality is individuality in tension. Attraction and repulsion determine existence, determine individuality. Like system and the law, tension too belongs to the form of life, belongs to oneness and wholeness. The particular laws of polarity in the field of physics have their counterpart in the biological realm: the polarity of male and female. All of existence, every individuality – apart from the narrow domain where one existence may have properties of both – is consistently either male or female. There exist male or female individuals, father-individuals and mother-individuals: this polarity, this tension determines the form of existence. That which constitutes one individuality places it, at the same time, in relation and opposition to the other. In anthropological terms, it is here that fate, that determination, enters existence: the fate to be man or woman, the fate to be father or mother, this fatum, this destinatum originale. Individuality emerges as dualistic individuality, as fated individuality. Seen historically, every thought of fate is rooted in such a duality. Where, within the overall system, this division between male and female has its beginning, how far it reaches, whether, indeed, it does have a beginning at all or is, like individuality, the ultimate, original form of existence – these are questions that reach beyond the horizon of our experience, at least as of yet. In the centuries of Late Antiquity, anthropology readily leapt beyond that horizon, invoking cosmology to find the answers to these questions. This undertaking had two directions. One of these was the teaching of syzygy, the teaching that all cosmic forces are either masculine or feminine, which served to justify many ancient divine myths. Though this doctrine always remained alien and strange to Jewish thought – there is not even a Hebrew word for “goddess” – the teaching of syzygy still occasionally found its way into esoteric Hebrew texts. A passage from the Mishnah, the first part of the Talmud, provides the following advice: “ . . . one may not speak of syzygy in the company of three others; one may not speak of what preceded the creation of the world when two others are

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present; and of the world of vision, speak only with one other, on condition that he is wise, for whom a mere hint is sufficient.8 The alternative, anthropological teaching – which found its way into mystical thought on occasion, even into Jewish mysticism – held that the original existence of human beings was hermaphroditic and that the separation into male and female emerged only at a later stage of development.9 In the development of languages, gender differentiation gained special significance, as it did in the shaping of thought.10 The reason was that all shaping of language was always simultaneous with the shaping of thought, which in turn influenced the shaping of language. Over the course of history, one can observe how individual languages have assigned masculine or feminine gender to concepts, as well as where and when the flight into the neuter, into abstraction, may have occurred – often also indicating flight from the particularity of the individual. Here we see, once again, how language can both assist and beguile us. But let us continue, following the question of individuality further. It leads us once again to a caesura, which, in turn, indicates tension. This form of tension belongs, as far as we can tell, to the human realm alone. It is the human form of life, it is humanity´s attributum originale, so to speak. Here, a separate mode of life emerges and takes shape: spiritual life, the life of the soul. It is here that we encounter spiritual individuality, spiritual system, spiritual law, and spiritual relationality; the biological realm is now joined by the life of the psyche. The system, form, and law of existence, with its male-female tension, is hereby also always at the same time the system, form, and law of a spiritual tension. It is the tension that arises because awareness enters existence, enters individuality. This awareness is uniquely human. Individuals begin to engage with themselves as individuals; they begin to reflect upon themselves as individuals; they become self-aware. As beings who think about themseves – and, indeed, all thinking has its roots in thinking about the self – humans are for themselves and in themselves both subject and object. Individuality now is subject-object

8 m. Haggigah 2:1 and b. Haggigah 11b. 9 In his original German text Baeck used the simpler expression, “male and female in one” rather than androgynous or hermaphroditic. However, it seems to us that these words make his point more clearly. The rabbinic midrashim use these words explicitly in texts discussing the creation of human beings. Theodor and Albeck, Midrash Bereshit Rabba, 8:1, p. 55, speak of the creation of human beings as androgynous. Similarly, Mordecai Margulies, Midrash Wayyikra Rabbah, vol. Alef-Bet (Jerusalem: Wahrmann Books, 1972), 296, cites a teaching of Rabbi Ishmael bar Naḥman, who also uses the term “androgynous” concerning the creation of Adam. 10 Leo Baeck’s German text reads,“ . . . Tatsache des Männlichen und Weiblichen . . . ,” literally, “ . . . fact of masculine and feminine . . . ”. The translation “ gender differentiation” is stylistically more contemporary.

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individuality. Individuals confront themselves, enter into a tension with themselves. Unlike the male-female tension, this tension is not between two individuals, two systems, two laws: here, individuals are simultaneously turned both toward and against themselves. The forces of attraction and repulsion are not active between two individuals but within the individual themself; the individual is for themself and in themself the one attracted or repelled. This tension internal to the individual also has a role in determining the tension between the male and the female. This internal tension, this tension with oneself, precisely because it is against oneself, can lead to fissure, which thus determines and characterizes existence.11 Like the tension between male and female, this tension with the self is not in constant operation; rather, it exists as potential energy and is inherent in the law, in the system. Life, thus, is potentially twofold and can therefore also exist as a duality: as a life and an awareness of life or, in other words, a life in the unconscious and subconscious, and a life in the conscious. Each part of the duality has the other as its foundation, whereby gravitational shifts and changes in balance may occur. Each exists by the side of the other and may turn against the other, exert pressure against the other, causing repressions or excitations. This tension, and, potentially, this fissure, enters into the oneness and wholeness, into its system, its law. This dynamic is the mark of humankind, the form of existence which follows that caesura. The forces which act against individuality, against oneness and wholeness, lie within that very same individuality, that same oneness and wholeness. Existence reveals itself to be an existence of tension, of fissure. Intellect and reason arise and develop because human beings are positioned opposite themselves and confront themselves. Intellect is the consequence and expression of this tension, this potential tension within which the subject becomes its own object. Intellect is the confrontation of human beings with themselves. Through this confrontation with the self, the idea of life is called forth. The idea of life exists in opposition to life itself, in opposition to life’s dynamics and to the very will to live. Life splits in two, into what exists and what is imagined. Similarly, the outside world – the world of the broader system to which the system of humanity belongs – is divided by human beings into the world that exists and the world that is thought.12 This division disturbs and impairs the 11 Baeck introduces the notion of Spannung and Spaltung. These two words may be translated variously. We have selected tension and fissure to express these two German terms. The tension/ fissure dynamic appears frequently in this text. 12 “Thought” is used as a transitive verb here because of its role as such in German and GermanJewish philosophy.

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immediacy of the individual’s connection to the larger system, the immediacy with which the person absorbs the world into themself, threatens the self-evidence of existence within a vaster existence, disrupts the rhythm of attraction and repulsion. The duality of the existing world and the imagined world brings insecurity and error, uncertainty and doubt into life. While the relationship of the system of individuality to the comprehensive, encompassing outer system had previously been one of instinct, the awareness that is peculiar to human beings disturbs, impairs, represses the original instinct, the original and unmediated reaction to the world. Now, the only place for this instinct is in the subconscious. Here, the independent question arises whether and to what extent there may be a difference between the male and the female form of existence. Instinct is replaced by the question, the question that disrupts the rhythm and intrudes upon the course of the law, and by the implied answer. The question precedes the answer, but also follows it; direct progression is impeded. As those ancient words, rich with symbolism, state: “Now the serpent was the shrewdest [‘arum] of all the wild beasts that the Eternal God had made. It said to the woman, ‘Did God really say . . . !’”13 And further on: “And they perceived that they were naked [‘eirummim].”14 In biblical Hebrew, the word “‘arom/naked” may be related to its homophone, “‘arum/shrewd, clever, knowing.” Questions are only asked by human beings. Animals do not ask questions, they only seek or beg, seek or beg as their instincts dictate, unless taming or training has interfered with those natural drives. Indeed, in many languages the same word or some derivative designates both searching or begging as well as questioning. But a question is always first a question to oneself, and each question may have many answers, even contradictory ones. These questions to the self and their contradictory answers act as a disturbance to individuality, a disturbance to the oneness and wholeness of existence, a disturbance of the self which can progress into the destruction of the self. Unique existence and its relationship to the outside world can be affirmed, or cast into doubt, or completely denied. Just as the tension can become a fissure, so too can the fissure become a negation, a rejection. In suicide, the individual-as-subject besieges and destroys the individual-as-object. In a certain sense, all mental illness is an attempt at, or a kind of, self-destruction. By means of its intellect, individuality has established itself as subject, as the I, as the self, as an autonomous, conscious will – whatever one may want to name it – and has turned against itself, against its own objective existence. Only human beings are capable of – are vulnerable to – the experience of such a profound fissure. 13 Genesis 3:1. 14 Genesis 3:7.

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With this, something most peculiar enters individuality, enters human existence: a problem which is within us yet nonetheless stands before us. It is what we must resolve, must realize, must fulfill, or else must deny and repress. Here, reality and problem are synonymous. The human form of existence is a problem of existence, human individuality is a problem of individuality, and law is at the same time the problem of law. Existence, individuality, and law are reality and yet must first be made reality, or discarded. That problem is different from and greater than the aforementioned tension: it is the awareness of the tension, the idea of it, the thinking that tugs at it and agitates it. This problem also makes the human being aware of the contrast between their condition and that naturalness and self-evidence which characterized existence up until the caesura, and this contrast becomes a question. All longing to “return to nature” is a longing to avoid and escape the problem, to avoid the caesura, to escape the particular form of existence in which the problem arises. Such longing is, if we let the ancient words of symbolism speak, the longing of the human species to return to the Garden of Eden from which they had been banished.15 Here, too, the male-female tension comes into awareness and thus becomes part of the problem. Throughout human history the desire to exclude the male-female tension from human life has often been exhibited, particularly in the world of gnosis, where it led to some misguided asceticism. This desire to exclude the male-female tension was awakened by the longing to evade the problem which sprung forth from the awareness of this tension, this fissure. The awareness leading human beings to be a problem for themselves is a uniquely human problem, from which all other problems in our lives arise. ­This fundamentally human problem faces us, and, with it, so does the danger inherent to our existence, to our individuality. We are placed in danger by the very form of our existence, by our individuality.16 And that raises the question: can this fissure that, through awareness, becomes a constant threat to individuality, to the oneness and wholeness of human beings – can the threat be lifted when – or even before – it becomes a present danger? Can it be dissolved; can it be sublated? Can the threat be “held up,” sublated, in the fullest sense of the word – can it be elevated to a higher sphere, to a higher system, to a higher law, to a higher oneness and wholeness?17 And how can this be realized? The answer depends upon, and is given in, the recognition that the emergence 15 Genesis 3:23–24. 16 Baeck may be making an allusion to Hillel’s teaching in m. Pirqe Avot 1:14: If I am not for myself, who is for me? And when I am for myself alone what am I? And if not now, when? 17 Baeck is here playing on the double meaning of the German verb, aufheben, which can mean, “to raise,” or alternatively “to abrogate.” We attempted to preserve this pun with the use of the words, “to hold up,” which in English has the double meaning of, “to keep aloft” and “to stop.”

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of awareness in human existence takes place concurrently with and in correlation to the emergence of another faculty: together with awareness, human beings are given freedom of choice, that is, the ability to make decisions concerning the self, decisions concerning the self ’s own existence and individuality. Just as human beings, in their role as subject, may repress or deny themselves in their role as object, so, too, can they assert and affirm themselves. Both are possible; they may do one or the other. In the human being, instinct evolved to a conscious will, that is, a thinking and knowing will, a will that can hold an idea in front of itself and freely choose its way forward along a path, whether that path is envisioned by the self, guided by another, or already known and recognized. Thus, individuality implies not only existence but also task and goal. Here too, individuality, existence, oneness and wholeness are the created, the given. At the same time, however, individuality is the surrendered, the demanded. “I am” is joined by “I ought.” Human beings must also be creators – self-creators, in a sense, for as they continue to form and shape their own individuality, their existence, their oneness and wholeness, they engage in creation. Let us return to the metaphor of minting coins:18 the unique die which minted human beings’ unique existence is at the same time entrusted to them, laid in their hand, given over to their thinking and their will, so that it may always be put to use anew so that the self, the existence as subject, may form and mint the self, the existence as object. Here, individuality is not only fact – it becomes realized fact. It is not only an a priori, but also a goal, a goal which can be reached by way of a path of choice and intention. Existence is not only something to be asserted, it is also something to be fulfilled. Here emerges a new law, a new system: the moral law and system. This moral law and system is a law and system of freedom, a law and system of ethical and psychological autonomy; it is a guidance of the self by the self, it is a creation of individuality through individuality. This freedom is only possible and only has purpose because existence may become fissured existence, because tension can and will lead to this fissure. Thus, to eliminate the tension and fissure from existence would mean to eliminate freedom. But in this system, the fissure is sublated through the law – sublated, elevated to a higher law and system.19 Freedom is the sublation, the elevation, of the fissure of existence. A new, essentially personal oneness and wholeness is formed within the oneness and wholeness already surrounding it. It is formed by human beings themselves, by themselves, for themselves. It is an act of creation made manifest; it is the 18 m. Sanhedrin 4:5. 19 Here again we see Baeck’s rhetorical style. He uses the German verb, aufheben, which can mean, “to abrogate” or alternatively, “to lift up,” and then follows with the verb emporheben, which unambiguously means, “to elevate.”

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might of the seeing, hearing, thinking, will, of willed vision, willed listening, willed thought. Drive has become force. The conscious, decisive will – this power of autonomy – joins the law, joins the system. The path to this goal is clearly recognizable in psychological terms. Intellect is the ability to stop oneself: human beings, acting as subjects, now offer resistance against themselves as objects, and that resistance simultaneously serves as a signpost to guide their way. They build up resistive powers against themselves, and for themselves. Human beings can bring about a similar effect in animals through training. In the earliest part of child-rearing, as well, direction and guidance are similarly employed. But what is most essential is that human beings have the ability to offer resistance against themselves, an ability which can become stronger over time and which first forms with the awakening of the intellect. This commences with puberty, when the male-female tension begins to enter awareness. By means of active memory, human beings now place before themselves a concept, an idea, a demand – something which was first only placed before them from the outside – more and more before themselves, a challenge between impulse and action, between urge and reaction, between motivation and deed. This concept, this idea, this demand now becomes an intervention, an effective resistance. Recollections of past events, of consequences of earlier actions, visions of a future, understandings of “constructive and destructive,” of “right and wrong,” of “good and evil,” intervene and determine the course of action. A force of resistance comes into effect, causing an interruption – a pause in which a certain efficacy, a certain autonomy, a certain freedom can break through and a decision can be carried out, a decision for or against autonomous incorporation into a law. The pause may be effective or ineffective; the interruptions can be weak or they can be strong; they can be occasional or they can be constant. They may trigger mere moments of hesitation and reluctance, or could become the confirmation of the constancy of a fundamental law, of the principle that gives the will its clear trajectory. Whatever the case may be, there is always the possibility of the question, which may come from somewhere external or from within the self, and the answer, which may come from somewhere external or from within the self. This pause then becomes a creative one, and human beings confront it with a law that has the form of a demand, an imperative, a commandment. The pause provides human beings with the possibility of decision: of a decision to acknowledge and adopt that law or else to deny and dismiss it. Now this law, like all law, is realized within the system; and the system, like all systems, is realized in the law. But this law is at the same time a demand directed to human beings. It declares what is the case, and simultaneously indicates to a human being what they are to do. Human beings confront themselves and also the law, to make that law govern their lives, so that they may integrate

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their existence into the law and thus become creative beings. This does not become a reality for them until it becomes, by their own action, the formative law of their life, their individuality, and their existence. Then, their existence and their individuality attain a higher moral form. Individuality becomes a demand, becomes a calling. That is the answer to the question of how the fissure and the danger that is associated with it may be sublated. The fissure is sublated through integration into the moral law, the moral system. Out of the fissure, from its basis, there now grows freedom, grows autonomy, allowing individuality to freely form itself. Because of awareness and the fissure it brings about, humanity lost instinct and immediacy, and was beset with uncertainty, However, with that loss, humanity gained a different unity in existence: through the moral law and moral system, which depends upon the presence of this fissure, humanity was able to attain a different – a moral – immediacy, a moral security, a moral continuity: a moral instinct, if you will. The original oneness and wholeness was fissured, but because of that, humans were able to attain the higher oneness and wholeness, the oneness and wholeness which had previously been lost. The awareness which splits existence ultimately reveals itself as a unifying force, as moral awareness. World and life shattered when they collided with the intellect, and the intellect continues to tear them asunder, as it must; thinking about the world continues to supplant the world, and thinking about life continues to take the place of life: however, in the force-field of the moral law, the intellect becomes moral reason, reuniting the broken pieces to form moral oneness and wholeness. Here, too, there is a wrenching tension, but it is moral tension: a tension which waits for release. It is the tension between the given individuality, the individuality which is at risk of fissuring, on the one hand, and the surrendered individuality, which is to be made into oneness and wholeness, on the other. The questioning and doubting of life which emerges from awareness –the questioning and doubting which can become life’s rejection, destruction, or end – becomes the answer to life, the affirmation of life, through the moral awareness. In the moral awareness every tension, including the male-female tension, becomes a task which is to be solved – and, thus, the tension is resolved. What was “you have become” now is “you must” – existence becomes command, individuality becomes commandment. Life never ceases to be put up against the world anew, up against the world to be newly integrated into the law. Life is always formed anew through the power of resistance and the power of intention, always situated anew in an increasingly comprehensive system; indeed, one might say, life never ceases to be reborn. The existential fact of awareness, fissure, and the connection with a higher law and system which then emerges is a phenomenon experienced by us and

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which we observe in in other human beings. Whether this unique caesura only begins with what we understand to be human individuality, or whether it is present in some way in other forms of existence, whether and to what extent a more broad-ranging development presents itself here, whether and to what extent human awareness belongs to a universal notion of awareness – these are far-reaching questions that observation and experience are powerless to answer. Similarly, whether and to what extent human awareness as we experience it is the result of the ongoing evolution of our species is a question which stretches well beyond the limits of our experience. However, there is one concept that is within the scope of our experience, even though it often goes beyond it. We see clearly that the moral law, which humanity may reach through their power of decision, through their freedom, is of a different substance and belongs to a different sphere than the given law of human existence, of human individuality – different precisely because it is not a given law, but a law which humans themselves must attain. In humanity’s nature, in its given form of existence, morality is not yet present. Humans have not yet evolved to be altruistic, nor just, nor truthful, nor loving. The moral is not natural; one might even venture to say that it is most unnatural. In nature, the human species is “beyond from good and evil.” The schools of philosophy which seek to portray humans as purely natural beings are therefore justified to see them only as egoists and beasts of prey – homo homini lupus (a human being is a wolf to another human being). With such a view, ethical thought could amount to nothing more than an attempt to illustrate a way to tame the beast or keep its cruelty in check, or to ennoble its egotism or employ it toward useful purpose. However, any ethic that strives to be different, to be more, always must acknowledge the other, the higher law. Only with this recognition of what is above the created, given existence, only with this recognition of a realm of human freedom where the power of decision is employed, only then is ethics possible. This is the way by which ethics may arrive at religion and become integrated within it, without surrendering the ethical concept of autonomy. This is also the way in which religion can explain, in a psychological way, both the meaning of revelation and the significance of human freedom. In the commandment, according to religion, the first and ultimate individuality, the origin of individuality and its final purpose, the “I” of “I”s – this One approaches the human being and states: “thou art individuality, and thou shalt be individuality, so that existence and commandment may become one through thee.” Human individuality is addressed by the beginning and the end of all individuality. This is revelation – revelation of the One in whom all individuality finds its original and ultimate oneness, its ground and its ultimate purpose – to the human being.

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All creation is creation of that which is individual, and what is individual extends into limitless possibility, and thus is without end. Thus, creation never ceases. Creation is boundless, it is the boundlessness of individual existence. And that existence continues without end within the discontinuity, the finitude, of the individual. All of creation, all of infinite creation, proceeds from the One, the one Being, the one Source and Principle, the Ur-cause and primordial law. The moral actualization of the individual is also without end, it is an infinity of molding and design, continuity in the discontinuous. This infinity, too, proceeds from the One, the one Being; only from the One can this infinite calling come forth. The One is Ur-cause and principle, the Source and primordial law for all commandment and all moral law. The creation of nature and the creation of commandment both originate from the One. The endlessness of the individuality-that-is, as well as of the individuality-that-shall-be, all this endlessness of possibility – indeed, it is in the essence of possibility to be endless – originates from the One. Or, in other words, natural law and moral law, the form of existence as given and the form of existence as task, have the one source, and thus they are interconnected. This could be expressed in religious terms: all creation is revelation, that is, the endless entering of the One, of the Eternal, into individualities. And this entering, this revelation is the creation; everything that is, as well as everything that shall be, emerges from the One, the Eternal, and attests to the One’s existence. And all of this is endless exactly because it originates with the One. All this extends beyond the realm of human existence, but within this realm, too, one can clearly experience and observe these phenomena. Human beings experience, to a greater or a lesser extent, the tension which may lead to fissure; they experience, to a greater or lesser extent, the oneness, the unity into which the fissure elevates itself – “holds itself up” – and becomes fruitful. It is, in conclusion, the problem and the task of the autonomy which marks human existence. The fact and the task of human autonomy is fixed in the human being’s awareness, in the tension of this awareness. It is a fact because the human being is, through this awareness, subject and object at once: human beings, as objects, confront themselves as subjects, and as subjects they relate to themselves as objects. Human beings are autonomous entities when they speak to themselves or meet themselves with silence, when they say yes or no to themselves, or when they evade themselves. The fact of human awareness is the fact of human autonomy, and every fact has its gradient of vitality; it can be strong or it can be weak. And, in the same way, the task of autonomy is fixed into the awareness of humankind. As a result of awareness becoming moral, as a result of awareness linked to moral law which resides in the human species as a potential dynamic, as a result of the individual (as subject) addressing the individual (as object) with “you must,” a creative pause is generated, a creative

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pause that is a moral awareness, a creative integration into moral law and system. The fact of autonomy becomes the task for autonomy, and the moral autonomy, that freedom, becomes something that is to be realized. Or, in other words: the task is to realize the unity of natural and moral law in the human being, to make natural and moral law be as one once again, one as they were in the beginning, to become as one in and through human existence, so that in their tension – by virtue of their tension – they become the law of one system, so that life, in its tension, becomes the system of one law. When autonomy remains only fact and does not become moral task, the result is dualism; the fissure occurs. Human beings now confront themselves. Metaphorically, they fail to become self-aware and cannot find themselves. Human beings are still against themselves and not yet for themselves; perhaps they must first be against themselves to be able to be for themselves. It is only in the moral law that human beings attain to their task, and thus to themselves, that they reach their unifying freedom, their own unity. What had initially been negative freedom – freedom in the fissure – is now positive freedom, freedom in oneness. This freedom is the freedom of overcoming the fissure. It is the skill – precisely by virtue of the fissure –to be able to command the self, to be free through the moral law. This illustrates the realms which the pantheistic system, though it has its validity within its limits, is unable to reach, the world that is outside its scope, beyond its ἕν καὶ πᾶν (the One that is All). The pantheistic system could have been the correct one were it not for human beings, for the human problem, for the tension and fissure within humanity, for the problem of human autonomy, human freedom. A quotation attributed to Hippocrates, a variation on ἕν καὶ πᾶν, states: πάντα θεία και ανθρώπινα πάντα – (everything is divine and everything is human). This sentence could also hold truth if humanity did not itself exist as this tension and this fissure which, in the language of the quotation, is at the same time the tension and the potential fissure between the human and the godly. The pantheistic method arrives at cosmology, but cannot reach the psyche: thus, it reaches cosmic law but not the law of the psyche nor that of ethics. The existence of the moral “thou shalt,” of the moral choice, of the creative pause, and of creative autonomy, has nothing to do with the pantheistic system, and has no place in it – only monotheism can make this fathomable. Pantheism cannot offer any insight into the phenomenon of genius, the creative secret. The human being, the human toolmaker, the homo faber; this human toolmaker and experimenter can be inventive precisely because human beings are homo sapiens – creatures of intellect who, as the world crashes against them, fathom the inner workings of the world and become human beings of spirit, of creation, homo creator. Spirit – this word used in its proper classical sense – reveals itself when,

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through a freedom, a oneness and wholeness is given its expression, when something is achieved which is not a patchwork, not a composite, but a oneness and wholeness – an individual creation. Spirit is genius, that is to say: in this phenomenon, a power of creation comes forth in human beings – themselves creatures, themselves the created – and they are seized by that power. The faculty of genius is threefold: intuition, inspiration, and transcendence; the cognitive, artistic, and moral attributes of genius. Their essence is the same; they only differ in their emergence and dynamics. Only some individuals may be able to take part in creation through cognitive and artistic genius; however, all human beings have the potential for moral genius; in the moral domain every human being can be homo creator. Through genius, individuality creates something individual, be it in the form of the production of knowledge, the work of art, or the moral deed. An individuality– something essentially unique and therefore unexplainable, unfathomable – is created here, something is created which, according to religion, has its roots in the mystery of mysteries, in the spirit of all spirit [Geiste alles Geistes], in the ground and origin of all oneness and wholeness. Thus closes the circle of experience, of its observation, and of the paths it takes onward. Wherever it may lead, it stands before the individual, before the system and law of the individual, before the individuum ineffabile, before that which is known and knowable, but within which also lies the great mystery and the beyond.

REBIRTH Human beings are situated within an all-encompassing system of individualities, and, as never ceases to be demonstrated, it is only in terms of this total system that human beings can be understood. Human beings have their place in the universe. It is also equally clear that human beings can only be understood in terms of their humanity; the human being is the one existence unlike any other in the universe of our experience. Thus situated, humanity can be understood only in both ways at once: through and within the universal law and system – the law and the system of this universe, which reveal themselves in this universe – and the law and system of humanity’s particularity, which reveal themselves in that particularity. In turn, these two sets of laws and systems – natural and moral law, natural and moral system – which come together in the human being and enter into human awareness, can only be comprehended, be it in themselves or as one, if one understands that their origin is one, their fundament is one – or, to use the language of religion: if one understands that above all the universe, above all dualities, all tension, and

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all fissures is God, God the One – the God of creation, of commandment, of liberation, of redemption. A human being is individual and unique in the same way as is every other existence in the universe, and, at the same time, the human being is individuality, is uniqueness, in the most singular sense, as singular as human existence is in the universe. The human being has individuality as system and law, as do all other forms of existence, but also lives out the unique law and system by virtue of which they become their own individuality: the human being lives out the system of freedom by virtue of the law of freedom. All individuality, all uniqueness, precisely as such, is, if one may use the expression, a miracle – what is miraculous, is unique, and what is unique, is miraculous; were a miracle to be reproducible, be repeatable, it would cease to be a miracle. Individuality is the fundamental wonder and thus, every existence is wondrous. But the human being is wondrous in a unique sense because the human being becomes aware of that wonder, that miracle – and because, emergent from this wonder, from this miracle, the human being is confronted by the commandment of individuality and the law of freedom. The human individual exists in the world in a particular way, existing as, to quote the Talmud, “a world unto itself,” that is, a world that is aware of itself.20 In a sense, a new world begins with every individuality, every uniqueness that comes into creation; this, however, is true for human beings in a way unlike any other. The tension, the complexities, the challenge and the task, as they arise in the awareness that characterizes humanity, begin anew with each new life, begin individually with each individual. Each human being who comes into life is a new awareness in the world – each human being is, so to speak, a revolution. Therefore the progress of humanity, as it is so commonly and so casually invoked, does not exist – yes, there is progress in human tool-making and in our ways of using them, and, following that, there is progress in the applied and experimental sciences, and then, following that, there is progress in the autonomous or theoretical sciences, in those disciplines which operate independently of the tool. But in human existence, in free human existence, progress in this sense or in any similar sense cannot exist. With each human being, the human world begins anew. Yet again, a paradox, a tension, arises. Every human being is sired by one father and borne of one mother, who in turn have sprung from an unfathomably long sequence of sires and child-bearers. Every one of them is part of an ongoing continuation. Thus, individuality also is supplemented by everything encompassed by the concept of heritage, a concept borne of the richness, the 20 This idea reflects the idea found in m. Sanhedrin 4:5.

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diversity of experience and of observation. This is true for all living beings, and is again always the expression of a miracle, of a wonder: despite heritage, individuality is born; despite individuality, heritage is received and passed on. Indeed, this is the case for each and every form of existence, but for humanity, once again, it occurs with a particular dynamic and has a particular paradox. Human beings, by virtue of their most unique individuality, also possess a most unique heritage. This is the case because, apart from the individual’s invisible inheritance – the wonder of creation – the human being also inherits a visible and tangible heritage, a heritage of fabrication, so to speak, an inheritance brought to an individual’s feet so that he or she may carry it further. Because the human being, as the homo faber, the tool-making animal, inherits the tool along with the science and the knowledge which has proceeded from its use – everything which we know as culture, an inheritance passed on so it may be further passed on, an inheritance in constant continuation. Human beings encounter an accumulated heritage which has a constant effect on them. Homo Sapiens are the creatures who uniquely are aware of grandparents and grandchildren, who inherit memories and hopes, disappointments and expectations, thoughts and plans – everything which means “history” in its broadest or narrowest sense, so that they may continue it and carry it onward. Human beings are affected by a dynamic inheritance, active and alive within them, which grasps them, and which additionally has become more tangible and easier to grasp through the written word, the book – this inheritance, accumulated over time, is alive in the individual’s world and acts as a constant external influence. And all of this inherited world, which exists within and also surrounds human beings, enters into awareness, becomes a tension and can lead to a fissure. The human heir as subject, experiences the self, the heir, as object. And this awareness becomes conscious will. The human heir, the “I” in whom the inheritance lies, in the role of subject, comes into conflict with the heir, the “I” in whom the inheritance lies, in the role of object. The individual, who obtained individuality through inheritance, now accepts or rejects that inheritance: the human being may wish to possess it and pass it on, or to detach from it and put a stop to its dynamics. And this heritage, which is both subject and object, affects the human being invisibly from within, and also visibly, through an individual’s environment, from without. The heritage is inner world and outer world, both to be either embraced [bejahen] or rejected [verneinen]. We can be attracted to, or repulsed by, the heritage which lies within us as well as by the heritage which surrounds us, each of which exerts influence upon the other. A further consideration is that this inner heritage, with its dynamism and its tension, is – as, indeed, is individual experience– too vast, too mighty, too deep and too wide-reaching for it to ever come into awareness in its entirety.

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There is not, so to speak, enough space for it within our awareness. A large part – perhaps, indeed, the majority – of the drives, the powers, and the experience that this heritage encompasses remains in the subconscious, where it acts as tension, as a force of attraction or repulsion, without reaching the conscious will. Nevertheless, here too, in the subconscious, shifts and realignments may occur; it is as if the heritage were struggling, sometimes more sometimes less frequently and effectively, to force its way into our awareness. In this way, the tension which threatens to cause fissure arises again: an ever-recurring tension between what is encompassed by awareness and the conscious will, on the one hand, and what remains, temporarily or permanently, in the subconscious, on the other. Thus the human being – the human individual – having sprung forth from its heritage, experiences a twofold tension. The first is the tension between the self as subject and the self as object – a duality which is generated by the awareness which makes the human being both subject and object. The second tension is between the narrow realm of consciousness [Bewusstheit] and the vast realm that lies in the subconscious; between the inherited individuality which has become conscious will and between that which has not, or not yet, become conscious will. It is a conflict between persistence and becoming. One could also define this inheritance of humanity in terms of the soul – one might say that all that ever was held in the souls of all the generations before has come together to form a memory in the soul, a multi-generational memory. Now it is displaced by a new, individual memory, and has been rendered passive, a mere potentiality. It has become an inherited mass of material in the soul, filled with a great power of resistance and with bound-up energy. Thus the tension between the realms of the sub-conscious and the conscious is at the same time the tension between inherited memory and individual memory; between the active, thinking, subject-memory on the one hand and the passive, potential, object-memory on the other. It is a tension between the decades and the centuries, which plays out in the individual recipient of the inheritance – a tension which can develop into a stance, the stance of the decades, the “now,” toward the centuries. The tension is made even stronger by something more. The direction of inheritance is that of reproduction; it is a vertical line that is constant and continuous, through the generations up to the individual of today. However, since it is propagated through individuals, so it necessarily is modified by those individuals. Again and again, there will be turnoffs, diversions from continuity which then create a broader basis. Thus, there will also be a horizontal line of propagation, alongside the vertical, which will lead to new verticals resulting in groups of heritages that are mutually related one to another, to a greater or lesser extent. Again and again, as occurs with the vertical, there emerges a horizontal continuity in discontinuity – a horizontal constancy in inconstancy – with its

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own powers of resistance and of action, its existence in the conscious and the subconscious, and its tension, which enters into individuals. In this way, the individual is placed in a framework comprised of the horizontal system and law of heritage – a system and law of space – and the vertical system – a system and law of time: heritage in space and in time. Thus, the individuals of the heritage are positioned in potential and active confrontation not only within themselves, but also with one another. This dynamic of the community of heirs has a direct effect on those closest within it; namely, families and kinships. Between more distant relations, this dynamic manifests less directly or is summoned with more intentionality. And here, too, in the sphere of the conscious there are those gestures of affirmation and of rejection as well as everything that lies between. There is the will to forge community, the will that looks toward the future and fosters a sense of spiritual certitude, and there is the will to reject or bring an end to the heritage – and thus to the community as well – a will which turns against the past and which often acts as a spiritual disturbance. And into all of this come the tensions of the human individual, those tensions which already exist independently of heritage, the male-female tension and the tension borne of awareness. And all of this breaks against the intellect, and the tensions become battles – they become the battle of the individual with themself and their heritage, with themself and their community. Thus, we are confronted with the inherited individuality of the human being as a system of tensions and fissures: a system by virtue of a law, though this law seems to most closely resemble the law of chaos. And, from this problem, there once again emerges the question: can a principle of order be established in what appears to us as chaos, can the human individual be elevated, be made a force, be made a law, be integrated into a system in which these tensions between individual and heritage and the fissures that result can be overcome, similarly to how the tensions and fissures which mark the human individual’s awareness could be overcome? To come closer to the answer, we must proceed from the fact that the human individual internally experiences a certain power of freedom. The human individual experiences as a reality that an imperative, no matter its whence and whither, lies within – an imperative with a command and a task, a law of “thou shalt” which can assert itself. Human beings experience a power to set goals, to choose paths. They experience that they are able to create tension and resistance within themselves, that they are able to give themselves possibilities by confronting themselves, questioning and answering, and thus making themselves the subject of a conscious will, of a decision. They can start and start again at any time; in the great words of the Bible, they can “return.”21 This 21 Hosea 14:2.

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is how, in their tensions and through their tensions, human beings experience the creative tension, the tension of creation. Human beings can experience and manifest this power of freedom in relation to their heritage, in relation to the tensions and fissures of their heritage, tensions and fissures which threaten them and which must threaten them. Admittedly, since the power of freedom comes to life only in awareness, in consciousness, this experience can only happen to the extent that heritage has come into awareness, into consciousness. But no rigid boundary exists between the conscious and the subconscious; between them is a gradual path of emergence and one of retreat. They exist in correlation and have unity as a system. What affects one affects the other in turn. Actuality sinks into potentiality and potentiality is roused to actuality. Furthermore, the human being can freely form and develop their given individuality – their inherited individuality. From the given, from their heritage, human beings can create themselves. Human beings carry within themselves the heritage from which they came. To say it figuratively, this heritage, this mass of history and connectedness, is thus a great potentiality, a raw material which the human individual can mold and shape, or, one might be tempted to say, a reservoir which can be drained, canalized, and regulated. However, there is much more at play than this metaphor conveys. Here, life is given a unique task, an artistic task. In the realm of the artistic, freedom reaches its culmination. The ethical sphere enables the overcoming of the tensions that arise from individuality as such, from the self-aware individuality which wills and knows and thinks. The sphere of the artistic allows for the overcoming of the tensions which are borne of inheritance, of the inherited individuality which carries spiritual time and spiritual space within itself. And – if this may be mentioned here – in religious devotion, in its holiness, the artistic and the ethical become as one. In piety, life is a work of art endowed with morality, a morality which is artistic; it is a world within space and time which nonetheless transcends space and time; it is a realization – a fulfillment – of the given. All art is the attempt to transform a material, a given, a real object; it is the attempt to express through the material, the medium – whatever it may be – a oneness and wholeness, the secret mystery of individuality. Artists hear the call, the commandment, and see the image, the idea before them. They struggle with the material, seeking to answer the call, to carry out the commandment by realizing the idea. This artistic activity is not restricted to the narrow field which is commonly called “art” – it is equally present in scholarly work, and is at its strongest in moral service. In each field, the struggle with the given, the apprehension of the commandment, and the vision of the idea are present. All art, in all of its varied manifestations, is thus an eternally renewed experiment: it is always complete, because it never loses sight of the idea and never stops hearing the call, yet it is never complete, because it never fully realizes the idea

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or fulfills the call. All art, if it is truly art, never ceases to embark on its path anew. The experiment that is always newly undertaken thus differentiates the artistic from the ethical, since the ethical contains an commandment that is defined by its constancy, whereas artistic activity heeds the commandment of its ideal, its destiny.22 Here, the creative pause reaches its greatest power:23 it becomes creative patience, the patience to take a step back from the image to gain clarity regarding the task and the objective; it becomes the tensile energy of creativity, without which the creative genius of the artist cannot reveal itself. No matter the medium – whatever it is that is to be mastered mechanically, to be investigated through research, to be embraced by the moral will – the task of art is to give that substance its oneness and wholeness. In art, genius and creative patience give oneness and wholeness to a material, so that the material may reveal individuality, so that it may reveal a system and a law. A given substance, whatever it may be, is to be granted its form. This is the nature of creative art. And art, too, is a conscious and unconscious confrontation of the human being with themself. When humans hear the call, they always question themselves anew. Creative art too, therefore, is borne of human freedom; its workings are a result of the fact that a higher law is taken in by the will and, with that, an inner logic determines gaze and thought. All logic is, at its core, artistic logic, even the logic of thought: logic is the process of form-giving, of shaping things to be oneness and wholeness. All logic is logic of formation, [gestalten], and it too, like all things artistic, comes from the moral sphere, comes from freedom. Because the gift of freedom never ceases to be bestowed upon human beings anew, their existence, their lives, are an artistic task. The human being never ceases to be called upon to perform new experiments. Thus the person is both artist and medium in one. The medium – the material of heritage minted into individuality, never ceases to be minted anew by the self. The artistic process is borne of the fissure; it is the constant struggle that the human individual as subject maintains with the human individual as object, in order to mint their own existence anew.24 Thus, life can always begin again; in the great, time-honored words of the Bible it may “become renewed.”25 The word “new” is a central term in the Bible. And, to let this ancient wisdom, this power of revelation, speak further: human individuals see the ideal, the image of a higher life before them, 22 Baeck’s meaning here is obscure. The sentence reads: “Dieses immer wieder aufgenommene Experiment auch unterscheidet das Künstlerische von dem Ethischen mit seinen jeweiligen bestimmten und sich bestimmt fortsetzenden Gebot und kommt zu ihm in dem Künstlerischen noch hinzu.” 23 See above, pp. 284–85. 24 See m. Sanhedrin 4:5. 25 Lamentations 5:21.

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“the image of God,” in which and into which they were created.26 This is what human life shall become, and the human being creates and re-creates their life according to this ideal, again and again from the beginning. The individual gives themself new birth. To give oneself a new beginning means to be reborn, to be one’s own creator. The birth of a child to a father and a mother is a fact of continuance, of inheritance; rebirth, however, is an act of one’s freedom. Rebirth is not the natural result of a process and does not belong to a chain of cause and effect – it is the establishment of new beginning, the determination of a goal and the changing of one’s course. It is not a continuation of a previous path but the opening of a new one. Human beings, because they can be reborn, are given freedom to choose their own path, are given freedom of direction. One’s path and direction, if chosen in freedom, often run counter to one’s inheritance and represent, as such, a victory of individuality over inheritance. An individual’s inheritance only provides the path and direction of continuation which led up to that individual and which is to be carried on; in rebirth one’s path and direction proceed from the self by virtue of freedom, and in them space and time, material and purpose, become one: a new oneness and wholeness – that of choice – is formed. A future that begins in the present now has been set free to be either with or against that which has been, so that it may continue. While in heritage only past and present were as one, now oneness and wholeness are determined by the future, by way of the dynamic of what is to become. A course of time is determined, and the future becomes a new force in the space that is given by the heritage. Rebirth creates the individual’s own unique vertical line, one which reaches over and beyond heritage. Human beings are endowed with special potentialities as forces of rebirth – forces, that is, which can run counter to inheritance. This also characterized the caesura. Indeed, it is a peculiarity of the human form of existence that, seen from a bird’s-eye view, from a viewpoint of contemplation and judgment, this form of existence itself represents a work of creative patience. Human beings are slower than other forms of existence to reach the final formation of the material given by inheritance and are likely to never reach a final realization of their inherent potentialities. Indeed, the process of rebirth wants to birth new rebirth without end, as rebirth is in itself a contradiction of the concept of an end. But even in those for whom the possibility of rebirth never comes to fruition, there is still that experience of the slowness of becoming and the gradual nature of achieving. Humankind and, as far as we know, only humankind, has a decade, or more, of childhood and a decade, or more, of youth. Furthermore, between childhood and youth lies a caesura. Indeed, one could say, to paraphrase the 26 Genesis 1:27.

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biblical creation story,27 that the human being is an image of the patience of the Creator, of the patience that is in the work of coining.28 The childhood of human beings is most readily defined in negative terms: it is the period that precedes the awakening and growth of the intellect. It is the period when that which makes human beings both subject and object as one is not yet developed: that fissure which comes between human beings and their lives, between them and their selves, that upon which their world and they themselves will shatter. A child does not yet have an examined life, nor a volitional life; a child simply has a life. Though every human life is the result of a struggle between being created and being born, between uniqueness and continuity, between individuality and heritage, this struggle has not yet entered into the awareness of the child. A child absorbs much, almost everything, except its own self. It is not yet aware that it is “naked.”29 Childhood is the essential beginning, which is an unawareness of the beginning. One might be tempted to say that with each child the possibility of revolution, of the will toward that which is entirely new, is born. A child represents the great potential; it is full of “purposeful dispositions.” This is what is granted to every human being, since each person begins as a child. In the child is this wealth of possibilities, but not yet the tensions of human existence: near and far, outer world and inner world are one for the child. The child knows not yet the distances, it knows not yet the distance between memory and expectation. Thus, the child does not yet come into conflict with itself, nor with the world. It is for this reason that the child has the gift of pure play, of play for playing’s sake alone, this gift of being beyond the real and the unreal and thus also beyond benefit or harm. Children are the homo ludens, [the playful human]. Because children do not yet have awareness, they have this gift, and, for humans, a gift is a power of expression and action. In imagination, the child possesses this power, this dynamic of pure, free play; it is a dynamic of the soul free of intention and direction. By means of imagination, the child may achieve anything through play. All things become active and expressive as if by themselves. The possibilities and directions in later life all follow from here. When awareness and conscious will have developed, play will acquire a more serious aspect by relating to a task and thus become the basis for choice and decision. The sense for morality, for the path, and for the will to that path then develop. Imagination becomes moral imagination. And on the way, through patience and experimentation, a sense for how to begin, 27 Genesis 1:27. 28 m. Sanhedrin 4:5. This is the fourth instance in this essay that Baeck references this Mishnaic teaching. See above, footnotes 2, 14, and 17. 29 Genesis 2:2.

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how to approach the task, and the will to do so enters into play. The child at play can now see the image, the idea that is to be realized, and imagination becomes artistic imagination. Something further is connected here. Childhood is a time of beginning, full of events that are experienced for the first time. The child discovers, explores, and invents; it lives in a world that is completely new and is full of wonder. The child views everything with wonder, with wide-open eyes, and with wonder the child sees the world looking back at it with those wide-open eyes. In the child lives this constant wonder, the wonder which is, according to Plato, the beginning of all philosophy. One might say that, for the child, everything is intuition, because intuition really is the ability to see something entirely new, an ability to perceive things which are not subject to contingencies. The child has no need to leave anything behind or turn away from anything in order to clear a path to something new, to a new vantage point, a new standpoint. The child does not yet need to forget anything; all genius has a certain power of forgetfulness too – a portal to this insight is in that ancient parable, found in both Plato and in the Talmud: prior to its birth the child knows everything.30 But when it enters the world, an angel lays a finger on its mouth, and it forgets everything it has known.31 This gift of intuition also comes from the fact that the child sees only the concrete, only that which is singular and discrete. The world, for the child, is a world of individuals. The child forms associations, but is not yet in the tight, constraining web of associations, not yet in the fabric of interconnected concepts; imagination alone provides the threads connecting the many singularities. The child has perception in its wholeness, and nothing but that perception. Thus, at first the child knows only persons: only seeing, speaking, hearing beings. An object, an “it,” is still unknown. Thus, for the child, there is as yet no difference between appearance and reality – everything is real to the child, because everything is discovered as if for the first time. The language that the child learns is also real, also concrete – absorbed, but also invented, residing in both memory and in fantasy. Here, language still has its artistic quality, and is more a process of creation than a subject of study. With language, the child encounters beings and persons and “gives them names,” forms them by means of the name, paints them with a name.32 For the child, the person is the name and the name is the person, and all that the child encounters is therefore always a new creation. 30 Baeck here alludes to Plato’s concept of anamnesis discussed in Meno 81. See further: http:// sabidius.com/index.php/prolegomenon/item/1298-education 31 b. Niddah 30b. 32 Genesis 2:19.

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Because the child recognizes the singular and only the singular in every instance, it encounters everything in its immediacy. Everything that approaches the child comes very close, very close to the child’s love and fear. The child may turn away or waver at first, but cannot close itself off, cannot be indifferent. Whether its desire is to embrace or to reject, the child is always fully open and devoted; in every case, is always and again entirely new. One could also say that giftedness, a dynamic of giftedness, lives in the child. Only sometimes does the child have talent, but it always, perhaps, has genius: while talent resides in a bodily organ and is therefore little or nothing without that instrument, genius, in contrast, lies in individuality. The power of giftedness is a vast devotion and the resulting ability to be undivided, to entirely devote oneself, to encompass, to entirely penetrate, to entirely submerge oneself, to love entirely. Thus the purity of a being speaks with this questing and thinking, this feeling and observing, expressing a wholeness and a oneness. Giftedness is the capacity for entirely pure expression, a capacity to give what is undiminished, and not artificial. It is that which is unique in childhood. It is that capacity that is sometimes also called naturalness or naiveté, originality and immediacy, a self-evident sense, ingenuity, a creative drive, the poetic and artistic vibrancy of the child. All these many words mean the same thing: they indicate the gift bestowed upon the child, which the child, with wide-eyed intuition and a playful imagination, possesses without knowing or willing it – all of these words designate that fact of childhood which eludes definition, that ineffabile. This free state of giftedness, this effortless power, marks the first years of every human life. Only with the onset of adolescence does a caesura approach, and boundaries begin to be drawn. It is perhaps owing to this caesura that this gift, this richness, is preserved and prevented from dissipating or fading away. Instead, it may be reborn and become as new, newly entering the life of the individual. The childhood with which a person is born awaits its rebirth. A wealth of the newly learned and newly experienced, of this connection of individualities with individualities, has accumulated in the child. An abundance of spiritual potentiality, spiritual expressivity, and a capacity for spiritual action has built up. It is a foundation upon which life rests once it has become aware of itself. It is like an inheritance, a spiritual memory, which life has prepared for itself in and through childhood, prepared for its coming decades, these decades of awareness. This great preparation is achieved by the child, who is not yet conscious of itself and does yet have conscious will, it is created by the child for those many years ahead when the child has become an adult with awareness and conscious will. Human adults who inherit individuality now create in themselves an individuality all their own, a uniqueness that itself may become a heritage. Just as individuals are born out of antecedent heritage, this

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heritage of one’s uniqueness can lead to rebirth. All of the later talents possessed by human beings, powers of design and expression, artistic, cognitive, and moral talents, are all of one core and one essence, because they all emerge from the gift of childhood. The realization and ultimate fulfillment of these powers later in life depend upon the preservation of the gift of childhood in the soul, of its vitality and strength, so that childhood can create itself again and be reborn. Indeed, there is profound meaning in the adage, “One who does not receive the realm of God like a child [will not enter it]”!33 Naiveté, originality, and ingenuity represent the primal as well as the mature, the beginning as well as the final fulfillment. These become fulfillment and maturity when human beings become conscious of their significance, when their meaning, their content, and their value become part of human freedom, part of human spirit. Life rests upon childhood – childhood is the foundation of life. The period of childhood is followed by youth, another period of preparation, of the formation of a heritage of individuality. This time of adolescence is a period of growth which is slower and briefer than that of childhood; however, it is a more turbulent, more exciting time, which may also be ridden with crises. It is the period in which reflectiveness, self-awareness, and world-awareness emerge and develop, in which one gains the ability to apprehend and comprehend oneself and the world. Thus, the adolescent now experiences the distances, the differences between the shorter or longer paths, between that which once was and that which will be – or will not be –, between the certain and the uncertain. It is the period in which the fissures appear, and, from them, moral freedom emerges –accompanied by a great longing, an anticipation of a remote future, and the tensions of idealism. This freedom to make moral choices is the birth of what makes us human. Adolescence, too, overlaid upon childhood, forms the foundation for the long years of life that follow, when growth has ceased and life lives from what was grown before. Adolescence does not have the same depth as does childhood, nor is it as unified, as cohesive; it has its fractures. But it too belongs to the estate of the individual; it is the stuff of life that human beings create for themselves, the stuff of life born in the human being so that it may be reborn. Whatever a human being possesses or regains in moral imagination, this imagination of the way, in which a person’s own memory binds itself to the gaze into their own distant future, whatever strength a person has or regains in the struggle with or for themself – all of this depends upon the individual’s youth retaining its path, into adult life, or that this path is re-created. Adolescence can proceed on its course, unlike childhood, for it is not followed by a genuine, profound caesura, only by a certain break in the fact that growth has ceased; however, 33 Mark 10:15 and Luke 18:17.

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adolescence, too, can be reborn if its path was obstructed, hindered, or interrupted – it can awaken again, to show the way again. While reborn childhood grants the power of new expression, reborn adolescence grants the power of new moral decision: the power of conversion and of new beginnings, of new paths. The gift of youth arises again in the adult: in freedom, a person creates their own new beginning and thus becomes young once again. How the forces behind this generational inheritance and this rebirth do their work, how they transpire in the soul, and how matter and form, the given and the desired, unite, how the currents flowing from the subconscious to the conscious and from the conscious to the subconscious meet, how they either hinder one another or merge together – all of this remains a mystery. It is a mystery, as are all facts; it can only be asserted and recognized as fact; it can only be experienced and observed as fact when it manifests – it can never be explained, never defined. Similarly, all freedom is rooted in mystery, all that is rational is rooted in the irrational, every commandment is grounded in the unfathomable. All that has become reality, become individuality, indeed, become fact, has its origins in that which is hidden. But from each fact, from each secret, there is a path which leads to the human being, to human determination, freedom, and moral logic, to artistry. The human individual is a system and freely creates a system. Human beings adapt their “I” to the law of the commandment, this law of freedom, morality, and self-created – freely self-created – thought and will. A way of moral and artistic determination made by human beings is also derived from previous generations. Freedom and creation can also be established from generation to generation, prepared by ancestors for descendants. One may say that a heritage of revelation and a community of revelation comes about; that is, the same force works from a vertical as well as a horizontal direction. This does not concern some amassment of knowledge and wisdom which is placed before a human being, though such a thing is indeed built up and passed on; rather, this dynamic is something entirely different: an accumulated force pre-arranges a course for the individual. And just as there is the path of revelation and of freedom, there is also another force, consisting of streams and strivings which run contrary to what is moral and what is formative, consisting of tendences toward what is crude and ill-formed, toward a lack of freedom and a negation of revelation. And these influences, too, work to set a course for the individual. The individual can be heir to one path, or can be heir to the other. But regardless the path, each brings the new beginning that is childhood, each breaks at adolescence, at an intellect, at a creative pause, at a possibility of decision and determination. Because every individual has a childhood and an adolescence, every individual has those powers of beginning and choice, which can

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be later reborn. To be sure, as a result of what inheritance has prepared for a person, the paths of the individual, these new paths, may be straight and easy, or crooked and obstructed. And latent within the mystery of the heritage there are inclinations and the disinclinations, attractions and repulsions, in which a layer of the heritage gravitates toward or recoils from the individual and the individual gravitates toward or recoils from a layer of the heritage. This is the ebb and flow of all contradictions in human beings. But what is most crucial, most decisive here is that human beings have a childhood and a youth, have their own preparation, have their own – new – power of freedom and their own, new, power of artistry, powers with which to mint themselves as their own, powers of the struggle for oneself, or, to use the language of religion once again, of the struggle for the “image of God.” In this struggle, difficult and slow for one, quicker and easier for another, the human individual, especially when still growing, can benefit from guidance, from that which another – one who is near or draws near – can grant. This guidance is what is referred to by the term “upbringing,” which has a quite different, sometimes even opposite meaning than has the word “teaching,” though these words are all too often conflated. “Education” is the technique which aims toward the accumulation of cultural heritage, whereas “upbringing” is art, oriented toward what is unique, what is free in the human individual. Education deals with the receptivity of the human individual, it relates to a person’s observation, experience, and memory, with what can be seen, heard, and learned, while upbringing has to do with life – what one is, what one shall be, with one’s capacity to grow and to be reborn. Education flows from the assumption of sameness and uniformity – all, or most, must learn the same thing. In contrast, upbringing is determined by the idea of the peculiarity and uniqueness of a human being – each individual is an individual unto themself. Thus, upbringing creates a new community, a community not given from heritage but emergent from freedom: from a human individual, as such, drawing closer to another human individual, as such. To provide a human being with an upbringing is an artistic task like no other. Granted, no new creation is brought into existence – only assistance is provided, but it is an artistic assistance. Upbringing is the great art of helping; or, conversely, every measure of help, usually given unintentionally, comprises a measure of upbringing. It is a great art with an ability to see, to perceive that which wishes to emerge – with a great patience, always willing to see things from a new perspective. It is support for the soul so that its powers may grow robust and unencumbered, so that they may retain their integrity and later may be reborn. This art does not deal with some material, some substance to which expression must be given, which is only a medium for that expression; rather, its subject is a being that already has self-expression, that is itself already full of

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meaning and revelation. It is a being, equal as such to the artist who does the upbringing. Therefore, the great talent in this art, this art of helping – indeed, in every form of helping – is the capacity of allowing the self to encounter itself, and of allowing the self to remember itself. What this great art of helping means can hardly be expressed better than in a sentence from the medieval “Book of The Pious” [Buch der Frommen]: “The one who brings up a child helps God the creator in the work of creation. God is helped so that the human, created in the image of God, may become God’s image.” Upbringing is help; it can and must be only that and nothing more: help in the work of preparation and, with that, help for later rebirth. To help a child, who has a world but knows not the path, is to keep away everything that might diminish, disturb, or darken that world, and to nurture everything that gives that world its clarity and amplitude. It is to support that wherein childhood in its naiveté and originality can unfold and become whole and to guard against anything which may constrain or prematurely end it; to provide support and guardianship without invasive intervention. That, and no less, but also no more, is the task. The art of helping consists in letting the child be a child, to let childhood expand on its own. To help a child is a spiritual letting-go. To help the adolescent, however, who has begun to see a path in the world, is to provide signposts, to point things out, to lead through suggestion. Here, help becomes more explicit and more readily noticed by the one to whom it is given. Here, the art of helping consists in setting up goals before the conscious will, which has just begun to develop, and thereby to reveal directions that will lead to values and ideals – toward those things which give the individual, which has now become both subject and object, its unity. This help is an art that can remove or lessen the disturbances caused by the confrontations which will be experienced; it strives to present the life and the self of the young adult before his or her own gaze. This help given during an individual’s childhood and adolescence helps prepare the powers of rebirth to stay vital such that they then attract the legacy of revelation and the path toward artistry and freedom, the path which was prepared by the individual´s forebears. Rebirth – that is, arriving at what is most truly one’s own – also has another dimension of occurrence, a dimension which is more mighty and profound than any other. Just as the beginning, the time of growth, can come back to life and enter the existence of one who has ceased to grow, just as a connection to the creative gifts of childhood and youth and the powers of creation in those earlier years can be regained, so can a connectedness with the One – a force of attraction to the Source, reaching above and beyond heritage – become a direction and a path in the life of a human being. This Source is the one and only source, coming from the One, from the Eternal, from God. Birth and heritage come from one’s parents and ancestors, but the source is in God. That

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which has a beginning, that which grows up, comes eventually to its end, but the Source remains the Source. The individual may stand before the cause of all causes, before the unfathomable, in the place where the here and the hereafter meet – and be filled with the power of the Source and be reborn. Here begins the unfathomable, the unfathomable from which springs all cause and all reason; here begins the realm of mystery – the limit of science, the nexus of faith. Mystery marks where knowledge ends and religion begins: following the path of knowledge leads to the mystery, and following the path of the mystery leads to knowledge. Thus, it is good to be able to doubt, in order to have faith, and it is good to be able to have faith, in order to doubt. Every fact leads to the mystery, and all mystery leads to the fact. That spiritual movement toward the Source in order to receive its power is directed by individuality, by this fact of individuality, from this fact to the mystery and from the mystery back to the fact. Here, psychology is subsumed by religion. This is that exceptional experience which we call “religious.” Its manifestation is twofold, but its essence is one: it manifests in immersion and devotion in prayer, which is the ultimate purity, and it manifests in renunciation of the self and the turning-inward of the commandment, which is ultimate freedom. Both are one, both share one essence; both are immersion in the mystery, both are contact with the Source. It is noteworthy that the language of Jewish piety has just one word for both.34 Through prayer and through the commandment the separation is overcome, the connection between the Born and the Source is regained, and the connection between the created and the Creator is attained once again. Human beings return not only to themselves – to their beginning and their heritage – but also to their God, to the Being of their Becoming. The great oneness and wholeness enters their lives, and their lives become wholly one.They are born again, reborn from the Source. And so again the circle has closed. Every human being – like everything else in existence – is the fact of human life, that fact behind which dwells the mystery. Every living being is system, is law, is individuality, is heritage. In the human being life becomes conscious of itself and with that becomes task, becomes freedom; life can be newly received and can begin again, it can return to its beginning, its heritage, its Source, it can be reborn. Human beings can shape the fact of themselves for themselves; they can actualize their own reality, attaining fulfilled individuality.

34 Baeck refers to the German and not the Hebrew language, playing with the assonance between Gebet/prayer and Gebot/commandment.