Hebrew Union College Annual Volume 89 (2018) 087820184X, 9780878201846

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hebrew union college annual volume 89

David H. Aaron and Jason Kalman, Editors Sonja Rethy, Managing Editor Editorial Board of Directors David Ellenson, Alyssa Gray, Sharon Gillerman, Richard Sarason, Yaron Tsur Editorial Advisors Michael J. Cook, Reuven Firestone, Joshua D. Garroway, Kristine Henriksen Garroway, Joshua David Holo, Jan D. Katzew, Bruce A. Philips, Rachel Sabath Beit-Halachmi, Haim O. Rechnitzer, David S. Sperling, Mark Washofsky, Dvora Weisberg

HEBREW UNION COLLEGE ANNUAL Volume 89

Hebrew Union College Press 2018

©2019 by Hebrew Union College Press ISSN 360-9049 ISBN 978-0-87820-166-2 Typesetting by Raphaël Freeman, 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

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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 The Jews of the South of France Armand Lunel Translated from the French by Samuel N. Rosenberg, with a foreword by David A. Jessula 159 Conflicts between Neighbors in the Jewish Court: The Balance between Justice and Harmony Shlomo E. Glicksberg, Yeshiva College, Johannesburg 177 From Periphery to Center: Early Discussion of Resurrection in Medieval Jewish Thought Eliezer Schlossberg and Dov Schwartz, Bar-Ilan University 197 čĤģĕ Ğĥĕđ čĤ ęđĘĥ – Yehuda ha-Levi’s Epistle to Moshe ibn Ezra: A New Edition and Commentary Michael Rand, University of Cambridge 221 Dynasties of Jewish Physicians in the Fatimid and Ayyubid Periods Amir Mazor and Efraim Lev, University of Haifa 261 The Points in the Letters: Greek Philosophy in the Service of Medieval Jewish Linguistics Jonathan Howard, Hebrew University of Jerusalem

The Jews of the South of France Armand Lunel B Translated from the French by Samuel N. Rosenberg With a Foreword by David A. Jessula

Originally published as Armand Lunel, Juifs du Languedoc, de la Provence et des États français du Pape (Paris: Albin Michel, 1976), ISBN 2-226-00235-9, in the series Présences du Judaïsme. French text copyright 1975 by Editions Albin Michel. The original French edition was published with the help of the Commission du Livre du F. S. J. U. (le Fonds Social Juif Unifié). The numbering of notes in the original recommences with each page. Where a note appears in the French edition, the indication “A. L.” is given here. In many cases, details have been silently added to Lunel’s bibliographical indications.

To the memory of my grandfather, Albert Lunel

Editor’s Note “Where does ‘I’ (or the historian) stop and ‘history’ and ‘culture’ (as objects of historical investigation) begin?” F. R. Ankersmit, Sublime Historical Experience (Stanford University Press, 2005), 245

We are pleased to publish Samuel N. Rosenberg’s translation of The Jews of the South of France, by novelist, essayist, librettist, playwright, and here, historian, Armand Lunel (1892–1977). The Hebrew Union College Annual has a long history of bringing to light primary historical documents. When Professor Rosenberg first approached us about Lunel’s work, we recognized that the narrative did not sit comfortably in any single genre of traditional scholarship. While Lunel provides us with a narrative easily recognized as historiography, it is heavily influenced by personal reflections, forays into “evidence” provided by literary figures as unrelated as Stendhal and Petrarca, and even by visits to museums. The narrative is highly descriptive and reflective of the author’s personal tastes, moving from factual reportage to personal recollections of interactions with contemporaries, such as composer Darius Milhaud. Lunel does not hesitate to address his readership directly, such as when he discusses a tableau in a Carpentras museum: “Let’s stand back for a moment in wonder!” We came to recognize that Lunel’s narrative about the Jews of Southern France constitutes a primary source of Jewish life, culture, and history, in-and-of itself. Of course, that could be said of any work of historiography. For the next generation of historians, previous histories constitute works worthy of scrutiny. In this case, the hybrid character of Lunel’s lively, literary narrative permits reflections that do not relate exclusively to questions of historiography. Lunel’s personal approach to the meaning of historical events is itself reflective of cultural attitudes and a worldview that are worthy of a contemporary historian’s consideration. We publish, then, Lunel’s original text in Samuel N. Rosenberg’s fine translation, without any attempt to update the historical research or filter the author’s exuberance for his subject matter. We believe Lunel’s historiographic and cultural insights will prove valuable in the same way that a memoir or autobiography proves fundamental to understanding any slice of time-past.

5

Contents Foreword: A Glance at My Grandfather’s Legacy, by David A. Jessula

11

Translator’s Preface

15

Translator’s Introduction

17

Other Works about Armand Lunel and the Jews of the South of France

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Table of Currencies

21 THE JEWS OF THE SOUTH OF FRANCE

Chapter 1. The Most Distant Past

25

Chapter 2. The Golden Age of the Jews of the Midi A statute of tolerance A prospering economy A surprising spiritual climate Jews and Cathars End of the Golden Age

29 29 34 34 36 40

Chapter 3. Provençal Vicissitudes Provence open to Israel Dark spots in the picture Good King René! Religious life Literature The disaster

43 43 45 48 49 51 52

Chapter 4. An Aristocracy of Hebrew Origin A whole cycle of conversions A new nobility Indictment by a General Prosecutor Malherbe, a foe of the Jews Alleged correspondence between the Jews of Arles and those of Constantinople The Register of the Noble Class of Provence by Barcilon de Mauvans An edict of appeasement and the survival of prejudices

55 55 56 56 58

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62 65 66

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Contents

Chapter 5. The Pope’s Jews 1. Pontifical Asylum Centuries of relative security The high cost of asylum 2. Jewish Quarters The Four Holy Communities The lovely Jewish women of Avignon The strange Carrière of Carpentras Marks of infamy 3. Synagogues The synagogue of Carpentras The synagogue of Cavaillon A religious art in keeping with the region 4. Poll-tax Republics The prayer for the Pope Elections and duties of the Baylons Crushing taxes Extraordinary authoritarianism 5. Commerce A whole series of restrictions Final development of business 6. Daily Life A schedule determined by ritual Circumcision Marriage Some relaxation of discipline Pleasures of intimacy Provençal color 7. One-way Solidarity Keeping outsiders out Trouble at L’Isle-sur-Sorgue Extraordinary precautions Religious exemptions for the rabbinate Comtadins and Bordelais: Similarities 8. Jews and Christians as Neighbors Preventive measures variously respected Jewish Influences in folklore Jews subjected to violence, cruelty, and harassment How the Jews managed to take revenge

71 71 72 74 75 76 76 77 79 80 80 84 85 85 86 87 88 91 92 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 98 100 101 101 103 106 108 109 110 110 113 114 116

Contents 9. The Problem of Conversions Forced preaching Conversion through music A rabbi from Metz converted in Carpentras Questionable apostates Conversions as a response to plague Child snatchers A few more notable conversions Lavish celebration of baptisms 10. Cultural Panorama The Hebrew-Comtadin patois Patois theater Vestiges of Judeo-Comtadin Treasures of religious inspiration Two moving lyric poems A note on liturgy 11. The End of a Small World The Edict of Tolerance and departures from the Carrières Gradual emancipation Attitude and role of the Judeo-Comtadins under the Revolution Liquidation of the debts of the old Communities Adolphe Crémieux succeeds in having the more judaico oath abrogated Final memories of the Four Holy Communities

9 117 117 118 120 121 122 123 125 128 131 131 132 135 136 140 142 143 144 145 148 149 150 151

Images of Armand Lunel and of notable Jewish sites in the South of France (Cavaillon, Carpentras, Avignon, etc.) are readily available online Bibliography

153

Further Reading Suggested by the Translator

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Foreword: A Glance at My Grandfather’s Legacy David A. Jessula Armand Lunel’s Juifs du Languedoc, de la Provence et des États français du Pape (Jews of Languedoc, Provence, and the Papal States of France), a landmark in the story of the Jews of the South of France, is now at last available to Englishlanguage readers drawn to a significant French writer and his major work of history. Armand Lunel, born in 1892 in Aix-en-Provence, came from a Jewish family native to the Comtat Venaissin. His paternal grandfather had long worked, like those before him, in olive-oil pressing in the village of Alleins; he then moved to Aix in an attempt to expand his business. Armand’s mother, also named Lunel though not a relative of her husband, came from Cavaillon. Such was the origin of this family rooted in Languedoc, once part of the Papal States of France. Aix-en-Provence had an indelible effect on Armand’s childhood. There he attended the Lycée Mignet for a time and became fast friends with the composer Darius Milhaud and the poet Léo Latil (the latter ultimately killed in action in the First World War). He moved to Paris, studied with the philosopher known simply as Alain at the Lycée Henri IV, entered the École Normale Supérieure, and graduated with a degree in philosophy. After four wartime years in the army, he was named a professor at the lycée of Monaco in 1920 and taught there for almost thirty years. With the publication of his first novel in 1924, L’Imagerie du cordier (The imagery of the rope-maker), he came to be known beyond his native Provence, and in 1926 he was awarded the first Théophraste Renaudot prize for his novel Nicolo-Peccavi, ou l’Affaire Dreyfus à Carpentras (Nicolo-Peccavi, or the Dreyfus Affair in Carpentras). The period between the two wars was particularly fertile for Lunel’s career as a writer. New novels and short stories confirmed his literary strengths: Noire et Grise (Black and grey), Le Balai de sorcière (The sorceress’s broom), and Jérusalem à Carpentras (Jerusalem in Carpentras). He wrote plays as well – Esther de Carpentras (Esther of Carpentras) – and opera libretti, in collaboration with composers such as Darius Milhaud (Les Malheurs d’Orphée [The misfortunes of Orpheus], Maximilien, and David) and Henri Sauguet (La Chartreuse de Parme [The charterhouse of Parma]), along with a broad array of articles, lectures, and other publications.

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Drafted back into the army at the beginning of the Second World War, Lunel served until the Vichy government signed its armistice with the Germans and promulgated its Jewish statute of October 1940. Protected by Prince Louis II of Monaco, Lunel was allowed to continue teaching for another year and, in any case, was able to survive the war unharmed. After the Liberation, he published his memories of the war in Par d’étranges chemins (By strange paths) and resumed more actively than ever his engagement with literature. He soon published two novels with plots centered in his native city – Les Amandes d’Aix (The almonds of Aix) (1949) and La Belle à la fontaine (Beauty at the fountain) (1959), both of which were reprinted in 2014. La Belle à la fontaine was to be Armand Lunel’s final novel. He seems to have chosen to move from “poetic truth” to “authentic truth.” In the preface to a new edition of Jérusalem à Carpentras, he speaks of the meaning of “poetic truth” in these terms: “Is all of that true, or, as we commonly say, did it really happen? . . . Of course, it’s true! But careful – with a truth generally truer than true: the truth of poetic truth.” This led to J’ai vu vivre la Provence (I have seen Provence live), an evocation of that poor, infertile land, flooded with light, and home to such undeniably truthful characters as Baptistin and Baptistine. Other works, published after Armand Lunel’s death in 1977 by the late Georges Jessula, confirm this orientation. Mon ami Darius Milhaud (My friend Darius Milhaud) recounts the history of his friendship with the composer; Les Chemins de mon judaïsme (The paths of my Judaism) sheds light on the writer’s spiritual journey; Frère Gris (Brother Grey), a long poem, contributes to the transformation of his search for a time lost into a time found. After having woven dreams around the imagery of a rope maker who wants to circle the globe with his ropes, the works of Armand Lunel have allowed us to cross the divide from poetic truth to authentic truth. The two truths, however, continue to communicate and respond to each other. And any attempt to disassociate one from the other would only bring them back together. It is precisely this spirit of synthesis that becomes brilliantly clear in the melding of all his studies, lectures, and publications that we discern in the historic work published here – Juifs du Languedoc, de la Provence et des États français du Pape – honored by both the Grand Prix Gobert of the Académie Française and the Grand Prix National des Lettres. The translation of this major work by Armand Lunel will give an anglophone readership the opportunity to appreciate a writer who was at once a novelist, historian, playwright, philosopher, opera librettist, script writer – and, at heart, a poet. His new public will discover an opus of exemplary cohesiveness, imbued with a Judeo-Provençal spirit and breathing new life into a magnificent spiritual heritage now lastingly preserved. I am indebted to Samuel N. Rosenberg for having taken on the challenge of

Foreword

13

this translation and then carrying it through with great skill and dedication. I was happy to contribute copies of his manuscript, even before publication, to a few libraries particularly meaningful to one or the other of us: the Bibliothèque Méjanes in Aix-en-Provence (which houses a special collection of works by Armand Lunel), the Bibliothèque Inguimbertine in Carpentras, the Archives of the Prince’s Palace of Monaco (which contain a complete collection of Lunel’s books and papers), and the Lilly Library of Indiana University. Armand Lunel’s history reminds us that Jewish communities have existed in France since the first century of our era. In the regions of the South of France – Languedoc, Provence, the Comtat Venaissin – whether persecuted or protected (notably by the Pope), they long succeeded in maintaining their traditions, as the synagogues of Carpentras and Cavaillon still testify. In recent times, the Jewish community of Provence has even grown, thanks to immigration from North Africa. Armand Lunel’s history has a future no less than a past. Translated from French by Samuel N. Rosenberg

Translator’s Preface

Armand Lunel’s history is an intensely personal book. Unlike any comparable work, his French text opens with no introductory statement, whether his own or anyone else’s, but plunges immediately into the heart of the matter, as a diary might do. This is a harbinger of the two related challenges that the translator faces. One challenge lies in Lunel’s tendency to allude to persons or events with little explanation or identification within the text. To a great extent, such insufficiency of contextualization is not a problem for francophone readers, who can be expected to recognize individuals or phenomena that are part of their shared culture. Anglophone readers, on the other hand, may well expect footnoting. Whereas, for example, a French reader can probably rely on memory to understand a reference to François de Malherbe or to “Molière’s Turks,” an English-speaking counterpart needs to be offered an identification. For both readerships, however, references that are specifically Jewish or specifically Provençal call for annotation when Lunel’s main text is less than self-explanatory. The writer’s laconic allusion to “my friend François Jouve” is a particularly egregious example of such lack of identification – and a telling sign of Lunel’s very personal investment in the ostensible familiarity of his account. This is indeed a work of history told by a writer significantly ready to include himself and, implicitly, his readers in the telling. And it is a work that necessitates extensive annotation. This brings us to the other challenge of this unusual history: to weave personal and familial recollections seamlessly into the fabric of a story that is, in principle, a disinterested narrative. It is somewhat jarring, at first, to see such phrases as “my grandfather” or “the prayer that Milhaud asked of me for his sacred cantata.” One quickly realizes, however, that those allusions, fairly numerous in Chapter 5, are precisely what gives this history its particular and unequaled vibrancy, a touch of the memoir that sets it excitingly apart from other histories of the Jews of the Midi.

15

Translator’s Introduction

Armand Lunel’s life was defined by the interwoven roots of his experience as a Jew and as a native of Provence. In his many writings, he explored and celebrated both these aspects of his culture. He was born in 1892 in Aix-en-Provence into a family long established in the Midi and counting learned figures among his forebears – the twelfth-century talmudist Meshullan ben Jacob perhaps, and surely the rabbi and poet Jacob de Lunel, who collaborated centuries later with Mardochée Astruc to compose La Tragédie provençale de la reine Esther (The Provençal tragedy of Queen Esther), published in 1774. This subject was to resonate many years later in the work of Jacob’s descendant. At the Lycée Mignet in Aix, Armand Lunel came to know the fellow-student who would be, throughout his life, his closest friend and occasional collaborator, the composer Darius Milhaud. Only in 1992, years after the deaths of both men, did Lunel’s memoir on their friendship appear in print. Mon ami Darius Milhaud is a moving tribute from one great artist to another. From Aix, Lunel went to Paris for very profitable advanced study, but in a few years he was back in his beloved Midi, from which he never moved again, except as a soldier in the First World War. At the rock-solid base of Armand Lunel’s professional life was his deservedly tenured career as a lycée professor of philosophy, which began in 1920, when he was twenty-eight years old and newly married, and which, apart from three years during the Second World War, remained his chief occupation until it was time to retire. His home through those years was, as earlier, the principality of Monaco, and it was that privileged residence – specifically, the protection of the Prince of Monaco – that allowed him and other members of the local Jewish community to remain physically untouched by the War. That fearsome event, however, intensified his concern with matters of Jewish interest. Lunel had already, in 1926, written the second of his novels on the theme of the Dreyfus affair. This was Nicolo-Peccavi, ou l’Affaire Dreyfus à Carpentras, whose considerable success earned him that year’s Théophraste Renaudot prize. The same year saw the composition of Lunel’s first collaboration, as librettist, with Darius Milhaud. This was the opera buffa Esther de Carpentras, inspired by the Lunel-Mardochée text of 1774. Like its predecessor, the work was meant as entertainment for the festival of Purim. As it happened, however,

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Samuel N. Rosenberg

the first performance did not take place until the Opéra-Comique staging in Paris in 1938, which gave the work an unexpectedly chilling timeliness. Following a pair of novels set in Aix and Nice, Lunel published in 1938 his collection of stories, Jérusalem à Carpentras, a work about trying experiences, concluding with an affirmation of the hero’s happiness in finding that his promised land is nothing more remote than the Jewish community of Carpentras. Again, and fateful dating aside, the locus of the action is Lunel’s beloved Midi, always the heartland to which his literary imagination drew him, however far afield a particular interest may have led him momentarily. His post-war attraction to Senegal, for example, produced a memorable, photograph-filled eponymous volume published in 1966. Indeed, it bespoke a curiosity about the art and folklore of West Africa that would ultimately bring an important collection of statues, masks, and the like to the holdings of the Musée national de Monaco. The interlocking themes of Judaism and the Midi were nevertheless Lunel’s chief and abiding concerns. These were expressed in the dozen works that preceded or followed the War, and perhaps most poignantly in Lunel’s memoir Par d’étranges chemins: souvenirs de mai–juin 1940, which appeared in 1946 with illustrations by Léon Zack. Numerous journal articles, radio talks, and conference presentations marked the years, touching notably on the history and ethnography of the Midi. Lunel’s devotion to his homeland was recognized in 1963, when his book, J’ai vu vivre la Provence (1962), brought him the distinction of the Grand Prix littéraire de Provence. Armand Lunel’s collaboration with Darius Milhaud was another, and related, constant of that devotion. Even before Esther de Carpentras, there had been a few songs set to texts by Lunel (in 1909 and 1914), as well as the libretto for the chamber opera Les Malheurs d’Orphée (1924). After the War, once Milhaud was free to travel back to France from his haven in the United States, Lunel composed the text for Milhaud’s cantata Barba Garibo (1949–1950), and the two friends worked together on the opera David, commissioned to memorialize the king of ancient Israel; the opera was first staged at La Scala in 1955. Mention has already been made of Armand Lunel’s posthumously published memories of Milhaud. Another posthumous publication is Les chemins de mon judaïsme (The paths of my Judaism), a collection of Lunel’s previously unpublished writings, edited in 1993 by his now-deceased son-in-law Georges Jessula. In 1976, one year before his death, Armand Lunel had the honor of receiving for his history of the Jews of the Midi – the present work – the Grand Prix Gobert of the Académie Française.

Other Works about Armand Lunel and the Jews of the South of France Blumenkranz, Bernhard. Bibliographie des Juifs de France. Paris: Privat, 1974. Horn, Pierre. Modern Jewish Writers of France. Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen, 1994. Iancu, Danièle and Carol. Les Juifs du Midi: Une histoire millénaire. Avignon: Barthélemy, 1995. Moulinas, René. Les Juifs du Pape (in the series “Présences du judaïsme”). Paris: Albin Michel, 1992.

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Table of Currencies1 Lunel mentions currencies ranging from the medieval to the modern. The relevant history of money is complex: old denominations and foreign currency were sometimes used alongside more recent French coins. The following may give the reader a general notion of the relative worth of these denominations. florin. A gold coin of the late Middle Ages and Renaissance, worth more than silver marks. pistole. Issued later than the florin, a gold coin worth multiple écus. écu. The “écu of 6 livres” was at one time the denomination of a silver coin. livre. Literally, a pound. Originally, a pound of silver. franc. Sometimes equivalent or near-equivalent of a pound (livre). mark (or “silver mark”). About half a pound. teston. A silver coin, about half a pound. sol (or sou). A twentieth of a pound or franc. denier. A copper coin of little value, a penny.

1 This table was prepared for the English translation.

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The Jews of the South of France

Chapter 1. The Most Distant Past

If there is any history – or, indeed, prehistory – that plunges us far into the depths of time, it is surely the history of the Jews of Languedoc, Provence, and the Papal states of France: Avignon and the Comtat Venaissin.1 From that, among some of their descendants even today, stems an ancestral pride that sets them apart, pride in both the antiquity of their communal existence and the nobility of their origins. From that stems the value that they attach, almost as a birth certificate, to the legend that, after the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 CE by General Titus, the son of Emperor Vespasian, the most worthy families of the House of David and the tribe of Judah were exiled to southern Gaul and the Iberian Peninsula – which is also flattering, of course, to the Sephardim, the Jews of Spain. It is true that Gaul sometimes served as a place of forced residence for the Empire’s political foes, as was the case of that important personage Archelaüs, King of Judea, son and successor of Herod the Great, whom Augustus exiled to Vienne2 in the year 6 CE. It is true, too, that in 1967 André Dumoulin, conservator of the museums of Cavaillon, discovered, in the ruins of an ancient fortress near Orgon in the department of Bouches-du-Rhône, a Roman terracotta oil lamp decorated with two Hebrew seven-branched candelabra on either side of the base, in a style belonging to the second half of the first century of our era. Shall we move further back into the past? The Diaspora, the scattering of parts of the Jewish population beyond the borders of their native Palestine into the larger Mediterranean world, began long before the destruction of Jerusalem. A number of Jewish traders may have fanned out across Asia Minor to Marseille, the city founded in 600 BCE by the Phocaeans. Other Jews, in greater numbers, seem to have come, perhaps originally as peddlers, in the wake of the first Roman legions occupying transalpine Gaul, where the city of Aix was founded as early as 122 BCE by the proconsul Caius Sextius. These are appealing hypotheses, but there is no proof of their historical accuracy. 1 Languedoc and Provence: traditional provinces of the South of France, the so-called Midi. The Papal States, comprising the city of Avignon and the region called the Comtat Venaissin, were under the jurisdiction of the Pope rather than the King of France from the 14th century until the French Revolution in the late 18th. There were Jewish communities in the towns of Lunel, Carpentras, Cavaillon, and L’Isle-sur-Sorgue, as well as in Avignon itself. – trans. 2 Vienne: Locale near Lyon. – trans.

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Armand Lunel

What is known for certain is that in Arles in 449 the Jewish community took part in the funeral of the bishop Saint Hilaire, singing psalms in Hebrew; contributed to the defense of the city in 508, when it was under siege by Gondebrand, King of Burgundy; and in 543 followed the burial procession for the bishop Saint Césaire, accompanying the ceremony with lamentations at the loss of their valued protector. Striking examples, these, of ancient friendship between Jews and Christians! Exhibited at the archeological museum in Narbonne is the oldest inscription concerning French Judaism: On a white marble tombstone is carved (with one exception, as we shall see) a text in Latin, which was the official language even for the Jews; the inscription is at the right of a seven-branched candelabrum so small as not to exceed the height of the letters of the text. This is the translation: Here rest in peace and blessèd memory the three children of Oord Parator, son of the late Oord Sapundus. The deceased are Justus, Matrona, and Dulciorella: Justus, thirty years old; Matrona, twenty; Dulciorella, nine. Peace be upon Israel. They died in the second year of the reign of Oord King Egica. That last detail takes us back to 689, a time of persecution and massacres of Jews by the Visigothic kings, events that unfortunately offer the only plausible explanation of the death, in the same year, of the three Parator children, as seems persuasively confirmed by the invocation Peace be upon Israel, which stands out as the only words engraved in Hebrew. We should note that the names Parator and Sapundus are preceded by the title Dominus, which is also given to King Egica. The title, meaning “lord,” is indicative of a very high social rank. The inscription, belonging to the South of France, brings to mind another, almost as ancient, found at Auch, in the Gers area, which was placed by a donor named Jonas at the door of a synagogue. A whole series of observations, moreover, is bound to concern us. Jews claimed an unshakable fidelity to the Law of Moses and refused to follow the example of the pagans converting to Christianity. But there was not yet any barrier, any iron curtain separating them from the rest of the population. They were fluent in the same language, reserving Hebrew only for religious purposes. In addition, at that time, the ritual differences that might separate them from the early Christians were far from being as sharp as they later became. Our southern Jews paid little attention to the minute prescriptions of the Talmud; Christian clerics were often married, as were rabbis; churches, still devoid of images and often even of bells, could be hard to distinguish from synagogues. Gregorian chant had its roots in Hebrew chant and followed its model; food taboos, such as not eating meat with undrained blood, lasted for a long time

Chapter 1. The Most Distant Past

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among Christians, some of whom also celebrated the Sabbath on Saturday rather than Sunday. Finally, there was at the time a veritable Jewish proselytism, which has not always been sufficiently acknowledged. Pagans, for the reasons just mentioned, sometimes confused Church and Synagogue and knocked at the door of the rabbi instead of the priest. Moreover, as we might expect, the slaves, servants, and day-laborers working for Jews were readily converted and constituted the majority of conversions. It even happened that the appeal of Judaism led to some resounding apostasies, provoking no little exasperation among Christians. This was notably the case of Bodo, a deacon at the court of Louis the Pious,3 who, the better to profess his new religion, went into exile and took a wife in Moorish Spain. The progress of Jewish proselytizing led Agobard, a prelate and polemicist of undeniable vigor, [arch]bishop of Lyon from 814, to compose his Epistles against the Jews, in which he expresses his indignation at seeing them pronounce blessings over figures as grand as Louis the Pious and his Empress Judith, who seek them almost every day. With the same vehemence he deplores the fact that all too often ordinary people prefer rabbis’ sermons to those of priests and that the number of synagogues keeps rising. He considers it unacceptable that Jews can sell kosher meat to Christians, who are overly fond of the product of their ritual slaughtering; the same is true of the wine prepared according to the Jewish rite. What scandalizes Agobard most of all, however, is that Jews are leading their slaves, whether freely or by force, to accept conversion; he therefore demands that they be forbidden to have slaves and to trade in them. Amolon, Agobard’s successor, went so far as to claim, in his Against the Jews, that some Jews, still tax collectors in spite of the law, were apparently taking advantage of their position to force unfortunates into apostasy. Let’s conclude this brief survey with a reference to the authoritative voice of Renan,4 who declares in his study, Judaism as Race and Religion, “It is probable that the Jew of Gaulish times, the age of Gontran and Chilperic, was most often nothing but a Gaul professing the Israelite religion.” Thus, the majority of Jews of that period were no longer people of the East or descendants of the Hebrews, and many French Jews today can with perfect seriousness speak of “our ancestors, the Gauls”!5

3 Louis the Pious (778–840): King of the Franks and, from 813, co-Emperor, with his father, Charlemagne, of the Holy Roman Empire. – trans. 4 Joseph Ernest Renan (1823–1892): French philologist, historian, expert in ancient languages and civilizations of the Middle East, particularly interested in early Christianity. – trans. 5 “Our ancestors, the Gauls”: This phrase was once well known for its use in French schoolbooks. – trans.

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But, given in particular that success in proselytizing, we now face the very thorny problem of the Church’s attitude toward the Jews – specifically, the doctrine of the witness-bearing nation, enunciated very early by Saint Augustine.6 If the Jews, although refusing to recognize Jesus as the true Messiah, still exist on earth, it is because God wills them to bear witness, through Holy Scripture and their dispersion across the world, to the truth of Christianity; they are the custodians of the Old Testament, the guarantors of its authenticity. They are blind, however, and stubborn in their rejection of prophecy, which explains why in Christian statuary, as in the Cathedral of Strasbourg, the Synagogue is represented as a blindfolded virgin holding the Book and a broken lance. It is thus understood that the Jews are to be tolerated for the edification of the faithful, but, since they refuse to be converted and since, still more gravely, their proselytizing presents a dangerous threat to Christian faith, the Church, with the support of civic authorities, has to establish barriers to judaization. This explains all the conciliar measures forbidding Jews to exercise functions that would give them parity with Christians and to employ Christians in their service. They also forbade Christians to frequent Jews, to share in their meals and participate in their festivities, and to enter into mixed marriages. These restrictions were laid out and systematized in the Theodosian Code, promulgated in 438. In fact, until the fifth century, the Jews had been considered Roman citizens and thereby enjoyed all the advantages and protections of imperial law. Once Christianity was the official religion and canon law was established under the Merovingian kings, their civil and political liberties were weakened or reduced, though – and we mustn’t forget this – without generally rendering their situation unbearable. Better yet, under the Carolingian kings their situation actually improved. In Jewish legends, right through the Middle Ages, the great figure of Charlemagne stands out as a friend of Israel. The Emperor must no doubt have borne in mind the services rendered him by the Jews, with their high level of education and their commercial abilities. Indeed, they included the best physicians of the age, scholars versed in the languages of the Middle East, and traders whose connections extended throughout the known world. When in 797 the Emperor sent a mission to Harun al-Rashid, the famous Caliph of Baghdad, a Jew named Isaac was sent along to serve as interpreter. The journey was arduous in the extreme. In the course of the mission’s five years, all its members perished, with the sole exception of Isaac, who returned to Aix-la-Chapelle, laden with rich presents for the Emperor from the Caliph – including a sensation for the time, an elephant! As for Louis the Pious, his benevolence is convincingly demonstrated by his resistance to the anti-Jewish exhortations of Agobard. 6 Saint Augustine, Contra Faustum Manichaeum. – trans.

Chapter 2. The Golden Age of the Jews of the Midi

For a long time, the fate of the Jews of the South of France appeared far better than that of their fellows in the rest of Christendom. Particularly along the right bank of the Rhône, in Languedoc, their social and political position was exceptional. Here is what our great historian Michelet had to say about the province in his “Tableau de la France”: No navigable rivers there; the Deux-Mers canal has not been an adequate remedy for that absence. Many salt marshes, though, where the only vegetation is cordgrass. Countless thermal springs, bitumen, and balsam. It is a second Judea. It was easy for the rabbis in Narbonne’s Jewish schools to feel at home in their own land.1 Michelet, then, once again, with his extreme, almost obsessive sensitivity to local color, saw right through that landscape to its very essence. Yes, the rabbis of the Middle Ages and their congregants could feel there as in a new Judea, not only owing to a kind of seemingly miraculous replication of sky, climate, and geographic setting, but also to all the benefits and protections they enjoyed.

A statute of tolerance The Occitan communities, autonomous civil units, constituted municipia whose statutes were subject to local authority. Administrators, called “bayles” and sometimes even “consuls,” chosen by election or as a function of age, were responsible for internal policing and for an equitable distribution of all duties. Strict regulations governed the Aumône (today’s “public assistance”) and curbed excessive spending, as in Pamiers, where fathers were forbidden to spend more than twelve deniers per child on year’s-end gifts. This expressed a concern with both charity and austerity, a concern that eventually inspired similar legislation in all the Jewish communities. The Jews of the South could own real property; they could function as tax farmers; rabbis were accorded the honorific Don in contracts signed with Christians, and could exercise seignorial rights, some even on lands held by the Templars and the Hospitallers of Saint John.

1 Jules Michelet is well known for his multi-volume Histoire de France. This quotation is from his Tableau de la France: Géographie physique, politique et morale (Paris: Lacroix, 1875), 35. – trans.

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Worship was free, and there were synagogues everywhere – in Béziers, Lodève, Lunel, Mende, Montpellier, Nîmes, Pamiers, Pézenas, Posquières, SaintGilles, Toulouse, and elsewhere. All have disappeared, save one at Mende. It is in Gothic style. Vestiges, as moving as they are precious, may be seen in the present-day rue Notre-Dame, known until the fourteenth century as the rue Juytarie. Its soaringly beautiful arched door leads into an interior courtyard surrounded by an odd gallery, which is supported by granite columns of a rather crude sort. There are some remains of clerestory woodwork that appear to be of the same period, and street-level entry doors, some with barrel vaulting, the others with pointed. From the courtyard, which was used as an open-air meeting hall, a stone staircase leads straight down to a crypt, where can be seen the area of worship. At the foot of the staircase, you can make out the location of an earlier door with a rectilinear lintel and a few traces of iron for the hinges. The crypt, rectangular in shape, also has barrel vaulting; there are roman numbers on the stones, no doubt a workman’s guide; two small basement windows let in some dim light. The earthen floor is unpaved. In a corner facing the entrance, you notice a gross white-marble tub, undecorated, almost wholly set into the wall; you have to think it must have served for ritual bathing. To the left, also built into the wall, are two cupboards, separated by a stone partition, which perhaps served as the Holy Ark; nowadays they serve for the storage of bottles. To the right, almost at ground level, there is a slight excavation; that, tradition has it, is where the statue of the Black Virgin was once discovered, which now adorns the fountain in the rue Notre-Dame. This was the fountain that was once reserved for the residents of the Juytarie; to this day, its water is reputed to be the town’s best. In Mende, the main town of Gévaudan, as in all of Languedoc, Jews lived in peace under the tolerant jurisdiction of episcopal authorities. Their relations with Christians were perfectly cordial; they occasionally took meals together; nobles and clerics often served as their witnesses in legal matters. As recounted by the traveler Rabbi Benjamin of Tudela – who undertook a voyage that, between 1160 and 1173, took him from Spain as far as China and thus earned him the distinction of being the first demographer of the Diaspora – Narbonne, “one of the most celebrated cities for the study of the Law,” had three hundred Jewish households, governed at the time by a Nasi, a hereditary king of the illustrious Kalonymus family. According to Hebrew records of the period, this dynasty descended from David. Its founder, having reigned as Exilarch – that is, Prince of Exile – in Babylonia, had come from Baghdad, with the same title, to Narbonne, where Charlemagne is said to have reconfirmed his prerogatives in recompense for his services. This was no doubt a matter of local Jewish military aid to the Franks in their conflict with the Moors of Spain. Popular imagination later fashioned the report into

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a stunning legend: a Jewish horseman, upon seeing the Emperor fall from his saddle and thus risk death at the hand of the foe, gave him his own horse and perished in his place. Let us note, finally, that by virtue of a privilege reserved to lords and knights alone, these Jewish kings had their own seal for their official rulings. The last of them, Kalonymos ben Todros, expelled in 1306, had a seal showing, in the center, on the face inscribed for Christians in the vernacular, as well as on the face inscribed in Hebrew, a shield embossed with the Lion of Judah. But we cannot ignore the humiliations that the Occitan Jews suffered here and there. An odious ceremony called the “colaphisation” was started in 1020 in Toulouse: every year on Good Friday, with the excuse of making Israel pay for the death of Christ, a Jew was made to stand before the cathedral, there to be publicly slapped in the face by a Christian. It is reported that when Count Aimeri de Rochechouart came to celebrate Easter at Toulouse, the local clergy offered his chaplain Hugues the honor of slapping the Jew; the Count’s proxy acquitted himself so well of the task as, with one swipe of his iron gauntlet, to pop out his victim’s brain and two eyes. If the story is not true, it is at least a frightful sign of the times that people enjoyed believing it. Béziers had its own customary harassment: the Christians, likewise inspired by the grievous Christ-killing, had the right, again during Holy Week, to chase Jews and pelt them with stones. Eventually, though, such humiliations gave way to monetary payments. At the beginning of the twelfth century, the Easter slap was replaced by an annual charge payable to the canon of Saint-Sernin; and a little later the insults in Béziers were purchased back from Bishop Guillaume. In the thirteenth century, when the Albigensian Crusade2 came to wreak havoc on the happy domains of the South, Pope Innocent III’s main charge against Count Raymond VI in his excommunication in 1207 was not only that the Count had sheltered the heresy and was a heretic himself, but also that he had entrusted the Jews with responsibilities, “bringing shame upon religion.” The poor Count of Toulouse was compelled to make amends at the Council of Saint-Gilles, where he was forced to forbid the Jews in his lands, even those who had converted, to undertake tax collection and assume other public functions. This went so far as to nullify the election of a Marrano named Ruben to the Consulate in 1291. Jews were also prohibited from building new synagogues, being outside during Holy Week, sitting at table with Christians, engaging household servants and wet-nurses, and putting out for sale any meat prepared through ritual slaughter. They were obliged to respect Sunday 2 Albigensian Crusade (1209–1229): military campaign to eliminate the Christian heresy of Catharism and its adherents from the South of France; its significance was both religious and political. – trans.

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as the day of rest, and Christians were forbidden to have recourse to Jewish physicians. The wearing of the rouelle, the badge of shame sewn onto the chest, which had been imposed on the Jews in 1215 by the Lateran Council and gave them the same status as lepers and prostitutes, was reaffirmed in 1227 by the Council of Narbonne and in 1236 by the Council of Béziers. However, all these measures, so rigorous in appearance, often went unheeded. Money, on a number of occasions, allowed the Jews relief from the wearing of the badge of shame; and in Pamiers, living under the jurisdiction of the bishop of Saint-Antonin, they could replace the rouelle on their clothes with a tiny embroidered wheel as undetectable as possible. It is particularly important here to note the difference in treatment of two categories of Jews: those in royal lands, who were subjected to increasingly restrictive measures, and those living under local lords, whether secular or ecclesiastical, who benefitted somewhat from traditional liberality. This tradition entailed the maintenance of a fixed rate of taxation, whereas the king’s Jews lived under the threat of continually revised and indefinitely rising taxes. This explains why in the county of Foix, as in Montpellier, Lunel, and Narbonne, the Jews, in spite of the brutality of the ongoing Crusades, managed to preserve the liberties they had enjoyed in the previous century. Meanwhile, Jews who had the ill fortune to have fallen under the ruthless French domination came in such great numbers to seignorial lands in search of a haven from crushing taxation that their exodus left the remaining Jewish communities in the royal domain facing a serious deficit. They were pushed into drawing up a joint resolution called a Concordat, the purpose of which was to share their increasingly crushing charges fairly and to exact contributions from those members who had so far evaded them through flight: We, the elders, princes, and community leaders from the province of . . . Whereas, through our sins and those of our generation, our ills have grown worse, the calamities besetting us have become intolerable; our lamentations and our tears have grown manifold with God’s punishment. Taxes crush us; the enormity of the exactions grows more burdensome with each passing day, so that new charges make us at every instant forget those that came before, so heavy is the yoke that our foes have placed upon us . . . The result is that the number of members of our community in this province, so large in the past, has been greatly reduced . . . The taxes to which our community is subjected have all fallen upon those members who are still here, so that the latter can no longer satisfy the debt and their effectiveness is nullified.

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In the face of this necessity, we have found ourselves forced to establish a statute with the goal of improving the lot of those who are still here and clarifying the obligations of those who have emigrated. Wherefore, as God will perhaps restore to us those who have fled and the dispersed will return to our town, we have deemed it necessary to establish a rule or concordat concerning those who are duty-bound to bear the tax, in such manner that each will contribute a proportionate percentage, with the same rule applicable to all . . . We have decided to act not only in the interest of those who have stayed, but also in the interest of those who have emigrated, in order to bring them back and “return them to their land,”3 so that they not be reduced to “wandering like fugitive birds, nestlings driven away.”4 God in His mercy will approve our work and hold forth fair recompense to those who comply with these statutes. To each the King of the World will grant His blessing and His protection. Those who transgress will face the blow of reprobation and excommunication, as enunciated by Joshua; they will incur the curse of Elisha and the anathema that Rabbi Judas, son of Ezekiel, pronounced against Ukubia. And peace shall come unto Israel, except to anyone who disobeys . . . Written and signed in this month and year . . . And we have agreed that this formulary is to be made known in every community, so that the good of all may be served. The library of Parma, in Italy, holds the Hebrew manuscript Minhat Kenaoth (Offering of Zeal) that contains the model for this curious – and dramatic! – formulary. It is included in the correspondence exchanged by the rabbis of Languedoc in the thirteenth century, edited by Astruc de Lunel.5 The document bears witness to the total absorption of civil procedures by religion in the Jewish communities. At the same time, it reveals the first stage in that fearsome judicial rite that would traverse the centuries under the name Herem (excommunication).

3 Jeremiah 26:15. – A.L. 4 Isaiah 26:2. – A.L. 5 Astruc de Lunel: secular name of the late-13th–early 14th-century rabbi and writer otherwise known as Abba Mari ben Moses. – trans.

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A prospering economy In a picture of the economic life of the Jews of Occitania we find Narbonne before all else. It was the most important center, housing the trading floor and warehouse of an international commerce monopolized by Jewish traders known as radanites – from the Arabic word for “itinerants.” On land and on sea, by caravan or by boat, these multilingual radanites, speaking the language of the Franks as well as that of the Romans, Greeks, Slavs, Andalusians, and Arabs, proud to be known as official purveyors to royal courts, and often grouped into cooperative associations, had a mercantile network that stretched from Russia, Poland, and Germany into Spain, Italy, North Africa, and the Levant as far as Persia, the Indies, and China. Their travels let them export furs and tin from the far north, and slaves as well, including eunuchs; the slave trade was still lawful at the time, provided the human cattle were not yet baptized. On the way back, from the Orient, they imported incense for the celebration of divine offices, wax for tapers, balm, garum – the caviar already known to the Romans and eventually becoming the Provençal poutargue – spices, musk, aloe, copper work, brocades, silk, damascened weapons, carpets. Almost all commerce in the region was in the hands of the Jews, whether they traveled or stayed in place. Many were active in salt mining, wine production, textiles, brokerage, and banking. Lending at interest, which canon law officially forbade Christians to practice, was a source of wealth for Jews, but it frequently gave rise to repressive measures provoked by complaints from ruined borrowers or unscrupulous debtors.

A surprising spiritual climate So much economic liberty and such security, even with highs and lows, clearly went a good deal further than mere tolerance and, in view of the guiding principles of medieval society, starts to look like a paradox that demands explanation. It has been suggested that the origin of these benefits goes all the way back, as already mentioned, to Jewish loyalty to the Frankish kings. Beyond that, we surely need to speak of the preponderant influence in the Midi of Roman law, much more open than any strict feudal regime to liberal land ownership and to the equality of individuals. Neither of these explanations is sufficient, however. In the end, what accounts most profoundly for such liberal rule is the spirit and the way of life of the southern provinces. Under the bright sky of the troubadours and with the native gentleness of temperament, the bitterness of relations between Church and Synagogue gradually softened, and the weight of theological reprobation lightened to the point of making Christian and Jewish

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coexistence a peaceful reality. Even after the victory of the northern crusaders and the French crown’s two-step annexation of Languedoc (1229–1271),6 the Jews, though subjected by the new authorities to increasingly harsh measures, never stopped finding effective support among the local gentry and population. Let us be thankful for the innate understanding of the Midi, imbued with an old Mediterranean wisdom open to the cross-fertilization of all teachings, but closed to all the harassments and persecutions of political and religious fanaticism! Wiped out by the crusade against the Albigensians, such humanity, with its almost thousand-year head start along the road of moral progress, would have offered a valuable lesson against the hellish aberrations of the twentieth century. Under the Occupation, however, some people were blind enough to disparage the marvel of Occitan civilization, besmirching it with alleged weaknesses or undue semitism. Let us certainly not forget – indeed, let us celebrate – the extensive contribution of the Jews to the spread of that magnificent civilization. Their material success, as is often the case in such circumstances, was accompanied by a remarkable cultural blossoming. In the realm of spiritual values as elsewhere, the Jews were the intermediaries between East and West, and to such an extent that, for this Hebrew Occitania, we may well speak of a veritable Golden Age. First of all, to appreciate the role of the Jews of the Midi in scientific inquiry, let us consider the Faculty of Medicine of Montpellier, which quite rightly took pride in being the oldest in France. It enjoyed a level of academic freedom extraordinary for the time, since the courses were taught, with remarkable eclecticism, by Arab, Jewish, and Christian masters. Two plaques on display today in the main hallway show the names of all the principal figures who gained fame there between the 11th and 13th centuries, among them the author of The Book of Healing, a disciple of Rabbi Abou; Rabbi Nathan ben Zacharias and Bienvenu Graffaci of Jerusalem, both oculists; as well as rabbis Yehudah ibn Tibbon and his son Samuel, of the famous school of Lunel. To this Tibbon family, originally from Granada, we are particularly indebted for their translations of the medical and philosophical works of Islam; thanks to them Averroes and the Iranian Avicenna were revealed to Christian Europe and the link with Hippocrates was re-established. Better yet, Yehudah also brought into Hebrew the Arabic-language works of the great Judeo-Spanish writers such as Bahya, Ibn Gabirol, and Judah Halevy, while Samuel, emerging as an intellect no less universal in scope than his father, finished his translation of Maimonides’ Guide for the Perplexed in 1204, the 6 The annexation of Languedoc in the 13th century was part of a general expansion of the French royal domain, which also grew to include, most notably, the province of Normandy. – trans.

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year of the illustrious scholar’s death in Cairo. The translation contributed to the dissemination of Maimonides’ teachings, the rationalist and Aristotelian inspiration of which was felt even by Saint Thomas Aquinas. The work of this second Moses, as he was called, with its effort to reconcile faith with reason, immediately found, on one hand, enthusiastic admirers longing to interpret the mysteries of religion in the light of worldly knowledge and, on the other hand, fundamentalist adversaries fiercely attached to a strict, literal reading of the Bible. Their fight began with poetry. One anti-Maimonidist declared: Quiet now, you Guide for the blind! Your doctrines are fantasies! It is a sin to regard the Bible as a poem And prophecy as a dream. To which a Maimonidist was moved to respond: Quiet, yourself! Close your mouth, which speaks nonsense! Your mind is closed to both poetry and truth! But they soon came to excommunications and counter-excommunications, and the polemic reached such a crisis that in 1234 the talmudist Solomon of Montpellier took the disgraceful step of appealing to the Dominican inquisitors, who feared that Maimonides’ rationalism might spread to Christians. They obliged with an auto-da-fé destroying all copies of the Guide. The fire was started with a candle from their monastery.

Jews and Cathars Let us not lose sight of the particular historical moment and milieu. It was a time of extraordinary intellectual effervescence, in which literary, scientific, religious, and metaphysical tensions led, turn by turn, to new combinations and alliances, as shown by the preceding example, or to confrontations across all social strata. Catholic orthodoxy and Jewish orthodoxy each legislated within its own jurisdiction. In addition, Languedoc was the theater of a knightly civilization in which, from Hispano-Moorish roots, the troubadours cultivated the poetry of courtly love, a poetry characterized by the cult of woman, the lyric glorification of adultery, and the sublimation of carnal desire. At the same time, among the nobility as among the population of artisans and shepherds, there grew the heretical movement of the Cathars, or Albigensians, which cut more and more deeply into the prestige and following of the orthodox clergy. The Cathar sect, with its dualist philosophy, originated among the Bogomils – Bulgarian heretics of the eleventh century, themselves an offshoot of the

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third-century Manicheans and, going even further back to the Mazaist religion of the ancient Persians. This dualism divided the universe between Good and Evil, God and Satan. God, reigning over spirits, could not have created the impure and corruptible material world, which had to be the work of Satan. Man, formed of a divine soul and a satanic body, had the duty to free himself from evil by renouncing all the demands of physical life – whence the condemnation of marriage and procreation. In view, however, of certain indispensable accommodations, the Cathars divided into an elect of Perfects, or Goodmen, and the mass of ordinary Believers. The Perfects, who had received the supreme sacrament of the Consolamentum, remained strictly observant of the precepts of their religion: contemplation, chastity, and poverty. The Believers were held to a less stringent practice. Souls that had failed to attain purification through the Consolamentum in this world went through a series of reincarnations after death, akin to Pythagorean and Eastern metempsychosis, progressing step by step to ultimate salvation. The same Languedoc that provided a home of such rich cultural complexity also offered the ideal ground for Kabbalah, the most speculative of Jewish philosophies. As indicated by its name, Hebrew for “tradition,” it is an esoteric doctrine that owes its transmission and development to a long chain of initiates. It is said to have begun around the seventh century CE with Sefer Yetzirah (The Book of Creation), whose teachings actually go much further back, to the Geonim, the heads of the Babylonian talmudic academies. Between 1150 and 1250, particularly in Lunel, Narbonne, and Posquières, Kabbalah had an unexpected flowering, thanks to an anonymous and rather disordered book, Sefer Ha-Bahir (The Book of Brightness), which tied together the major themes of that esoteric and somewhat underground doctrine, obviously representing one more reaction, but a mystical one in this case, to the rationalism of Maimonides. God, the Perfect, the Infinite, moved back and pulled Himself together in order to spring forward and engender the Finite, that is, the world created by a series of emanations or irradiations of His attributes in the form of ten spiritual spheres, the Sephirot. The most important of the attributes appears as Wisdom, the ultimate flash of the sacred revelation, manifested in the world here below in the fall from the creative Presence into matter, where it blends with the suffering community of exiled Israel. Souls bear within themselves a reduction of the ten Sephirot, which they are to return to the perfection of their original form by way of a successful passage, as among the Cathars, through the purifying cycles of metempsychosis. This is crowned by the expectation of universal redemption, to be effected through the cosmic agency of Israel and its pious observance of the Law. The final outcome, in the Messianic Era, will be the union of Wisdom, a female entity, with the divine male Spouse,

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from whom she was estranged on earth. All such mysteries reside in the Bible, where they may be uncovered through combinations of the twenty-two letters of the Hebrew alphabet and the numerical figures to which they correspond. But ascetic morality and rigorous saintliness are indispensable requirements for their revelation. Only after it had been developed in Languedoc at the beginning of the thirteenth century did Kabbalah migrate to Spain, where Moses de León published the monumental synthesis called Zohar, or Radiance.7 It is likely that the development in Languedoc was the work of four of the region’s principal teachers: Abraham ben Isaac, of Narbonne, his son-in-law Abraham ben David, of Posquières, his colleague Jacob ben Saul, of Lunel, and Abraham ben David’s son Isaac the Blind. All four had the privilege of enlightenment by the prophet Elijah, whose appearances they succeeded in conjuring through their practice of asceticism and prayer. Although the basis of their doctrine is still unclear, their mysticism appears to be much more the fruit of their religious experience than the resurgence of post-talmudic theosophy. What is clear is that their asceticism is part of a much broader contemporaneous movement. Benjamin of Tudela had already noted the presence in Lunel of “Rabbi Asher the Pharisee, who has detached himself from all worldly affairs and devotes himself night and day to the Book of the Law, fasting and never eating meat.” Such ascetics, sworn to mortification and contemplation, immediately bring the Albigensian Perfects to mind, who were also vegetarians. What may have been the doctrinal relations between kabbalists and Cathars? Objectivity demands that we begin by taking note of the significant theological differences between the two groups. For the Cathars, Jehovah, God of the Jews, could not, as Creator of the world, be anything but the evil God whom they identified with Satan. Served by his diabolical prophets, Moses first in line, Satan succeeded in hiding from men’s view the existence of the good God. The Old Testament is thereby jettisoned in its entirety; and that stance necessarily entails a metaphysical anti-Judaism in the Cathars. Moreover, there is an obvious incompatibility between the efforts of Jewish thinkers to acknowledge the reality of evil without questioning divine Unity and the basically Manichean dualism of the Cathars. The only features common to Kabbalah and Catharism are belief in the reincarnation of souls and submission to contemplative asceticism. But were there in fact any fruitful exchanges between them, or did the two sects, without mutual influence, draw from the same eastern sources of Neo-Platonism or Gnostic belief? The question remains unanswered. 7 Zohar, mostly composed in Aramaic, was ascribed by Moses de León to a rabbi of the 2nd century named Shimon bar Yochai. The attribution is not certain. – trans.

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Jews and Cathars lived side by side, both under the benevolent authority of the Counts of Toulouse, and the faithful of the Old Testament never fell victim to their detractors. The peacefulness of these relations will hardly be surprising, if we bear in mind that the Cathars were the first theoreticians and the first followers of the principle of non-resistance to evil and that, in a somewhat preTolstoyan interpretation of the Gospels, they rejected society’s right to judge and to punish. In no way, therefore, could they condemn the Jews any more than they could the Christians. But how did the Christians respond to what they always saw as potential collusion between Jews and Cathars? In Provence, rascals who met a Jew in the street would hold up a corner of their jacket in imitation of a pig’s ear and spew out an old insult: “Catamarret, aurilho de pouerc, Que diras a Dieou, quand saras mouert?” “Li dirai que la mouer m’a suspré Et m’a fa creida Catamarret!” “Catamarret, pig’s ear, What will you say to God when you’re dead?” “I’ll say that death took me by surprise And made me shout Catamarret!” Mistral thought the mysterious “Catamarret” was a contraction of cathare marrit (damned Cathar). This etymology, which he gives in his Trésor du Félibrige,8 is perhaps open to question; still, it spotlights a folk tradition, a vestige of propaganda linking Jews and Cathars in the same condemnation. But let us move on from folklore to history. Throughout the thirteenth century, secular authority was bound to stamp out conversions to Judaism. A decree by Philippe le Bel in 1299 forbids Jews to proselytize, orders the prohibition of their evil efforts, and accuses them of taking in and hiding fugitive heretics. The learned Benedictine Dom Vaissète, in his Histoire du Languedoc (1730–1733), lists, according to the Carcassonne Inquisition rolls, the articles spelling out the heresy of the Albigensians; number 10 reads: “Dicunt quod lex judaeorum est melior quam lex christianorum.” (They say that the law of the Jews is better than the law of the Christians.) What conclusion can we draw, except that Jews and Cathars, knowing perfectly well that, although for different reasons, their adversaries viewed them as more or less the same, could feel a

8 Frédéric [‘Frederi’ in Provençal] Mistral (1830–1914): French poet, playwright, essayist, and lexicographer of the Occitan, or Provençal, language, best known for this dictionary, which also bore the Provençal title Lou Tresor dóu Felibrige. – trans.

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certain solidarity in the face of danger and persecution and could sympathize, not intellectually, of course, but on a moral, human level. It seems, though, that the Inquisition, bent on uprooting the Albigensian heresy, treated the Jews far less harshly than the Cathars. We have only to recall Solomon of Montpellier and the Dominicans making common cause against the modernism of Maimonides! Moreover, in 1298, Arnaud Dejean, inquisitor at Pamiers, reaffirmed the Jews’ traditional guarantees; only those who, converted willingly or by force, were denounced as Marranos ran the risk of interrogation and punishment.

End of the Golden Age It is time, however, to draw the curtain over that relative tolerance. In the summer of 1306, Philip IV the Fair (Philippe le Bel), with mass expulsions and confiscations, put a brutal end to the Golden Age of the Jews of Languedoc. This measure was applied in all the seignories and throughout the royal domain, which meant that the Jews who had for centuries benefited so generously from seignorial protection, particularly in Narbonne, Montpellier, and Lunel, and who were till then the wealthiest and the best sheltered, were the hardest hit of all. The majority were welcomed into Roussillon by the King of Mallorca or into Provence by the princes of the House of Anjou. Quite soon, however, individuals were granted re-entry on condition of aiding the taxation authorities in their pursuit of debtors; this service earned them a rebate. Louis X called them back in 1315, this time through an ordinance stating that the king was “yielding to the collective cry of the people.” It is true that the departure of the Jews, the undisputed and valued masters of monetary exchange, had thrown trade operations into disarray, as honestly and curiously spelled out in the rhymed Chronicle of Geoffroy de Paris: Car Juifs furent debonneres Trop plus en faisant tels affaires Que ne le furent ore Chrestien. . . . Mes si li Juis demouré Fussent au reaume de France, Chrestien moult grant aidance Eussent eu que ils n’ont pas[.] For Jews were much more skilled in such affairs than were Christians. . . . But if the Jews had remained in the Kingdom of France, Christians would have had great help that they do not have[.]9 9 Lunel’s footnote says, “Quoted by Boutaric in La France sous Philippe le Bel, p. 303.” A longer

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But the Jews, to whom the king left only one third of their earnings, were forever despoiled of their revenues and liberties in this Languedoc where for more than ten centuries they had enjoyed a very favorable situation. Now they were subjected to the same oppression and trials as their fellow Jews in the rest of the French kingdom. In 1320 the so-called Shepherds’ Crusade brought down to the southwest hordes of impoverished peasants fanatically stirred up against the Jews by Franciscan friars. There were massacres of Jews who rejected baptism in Auch, Castelsarrasin, Rabastens, Gaillac, Albi, Toulouse, and beyond. The most tragic of these pogroms occurred at Verdun-sur-Garonne, where the Jews had taken refuge in a tower. The Shepherds laid siege. The Jews fought back with the rage of despair, hurling rocks at them and logs and even – but can we credit a sadistic chronicler? – their very children! When the aggressors then set fire to the door, the trapped Jews, rather than perish at the hand of the “uncircumcised,” followed the heroic example of their forebears, the Zealots at the siege of Masada in the year 73 CE,10 and let themselves, all five hundred, be slaughtered by the strongest man among them. He then surrendered to the Shepherds, along with a few children who had been spared. He was prepared for baptism but, for his crime, was immediately put to death, while the children were led off to the baptismal font. Such horrors, only rarely disquieting to the populace, were unleashed with no effective opposition from royal officers or consuls. The final blow, in a situation constantly worsening, came in 1394 with Charles VI’s definitive expulsion of all Jews in his kingdom. The exiles from Languedoc again found asylum, some once more in Provence, the others in Avignon and the Comtat Venaissin in the shadow of the Cross, under the protection of the Pope. We cannot forget that the Cathars were exterminated as heretics, struck from the ranks of the civilized, liquidated, condemned to death and damnation even more quickly and radically than pagans. The Crusade against the Albigensians thus stands out as a frightful genocide, annihilating utterly, by sword and at the stake, the last remnants of the Cathars’ lives and spirit. The Jews, in contrast, had never been viewed by the Church as either heretics or infidels, and it was only those that Christendom was relentlessly pursuing. Within the mass of non-Catholics, the Jews had the benefit of a treatment all their own, as demonstrated by their preservation in the Papal States of France as of Italy. It was a fragile survival, though, under supervision and within ghetto walls – a passage appears in Edgard Boutaric, La France sous Philippe le Bel, étude sur les institutions politiques et administratives du moyen âge (Paris: Plon, 1861), which identifies the passage as line 3502 et seq., no doubt from J.-A. Buchon, ed., Chronique métrique de Godefroy de Paris (Paris: Verdière, 1827). Lunel uses Geoffroy’s lines 3522–24 and 3562–65. – trans. 10 Masada: the hilltop fortress in the Judean desert where 960 Israelites committed suicide rather than surrender to the besieging Roman troops. – trans.

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second-class situation that was the badge of their blindness. They were blamed not, like the Cathars, for deviating from the right path, but for stopping along the way and refusing to move forward. Thus they remained cousins of a sort, but unworthy, sequestered, humiliated, and at the same time protected by the Holy See against both the cruelty of the general population and the exactions and persecutions of kings and princes. The Jews were, after all, descendants of Father Abraham and signatories to the first Alliance with the same God as that of the Christians.

Chapter 3. Provençal Vicissitudes

For a long time, the Jews of Provence had enjoyed a number of benefits and protections; they were thus in a position to offer asylum when their fellow Jews were expelled from Languedoc.

Provence open to Israel Charters signal the presence of numerous Jews in cities and towns – Aix, Apt, Arles, Digne, Draguignan, Forcalquier, Grasse, Hyères, Manosque, Marseille, Saint-Rémy, Salon, Sisteron, Tarascon, Toulon – and in villages – Cadenet, Grimaud (where we can still see a Gothic-arcaded rue des Juifs), Istres, Jouques, Lambesc, Maillemort, Pertuis, Peyrolles, Saint-Maximin, Trets, and others. At the beginning of the fourteenth century, Jews represented approximately one-tenth of the population, or 2,000 households out of 20,000. The villagedwellers were often landowners, leasing their lands or cultivating them; they had access to all occupations, just as the city-dwellers had, who were often money-lenders and bankers, lending to small shopkeepers for repayment from earnings and to peasants for repayment from future harvests – whence a straitened debtors’ hatred always ready to erupt into violence. In Marseille, Jews were among the creditors of the viscount’s family; and there were convents that employed them as fund managers. International banking and moneychanging, however, remained principally in the hands of Italians and a few major Provençal capitalists who were Christians. Sometimes, Jews served as clavaires, that is, tax-collectors. In 1265, Jews were barred from such charges, but they continued to be active everywhere else. They were physicians, some in the service of the community, but at half the salary paid to their Christian colleagues; they were apothecaries, weapons makers, astrologers, spice merchants and fabric sellers; they were coral workers, porters, middlemen in transactions involving farm products. Others were manufacturers; in Marseille, the Jew Crescas Davin was registered as a soap maker; and in Grasse, it was possibly Sephardim expelled from Catalonia in 1492 who introduced Spanish jasmine into perfume making. The Jews of Provence, like those elsewhere, were, to be sure, denied the right to have Christian servants, but they were able at first to reside wherever they wished; yet, with the same need for mutual support and security that outsiders have always felt, they tended to cluster in tight circles, forming juiveries on the

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perimeter of every little town. These were spontaneous enclosures that gained legal status toward the middle of the fourteenth century, when, out of due respect for the faithful, pro honestate fidelium, it was mandated that the Jews be thenceforth restricted to a special quarter. But let us return once more to Marseille, which was at the heart of Provençal Judaism and where agreements signed in 1217 and 1219 by the City Council, the bishop, and the Count of Anjou granted the Jews equal status with Christian townsmen. Their designation as cives, citizens, was later confirmed in 1257 in the statutes of the Republic of Marseille, and such a privilege can find its only explanation in the important place they held in the economy and their consequent contribution to the general well-being. In times of scarcity, they took part in the distribution of wheat organized by the Consuls. For the practice of their religion, police regulations granted them special exemptions: in 1363, the right to sweep in front of their doors on Fridays rather than Saturdays, and in 1387, Queen Marie’s permission to walk about at night without hand-held lights on the Sabbath and on the holy days of Passover, Shavuot, Sukkot, and Yom Kippur. The same Letter recognizes their right to elect, as in Languedoc, procurators and syndics (baylons), responsible for all the internal and external affairs of their community (universitas), and the administration of schools and charity, and all fiscal obligations. In short, it was overall a concession of local autonomy in which the government played no greater a role than in the Christian municipality. In all the communities of Provence, the Jews enjoyed the same advantages as in Marseille. As of the fourteenth century, the Jews thus had liberties conferred by ordinances valid without exception throughout the County. The first ordinance, dated August 20, 1306, was granted by King Charles II1 upon his entry into Marseille, and, as was customary on such an occasion, it was preceded by a generous gift of cash. This favor, even at such a price, is all the more worthy of note as it effectively revoked a whole series of hostile and restrictive measures taken barely two months earlier by his stern son Robert, Duke of Calabria [and soon to be king himself],2 when the Jews of the Kingdom of France were the victims of pitiless persecution, arrest, despoliation, and expulsion. A veritable statute of protection, the ordinance forbade the imposition of taxes (tailles) higher than those previously in effect, and forbade a surcharge on the dispatching of Letters of Justice. It confirmed the right of Jews to reside in Christian neighborhoods; it eliminated the humiliating Orgon toll3; it again authorized Jewish physicians to attend to Christian patients (provided the patients had confessed and taken 1 Charles II, of Naples (1254–1309). – trans. 2 King of Naples (born 1278, reigned 1309–1343). – trans. 3 Orgon: village just south of the town of Cavaillon, site of an important stronghold of the Knights Templar in the 13th century. – trans.

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communion). Robert, once king, changed course and issued ordinances in 1320 and 1322 protecting the Jews against slights, vexations, and offenses and recommending as well that they be safeguarded from possible attack by the Pastoureaux.4 Queen Yolande,5 in 1422, forbade royal provosts and officers to rob them of bedding and utensils, as frequently happened. A year later, she promulgated Letters, fully confirmed in 1443 by King René,6 that with the same benevolence regulated the Jews’ juridical and fiscal status, prohibiting, among other guaranties, any incarceration without sufficient evidence or on the sole grounds of slanderous denunciations. Looking back to the beginning of the fifteenth century, we find archival evidence, in 1403, of the appearance of an important figure called the Conservator of the Liberties of the Jews. The post seems to have been established in imitation of the Guardian and Judge of the Jews instituted in France in the previous century. This functionary had the dual responsibility of ensuring the application of the Statute of Communities and presiding as Judge of the Jews in civil and criminal proceedings. His generous annual salary of 500 florins was, of course, paid by those for whom he was responsible. The fines he levied fell not into the Public Treasury but into his own pocket, and the good man was in a position to increase his earnings even further by charging handsomely whenever he was approached for some special favor. What a fine appointment – the best in Provence for the favorite lucky enough to land it! In France, the office of Guardian of the Jews was created simply as an instrument of growing pressure. In Provence, likewise, the Conservator missed no opportunity for exploitation, though at a lower cost and with greater moderation. For their part, the Jews did see one advantage there, since they now had recourse to an official defender, and the exercise of his jurisdiction, though only relatively equitable, struck them as infinitely preferable to the arbitrariness of seigneurial justice – a change they were only too happy to welcome. But let us note here that, in case of protest by municipal magistrates, the Jews retained their right (privilège) to adjudication in the city’s tribunals alone – an exception that shows the insistence of the Commune on losing absolutely no part of its prerogatives.

Dark spots in the picture Along with their advantages, we have to remember all the humiliating measures that isolated the Jews and distinguished them from Christians. First among these was the obligation to wear the mark of infamy on pain of being fined at 4 Pastoureaux: French for the Shepherds, referenced above, participating in the 1320 crusade and pogrom. – trans. 5 Yolande (1384–1442). – trans. 6 Yolande’s son, King of Naples, René d’Anjou (1409–1480): Count of Provence as of 1434. – trans.

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least five sous for any violation; from the age of seven, males had to display on their chest a circle of yellow cloth the size of a hand; girls and women had to wear head cloths of the same color. Jewish butchers were prohibited from selling their ritually slaughtered meat to Christians. Furthermore, while it is true that certain tolls were imposed on Christians as on Jews, those levied on Jews were generally twice as high. When summoned before a court, Jews were required to swear an oath in accord with their own faith. We find the first textual attestation of this in the municipal statutes of the city of Arles (article 193, the last); it goes back to the beginning of the thirteenth century: Do you swear by Adonai, God the Father? Do you swear by God the all-powerful Father, who said “I am who I am”? By the God who appeared to Moses in the Burning Bush? By God’s Ten Commandments and his seventy-two names? To each of these questions, the Jew was to reply, “I so swear.” Do you swear, if adjudged guilty in this matter and if you have perjured yourself before God and His Law, that God should strike you with tremors and continuous, tertian, and quartan fever, blindness in your eyes, and anguish in your soul? That your foes should reap your harvest; that God should unleash His wrath upon you; that you should be confounded before your enemies; that your enemies should have power over you; and that you should be driven hence with no one to follow you? And if you break these sacred oaths, that God should sap your vigor and your strength; that he should bring devastation to your dwelling; that He should set fierce beasts upon you and deliver you into the hands of your foes; that He should bring the plague upon you and remove from your bread the power to sustain you and let no other nourishment satisfy your hunger? And if you forswear yourself, may you devour the flesh of your sons! May God destroy your mortal remains; may you be dispersed among the nations; may you be swallowed into the earth; may leprosy invade your body; may God reject your soul, stained by iniquity and malice; may all your sins and those of your kin fall upon your head with all the maledictions inscribed in the Book of the Law of Moses and the Prophets! And to each in this string of frightful imprecations, the Israelite was to answer “Amen,” and at the end to repeat three times “Amen” and “fiat” (“so be it”). Starting in the fourteenth century, however, in both public and private proceedings, while Christians swore upon the Holy Gospels, Jews took their oaths either similarly, on the Hebrew Bible, or else following the practice of acquinia,

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or touching the notary’s garment with one’s right hand. Acquinia, according to the late Moché Catane,7 is related to ha-quinyan, Hebrew for “acquisition.” It is a form of taking possession recognized by talmudic law, which entails holding the corner of the other party’s garment, as in a wedding ceremony, where the witnesses thereby signal their assent. Here and there, Jews had to face distressing and offensive customs. In Arles, for example, there was an odd fee for sturgeon. Fishermen in the Rhône, required to give the abbots of Montmajour the first catch of the year, would receive in exchange a cask of wine and twenty-five deniers; this sum, however, rather than handed to them, had to be forcibly extorted from the first Jew they happened upon when returning to the city. We can imagine the outcome, if the poor man had no money or put up any resistance. Also in Arles, on Good Friday, Jews were obliged to come work as laborers on the restoration of the Cruau bridge and to supply a hundred mules to carry all the building materials. This obligation was later replaced by a monetary charge. In Forcalquier, on the feasts of Saint Catherine and Saint Nicholas, schoolboys would run after Jews in the streets, snorting and holding their lapels to their ears like pigs until they had cornered them for enough money to have torches made in honor of the saints. Let us remember, too, that everywhere and always Jews remained tragically subject to the hatred and fury of Christians. Thus, in 1348 in Toulon, during the April night preceding Palm Sunday, a group of fanatics, including clerics and some insolvent debtors, attacked the Jewish quarter, surprised the inhabitants in their sleep and massacred them, then threw the bodies into the street after having stripped them of their clothes; then they proceeded to a thorough pillaging of the houses. Whatever survivors there were took flight and disappeared without any demand for reparations. The event brought a lasting end to the Jewish community of Toulon. In town, justice took account of the rank of certain of the guilty parties and was thus slow in responding. Not until 1352 did the Town Council, taking upon itself the guilt of the participants, arrive at the just sum of 1,000 florins, which it then paid to [ . . . ] the public Treasury, as ever in deficit, thanks to the all-too-well-known Queen Jeanne, Countess of Provence.8 In Manosque, in 1428, an uprising against the Jews was so brutal that the leader, Bernard, was condemned to death by the Court of Aix. In a chain reaction, however, the Aixois set him free and sheltered him in a church, where he enjoyed the right of asylum. They then took after their own Jews, killing some ten of them and pillaging the Jewish quarter. Yielding to popular pressure, the 7 Moshe [also Moshé or Moché] Catane, originally Paul Klein (1920–1995): Franco-Israeli librarian and author of works on Judaism and biblical commentary. – trans. 8 Joanna I, Queen of Naples and Countess of Provence (1328–1382). – trans.

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authorities were reduced to commuting the pain of death to banishment and resignedly demanding that stolen goods be restored to their owners.

Good King René! Through all the vicissitudes of the Middle Ages, all the best times and the worst, one period stands out as the high point of Jewish favor: the reign of Good King René.9 The adjective “good,” however, needs to be understood less as descriptive of his heart than – in the parlance of the time – the brilliance of his gallantry and, even more, of his extravagance. Once exhausted by his mad and pointless conquests, René decided in 1471, at the age of 62, to retire to Provence, there to devote his final nine years to the life of a frenetic lover and patron of the arts. With a fortune time and again depleted by his lavish expenditures, he was forced to have recourse to all sorts of expedients, sometimes scandalous – and it was among the Jews that he found the most willing source of new revenue for his unslakable thirst. Indeed, as aptly noted by the historian Raoul Busquet, “no sovereign ever showed greater leniency toward his Jewish subjects and none ever stripped them of more money.”10 In his statutes of 1454, the last concerning them, he granted the Jews the right to replace their traditional, very visible, circle with a tiny cloth patch only one silver sou in diameter and of any color they wished as long as it was somewhat different from the color of their garments. It would be easier to conceal, moreover, as it could be sewn on the left, just above the belt – and Jews on a journey were exempt from wearing it at all. The same statutes also granted permission to have Christian servants, to practice medicine and to carry on commerce without restrictions, and to take charge of tax revenues. Christians were forbidden to mistreat Jews, to disturb them in their synagogues and cemeteries, to confine them to a particular neighborhood, to force them into churches and compel them to listen to sermons. Additionally, officers of the King were instructed to be on the alert for preaching that might lead to attacks on Jews. To understand the full import of this last measure we need to contrast Good René’s solicitude toward his Jewish subjects with the violence often visited upon them by his other subjects – a sequel, for example, to the sporadic outbursts of fanaticism provoked by preachers accusing the Jews of the crime of the Crucifixion, and incidentally providing an ideal opportunity for some Christian debtors to settle their debts with Jewish creditors by wiping out both simultaneously. One bloody riot in Digne on Good Friday in 1475, 9 René of Anjou (1409–1480: Duke of Anjou, Count of Provence, etc). – trans. 10 Raoul Busquet (1881–1955): author of Histoire de la Provence des Origines à la Révolution Française (1954). – trans.

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stirred up by a group of Franciscan friars, had people shouting “Death to the Jews,” attacking their quarter with sticks and stones, sacking their shops, and snatching a little girl from her parents to baptize her. In this case, the sovereign, alerted by the victims, brought his justice to bear; he sent forces to re-establish order and trumpeted his determination to protect the Jews. Panels displaying his arms were attached to their houses, reparations were paid, and the girl was returned to her parents. It was benevolence, to be sure, along with exemptions and immunities – but the price on every occasion was enormous. First came annual subsidies amounting to 18,000 florins; these were followed by extraordinary gifts and donations. In 1474 René granted his Jewish subjects a period of eight months to acquit themselves of their debts as a reward for coming to his aid with an 8,000 florin “subvention for his undertakings.” And if in such instances he was so accommodating, it was because the Jews were pushed into becoming debtors themselves in order to satisfy his perpetual demands. He was clearly less patient, however, when his own purse was at issue. In 1478 he sold to the forty-five wealthiest Jews in the County the abolition of the General Commission on Usury, which Louis II had established to watch over interest rates. There were loans, too, and it is questionable if they were ever repaid, such as the advance by a Lunel for “work on the gallery of a bastide near Aix.” And all this trading of grants and favors was so open and accepted that we find mention of it, with no attempt at disguise, in the royal accounts and public records. In his Letters of 1474, René had categorically prohibited his subjects – priests, nobles, villeins alike – from baptizing Jews through trickery or force, under pain of a fine of 200 silver marks. He did not hesitate then to take action against the master of his kitchens, and on his favorite, Gilbert, who were guilty of forcibly baptizing two little girls, one in Pertuis and the other in Saint-Maximin; and it was clear how promptly he intervened the following year, when a girl was kidnapped in Digne. It is not known, however, whether the sacrament of baptism was ever overturned and the young victims restored to their Jewish fold. For his own part, besides, René never stopped multiplying conversions by showering new Christians with often unmerited favors; he awarded them his patronage; he clothed them at his expense. Was there a Jewish debtor hounded by his creditors? If he agreed to turn Christian, he could count on the favor of extended delays. Conversely, a royal baptism was no less useful to a creditor eager to have his debtors pay up right away.

Religious life Of all these acts of generosity and kindness, all burdensome and all paid for at no small price, what mattered most to the Jews of Provence was surely, as

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in Languedoc, their freedom to worship and practice their religion without hindrance. They even benefited from some surprising guarantees, as in Manosque, in 1320, where the Jew responsible for circumcisions decided one day to abandon his calling; he was brought before a Christian judge, charged with violating one of the precepts of Mosaic law. Synagogues were so numerous that we find traces of them in several localities. In the Bouches-du-Rhône, at Jouques, there are two vaulted rooms placed end to end on the hill behind the old castle; in Mallemort a pile of ruins is what remains of a building still apparently admired in 1820 for its architecture. In Trets, closer to Aix, in the narrow, winding rue Paul-Bert, earlier the rue de l’Hôpital, there is a twelfth-century Romanesque synagogue whose broad limestone façade, white but ash-colored by age, stretches across a good twenty meters, with a very wide barrel portal flanked by four others of smaller size. The bays of the two upper levels show a series of arcades of the same model; unfortunately, some have been walled up and others have disappeared, replaced by rectangular windows, where, when I visited, blossoming petunias added a modern touch of springtime. Given the marks they have left, it seems that flat columns once separated the arcades, still framed by thin counter-rails. The interior, repeatedly altered over the ages and most recently transformed into cheap workmen’s quarters, offers nothing to suggest the original purpose of the building except one piece of the vault and the broken end of a capital. Just thinking – need I say sadly? – of the façade, we can imagine a plain and solemn monument, which, when the Provençal Jews were expelled around 1500, was converted, according to the street name, into a hospital. It was in 1143 that the archbishop of Aix had granted the Jews of Trets permission to have a synagogue and a cemetery in exchange for an annual fee of a half-pound of pepper. In following years, the lords of Trets remained protective of the Jewish settlement in their fief, and, for taxes, equitably granted the Jews the same rates as Christians. The Jews of the Midi clearly enjoyed better relations with the representatives of authority than with the populace. Draguignan, in the prefecture of the Var, has completely preserved its somber street of the Jewry, traversed by a gutter that was once the common sewer. At numbers 14, 16, and 18, we can see the vestiges of a thirteenth-century gothic synagogue better preserved than the one in Trets. The main floor, with its elegant line of four arched doors, is surmounted by a storey where we can make out four geminate windows. The broad façade, in carefully hewn cut stone, shows no ornamental motif, apart from a fist-sized protuberance that the local people call the head of Moses but is probably only the mark of a master mason. The interior, as in Trets, is cut up into small apartments. Of its origin it retains only the main hall at street level with its four-pointed vaults; in 1630, visitors could still see frescoes there representing the Judges in the Bible.

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Beside a Christian population of 5,000, the Jewish community never comprised more than 300 members, but it included a number of physicians and bankers, some even exercising both professions. We find a sign of their prosperity in a virulent satire of the late thirteenth century that Isaac Gorni, itinerant poet, freeloader, and skirt-chaser aimed at his fellow-Jews in Draguignan, all, in his opinion, suspicious bourgeois, scandal-mongering and too well-to-do, thieving and overfed:11 They go looking for me in their bedrooms; they think I’m spying on them from every corner or spending my nights with wastrels; they think I just follow the whims of my heart. They take me for a lecher on watch through the day, remembering where their little doves nest, whereas I would gladly fly as far as I could, if only to meet their sweetheart in a dream! ... The musician has become the butt of his enemies’ jokes and their gossip, and all through the day the object of their scorn. They’re breathless in their cravings. Who can master and tame their greed? They take comfort in their wealth, while I wander in fear – and they rest in the shade of their fig tree.12

Literature The Jewish literature of Provence blended significantly with the rich production of its Occitan environment. We may single out, among others, Gershon ben Solomon, who around 1237 composed The Gates of Heaven, an encyclopedia of natural history; Abraham Bédersi,13 a rival of Gorni, who, in a moving elegiac poem, commemorated the auto-da-fé, ordered by Saint Louis in Paris in 1262, of twenty-four cartloads of Talmuds; and Levi ben Gershon (1288–1344),14 author of a work of theology, The Wars of the Lord, inspired by Aristotle, in 11 Isaac Gorni (late 13th century): Hebrew lyric poet, composing in the tradition of the troubadours; eighteen works survive. – trans. 12 Translated from Lunel’s French. The two (doubly) translated pieces in William D. Paden and Frances Freeman Paden, Troubadour Poems from the South of France (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2007), do not include this text. – trans. 13 Bedersi: native of Béziers; dates of birth and death uncertain. – trans. 14 Levi ben Gershon: better known by the Latinized name Gersonides, he was the son of Gershon ben Solomon. – trans.

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which he develops the rationalism of Maimonides. Levi ben Gershon was also the inventor of an instrument of astronomical measurement with the odd name “Jacob’s Stick,” which earned him the esteem of Pope Clement VI and, later, of Kepler. Also deserving of special mention, for his verve and his taste for the galéjade, or tall story, is Kalonymus of Arles (1286–1328?), a light-hearted moralist responsible for a Treatise on the Touchstone, in which he regrets not being a woman, since women do not have male burden of 613 Commandments. Invited to Rome by Robert d’Anjou, whom he served as a kind of jester, he there composed for the feast of Purim a comic parody of the Book of Esther. Esther, of course, brings to mind the opulent Romance of Esther, written in 1327 by Crescas du Caylar in Provençal, but transcribed in Hebrew characters. All such works came from learned rabbis who, on one or the other bank of the Rhône, stood out as lyric poets, mathematicians, astronomers, physicists, naturalists, exegetes, metaphysicians, or translators from Arabic into Hebrew of the works of Greek science previously unknown in the West. They succeeded in compiling a great store of works despite the trials of persecution and the threats of exile. It is impossible to present here a complete list of their achievements, but that information, with dates and places, was retrieved from unjust oblivion by the erudition and piety of Renan and Neubauer, in the volumes of L’Histoire littéraire de la France (Publications de l’Institut, tomes 27 (1877), and 31 (1893)).15

The disaster In the history of the Provençal Jews, the year 1481 marks a fatal turning point. Then it was that the County was united with the Kingdom of France, where the Children of Israel had been forbidden to dwell since 1394. Although their new sovereign, Louis XI, had begun by maintaining their liberties, they quickly understood that it was only a matter of time before their situation would become untenable. They took precautions immediately, first by monetizing their holdings and transferring their claims to fellow-Jews in Avignon and the Comtat Venaissin, who were subjects of the Pope; then by resigning themselves to emigrate. At the beginning of September 1486, sixty of them, having sold their movables and carrying their capital, embarked on a small sailboat for Sardinia. On the Christian side, there formed at the same time a sort of occult syndicate organized to accelerate the flight of the Jews and profit as much as possible from the hasty liquidation of their possessions. The effort was inspired by a certain Honorat de Forbin, one of the most influential parties at his City 15 For Renan, see above, n. 6. Adolf Neubauer: Jewish rabbinic scholar (born 1831 in Hungary; died 1907 in London). – trans.

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Hall and at Court. His intrigues immediately gained him King Charles VIII’s16 decision to send to Marseille a fully empowered commission to take charge forthwith, as of the 26th day of that very September. After due inquiry into the departure of the Jews, it assembled in their synagogue, “under pain of incarceration and confiscation,” those who remained and had them take a ritual oath declaring what they owned. The next day, a Provost’s order was issued, forbidding Jews to leave the territory and carry off their property or dispose of it in any manner whatever without the permission of the Judge of the Palace. Fine means for Honorat and his acolytes to lead their victims into disastrous deals! The hapless Jews remained under threat of expulsion and, to cap their distress, they were subjected to enormous taxes, including a taille of 2,700 florins. Honorat, who could never rest, went so far as to accuse them of spreading the plague by selling clothes of the dead. They were also forbidden to walk abroad during holidays. How did people react when they realized that Jews could no longer count on official protection? Inflamed, as was customary, by fanatical monks, the population launched into violence, plundering, and killing; the Jews had no escape. Individual towns, under the pretext that they could no longer guarantee their safety, called for their banishment, to which Charles VIII assented for Arles in 1492 and Tarascon in 1496. The inevitable conclusion came with the advent of Louis XII,17 who on May 23, 1500, gave all Jews three months to leave Provence forever. They were nevertheless granted authorization to take their possessions with them; still, in the meantime, liquidation had proceeded, though without giving Honorat de Forbin’s sinister gang all the profit they had counted on. The order of banishment was renewed and confirmed in Letters of July 31, 1501. In this Provence where they were now legally undesirable, Jews had lived uninterruptedly for fifteen centuries. They had been able to take in their brethren and neighbors driven out of Languedoc in 1394, then the exiles from the Dauphiné in the course of the second half of the fifteenth century, and even eighteen refugees from Aragon who in 1492 had been captured by pirates and then cast onto shore at Marseille. Now here they all were, all reduced to the same sad class of displaced persons needing to seek new lands of asylum. The majority found refuge in the Four Papal Communities of Avignon, Carpentras, Cavaillon, and L’Isle-sur-Sorgue. The rest migrated to the County of Nice and Italy, where family names like Provençali and Provenzali perpetuate to this day the memory of that exodus. Some of the fugitives ventured farther ahead and succeeded in finding a home in the Ottoman Empire.

16 Charles VIII of France, son of Louis XI (1470–1498): reigned from age 13. – trans. 17 Louis XII of France (1462–1515): cousin of Charles VIII. – trans.

Chapter 4. An Aristocracy of Hebrew Origin

What remains now is the strangest of metamorphoses, the fate of some of the wealthiest Provençal Jews, and least devoted to the Law of Moses, who, to secure a prompt and ready salvation, preferred the benefits of conversion to the risks of exile. They remained in place, but, identified by Old Christians as “Neophytes” or ignominiously disdained as Retaillons (men who are circumcised), they constituted a kind of caste whose rise was so swift and so brilliant as to soon provoke general hostility.

A whole cycle of conversions Even before the dreadful ordinance of May 1500, some number of Jews, encouraged by the pious solicitude of King René – as noted earlier – had yielded to the apparent advantage of blending into Christian society, and they were all the more certain of success at it as the act of baptism granted them a new official identity, replacing their Jewish name and family name with Christian ones, almost always the tantalizing names of the godfather or godmother. In 1408, in Arles, a son of the Jewish physician Gabranet was, in the presence of the Archbishop, baptized with due solemnity on a platform where the baptismal fonts had been replaced by a cask. His godfather was a knight delegated by King Louis II to name him Louis-Raymond. After the ceremony, he was taken to hear mass at the altar of Saint-Trophime, where he knelt before the king, took his place behind him, and was then invited to the king’s table at dinner. In 1473, again in Arles, by the grace of Jaquette Monge, wife of the Seigneur de Cabannes, Ben-Astruc of Béziers was restyled as Jacques de Cabannes. To continue, the nuptial contract of one Marie de Savoie, signed in 1496 in Tarascon, reveals that this Neophyte was “so named as the goddaughter of the excellent Dame Marie de Savoie, wife of the Grand Seneschal of Provence”; such an instance has all the appearance, and even to some extent, the reality, of a pseudo-adoption, with the godchild reaping all the benefits of association with the godparents. The salvific power of baptism also entailed the automatic annulment any previous marriage contracted in a synagogue, though a formerly Jewish husband was nevertheless obligated to refund her dowry to his still Jewish wife. The Neophytes included a fair number of merchants, traders, and physicians, which is what they had been before conversion. There were those, however,

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who made a notable move up in life. Such was a certain Jean de l’Aigle, earlier known by the Jewish name Bendich, who in the first half of the fifteenth century served as counselor in the city of Arles and then valet de chambre to Louis III. Such, and even more successful, was Louis de Sainte-Marthe, who in 1525, in Saumur, far from his native Arles, became – who knows how! – Seigneur de Villedan and de la Guéritière and de Sciaude and du Chapeau, and whose descendants over several generations right down to Louis IV1 enjoyed illustrious careers in literature and in history, one with the composition of the religious work Gallia Christiana.

A new nobility What shall we say, then, of the early and persistent tale of a veritable wave of ennoblements among the Neophytes? It is a record almost too dangerous and indecent to scrutinize. Here are a few entries in chronological order. By Letters Patent dated December 21, 1512, Louis XII imposed a global tax of 6,000 livres on the “New Christians of Provence of root-and-branch Hebrew descent.” Gervais de Beaumont, President of the Parlement of Provence, was put in charge of receipts, and tax collectors were named to carry out the task. The Edict mentions “their good, generous, free will.” Was it payment for royal protection or rather a tax intended to compensate for the funds lost on Jewish conversions? Perhaps both . . . Then, by Letters Patent dated January 15, 1515, the king ordered that there be restored to the converts a house called the Jewish School (their old synagogue), a vineyard, and a meadow, all located in Aix, and he stipulated at the same time that people cease using offensive terms such as “New Christians, Neophytes and Retaillés.” We may understand this both as an indication of the animosity that quickly surfaced toward the newly baptized and the benevolence that, at an enormous price, the sovereign was willing to show them. Between 1518 and 1520, according to a tax roll, sixty-two Jewish families, who had obviously succeeded in slipping through the net of the 1501 Edict of Expulsion, received baptism in Aix.

Indictment by a General Prosecutor In 1610, however, an offensive against the New Christians took shape on the initiative of the General Prosecutor Manaud de Monier, who addressed to

1 Louis XIV (1638–1715). – trans.

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Henri IV2 a Remonstrance on the disorders in the Parlementary Court of Provence due to the noble parental and marital relations of Neophytes. This pamphlet, strikingly anti-Jewish, related the strange tale of three brothers who, after the expulsion of the Jews from Provence, withdrew to Algiers and were then said to return with the feigned intention of cleansing themselves in the waters of baptism, in order to re-establish themselves and take vengeance upon Christians. The godfather of the first brother was the Comte de Grignan, who named him Aimar, an old name from the Adhémar family; the godfather of the second was a certain Estienne, who gave him his own name; and the Seigneur de SaintAndré proceeded likewise with the third, who thus became an André – but whose progeny, the better to disguise themselves, took the name Thomassin from a noble family of the Dauphiné threatened by extinction. There follows a virulent indictment of this trio of Marranos, accused of bringing Christians to ruin through usury and other sordid means, thus amassing in little time a fortune of 80,000 écus – and Louis XII, rather than drive them away, as he should have done, was content to tax them in the interest of the State and to help defray the expenses of the Italian wars. It is that venality, first introduced by François I,3 that they have used as a springboard, the text goes on, to arrive at important functions in the Parlement from which they should be barred, especially as such posts give them power over the life, honor, and property of Christians. And it would therefore bring glory to His Majesty to drive them out, if not from France, then at least from royal appointments, for by the laws of the Church the Neophytes are unworthy of acceding to public office. Not long ago, the Jesuits and other major Christian orders, in their Chapter meetings, resolved not to admit any Neophyte before the fourth generation. Christians in appearance alone, they observe their old laws; they conduct ceremonies of their own and contribute to the support of the Jews of Avignon. One of them recently came to Aix to take up a collection and, having inadvertently approached someone who was not a Neophyte, he sought his tribute with an execrable denunciation of Our Lord Jesus Christ – which was silenced by one of their typical tricks. Just as they sold Our Lord, they will readily sell their fidelity and take the side of the foe. During the recent religious troubles, not one was a reliable servant of the King. They show the signs of God’s curse. Most of them wear pale colors on their face, some piss blood on Holy Friday; others, descendants of those who spat upon Our Lord, when they spit, the spittle falls back upon them.

2 Henri IV (1553–1610: reigned from 1559). – trans. 3 François I (1494–1547). – trans.

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Armand Lunel In short, to put a stop to their abuses, it would be most necessary to strip them of their charges and offices, which are worth more than 500,000 écus, to continue to tax them as King Louis XII had ordered, to confiscate their property, and to drive them out of the province . . .

But it seems that Henri IV paid no attention to this outlandish remonstrance. Moreover, the accusation of Marronism, leveled rightly or wrongly against members of the Provençal aristocracy, served, as always in such circumstances, to satisfy personal resentments – but went on to resonate even among men of letters in Paris.

Malherbe, a foe of the Jews4 In 1628, Malherbe, stricken by the tragic death of his 27-year-old son MarcAntoine in a duel that had seemingly not followed the requisite forms, gave free rein to his bitter sorrow with a sonnet whose harshness betrays an anti-Judaism as blind as it was senseless. That my son has now lost his mortal remains, my son who was so brave and whom I loved so much, I do not impute to an offense by fate, since an end, for man, is a natural thing. But that the faithless surprise by two rogues brought his days to a tragic conclusion – for that my sorrow finds no comfort, and all my feelings are at one with my sorrow. O my God, my Savior, since reason cannot heal the distress in my soul, the vow to avenge is a legitimate vow. Grant me the strength of your support; your justice implores you, for the villains here are sons of those killers who crucified you. The dramatic event had been staged just outside the city of Aix. François de Malherbe, who had left his native Normandy at the age of eighteen, had joined the entourage of the Great Prior Henri d’Angoulême, a bastard son of Henri II, Governor of Provence, and, as secretary to this prince, he had followed him to Aix. There, in 1581 he had married Madeleine de Coriolis, daughter of a 4 François de Malherbe (1555–1628): poet, critic, and translator, significant force in the development of the Classical style in 17th-century French poetry. – trans.

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president in the Parlement. There, too, Malherbe, a man passionately proud of his ancestral roots, soon encountered, and quickly appreciated, the very particular prejudices of the old aristocracy of the city, who bitterly dismissed some more recent members of the nobility as nothing more than dangerous upstarts of Hebrew origin. Thus it was that Malherbe’s initial anti-Judaism could flower in Provence. Let us now identify the two alleged “rogues” of the sonnet. The first was Paul de Fortia, seigneur de Piles, governor of the château d’If and the Îles de Marseille; the second was Gaspard de Cauvet, Counselor and Garde des Sceaux of the Parlement. Paul, in the final days of June 1627, had just married Gaspard’s sister, which occasioned a string of festivities in the fiefs of the bride’s family. It must have been on one of these lands, all located fairly close to the city, that Marc-Antoine, the son of the poet, had a quarrel on July 2 with Paul de Fortia and that Paul, seconded by his brother-in-law Gaspard, killed his adversary. It is not known whether it occurred in the course of a duel or was actually a murder, as Malherbe and his wife never ceased to claim. Tallemant des Réaux is the only writer to afford us a few details on the death of Marc-Antoine. In his Historiettes, filled with all the gossip of his age, he reports: This is how the poor boy was killed: two men of Aix, in a quarrel, took off into the countryside; their friends ran after them; the two parties met at an inn; each man spoke in support of his friend. Malherbe’s son was insolent; the others could not tolerate it; they threw themselves upon him and killed him. The man accused was named Piles; he was not the only one atop Malherbe; the others helped to dispatch him. It was suspected that the man Piles sided with was of Jewish origin; that is what Malherbe means in a sonnet he wrote on the death of his son.5 Malherbe was not satisfied to call upon Heaven for vengeance by addressing his sonnet to Jesus Christ; he initiated judicial proceedings against the murderers, for which he immediately and repeatedly solicited the sovereign’s resolute support, as revealed in two of his letters of 1627. The first letter is the one he sent to Louis XIII6 at the same time as his “Ode on the Repression of the Rebellion in La Rochelle,” which reminds the king of his promise “never to exonerate” his son’s killers. “Cauvet,” he writes, “a counselor at Aix, father-in-law of Piles and father of Bormes, who are the two abominable murderers of my poor son, preaches all over the power of his money and speaks of my suit with the presumptuousness of a man who feels assured of winning.” As for Piles, “if 5 Tallemant des Réaux (1619–1692); Historiettes I:26. – trans. 6 Louis XIII (1601–1643). – trans.

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a secretary of State had not handed him the paltry captaincy of the Château d’If, would he not now be in Carpentras or Avignon, hiding among his own in the filth of the shameful condition he was born into?” The second missive, whose unnamed addressee was probably one of Malherbe’s friends in Aix, expresses an anti-Jewish hatred even more virulent than the first: “Judaism has spread as far as the Seine. We can only wish that it had remained at the Jordan and that this rabble had not come here to mix with respectable people. What remedy is there? My cause is just. I will fight everywhere and, with the help of God, will win everywhere, even if it means facing all twelve tribes of Israel in Jerusalem.” It is all as if Malherbe were blaming some mysterious Jewish syndicate for the hurdles his suit was encountering. No doubt because of legitimate suspicion of the Parlement of Aix, the case was moved to Toulouse, where the verdict was not rendered until 1632, four years after Malherbe’s death. Fortia de Piles was condemned to nothing more than a fine of 800 livres “for the repose of the soul of Marc-Antoine de Malherbe, due to the murder of which the said Marc-Antoine was the victim; the said sum is awarded to the church where his body was buried.” We may therefore conclude that, despite Malherbe’s demands, and then those of his wife, who had hoped for a death sentence, Fortia de Piles had the benefit of indulgent judges, the affair having been reduced to the proportions of an unfortunate encounter with culpability on both sides. Let us remember that Tallemant des Réaux, whatever his sympathy for Malherbe’s son, noted that he was “insolent.” It is time to see this insolence in the context of an enmity between Marc-Antoine and Paul de Fortia that began long before the tragic end in 1627. Our sources are once again in Malherbe’s correspondence, which reveals first, in a letter of July 1622 to his friend, the celebrated humanist Peiresc,7 that less than a year earlier, at the Corpus-Christi games in Aix, a writ was issued for his son’s arrest by order of the advocategeneral Thomassin, following a quarrel for which the adversary demanded redress. In another letter of the same period, to his cousin Colombey, Malherbe provides more details, adding: “Some little scamp of an officer played a trick on my son that made him keep to his room . . . My friends tell me that I am dealing with a Jew and that I should not be surprised to find my son persecuted by the very people who crucified the son of God.” It seems clear from these two letters that Marc-Antoine was involved, first, in an altercation that turned out badly and that he must have been charged with the principal responsibility, since he was arrested and, as his father admits, the other party was expecting satisfaction. In the second instance, Malherbe does not name the “little scamp of an officer,” but, since he is called a Jew, it can only 7 Nicolas-Claude Fabri de Peiresc (1580–1637): French astronomer, antiquary, and internationally known savant, whose life unfolded largely in Provence. – trans.

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be Fortia de Piles that Marc-Antoine provoked once again in 1627. How could there have been two different officers, and both allegedly of Jewish origin? Here we can risk a few hypotheses. The altercation occurred – let us not forget – during the Corpus-Christi games, that extraordinary outdoor spectacle conceived by King René, which, part carnival and part religious procession, part farce and part mystical solemnity, celebrated the triumph of Christianity over paganism and the victory of the New Testament over the Old. A whole series of tableaux vivants depicted such things, with a number of them deriding Moses and the Hebrews, whose ridiculous accoutrements and grotesque imitations exposed them to the jeers of the public. It was perhaps – we can imagine – as one of these passed that Marc-Antoine, counting on his father’s reputation to protect him, allowed himself to call Paul de Fortia a Neophyte and even a Retaillon – which probably led to a duel and to animosity that would ultimately prove fatal. Whatever the case, the insult must have been all the more cutting as Fortia’s family, being of Spanish origin, was particularly vulnerable to the imputation of Jewishness. Indeed, that had been true for a long time, as we know that, some fifty years before, the courtier-poet Philippe Desportes,8 unhappy with the treasurer François de Fortia because of a delay in the payment of his allowance, initiated an undercover campaign of defamatory poems, some composed by him, some by others, including his friends Baïf and Dorat;9 these hateful verses branded not only the treasurer, but two of his nephews, too, as “Jews descended from Barrabas,” “with twisted noses and circumcised.” Actually, it turns out that the Fortia family, whose origins in Catalonia fed the calumny, had absolutely no Jew among its forebears, several having been admitted into the Order of Malta, whose ranks were closed to any candidate suspected of having Jewish ancestry. As for the Cauvet family, the accusation was equally groundless. Malherbe had already lost two young daughters. He had no one left but this son, dead prematurely and so lamentably – on the very eve of being made a counselor in the Parlement of Aix. The poet, whose rough exterior gave no hint of his sensitivity, was inconsolable to the point of developing a veritable obsession. “He once considered a fight,” Balzac tells us, “with the man who had killed his son. When we pointed out what a disproportion there was between his seventy-two years and the age of a man of twenty-five, he said, ‘That is why I want to fight; don’t you see that I am betting only a denier against a pistole?’”10 8 Philippe Desportes (1546–1606): French poet, best known for light verse and imitations of Italian compositions. – trans. 9 Jean-Antoine de Baïf (1532–1599): French poet, innovative metrician, member of the Pléiade. Jean Dorat (1508–1588): French poet, classical scholar, member, with Baïf et al., of the Pléiade. – trans. 10 Jean-Louis Guez de Balzac (1597–1654): French writer, best known for the exemplary prose of

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We have seen, then, how his overwhelming sorrow and unquenchable thirst for vengeance found expression in the sort of anti-Judaism that Léon Poliakov11 so well defined with his observation that it was then rampant “in a vacuum,” an anti-Judaism ever latent, ready to emerge and burst forth and go on the offensive when urged by a personal misfortune, disappointment, failure, or trying experience; the victim searches blindly, madly, for the party responsible, for someone he can charge and strike out of vengeance. Is the Jew, the eternal scapegoat, alas, not always at hand? But if he is not, if there are no more Jews available, no matter! A delirious imagination, as we have seen, will fabricate, like Malherbe in his needy sorrow, a pseudo-Jew. It was in fact in 1639 that the Langue de Provence, or Provençal section, of the Order of Malta had decreed that no descendant of a Jew could be admitted to its body, however far in the past the relation might be; and the Register of Christians of Jewish origin taxed in 1512 was selected as the standard for determining the response to any request for affiliation, so as, in the cautious words of the decree, “not to scandalize anyone.” But to reduce hurt feelings and social unrest to a minimum would have required that the compromising Register effectively escape the gaze of talebearers; actually, though, numerous undercover copies satisfied an inescapable taste for mockery. Anti-Judaism within the ranks of the so-called “yellow blood” aristocracy, then, was an always smoldering reality, and from time to time it flamed into new offenses.

Alleged correspondence between the Jews of Arles and those of Constantinople This was a forgery published in 1641 by one Abbot Bouis, of Avignon, in his book The Royal Crown of the Kings of Arles, into which he cleverly inserted an alleged exchange of letters, dated December 1489, between the Jews of Arles and those of Constantinople. To avoid losing any of its devilish slyness, I present the entire exchange: Letter from the Jews of Arles Honorable Jews, greetings and blessings! You surely know that the King of France, again ruling the land of Provence, has loudly proclaimed his his published letters. Lunel’s quoted passage appears in Balzac’s Les Entretiens de feu Monsieur de Balzac (Paris: Augustin Courbé, 1657), 411–12. In the currency of the time, the gold pistole was far more valuable than the little copper denier. – trans. 11 Léon Poliakov (1910–1997): French historian, principally concerned with antisemitism. Here, Lunel cites, in a footnote, Poliakov’s Du Christ aux Juifs de Cour (Paris: Callmann-Lévy, 1955.) – trans.

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intention to make us Christians or make us leave his territory. The people of Aix, Arles, and Marseille want to take our property, threaten our lives, destroy our synagogues, and cause us so much distress that we can no longer obey the Law of Moses. For this reason, we ask that you wisely reflect on the matter and instruct us in our duty. Chamorre, Rabbi of the Jews of Arles Reply from Constantinople Beloved brethren in Moses, we have received the letter in which you inform us of the anguish and troubles that you have to bear. We feel the pain that has struck you. But the opinion of the greatest rabbis and scholars of our Law is as follows: “You say that the King of France wants you to become Christians? Become Christians, since you cannot do otherwise. In your hearts, however, remain faithful to the Law of Moses, “You say that people want to take your property? Make your sons merchants; then, through commerce, you will gradually take over all of theirs. “You complain that your lives are at stake? Make your children physicians and apothecaries; they will be able to kill everyone without fear of punishment. “You say that they are demolishing your synagogues? Make your children clerics and canons; you will ruin the Church at will. “As for the difficulties and annoyances you are experiencing, make your children lawyers or notaries or anything else dealing with public affairs; in this way, you will triumph over the Christians, will ravage their land, and avenge yourselves upon them. “Do not stray from this line of conduct, and your experience will ultimately show you that, however humiliated you may now be, you will then rise higher than ever.” Yussuf, Prince of the Law in the Jewish Community of Constantinople Abbot Bouis claimed to have unearthed these letters “in one of the most renowned abbeys of Provence.” To take his word, the correspondence dated from the reign of Louis XI. But by 1489, Bouis’ date for the letters, Louis XI had been dead for six years! In reality, the exchange had already appeared in 1483, in Paris, in a collection of Spanish stories, the Silva Curiosa of Julian de Medrano, which treats of divers subtle and curious subjects very useful to ladies and gentlemen. The cleric in Avignon had only to copy the original, replacing a Chamorro, styled Grand Rabbi of Spain, with a Chamorre, styled Rabbi of

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Arles. With such editing, he could fire against the Neophytes of Provence a weapon originally aimed at the Spanish Marranos. If we go back now and ask who composed these letters and when, we realize it must have been before the expulsion of 1492, since after that there were no more Jews in Spain. At that date, however, there were very likely not yet in Constantinople any Jews capable of corresponding in Spanish; besides, before the arrival of the Sephardim, the Jews of Turkey did not enjoy the prestige that would have warranted a foreign request for counsel. Furthermore, Jews at the end of the Middle Ages, enduring the horrors of persecution, were probably not inclined to engage in this sort of stripped-down epistolary consultation. All the lamentations of Jeremiah would have been added to the string of quotations from the Bible normally filling their correspondence. As for the rabbi of Constantinople, he would not have allowed himself, or contented himself, to respond with such wit! All these clumsy mistakes point to forgery by an Old Christian, with the first letter obviously fabricated to prepare the way for its crafty response. This leads us to the Green Book of Aragon, published by the Secretary of the Inquisition, Juan de Anchias. Only one copy of the work survives, interested parties having no doubt succeeded in destroying all the others. The Green Book, by providing the genealogy of all neo-Christian families, had only one purpose: to warn Old Christians against any marital alliance with impure blood. But it also contains the two letters – along with a quite unexpected commentary. It is the story of one Cardinal Siliceo, who tells us he is not only an Old Christian, but was also very poor, which made him the butt of taunts and jokes by a whole group of clerics of Jewish origin. One fine day, though, rummaging through the archives in Toledo, he chanced upon a scandalous document – our letters. Communicating them to Pope Paul III, he was rewarded with the decision that henceforth “no Jew converted to Christianity could receive a benefice in the Great Church of Toledo.” The same Cardinal, let us add, was the author of the well-known Estatuto de Limpieza, or Statute of Purity, which was also intended to exclude from the Cathedral of Toledo any ecclesiastic suspected of Jewish descent. Paul III, however, was rather favorably disposed to the Marranos. There is little doubt, then, that it was Cardinal Siliceo who forged these documents in an effort to change the Pope’s mind and obtain an order declaring all Marranos unfit for priestly functions. The very choice of signature on the first letter must have been intentional, since Chamorro was not, as first thought, a fanciful name meaning, whether in Hebrew or in Spanish, skinned ass or shaven or cabbage head; it was, as shown in the Green Book, the name of a Marrano family, whose descendants, named Clemente, were dignitaries at the royal court. Thus the Cardinal threw suspicion on the Clementes, whose forebears would have received their baptism only for show; the sly fellow was killing two birds with one stone.

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The obsession with the Jew has never kept up with an evolving critical spirit. The original Spanish text had no more warrant than its French adaptation, both of them offering in the same satirical tone one more example of anti-Jewish propaganda reduced, in the absence of any better recourse, to relying on fabrication. And thus it is that, in an unexpected resurgence three whole centuries later, we could find, in L’Action française of April 17, 1934, Charles Maurras12 reproducing this apocryphal correspondence with utter seriousness and without the slightest doubt of its authenticity, and capitalizing on it to warn the nation “against an undesirable influx of Yids” – an obvious reference to the German Jews, early victims of Hitlerism, who were trying to find refuge in France.

The Register of the Noble Class of Provence by Barcilon de Mauvans A certain final malevolent undertaking, with a monumentally broad sweep as well as a renewed currency, was bound to have far greater impact than the publication by Abbot Bouis. This was the work of a lawyer from Aix, Barcilon de Mauvans, who, in the late seventeenth–early eighteenth century drew up and circulated handwritten copies of his Register of the Noble Class of Provence, subtitled The Purification of the Aristocracy of the Region; the difference between Gentlemen by blood, origin, name, and arms and Nobles by breeding, nobles of the robe, and by ennoblement; the difference of the various kinds of nobility. Notes on extinct noble families whose names and arms have been taken by others. Observations on the usurpers of nobility that the author of the Register has employed as veritable gentlemen. The means of preventing usurpations and mixture with true nobles. Catalogue of gentlemen by blood, name and arms; catalogue of nobles by breeding; catalogue of those ennobled; catalogue of nobles of the robe; catalogue of extinct families, all in alphabetical order. This enormous in-quarto manuscript of more than 600 pages was the corrosive response to the three volumes published in 1693 by the Abbot Robert de Briançon, entitled The State of Provence, containing what is most noteworthy in its government, justice, Church, and nobility, with the arms of every family – a work, in Barcilon’s judgment, “full of flatteries and errors.” His own work, however, was immediately condemned by the Parlement “because the author has mixed some lies with his many truths.” It was, in fact, an inexhaustible – and so very exciting! – supply of honey for the delectation of jealous souls and scandalmongers, for, in addition to its 400 full-length genealogical entries, the book offered a “catalogue of the Jews of Provence, and the New Christians of

12 Charles Maurras (1868–1952): French writer of Provençal origin and actively antisemitic rightwing nationalist. – trans.

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Judaic race in the region, together with observations on the reasons wherefore they inspire great horror.” To his indictment, the formidable Barcilon attached a copy of Prosecutor Monier’s Remonstrance, reiterating the traditional charge that the Neophytes and their progeny were duplicitous Marranos and then going so far as to accuse them of spreading the plague with drugs of their making. However, his effort had no more success than Monier’s, which, as noted above, was denied a hearing by Henri IV. For one of the magistrates incriminated, Aymar, Baron de Châteaurenard, that was the king’s reward for exemplary devotion.

An edict of appeasement and the survival of prejudices Far from fading with time, prejudice and animosity against the descendants of the Neophytes persisted to such an extent that in 1778, in an attempt at appeasement, Louis XV13 signed an Edict stipulating that there was no longer to be any distinction among the noblemen of Provence based on origin or marriage to a Jew or a Muslim. Suspicions and rumors, however, continued to proliferate, as witness this anecdote, which still amused the aristocracy of Aix in the nineteenth century. Henri Beyle, who heard it in Marseille in 1806 from his friend Barrigue, Count of Montvallon, found it so striking that he noted it in four elliptical lines in his Journal.14 Here now is his complete version, published by Louis de Laincel in 1872 in the collection of touristic materials, Avignon, Carpentras, and the Principality of Orange: The Jews who became Christians were rich, and they were eager to buy titles of nobility. People in Provence kept such transformations in mind for a long time. In Aix, in the eighteenth century, Monsieur de P., Counselor in the Parlement, was playing boston with the President of X., whose family was of Jewish origin. De P. bent down to pick up a card that had slipped to the floor and in doing had let his candle set fire to his wig. “That is how Sodom and Gomorrah burned down,” said X., with a laugh. “What? You still remember the Old Testament?” retorted de P. X. stopped laughing. On the same subject of the Hebrew-Provençal nobility, we might move

13 Louis XV (1710–1774). – trans. 14 Henri Beyle (1783–1842): better known by his pen name Stendhal, wrote, along with his famous novels and other works, a Journal covering the years 1801 to 1817. – trans.

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considerably closer to our own time and mention what the félibre Léon de Berluc-Pérussis15 confided in a letter of 1894 to his friend Paul Mariéton: You will see, in the two documents enclosed here, that the descendants themselves of the Neophytes do not dare deny their origin. [There follows a reference to the lists in Barcilon de Mauvans’ Register of the Noble Class of Provence; and Berluc-Pérussis adds:] Consult, for even more convincing proof, if such were possible, a manuscript in the Méjanes Library providing a detailed account of the many registers of the notaries in Aix. There you can see the Jew Cohen become the Christian d’Estienne. It is well known that the canon d’Estienne was denied his archbishopric because of where he came from [ . . . ] The Marquis de Boisgelin is very up on this subject, but it would be a bit delicate to ask him about it. His notes will one day be a precious gift to the curious. Here is a piquant detail: the radical deputy Saint-Martin stems from a Neophyte whose descendants, at first gentlemen, took a slow tumble, all the way down to the fish market at Pertuis. He is well known for his anticlericalism. Yours, Gagnaud16 The two documents promised were included as an appendix. The first was an excerpt from Prince Henri de Valori’s history of the barony of Châteaurenard, published in Adrien Péladan’s La France littéraire (Lyon, 1857–1858). The family Aymar, more exactly Aymaris, began with Guillaume Aymaris, who, baptized under that name, adopted the name d’Aymar when he was appointed Counselor to the Parlement of Provence in 1554. As soon as the family had been admitted into the nobility, thanks to that appointment, they undertook a major investigation into their past in order to be able to rid themselves of the suspicion of Judaism that clung to them and closed the doors of Malta until 1754. Their research, however, led only to the very firm conclusion that they were originally simply commoners. The most expert learned men and antiquarians succeeded only in uncovering four generations of bourgeois, men perfectly upright and honorable, of course. . . .

15 Léon de Berluc-Pérussis (1835–1902): French historian and poet, who wrote in both French and Provençal. He was a member of the 19th-century association of poets known as the Félibrige, dedicated to the preservation and promotion of the Provençal language. In a note, Lunel gives this source for the letter: Lettres de Léon de B.-P. à P.M. (1822–1902), Annales de la faculté des Lettres d’Aix-en-Provence, 1957. – trans. 16 Gagnaud: Berluc-Pérussis apparently fancied using pseudonyms in correspondence. – trans.

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As for the suspicion of Judaism, the outcome was no more pleasing, for, despite the favor he enjoyed in the Parlement, the Counselor was left with no way to explain that his forebears were subject to the tax levied by Louis XII on all Neophytes, that is to say, converts. It was not until 1754 that the family was cleansed of that suspicion, thanks to the intervention of the great-grandfather, the Marquis de Saint Paul of the house of Thomassin, who, for the honor of his house, which was allied through marriage with the d’Aymar family, requested and was granted this favor of the king. Whatever their murky origin, the fact is that the descendants of Guillaume Aymaris . . . left an honorable reputation . . . through pious foundations and all sorts of good works. That was surely the best means of proving that they were not Jews at heart, just in case they truly had the misfortune of being stained by Israelite beginnings. The second document is a post-script commentary by Berluc-Pérussis, which is no less deserving of uncut reproduction: The best document in support of the Biblical genealogy of the d’Aymars and the Thomassins is the profile of Prince Henri de Valori, their grandson. If you encounter him at some elegant reception, you will readily observe that he is a closer cousin to Ahasuerus than he is to Queen Jeanne. His acknowledgment is no less meritorious for that, since Neophyte families are generally very resistant to such admission. At the start, they only married among themselves; it is even claimed that they secretly remained Jewish. In time, though, they mixed with real Christians and sought to keep the memory of their origins from their own descendants. If today these descendants deny such origins, they do so in good faith. The Marquis de Boisgelin has never succeeded, for example, in overcoming the stubborn blindness of Viscount Ludovic d’Estienne. Their way out is to claim descent from the Christian godfather and not from the Jewish godson who took his name at baptism. But this evasion is childish when you see such evidence, for instance, as notarized papers in which the Christian acquits someone of sums he had earlier lent under his Jewish name. And that is the case here. It never stopped the excellent viscount from being the most ardent and peerlessly ingenious slayer of Semites. As for the allusion in Berluc-Pérussis’ letter to notarized papers proving the very distant, but undeniable, Jewish ancestry of a number of ennobled parties, it is worth a pause and a final glance back. The original documents relating to a tax levied by Louis XII in 1512 disappeared probably quite early from the archives of the Court of Audit of Aix, no doubt to the great satisfaction of the

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persons affected, since any trace or suggestion of Jewish extraction was regarded as a stain to be expunged from memory. The list was thus known and made known only by Barcilon de Mauvans, who maintained he had found it in the archives of the Order of Malta. The families who found themselves named did not fail to respond by declaring the document was apocryphal and without any genealogical value. There is no doubt, however, of the authenticity of the compromising catalogue, as proven by the research carried out some sixty years ago by the erudite Baron de Roure in the records of the Provençal notaries of the end of the fifteenth century and beginning of the 16th.17 His meticulous examination of these records – acknowledgments of debts and dowries, nuptial contracts, donations, proxies, wills, with the patronym of every signature given in two forms, Jewish and Christian, along with any relevant mention of ennoblement of the Neophyte – allows for a whole series of crosschecks that guarantee the accuracy of thirty of the names listed by Barcilon. I close this chapter with a final quotation even closer to our time, borrowed from the beginning of the memoirs of my friend Darius Milhaud, Notes without Music,18 where he recounts, apropos of abjurations going as far back as the reign of King René: According to the archives of the museum of Old Aix, two families of Aix, noble, who boasted of never having let an Israelite cross their threshold, were apparently descended, with a charming irony of fate, from Jews who had been forced to embrace Christianity. It is unfortunately all too true that, at the time of the Dreyfus Affair at the beginning of the twentieth century, some of the fiercest antisemites in Aix knew or did not know or pretended not to know that ancestors of theirs were among the Neophytes taxed in 1512, and it may be that they made such a show of horror of Jewry only the better to deny, consciously or not, their unavowable origin.

17 Baron de Roure, “Les néophytes en Provence et leur taxe par Louis XII en 1512,” Bulletin de la Société d’études scientifiques et archéologiques de Draguignan, tome 25 (1904–1905). – A.L. 18 Darius Milhaud (1892–1974): French composer, whose autobiography, Notes sans musique, appeared in French in 1963, published by Julliard. – trans., with publication data from A.L.

Chapter 5. The Pope’s Jews 1. Pontifical Asylum Between the Rhône and the Durance, at the foot of the dark-blue pyramid of Mount Ventoux, the charmed eye sees only the stands of reeds and cypresses that offer protection from the mistral and delimit a fertile, abundant region, admirably maintained and irrigated. This is the former Comtat Venaissin, the best and finest section of what is now the department of Vaucluse, which owes its wonderful fortune to its production of early fruits and vegetables: asparagus, peas, tomatoes, eggplants, melons, cherries, strawberries, peaches, apricots, and chasselas grapes. Few provinces give, and have always given, such an immediate impression of rustic intimacy and providential abundance. “Nostrae recreationis pomoerium,” the orchard of our repose, said Pope Clement VI six centuries ago, speaking of his beloved Comtat with all the solemnity of his ecclesiastical Latin. Under the Old Regime, this area comprised the French States of the Holy See. In 1274, the King of France, Philip the Bold,1 heir to the Count of Toulouse, granted the Comtat Venaissin to the Roman Church. In 1309, Clement V, leaving Rome to its factious parties, established the residence of the papal sovereigns in Avignon, which Queen Jeanne sold to him in 1348 for 80,000 gold florins. And there were thus popes in Avignon – seven of them, all French – for more than sixty years in the fifteenth century. Then, once the schism2 had come to an end at the beginning of the following century, this enclave of the Church in the Kingdom of France was governed by a Vice Legate, a Monsignore who played with incomparable pomp the role of resident general of the Holy See. Tall gilt crosses bearing the instruments of the Passion served to mark the boundaries of the pontifical enclave. In the shadow of these crosses we will not be surprised to find a haven for Israel. We know that, when they were tracked down everywhere by kings and princes, the Church, moved by spiritual interests, had offered protection to the Jews, recipients and inheritors of the Old Testament that they were. The Jews of Rome, we might add, were in that regard obliged to offer, in homage to every new Pontiff, a magnificently bound copy of their Law. But spiritual interests were not without a more worldly and material underpinning; indeed, the Jews represented in that era the most lucrative sort

1 Philip the Bold (1245–1285): reigned (as Philippe III of France) from 1270. – trans. 2 Reference is to the schismatic conflict between the papacies of Rome and Avignon that began in 1309, ended temporarily in 1377, resumed shortly thereafter, and came to an end in 1417. – trans.

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of taxpayers and the most readily pressured – and taxpayers were no less in demand then than they are today.

Centuries of relative security The city of Avignon and the province of the Comtat were the refuge that welcomed a number of Jews expelled first from Languedoc, then the Dauphiné, and finally from Provence. The emigrants, however, were not entering into a foreign country, but rather joining a native core of other Jews with the same roots, whose implantation in the region, exactly like theirs, went back to a time before the Christian era. Almost all had names of localities in the area, which bore witness to their earlier presence: Beaucaire, Bédarrides, Carcassonne, Cavaillon, Crémieux, Digne, Laroque, Lattès, Lunel, Lyon, Meyrargues, Milhaud, Monteux, Roquemartine, Valabrègue, and others. There are also families named Lisbonne and Pampelune, families banished from the Iberian Peninsula, who found a home in Provence and later in the Comtat. To these family names were added the usual biblical forenames, transmitted, as was customary, from grandfather to grandson. The Jewish population in 1787 reached just under 2,000 persons, roughly 1,000 in Carpentras, 400 in Avignon, 350 in L’Isle-sur-Sorgue, 200 in Cavaillon, as opposed to approximately 10,000 Catholics in Carpentras, 24,000 in Avignon, 5,000 in L’Isle-sur-Sorgue, and 6,000 in Cavaillon. Very early, the Judeo-Comtadins, as we like to call them, spread out through almost all the localities in the province, and there is no doubt that, with only a few exceptions, they began by enjoying the same rights (privilèges) as their Christian neighbors. Charters reveal that in the thirteenth century, in Valréas, in Cavaillon, in Malaucène (where the fine old Roman door of the Jewish quarter still stands), they took part in the assembly of heads of family who were property owners. This did not stop the Jews of Carpentras, however, from being driven out at the beginning of the same century. Hoping that it would be no more than a whim and eagerly waiting just over the border for it to pass, they were in fact allowed to return in 1269. It was after that return that they had the benefit of an agreement dated the 2nd of the calends of March (February 28), 1276 and registered before the notary of the episcopal Chamber. It was the first in date of their statutes. Sixty fathers, representing a community of about three hundred members, signed the document and took an oath on the sacred Law of Moses by touching the Hebrew letters, while the bishop, Pierre Rostaing, pledged his good faith by putting his hand to his heart. Our Jews thus declared that their forebears were already liege men of his predecessors in Carpentras and that they swore, as earlier, to pay him, in exchange for his protection, an annual cens (matz in Hebrew) of eighteen livres, plus a taille of twenty-five livres at his consecration, if he were taken prisoner, upon his voyage to Rome, by land

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or by sea, if he were forcibly ejected from his dwelling, and upon his purchase of an estate or a chateau worth at least 100 livres, plus a supply of sheets for the beds of his guests, plus the delivery of all the beef tongues from their butchery. It was a high price for the period, but the pact had the enormous advantage of raising its beneficiaries from taxable serfs liable for ruthless unpaid work to the rank of vassals paying fixed taxes and considered, to use the expression applied to them, veri cives, true citizens of Carpentras. And it was in fact that title and that precious document that they would invoke throughout the next five centuries, until the collapse of the pontifical regime in 1791. All too soon, however, as if the guarantee had no more value than a rag, the Jews of Carpentras were banished once again, at the same time as those of the Comtat, by Pope John XXII. The Pope was thereby following the example of the King of France, even though he had defended the Jews earlier against the Pastoureaux.3 He was yielding to popular fanaticism and its renewal of the slanderous accusation of connivance between the Saracens and lepers to poison wells and spread the plague. Synagogues were razed and chapels dedicated to the Holy Virgin were built in their place. The exodus of the ill-fated Jews was so sudden that they lost whatever they owned. Still, a few were apparently able to escape the expulsion, if we are at least to credit the curious legend that a Jewish woman “greased the palm” of a woman in the Pope’s entourage to stop the execution of the order. What is in any case certain is that the Jews of Avignon itself were spared, because they were still dependents of the Counts of Provence. Those banished, who once again were waiting for the end of the storm, were able to return home in 1343, with the advent of the new Pope, the good Clement VI, who revoked the Edict of Expulsion. Not long thereafter, in 1348, the black plague ravaged Christendom. Accused once more of causing the scourge, the Jews were subjected to frightful persecution, to which the Pope put a stop with the threat of excommunication. “Clemens nomine, clemens re” (“Clement in name, clement in truth”), chanted both Jews and Christians in his honor. The poor, tiny community of Carpentras, reduced to only twelve households, began to remake itself. Its poverty was so searing that it was granted a reduction of the 1276 cens to four sous per head. It was authorized to build a new synagogue and to acquire a cemetery outside the town for the payment, on Friday before Christmas, of six pounds of spices, half ginger and half pepper. Meanwhile, following an influx of the banished as well as the return of a minimum of civic tranquility, the Jewish population kept increasing little by little, but, in 1569, an order of general expulsion, decreed in Rome by Pius V, came once again to strike the Judeo-Comtadins. This time, however, they were 3 Pastoureaux: see note 21, above. – trans.

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given six months, then a year, to settle their obligations; this delay, from one extension to another, effectively maintained the status quo, despite the protests of provincial authorities acting in behalf of Christian merchants. These, moved by animosity toward their Jewish competitors, apparently more able and active than they, sought more than eleven times between 1509 and 1643 to have the order of expulsion enforced; it remained, however, a dead letter. Thus, right through the passing years, economic anti-Judaism came to graft itself onto religious anti-Judaism and bear fruit no less poisonous. Jews experienced periods of anguish alternating with times of calm, orders to depart first announced, then postponed or revoked, perpetually calling into question their right to be where they were. And so they lived, or rather just got by, with the hope for a lesser misfortune disguising their fear of the worst and their congenital worry. All things considered, though, here as in Languedoc, it was better to be a Jew than a Cathar, and it was infinitely better to be a Child of Israel in the Pope’s French States than a Protestant in the Kingdom of France. Lest we wander too far from the pontifical haven, suffice it to mention at this point the abominable sacking and killing of the Luberon Waldensians. Ill fate threw them together with the Huguenots, against whom François I issued his order, in 1545, “that the land be emptied and utterly cleansed of such people as led one astray and have no respect for the faith.” The Jews of Carpentras, first vassals of the Bishop and then subjects of the Holy Father, now found themselves under the jurisdiction of the temporal delegate of the Papacy, the Rector, and since they were also dependents of the City Council, their situation was, need we say, rather complicated. They accommodated themselves to it, however, and were adaptable enough to make it benefit them as much as possible. It is true that, given the necessary savoir-faire, one has greater opportunity to succeed in hard times under multiple masters, often rivals, than under only one.

The high cost of asylum To be assured of their right to asylum, the Judeo-Comtadins had to pay an increasingly high price, and to increasingly numerous and demanding stakeholders. Thus, in Carpentras, they owed the Consuls an annual allocation of 68 livres, 5 sous, and sixty pounds of top-quality Auvergne cheese as a present to each of them at Christmas, plus twelve pounds of sugar for the wives of these gentlemen when they gave birth, this tribute being due even in case of a miscarriage and doubled, naturally, if there were twins. To which were added various other charges, offerings, and presents for the benefit of all the representatives of authority and public order, from the lowest rank to all the Excellencies at the top. In Carpentras, these persons included, of course, Monsignor the Bishop, the Rector, the Vice-Rector of the Comtat; and in Avignon, the Vice-Legate,

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the Auditor General, the Most Reverend Inquisitor, the Advocate General, the Provost, the Secretary of State, the Consuls, the Judges of the Court of Saint Peter, the Treasurer of the Apostolic Chamber, the Commander of the Infantry, the Venerable Chapter of the Metropole – as well, need we add, as the family, the guards and domestics of the Excellencies, the servants, doormen, attendants, couriers, concierges, valets, and coachmen. There was a whole subaltern riffraff registered for handouts from the Jewish cashbox, “though the Jews,” someone pointed out, “were not strictly obliged to pay.” Tradition, though, had the force of law; paying was a necessity, and even paying an extra amount, and the poorest of them, as usual, were the most ready to pay. But the list goes on. There was the Cathedral’s music master to consider, and there was something for the ringing of the silver bell, for the sweeping of the palace, for the collection at the hospital, for the cost of lighting ceremonies for our Lords the Most Eminent Cardinals, for the twelve dozen bundles of firewood for the Feast of Saint John, and the furnishing of hangings for the CorpusChristi procession and the ceremonial entry of important personages and the annual subvention for the Houses of Catechumens in Rome, Avignon, and Carpentras, and fifty-three livres in honor of the crowning of the Sovereign Pontiff, and so forth; and, in specie and in kind (cheese, sugar, wax, candles, pepper, cinnamon, saffron), everything planned and unplanned, including a hailstorm of fines; there is no end to the enumeration. Let us simply conclude with the cost of official payments made by the Jewish quarter of Avignon for the year 1779: 998 livres, 12 sous, 18 deniers. That still leaves what it is impossible to calculate: the untraceable undeclared money for favors at home and for the purchase of protection in the court of Rome. It is stupefying to read of all the restrictive edicts that burdened the Judeo-Comtadins; it is easy, all too easy, to see the right hand threatening, less so to sense the left hand outstretched.

2. Jewish quarters In the papal states as in Provence and elsewhere, the Jews had early on to take the precaution of staying together and at some remove from their Christian neighbors. And so there were Jewish quarters even before the establishment of actual ghettos, which eventually simply gave legal sanction to an already accepted custom. This was the case in Avignon and in the Comtat Venaissin as of the second half of the fifteenth century. But the Italian term ghetto, possibly from Hebrew ghet (divorce decree), never caught on in the French possessions of the Papacy, where it was replaced by a word of Provençal origin, Carrière (mefila in Hebrew), the street reserved for the Jews. Old Israelites in Carpentras still spoke of the Carrière in the nineteenth century as a melancholy reminder of home.

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The Four Holy Communities Starting in 1624, pontifical authorities forbade Judeo-Comtadins, on pain of a 500 écu fine, to reside anywhere outside the four Carrières of Avignon, Carpentras, Cavaillon, and L’Isle-sur-Sorgue. Each had its synagogue, and together they mystically formed, in the prayerful eyes of their worshipers, the Four Holy Communities (Arba Kehilot) of the Comtat, in memory of the Four Holy Communities of Jerusalem, Hebron, Safed, and Tiberias. Of the four, Avignon and Carpentras were the largest and richest. The Jews of Avignon lived at first just outside the ramparts, to the northwest, opposite the Rhône. After the construction of the Saint-Bénézet bridge, in 1220, they moved into the city, to a section of the parish of Saint Peter which corresponds today to Jerusalem Place. The move was less a matter of choice than of coercion, the authorities seeing it as a means of watching the Jews more closely and curtailing their communications with the outside. For the same reason, the Carrière of Carpentras, after having occupied, right up to the edge of the ramparts, Galaffe Street – la rue Galaffe – (today the Street of the Old Jewry), as well as les rues Muse, Saint-Jean, and Tricadou, was, as of 1486, pushed back toward the center of the town, to occupy la rue de la Muse alone.

The lovely Jewish women of Avignon Avignon, Rabelais’4 “city of bells,” was for Petrarch,5 the “sink of all iniquity,” with the luxurious Court of the Pope and his Cardinals and his Vice-Legate and an uninterrupted succession of religious ceremonies, processions, parades, cavalcades, balls, receptions for sovereigns and ambassadors. It was at that time a cosmopolitan city of pleasure and frivolity, gallantries, adventures, and smuggling, an international refuge with gaming houses and bordellos for the most illustrious exiles. The Jews themselves, in this atmosphere of sumptuous license, were sometimes able to forget their duty to meditate upon their fate and withdraw into the recesses of their traditions. The elegance and gracefulness of their women went so far as to become a theme in literature: the warmth of their glance shaded by long eyelashes, or their complexion like pink painted on gold. Stendhal, as he noted on June 15, 1837 in his Memoirs of a Tourist in the course of a visit to Avignon, and probably on Jerusalem Place, fell into ecstasy before “the truly Oriental eyes of an Israelite lady buying her provisions in a shop.”6 4 François Rabelais (ca. 1494–1553): the major French writer studied medicine at the University of Montpellier and practiced for a while in Narbonne; he had opportunities to hear the bells of Avignon. – trans. 5 Petrarch, Francesco Petrarca (1304–ca. 1374): Italian poet and humanist scholar, lived a number of years in Avignon, Carpentras, and Montpellier. – trans. 6 Stendhal: see note 48 above on Henri Beyle. – trans.

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Actually, he was repeating a remark by the learned archeologist Louis Millin, author in 1807 of Travels in the South of France, in which he records: “Today, the Jews no longer constitute a caste apart, and their women are distinguished from others in Avignon only by their stunning beauty.”7 Millin, moreover, was only echoing the good Laurent-Pierre Bérenger, who in 1786, in his Provençal Evenings, wrote: “I admired the city’s ramparts, its promenades, and its lovely Jewish women.”8 And earlier, well before Bérenger, there was the first man to speak in such terms – Voiture, who in an Épître to Monsieur Arnauld indicated his preference for Christian ladies but showed himself to be sensitive to the charms of Jewish women as well: I saw the Jews of Avignon. Although they and their Jewish women Had much to please me, To tell you the whole truth, The Christian woman is more beautiful to see.9 And finally, in the same period, let us remember the young Monsignore who in a salon apparently dared whisper: “Who among us wouldn’t choose to go to hell if we could find the daughters of Abraham there?” But in Carpentras, what a difference of climate and milieu! Here it was, in a little town more alpestrian than Rhodonian, more rustic, more provincial, that the true spirit of Judaism could develop in the Comtat. The rituals of the Four Holy Communities called for the authority only of the rabbis of Carpentras. Yes, Avignon had the most beautiful Jewish women. Carpentras, the religious center, had the most learnèd students of the Law! The antique capital of the Comtat Venassin was the secret Jerusalem of the South of France.

The strange Carrière of Carpentras The Carrières: a street gaping onto short dead ends and closed by gates at either end. Let us linger on the one in Carpentras, since it was the most densely populated, the strangest, the most lamentable. As a result of amputations contrived by the City Council, which was increasingly jealous of the economic activity of the Jews, there was nothing left in the end but the rue de la Muse alone; the earthen surface was strewn once a week with a layer of fresh straw too quickly rendered filthy by the household waste that, for lack of sewers, drained away in the open air. Here and there, there were interior courtyards, patios of which, in 7 Aubin-Louis Millin de Grandmaison (1759–1818): French antiquary and naturalist. – trans. 8 Laurent-Pierre Bérenger (1749–1822): French academic and writer. Armand Lunel mistakenly attributes his 1786 publication to Antoine-Pierre Béranger. – trans. 9 Vincent Voiture (1597–1648): French composer of light poetry. – trans.

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one of the least narrow sections, only one was tiled – what a surprising luxury! – bearing the sobriquet of its rich owner, lou barda de Cacan, Cacan’s pavement. At the two ends, all other exits being blocked, there was a heavy door set inside Gothic masonry, with its oak panels and the same iron bars, the same locks as in a prison. The passage was open during the day, though closed until morning as of seven o’clock, under the surveillance on the outside of Christian porters appointed by the Carrière at an annual salary of 400 livres, plus lodgings, plus a lantern and a supply of oil for the lantern. These guardians had instructions to open at night only in case of emergency, fire, or birth. All Christian windows opening onto the Jewry were blocked, as were all Jewish windows opening onto Christendom. It was also forbidden to enlarge the Carrière, despite the fact that it was only 88 meters long with an average of 1,000 inhabitants spread through 168 houses. “The Jews,” say the Statutes of the Comtat, “proliferate to such an extraordinary degree because they all marry when barely out of the cradle.” The result was a housing crisis. To resolve it, the Jews of Carpentras decided to sell individual apartments, a bright idea that they combined with the notion of building upwards. These were the first “skyscrapers.” From year to year, such bold but fragile pilings-up reached the vertiginous, unparalleled height of ten stories. Passages from one to another were built to escape from aggressors in case of disturbances. All conveniences were in short supply, both in the matter of hygiene and in basic comfort. Apartments were tiny, chimneys poorly constructed and dangerous, and the indigent were housed in the attics. This poor, bizarre Jewish quarter fell to a demolition squad in the course of the nineteenth century. To get a picture of it, you have to go to the museum of Carpentras to see the panorama created by a regional artist, Denis Bonnet, at the beginning of the nineteenth century, showing the city and its ramparts; the ramparts, too, have disappeared. You can appreciate in that tableau how the Carrière appeared from afar to travelers – as tall, as high, as a monstrous loaf of bread. Let’s stand back for a moment in wonder! Teeming with life, eager for air, it towered dizzyingly over the low roofs of the Christians, so peaceful and regular; it pushed upwards; it climbed vertiginously; it scaled the sorry face of heaven! It would be a mistake, however, to exaggerate this impression of sadness. Here is why. True it is that between these very tall buildings the blue sky could be divined only by a thin, stingy slice of light; but let us not forget that it was the warm sky of the South. As in the old harbor areas of Marseille, Nice, Genoa, and Naples, a whole brightly colored string of laundry was hung out to dry beneath the windows. It was truly an ongoing feast for the eyes! On the ground floor, tight little doors afforded a glimpse of a spiral staircase with rickety steps, while the low-ceilinged shops of tailors, old-clothes dealers,

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and second-hand tradesmen, and a whole bric-a-brac of rags and would-be finery, bottles and iron work followed, item after item, as in a souk in the Maghreb or the Near East. Merchants and housewives shouted to one another robustly, roguishly, in their mix of Hebrew and Romance patois; and along the façades baskets rose and fell with provisions and mail. The Jews were forbidden to spend the night outside the Carrière under pain of being beaten, unless they had received special three-day permission, once a month, if they had to visit their storerooms or their country stables. They were forbidden, in their funeral processions, under pain of fine or corporal punishment, to chant, to hold torches or tapers; their funerals had to take place without ceremony, silently, almost clandestinely. The deceased was simply carried in a black cape to the Hebrew cemetery located quite far from the city walls, alongside the monumental aqueduct that we can still admire today. Amid high walls burnished by the centuries, there is a broad stretch of scrubland, here and there the somber flame of cypresses, groves of pines, laurels, and oaks, graves lost among the aromatic wild herbs and gradually sinking into the earth forever. The property goes back to 1370, with permission obtained by Bishop Jean de Turenne in return for an annual fee of six pounds of spices, and the purchase was concluded at the price of 38 gold florins on condition that the seller retain the right to let his flocks graze there. A vineyard was later added for the making of kosher wine.

Marks of infamy By virtue of the 1326 Council of Avignon, Jews past the age of thirteen were required to wear, as a sign of infamy, a yellow wheel sewn very obviously over the heart and at least four fingers in size. In the sixteenth century, Pope Clement VI ordered the wheel replaced by a yellow hat for men and a yellow cockade for women – in Provençal, the pécihoun, the patarassoun, or the guenillon – to be pinned into their hair; any contravention was subject to a fine of 200 gold écus. Let us note, however, that, as usual, the harshest rules were sooner or later mitigated by financial arrangements. Indeed, a memorandum that followed authorized the wearing of a black hat during a business trip, though only outside of inhabited places; and in 1774 an exceptionally liberal Vice-Legate, President Durini, permitted a black head covering with only a piece of yellow taffeta to mark one’s religion. Once Durini was gone, however, the Holy Office re-established the customary hat. Meanwhile, a few rare Jews had obtained for a period of eight months, no doubt renewable, personal exemptions which were surely not free of cost. Better yet, on March 12, 1771, Louis XV, who in conflict with the Pope had momentarily taken possession of his States, granted Vidal the Elder, a member of the

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Jewish nation, not only Letters Patent making him a subject of the King, but also the License of a Privileged Merchant – two favors that distinguished him from ordinary Jews through the same royal kindness another license exempted him from having to wear a yellow hat when in the city of Avignon and in the Comtat Venaissin, whatever the normal practice might be. On the other hand, on the eve of the Revolution, the States of the province, whose hostility remained virulent, bitterly denounced in a detailed Memorandum all the brazenness of the Jews in matters pertaining to the hat; to the outrage of proper people, rich young braggarts were now wearing darkred, elegantly styled, hats, while only the poor and some old men retained their yellow hats. Thanks to protections that some enjoyed in Rome, some even dared wear a black hat into which they stuck a piece of grey or white cloth or even just a piece of paper. As for the patarassoun worn by women, it had become so small as to require a magnifying glass.

3. Synagogues In every Carrière, the synagogue, called the Escolo in Provençal to mark, like the Alsatian Schule, the inescapable link between the study of the Law and Worship, was at the heart not only of religious life, but of civil life as well. A house of prayer, it was also the nerve center of all the organs of the Community: offices of bureaucrats, meeting rooms, children’s classrooms, the mikva, the place where animals were bled by the sagataïre tasked with opening their veins, the matzah bakery, the hospital, and the prison. The synagogue of L’Isle-sur-Sorgue was demolished under the Revolution; Avignon’s synagogue disappeared in a blaze in 1844. The only ones remaining are those of Carpentras and Cavaillon, which are now classed as historical monuments.

The Synagogue of Carpentras The façade of the synagogue of Carpentras, located on today’s place de la Mairie, has nothing in its austere simplicity, its utter lack of embellishment, that invites the eye to linger. This more-than-modest exterior used to serve a particular purpose – to cause no offense to Catholics, as confirmed by all the difficulties that had to be overcome to enlarge the building in the eighteenth century on foundations dating back to the 15th. The sanctuary, which had to suffice until then, could accommodate no more than 350 worshipers, and due to the growth of the population the need was for three hundred times as many. But our Jews dared not lose sight of the fact that they were not allowed to attempt the slightest renovation of their synagogue

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without the permission – and exorbitant cost – of the Sacred Congregation of the Holy Office. As it happens, though, they had quite recently been in a position to witness the construction, just opposite their cemetery, of a magnificent aqueduct – which gave them the idea of engaging the king’s engineer, Antoine d’Allemand, as their architect.10 He was the originator, among other remarkable civic projects, not only of that construct worthy of the Romans, but of the Hôtel-Dieu as well; it was also bruited about that he was a Freemason – which would surely not have stopped him from accepting the Jews’ commission. Construction began in 1741. In 1743, expenses were already as high as 30,000 livres, at a time when the whole interior was not yet even covered. Already, however, the wall of the Holy Ark was advancing toward the garden of the White Penitents and beautiful windows would soon replace – what brazenness! – a tiny aperture for light. The White Penitents were dismayed: the crude Hebrew psalms might well disturb their peaceful garden strolls, just as they would their Latin hymns. The scandal, soon rousing the whole city, found official expression in a plea to the Sacred Congregation of the Holy Office: Devout Catholics of the city of Carpentras, humble supplicants of Your Eminences, here make the claim, with the most profound respect, that the Jews who for centuries have been living in the said city, under the pretext of repairing their synagogue, began last year, with a great number of workers under the direction of M. Allemand, a well-known royal engineer, to rebuild it, but making it far more large and magnificent than before, so much so that, although it has not yet reached the height intended, it already dominates the entire city and rises so far beyond our churches and bell-towers that several miles before one enters the city travelers see only the magnificent, proud mass of the Jewish synagogue. This state of affairs can be tolerated neither by the city nor by the province, for it would appear that the Jews, although reduced to servitude through their own fault, wished to demonstrate, through this construction, their superiority over Christians. It took little time before the bishop, Monsignor Malachie d’Inguimbert, who left his flock many memories of his benevolence but was never a friend to the Jews – and who, besides, detested his cousin, the too-liberal architect – obtained permission from Rome to reduce the building to the tight dimensions of 1357 (4 toises [approx. 2 meters] high, 5 long, and 4 wide). He immediately betook himself in person to the synagogue, accompanied by a geometer and a crew of masons, to begin the necessary demolition. Jewish onlookers could not have been more astonished. “I found,” he recorded in a memorandum, “two rabbis 10 Anoine d’Allemand (1679–1760): hydraulic engineer and architect, born in Carpentras. – trans.

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turbaned like Turks, one of whom comes every year to collect funds for the Holy Land. The Jews are rich enough to build a hundred such synagogues, and that one has little choirs such as no local church has ever had.” What upheaval in the Carrière! But the Jews knew how to defend themselves. They argued that the Holy Congregation was abusing its authority. Legal procedures took time, so much so that in 1784, after more than forty years of twists and turns, squabbles and quibbles, bargaining and tribulations for all, under the suspicious and jealous eye of the representatives of the Church, the new synagogue, with dimensions at last deemed acceptable by both sides, could be finished, brought to the stage where we can admire it today. As was wise, the Jews took account of all those reservations and second thoughts about dimensions and outside walls; what they lost in one sense they gained in another, for once inside the building, the visitor is surprised to find himself transported into a ceremonial room worthy of Louis XVI.11 The fluted paneling and the gilt are of a piece with the astonishing diversity, profusion, and luxuriance of the chandeliers and lamps, in silver and bronze, in crystal and glazed plate, hanging from the ceiling, which, painted blue and thickly strewn with stars, imitates the firmament. The whole thing is rather theatrical, an impression due in part to the fact that the synagogue is divided, for the requirements of worship, between a ground floor and a mezzanine. A wide, deep rostrum projecting over the inside door thrusts its immense wroughtiron basket forward; three seven-branched candelabra burst forth from here, and the ensemble continues with symmetrical loggias on the two sides. This corbelled balcony serves as the base for a central canopy held up by columns and as light as a cage, the Teba, designed for the Rabbi’s reading of the Torah; that placement gives the Teba an aerial, even celestial, feel. To right as to left, a spiral staircase allows the ascent and descent of worshipers who had purchased the honor of being summoned to kiss the Sepharim, the Books of the Law. Below, on the wall opposite the rostrum, is the Hechal, the Tabernacle, the Holy Ark, where the Scrolls recline, held in place by their bands of brocade and topped by their silver-belled crowns; beside them lies the Yad, the chiseled silver arm of Justice which guides the reading of the text and keeps the reader’s finger from needlessly touching the parchment. A balustrade of wrought iron protects the Holy Ark, which is masked by sumptuous curtains, one of which, in crimson silk embroidered with golden figures representing stylized candelabra, a rare specimen of Oriental cloth, came to Carpentras in the sixteenth century as a gift from the Community of Smyrna. Having come from so far, this curtain was hung only on major holidays, before the eyes of Jews all those years ago, perhaps even more dazzled than our own. 11 Louis XVI (1754–1793): deposed in 1792, guillotined in 1793. – trans.

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A niche to the right of the Ark accommodates a child’s armchair of the style and period of Louis XVI; it is the armchair of the Prophet Elijah, as indicated by the Hebrew inscription sewn onto the velvet chair back. It was shown at the ceremony of Circumcision, so the child to be circumcised would feel mystically seated in the lap of the invisible Prophet. The panels on the right side include an open-work partition, behind which can be seen a narrow corridor that constitutes the new synagogue for women, since the weaker sex can participate in the service only indirectly. Outside and behind the wall of the Ark, there is a tiny terrace that once opened onto the garden of the White Penitents; that was the site of the blessings of the New Moon, and it was where the Jews built their Sukkot to commemorate their deliverance from servitude in Egypt. There, too, as I know from family tradition, on the night of Yom Kippur, two Jewish women sitting face to face would hold, one a white thread and the other a black, and when the two colors could no longer be distinguished in the fading light, they would know that the Great Fast was over. In the basement of the synagogue, going back through the centuries, we come into contact with the oldest features of the building: first, a bakery with its ovens, its millstone, and a fine marble kneading table, presented, as noted on the inscription, by a pious worshiper, Gad de Digne, in 1550; and it was under these vaults that matzot were baked. But that was not our word for unleavened bread. In Hebrew-Comtadin we called them coudolles, and made them with water for ordinary consumption and with oil, wine, and sugar for dessert; and the latter were so delicious that, in the Comtat, we felt no special merit, no sense of privation, in accepting the alimentary restrictions of Passover. The old oven, alas, is dark now, and I enjoyed the last coudolles, prepared by Frontin Crémieux, when I was a child at the beginning of the 1900s. At some remove within the basement is the old women’s synagogue, to which women were confined until the remodeling of 1741. It communicated with the men’s only though a small barred window that opened before the Ark; the passage was eventually sealed shut. That is where, through that narrow opening, the daughters of Eve, huddled together in the darkness, took part, their slender part, in the divine worship; that too is where a doddering old rabbi, lou Rabbin dei Fumo, taught them something or other of the Law of Moses in Hebrew-Comtadin; most of the girls knew neither Hebrew nor French. Finally, in a sub-basement, a forty-eight-step staircase descends to the edge of a rectangular pool dug into the tufa and fed by a subterranean spring; it is the ritual bath, the mikva, where, as prescribed in Leviticus, chapter 15, women are to bathe every month with full immersion, as is a bride on the eve of her marriage. Two old women were in charge here. The last ones known here were Vonyoune (Yvonne) and Franquette (Françoise), who, despite their

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pretty names, must have been fearsome supervisors of the ritual plunge. From cabussa, ‘plunge’ in Provençal, from Latin ‘caput’, Carpentrasssians who could hardly care less about such rituals, created cabussadou to designate the pool. Mistral,12 in a short play that he dedicated in 1913 to President Daladier, then mayor of Carpentras, made a point of naming the cabassadou the seventh wonder of the “capital of the berlingot.”13 But we don’t find it funny – no, not we, who shiver in the cold night where the sacred is preserved in all its original and terrifying purity.

The synagogue of Cavaillon In Cavaillon, the decor is wholly different. The community was minuscule, and the Carrière, the same rue Hébraïque that exists today, is simply a short, rather broad passage surprisingly clean and sunny. The synagogue, smaller than that of Carpentras, with far fewer worshipers to accommodate, was erected in 1774 on the site of the original sanctuary, over a vault serving as an exit from the Carrière. You spot the synagogue as soon as you start down the street; it is a little like a fairy dwelling suspended between earth and sky, its outside staircase remaining masked by the neighboring house and leading to a terrace; here there stand out, with filigree lightness, the five arches of an ironwork balustrade. The façade reveals a beautiful Louis XV door; the elegant cartouche on the lintel reads, in Hebrew, the verse of Psalm 118, “This is the door of the Lord; the Just may enter here.” And on the side, collection boxes ask for alms. The interior, only nine meters long by six wide, is organized as in Carpentras, but because the room is more intimate and is actually chiseled, it is even more striking to the eye. Shells, garlands of flowers and foliage, baskets of fruit, decorate the paneling, the balcony, and the baldachin. The impression you have is not of a ceremonial room or even of a salon, but of a boudoir whose grace would have enchanted Madame de Pompadour. The matzah bakery with all its equipment takes up a narrow room that gives onto the vaulted passage. A Judeo-Comtadin museum was recently set up there which could hardly be better located. The work undertaken by the conservator, M. Dumoulin, has led to the discovery of several items of furniture of great archeological interest. First, there are three tabernacle doors that go back to the sixteenth-century sanctuary. Each exterior surface is made of four polychrome wooden panels sculpted with figures of vases, some bearing flowers, apparently myrtles, and others bearing fruits – citrons, perhaps, or pomegranates – flowers and fruits, symbols of prosperity, for the holiday of 12 Mistral: see note 15. – trans. 13 Berlingot: a hard candy traditionally associated with the city of Carpentras. – trans.

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Sukkot. The interior surfaces are in sorry shape, but they clearly show the first words of the Ten Commandments displayed above a seven-branched candle-holder. I should note as well two items that are no doubt unique, each in its own way. First, there is a penitential whip, a leather lash used in a ceremony preparatory to Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. Then, there is a wooden-handled percussive instrument resembling a shako, covered in red velvet. In the absence of a ram’s horn, a shofar, this instrument may have served to announce the beginning of the Sabbath. Or else – and this is no less likely – its rattle may have served to punctuate the ritual cursing of Haman’s name during the feast of Purim.

A religious art in keeping with the region There is no reason to be surprised at the quasi-secular – and, as critics will not hesitate to claim, excessively delicate – style characteristic of these Houses of Prayer. As we shall see, ghetto walls were never serious obstacles to exchanges, cultural or any other, between Christians and Jews. The Judeo-Comtadins sought professional services – ironwork, cabinetry, stuccowork, painting – from the same artisans who worked for the region’s churches, and they inevitably adopted the rococo, even Jesuitical, taste of the period. That is what makes the chapel of the Black Penitents in Avignon so charming, or Notre-Dame-desAnges in L’Isle-sur-Sorgue, or the pharmacy of the Hôtel-Dieu in Carpentras. Above all, we need to remember that the art of the Comtat-Venaissin stands apart from that of Provence through its heavier Italian influence; with that, we can better understand both the originality and the local color of the religious art of the Judeo-Comtadins.

4. Poll-tax Republics A veritable clockwork administration, decidedly modern with the astonishing multiplicity of all its cogwheels: that is the face of political organization in the Carrières. To understand, we should read their Escamots. The Escamots (from a Hebrew term meaning ‘convention’) constituted the Charter that the Carrières adopted, with the approval of the Rector of the Comtat or the Provost of Avignon, for officially renewable terms of ten years. The preamble stipulated that not one of the articles contravened the “Authority and Lordship of Our Holy Father the Pope and the Holy Roman Catholic Apostolic Faith”; for in their official acts the Judeo-Comtadins called the Pope their Holy Father, conscious as they were of all that they owed him for their protection and prepared to show him as much respect as Catholics showed.

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The prayer for the Pope Once a year, on the ninth day of Sukkot, the day of the Feast of the Law, when the year’s reading of the Torah comes to an end and the Scrolls in the Holy Ark are taken out and carried around the synagogue in a joyful procession, Jews uttered a Hebrew prayer – “Eternal God of Heaven and Earth, God almighty and all-merciful, God full of grace, of clemency, of truth, who makes his mercy felt unto the thousandth generation, who absolves iniquity, crime, and sin, and who purifies” – for their sovereign, the Pope. An official prayer for the Head of State has always been part of Jewish worship. “My son, fear God and the King!” we read in Proverbs. This prayer, in rhymed verses (frequent for the Jews of the Comtat, though rather rare for others) appears in the siddur for the holidays of Passover, Shavuot, and Sukkot, according to the rite of the Holy Community of Carpentras, printed in Amsterdam in the year 5589 since the Creation of the World, or 1759 “by Christian reckoning.” Here is the prayer in the free adaptation that Darius Milhaud asked of me for his sacred cantata, Couronne de Gloire (Crown of Glory, which he composed to mark the 100th anniversary of the modern Synagogue of Aix, inaugurated in 1840 by his great-grandfather Joseph Milhaud). He who has conferred power upon Kings and saved his servant David from the wicked sword, He who raises Princes and causes them to shine like the stars in the heavenly sphere, Shall raise and magnify and exalt on high Our Lord the Holy Father, our Pope. Our God, God the Living and King Eternal, shall send His angels to guard him, preserve him, and save him from all misfortune and adversity. Our God, the Living God and Eternal King, shall secure his throne, glorify his reign, prolong his days and his years, grant him honor and felicity, and raise him on high, ever higher, so that everywhere, in every place and every land, men may cry, “Long live our Lord the Holy Father, our Pope forever!” Pray, pray, supplicate God that He accord him grace, protection, and favor! Pray, pray, supplicate God that He enlighten him with the light of His face. And that in His mercy He cover him with the peace of His ethereal heights! Pray! and may the words of truth resound in the ears of our Holy Father, Who will turn his compassionate heart toward us, the remnant of Israel, in our servitude and our poverty.

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May it be so, and let us say Amen! The One who has blessed Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, David, Solomon, all the Prophets of Israel, and all the Just in the world, shall bless, raise, and exalt on high, and ever higher, our Lord the Holy Father, our Pope – and our Lords and his officers, forever! May God in His mercy grant him the peace of His ethereal heights! May He grant him life and protection! May He raise him on high and ever higher! And may men everywhere cry, in every place and in every land: Long live our Lord, our Holy Father, our Pope forever! And thus it is that we shall utter prayers and words of thanksgiving for our Lords the Vice-Legate, the Rector, and all the functionaries and officers of the Papal Court. So be it! Amen!

Elections and duties of the Baylons Under the papal protectorate, the Four Holy Communities constituted miniature autonomous republics governed by a poll-tax system. Mirroring the old municipium of Avignon, electors and those electable were divided into three hands, that is, three wealth-based classes: a minimum of 30,000 livres for the first class, 15,000 for the second, and 5,000 for the third. Men without this last minimum – in fact, almost half of the population – enjoyed no political rights. Executive power was held by a Council of twelve members, four per hand, elected annually at Sukkot; these named by lot the various magistrates or functionaries known in Provençal as Baylons. A boy, in the presence of a delegate of the Vice-Legate, would draw the lots in front of the entire community, who signaled their approval by acclamation. There were Baylons everywhere and for every task – Baylons for lights, that is, for the upkeep the Synagogue’s beautiful chandeliers and who also acted, as we would say today, as members of the Festivals committee. There were Baylons for schooling, public instruction and youth activities. There were Baylons in charge of alms, managing, like their Christian counterparts, various charitable institutions supported by collection boxes and all sorts of taxes for the indigent, the orphaned, the poor girls in need of a dowry; they were the ones in charge of the Passover oven, the butchery and the baths; they who, at prayer, sitting opposite the tabernacle, policed behavior, unruliness being subject to a fine; they, too, who were charged with visiting dying men to exhort them to confess, to make a pious bequest, to repudiate their wife in order to free the widow from the injunction to wed the brother of the deceased.

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There were Baylons to oversee donations intended for the Holy Land. There were Baylons responsible for maintaining proper observance of the rules of kashrut in butcher shops. There were Baylons who had the duty of keeping the street clean and hauling away the trash. There were Baylons for the newly deceased, tasked with washing bodies and making funeral arrangements. Finally, there were the most fearsome of all, the Baylons of the Treasury, in charge of fiscal oversight. None of these functions carried compensation, and no one could avoid taking his turn. The only person exempt from taxation, salaried, and housed – the Rabbi – owed his special status not only to his work as a clergyman, but also to his role as schoolmaster and officer of the State. The Inguimbertine Library in Carpentras preserves the Book for the description or annotation of births, circumcisions, marriages, and deaths of the Jews of the Carrière kept by [left blank], Jew and Rabbi, begun on Wednesday, June 1, 1763, in execution of the instructions addressed to us by the Supreme Congregation of the Holy Office: Poncet, Secretary-General of the Holy Office, Brother Jean-Baptiste Mavil, of the Order of Preaching Friars, Doctor of Sacred Theology, Inquisitor-General for the city of Avignon and the entire Comtat Venaissin. This register, which extends into 1792, was drawn up in two versions, French and Hebrew, both signed by the Vicar of the Holy Office, where a copy was deposited. For prayer services, the Rabbi was assisted by four cantors, or parladours, whose function it was to translate the Hebrew texts into the Romance vernacular.

Crushing taxes The fiscal legislation of the Carrières, implemented by the Baylons of the Treasury, was, in its fine detail and its severity, far in advance of its Christian equivalent. It included progressive taxation on revenue and capital, with no exemption for uninvested holdings; there was, however, a blanket exemption for Jews who renounced all commercial activity in order to devote themselves exclusively to the study of the Law. Every taxpayer had to file an estimation of personal wealth, the Manifest, after having sworn the formidable oath of Herem: I swear before God, who created heaven and earth, mountains, rocks, grass and everything his power has brought into existence – and if I swear anything other than the truth, I ask God to call down upon me a rain of sulphur and tar, such as rained down upon Sodom and Gomorrah – and

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if I swear an untruth, may I become a leper, like Miriam, the sister of Moses – and if I swear an untruth, may I become paralyzed in all my members; may my blood drain from my body and, once out, may my body be forever deprived of burial – and if I swear an untruth, may I be damned and never be joined to the breast of Abraham. That was coupled with a verification of appearances of wealth, fraud being punished with a fine double the value of the amount in question. In case of a second transgression, the punishment was not a fine and threat, but excommunication, a sentence of religious and civil death pronounced by the Rabbi, who thus emerged, backed by the thunder of religion, as the most effective enforcer of the fiscal system; divine appointment made the Rabbi, if necessary, a veritable bailiff. In 1678, a disastrous year, the Community of Carpentras was terror-stricken. Creditors threatened destruction. Extreme measures had to be taken to make up the deficit. In the presence of the bishop, a notary, and a lawyer, taxpayers were gathered in a plenary assembly before the Passover oven and voted to raise the tax by twenty-five percent, effective immediately. The Carrière was sealed off; grenadiers bolted the doors and remained on watch for the whole day, weapons in hand – But wait – this isn’t Friday! It isn’t the beginning of the Sabbath. Still, what’s this we hear? Never, never has the shofar resounded so overpoweringly. Under the growing threat, the human herd is stampeding, heads lowered, hands over ears, and already everyone, as well as possible, has barricaded himself deep in his lair. The way is open; the curse is on its way. The public crier, a short, yellow-bearded humpback, twisting and dancing diabolically around the shofar, a gnome but not a funny one, Jacobet the shamas, prances forward; breathing heavily, pulled between the ram’s horn and his thick ceremonial cane, he stamps on the ground at the same time to mark the rhythm. He is going before the Rabbi, who, in ceremonial garb, is on his way to see to the excommunication of a recalcitrant. Behind them the Baylons of the Treasury close the procession, the first carrying a taper, the second the Tablets of the Law, and the third the necessary equipment, ribbons and wax for affixing the seals. “Widow Aron Lyonnet! one last time – how do you choose between the 25-percent supplement and eternal anathema?” Jacobet punctuates the Rabbi’s words by hitting his heavy cane against the door. “Eternal anathema,” shouts the shamas! “Excluded forever like a leper from the Community of the faithful! Cursed for always and doomed to the worst calamities! Bitch! Come to the door!” And he strikes so hard the door may soon give way.

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“Good God!” groans the old woman, visible at last at her sixth-floor window. “I have nothing left, nothing!” “Widow Aron Lyonnet! You know that anathema kills within twelve months,” retorts Jacobet. “You know that my husband Jonas is dead and that my son Aquin went off to the Holy Land last year and left me with only twelve pistoles.” “Twelve pistoles!” exclaim the Baylons of the Treasury. “Twelve pistoles! In that case, we’ll come up with the seals. How much would say your apartment is worth?” “The apartment!” chimes in Jacobet. “The apartment is yours! Do you know that the shofar brought down the walls of Jericho? And they were more solid than yours, widow Aron Lyonnet!” All of a sudden, he draws a single blast from his horn, just one, but it has the effect of Joshua’s blast. The Rabbi and the Baylons recoil. Enough! Trembling for her apartment, the old lady promptly sends down from her sixth floor a long cord with a purse attached to it. Her contribution! “Fifteen sous to open the Holy Ark! Ferrusol de Pampelune bids 16! Baraquiel de Monteux bids 17! Nathan Alphandéric, 18! Ephraïm de Carcassonne, 19! Moïse Cadet, 20! Binjamin Naquet, 23! . . . No one bids more than 23? . . . Once . . . Twice . . . Three times! Adjudged to Binjamin Naquet!” That was how, every Sabbath, the various religious honors were sold in the synagogue to the highest bidder. Today such an auction of piety may easily call forth a lot of joking, while no one finds it laughable or inappropriate if some celebrity puts his cigarette case up for auction at a charity benefit. It was as if God above played the role of that celebrity, intending a gift for the poor, since the fruit of the sales went to the Baylons in charge of alms. The remarkable severity of the tax system and the perpetual hunt for resources are readily explained as responses to all the monetary demands that the Carrières had to face – on the one hand, an accumulation of debts to the public authorities and on the other, internal expenses, including, for charitable works, the support of a multitude of indigents, accounting in Carpentras in 1782 for a third of the total population; let us not forget, moreover, that the poor had no political rights and lived on the taxes paid by the members of the three hands. According to a tradition as old as Judaism itself, men may let themselves be supported by others if they devote themselves exclusively to religious study and devotion. Everything carries a price, however, and in the case of these men dear to the Lord, the councilors determined that it would mean accepting the unpaid duty of guarding the doors of the Jewry during all services and on holidays. In the liabilities column of the Carrière budgets, we need to note the interest on capital lent by rich Christians of the local aristocracy and often even by

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religious houses. Such loans, indispensable for financial balance, also guaranteed the survival of the Carrières, since their creditors were bound to oppose any attempt to expel them: their investments were at stake! The Four Holy Communities were closed groups, composed exclusively of Jews born there to Jewish parents. No stranger, as we shall see, could join them and no member could leave without renouncing his rights and duties, with the sole exception of pilgrims departing to end their days in the Holy Land. Any other emigrant bore the hated name of translatador, the worst of traitors when it was a wealthy Jew attempting to escape the tax collector; and it was specified in the Escamots that he could not be authorized to establish himself elsewhere without first paying his portion of the Community’s debts. Finally, whoever took flight to escape the hand of justice was bound, under pain of excommunication, to return as soon as his case was, so to speak, “resolved.”

Extraordinary authoritarianism A regime in which nothing was left unplanned, in which everything was subject to rules and penalties! Education, free for the poor, was obligatory to the age of fifteen. No head of a family could without a good reason fail to attend the Sabbath morning service. As in all other Jewries, any show of excessive or superfluous luxury was held in check by sumptuary laws that bespoke a desire for pious decency and at the same time obviated any risk of appearing too well-to-do in the eyes of Christians. Engagement and wedding presents were limited to a handkerchief and a necktie, a pair of shoes or stockings, laces, or garters; expenses and the number of guests for wedding meals were minimal, and the new spouses were forbidden to offer their guests such confections as fougasses and dragées.14 Godparents’ gifts at a circumcision could not exceed thirty sous per person; the customary exchange of gifts at Purim, the Feast of Esther, was strictly regulated; it was forbidden for Jewish women to possess more than two gold rings and to appear in the city in garments of silk or decorated with gold or silver braiding; Jewish males past their bar mitzvah were prohibited from playing ninepins or bowls except on holidays. Infractions were punished by heavy fines. It was a very Jewish trait to see charity as a legal duty. The mania for control, for verification and guarantees was a true obsession; the slightest, the most innocuous of violations were imagined ahead of time and assigned fines. No one was spared, neither the Baylons nor even the Rabbi. What frightful tyranny you can find in small theocratic societies! The Council enjoyed almost dictatorial

14 Fougasse: a type of bread typical of Provence; dragée: a type of almond confectionery well known in, though hardly limited to, the South of France. – trans.

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powers – the power to condemn to prison without appeal, even the power to excommunicate without appeal. In sum, what prevailed in these Jewries – but let us not forget that they could never have survived otherwise – was a heavy authoritarianism that for the time and for the size of the population was extraordinary. Perhaps it was also an age-old concern with the scholastic and the analytical, the cautionary and the legalistic, here pushed into the realm of the infinitely sliced and detailed. But in the affairs of the Jewish community, the various representatives of temporal power – the Vice-Legate, the Provost, the Rector, and others – intervened only when the Baylons requested their help in enforcing penalties. What State today would grant such independence to a foreign minority?

5. Commerce The economic activity of the Judeo-Comtadins began as a remarkable success, since in the Middle Ages we find a great number of tax farmers, bankers, merchants and traders in agricultural products, spices, drugs, woolens, jewels and perfumes; cloth makers, apothecaries, doctors, long-robed master surgeons, and at the bottom of the professional scale, barbers who, beyond scissors and razor, also wielded scalpel, lancet, and enema. All these physiciens, as they were then called, passed their art or craft from father to son or signed an apprentice’s contract with one of their elders. In Avignon, according to notarial records, their number reached the impressive figure of sixty in the fifteenth century. Many, by way of their primary clientele, practiced a second occupation too, lending money at interest; most of these enjoyed particular favor with the sick, who often preferred them to their Christian colleagues.

A whole series of restrictions But the Jews were more skillful at what they did, which aroused the jealousy of their Catholic competitors. The result was a whole series of measures that, from the sixteenth century forward, aimed to confine them to money-lending and second-hand trades. They were allowed to work as tailors and dealers in used articles, but forbidden, on pain of imprisonment to buy, sell, or possess anything related to Catholic worship: albs, chalices, chaplets, chasubles, ciboria, corporals, crosses, patens, as well as any books or pictures showing holy images. As bankers, Jews enjoyed the privilege of lending at a rate of interest higher than that allowed Christians. At the beginning, they were authorized to lend privately at sixteen percent and commercially at fifteen; in the eighteenth century, the rate was lowered to nine percent, which was still, though, two percent higher than the legal limit for Christians. This had the result that, to profit from the difference, wealthy Catholics and even convents surreptitiously

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placed their capital with Jews. Jewish bankers also offered pension annuities in exchange for cash payments, but from the sixteenth century they could accept as their borrowers’ security only movables or the revenue of such, since they were prohibited from possessing real property outside the Carrières. In addition, they were denied the recourse called Salviam, that is, the seizure of security ceded to a third party by the debtor before the due date of the debt; and their claims risked falling under a ten-year limitation.

Final development of business Eventually, little by little, despite all sorts of prohibitions, curtailments, and difficulties, some Judeo-Comtadins patiently succeeded in widening and diversifying their commercial activities, to the point where we find them, in the second half of the eighteenth century, occupying an impressive place in the wine, wheat, oil, and dye trades, and as silk makers in L’Isle-sur-Sorgue and manufacturers of sheets and blankets in Avignon with wool imported from the Maghreb. There were also some in the eighteenth century who possessed a special safeconduct obtained at a high cost from the good grace of the Vice-Legate. Thus freed from sequestration in the Carrières, these men boldly set out to ply their trades in the provinces abutting the papal enclave, preferably on the other side of the Rhône, in Vivarais and particularly in Languedoc; in the last, although barred from residence under the Kingdom, they could take advantage of the exemptions in place during fairs to come exercise their know-how as peddlers or horse-dealers. Quickly, as much by keeping their prices very low as by introducing the practice of selling on credit, they succeeded in attracting a broad clientele and taking first place in the markets. This did not happen without provoking recriminations and protests, in Nîmes, for example, or Montpellier or Toulouse, on the part of urban shopkeepers and horse dealers alike, all eager to maintain their corporative monopoly. Provincial administrators, however, taking regional interests into account and tending as well to favor the more modern idea of freedom in commercial transactions, were happy to witness the growth that the Judeo-Comtadins brought to business and even took the opportunity to extol their good sense and integrity. Some traveled in rickety carts or on foot or bent their backs under the weight of their merchandise – woolens, cloth, lace, taffeta, satin, muslin, silk stockings, scarves, velvet, brocade, gold- or silver-shot fabrics, jewelry, perfumes. It has been determined that at Beaucaire, a pivot of exchanges with the Levant, they sold, year in, year out, fifty thousand écus’ worth of silk goods. When they could, they extended their activity beyond the fairs, selling their wares under the table, from door to door, in inns, sometimes even, as in the case of the Juge-Mage of Toulouse, in the quarters of a rich Catholic figure, who did not

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fail to find it to his advantage. And if need be, they lent money to customers shy of the full price. Others, with an escort of grooms, traveled in caravan style at the head of squads of mules and pack horses. Actually, military requisitions had led to a shortage of horses, which had made local prices exorbitant; to buy their horses, the Jews then went up to the better-supplied markets in Poitou, Auvergne, Saintonge, Limousin, and Rouergue and then went back down to sell them to farmers in Languedoc. All, up hill and down dale, were always on the road, in winter as in summer, in snow, wind, or rain, and they returned home to their Carrières only for the High Holy days; in some cases, because of prolonged absences, they lost their status as electors. But to avoid neglecting either their religious duties or the imperatives of business, they kept a daily and monthly record of their schedules and itineraries. This was done on the pages of a longterm Hebrew calendar showing “according to the calculations of Rab Samuel, for one hundred consecutive years from the year of Creation 5525 to the year 5624, which corresponds to 1763–1764 through 1863–1864 in the common calendar, a computation of all New Moons, Saturdays, Holidays and Fasts, along with the Christian dates for Christmas, Ashes, Easter, Ascension, and Corpus-Christi, plus a monthly Table of Fairs in Lyon, Provence, Languedoc and neighboring provinces, County and Duchy of Burgundy, and several others in the Kingdom.” This statement introduces a pocket-sized volume, a rare copy of which I was pleased to discover a while ago. The title page reads: By M. V. Amsterdam M DCC XIV M. V. are the initials of the author, the scientist Mardochée Venture, who was the secretary-interpreter at the Library of His Most Christian Majesty Louis XVI. In banking or commodity trading, a few Jews, certainly not more than a tiny minority, succeeded, especially in Carpentras, in amassing considerable fortunes in currency, letters of credit, portfolio holdings, or real estate. Wills show, for example, that in 1766 Jacob de Laroque left more than 200,000 livres; in 1789, Abraham Crémieu more than 600,000 livres; in 1790, Jassuda David Crémieu, 728,000 livres.

6. Daily life Our Judeo-Comtadins formed a little world of its own, physically and morally closed; it was withdrawn into itself, juridically by the sequestration that the Church forced on it, emotionally by the fervor of its faith and by the constant

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threat of new official vexations or populist turmoil. Religiously, our JudeoComtadins were held in check by Mosaic Law, which regulated all the acts of their lives, from birth to death, with its 613 Commandments, 248 of them – like the members of the body – positive, and 365 – like the days of the year or the veins – negative. And they believed that the veins act to restrain a man when he is tempted to violate a prohibition – whence their saying, “He who transgresses God’s commandments has no good vein in his body.” The same was true of the members of the body, each one urging obedience to the Law, so that if all members and all veins did as they should every day, the Torah’s dicta were fully observed. Women, however, although having ten more members than men, were expected to observe only sixty-four negative Commandments and thirtysix positive, because of their household tasks and the close attention that they had to pay to the kosher preparation of food, which required strict separation of meat and dairy and of the utensils used in eating them.

A schedule determined by ritual As soon as the cock crows at dawn to announce that the demons have lost their nocturnal power, it is time to rise and recite the words, “Blessed art thou, O Eternal, who hast granted understanding to the cock.” Dress lying down and not seated, so that the walls of the house may not see the shame of nudity. Wash and clean only with left hand, leaving the right to follow the verses of Scripture. Do not utter the name of the Lord before rinsing your mouth. Dispose of the water of your ablutions in a place where it cannot serve for casting evil spells. Then, having covered your shoulders with your tallit, the shawl whose fringes recall God’s Commandments, bind your forehead and left arm with the leather straps of the tefillin, the phylacteries whose little attachments contain tiny parchment copies of Torah verses. So prepared, you participate in morning prayer at the synagogue, at the close of which you slowly back away so as to expose no indecent part of the body to the Holy Ark and to show no unseemly haste to leave the presence of God. If you see a woman, you close your eyes to avoid unwelcome desires. You never spit onto the ground but into a handkerchief, lest you hit an angel. Friday evening at sundown, you hear a long, plaintive sound, hoarse and pastoral; it is the shammas walking down the street, blowing the shofar and crying, “Candles now! It’s the Sabbath!” Now comes a pious, legal suspension of all debate, all business dealings. Work comes to a stop, is indeed forbidden. You do not even kill a fly. You feed birds only the indispensable minimum; otherwise, you might throw them so many seeds that some might sprout and appear to have been sown by design. It is the day of rest, when the fires of hell are not stoked and even the damned enjoy a time of repose. Children were drawn into religious practice starting at the earliest age. Like

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adults, boys had to keep their head covered, first of all in the synagogue, because Divine Majesty was considered to be hovering over them. They had to wear a belt to keep a separation between the heart and the shameful parts of the body. They were not, however, held to strict observance of the Law before their thirteenth year, and sins committed beforehand were a paternal responsibility. Boys married at eighteen and girls at twelve and a day, but only at twenty were children freed from parental control.

Circumcision The ceremony of Circumcision would take place on the eighth day following birth. The mohel, who would perform the operation, had to have on his two thumbs long and well-filed sharp nails. The infant, freshly, carefully bathed, was brought into the gathering of worshipers by his godmother and then passed to his godfather, who placed him in front of the Holy Ark in the tiny armchair called Elijah’s; the Prophet, invisible but present, was thought to hold him in his lap. At that point, several boys would enter, carrying a candelabrum with twelve candles, a symbol of the twelve tribes of Israel, along with two drinking bowls of red wine, a razor-like knife, a dish full of sand, and a cup of oil in which strips of gauze were soaking. The mohel would remove the child’s diaper, while reciting the prayer, “Blessed art thou, O Eternal God, King of the Universe, who hast ordained circumcision!” And he would cut off a piece of the foreskin and throw it into the dish of sand, to express the hope that the infant’s posterity might be as numerous as the grains of sand in the sea. Then he would sip some wine, spray it on the child’s penis, put the tiny organ into his mouth, suck the blood to prevent any hemorrhaging, and spit it into the bowl; he might repeat this suction several times. The oddity of this traditional antisepsis did not escape the notice of Montaigne,15 when he visited the ghetto in Rome; nor did it long remain unknown to our Christian friends, who coined the term suço-berigoulo, defined by Mistral in his Trésor du Felibrige as ‘an obscene insult that children hurl at godparents who fail to throw them dragées.’ When the blood had almost stopped, the mohel would grasp the foreskin with his sharp thumbnails, push it back behind the glans, bandage the wound with the gauze dipped in oil, re-diaper the child, wash his mouth and hands, take the second cup of wine, consecrate it, and confer upon the baby the name his father had chosen, at which point he would utter a new prayer: O our God, God of our Fathers, strengthen this child and preserve him for his father and mother. The Prophet Ezekiel said, “I went before you 15 Michel de Montaigne (1533–1592): great French writer, chiefly known for his Essays. – trans.

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and saw you stretched out on the ground in your blood, and I say to you, you will live in your blood. Yes, I tell you, seeing you thus lying in your blood, you shall live.” He would then dip his finger into the bowl of wine that had received the blood sucked earlier and would touch it three times to the child’s lips in the hope that, as said by the Prophet, the blood of Circumcision would be a guarantee of long life. Then he would conclude his prayer by asking God to protect his people, because they respect their Covenant. He would give all the boys a sip from the consecrated drinking bowl and hand the infant back to his godmother, to take him home and restore him to the hands of his mother. When a female child reached the age of six weeks, a number of girls would gather around her garlanded cradle and lift it a few times, while her godmother, at the head of the little bed, would give the child her name. As with Circumcision, a family meal would bring the ceremony to an end.

Marriage Marriage involved theater and celebration. On four consecutive Saturdays before the event, the parents of the bride would receive their friends at a light refreshment of confections and sweet wine, called a tabouret; the fiancée presided there under a flower-bedecked linen canopy to accept, along with her intended, the guests’ congratulations and good wishes. The day before the wedding, she would take a bath of purification in the cold water of the cabassadou, and during the entire length of the immersion, which had to be total, the ladies in charge signaled their delight by shaking little bells. The next day, when the fiancés were at the threshold of the synagogue, the whole party would throw them handfuls of wheat to wish them progeny and prosperity. Before the Holy Ark, the bride sat to the right of the bridegroom, her face turned toward the south, as their nuptial bed would be, in the hope of producing male children. The Rabbi would cover them both with the young man’s tallit, have them both take a drink of consecrated wine, show the audience a plain gold ring, place it on the bride’s finger, read out loud the Hebrew marriage contract, the ketubah, and thank the Eternal for having created man and woman and ordained marriage. At that point, he would have the couple drink the rest of the wine and then direct the new husband to break the glass under foot in remembrance of the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. On leaving the synagogue, family and guests would sit down at table, recite the customary blessings, and call for the hen. With that, a hen already sacrificed and an egg were set before the new wife, and the hen was pulled apart amid joyous laughter. This signified the hope that the woman would endure the pain of childbearing in jubilation, just as a hen sings as she lays her egg. At the end of

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the meal, they sang traditional verses and danced the gaillarde and the branle, the young husband leading the men and the new wife leading the women.

Some relaxation of discipline Such festivities make this the right moment to note that strict adherence to sumptuary laws necessitated occasional accommodations and that, more broadly speaking, the conformism that marked the daily life of our JudeoComtadins could not always be taken literally; its apparent rigidity had to tolerate some slack and suffer liberties that were sometimes comical. At the synagogue, during those endlessly long services, how could the worshipers have resisted stirring and seeking some sort of relaxation? The women in particular felt the need to move, and that terrible bougeotte, despite the sanctity of the place, might burst out in scandalous incidents in the basement, where they were packed with their children. The problem of who sat where led to so many battles and shouting matches that one day, by order of the Baylons in charge of propriety, chairs were replaced by benches. Is there, besides, anything juicier or funnier than Article 23 of the 1,645 Escamots of Carpentras? We have determined that some children, boys or girls, have been urinating or defecating inside the synagogue during prayers or even during the reading of the Torah. Their parents will be fined three sous for every defecation and one if all they do is urinate. The Baylons in charge of alms will enforce such penalties along with any others that may be required. Here is Article 31, no less silly: We have determined that no person shall speak or utter foolish words inside the synagogue during the reading of the Scroll of Moses, the Torah, and that no one shall discuss any business or even any dispute concerning the law; but a father may speak to his little children and the Baylons and civic deputies may discuss Community affairs. And among the conclusions of the same Escamots, we find the following post-script correction, a real tribute to official humor: Article 31 has been crossed out, for we have determined, after due consideration, that the majority of people will be unable to observe it. The Article will be as if never written.

Pleasures of intimacy Communal life in the Carrières had something ambivalent about it, with its constraints of all sorts and its resigned contentment, its austerity and its

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good-naturedness, its unpleasantnesses and its pleasures, its bitterness and its sweetness, the boredom of semi-sequestration, of an inescapable closeness and its inevitable irritations tempered by the warm glow and peaceful joys of intimacy. Renan, with a finesse particularly sensitive to such seductiveness, composed exquisite pages on the strange happiness that reigned in the Jewish communities of Jesus’s time.16 With emotion gently touched by irony, he evoked their warm atmosphere, their harmony, their poverty without destitution, their taste for spying back and forth without being excessively bothersome, their guileless, tribal gaiety. It is surely in the old Jewish societies of the South of France – Languedoc, Provence, Avignon, the Comtat Venaissin – that that gentle climate, thanks to the relative security they enjoyed under the bright Mediterranean sky, was able to endure through the centuries with the greatest purity. In addition, the Judeo-Comtadins, by and large, have always been more given to practical realities than to dizzying speculations on the Kabbalah. What profound attraction could they have found in the Orient and its subtleties when their only idea of the place came from the rubbish they saw at the fair in Beaucaire? In the Four Holy Communities, people knew, and felt, that they were more or less cousins, (with all the consequent advantages and disadvantages). Such closeness of social bonds sharpened their gift for derisive remarks, which in the course of time became second nature. Irony is often, like mockery, the weapon and the consolation of the weak and disinherited. Crowded together inside their stone shell, our Judeo-Comtadins found distraction in gladly and gently making fun of one another. I don’t need more proof than the whole series of picturesque and humorous nicknames that, for the most part, with their emphasis on physical or behavioral traits acting as little caricatures, came to be added to various family names or forenames even in documents preserved in official archives: Bondevin (‘good snooper’), Le Cabri (‘goat’), Cacan (‘big shot’), Cacoulo (‘snail’), Le Darbon (‘mole, shrew’), D’Inde (‘turkey’), Farfouille (‘litterer’), Fiquet (‘loser’), Giacatiro (‘jackfruit-picker’), Gourdin (‘billy club’), Le Gros Muge (‘fat mullet’), Lilith (‘she-demon’), Mange-Piastre (‘piaster-eater’), Mange-Soupe (‘soup-eater’), Patau (‘clumsy fellow, oaf ’), Pète-Charbon (‘coalfarter’), Pigui (‘idler’), Pinton (‘pint-sized drunkard’), Politte (‘lovely lass’), Le Pounchu (‘loser’), Rouget (‘red mullet’), Le Serpatas (‘fat serpent’), Le Sourd (‘deaf head’), Tourlourette (‘soldierette’), Le Troussa (‘puny fellow, beat and washed up’), and others.17 16 Ernest Renan: see note 5. – trans. 17 I thank James Thomas and Wendy Pfeffer for their help in finding English equivalents of these derisive sobriquets. – trans.

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That was not a specifically Jewish phenomenon, of course, since the same thing happens in all villages where just a few families have settled and nicknames then become indispensable to avoid confusion. Here, though, nicknames tend to be marked by a kind of impishness that carries a distinctly Provençal bite. It was not unusual to use diminutives as well: Aquet, for example, from Isaac; Ioto from Léa; Lélé from Israël; Abranet from Abraham; and so forth. And then there were the forms in -ettes and the like: Astragettes, Lyonnettes, Milhaudettes, Moséchonnes, and others.

Provençal color Finally, when we mention the nightly locking of the Carrière gates, let’s remember not to trust appearances alone. We need to recall that sequestration was only nocturnal, that coming and going were free throughout the day, and that consequently there was never any truly insurmountable barrier to contacts and exchanges between Jews and Christians. Here and there, to one degree or another, Provençal mores inevitably put their stamp on the particularity of Hebraic ways. When a Jewish woman gave birth, her neighbors would present her with four gifts: a loaf of bread, an egg, salt, and a match, and they would say, “May he be as good as bread, full as an egg, wise as salt, and straight as a match.” The same scene occurs in the wax portrayal of The Visit to the Woman in Childbed at the Museon Arlaten in Arles. Another example: The Judeo-Comtadins played bowls and ninepins, and they danced the gaillarde and the branle to the sound of the tambourine and the fipple flute. Better yet: Following an unshakable custom of their Christian neighbors, all entertainments and collective pleasures were directed by a Prince of Love or an Abbot or a Captain of the Young, chosen more or less officially by an assembly of all the young Jews. In the Carrière of Carpentras, for example, an election was to take place every year, on the order of His Lordship the Illustrious Rector and, for those missing the assembly, a fine of “one teston, half of it intended for the tax of Our Holy Father and the other half for the alms box of the said Jewry.” The master of ceremonies was chosen for his life-of-the-party temperament, his skill at creating excitement. He was the Captain who, aided by his Lieutenant, enjoyed the privilege of removing the bridegroom’s shoes on his wedding night. The Captain had a fund fed by dues paid by his troupe, a whole court of fun-loving fellows with whom he shared the tributes – dragées, liqueurs, fruit preserves – that the newly married were often glad enough to pay in the hope of staving off the traditional weddingnight hazing, since such pleasantries were neither very pleasant nor very innocent. There were sometimes regrettable excesses, and the stern authors of the Escamots did attempt, though with little success, to clamp down on these

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over-zealous celebrations, imported from free Provence, that did not readily distinguish between having fun and making fun. It is striking to find the serfs among the Jewry demonstrating much the same spirit of ribaldry they had seen in the world outside. But if the Judeo-Comtadins were eager mimics of carefree Provençal goading, it was surely because they were prepared by their native taste for delight in the morose and, since David danced before the Holy Ark, let’s go further and say by their divine sense of the joys of life, the sense that gives inebriating fragrance to the Song of Songs and delicately flowers even on the steep slopes of Spinoza’s Ethics.

7. One-way solidarity As a result of the legal measures spelled out in the various Escamots, all the Jews in a given Carrière were bound together in a pact of mutual aid – whence the prohibition against corrupting one’s neighbor’s servants; against competing with one another for merchandise bought from Christians or in the rental fee for an apartment already occupied by a Jew; and against acquiring a Christian’s financial claim on the Community; whence, too, everyone’s obligation to take his turn in caring personally for the sick or, if not possible, to pay for a substitute. The law protected minors and provided a dowry for girls with no money. Thus, the individual could always count on the support of the collectivity; he knew that, should he fall on hard times, neither he nor his family would ever be left to drift by themselves; he knew, moreover, the sum of the allocations he had a right to expect. Let us bear in mind that, with all these duties and all these rights incumbent upon him, no member of the Carrière could simply leave, just as no outsider could simply enter. That no member had the freedom to leave was, as noted earlier, a matter of fiscal necessity, since every time the Community lost a tax-payer it suffered a harm proportional to the size of its charges. But while emigration was therefore constrained by legal measures, immigration was no less hampered by restrictive rules.

Keeping outsiders out The Escamots of 1558 taxed Jews coming from elsewhere at the rate of twenty-five florins per year. The rules of 1779 were far more draconian, for they forbade them to remain more than a single week without special authorization; it was forbidden, under pain of being fined, to rent them an apartment, and anyone doing so faced expulsion. Such ungenerous hospitality has a number of explanations.

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In the first place, we have to remember the housing shortage that was rife in every Carrière, endemic to the point where the residents felt too shut in, too deprived of space, air, and light to receive visitors or welcome new inhabitants. There was a second reason, however, less obvious and more deeply significant. Long settled in the land of the Pope, the Judeo-Comtadins had patiently, over the years, obtained a whole package of guarantees and benefits too precious to compromise from one day to the next by sharing them with just anyone. And as they were in a position to trace their genealogy, their presence where they were, and their right to be there in archives dating back to the early thirteenth century, they constituted, if not their own special tribe of Israel, then at least a sort of aristocratic family benefiting from an established situation which, despite sporadic troubles and frictions, had allowed them to go on living with a minimum of risk and a maximum of safety in a thoroughly Catholic environment. That, consequently, is what weighed most heavily in their minds when the Judeo-Comtadins considered their attitude toward would-be immigrants. They were convinced that any opening to an influx of fellow Jews from elsewhere put their status in question, risking mistrust on the part of their sensitive Christian neighbors. Then again, who were these fellow Jews? Almost always veritable Wandering Jews coming from the North or the East, in the wake of one pogrom or another or some expulsion and drawn each time by the hope of finding help, perhaps even lasting shelter, in these fortunate southern Communities. It is true that the Judeo-Comtadins never refused to open their doors to fellow Jews banished from Languedoc, the Dauphiné, Provence, or the Principality of Orange, but these people were close to them, neighbors and blood relatives with a long, shared history; they took in, too, a number of Jews expelled from the Iberian Peninsula. But they were all Sephardim, with whom they could feel age-old affinities. On the other hand, how could they have felt the slightest bond with the Ashkenazim – Slavic or Germanic – whom they scorned for their guttural jargon, that Yiddish they found so incomprehensible, and who looked so dirty? Worse yet, they were thieves, no better than Gypsies! In such trying circumstances, all they could do was reconcile caution with strictly limited charity; that was the policy that the Judeo-Comtadins adopted. The Escamots of 1588 stipulated, for these nomads, an allowance that might reach six sous and food for a day. Neither more nor less. In the Escamots of 1779, it is prescribed that every Jew in the Carrière may be obligated to take his turn in giving a meal to poor itinerants at the request of the Baylons in charge of alms. If they refuse, they must provide ten sous for an equivalent meal at the inn. But careful now! Here is what we find a bit further along:

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Whereas it often happens that the strangers who come here seek only to live at the expense of our Communities and as they even create disorder and are extremely costly to us, and as it is not fitting to use for the feeding of vagabonds funds intended for those of us whose age and infirmities are such as to render them no longer able to work for a living, let us establish that the strangers may remain here for no more than two days, unless there is a holiday; past that time, if they refuse to depart, the Baylons will be permitted to call upon Court sergeants to dislodge them, providing them with twelve sous per adult and eight sous per child. This shall be done under the authority of the Lord Provost. Well-organized charity begins at home!

Trouble at L’Isle- sur- Sorgue What is particularly striking is that these beggars – “homeless vagabonds who call themselves Jews,” according to Judeo-Comtadin documents of the time – were becoming more and more of a threat and a danger. Thus it was that at L’Islesur-Sorgue, during the occupation of the Papal States by the King of France, on September 18, 1773, at ten o’clock at night, the Consuls, informed that a considerable number of Jews were living with the widow Boët and were making a rumpus, went to the house, intending to drive them out of town. There they found seventy Jews, men, women, and children, packed into a garret, fighting with one another and shouting. In view of the late hour, the Consuls decided to leave them in place, satisfied simply to restore order, although they could not understand the jargon of that riffraff, who were talking to them all at once in all the languages of Europe. The next day, some of the Jews driven away returned along with a number of others turned back at Avignon, Carpentras, and Cavaillon. These newcomers forced their way through the town gates, spread out through the streets, and made a show of their insolence. As they were numerous and as, in addition, the Consuls had learned that the Judge took their side out of eagerness to display his own police authority, the Consuls wrote to M. de Salvador, First Consul at Avignon, to request that he obtain from the commandant of the Royal Regiment a detachment of grenadiers. A dozen were indeed sent to him the next day and he used them to drive away the gang of Jews. Two days later, the vagabonds returned once more. In addition to the usual gatekeepers, the Consuls had stationed members of the town guard at the gates. Unfortunately encouraged by a few ill-intentioned individuals, the Jews attacked the guard. As soon as they were informed, the Consuls came running and placed four of the most insolent trouble-makers under arrest and had a

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town secretary request that the Judge open the prison to incarcerate them. Although the Judge, Joseph-Denis de Ricard, had been present when the Consuls were informed of the disorder and the violence wrought by the vagabonds at the town gates, he sent word back that he would not open the prison, because prior notice and justification were required. At that point, the Consuls had their prisoners taken to one of the town’s towers, where they were kept for two days on bread and water. As for the other Jews, they were, at the urging of the Baylons of the Carrière, lodged at the inn of Saint-Jean, outside the town. The Carrière furnished their meals, at the rate of twelve sous per person. On October 4, the Consuls rid the town of the prisoners and the other foreign Jews and, to ensure the fruit of their labor, they had them accompanied by an escort of peasants to the very edge of the territory. They believed they were definitively freed of them – when on the 8th of the same month the Consuls were advised that a troupe of about one hundred Jews, men, women, and children, were on their way back. They immediately rounded up some peasants to guard two of the gates and they locked the others. The troupe arrived that evening and attempted to break through the gates. The Consuls came along, and their presence held back the would-be invaders. The troupe included the four prisoners and one of the women who had already been driven away twice. Out of humanity, the women and children were permitted to spend the night at the Saint-Jean inn, but they refused to be apart from the men and preferred to spend the night out of doors. The next day, Saturday, the Judge allowed two women into the town despite the Consuls’ prohibition. When the Consuls recognized them as among the most troublesome parties, they expelled them once more. At four o’clock in the evening, a crowd of local people, urged on by a few ill-intentioned individuals, goaded the vagabonds into attempting to force their way past the gates. M. Rissy, the Second Consul, appeared immediately and ordered the guards to arrest two of the most rebellious. That produced a real riot, and the guards, in self-defense, had to push back against the Jews. A few local people picked up their guns; others rushed at the Jews, who responded with sticks and stones. Some individuals even took out knives, and everyone finally rushed into the town, striking any local Jews that they found in their way. The local Jews hurried to take refuge in their Carrière and barricade the doors. By arresting the vagabonds in town, the Consuls, in order to forestall a veritable sedition at the approach of night and prevent having anyone take advantage of the moment to pillage the synagogue, whose doors were already under assault, thought it advisable to station ten peasants

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inside; the Consuls, however, appealed to Avignon for a detachment of thirty grenadiers under the command of an officer. They arrived at two o’clock in the morning and by three o’clock had arrested fifty of the vagabonds; the others ran away. The Judge then took unusual measures against the guards, who had been very badly treated, and did so with the purpose of releasing and not expelling the four rascals spoken of above and one of the wretched women whom he had earlier let into the town and whom the Consuls had expelled despite his wish. The point of this new, extraordinary procedure was to make it clear that the wretched woman was pregnant and dying of the blows she had received. The Judge consequently had recourse to surgeons, one of whom, M. Broinelard, at his order and in his presence, said that she had a weak pulse and that she was complaining of great pains, although with no sign of bruises. This report proving unsatisfactory, the Judge dismissed M. Broinelard and had someone draw up a more accommodating diagnosis. The Consuls informed the Marquis de Rochechouart, Governor of the Province, of this most unusual procedure; the Marquis took exception to the Judge’s conduct. At that, the Consuls took no further notice of the Judge’s opposition and sent fifty of the Jews to prison in Avignon, where M. Monery, Prosecutor for the King, readily took them in. He kept them for three days and then sent them on their way with a warning never to return to either Avignon or L’Isle-sur-Sorgue on pain of punishment. The Consuls informed the Council that, before taking the prisoners to Avignon, they had had the woman in question examined by M. Delaye, a surgeon; the woman said to be dying was in M. Delaye’s report pronounced in perfect health, with no bruise or wound. Indeed, according to the testimony of the Officer and the Grenadiers of the detachment, the woman, before leaving for Avignon, had imbibed a large amount of brandy; then, several times she dismounted from the carts that the Consuls had provided for the women and children and walked cheerily part of the way for her own pleasure. In Avignon she was again found in good health and not at all dying, as the Judge had claimed. As itinerant Jews frequently appeared at the gates of L’Isle-sur-Sorgue, the Consuls took advantage of the Marquis de Rochechouart’s agreement to keep a detachment stationed in the town, both to stop those attempting to come in and to discourage those who wander around outside.18

18 This report is preserved in the communal Archives of L’Isle-sur-Sorgue. As Lunel notes on p. 120 of his French text, he made use of it in the writing of his novel, Nicolo-Peccavi, ou L’Affaire Dreyfus à Carpentras (Paris: Gallimard, 1926). – A.L. and trans.

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Extraordinary precautions For their part, the Baylons of Carpentras, wanting to protect themselves from like incursions, reached an agreement with the Consuls to let the city gatekeepers bar admission to Jewish vagabonds and, if threatened with forcible entry, as at L’Isle-sur-Sorgue the previous year, to jail them and keep them there until they promised to go on their way and not make trouble for the Jews living in Carpentras. As an additional cautionary step, the Baylons signed on December 29, 1775, in the City Hall, attended by the Illustrious and Magnificent Lord Consuls, Magistrates, and Apostolic representative of the Police, a convention by which after having stated and described how very easy entry into the city by German Jews and other foreigners had always subjected them to great problems through costly extortions, usually preceded by dangerous threats and most often followed by disastrous events; they were therefore turning to the authority of their Lordships to request their kind assistance, humbly asking them, in their prudent wisdom, to provide a fitting solution, ensuring that persons and possessions in this city have sufficient protection. . . . The Lord Consuls considered the Baylons’ just request and concluded that it would be useless to give orders to prevent the German Jews and others from entering the city if the city’s doormen or gatekeepers could not do the work themselves. The wages that the city paid them, however, were insufficient to add new policing responsibility to the work for which they were already paid only a modest sum. Consequently, the Baylons, having thanked the Lord Consuls for their kind response, promised to hire, for one year’s time starting next January first, eight city doormen or gatekeepers and pay them 8 livres each in advance, on condition that they act as sentinels at the city gates, whether by day or by night as long as the gates were open, to bar the entry of German Jews and other foreigners. In addition, they promised to provide, at their expense, four heavy coats with hoods for the use of the men on duty, the coats to remain later with the Jewish community. In addition, the Baylons requested that the Lord Consuls stand ready to bring their authority to bear, should one of the foreigners or any other stranger to the province of the Comtat, or should a whole troupe, steal into the city or attempt a forcible entry; they asked that such intruders be expelled and the Baylons released from having to pay anything beyond what has been stipulated above. This is what has been granted by the Lord Consuls, who have signed here together with the following Baylons and witnesses:

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Sobirats, Barjavel, Curel fils, Consuls. Jossé de Monteux, Isaac Samuël Lyon, Samuël Nacquet, Baylons. Mardochée de Carcassonne, Mardochée de Lisbonne, Mossé de Roquemarine, Witnesses. (The reader will no doubt have appreciated the scrupulous stipulation that the coats meant to keep the sentinels warm were to remain with the community once they had served their purpose.) Let us consider then for a moment the case of a stranger who came into the Carrière legally, by way of marriage. Although this was clearly no vagabond or adventurer, the Baylons nevertheless treated him with much the same wariness, as becomes evident in documentation of a meeting of the Council of the Community of Avignon in 1775. Upon the representations of Isaïe de Saria, his father-in-law, the councilors were willing to accept Mayr Michel de Prague, son of Michaël Leip, engraver, but only conditionally, for they specified not only that he had to pay an entry fee of 300 livres and take an oath to pay his portion of communal assessments, but that in addition, if his wife should die childless, he would again be considered a foreigner just as before. Moreover, he would not be allowed to assume any civic responsibilities for ten years, such delay being indispensable for a proper evaluation of his character. Should it happen that the newcomer inspired no confidence and proved undesirable, there would be no hesitation to make whatever sacrifices seemed necessary to speed him on his way. So it was that David Gomès, a Jew from Amsterdam, living for about three years in Avignon with his wife Sara Vidal, of the Carrière in Carpentras, had to promise to leave the Carrière of Avignon on September 3, 1778, for Montpellier and Bordeaux, never to return, in exchange for which he and his wife would receive twelve louis; to ensure their departure, however, the funds would be addressed to them in those cities; and the record of that decision concludes, not without irony, that “they will send a reimbursement when they can.” Finally, in 1789, and consequently almost on the eve of the dissolution of the Four Holy Communities, the three Treasurers of the Carrière of Avignon, with two Baylons, report in detail how, following their refusal to let two Germans, David Levi and the woman Anna, called Nanon, marry in the city, the two simply crossed the Rhône and celebrated their marriage in France, on Bartelasse Island. As required by law, the magistrates had to record the birth of a child just born to Nanon, which is what now prompted the Carrière’s protest against the couple’s attempt to use that birth as grounds for establishing residency in the Community.

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Religious exemptions for the Rabbinate It remains to be seen whether all foreigners were equally undesirable. Well, no! The rule did allow exceptions – very few, but therefore all the more significant and, as always, based on religious considerations. However inhospitable the Judeo-Comtadins may have been, there were foreigners whose appearance was not a calamity, but a blessing. Every year, there would arrive, draped in Oriental garb and magnificently turbaned, a grey-bearded, magisterial patriarch, and his coming would be welcomed as the happiest of events. It was one of those Jerusalem rabbis who regularly scoured all of Europe in quest of aid for the poor Jews of the Holy Land. He was generally of Sephardic origin. One of them, the famous Azulaï, was in the Comtat toward the end of the eighteenth century; there, as elsewhere, he left an unforgettable impression of nobility and learning. What proves that all these pious missionaries were treated with great respect, is that, in a system where nothing was not priced to the last denier, it was taken for granted that they would always have a right to the best room available and receive meals at no cost to them. These, moreover, were estimated at fifteen sous, whereas beggars’ meals cost the Community only ten sous. To every synagogue door was affixed an alms box for individual offerings that worshipers intended for them and for Jerusalem, and in the Community of Carpentras alone the donations came to 1,000 livres annually. Thus, just as the dangerous vagabonds were carefully kept away, the Holy, the Religious, and the Learnèd were welcomed with pleasure and piety. Nothing confirms it better than the care with which the Four Holy Communities recruited their rabbis, most of whom came from far away, drawn here for their renown as talmudists. Carpentras took pride in being the home, from 1617 to 1635, of Rabbi Salomon Azubi of Sofia, a scholar of Hebrew and an astronomer of such merit that the celebrated humanist and bibliophile Peiresc invited him to Aix for consultations.19 At roughly the same time, Segre of Livorno officiated at L’Isle, followed by Signor Abraham Liptsis of Mehier, originally from Lopol in Poland, who was in turn followed by Signor Jesse Luria of Bendic, identified as a German Jew. From 1650 to 1660, Rabbi Abraham Salom of Amsterdam was in charge at Carpentras. In 1741, the Carrière of Avignon secured the services of the illustrious Rabbi Jacob Ispir of Prague and, from 1775 to 1770, it was Elie Vitte Ispir, also from Prague and no doubt a relative. In Cavaillon, the Pole Moïse Polaque (Moses Polack) was engaged in 1774. Since the Judeo-Comtadins realized they were far more gifted for business than theology, they did not hesitate to seek their rabbis in Jewish communities 19 Peiresc: see note 41. – trans.

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elsewhere in Europe. Employment contracts, copies of which can be found in the departmental archives of Vaucluse, were drawn up in advance of eventual use before the apostolic Notary and in the presence of two Christian witnesses; they stipulated that the Rabbi would teach Hebrew religion for a term of three, five, or seven years; the Community would furnish his housing, exempt him from taxation, and pay him an annual salary that might reach 500 livres in French currency. Let us not forget, though, a further stipulation, which should not come as a surprise, given the traditional xenophobia of the JudeoComtadins: every document mentions that if the Rabbi should die before the end of his term, his wife and children would have to leave two weeks after his demise.

Comtadins and Bordelais: Similarities Much has been made of Jewish solidarity. There is no denying it, but rather than treat the issue globally, it would be good to acknowledge that it varies from one era, milieu, or set of circumstances to another, varies in extensiveness, nature, and intensity. In our papal Carrières we have just seen it at work in one setting, where a high barrier to foreign intrusion appeared for good reason to be essential to maintaining a hard-won place in society. The same need for self-preservation explains the case of the Jews of Bordeaux, as careful of their prerogatives as the Judeo-Comtadins were of theirs, and even prouder of them. The Bordelais called themselves “Members of the Portuguese nation,” because they were descendants of the Marranos who, in the sixteenth century, had fled the Kingdom of Portugal to escape the atrocities of the Inquisition. Under the name of “New Christians,” they were granted the right of residence in 1550 by Henri II,20 who saw them as just one more set of newcomers. By the second half of the eighteenth century, they had succeeded in divesting themselves of the trappings of Catholicism and becoming integrated into the Corps of the Bourgeoisie, which numbered only 1,500 families in a general population of 100,000 inhabitants. All wealthy merchants or ship-owners, many of them owners of prosperous trading posts in Canada and the Caribbean, they used every legal procedure they could find to bar entry into their Nation by “transladors” from the Comtat, poor peddlers, old-clothes salesmen, rag dealers, who could hardly have anything in common, in their view, with genuine – and so opulent! – privileged bourgeois. And there you have it – the Judeo-Comtadins snubbed by the Bordelais just as they themselves rejected the Yiddish speakers! This did not, however, prevent a few enterprising Avignon families from

20 Henri II (1519–1559): King of France from 1547. – trans.

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finding their way into the right society and rising in business almost to the level of the Portuguese. It remains true, however, that on the banks of the Gironde as between the Rhône and the Durance, all these old Jewish nuclei formed, as it were, numerous independent little states, each with its own rights, traditions, and affinities. Although the expression may sound a bit anachronistic, it is actually by virtue of nationalist sentiments that the Jews of Bordeaux and the Comtat set themselves proudly apart from other Jews. We must nevertheless not fail to acknowledge that such exclusivity paled whenever demanded by moral and religious reasons. We have to conclude that the only true internationalism of these Communities in the Midi, so egocentric and independent of each other in so many ways, was the unifying experience of religion.

8. Jews and Christians as neighbors In order to stave off as thoroughly as they could the risks of contamination by Jewry, Christian society established a whole network of police prohibitions in addition to residential segregation in the Carrières.

Preventive measures variously respected Jews were forbidden, under pain of imprisonment, to show themselves in the Christian city on Christmas Day, during Holy Week, Pentecost, and CorpusChristi; forbidden, under pain of confiscation of work and merchandise, to work in public on Sundays and holidays; forbidden to have their rabbis dress in a manner like that of Christian ecclesiastics. In Avignon, in the fifteenth century, a Jew who had touched a fruit in the market was required by the communal statutes to purchase it, so fearful was the public of the physical and, especially, moral contagion that such contact threatened. It was also prohibited – and the bishops watched over this – to possess any book concerning the Talmud or the Kabbalah which might consequently contain errors or blasphemies against the Holy Scriptures and Christian faith. On August 5, 1754, at four o’clock in the morning, Monseigneur d’Inguimbert, Bishop of Carpentras, exercising his right of censure, led a notary and two canons, with military support, in a home seizure of all the books and manuscripts, whether in Hebrew, Latin, or French, that they could find in the hands of Jews. A harvest of 1,100 books, tagged by owner, went into sacks for examination by a priest knowledgeable in Hebrew. The result was the confiscation of 362 books considered works of superstition. Christians, for their part, were forbidden – on pain of excommunication, fines, or estrappado – to eat, drink, play, be familiar, or needlessly converse or

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traffic with Jews; forbidden to appear at their ceremonies and feasts; forbidden to come to their aid; forbidden to offer them transportation; forbidden to work as domestics in Jewish homes; forbidden to assist Jewish women in giving birth or in suckling their infants; forbidden to make purchases at a kosher butcher shop – those ritual meats, so particularly healthful and delicious, too bad! Christians would simply do without them! But they were so fond of matzot – coudolles in Provençal – that during Passover they would line up at the gate to the Carrière to get a supply; this, despite the fact that Article XXII of the Edict of the Holy Roman and Universal Inquisition, promulgated on September 15, 1751, forbade Jews to give or sell matzot to Christians, with infractions penalized by a fine of 50 écus, a fine applicable as well to Christians receiving or purchasing any, thereby rendering themselves guilty of gastronomic judaizing. The effort to maintain such a cordon sanitaire separating the two populations led to massive accumulations of bureaucratic paper, since the Church’s prohibitions apparently called for frequent reiterating. That very frequency is evidence that such edicts tended to remain unheeded. Ultimately, Jews were allowed not only to call upon Christian midwives and nurses, but even to hire Christian servants for all licit tasks. Cohabitation alone remained forbidden. It is amusing to read the letters of the Bishops of Carpentras to the Holy Office in Rome, lamenting the abuses that have started among the Jews. They keep side-stepping the rules! We must put a stop to their scandalous excesses! Less and less do they care about openly offering unleavened bread to Catholics. On Sundays, they have outings in the countryside, driven by Christian coachmen who should be at mass. And there is no lack of opportunities for rendezvous, whether around public fountains or even in stables or haylofts that the Jews own outside the Carrière or, what is infinitely worse, when they go swimming in the river in summer. And Jewish men are no more reserved with Christian women than Christian men are with Jewish women! We may well imagine that it was not always a matter of discussing the silkworm business, and that intrigues were hatched between the sexes spiced by the allure of mystery and the forbidden fruit. We should also note, among the grievances brought to bear against the Jews, the charge of being clandestine affiliates of “a sect called Freemasons.” Carpentras had a lodge, opened in 1750, whose members, men of some standing devoted to “the Light,” could not but be favorably disposed to Israel. A café owner in Carpentras received in 1784 the Bishop’s authorization to admit Jews who wanted refreshment and a place for permitted games – on condition that the room reserved for them be rented in the name of Christians. This restriction, easily ignored, must have given both groups the opportunity for furtive and fruitful encounters. What dark imaginings this surely evoked – Christian smugglers, Jewish second-hand furniture dealers, illicit loans, bankers

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from the Carrière and rich Christian bourgeois trusting them with funds to manage! What is even more astonishing is that Christians felt no qualms about enjoying the inexpensive distraction of attending ceremonies and festivities of the Hebrews. For the second day of Shevu‘ot, in 1730, the Princess de Condé and her son, traveling through Carpentras, visited the synagogue and were welcomed in great pomp, with songs and bright lights; after the service, the Baylon, Mardochée de la Roque, accompanying them back, honored them with a speech in French and a present of loaves of sugar, boxes of dragées, and wax candles. In 1743, a very rich Jew invited almost the entire nobility of the city and several prelates to his daughter’s wedding; the ladies and gentlemen enjoyed copious servings of sweet wine, confections, and candy and took part in the ball, which lasted three days. The Bishop, however, was out of town, attending to pastoral duties. We may also mention that the high Catholic clergy, whatever their severe and suspicious attitude toward Judaism, saw no disadvantage in going to the Jewry for custom-made products. Gaspard de Bresse, canon of the diocese of Cavaillon (1664–1684), bought his shoes and tailored clothes in the Carrière. Of all the Bishops, Monseigneur Malachie d’Inguimbert was one of the most virulently opposed to the Jews, as he demonstrated in 1735, when he reduced or eliminated all the permissions or exemptions granted by his predecessors. In 1751, he sent the Holy Office in Rome a memorandum denouncing Jewish abuses that called for correction, pointing out, however, that it would first be necessary to prohibit pontifical bureaucrats (“lovers of money”) from letting themselves be corrupted by “the subtle, wily Hebrew.” Let us remember that in the same year he came to take part personally in the demolition of the synagogue, which was being enlarged. In 1754, in addition, he ordered the seizure of all works in apparent defiance of the Holy Faith. Principles, however, are of course not incompatible with self-interest; and so, all that constant, implacable rigor did not prevent the prelate from choosing Jewish suppliers for his wardrobe and those of his chapter and his servants. This is confirmed by a whole series of invoices preserved in notarial ledgers of the time and receipted by Jewish tradesmen, among them one Salomon Crémieu, for the Bishop’s account; every purchase was for more than 100 livres. What will appear more surprising in the case of this prelate who was so harsh toward the Children of Israel is the inscription dedicated to him in the pharmacy corridor of his Hôtel-Dieu: He spread his treasures among the unfortunate without religious distinction. He was informed one day of an individual asking for help. “Give him two écus of six livres,” said the prelate.

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“But, Monseigneur, he is a Jew!” “Well, then, double the amount,” answered Malachie. This bespeaks so paradoxical a spirit of charity that we wish there were no reason to doubt its authenticity.

Jewish influences in folklore Precisely because there was never an insurmountable barrier between Jews and Christians, we have already had a chance to see that on occasion Provençal mores came to leave a stamp on the particularity of Hebraic ways. We will now see that Jewish mores, in their turn and through the same mechanism, sometimes came to leave their mark on Provençal ways. If we glance back to that credulous pagan Rome, we see Jews arriving from their native East with a disturbing look of seers and magicians. Living since then in their own little world, strangely bearded and dressed, devoted to a religion with reprehensible rites, praying to Heaven in an incomprehensible guttural tongue, why not suppose them to be in possession of mysterious powers and in communication with dark forces? Since the Middle Ages, the success of their astrologers and physicians, their magic spells and healings, their invocation of angels and archangels, their Talmuds and kabbalistic algebra of prophecy – all that contributed to their singular reputation. And that is how, as in other ghettos, the shut-ins in our Carrières came to strike the Christians outside as masters of the art of magic and of talismans. Trafficking in sorcery with Israel and trafficking with the devil were clearly the same thing. With crime turning into sacrilege, it is easy to understand the severity with which the Holy Office eventually chose to act. Article IX of its Edict of September 15, 1751, renewed on April 4, 1773, forbids Jews to “devise or teach, whether to Christians or other Jews, divinations, enchantments, auguring, spells, invocations, or other acts of superstition intended to reveal matters occult or produce knowledge of the future, under pain of fine, the lash, or life-long galley service, depending on the circumstances of the crime; Christians who request such practices from Jews are subject to the same penalties.” And Article X, going one step further, stipulates that Christian goldsmiths are forbidden “to fashion amulets or badges worn by Jewish children to protect them from evil spells, and principally those almond- or hazelnut-imaged jewels that are engraved with Solomon’s seal on one side and, on the other, a seven-branched candelabrum or other, similar, hieroglyphs. The penalty incurred by a goldsmith guilty of doing such work is a fine of fifteen écus.” Frédéric Mistral, who knew his Provence down to the last detail, was the first to notice that the region’s folklore owed some of its richness to Judaism

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and that upon the mysterious visage of Provence Israel left a few of those traits that go far in exploring the secret soul of a land. That explains why, when he created the Museon Arlaten [in 1899], he decided to devote, in the gallery of Rites, Customs, and Legends, a case to the rites, history, and traditions of the Jews of the Comtat – a collection of materials later broadened with the gifts of my grandfather, Albert Lunel of Carpentras. Leafing through the inexhaustible Trésor du Félibrige, I note that Mistral picked up a number of insults directed against the Jews: babin (‘thick-lipped’), nègre bardaïan (‘faithless black’), macassé, a form he derives from cassé (‘kosher’) and astre (‘[unlucky] star’). Note that astre has positive meaning as well in the family name Astruc and the forename Benastruc, both widely used among the Judeo-Comtadins. The Trésor mentions, too, that the name Jusious was applied indiscriminately to anyone from Carpentras because of the city’s large Jewish population. Looking further through Mistral’s dictionary, I am struck by the sympathetic patience and curiosity with which the author gathered and defined all the terms touching on matters Jewish: jaffaret (‘commotion’), which comes from Hebrew shofar, the ram’s horn used in the synagogue to call the faithful to prayer; noisy talking is called jogo, jutarié, sabat, or sinagogo in Provençal, speakers having noticed, as Mistral comments, that Jews pray out loud and liking, in any case, to express the notion of noise by alluding to strange religious practices, as in ramadan or patarinage, from patarin, Waldensian for someone who recites only the Pater noster. In common botanical reference, there is herbo di judiéu (‘weld’), a weed used to dye the yellow hats that Jews once had to wear; this also explains why, in Orange, the wren, which has a yellow spot on its head, is called a jusiou. In our backwoods, among old men and women, a few very rare terms of Hebrew origin remain in use, terms having to do with magic spells. I want to point them out here before all memory of them disappears and they are lost forever. When a witch, an old masque, casts the evil eye on a child, it is enough for the mother to turn the child’s apron inside out and have him say, Figo pèr tu, chadaï pèr ièu! The fig is a sign of disdain and shame; chadaï is the name of the All-Powerful, engraved on the holy medal hanging around the neck of the Jewish child. And if anyone speaks of a large snake, it is good to say – this too comes from Mistral – gros comme le bras d’un judiou (‘large as the arm of a Jew’), to avoid saying bras alone, lest the arm be transformed into a serpent.

Jews subjected to violence, cruelty, and harassment Though paying dearly, as we know, to maintain their security, the JudeoComtadins had occasional sad reminders that it had limits. In 1459, there was a pogrom in Carpentras. Claiming to come to the rescue of penniless debtors, the notary Robert Martini and his three sons inflamed

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the populace against the Jews. The papal police attempted to stem the uprising, but in vain, for the rioters pillaged all the houses in the Carrière and went on to leave sixty persons dead. Only a few minor figures were prosecuted; they were condemned for the sake of setting an example and ultimately freed. Those truly guilty had escaped, but the Jews at least had the satisfaction of obtaining their banishment, along with a monetary settlement. There were further scenes of pillage imputable to the dregs of the population in Carpentras in 1659 and 1682 and in Avignon in 1767; each event was memorialized as a poem for the prayer book, to thank God for his aid. In fact – and it is only right to remember this – the Jews of the Pope’s States almost never had to suffer fatal risks, since their existence was recognized in law and their lives and property enjoyed the protection of the public order. It was forbidden to molest them, to throw stones at them, and to insult them. It is true, however, that this prohibition needed to be renewed seven times in the course of the eighteenth century, which suggests that it was hardly respected; Mistral evokes as much in this sketch from his Nerto: Lou pecihoun! lou capèu jaune! A la Jutarié! que s’encaune! Cinquanto enfant ié soun darrié; Et d’un poucèu, pèr trufarié, Simulant éli l’aurihelo Em’un gueiroun de sa braieto, Ié crido luo vou d’esparpai: “Vaqui l’auriho de toun pai!” Veal chop! yellow hat! To the Jewry! let him try to hide! Fifty children are after him; And as they imitate the little ear Of a swine, out of mockery, With a corner of their fly, A flight of starlings shout to him: “This is your father’s ear!”21 For the Israelites, the beard was a religious necessity. This was well known to the captain of Catholic Youth, who, as leader of his mad squad at carnival time, was permitted, if he came across a Jew, to shave off all his hair, roughly, savagely, with a chipped knife; this offense, known as the droit de barbe (‘right to a beard’), was brought to an end in the seventeenth century with an annual 21 Lines from Mistral’s Provençal poem “Nerto.” – trans.

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fee payable in écus. The children in the cathedral choir of Saint-Siffrein in Carpentras had adopted the habit of doing their Holy Innocents’ Day charivari in the synagogue – a habit allowed them, to be sure, in churches as well; the solution, once again, was an annual payment – six and a half florins in this instance. The same little clerics had granted themselves another right; in this case, if, in a procession of theirs, they encountered a Jew who failed to acknowledge the Cross, they would rush at him and seize his hat. This insult survived to the nineteenth century in the lower class, where medieval fanaticism continued to bedevil the Israelites of Carpentras, a city that was always more backward than Avignon. “I remember,” my grandfather recounted, “that about fifty years ago, gangs of young thugs would force us to show them respect by removing our hats and even kneeling with hands clasped, as if in Catholic prayer. You had to obey or run away to avoid a beating.” And he would conclude with a sigh, “Our grandfathers trembled at the sight of a child!”

How the Jews managed to take revenge However, under the repeated blows of too many assaults, the weak and downtrodden are eventually exasperated and lose patience, and so it sometimes happened that Jews responded with some unforeseen insolence. The story was told in Avignon in the nineteenth century of a beautiful young Jewish woman who, encouraged by the example of biblical heroines, wanted to show her loathing for the Holy Sacrament; she approached one of the fonts in the Church of Saint Peter and spat. She was immediately seized and flogged in public, and an account of the punishment was etched into the stone of the font; however, since that spot and the inscription exist no longer, the story may simply be a legend devised to exemplify Jewish impudence. During the carnival of 1603, some Jews of Carpentras were accused of carrying through their Carrière a wooden cross dressed as a Harlequin and wearing a yellow hat; the bishop, Horace Capponi, punished them by having them erect, in front of the Cathedral Saint-Siffrein and at their expense, a monumental iron cross of expiation. In 1712, the same sort of people, out of derision and mockery, opened a stinking water pipe on two occasions, once during a procession of the Black Penitents, and then during a procession of the White Penitents; the joke cost them a fine of twelve écus. Such were their little rebellions; no wonder that Jews took these risks only seldom, since they knew only too well that the Christian response would inevitably be prompt and harsh.

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9. The problem of conversions If in the Middle Ages there was ever an undeniable Jewish effort to proselytize, an effort threatening enough to lead the Church to take harsh preventive measures, the Judeo-Comtadins never heard of it. Never did they run the risk of leading proselytes to the Law of Moses. The least we can say is that such an attempt would have struck them as pure folly. What would they have done with even a single Christian renegade, a real danger to their safety? Besides, given their already overpopulated ghettos, they were even compelled to turn away foreign Jews.

Forced preaching On the other hand, the Church never stopped seeking the salvation of the Jews. In service to the Holy Inquisition, the kings of Spain went so far as to burn them alive for the good of their souls. The Papacy, resorting to gentler ways, limited itself to a system of obligatory preaching, predica coattiva, organized by Gregory XIII’s bull of 1393 and maintained in Rome until the nineteenth century, under Pius IX. In Carpentras, as in the other three Communities, the sermon was preached once a week, on the Sabbath, in the refectory of the House of Charity – a church would no doubt have been profaned by the presence of the stiff-necked. The pulpit was of course set up at the expense of the Jews, who had also to bear the cost of the preacher’s fee and the upkeep of the place (cleaning, lighting, heating, repairs). The Bishop had established a rotational system under the responsibility of the Baylons; the Rabbi himself was obliged to head the weekly gathering, under threat of a fifty écu fine; people had to sign in at the door, and absentees faced a fine of twenty sous; city police rounded them up at sermon time and forced them to attend. Father Justin, an old-school Comtadin and hard-nosed papist, was the last lecturer in the Jewry. His short blond beard provided a stern frame for his ruddy virile face. The thickness of his calves was so well known that fifty years after his death people still remembered that it reportedly took two hectoliters of plaster to make a cast of them. A corpulent Capuchin monk as broad as he was tall, admirably well built, well fed, this priest had the look of a Catholic Hercules resurrected from the days of the Holy League. In fact, he had written, as if involved in person, with dagger and blunderbuss at the ready, a History of the Wars Provoked by the Calvinists in the Comtat Venaissin. Had he not, moreover, proven his mettle by venturing into the land of the Great Turk to redeem Christian slaves? But he was no less, for all that, a man of erudition who had assimilated all theology, who claimed to know Hebrew as well as the

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most learnèd of rabbis, and even possessed a secret for learning how to master the Prophets’ alphabet in twenty-four hours. Father Justin had only one little weakness: he cared too much for coffee. Overall, though, he had everything he needed to impress his pseudo-flock. These obligatory gatherings were theoretically open to discussion. It even happened that the monk might face a strong adversary. Although he stammered, he was always able to silence the man with his powerful reply: “Shut up, you ass! You don’t understand a thing!” To shorten the session, the Jews would simply nod and resign themselves. “We have to be polite,” they murmured; “we have to pay him, and yet he insults us!” Funny sort of class! The lesson on Christian faith drops from the pulpit in a voice alternately solemn and vehement, peppered, as needed, with Hebrew quotations: Children of Israel, unfortunate remnant of a people once celebrated and powerful – of a people privileged over all other nations on earth with the name of People of God – of Abraham’s own progeny! I have come to bring you the word . . . Children of Israel, how comes it that after so many years of being so favored by God that you seemed to be the principal concern of Providence, you are now an object of scorn and shame? What a rise and what a fall! . . . God is not unjust. He does not punish men beyond their desserts. . . . What, then, is the crime, the sin that has brought you a punishment so harsh, so lengthy, so thorough? It is the blood of the Messiah, shed by your fathers! . . . Meanwhile, among all these unwilling pupils, some have stopped their ears with wax; others are passing the time nibbling chestnuts or walnuts; still others nod off but are soon roused by a little monk passing up and down the rows, ready to tap them on the head or shoulder with a willow switch. Any Jewish man who acted to impede the conversion of fellow Jews was subject to condemnation to the galleys and confiscation of his property; women, “to the lash or other, more grievous, penalties, depending on the circumstances,” (Edict of Pius VI, 1775). But the perseverance of the Church was matched only by the obstinate resistance of the “stiff-necked race, that arid soil and unyielding earth” (to borrow images from the rhetoric of the time.)

Conversion through music Such forced sermonizing falling short of its goals, other means were brought to bear. One of the most appealing – truly – was conversion through music. What was at play was one of those Provençal Christmas carols specifically composed in Avignon in the eighteenth century to teach Jews about the Mystery of the Nativity. The lyricists attempted to enhance their attractiveness by inserting

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terms borrowed from the local Jewish dialect and having children sing the carols in December at the gates of the Jewries. Thus, Mourdacai, veici lou Messio (Mordechai, behold the Messiah) was sung to the melody of “Sacré bois, verger délicieux!” They also sang the famous Revilho-te, Nanan, by the Abbot Bruel; this carol still figures in the repertoire of the choir of the Cathedral of Saint-Sauveur in Aix. Two Jews present here the most delightful of duets; one, already a neophyte and full of enthusiasm, runs to join the shepherds on their way to Bethlehem, while the other, stubborn and grumpy, refuses to turn his back on the Old Law. A piece no less curious is one called a “Spiritual Song, meant to convince Jews of the coming of the Messiah and sung to the melody of Lampon, Lampon, Camarade Lampon.” This introduction is followed by thirty-two stanzas in Provençal. I will translate a few, and it will be clear that the first goes right to the heart of the subject: The Master of the Universe Comes in the middle of the winter To be born in the corner of a stable In poverty and destitution. Jew, Jew, Acknowledge your God! There follows a moment when, with touching insistence, the Jew is invited to reread his Sacred Books: But if your stubborn heart Does not believe the Messiah is born, Look into Scripture; We’ll read a bit together. Jew, Jew, Acknowledge your God! Now all the Prophets pass through for the right cause: Ezekiel, Daniel, Jeremiah, Isaiah, Jonah, Amos, and so on. Unfortunately, the Jew is so utterly resistant that the final section begins with a note of impatience before concluding with prayer and a call for a miracle: Woe to you! Unless Jesus Christ Cures your spirit Of such manifest error, My efforts will be pointless. Jew, Jew, Acknowledge your God!

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My beloved Redeemer, Touch him with your love. May error give way to grace! May darkness yield to light! Jew, Jew, Acknowledge your God! The priestly gravity of the words offers a notable contrast to the perkiness of the music, but that is true of all the Christmas carols which were sung to popular, sometimes even rather saucy, tunes. Such practices may obviously be surprising and provoke a smile, but with their good nature they created a climate of relaxed tolerance. That is the tradition that inspired me when writing the prologue to the comic opera Esther de Carpentras, for which Darius Milhaud composed the music.22 Three Jews, coming to seek an audience with the bishop-cardinal, are greeted by a somnambulate valet, Vaucluse, who tries to convert them by singing a Christmas carol of his own composition. In these carols for conversion through music, just as in the obligatory sermons, we can detect a distant vestige of the theological controversies and disputations that the Church and civic powers instituted for the conversion of the Israelites in the Middle Ages.

A rabbi from Metz converted in Carpentras The inhabitants of Séguret, a village in the Haut-Comtat, still performed an old pastorale not very long ago that pitted an unappealing Jew – red-faced and smelling of kosher cooking – against an angel in a discussion of the coming of the Messiah. The son of Jacob, eager to invoke the surest authority in support of the religion of Moses, refers right away to a certain Rabbi Crémieux (who must be the well-known exegete Mardochée Crémieux, born in 1750 in Carpentras, died in 1825 in Aix). This backing proves insufficient, however, so he calls for the support of a second Rabbi, this one from Metz, in Lorraine. Here too we have another key figure, a famous Rabbi who had indeed come to the Comtat from Lorraine at the end of the seventeenth century and – now for the comical part of the story – was eventually converted. A local priest was credited with the conversion, as recounted in the following document, which I include here for the reader’s amusement: Copy of a letter of October 12, 1698 from a proselyte of Metz, in Lorraine, to M. Jacques Peine, a famous priest from Carpentras, specially assigned 22 The two-act opera buffa, Esther de Carpentras, composed to Lunel’s libretto in 1925–1926, had its long-delayed premiere in 1937. – trans.

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to preach to the Jews of that city; the said letter was printed in Metz on October 12, 1698. Sir, It is right to inform you of the favor that I have received from Our Lord Jesus Christ. When in Carpentras, I was so seized by the truth in the course of our disputation that I have since that time not stopped considering conversion. God has now granted me that favor through the Holy Baptism that I have just received in this city of Metz. I ask that you read my letter in front of all Jews, to atone for the wrong I did to the truth and because the Jews of this area, angered by my happiness, claim everywhere that I have become a Christian in irritated response to the poor treatment they allege was accorded me by the Jews of Carpentras. I ask that you send me a letter attesting, on the contrary, to the warm and honorable way they received me, provided for me, and tried to keep me with them. I ask that you grant me this favor and trust that I am, with due respect, Your very humble servant, Alexandre de Saint-Avol The Jews of Carpentras wrote to Metz in Lorraine to send one of their most learnèd rabbis to have a debate with a priest who is now in Carpentras and to express effective support for their cause. As soon as he had arrived in the city and rested, he went to see [the priest], accompanied by a few learnèd men of the area and Baylons, such as today’s mayor and adjunct, and, once they had exchanged polite remarks, they spoke about holding a public debate on a particular subject. The priest said he couldn’t ask for anything better and they had only to choose the day of the gathering. The Rabbi asked the priest what subject he wanted to discuss, and the priest answered that any subject would do, from the first letter of the Old Testament to the New. The Rabbi was surprised by this answer and did not venture to reply. M. Peine had a deep knowledge of everything and especially of Hebrew. That was the result of the letter referred to above. The pieces just quoted were found in a sheaf of notes from the beginning of the nineteenth century preserved at the Bibliothèque Inguimbertine in Carpentras, charmingly inserted between a price list for wheat and a list of the city’s fountains.

Questionable apostates Despite the efforts of official propaganda, supported by all sorts of covert maneuvers involving laymen as well as clerics, conversions of Jews were never

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more than few and sporadic. Whether sincere or not, what is undeniable is that, as in the case of the Rabbi from Metz, baptized into the nobility as Alexandre de Saint-Avol, apostates always found no little advantage in making the change. No surprise, then, that most recruits came from the most needy and at the same time least honorable elements of the Carrières, given the comfortable weeks-long session devoted to their religious instruction in the House of Catechumens, the presents in goods and money (up to 150 livres) that they could expect on the day of conversion, and the hope of a shining career guaranteed by the sponsor or the Bishop. Some people even put themselves up for auction, trying to make the Synagogue bid to retain them and the Church bid to win their conversion. In the early eighteenth century, a Jew of Carpentras, Bénestruc Cavaillon, who was far from rich but had the good luck to become the Bishop’s tailor, announced one day to his Most Reverend client, as he was fitting a new cassock, that he had been touched by grace. The Bishop pressed him to convert right away, but Bénestruc needed to wait: his wife was ill; as soon as she was better, husband and wife would together have the joy of receiving baptism. Once the wife was healed, there were new delays, because of the heir they were expecting, which would produce not two baptisms, but three. Months went by, not without profit for the couple, who were meanwhile supported by the Bishop. When the child was born and the date for the religious ceremony set and invitations sent out, it was learned that Bénestruc had disappeared from the Carrière for a destination unknown. There was outrage among the clergy. An inquiry was ordered, while the Carrière was held responsible. The wife swore by the Law of Moses that she was in total ignorance of her husband’s plan to convert and that it had never crossed her mind to do so. Infinitely worse than Bénestruc’s disappearance, however, came the revelation that the Baylons and his family had paid the travel expenses of the fugitive. Charged with abduction of a neophyte, they admitted that Bénestruc was in Nice, under the high protection of that city’s Bishop. The Bishop of Carpentras sent an urgent demand for his return, but the fugitive responded with a lengthy and respectful letter explaining that, still determined to become a Catholic, he had left his native Carpentras only to escape the reprisals of his fellow Jews. Was this the final word? We don’t know; there is no account of the rest of the story.

Conversions as a response to plague The only time when conversions reached a notable number was in 1720–1721, when a terrible outbreak of plague, begun in Marseille, swept across Provence and soon entered the Papal enclave. In Avignon, the contagion was virulent and led to many victims in the Carrière. A special treatment – second class,

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which was not surprising – was reserved for Jews. Their dead were buried haphazardly by priests in city ditches; their sick were pitifully stacked up in the rear enclosure of the Saint-Roch hospital, almost in the open air, in strawfloored shacks away from the common rooms. That is where the eager Order of Preachers sought and obtained numerous conversions, even of children – until the protests of indignant families, backed by the Baylons’ complaint to the Archbishop, resulted in an order to administer baptism only to those who clearly and freely desired it. And it is true that there were many unforced requests for conversion, from Jews who felt certain that, once baptized, they would be moved from the ghetto of their shacks into indoor infirmaries where they would enjoy Christian heat and care.

Child snatchers At the foot of the tall buildings in our Carpentras Carrière, the swarm of children impatiently waiting every day for the rope with their four-o’clock snack to appear, would sing and dance a round that I learned from my two greatgrandaunts Anna and Sara: Maman! Maman! Moun pan à l’oli Ou je me fais goï. Mother! Mother! My olive-oil bread – or else I’ll become a Christian! Bread with olive oil, that is, a slice of everyday bread with a vigorous rubbing of garlic, salted, peppered, and drenched in rich local olive oil, the normal afternoon snack of all Provençal children, Jewish or Catholic. But listen to the alternative: moun pan à l’oli, ou je me fais goï! You see, all these Jewish kids of Carpentras, bushy-haired as sheep, round-cheeked as anges boufarèu (‘trumpeting angels’), and pink-faced as if wearing make-up, had not the slightest desire to become Christians, but they were so cute and there were so many of them that they knew they had always tempted child snatchers. And they knew that if they ventured too far into the Catholic city, it would be enough for a boy of their age, even as a joke, to throw some water at their face and make the sign of the cross for such baptism to be valid. True, a number of times – four between 1764 and 1789 – Christians had been forbidden to baptize Jewish children without parental permission, on pain of galleys for men and whipping for women. In fact, though, the penalty remained much less severe than prescribed in the Edicts. This was the case, for example, for a mason in Avignon, who, on April 11, 1705, was paraded by police through the city on the back of

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an ass, with a sign in front and one in back, saying: “This is for baptizing a Jew.” But a baptism administered “by force or malice” remained sacramentally irrevocable nevertheless – which meant that a monastery could close in on a little victim and the parents might never see the child again. The procedure always went all the way to Rome for confirmation. Other documents related to this subject include the following, translated from [the French translation of] the Italian: Reverend Father, The Inquisition of Avignon, in its letter of the 3rd last, makes it known to the Holy Congregation of the Holy-Office that, in the town of Courthézon, a Christian girl baptized a Jewish female infant of the age of 9 or 10 months and that the little Jewish girl was taken to Orange by the Jew Muscat, her father, and put into the hands of a heretical woman. The Holy Congregation is of the opinion that Your Lordship should take care that the said baptized girl be entrusted to the aforesaid Congregation, with whom you must be in agreement, and that she be brought up in the home of a Catholic woman. Rome, December 25, 1698 Cardinal Cibo To Israel’s dishonor, unscrupulous apostates sometimes worked their way back into Jewish circles as blackmailers to frighten families with the threat of leading their children to the baptismal font. There is a dramatic exposé of the problem in this appeal addressed to the Bishop of Cavaillon by all the Baylons of the Comtat: Monseigneur, The Baylons and principal Jewish figures of the Carrières of this province, begging you on bended knee, take the liberty of imploring your justice and your authority to deliver their Carrières of the oppression and ills that threaten them. The supplicants, not only groaning under the weight of the harshest taxes, are every day now aware of finding themselves robbed of their most precious thing in the world: their children; and this frightening fact has brought such great unrest to all our families – terror and distress are so widespread – that a number of Jews have left the Comtat, that others are on the verge of leaving, and that desertion will soon be so great that the only Jews remaining in our communities will be those without the means to undertake a migration. All these ills, Monseigneur, stem from the threat that a number of poor Jews, whose shiftless and scandalous lives are made of nothing but thefts,

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banditry, and the most atrocious crimes, make against those of their brother Jews who enjoy a modicum of success – the threat that they will declare they have had their children baptized, unless the parents pay what they demand for the pursuit of their outrageous excesses. . . . Yes, Monseigneur, as the supplicants repeat, the Jews’ Carrières are on the verge of succumbing under the heavy burden of their troubles, because the rich families, the only ones able to meet our expenses, will soon disappear and go to live elsewhere, unless the criminals and ill-disposed among our Jews are contained and, above all, unless the rest are reassured concerning the fate of their children. . . . The supplicants therefore appeal to you with confidence, and look forward to seeing the source of their troubles and tears evaporate; everything assures them that you will take an interest in their fate, . . . that the children of Jews will be fully sheltered from abduction, and finally that informers will have no fruits to expect from their informing other than the severest punishment. Then, Monseigneur, the supplicants, again enjoying the tranquility that they have lost, will raise their feeble hands to Heaven to pray to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob to deign prolong the precious days of Your Greatness and ceaselessly shower upon you His most abundant blessings. In Carpentras, the young son of Rabbi Crémieux, kidnapped by a renegade Jew as he was leaving school one night in the winter of 1762, was held in a convent, eventually entered orders, and, unless his elevation is just a legend, died a cardinal in Rome. Also converted as the result of an abduction ordered by the Rector in 1787, Joseph Mossé was not returned to his family until after the Revolution. His baptism was to turn him into a rather racy abbot; he dedicated light verse to Fanny de Beauharnais,23 composed an Essay on the Sensations of Love and a Response to Lamennais’ Essay on Indifference in the Matter of Religion24 – and he committed suicide in 1825.

A few more notable conversions Going back to the fourteenth century, we wonder whether it is true that the Jew Josué d’Amant, head of the Levites in Florence and a very wealthy ship owner, was baptized and ennobled as Joseph de Saint-Amant de Jésus-Christ by the anti-pope Clement VII, as a reward for having given him passage from 23 Fanny de Beauharnais (1737–1813): French poet and novelist. – trans. 24 Hugues-Félicité de Lamennais (1782–1854): Catholic priest, philosopher, political theorist; major intellectual of his time. – trans.

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Naples to Avignon on one of his galleys and saving his life in the course of naval combat during the crossing. That, at least, is what we are told by Barcilon de Mauvans, the author of the Critique of Abbé Robert de Briançon’s Register of the Provençal Nobility [Critique du Nobiliaire de Provence de l’abbé Robert de Briançon], who adds that the tribe of Levi, thanks to the glory of giving birth to the Virgin Mary, is forever free of the reprobation attaching to the rest of the Jewish people.25 What do we make of the tale of a certain Abraham de Lunel of Carpentras, an eminent talmudist and a polyglot master not only of Hebrew, but of twenty-one other languages, converted under the name of César de Brancas, who, from 1573 to 1598, governed the Benedictine abbey of Saint-André at Villeneuve-lèsAvignon? For twenty-five years he suffered tribulations, ever the victim of the grievances and ill-will of his monks, who, accusing him of judaizing, once set fire to his carriage. Finally, having had quite enough, he gave up his miter and crook, and withdrew to the Carmelite monastery in Lyon. There, however, he conceived the unavowed intention of returning to the faith of his forebears. Sailing down the Rhône, when he found himself passing by his abbey, he threw his cape over his head and face to avoid sullying his eyes. What at least historically is undeniable is that the seer Nostradamus, that Provençal eminence whom Frédéric Mistral places on the same level as Queen Jeanne and King René, was, on his father’s side, partly Jewish.26 In the first half of the fifteenth century, there was a Jew in the Carrière of Carpentras, Guido Gassonnet, a prosperous trader in wheat, barley, and oats, who managed his affairs so successfully that he became in Avignon the forage broker for the Vice-Legate of the Pope, Cardinal Pierre de Foix, who was responsible, among other things, for the overall provender of the territory. It was no surprise if, in 1455, no doubt under the influence and with the sponsorship of his most reverend employer, the Gassonnet in question saw the Catholic light and metamorphosed into Pierre de Nostredame – Pierre probably for his godfather and Nostredame for the parish where he was baptized. At the same time, as was customary, he repudiated his wife, Bénastrugue, who declined to follow him in his apostasy, and was thus free to marry a Christian woman, dame Blanche, with whom had had several children, including one Jaume (‘Jacobus’ in Latin). The boy began with success in his father’s business and then, toward the beginning of the sixteenth century, moved to Saint-Rémy-de-Provence. There, as upwardly mobile as his father, he became commissioned as a notary and married a rich local heiress, Renée de San Romiech, whose father was both a physician and treasurer at the royal Court. From this union sprang 25 Barcilon: see earlier note. – trans. 26 Nostradamus (1503–1566): Provençal apothecary, seer, author of Prophecies. – trans.

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first, in 1503, our Michel Nostradamus and then his brother Jean, the future historian of The Life of the Old Provençal Poets, who was himself followed by sixteen more children. Once qualified as a medical doctor at the Faculty of Montpellier, the oldest in France, where he preceded Rabelais by a few years, Nostradamus first led the life of an itinerant physician in France, going from Bordeaux to Lorraine, and then into Italy, as far as Venice. In 1546, he settled in Salon-de-Crau. In 1555, he published the first edition of his Prophecies, whose chapters of one hundred quatrains made sibylline predictions extending all the way to the year 3797. In his lifetime, his reputation only grew and spread, and brought him solicitations for horoscopes from such noteworthy figures as the Queen Mother Catherine de Médicis and the princes of the House of Savoy; he amassed wealth as well as honors. After his death at the height of his fame, he entered into a realm of golden legend that he himself had had the wit to craft. His Jewish ancestry is all the more certain as the patronymic Nostredame figures on the list of Neophytes included in the 6,000 livre tax collection that Louis XIII imposed in 1512 on Jews who had converted following the union of Provence and the Kingdom of France. Jaume de Nostredame is there, with a charge of 20 écus. His son, Michel Nostradamus, who never ceased to proclaim his unshakable fidelity to the Roman church, was surely not unaware of his grandfather’s Judaic origin and, with all the indispensable precautions of his era, he even made an occasional smug allusion to it. But he invented and circulated a genealogy no less flattering than it was fictive, claiming his grandfather was a certain Pierre de Nostredame, the first physician of King René, celebrated and envied for his admirable knowledge of Hebrew. But there was better to come! In the prefaces to the divisions of Prophecies, he attributed his mastery of astrology – indeed, his genius – not only to an emanation of divine power, but also to a natural instinct “inherited from his ancient progenitors.” From the author, his disciple and biographer Chavigny heard that these went as far back as the prophetic tribe of Issachar, “skilled in understanding the signs of the times,” as the Bible states.27 And he even admitted having had in his possession certain strange books “hidden through long centuries,” which he eventually delivered to a purifying blaze. But in that case, how can we not suppose that he had consulted them beforehand and that they contained kabbalistic spells imparted to him by his JudeoCarpentrassian ancestors? We must resist thinking of Nostradamus only as a mystifier, although he may well look like one! His personality remains as mysterious as his quatrains, which

27 Jean de Chavigny: Nostradamus’s secretary. – trans.

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innumerable enthusiastic decoders are still attempting to interpret. He was a combination of magician, scientist, seer, and humanist – a mélange that escapes understanding outside the climate of his century. Let us not forget, either, the portrait painted by his son César, in which he appears, under his doctor’s cap and framed by a priest-like beard, as a kind and handsome patriarch! No less true is the rise of the exegete Rabbi Mardochée, who was expelled from the Carrière of Avignon in 1610 for his inclination toward Christianity, found refuge in the Kingdom of Naples, and was baptized as Philippe Daquin in Aquino, the home of Saint Thomas.28 Settled in Paris with his family under the reign of Louis XIII, he attained distinction, with his numerous works, as the most notable Hebrew scholar of his time. Enjoying the favor of the Court, he was named witness for the prosecution in the 1617 sorcery trial of the Maréchale d’Ancre, who was condemned to death at the stake. His son inherited his father’s intellect and became in turn the father of Antoine d’Aquin, the chief doctor of Louis XIV, ennobled in 1667, and satirized by Molière as the physician Diafoirus.29 The same family came to include to bishops, an organist to the king, and a musicologist. Every Jewish convert, whatever the circumstances of his conversion, was a triumph for the Church; every baptism was celebrated with the same pomp in an official ceremony, as related in the accounts preserved in the archives.

Lavish celebration of baptisms Ceremony for the baptism of a Jew On Sunday, 9 June 1790, the illustrious and magnificent noble Lords Jean-Pierre de Pons, Doctor of Law and attorney, Messire François-Louis Xavier, Count of Alleman, and Monsieur François-Marie Audin, candle merchant, consuls of the city of Carpentras, ever attentive to the propagation of the Holy Religion, in consequence of the authority given to them by the decision taken at the council’s meeting on 28 May last, held over the holy baptismal font a Jew of this city named Jacob Naquet, son of the late Jonathan; he was given the forenames Joseph Siffrein and the surname Carpentras. The ceremony was performed in the cathedral, to the accompaniment of several musical instruments, by Monseigneur de Beni, our worthy prelate, who immediately administered to the neophyte the sacrament of

28 Philippe d’Aquin (1576–1650): physician as well as philologist. – trans. 29 Antoine d’Aquin (1629–1696): grandson of Philippe, physician to Louis XIV, satirized in Molière’s play, Le Malade imaginaire. – trans.

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confirmation and that of the eucharist; Monsieur Claude Allié of the said city acted as confirmation godfather. On the eve of the ceremony, the three couriers of the honorable Consuls, cloaks over their arms, led the general procession through the whole city, inviting all counselors and the entire consular body. Messieurs the Consuls called for a detachment of sixty men to take up arms. On the day of the ceremony at about ten o’clock in the morning, the time chosen by Monseigneur the Bishop, the catechumen appeared at the City Hall, where the honorable Consuls, counselors, city officers, and a great number of citizens of every rank stood ready, and all departed together, led by the Consuls, preceded by their robed couriers, the detachment of officers and the trumpeters, to proceed to the Church, where once arrived, they stopped at the main door, where the catechumen stood; Monseigneur the Bishop stepped down from his throne, where he had been robed in pontifical vestments, uttered the customary prayers and exorcism, and then concluded the ceremonies on a stage that the city had set up and carpeted in the middle of the Church in front of the sermon pulpit, which Monseigneur the Bishop mounted, surrounded by the Consuls, the confirmation godfather, the city officers, and six children, each of the six bearing a torch. When the ceremony ended, all descended, then going up to the rectory, where the consuls and city officers took their ordinary place in the choir; Monseigneur the Bishop intoned the mass, at which the neophyte took communion from the hand of the Bishop. During the ceremony, there were three salutes from the musketry, which was placed before the main door of the Church and two volleys from the eighteen city mortar, which were placed at the Orange gate. When all was done, Monseigneur the Bishop, his vestments removed, stepped down from his throne, expressed his compliments to Messieurs the Consuls and the confirmation godfather, and withdrew. Thereafter, all together left the Church, the neophyte surrounded by Monsieur the Abbot Tarascon, director of the Maison de Charité, who had taken on the task of instructing him, Messieurs the Consuls, the Godfather, and the city officers, and surrounded as well by the councilors and a great number of other citizens, and they all went to the City Hall, by way of the Grande rue, passing before the college and convent of the Bernardines, which offered a grand spectacle to the public, who ran up and filled the streets to witness the event; the crowd was preceded by the detachment of men-at-arms and the trumpeters, and once arrived at the City Hall and having rested a moment, Messieurs the Consuls took their leave of the councilors and other citizens with them, and withdrew.

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Sous

Four drums and two fifes, 40 sous each

12

0

0

Three wind instruments

21

0

0

Forty-seven lb of powder, 16 sous per lb

37

12

0

Monsieur the Curate

6

0

0

Organist

1

10

0

24

0

0

Cannoneer who fired 18 mortar twice

4

0

0

Two trumpets

4

0

0

Monsieur Jacquet, bell-ringer

6

0

0

Three couriers for the Consuls, 30 sous each

4

10

0

City valet

1

10

0

Four neighborhood policemen, 20 sous each

4

0

0

Horsemen to keep crowds back

9

0

0

Theater stage

24

0

0

Tapers for 6 children, 1 L each at 40 sous per lb

12

0

0

Boxes of preserves for 6 children, weighing 2 lb each, at 18 sous per lb

11

14

0

Boxes, 3 sous each

0

18

0

Monsieur Giraud, carpenter and tapestry hanger

3

0

0

Six dozen chairs for councilors and other notable citizens

3

0

0

12

0

0

Present given to the neophyte

150

0

0

Total expenditures

351

14

0

Music or symphony

Money thrown to the crowd

A godfather or godmother almost always belonged to the highest nobility of the region: Chevalier de Châteauneuf, Madame de Brancas, Madame la

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Marquise de Venasque de Saint-Gervais, Madame la Princesse d’Alcourt, etc. An apostate who all too often before his metamorphosis had enjoyed only the most questionable of reputations, was the object of boundless praise, credited with every virtue and merit. A poor girl named Rose, who in 1565 became Marie with baptism, received from her godfather, the Duke of Modena, a dithyrambic flight of floral art that will bring this chapter to a close: The fragrance of roses kills scorpions, and the perfume of a conversion will destroy the poison of the Jews. The sap of roses spread with the dew on the eyes, makes them more clear-sighted; and you, with that heavenly dew with which you will soon be sprinkled, shall open the eyes of the Children of Israel. But still, to be fair, I hasten to stress that a Jew converted and welcomed with such splendid words was totally and definitively washed and purified by the water of baptism; this was so not only for himself but for his progeny as well, all cleansed of the poison that the Church imputed to his ancestors. In those days, then, when the term itself was still unknown, racism, in theory as in practice, had not yet come to add its extra weight to traditional anti-Judaism.

10. Cultural panorama The Jews of the Pope’s French States do not appear to have added very much to the magnificent scientific and spiritual heritage of those who lived in Languedoc and Provence. Apart from a few brilliant exceptions – rabbis, exegetes, belletrists who at the end of the eighteenth century founded a little academy in Carpentras – we can only recall that the Judeo-Comtadins were, above all and for the most part, prosaic souls with no calling for the subtleties of Talmud and Kabbalah; they were practical types deeply imbued with the clever wisdom of the South. Their literature was thus much more populist than learnèd and only rarely reached the heights of lyric poetry. True, the historian Joseph Ha-Cohen was born in 1492 in Avignon, but he came from a family of Spanish exiles and his career really unfolded in Italy, where he composed, in admirable Biblical Hebrew, his Valley of Tears, the first of his chronicles of the uninterrupted succession of Israel’s trials and sufferings. Also from Avignon, born in 1496, came Rabbi Joseph Meir, likewise of Spanish origin, who in 1554 in Venice published his Annals of the Kings of France and The House of Ottoman.

The Hebrew- Comtadin patois Hebrew was far from being the usual language of our Jews. Many barely knew enough to recite their prayers, so that the parladours, the cantors, had to

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translate verses of the Bible into the vernacular. And since French at the time was used in the Papal enclave only by the elite, Provençal remained the normal language for the Jews as for most Christians. Thomas Platter, a student from Basel who visited the synagogue of Avignon in 1599, relates in his Journal that women follow the religious service in “a basement, truly a cellar, drawing some light through a window from a room upstairs; a blind Rabbi addresses them in bad Hebrew, for the dialect of the Avignon Jews is mixed with Languedocian words.”30 Languedocian here is to be understood as meaning Provençal; this is the oldest testimony to the existence of what we can now call Hebraico- or Judeo-Comtadin. As late as the beginning of the twentieth century, when I was a child in Carpentras, my two great-grandaunts, almost one hundred years old at the time, did not know how to read or write and could speak only in the local patois, stuffed with Hebrew terms that centuries of oral transmission had distorted and deformed. The same linguistic phenomenon produced JudeoAlsatian, Judeo-Spanish, Judeo-Italian, and Judeo-Arabic.

Patois theater Yes, there were stage productions! Their value or audience should not be overestimated, but they at least offer us some new perspectives on the relations between Christendom and the Jewish community. We are looking at satirical plays that put jargon-speaking Jews on stage and that all, with only one exception, were written by Christians for the amusement of a large Christian audience. The first is really just a sketch, just a monologue: “Lou Sermoun di Jusious, tau que se declamavo pèr tèms à Carpentras lou jour que se pren cèndre” [The Sermon on the Jews, as it used to be delivered on Ash Wednesday], published from an eighteenth-century manuscript in L’Armana provençau in 1875 (with Provençal translation of Hebrew terms in notes). This is a satire of the alleged Jewish appetite for world domination, a comic harangue presented in public on the first day of Lent, perhaps in front of the Cathedral of Saint-Siffrein, by a buffoon playing the part of a fake rabbi entranced by the most glorious episodes in the Old Testament and eager to awaken in today’s defeated Jews a messianic hope and pride. The form of the whole thing is remarkably truculent, aimed at keeping devout Catholics in good humor, with ridiculous anachronisms such as Goliath’s helmet compared to an apothecary’s oven. This outlandish invention has been attributed to Cardinal Sadoleto, an Italian from Modena, named Bishop of Carpentras in 1517. It is hard, though, to see it as his work. He was certainly no friend of the Jews, as shown in his reproach to Pope Paul III for favoring them too much at the expense of Christians, adding that such 30 Félix and Thomas Platter, Félix et Thomas Platter à Montpellier, 1552–1559, 1595–1599: Notes de voyage de deux étudiants bâlois (Montpellier: C. Coulet, 1892). – A.L.

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behavior was disgraceful, for all that was called for was to “tolerate them in a way never to let them forget that they were but the children of a handmaiden.”31 However, he was too fine a man of learning and too respectful of Scripture to create patriarchs speaking in Judeo-Comtadin or to call Delila or Esther, whether in Hebrew or in Provençal, a “tart.” Besides, the language of the text seems to post-date the sixteenth century; mention is made, for example, of “grenadiers” in the conquest of Palestine, but it is only in 1667 that this term came to be applied to throwers of grenades. No, the work surely stems from the end of the seventeenth century. The second of these plays, Les Juifs dupés (The Jews duped), the manuscript of which is preserved in the library of the Musée Calvet in Avignon, is a three-act comedy in alexandrines. It was staged in Carpentras before the Rector Zanelli in 1667, in the course of a feast where it followed a performance of the Cid. The setting is the Place Trigadou, in front of the main gate of the Carrière. It is a farce whose author, one Abbet, actor and impresario, takes a recent trivial news item and with deceptive concern spins out a story of the misadventures of two Jews accused of involvement in a sale of suspect merchandise at the fair in Beaucaire. What makes the play interesting is that every character speaks in his own language – French or Provençal for the Christians, Judeo-Comtadin for the Jews. The third and final known play is of the same stripe but shorter, wholly written in Judeo-Comtadin octosyllabic verse, and thoroughly crude. It is Le Testament d’un Juif de la ville de Carpentras (The Will of a Jew from Carpentras), a Rabelaisian slapstick comedy composed in 1774 by Messrs. Fabry, a Doctor of Law known as Pichigu, and Guyard. The play has come down to us in a minuscule cheap reprint edition of the early nineteenth century – a good indication of its popularity. Again inspired by a contemporary news item, it portrays the last moments of a certain Jassuda Vidau, called Fourfouye, who has just been stabbed but has time to draw up a proper will before a notary. In it, he leaves his family 500 écus to prosecute his mortal assailant and make sure he is hanged. But the murderer wants to save himself and has therefore called for an autopsy of the dead man. The farce concludes with the comical reading of the doctor’s report, which certifies that Fourfourye died not because of the stabbing, but because: His liver was as dry as paper; His heart was unhealthy, his kidneys And lungs were falling apart, And what remained of his guts Was as black as my hat. 31 Jacopo Sadoleto (1477–1547). His published works include no mention of this play. – trans.

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Just as Marcel Proust’s Combray includes Swann’s Way and the Guermantes Way, Avignon, Carpentras, L’Isle-sur-Sorgue, and Cavaillon, with a cleavage not only social, but religious, included Moses’s Way and Jesus Christ’s, the Way of the Old Testament and the Way of the New. Along the Way of the New Testament, people spoke Judeo-Comtadin as well as the people across the way, which explains their ease in writing and understanding satire, and in sometimes using the dialect for proselytizing – as has already been noted in reference to Christmas carols and to the use of music in conversion. Passing to Moses’s Way, we find that the documents available reveal only one play in Judeo-Comtadin attributable to a Jew: the comedy Harcanot and Barcanot, or The Méfila of Carpentras in the 18th Century, which belongs to the same slapstick genre, but composed about thirty years after the Emancipation.32 The Méfila, from Hebrew Messila ‘narrow street’, is the Carrière. It may come as a surprise that 260 alexandrines of such buffoonery could be the work of a jurist, the author of a notable History of the Jews in France, Italy, and Spain, published in 1860, Israël Bédarride, President of the Order of Attorneys of the Court of Montpellier under the Second Empire. In fact, since Bédarride was born in 1797, the play was a bit of youthful fun, going back to his student days under Louis XVIII. According to the still-fresh memories of his father, he was capable that time of staging a tableau of life in our Communities under the Ancien Régime that was as true as it was humorous. The play opens in the noisy méfila, with everyone excited about a burglary – eyeglasses, prayer books, underpants, roasted turkeys, etc. – just committed by a Christian. Needed now is a good defense, with guns. The women, however, enraged though they are, refuse to endanger their husbands in a gunfight. The second act then brings Harcanot and Barcanot onto the stage; heroic ambassadors, they go to see the Bishop – the Haoumoun, as they call him – to lodge a complaint and ask for help. Strange picture! You might imagine it titled Delegation of a particular type of natives at the palace of the Residence, since, after all, for the Roman prelates who were stationed there as bureaucrats, Carpentras, especially in view of the profits it brought them, was truly a colony. Our two good fellows are very proud of their mission, though it is so nerve-racking that they have taken the precaution of covering themselves with talismans. The feelings, a mixture of reverential fear and dazzled surprise, that fluster them as they gaze at the Bishop’s salon – whose very sweepings, they note, are richer than any luxury imaginable where they live – are depicted with a crazy zest. Harcanot and Barcanot are incapable of speaking in anything but Judeo-Comtadin. The Bishop, who has never seen such strange plaintiffs, and, like his entourage, speaks only French, finds their jargon beyond comprehension. There are surprises on both sides as 32 Israël Bédarride’s play was published in 1897. – trans.

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misunderstandings cascade into one another. In their shock, one of the Jews faints. Monseigneur revives him with a splash of holy water. Horror! Horror! But the Haoumoun, condescending and paternal in his obligatory role as protector of the Jewish community, finally gives them a hearing and grants them the guns that they request. It’s a victory for Harcanot and Barcanot, who leave delighted to have been received like mélarhim – like kings! This play was eventually published in the Annuaire israélite of 1897, in Toulouse, but copies had long circulated in old Jewish families native to the Comtat, who enjoyed this comic look at their forebears. And I too found inspiration in it for the prologue to my Esther de Carpentras.33 In the text of Harcanot and Barcanot as in the satirical works written by Christians, the Jews are presented with their peculiar accent, especially with the letter j replaced by ch, as in chamai for jamai, indicating a particular difference in pronunciation. I have never found an explanation for this trait, but it does add evidence of authenticity to all these texts.

Vestiges of Judeo- Comtadin The use of Judeo-Comtadin persisted more or less into the twentieth century in almost all the Jewish families of Comtat origin, but in the degraded form of a secret language reduced to a few basic expressions that filled an occasional need, as at table in front of servants; it was a language for insiders alone. How many times in my childhood did I hear my parents or grandparents utter the cautionary formula, “dabere davar devant le nar!” [“Don’t speak in front of the boy!”] if the conversation risked offending my young ears! This family camouflage came into play whenever a term like manver/‘bastard’ or farfudo/‘tart’ occurred. In addition, the same jargon had filtered outside its private domain into the surrounding Christian world, as just shown in our discussion of satirical theater. As for everyday speech, Judeo-Comtadin was occasionally used by non-Jews in two instances. First, it could be used to express contempt. My friend François Jouve34 once told me about a milliner some fifty years ago, a neighbor of his in Carpentras, who, when she had trouble mending an old hat, would insult it by calling it a kinfaros, a kerchief. Then there is the verb sagater, from Hebrew chahata, which means to sacrifice an animal at the slaughterhouse in the Jewish fashion; a derived form is sagataïre, which is not only the word for a kosher butcher

33 Esther de Carpentras: see note 74. – trans. 34 François Jouve (1881–1968): poet, writer, leading member of the Félibrige, and baker in Carpentras, where there is an elementary school named for him. – trans.

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but also an insult meaning ‘assassin’; dress-makers might call a poorly cut garment sagata. In the second instance, more important and covering a broader area, we are again dealing with a secret language, still used in recent times at fairs by horse traders and sometimes by fabric discounters. The Jews of the Four Communities and those of the Principality of Orange engaged in the horse-trading business had shown their Christian colleagues how convenient their jargon could be. I heard about this from José d’Arbaud,35 who informed me that the horse traders of the Camargue used the negative davar if the deal was a bad one and bataou ‘much better’ if it was good. Here is another example, no less odd, which I learned from my father, who, in 1920, announcing to a horse-negotiating friend of his in Aix that I was soon to be married, received a congratulatory note bearing the formula, Alors, tu vas mettre le tarafsalin et le kinfaros! The funny thing is that my father didn’t understand and his friend had to translate: “So, you’re going to put on a morning coat and a top hat!” Note that in this case kinfaros took on an honorific sense, showing that a given term can completely reverse its meaning, depending on context, intention, and tone. Every language, as a general rule, is the expression of a culture and erects a barrier between that culture and others. The paradoxical interest of our minuscule Judeo-Comtadin stems from the fact that it represents a quite rare type of amphibious speech, revealing the interpenetration of two different societies – the Jewish, which spoke in Provençal, and the Christian, which played with Hebraisms – although they looked culturally alien to each other and, from the start, were legally separated.

Treasures of religious inspiration It was ritual, with its calendar of major and minor holidays, religious and familial, that provided our Jews with inspiration for their personal literature. But rather than use Judeo-Comtadin, which was not considered worthy enough, they turned to Provençal interspersed, as needed or as appropriate, with French or Hebrew. Chad Gadya, the Song of the Goat, originally composed in Chaldean mixed with Hebrew, had been sung since the sixteenth century by the whole family following the Passover seder. The theme probably derived from the old French episodic song, Biquette ne veut pas sortir du chou (The nanny-goat won’t get out of the cabbage). The Jewish song starts with the goat that my father bought for an écu, for two écus – but the goat is eaten by the cat, which is bitten by the dog, which is struck by the stick, which is burned by the fire, which is put out 35 Joseph d’Arbaud (1874–1950): writer, member of the Félibrige, and bull-herder in Camargue. – trans.

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by water, which is drunk by the ox, which is slaughtered by the butcher, who is killed by the Angel of Death, who in his turn is destroyed by the “Holy of Holies, blessèd be his Name!” Sung to an air of extreme simplicity, the song was understood as an allegory on the destiny of Israel, whose enemies are destroyed one after another, until God, putting an end to the reign of Death, ushers in the Messianic Era. The Judeo-Comtadins found it natural to sing the Song of the Goat in Provençal, with only a few Hebrew terms remaining along with the heavily rhythmed Chaldean refrain, “Chad gadya!” The piyyutim, Hebrew poems, lis obros in Provençal, are short pieces composed and sung for circumcisions, weddings, or Purim, the feast of Esther; they are “stuffed” pieces, which alternate lines in the sacred language with rhyming lines in Provençal, as in the piyyut that celebrates the circumcision of Abraham when the Three Angels appear to announce that his wife, Sarah, will give him a son despite his old age. Ephtah sephataï berina. (In Hebrew) (I shall open my lips with joy.) Cantarem deman a dina. (In Provençal) (We shall sing tomorrow at dinner.) Then we see Abraham greet God’s messengers under a green tree and offer them an improvised meal of cow’s milk butter, sheep’s milk, tender veal, and fougasse36 – an array that suggests the same patriarchal and idyllic charm as its model in Genesis; and it tastes delicious enough to make us think of almonds and pistachios from Palestine coated with our Provençal nougat. These poems, although bilingual, appear in our prayer books printed entirely in Hebrew characters, and their tunes, like those of Christmas carols, are blithely lifted from the folk repertory: Quand j’entrais en galère, Le rouge-gorge se mouille, Serviteur à la guerre, Doucement ménagère, Les Filles de Tarascon, and so forth; it was of course necessary to slow down the tempos in performance to give the songs a measure of gravity. Even more striking is the example of the Rachat du premier né (Redemption of the first-born), which evolved into a dialogued farce of that good-naturedly ribald sort that our Comtadin Jews shared with those of Provence. In commemoration of the Exodus from Egypt and the death of all the first-born of the Egyptians, the Israelite whose first-born is a boy is required to redeem the lad thirty days after his birth by giving five shekels, about three écus, to the descendant of the High Priest, or Cohen. It all starts with the prayers being read at top speed, which everyone knows is merely preparation for a game that won’t offend anyone since the scenario is well known. The setting is the 36 Fougasse: see note 66. – trans.

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bedroom of the new mother, where, as for a public holiday, an arch of paper garlands hangs from the ceiling. The characters are the Cohen, in charge of the play, the father, mother, nurse, and infant; relatives and friends form the chorus. Here are a few of the choicest passages: The Cohen sets the tone:37 I am the servant of the Eternal. In keeping with our solemn custom. Always faithful to His service, I am about to celebrate the sacrifice That our God has commanded To redeem the first-born boy. . . . Listen to what I have to tell you: Here we are allowed to laugh, To joke and jest and banter With no risk of offense to anyone. . . . The Cohen, to the mother: Tell me, good woman – don’t lie! – Is this truly your first-born son? Did you not have a miscarriage Before this adorable creature? . . . The Cohen, to the father: Tell me, my good fellow, Can it be true this excellent piece Is a sample of your own brushwork?. . . As if threatening to take the child for himself: I have the good fortune Of having children but no wife . . . Responses come freely, leaving the farce wide open to license of any sort – a veritable commedia dell’arte! The joke is played out in Provençal, save for a few expressions drawn from the Bible, which, calling for a nobler tone, are in French; the blessings at the end are, of course, in Hebrew. But the subject that surpassed all others for its powerful legendary charm and its astonishing fecundity was the story of Esther, retold every year on the day of Purim. This is when Haman, the cruel vizier of King Ahasuerus of

37 In a note (p. 166), Lunel cites his source: René Riquier, “Un poème rituel judéo-provençal,” Le Feu (Aix-en-Provence), May 1928. – trans.

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Persia, had planned to massacre all the Jews of the Empire but was stopped by the devotion of the beautiful Esther. The miraculous deliverance was commemorated with various entertainments, exchanges of gifts, masquerades, and all with such joyous celebration that our Jews saw it as their equivalent of the Christian carnival. Within the Synagogue, the Purim service was built around the reading of the scroll, the Megillah, telling the story of Esther. The worshipers and their children would stamp on the floor at every mention of the accursèd Haman. As in the case of the medieval Christian Mystery plays, the celebration of the rite, with its inherent theatricality, soon moved out from the sanctuary itself onto the public square, which enhanced its spirit of joyousness. Under the influence of the Christian Feast of Fools, a Purim King even came into being. Serious rabbis had no compunctions about collaborating in these festivities, in which collective euphoria brought an unexpected spice to religious solemnity. As early as the fifteenth century, Crescas du Caylar, a poet and physician in Avignon, wrote the Provençal romance Esther in Hebrew characters, in which he showed Ahasuerus, tipsy with wine, demanding that his favorite, Vashti, perform a striptease for him. This work marks the beginning of a tragi-comic genre that would reach a brilliant high point in the eighteenth century with Queen Esther, Tragedy in Verse and in Five Acts in the vernacular [Provençal], composed by the illustrious Rabbi Astruc of the city of L’Isle, improved and enlarged by very worthy Rabbi Jacob de Lunel of the city of Carpentras – my great-grandfather. It was printed in its definitive version in 1774, “so that everyone may have it for a small sum and celebrate the works of the Lord.” This Esther was performed every year up to the Revolution, on Purim evening, on the main square of the Carpentras Carrière, and under the watchful eye of Papal guards. The windows of the surrounding houses were fitted out as theater boxes hung with tapestries or carpets. The actors were most assuredly not professionals, but all were thoroughly engaged and full of good will. The principals played not only Esther, Mordecai, and Ahasuerus, but also, and in particular, Haman, an enormous fellow, a terrifying caricature, who stood all by himself for all the persecutors and executioners of Israel, past, present, and yet to come. The text is in Comtadin Provençal, except for a comic interlude in which two servants, who are plotting to poison Ahasuerus with the help of a physician, rattle through an Italianate jargon that brings Molière’s Turks to mind.38 The whole presentation is preceded by a trumpet call, and every act ends with a song intended for repetition by the audience. The work recalls nothing of Racine’s Esther,39 aside from four lines borrowed for the Prayer of Esther and her maidens. Though the play brings to mind the Mysteries of the 38 This is a glancing reference to Le Bourgeois gentilhomme. – trans. 39 Racine’s tragedy is of a quite different nature. – trans.

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Middle Ages, inspiration more crucially came from the Pastorales, those brief popular dramas, full of both devotion and mockery and in any case delightfully anachronistic, that celebrate the Nativity in Provence. Finally, again in Provençal, but different in genre, didactic and meant for children, the Back-and-forth Prayer, drawn from the Bible by way of the Haggadah, a collection of talmudic legends; it is a little catechism in the form of thirteen questions and answers: “Who knows One?” “I do. One is our God, who reigns in heaven as on earth.” ... “Thirteen?” “The thirteen attributes of God.” Mistral, having quoted the Hebrew ditty in the preface to his Provençal Translation of Genesis,40 adds that the same form had long been adapted to Christian use, and he cites his own experience as a child responding to his mother: “My dear angel, who is One?” “One is the name of Jesus Christ, may his name everywhere and always be blessed!” ... “My dear angel, who is thirteen?” “Thirteen cannot be counted; go away, bad Satan! And let us say Our Father and Ave Maria, just as we should.” Another confirmation, in our Midi, of the debt that Christian folklore owes to Jewish folklore! But note in passing that the number 13, fateful and ambivalent, is a favorable figure for Jews, but a damnable one for Christians.

Two moving lyric poems Folklore does not reveal all the secrets of the heart, and that is why, under their apparent cheerfulness, sometimes no more than make-believe, the JudeoComtadins felt a religious fervor all the more ardent and profound for finding expression in a highly concentrated form, as demonstrated in two very rare, pure, and precious samples of lyric poetry. These Hebrew hymns, once buried in our prayer books but now exhumed for our appreciation by Cecil Roth,

40 Frederi Mistral, La Genèsi, traducho en provençau (Paris: Champion, 1910). – A.L.

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the historian of Judaism,41 are presented here in a free adaptation that, like The Prayer for the Pope, Darius Milhaud asked me to compose for his cantata, Crown of Glory. First comes the Ode for Reclusion Day, printed in the morning service for the second day of Passover. Why that day? Because that day, which coincides with Good Friday, by virtue of pontifical a rule dating from the Middle Ages and always applied very strictly, Jews were forbidden to leave their ghetto, where they were essentially held prisoner, both to protect them from their vengeful Christian neighbors and to humiliate them. The poem compares the soul of Israel, sadly but proudly lifting her voice to God, to a beautiful young captive princess held prisoner in her palace: From the depths of your palace, Like a beautiful girl, confined Princess, May your magnificent song rise to God! For the One whose Spirit is Wisdom And who gives life to all souls, You will awaken and arise again The day when Exile will come to an end. The soul of one who is oppressed and belittled, Of the man who now knows nothing but darkness, Sings your praises The very day when he hides Lest he be covered with mud and stoned by the people in revolt. The soul of one weeping in solitude, aspiring to freedom, Sings your praises The very day when a law keeps him away from his Temple, Whoever leaves his house being responsible for his own blood! The souls of the sheep dispersed today Bow before the Grace of the One who reigns throughout all the centuries! Then, the next day, the Ode for Reclusion Day is followed in the morning service for the Sabbath by a Prayer for the Day of the Exodus, titled Ode for the Souls of the Persecuted: Sing for the souls! Souls of all the persecuted, who will sing, Lord, your praises!

41 Cecil Roth (1899–1970). British historian, professor of Jewish studies, editor-in-chief of Encyclopaedia Judaica. – trans.

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Souls of all those persecuted and all those hunted They come out today to call Your Name and exalt it! Souls of all who, for the glory of Your Name, have been consigned to dungeons and jails! Souls of all who were oppressed and unable to raise their head! Today, the day of the Sabbath, they emerge from their hovels to call upon your aid. Souls of all who, among the nations, have alone remained calling you God – God, you are my God! Vengeance for the blood that’s been shed! Souls of all who feared you and knew you and who proclaimed your Oneness – They have come out of their hovels to call upon your aid. Today, on this day of no work, this day of rest, since God will bless the seventh day, as is said, On this day of exaltation of the Lord, for all the souls who have inherited Sinai’s law of fire! It was through these hymns, the work of unknown composers, that the Judeo-Comtadins expressed in private, yet in public, their dolorous dignity and their unshakable trust in the Eternal.

A note on liturgy Preserved in isolation in the Four Holy Communities, the Comtadin liturgy has deep roots in French soil, for it has succeeded in uninterruptedly maintaining the essence of the old Provençal and Languedocian liturgies; they are all quite close to the Sephardic. Two learnèd Benedictine monks of Saint-Maur, Dom Martène and Dom Durand, in the course of their brief visit to Carpentras in 1710, took the opportunity to see the synagogue, where they noted that “in their assemblies, the Jews sing the Psalms in Hebrew, and the effect is lovely. We heard one of them sung by some young Jews; the effect was elating.”42 Note that from this report we glean that the Comtadin liturgy at the time was sung a cappella, with the participation of children’s voices; it was, in short, a kind of choir school. This must have delighted the two Benedictines, normally hard to please; note too how well disposed they were to the Hebrew worship service – most unusual for the period.

42 Edmond Martène, Voyage littéraire de deux religieux bénédictins de la congrégation de Saint Maur (Paris: F. Delaulne, 1717). – A.L.

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At first, prayer books were in manuscript form; they then appeared in print in Amsterdam in 1739, 1742, and 1743, and in Avignon in 1760 and 1765. Though the prayers of the time were thus preserved, nothing musical was transmitted from one generation to the next except orally, and melodies would have been lost forever if in 1885 Jules and Mardochée Crémieu, accomplished Hebrew scholars and fine musicians, had not taken the trouble to collect them from the last cantors and have them published under the title, Hebrew Melodies according to the Rite of the Israelite Communities of the Old Comtat Venaissin, a monumental work that is unfortunately unavailable today. All these airs, which according to the order of solemnities, express contrition or joy, are extraordinarily rich in melody; some of them, such as the services for Yom Kippur – the Day of Atonement – and for Rosh Hashanah – the New Year – appear related to plainchant. Indeed, it has been claimed that the relation between plainchant and the Hebrew rite bespeaks an influence of the Synagogue on the Church. But what later came along to add some unexpected spice and color to our liturgy, was the whole popular repertory of piyyutim which are so generously inserted in it. Let’s just add that the first stanza of the piyyut cited above concludes this way: I will praise the Lord on high [In Hebrew] with tambourine and violin. [In Provençal] The statement is to be taken literally; while musical accompaniment was barred from the major holidays, when the only instrument permitted was the shofar, an orchestra of the Provençal type, including a galoubet,43 could figure in small gatherings at home where piyyutim were sung. Finally, here is an odd item for the Judeo-Comtadins’ list of cultural plusses: Louis Saladin, a Catholic musician from Avignon in the seventeenth century, composer of a Concert for the Assumption of the Virgin, also wrote a Canticum hebraicum for chorus, soloists, and orchestra, probably commissioned by a wealthy family, for a circumcision in Carpentras.

11. The end of a small world The Edict of Tolerance signed by Louis XVI in November 1787 granted the non-Catholics of the Kingdom the right to have their civil status certified by a judicial registrar and to freely exercise their occupations “with no fear of interference or harassment due to their religion.”

43 Galoubet: a type of fipple-flute, in the family of tabors, recorders, and the like. – trans.

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The Edict of Tolerance and departures from the Carrières This Edict, due in great part to the welcome inspiration of Malesherbes,44 was promulgated for the benefit of Protestants. Immediately, a number of JudeoComtadins asserted their right to the same benefit and, definitively giving up their traditional papal haven, found new homes in France. This migration led the Carrière of Carpentras to contract from 923 members to 770 by September 1788. The departures included eighty-two to Nîmes, thirty-two to Montpellier, ten to Aix, and four to Arles. Darius Milhaud nicely recounted in his Notes without Music that, when Mirabeau45 needed 4,000 livres to go to Paris, he sought the funds from his great-grandfather, Bénéstruc Milhaud, who was settled in Aix in the almond business, and promised in exchange to “make a man of him.” The heads of such families were almost all rich businessmen, attracted by the hope of establishing themselves not furtively, as had previously been the case, but now legally, in the center of their business. This move only accelerated: less than a year later, in May 1789, the Jewish population of Carpentras was down to 690 persons. Jews were forbidden to reside in France, since the Edict of Definitive Expulsion of 1394 had never been abrogated, and, in fact, the order to leave the Kingdom had been renewed on several occasions, notably by Marie de Médicis in 1615. To take the law literally, then, Jews were not covered by any of the benefits of the Edict of Tolerance. That was the Government’s interpretation; local authorities, however, showed considerably greater liberalism, so that even if, for example, Jews now living in Nîmes could not be admitted into the Corporation of tailors and cloth merchants, they were at least allowed, along with Protestants and with the same civil status, to have their marriages, births, and deaths recognized legally. In fact – and this is what clearly shows the advantages of their migration – their terms of residence under the authority of the King of France turned out to be infinitely more favorable than would have been the case in Avignon or in the Comtat under the authority of Rome. The 1781 Edict of the Holy Office reintroduced the odiously stifling legislation that President Durini, a Vice Legate more humane than his predecessors, had in vain attempted to mitigate. In France, the corporeal toll, that unacceptable vestige of the Middle Ages, had been abolished in 1784; and once a Judeo-Comtadin had crossed the border from Saint Peter’s enclave, he could heave a sigh of relief at abandoning his yellow hat and the obligatory Saturday sermon. 44 Guillaume-Chrétien de Lamoignon de Malesherbes (1721–1794): French statesman, royal minister, counsel; guillotined. – trans. 45 Honoré Gabriel Riqueti, comte de Mirabeau (1749–1791): early leader of the French Revolution. – trans.

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Gradual emancipation Meanwhile, the entire social framework was in the process of crumbling, and the Revolution was about to throw open the era of Jewish liberation. In Avignon, a new municipal government was elected on April 18, 1790, on the model of the French constitution; only two weeks later, it pronounced the Tribunal of the Inquisition illegal, barred it from all activity, and locked its doors forever. At once, the Jews, liberated from the unrelenting supervision of the Holy Office, had free rein to demand permission to wear a black hat decorated with the blue-white-and-red cockade and to dismiss the Carrière’s Christian gate-keeper. Tissot, the Prosecutor of the Commune Council, followed up at the session of May 27 with a speech invoking the Rights of Man and proposing to grant the Jews not only their cockade-decorated black hat, but also the annulment of all decrees that the Holy Office had ever directed against them. The decision was suspended at first, but the Jews had not long to wait, as events moved headlong in their favor. On June 10, the Patriots overcame a counterrevolutionary movement; the Archbishop was forced to withdraw to Villeneuve; the Vice-Legate and the Pope’s special envoy sought refuge in Carpentras. On the 12th, the Commune Council, having voted to unite Avignon with France and asked the National Assembly for ratification, the Jews of Avignon became full-fledged Frenchmen by virtue of the National Assembly decree of January 28, 1790, which granted full citizenship to all Jews of the Midi. (The Jews of Paris and the East had to wait for the general decree of September 27, 1791.) The immediate abolition of centuries-old constraints meant, among other things, the disappearance of the infamous yellow hat for men and the no less odious pétassoum for women, and the closing of the Carrière ghetto. On July 11, the Jewish community of Avignon, “now free to offer the nation the fair tribute of its gratitude,” donated 300 livres to the municipality’s Militia and expressed its regret that poverty made a larger gift impossible. On December 30, 1790, the municipality requisitioned all silverware in the synagogue that was not essential to the worship service; an analogous measure was taken in the churches, spurred by the need for funds to ensure the supply of cereals for the winter. In April, the electoral Assembly of the department of Vaucluse decided to require military service of all citizens, irrespective of religion; the Jews of Avignon responded with six men for the army and twenty-one for the civil patrol; they also provided 100 quintals of wheat for the supply corps. The Baylons were temporarily maintained in place for the internal affairs of the Community, but their numbers were reduced to seven, and they were now co-opted rather than selected by wealth, as in the old system, which was now seen as incompatible with modern ideas. They ceased to function entirely when the reunion of Avignon with France was finally ratified by a vote of the Constituent Assembly on September 14, 1791. In L’Isle-sur-Sorgue and in Cavaillon, emancipation followed the same steady

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course. In Carpentras, however, it was delayed by the town’s continued fidelity to the Pope and hostility to the Revolution. Resolving the Jewish question was indeed subject to lengthy discussions and hesitations. On the one hand, the emigration of its rich Jews, largely under way before 1789, made it difficult for the Carrière to do its part in meeting common civil expenses and in settling its debts to Christian creditors; this was an argument for retaining the city’s Jews by granting them the same status that they had just acquired in France. On the other hand, most residents of Carpentras were too obscurantist and persistently anti-Jewish to accept such a solution; as late as May 1790, the Israelites were still obliged to attend Father Justin’s sermons! On October 28, 1790, the Representative Assembly of the Comtat Venaissin, refusing to recognize the Jews as full citizens, limited itself to declaring that “as of this day, the Jews of this State will cease to be distinguished in a manner humiliating for humanity by the traditional obligation to wear a yellow hat.” The decree was implemented in L’Isle-sur-Sorgue and Cavaillon without any protest from Christians, while in Carpentras the public set about reacting brutally: the Jews, who had begun wearing the black hat, were booed and set upon and pelted with stones, to the point where, for protection, they sought permission – strange favor! – to go back to the yellow hat, that emblem of their shame. Meanwhile, a civil war was raging throughout the Comtat between Patriots and Papists. About to be attacked by the troops from Avignon, Carpentras was forced to yield and, on January 14, to solemnly declare its reunion with France. Public sentiment gradually evolved in the direction of liberalism. The gate-keeper of the Carrière was dismissed on December 9. On January 25, the municipality proclaimed: We, the Mayor and municipal Officers, in consequence of the petition received from the Society of Friends of the Constitution, at the request of the Mayor of Courthezon and the Commandant of the French National Guards, in the name of the aforesaid Guards, who sped to our rescue, by virtue of yesterday’s deliberation of the General Council, and in accordance with the principles of the sublime French Constitution, order male Jews to wear the black hat, on pain of a twelve-livre fine; we make it very clear to all persons that insulting them is forbidden and prohibited, under pain of a fine of twelve livres, and declare that fathers will be held responsible for insults that their children may express. And it was under this threat of repressive measures that the Jews of Carpentras were at last able to wear the black hat adorned with the tricolor cockade, seven months later than their fellow Jews in Avignon. To explain the Jews’ reluctance to abandon the odious yellow hat, it was alleged that they were motivated by avarice, whereas it was merely their fear of seeing a return of the Christian wrath that had been unleashed against them barely a few months earlier.

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In view of the growing emigration of rich Jews, which was becoming increasingly perilous for the finances of the Carrière, the Baylons made strenuous efforts for full liberation, and on July 20, 1791, the Jews of Carpentras were emancipated by a declaration from the General Council of the Commune: The representatives of the Jewish community, called Baylons, were summoned and M. Damian, the first officer of the municipality, presiding over the Assembly, said to them: Gentlemen, by virtue of the decrees of the National Assembly that we have adopted as our law, the Jews who show all the attributes specified in these decrees are to enjoy in our jurisdiction all the rights of full citizens. . . . You should now cease to constitute a separate community, and we invite you to disengage yourselves forthwith from all obligations that you have contracted as a separate body, so that you may fully benefit from the sublime French Constitution. . . . The only reservation, normal and foreseeable, was that the Jewish community was expected to liquidate its debts. Overjoyed by their success, the Baylons, after a moment’s private discussion, replied: Gentlemen, the Jews accept the proposal that the General Council has done them the honor of offering them. They here express their sincerest thanks; they would hold it a shame, a denial of the Council’s humane impulse, a display of anti-patriotism, and a suggestion of trickery behind good intentions to decline the proposal. We are honored, Gentlemen, to be your most humble and obedient servants. Let us note here the names of the signatories, the Baylons who were thus acting for the final time in their corporate function: Moïse de Milhaud the elder, deputy; Jassé de Valabrègue, Jassé Haïn Samuel de Valabrègue, Michaël de Milhaud, Jasséda de Roquemartine, and Raphaël Lyon. By its decree of September 14, 1791, the Constituent Assembly specified that “by virtue of the rights of France and in accordance with the wish of the majority of communes,” the two States of Avignon and the Comtat Venaissin now formed an integral part of the French Empire. The Jews of Avignon, Carpentras, L’Isle-sur-Sorgue, and Cavaillon were thus welcomed legally, with the same status of former subjects of Saint Peter as their Catholic neighbors, into the great French egalitarian family. In this way, ceasing to be a separate entity at the end of five centuries of surviving as well as they could in the shadow of the Cross, the Four Holy Communities disappeared forever, and with them the Statutes of their Escamots were entombed in the dust of archives. From then on, the Judeo-Comtadins had no internal ties but those of their religion. The Pope’s French Jews had never taken the slightest part in the evolution of opinion and the concatenation of events that brought about the Revolution; yet

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this revolution that they had never seen coming brought them the fulfillment of an age-old hope suppressed by centuries of slavery. The outcome, however, through a transformation they accepted easily enough, was the end of the messianic dream. Indeed, the Promised Land they now entered was not the one evoked at the Passover seder, where they sang in Provençal, “This year we are here as bondsmen; next year, we shall be free men in the Land of Israel.” It was simply and forthrightly the France of the Rights of Man.

Attitude and role of the JudeoComtadins under the Revolution At first, some of them showed timidity and hesitancy brought about by a bitter-sweet clinging to their old cloistered life and by the fear lest, mixing too incautiously now with Catholics, they provoke their hostility. This explains why, in Carpentras, when the public trumpet summoned citizens to vote in the municipal elections of December 24, 1791, a number of Jews in the Carrière responded by shouting from their windows, “We won’t go; we don’t want to go vote!” In May 1792, the reactionary municipal government that had emerged from those elections had to resign, opening the way to the progressive party. The Jews seized the opportunity to reclaim Father Justin’s pulpit, which they had paid for with own pennies. No one knows, though, what they did with it. Wood for burning? No! Why not a bonfire? In October, with great ceremony, with songs and farandoles, they planted a Tree of Liberty in the synagogue, and the new municipal administration was there for the fun, along with lady patriots. In December, they deposited at the City Hall the register of their legal status, previously in the hands of the Inquisition. In February 1793, they pulled down the Cross of Expiation that their forebears had had to erect in front of the Cathedral for having committed the crime, in February 1603, of crucifying a mannequin. In March, they joined the People’s Society of Sans-Culottes, and in August 1794, two notables, Manuel Baze and Mossé Milhaud, became part of the Municipal Council. Numerous, too, were the Jews who volunteered for military service or who contributed money to support the families of the Nation’s defenders. Religious practice could not escape the effects of the general turn of events. Everywhere, silver items used in worship gradually disappeared, whether through requisitioning or through patriotic donation. In February 1794, an Agent of the district of Carpentras noted in his report: “All the saints go into the national crucible; . . . and together with them go the toys and bells of the

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synagogue; the two leave in each other’s company and in close agreement, despite the mutual antipathy we had expected.” The synagogue of L’Isle surSorgue was abandoned by its worshipers, fell into ruin, and disappeared. The one in Avignon was sequestered as national property. The same was true of the synagogue in Carpentras, which in December 1793 was briefly taken over by the Jacobin Club; in February 1794, the Jews handed the keys to the municipality and declared themselves worshipers of Reason. We may wonder, however, whether this move was sincere or instead was meant as a shield against the wave of antireligious violence unleashed by the Terror. It was in the course of this period that in Cavaillon the silk merchant Lange Cohen, a member of the People’s Society and a municipal Officer, saved the treasure of the Cathedral of Saint-Véran from being pillaged by extremists by threatening them with no more than a pole; and I know from family lore – Lange Cohen was my great-granduncle – that the chapter house of Cavaillon, in recognition of his deed and for the repose of his soul, established an annual mass, which was celebrated through 1900. Better times for all believers started after Thermidor46 with the restoration of religious liberty in the law of II Prairial An III (May 30, 1795). Jewish services resumed, for want of any other locale, in private houses in Carpentras and in Avignon, their synagogues still sequestered until the beginning of the nineteenth century.

Liquidation of the debts of the old communities A Convention statute of 19 Germinal An III (April 8, 1795) ordered the deferment of all claims made or to be made against the Jews for loans they contracted when they constituted a corporate entity. The four Carrières had in any case suspended the payment of interest as of April 1792. It would have been normal, it seems, for these debts to be nationalized, as were those of all other former corporate entities. The measure, however, which had arisen as a petition, was dismissed, and the problem remained unresolved. Upon request by the creditors of the Community of Carpentras, a decree of December 12, 1806 abrogated the deferment and ordered the liquidation of the debts, which were set at 303,666 francs for Carpentras, 240,402 francs for Avignon, and 130,565 francs for L’Islesur-Sorgue; there were no claims against Cavaillon. Payment was to be made in five annual installments on the basis of funds’ availability. Implementation met one delay after another, to the point that no recovery was ever achieved under the Empire. In 1817, a prefectoral commission was appointed in each city 46 Thermidor and Prairial: the eleventh and ninth months, respectively, in the French Republican, or Revolutionary, Calendar. – trans.

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to which Judeo-Comtadins had migrated, and every man, considered to bear part of the collective responsibility, was obliged to declare “without fraud or mental reservation, the amount of his fortune.” Here is the formula used in Nîmes in fiscal year 1817: Under all the penalties and execrations of HEREM (anathema) enunciated in 1816 in the Israelite temples of Carpentras, Aix, and Nismes concerning the liquidation of the debts of the former Israelite Community of Carpentras, anathema that I take upon my head if I lie or if I act against my conscience, I DECLARE . . . (State here the amount in question.) . . . If this is the truth and I am acting in good conscience, I pray my Creator to come to my aid.

Adolphe Crémieux succeeds in having the more judaico oath abrogated In the first third of the nineteenth century, the Jews, although enjoying civil freedom, were still obliged religiously and judicially to render the terrible oath of Herem, understood more judaico (in accordance with Jewish law). Adolphe Crémieux, born in Nîmes in 1796, descendant of Jews of Carpentras, future Minister of Justice under the Second Republic and of the Provisional Government under the Third, opened his career as a lawyer by arguing before the Court in his native city in 1827 for the abolition of that intolerable oath. He won his case with two consecutive pleadings, in which he successfully demonstrated that special treatment for a particular class of individuals violated the basic Constitutional principle that all French citizens were equal before the law. It is perhaps not irrelevant here to recall that this Jew of Nîmes, with the same Southern ardor exemplified by a Numa Roumestan,47 devoted great energy throughout his political life to the defense of his persecuted brethren: in 1840, the rehabilitation of the Jews in Damascus unjustly accused of the ritual murder of a Capuchin friar; in 1860, the foundation of the Alliance Israélite Universelle, dedicated to promoting the welfare of Jewish communities in the Arabic world through French education; in 1870, the granting of French citizenship to the Jews of Algeria. While, as noted earlier. the Judeo-Comtadins had never had a generous and welcoming approach to fellow Jews from elsewhere, Adolphe Crémieux, disavowing the traditional self-centeredness of his ancestors, was the first artisan of a Jewish solidarity henceforth understood in its broadest, most just, and most humane sense. 47 Numa Roumestan: eponymous hero of novel by Alphonse Daudet (1840–1897), a charismatic Provençal politician. – trans.

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Final memories of the Four Holy Communities In 1811, the Israelite population of the department of Vaucluse, covering the former Papal enclave, was already only a third of what it had been just before the Revolution. In 1812, on a list of the 100 most heavily taxed residents of Carpentras, there is not a single Jew. Those remaining were the least comfortable, poor people almost all peddlers or old-clothes dealers like their forebears. They had always been housed generally free of charge on the top floors of the Carrière’s skyscrapers; now, having stripped them of their doors and windows to sell them or to use the wood for heating, they moved down to occupy the apartments of rich owners who had taken them on as custodians. Some of these people were still there in the days of Charles X;48 and there were even some, among the oldest, who feared that if they moved outside the old ghetto they would be exposed to Christian hostility. In their solitude, they made it a point of honor to remain attached to these shaky old walls that had for so long sheltered their unshakable faith. Only prodigious efforts of cautious maintenance had succeeded through the years in keeping up such a collapsible structure. After the Revolution of 1830, the Carrière was emptied at last and its outlandish architecture was left with no purpose or care. The buildings began to buckle under their mass and then, piece by piece, crumbled and fell. The sad quarter became dangerous and more insalubrious than ever. The rue des Juifs became a serious concern to the Municipal Council, which, after a zealous attempt at promotion and repair, had in the end to gradually efface it from the city map. The final clearing did not take place until 1895, with the construction of the new City Hall. What remains today of the four Carrières? No traces are to be seen in L’Islesur-Sorgue; there are none, either, in Avignon, whose old synagogue was destroyed in the fire of 1844 and then replaced by a building of no character. Of the past there remain standing only the two lovely stone synagogues of Carpentras and Cavaillon, now classed as historical monuments. At the beginning of the twentieth century, worship ceased for lack of an adequate number of worshipers. Today, another exodus, the exodus of French Jews from Algeria, has unexpectedly come along to revive and rejuvenate the Communities of Avignon and Carpentras. Let us note, too, that on April 17, 1958, the synagogue of Carpentras was the setting for a religious commemoration of the 10th anniversary of the State of Israel, in the presence of M. Jacob Tsur, Israel’s ambassador to France. It was right and just that such a ceremony should take place in the House of Prayer where, through at least seven uninterrupted centuries, French Israelites never 48 Charles X (1757–1836): reigned from 1824 to his abdication in 1830. – trans.

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ceased to invoke the God of Abraham in the very heart of this Provençal Jerusalem that Frédéric Mistral, carried away by poetic verve, called a Jewish paradise. We know, of course, that here on earth all paradises are relative and, from time to time, questionable. It is nevertheless true, as I have endeavored to show through our long history, that the Jews of the Midi did not have to choose too often between abjuration and exile. From Languedoc, Provence, and the Dauphiné, they found a haven in the Pope’s enclave, and, as the last generation of Judeo-Comtadins in a line that had taken root in Gaul almost two millennia earlier, had, through the liberating force of the Revolution of 1789, the honor and good fortune of entering with all the rights and duties of normal citizens into the unity of France.

Bibliography (These are the works in the bibliography of the 1975 edition – that is, Lunel’s sources. – trans.) Chapter 1. The Most Distant Past Anchel, Robert. Les Juifs de France. Paris: J. B. Janin, 1946. Chapter 2. The Golden Age of the Jews of the Midi Blumenkranz, Bernhard. Juifs et Chrétiens dans le monde occidental (430–1096). Paris: Mouton, 1960. Duvernoy, Jean. Inquistion à Pamiers. Toulouse: Edouard Privat, 1966. Roüet, Adolphe (Abbé). Notice sur la ville de Lunel au Moyen-âge. Montpellier: F. Seguin, 1878. Saige, Gustave. Les Juifs du Languedoc antérieurement au XIVe siècle. Paris: Alphonse Picard, 1881. Scholem, Gershom G. Les Origines de la Kabbale. Paris: Aubier-Montaigne, 1966. Schwarzfuchs, Simon. Études sur l’origine et le développement du rabbinat au Moyen Âge. Paris: Durlacher, 1957. Chapter 3. Provençal Vicissitudes Arnaud, Camille. Essai sur la condition des Juifs en Provence au Moyen-âge. Forcalquier: Masson, 1879. Arnaud d’Agnel, Gustave (Abbé). La Politique de René envers les Juifs de Provence. Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1909. Baratier, Edouard. La démographie provençale du XIIIe au XVIe siècle. Paris: SEVPEN, 1963. Blumenkranz, Bernhard. “Le ‘Siècle d’Or’ en Dauphiné et en Provence,” Evidences (Paris) 86 (mars–avril 1951). Busquet, Raoul. Études sur l’ancienne Provence (Les privilèges généraux et la conservation des privilèges des Juifs de Provence. La fin de la communauté juive de Marseille au XVe siècle). Marseille: Institut Historique de Provence, 1930. Camau, Emile. Les Juifs en Provence. Paris: Champion, 1928. Crémieux, Adolphe. “Les Juifs de Marseille au Moyen Âge,” Revue des études juives (1903), 46–47. Crémieux, Adolphe. “Les Juifs de Toulon au Moyen Âge et le massacre du 13 avril 1348,” Revue des études juives 89 (1930). Loeb, Isidore. “Un convoi d’exilés d’Espagne à Marseille en 1492,” Revue des études juives 9 (1884).

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Schirmann, Jefim. “Isaac Gorni, poète hébreu de Provence,” Lettres Romanes (Louvain) 3 (1949). Chapter 4. An Aristocracy of Hebrew Origin Graetz, H. “But réel de la correspondance échangée vers la fin du XVe siècle entre les Juifs espagnols et provençaux et les Juifs de Constantinople,” Revue des études juives 19 (1889), 106–14. Lhez, E. P. E. “La Perception du subside versé au roi Louis XII par les ‘nouveaux chrétiens’ résidant en Provence (1512–1513),” Provence historique (Aix-enProvence) fascicle 66 (octobre–décembre 1966), 12. Roux-Alpheran, M. Recherches biographiques sur Malherbe et sur sa famille. Aix-en-Provence: Nicot et Aubin, 1840. Secret, François. “Glanes pour servir à l’histoire des Juifs en France à la Renaissance,” Revue des études juives 115 (1956). Chapter 5. The Pope’s Jews Amado, P. “Le Théâtre judéo-comtadin, mémoire pour le diplôme d’études supérieures,” présenté à MM. G. Cohen and M. Cohen, Sorbonne, 1936. Bardinet, L. “Antiquité et organisation des juiveries du Comtat Venaissin,” Revue des études juives 1 (1880). . “La Condition civile des Juifs du Comtat Venaissin pendant le séjour des papes à Avignon,” Revue historique 12 (1880). . “Les Juifs du Comtat Venaissin au Moyen Âge, leur rôle économique et intellectuel,” Revue historique 14 (1880). . “La Condition civile des Juifs du Comtat Venaissin pendant le XVe siècle,” Revue des études juives 6 (1882). . “Documents relatifs à l’histoire des Juifs dans le Comtat Venaissin,” Revue des études juives 7 (1883). Bauer, J. “Les Conversions juives dans le Comtat Venaissin,” Revue des études juives 50 (1905). Bautier, R.-H. “Feux, population et structure sociale au milieu du XVe siècle: l’exemple de Carpentras,” Annales, Economies, Sociétés, Civilisations 2 (avril–juin 1958). Bourrilly, Joseph. Le Costume en Provence au Moyen Âge. Marseille: Institut Historique de Provence, 1929. Caillet, Robert. Un prélat bibliophile et philanthrope: Monseigneur d’Inguimbert, archevêque-évêque de Carpentras, 1683–1757. Lyon: Audin, 1952. Charpenne, Pierre. Histoire des réunions temporaires d’Avignon et du Comtat Venaissin à la France. Paris: C. Lévy, 1886.

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Chobaut, H. “Les Juifs d’Avignon et du Comtat et la Révolution française,” Revue des études juives 101–102 (1937). Cirot, Georges. Les Juifs de Bordeaux, leur situation morale et sociale, de 1550 à la Révolution. Bordeaux: Feret, 1920. De Maulde La Clavière, Réné. Les Juifs dans les États français du Saint-Siège au Moyen Âge. Paris: Champion, 1886. Kahn, S. “Thomas Platter et le Juifs d’Avignon,” Revue des études juives 25 (1892). Leroy, E. “Jean de Saint-Rémy, bisaïeul de Nostradamus,” Provence historique (Aix-en-Provence) 10 (avril–juin 1960). Lioubow, G. “A propos de César Brancas,” Bulletin de la Société des Amis du Vieux-Villeneuve (Villeneuve-lès-Avignon) 2 (1933). Loeb, I. “Statuts des Juifs d’Avignon (1779),” Annuaire de la Société des Études juives 1 (1881). . “Les Juifs de Carpentras sous le gouvernement pontifical,” Revue des études juives 12 (1886). Mossé, Armand. Histoire des Juifs d’Avignon et du Comtat-Venaissin. Paris: Lipschutz, 1934. Pansier, Pierre. “Les Médecins juifs à Avignon aux XIIIe, XIVe et XVe siècles,” Janus (Harlem), 1910. Roth, Cecil. “Sumptuary Laws of the Community of Carpentras,” Jewish Quarterly Review 18 (April 1928). Roth, C. “The Day of Shutting In,” American Hebrew and Jewish Tribune, 6 (April 1934). Roubin, N. La Vie commerciale des Juifs comtadins en Languedoc au XVIIIe siècle. Montpellier, 1898. Sabatier, Ernest. Chansons hébraïco-provençales des Juifs comtadins. Nîmes: A. Catélan, 1874. Sabatier, Ernest, ed. La Reine Esther: Tragédie provençale, reproduction de l’édition unique de 1774. Nîmes: André Catélan, 1877. Shatzmiller, Joseph. Recherches sur la communauté juive de Manosque au Moyen Âge, 1241–1329. Paris: Mouton, 1973. Szajkowski, Zosa. The Decline and Fall of Provençal Jewry. New York: Conference on Jewish Relations, 1944. . “The Language of the Jews in the Four Communities of Comtat Venaissin.” New York: YIVO, 1948.

Further Reading Suggested by the Translator Benbassa, Esther. The Jews of France: A History from Antiquity to the Present. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999. Calmann, Marianne. The Carrière of Carpentras. New York: Oxford University Press (for the Littman Library of Jewish Civilization), 1984. Farber, Jules B. (trans. from the English by Jacques Lévy). Les Juifs du Pape en Provence: Itinéraires. Arles: Actes Sud, 2003. The same publisher issued the English-language text (as The Pope’s Jews in France: Itineraries) in 2013, in an electronic edition only. Moulinas, René. Les Juifs du Pape (in the series “Présences du judaïsme”). Paris: Albin Michel, 1992.

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Conflicts between Neighbors in the Jewish Court: The Balance between Justice and Harmony Shlomo E. Glicksberg Yeshiva College, Johannesburg

Even though Jewish scholars have often given clear guidelines for behavior in certain situations, they have sometimes disagreed among themselves as to how much legal interference is called for in matters of social behavior. In this article, I wish to show the tension between the legislative attitude and the approach with less emphasis on legislation. The set of laws dealing with “avoiding aggravations” will be used as an example. The novelty of this set of laws is that they forbid certain actions that may in the future cause harm to another person, his property, or quality of life. The adherents of the legislative approach believe that the more specific social laws of this nature are, the better each individual knows what is expected of him and what he can expect of his neighbors. According to this view, such rules lead to an ideal society in which conflicts are rare. The other perspective, however, believes in instituting fewer legal prescriptions; actions which do not give rise to major casualties are left to the voluntary compliance of both sides, thus creating an atmosphere of harmony. The article follows these two viewpoints through later generations of post-talmudic literature and community laws (takkanot).

Introduction According to the Mishnah,1 the world is only sustained by the three attributes of justice, truth, and harmony. Justice is the quality that moderates between the two extremes of harmony and truth. Absolute truth is on one end of the spectrum, and perfect harmony is on the other. Justice – whether of the broader legislative kind,2 or the particular rulings made by regional courts – serves as a compromise between the two. 1 m. Avot 1:18. (English translations of talmudic sources throughout are by Nina Bloch.) 2 Sometimes, legislative decisions do not serve to determine who is correct and what the truth is, but rather to broker a compromise between the two parties and guide them through the peace process. This appears to be the background of the mishnah describing “two people who claim the same garment” – the ruling that they should split it does not determine who is actually right, but rather applies the concept of compromise to the case. The verdict only exists to apply

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In order to understand the roles of truth and peace in relation to the law, we must first distinguish between two judicial authorities. The various Torah sages over the generations make up the “legislative body” – they created an extensive canon of laws and ordinances,3 and in doing so constructed a legal infrastructure. The “jurisdictive body” is made up of the sages who served in courts of law; they dealt with topical issues and gave halakhic answers to actual conflicts that were brought to their attention, whether by issuing definitive rulings4 or by arriving at a compromise.5 There are clear boundaries dividing these two systems, which define the extent to which they interact. Some cases do not fall distinctly under either authority; we will explain the judicial approach to such situations later on. The jurisdictive body is encouraged to promote compromise.6 The Amora Rav (b. Sanhedrin 6b) supports the view of Rabbi Yehoshua ben Karcha that the court is obligated to suggest a compromise before issuing a final ruling.7 This section of Talmud seems to indicate that, even though the conciliation is

judicial authority to a practical situation in which both parties have a claim. See ĘĒČĐ ěčČ, Laws of Plaintiffs and Defendants, 9:7, and ęĕĤđĞĕĥ ġčđģ, 2:9:9. 3 A central part of the sages’ legislative activity over the ages was the codification of halakhah, based on both interpretation of primary sources and newer rulings. They instituted many new ordinances, which became concrete legislative changes. 4 Based on both halakhic sources and their own discretion. 5 See Owen Fiss, “Against Settlement,” 93 Yale Law Journal 1073 (1984); Carrie Menkel-Meadow, “For and Against Settlement: Uses and Abuses of the Mandatory Settlement Conference,” 33 UCLA Law Review 485 (1985). 6 See footnote 19. 7 That said, this explicit requirement of Rabbi Yehoshua ben Karcha’s is viewed as a minority opinion in the Gemara; the judge is not obligated to broker a compromise, only to suggest the possibility of compromise to the defendants. However, the Sefer Mitzvot Gadol states that “the judges must avoid, as far as possible, making an unequivocal ruling” (positive commandment 107, 189:4). Similarly, the Shulchan Arukh (Choshen Mishpat 12:20) rules that a judge should avoid giving an absolute ruling; over time, this principle transformed into an almost universal appreciation among courts as to the advantages of compromise. See Z.N. Goldberg, “ĐĤĥĠĐ ĕēčĥ,” in ěđĕďđ ěĕĕď ěĕď :ġĤČ ĕĔĠĥĚ (Ofra: Machon Mishpatei Eretz, 2006, 78–84). For the significance of compromise, see Y. Bazak, “ĕĤčĞĐ ĔĠĥĚč ĐĤĥĠ Ęĥ ĖĤďč ęĕėđĝėĝ čđĥĕ”, Sinai 71 (1971): 64–76; M. Elon, “ĐĤčēĐđ ĔĠĥĚĐ ĕďđĚĞ ĐĞčĤČđ ĐĥđĘĥ ĘĞ – ĐĤĥĠĐđ ęđĘĥĐ ĦĚČĐ ěĕďĐ”, Mechkarei Mishpat 14 (1997): 317; Y. Tirkel, “ĐĤĥĠĐ ĖĤď ĘĞ ěĕď ģĝĠ ĘĞđ ĐĤĥĠ ĘĞ:ĐĤĥĠĘ ďēČđ ěĕďĘ ďēČ”, Sha‘arei Mishpat 3:1 (2002): 13–24; B. Lifschitz, “ĐĤĥĠ”, in ěđĕďđ ěĕĕď ěĕď :ġĤČ ĕĔĠĥĚ (Ofra: Machon Mishpatei Eretz, 2002), 137–51; C. Shane and N. Shane, “ĦĕďđĐĕ ĐĤĥĠđ ĕĘČĤĥĕ, ĤđĥĕĎ”, Sha‘arei Mishpat 3:1 (2002): 111; I. Lifschitz, “ĕĤčĞĐ ĔĠĥĚč ĐĤĥĠĐ”, PhD diss., Bar-Ilan University, 2004; D.Y. Fogel, “ěĕďĐ Ħĕčđ ęđĘĥĐ ĤđĥĕĎĐ ĘĞ,” Techumin 23 (2003): 456; D. Miller, “ĤđĥĕĎđ ěĕď ĐĤĥĠ”, Techumin 23 (2003): 287–91; I. Lifschitz, “ĐĤĥĠč ěđĕďĐ ĦđĘđčĎ :?ěėĕĐ ďĞ ĐĤĥĠ”, Shnaton Hamishpat Ha’Ivri 24 (2006–2007): 63–122.

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brokered by the court,8 it is not an integral part of the legal system itself, but rather an extrajudicial process.9 Similarly, the Rashba rules: “After the final ruling has been given . . . the judge is not allowed to negotiate a compromise; but someone who is not a judge may broker a compromise outside of the formal court setting.”10 The judge himself is not allowed to broker the compromise once he has issued a verdict; only a third party, unconnected to the court, may do so. Instead of brokering a compromise before11 or during the ruling, the court might take an alternative approach – while issuing a definitive ruling, the court might encourage12 the vindicated party to act beyond the letter of the law.13 8 Consider the response of the Rosh: “I want to make clear that the court has no right to leave a case undecided; they must give a definitive ruling in order to promote peace. Therefore, the Sages gave judges the authority to rule using their own discretion in cases where the facts cannot be established through evidence or witnesses; whether via logic, instinct or compromise.” (Responsa of the Rosh 107:6) 9 This is supported by several sources; see A. Hafuta, “ĐĤĥĠ ěĕď ĕĤďĎč”, No‘am 16 (1973): 191; Moshe Tzvi Neria, “ĐĤĥĠĐ ĔĠĥĚ”, Jubilee Publication in Honor of Yosef Dov Soloveitchik, (Jerusalem/ New York: Machon Mishpatei Eretz, 1984), 358; Chaim David Halevi, ĔĠĥĚĐ Ĥčď 1 (Tel Aviv: self-published, 1964), 99. Also see the comments of B. Lifschitz, “ĐĤĥĠĐ”, in ěĕĕď ěĕď :ġĤČ ĕĔĠĥĚ ěđĕďđ, Ofra: Machon Mishpatei Eretz, 2002, 139–43; however, he concludes that compromise is “part of the judicial system” (143–51). 10 Responsa of the Rashba 1:111; Shulchan Arukh, Choshen Mishpat, Laws of Judges 12:2. The Sefer Meirat Einayim (Laws of Judges 12: 11) explains: “Whatever is done in the judge’s presence is considered to be with his full knowledge and accord.” 11 The Rambam and the Shulchan Arukh rule in accord with Rabbi Yehoshua ben Karcha that it is a mitzvah to broker a compromise, but they also rule according to the original view in the baraita that “once the judgment has been given, one is not allowed to compromise” (Ramban, Sanhedrin 22:4; Shulchan Arukh Choshen Mishpat, Laws of Judges 12:2.). Once the judge has given a formal ruling within the judicial setting, he cannot deviate to another course; but as long as he has not reached a definitive decision on the objective legal truth, he should promote and recommend compromise. (See ĐčĐČĚ ĐčđĥĦ Ħīđĥ, 1:2.) 12 For a discussion as to whether this is a judicial or extrajudicial process, see Ron Kleinman, “ĦĕĕĠė ęĕĕĤđčĕĢ ęĕĠđĎ ĘĞ ěĕďĐ ĦĤđĥĚ ęĕĜĠĘ Ęĥ ĦđĚĤđĜ”, Sefer Shamgar (2002): 469–504. 13 Several sages described the practice of going beyond the letter of the law (see, for example, b. Bava Qamma 99b, b. Bava Metzi‘a 30b), but these sources refer to voluntary interactions. On the other hand, b. Bava Metzi‘a 83a describes how Rav forced Rabba bar bar Chana to pay his porters, based on the verse in Mishlei “in order that you should walk on the path of virtue.” Often, when the judge rules according to the law, he might at the same time recommend to the vindicated party to go beyond the letter of the law; see Shmuel’s words to Rav Yehuda in b. Bava Metzi‘a 24b. See Menachem Elon: “The halakhic system distinguishes clearly between normative guidelines, which are imposed by legal sanctions, and more voluntary guidelines. But both legal rulings and moral imperatives have a common source and background, and so arises the halakhic phenomenon of the legal system itself appealing to ethical considerations, without compulsion from the court. The court does not absolve itself from the case just because it cannot reach a coercive legal solution” (ĕĤčĞĐ ĔĠĥĚĐ, part 1 [Jerusalem: Hebrew University

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There are also specific guidelines that the sages established through the legislative body. These principles did not always successfully replace accepted practice; sometimes they just elaborated on it, and left the final decision up to local custom.14 In these cases, the sages were not trying to replace existing halakhic practice; they wanted to get involved at a later stage,15 where accepted practice did not offer a solution, or where the solution it provided was ineffective or unjust.16 Obviously, there is no universal consensus as to what areas should be legislated – some favor a more hands-off approach, while others claim that it is preferable to legislate more. It should be noted that, in many fields, there is a fundamental disagreement as to what extent is it appropriate to regulate human behavior in the public arena. One side often wants to organize most areas of life in a well-defined and binding manner, while the other idealizes the individual’s personal liberty to independently moderate their behavior under most circumstances. It is possible that the root of this conflict stems from the level of trust placed in people and their motives.17 These differing approaches find expression

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Magnes Press, 1973], 126–28). Regarding Supreme Court rulings, he adds: “Under our current legal system, we cannot force a person to act beyond the letter of the law; it is up to the initiative and goodwill of the litigant. But it appears to me that, under certain circumstances, it is appropriate for the sitting judge to make such a suggestion . . . I myself would exhort the vindicated party to behave in a manner beyond the letter of the law and compensate the claimants as she originally intended, so that she can fulfill the instructions of our Sages, so that you should walk on the path of goodness, and preserve the ways of the wise (Mishlei 2:20), the source of the principle of going beyond the letter of the law.” (Civil claim 350/77, Kitan Ltd vs. Sarah Weiss et al., Ruling 33 (2), 785). See also Kleinman, “ĦđĚĤđĜ ĦĕĕĠė”. For the distinction between custom and practice, see M. Elon, ĕĤčĞĐ ĔĠĥĚĐ (Jerusalem: Hebrew University Magnes Press, 1973), part 1, 727. The motives for the sage’s involvement in various judicial areas were not always uniform, but it is possible to understand their fundamental conflict over whether or not to interfere. At times they specifically noted their decision not to get involved, for example, in cases where a suggested ordinance could not be tolerated by the community (see Responsa of the Rashba, 2:279). It would seem that the argument between those who negate the doctrine of “Daat Torah” (the practice of consulting rabbinic authorities on non-halakhic issues) and those hold it as binding, is in fact an argument over whether or not the sages have the authority to legislate on extra-halakhic issues. Many have written on this issue: B. Baron, “ęĕčĘĥ ĐĥđĘĥ :ĐĤđĦ ĦĞď ĦĜĕĤĔģđď”, Derekh Haruach 2 (2008): 537–600; Y.T. Shtern, “ĦđĕĜĕďĚ ĦđĕĎđĝĘ ĐėĘĐĐ Ęĥ ĐĦđĥĕĎĜ”, Mishpat V’Memshal 4:1 (1996): 215–42. Shtern does not seem to distinguish between legislative and jurisdictive activity. The British political philosopher Thomas Hobbes (1588–1679) held that the violent and uncontrollable nature of human behavior is a central truth of social life. Man is barely more inhibited than an animal. Only the looming presence of a strong state authority, prepared to punish infractions of the law, can prevent the gory anarchy which is the natural state of mankind (B. Zisser, đĜĜĚĒąěč ĕĎđĘđČĕďĕČĐ ēĕĥĘ čĜĥČ – ĘČĚĥ ĘĞđ ěĕĚĕ ĘĞ [Jerusalem: Shoken 1999], 72–73). On the other hand, the British philosopher John Locke (1632–1704) held that man has free will and can

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in economics,18 law,19 and social sciences.20 This question also arises in the halakhic world. In this article, I want to illustrate the tensions between the two views, as expressed through the laws of “avoiding aggravations,”21 and will also attempt to define a framework for the investigation of other judicial-halakhic topics.

Quarrels between Neighbors according to the Sages 1. A Discussion of the Views of Mishnaic Sages – A Trend toward More Legislation “One may not dig,” the second chapter of tractate Bava Batra, deals with the laws of neighbors.22 It contains fourteen mishnayot that deal with actions that

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control himself. Basic human principles are imprinted in man’s nature as a living, sapient being (Zisser, p. 88). The state was created for the specific purpose of maintaining order by arbitrating between people when they come into conflict. It is only there to ensure that the “rules of the game” are respected; it has no right to interfere any further (Zisser, p. 90). For regulatory process, see U. Arbel-Gantz, ĦēģĠĚĐ ĦđĥĤĐ – ĐĕĢĘđĎĤ (Jerusalem: Israel Democracy Institute, 2003), 9–35. The Tannaim disagree as to whether economic competition within a small area should be encouraged or regulated; see comment 25, where the baraita uses similar reasoning to that of Rabbi Yosi: “Each can agree to stay within their own sphere of activity.” In this context, we should mention the debate in Israel over whether the Supreme Court should get involved in issues which are not clearly questions of justiciability. Justice Barak holds that all issues are justiciable (“Fill the entire land with justice”) – that all human behavior is illuminated by the light of the law. Vice President M. Elon, on the other hand, believes that most human behavior is not covered by the law, and that the scope over which it is applied should be limited. See ruling 45 (1) 749 Supreme Court 1635/90 Yosef Zherzhevsky vs. the Prime Minister et al.; A. Bandor, “ģďĢĘ ĐđčĎĐ ĔĠĥĚĐ Ħĕčč ĦđĔĕĠĥĐ”, Mishpatim 17 (1987): 592–636; A. Barak, “ĦĠģĥĐ ĘĞ ĕĔđĠĕĥ ęĒĕčĕĔģČđ ĔđĠĕĥđ ĔĠĥĚ Ĥčďč ęĘđĞ”, Iyunei Mishpat 17 (1992): 475–501. There is major debate over the relative importance of the state’s ability to legislate, vs. the rights of the individual and society. Anarchism and libertarianism promote the freedom of the individual, and so seek to limit state coercion to an absolute minimum (the state taking the form of a “security guard”). Socialism, on the other hand, seeks to foster a dialogue with the state in order to bring about discipline. For a review of anarchist philosophy, see A. Yassur, :ęĒĕėĤĜČ ĐĕĎđĘđĦĜČ (Tel Aviv: Resling, 2008), 8–10, and the articles he references. In addition, there is a philosophy that is not anarchist in nature, but seeks to empower civilian society in relation to the state, and to encourage volunteer organizations to deal with societal ills. For a description of this “civilian society,” see, e.g., Y. Yishai, ĘČĤĥĕč ĦĕēĤĒČĐ ĐĤčēĐ ĝđĕĠĘ ĝđĕĎ ěĕč (Jerusalem: Carmel, 2004), 22–49. An initial discussion can be found in the writings of S. Albek, ďđĚĘĦč ĦđĜđĚĚĐ ĕĜĕď (Jerusalem: BarIlan, 1983), 420–55; A. Scheinfeld, ĘČĤĥĕĘ ģđē ĦĤďĝ ,ěĕģĕĒĜ, ed. N. Rakover (Jerusalem: Moreshet Hamishpat B’Yisrael, 1992), 180–208. However, neither of these books relate to Rabbi Yosi’s view. A further discussion can be found in my doctoral dissertation, “ĕĤčĞĐ ĔĠĥĚč ĐčĕčĝĐ ĦđėĕČ ęĕďĤĔĚ ĦģēĤĐ :(ĐĕĎđĘđģČ)”, Bar-Ilan University, 2004. In general, it could be said that this chapter is comprised of three sequential debates, each

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could cause aggravations between neighbors. This topic is colloquially known among poskim as “neighbors’ aggravations” or “avoiding aggravations.” Not all the mishnayot refer to quantitative damages; some discuss small, cumulative damages; others discuss irritants – actions that negatively affect the neighbor’s quality of life or peace of mind. Fundamentally, the primary novelty of this chapter is the fact that the Mishnah forbids a priori any action that could later cause physical, financial, or emotional damage to another person.23 This is a very localized view, focusing on the viewpoints of the defendant and the plaintiff. However, one could also take a broader view, seeing the individual as part of society, and the defendant and plaintiff as society’s representatives. From this perspective, these halakhot can be seen as intended to create a pleasant atmosphere in the community, where there are clear laws defining the permitted and forbidden. The individual can live securely in such a society, because the behavior of others is predictable. These ordinances, like most others, are intended to prevent conflict and quarrels from arising24 – to cut them off at the root. Each person understands his obligations and is expected to behave in the same way as his neighbor.25 dealing with a different environment. The first part (Mishnah 1–6) deals with conflicts over the boundaries between two domains: two courtyards (Mishnah 1, 4, 5, the end of 3), or neighbors living on two different floors (2, 3). The second part (7–9) deals with actions that constitute a nuisance in an urban environment. The third part (11–14) concludes the chapter with agricultural damages. Alternatively, one could divide the topics of the mishnayot into three main categories: a) ordinances dealing with public irritants, such as darkness (Mishnah 2 and 4), air pollution (8 and 9), and blocking a view (7); b) ordinances intended to prevent cumulative damage (Mishnah 1, 3, and 2 partially); c) ordinances intended to prevent concrete damage (Mishnah 2, referring to an oven, and Mishnah 5, referring to a dovecote). 23 Beyond the superficial legal context of protecting citizens’ rights, the institution of these laws also has the psychological aim of creating a society where each person can feel safe and secure from future injuries. This idea is expressed by several Rishonim, for example Tosfot (b. Bava Batra 17b, beginning ěĕģĕēĤĚ): “In addition, it will be an effort to remove them; he might worry that the neighbor will not remove them in time for him to build the wall.” (Many Rishonim wrote in a similar note – Ramban in his commentary to the Talmud, b. Bava Batra 18a; Responsa of the Rashba 1:1:144; Rashbam, b. Bava Batra 60a, beginning “One may not dig a pit in the public domain.” 24 There are other ordinances that were instituted solely to prevent conflict. See b. Bava Metzi‘a 8a: “The rabbis made this rule so that people would not come to fight.” The Shulchan Arukh (Choshen Mishpat 269:4) also states that “the sages ruled that they be compelled to purchase, so that they would not come to quarrel.” 25 Moshe Tzvi Neria takes this view regarding the position of Rabbi Eliezer son of Rabbi Yosi Haglili forbidding a compromise brokered by the “judicial authority” (b. Sanhedrin 6b). He explains how the acceptance of a definitive judicial ruling actually promotes harmony. “Even if complete harmony between the litigants is not achieved at the time, ultimately the world will be more peaceful, since the court is educating the public in the pleasant ways of the Torah. Its paths of truth will become widespread, and will ultimately impress a greater degree of harmony on the

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The named Tannaim who can be identified as the authors of these mishnayot (as we will see later on) held that it was preferable to create more numerous and more detailed rules; each person would then understand his exact obligations and what he could expect from his neighbors, which would thus eliminate quarrels. The sages’ intent in making these rules is explained by the Rosh: “For [the Torah]’s ways are pleasant, and all its paths are harmonious. The Torah demands that a person should not behave on his own property in a way that would cause harm to his neighbor’s.”26 The Rosh clearly felt that more prohibitions27 of this type would ultimately lead to a more harmonious and orderly society.

2. Description of the View of Rabbi Yosi – A Trend toward Less Legislation The chapter, “One may not dig,” as described above, is in essence a description of the views of the main group of sages. The whole principle of “aggravation avoidance” is associated with the “default” group of sages. On the other hand,

world . . . It is forbidden for a court to broker a compromise, as the harmony it brings about will be fragmented. Compromise leaves the truth undecided; it allows each side to remain convinced that he is correct, and that the other party benefited from the compromise. The issue itself also remains undecided; in time it will arise again between other litigants, creating more conflict. (“ĐĤĥĠĐ ĔĠĥĚ”, in ģĕĪĢĕĕčđĘđĝ čď ğĝđĕ čĤĐ ďđčėĘ ĘčđĕĐ ĤĠĝ (Jerusalem: [Mossad HaRav Kook, 1983], 362–63). For more on the court’s role as educator, see M. Moutner, ęĕėĤĞĐ ĦĕĕĘĞđ ęĒĕĘĚĤđĠĐ ĦďĕĤĕ ĕĘČĤĥĕĐ ĔĠĥĚč (Tel Aviv: Maaglei Daat, 1992); B. Medina, “čđĥĕĕ – ĤđĥĕĎĐ ĦĕĕĘĞđ ęĒĕĘĚĤđĠĐ ĦďĕĤĕ ĦđģđĘēĚ Ęĥ ĕĔĠĥĚ ěđĤĦĠč ĐĚėĝĐč ęĕėđĝėĝ”, Nekudat Mifgash 1 (2003): 31. 26 Rav Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook, in his introduction to Bava Qamma (Winter 1931), as documented by Rav Neria, explains: “These laws provide a practical way to avoid causing any potential damage. They prevent conflict between neighbors and increase harmony, as each person’s rights and obligations are predefined.” (“ěĕĤďĐĜĝđ ČĚģ Ččč ĦđĦėĝĚĘ ĦđēĕĦĠ”, Techumin 7 [1988]: 273.) In general, Herzog sees the purpose of the Jewish court as a means to achieving peace: “Among non-Jews, justice is an artificial, mechanical process; but for us, the whole point of the judicial system is to bring about harmony. The prophet [Zechariah] exhorted us to ‘render truth, justice, and peace in your gateways’, and the Talmud Yerushalmi (in the third chapter of Megillah) describes how the world is sustained only by justice, truth, and harmony. If justice is performed with honesty, then there will be peace. But engaging in excessive litigation does not bring about harmony; therefore, sometimes compromise must be coerced if justice cannot bring peace.” (Y.I. Hertzog, Heikhal Yitzchak, Oraḥ Ḥayyim 14). However, Rav Kook warns: “Divine justice flows from the Heavenly source of truth. Therefore, its purpose is not a short-term goal of resolving momentary conflicts; rather, it aims to elevate all of existence . . . it allows God’s Presence into the world, which facilitates the advancement of mankind . . . ” (Olat Re’aya, 2:59). 27 The concept of a “prohibition” belongs to the world of religious law. On the difficulty of implementing legal societal norms that originate from religious prohibitions, see Y. Englard, “ĤģēĚ đĕĦđĤĔĚđ đĦđĐĚ – ĕĤčĞĐ ĔĠĥĚĐ”, Mishpatim 7 (1976): 34–65.

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the view of Rabbi Yosi, as expressed in two mishnayot,28 was viewed by the Amoraim as an alternate approach; he did not mandate preemptive legislation except in cases where direct and unambiguous damage would be caused. An analysis of these two mishnayot that express the view of Rabbi Yosi, and similar Toseftas and baraitot that appear throughout the Talmud, shows that it is unclear whether Rabbi Yosi disagrees categorically with regard to all the mishnayot and the underlying stance of the sages, or whether he disagrees only in these two particular cases. In certain of the sources Rabbi Yosi explains his reasoning; in some, the logic seems localized and specific, while in others the issue appears to be one of principle. It is also unclear which of these sources are primary, wherein Rabbi Yosi is actually explaining his logic, and which are later sources that were adapted by others to align with the understanding that Rabbi Yosi categorically disagreed with the position of the sages expressed in the Mishnah.29 Regardless, from the fifth generation of Babylonian Amoraim onwards, the view of Rabbi Yosi was indisputably accepted as a cardinal position in opposition to that of the sages. In light of this conclusion, and the later positions held by the Geonim, Rishonim, and Aḥaronim based on this section of Talmud, it is important to understand the fundamental reasoning underlying this view.

3. An Explanation of the View of Rabbi Yosi Why does Rabbi Yosi disagree? Why does he not support making rules at the outset to avoid aggravations? I will try to suggest several possibilities, each of which represents a different model for resolving conflict, or for creating an environment which avoids

28 An additional, anonymous Tannaitic source for this view is brought in the Babylonian Talmud with reference to a discussion about legislative involvement in economic life, specifically the issue of encroaching on retail territory. The discussion begins with a statement by the Amora Rav Huna: “There was a resident of an alley who set up a mill, and subsequently another resident also set up a mill next to him. The law is that the first miller may prevent him from opening, as he is disrupting his livelihood” (b. Bava Batra 21b). The Talmud then brings an argument in the form of a baraita: “A person may set up a shop or a bathhouse next to a similar business, and the first storekeeper cannot prevent him, because the newcomer can say ‘You operate in your space, and I will operate in mine’” (b. Bava Batra 21b). 29 For a detailed discussion of this question, see Glicksberg, “ĦėĝĚ Ęĥ č ģĤĠ Ęĥ đĕĠđČĘ :ģĒĜĘ ďĤĔĚ ěĕč ČĤĦč Ččč”, Hebrew Union College Annual 79 (2008): 28–29. In the framework of the current article, I will rely on the conclusions drawn in this previous article, since the historical question of what the actual view of Rabbi Yosi was is not relevant to the clarification of the fundamental halakhic position that is referred to by the Babylonian Talmud as the view of Rabbi Yosi, which is our topic here.

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conflict. I will attempt to use reasoning associated with various sources that support the view of Rabbi Yosi.30 1. Rabbi Yosi is not interested in regulating relations between neighbors beyond a reasonable extent. In his view, the legislator should not get involved in issues beyond this boundary.31 It would seem that this view can be corroborated by several statements of Rabbi Yosi in other sources.32 2. Rabbi Yosi believes in a balanced approach. The sages establish the plaintiff ’s rights as paramount. In Rabbi Yosi’s view, sometimes, the activity that causes the damage is more essential than the rights of the plaintiff.33 This understanding can also be corroborated by several sources.34 3. Rabbi Yosi does not support excessive legislation on this matter because he wishes to take a balanced approach. Under a fixed code of conduct between neighbors or members of society, where both sides have a variety of assets, it is not always clear who is the person causing damage – the same action could cause one to be a plaintiff or a defendant under different circumstances. Therefore, in order to establish a reasonable way of life, the system of interpersonal relationships should be based on compromise and forgiveness, not on forbidding certain actions or an excessive reliance on the courts. Rabbi Yosi holds that, as long as the infraction is not so serious as to necessitate the involvement of society, it is preferable to place the responsibility on the voluntary compliance of the individuals, and to create an atmosphere of mutual conciliation.35 Sometimes the first person will be offended and will forgive, at 30 For more details on these sources and reasoning, see my aforementioned article. 31 As long as the situation has not reached the extent of direct and unambiguous damage, referred to in halakhic terminology as “ĐĕĘĕď ĕĤĕĎ”. 32 Tosefta (Bava Batra, Lieberman, 1:9): “Rabbi Yosi permits sowing mustard, because the second person can say: ‘Just as you acted freely on your property, I can act freely on mine.’” Mishnah (Bava Batra 2:11): “One party may dig on his property, and the other may plant on his.” This reasoning also appears in the baraita dealing with the establishment of retail competition: “Because the second person can say, ‘You operate in your sphere, and I will operate in mine.’” 33 The second option relates to the magnitude of importance attached to the damaged property, from the point of view of its owner or society at large. This value may be monetary or otherwise. The third option strikes a compromise – it also emphasizes the point of view of the defendant, but fundamentally with a view to achieving harmony. 34 Tosefta (Bava Batra 1:12): “Rabbi Yosi permits it, because the whole purpose of fields is to plant them.” Yerushalmi (Bava Batra 2:13:73): “Rabbi Yosi answered the Sages, ‘Just as digging wells is important to civilization, planting trees is also important to civilization.’” 35 At all times, we should keep in mind the parallel debate by the jurisdictive body about the advantages of compromise, both from an ideological perspective, and from the point of view of the societal implications of such an approach to conflict resolution. See A. Deutsch, :ĤđĥĕĠ ĤĤđĞĦĚĐ ģĜĞĐ (Tel Aviv: Israel Bar Association, 1998); M. Rottenberg, ĐĤĥĠĐ Ęĥ ęĕĕėĤĞĐ ĦđďđĝĕĐ (Master’s thesis, Hebrew University, 2001), 147

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other times the second.36 This is a reality that facilitates a normal life, without excessive litigation – a life based on mutual understanding and goodwill.37 The connection between the two possible explanations can be seen in the following baraita: “Rabbi Yosi permitted sowing mustard, because the person could say: Why should I move my mustard away from your bees? Move your bees away from my mustard! Your bees are eating my mustard plants!”38 This source establishes the possibility of mutual damage; the owner of the mustard is hurting the owner of the bees, and vice versa. Sometimes the damage is quantifiable; in other cases the issue is that the injured party cannot freely run his life and fully exploit his assets. Rabbi Yosi sees the request to move the irritant as an infringement on the property rights of the owner, who is entitled to a normal life.

4. Rabbi Yosi’s Approach This trend of compromise dovetails well with Rabbi Yosi’s view;39 as described in several Tannaitic sources, Rabbi Yosi’s approach was to keep disagreement with his colleagues to an absolute minimum.40 He often took a view that mod36 For a discussion of binary compromise, see I. Lifschitz (n. 7 above) 165–87. 37 This preference for harmony rather than legislation can be explained by reference to another discussion: the nature of compromise, which is a means of bringing about harmony without reference to the courts. M. Rottenberg, ĐĤĥĠĐ Ęĥ ęĕĕėĤĞĐ ĦđďđĝĕĐ (Master’s thesis, Hebrew University, 2001), p. 87, discusses how Rabbi Yehoshua could promote compromise as an alternative to a Beit Din ruling, when justice is considered a divine function. According to Rottenberg, “Rabbi Yehoshua held that the law was not only intended to be implemented literally, but also serves as a value orientation for the general principles that should be followed. Court cases are intended to establish the boundary conditions of society when it fails to be governed by mutual agreement and goodwill, and serve to enforce law and order. But compromise attests to man’s ability to agree to an independent solution to his conflicts and quarrels, and the Torah supports this effort.” I. Lifschitz, “ĦĕďđĐĕ ĐĤĥĠđ ĕĘČĤĥĕ ĤđĥĕĎ”, (PhD diss., Bar-Ilan University, 2004), 286–89, moderates this conclusion somewhat. But the common denominator, particular to monetary cases, is that they are discussing independent legislation that is intended to settle conflicts as soon as they arise; obviously, if the conflict is resolved by itself, there is no need for legislative involvement. I view the ordinances of the chapter “One may not dig” as social, not religious, regulations, based on textual analysis and comparisons to similar cultures; Glicksberg, Phd diss., 75–90 (see n. 21). 38 b. Bava Batra 18a. 39 He also tended to be particular about going beyond the letter of the law; I will discuss this briefly below. 40 In the halakhic world, there are opposing views toward the concept of disagreement itself. Some see halakhic disputes as an ideal that reflects the Creator’s will. Others see them as necessary to the world of halakhah, but not ideal. Finally, there are some who see disagreement as a deviation from the proper path of halakhah, and therefore hold that it should be kept to an absolute minimum. For an extended discussion of this idea, see Avi Shagi, ēĕĥĐ Ęĥ đĦđĞĚĥĚ – đĘČđ đĘČ ĘČĤĥĕ ĦđĤĠĝč ěđĕĞ :ĕĦėĘĐĐ (Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 1996).

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erated between two conflicting sides.41 For example, in the Mishnah in Terumot, Rabbi Yosi suggests an opinion that compromises between the views of Rabbi Meir and Rabbi Yehuda: “If a person removes hot bread from the oven and places it on the opening of a barrel of terumah wine, Rabbi Meir holds that the bread is forbidden; Rabbi Yehuda holds that it is permitted; Rabbi Yosi holds that it is permitted if the bread is made of wheat, but forbidden if it is made of barley, since barley is porous.”42 He takes a similar moderating approach in the Mishnah in Yoma,43 as well as in the baraita in Pesaḥim,44 the baraita in Ta‘anit,45 and the baraita in Mo‘ed Qatan.46 One could make the case that every one of Rabbi Yosi’s rulings is based on specific, localized reasoning. However, because of the frequency of this phenomenon, it seems more reasonable to look for a common underlying value – the desire to minimize disagreement. This approach matches up well with Rabbi Yosi’s fundamental stance on dispute as undesirable; he did not see conflict as a reality that enriches debates and reveals new dimensions, but as stemming from a lack of effort and attention to detail.47 41 One can perhaps understand in this context Rabbi Yosi’s silence when Rabbi Yehuda was praising the actions of the Romans and Rabbi Shimon was vilifying them, as described in b. Shabbat 33b. He was exiled to Tzippori for this silence. This reticence can be understood not as a lack of conviction or opinion, but as an acceptance of both viewpoints. 42 Terumot 10:3. 43 Yoma 4:6: “Every day there were four bonfires, and on Yom Kippur there were five, according to Rabbi Meir. Rabbi Yosi held that there were three every day, and four on Yom Kippur. Rabbi Yehuda held that there were two every day, and three on Yom Kippur.” 44 b. Pesaḥim 78a: “Rav Pappa said to Abaye: ‘Rabbi Yosi is like a contract that finds in favor of both parties! There is a baraita in which Rabbi Yosi says, ‘I agree with Rabbi Eliezer in Zevaḥim, and with Rabbi Yehoshua in Zevaḥim; with Rabbi Eliezer in Menaḥot, and with Rabbi Yehoshua in Menaḥot.’” 45 b. Ta‘anit 26b: “The baraita teaches that the Kohanim bless the nation at Shacharit, Mussaf, Mincha, and Ne’ilah, according to Rabbi Meir. Rabbi Yehuda holds that they bless at Shacharit and Mussaf, but not at Mincha or Ne’ilah. Rabbi Yosi holds that they do bless at Ne’ilah, but not at Mincha.” 46 b. Mo‘ed Qatan 26b: “The rabbis taught: the initial tearing is a handbreadth, and the extra is three finger-breadths, according to Rabbi Meir; Rabbi Yehuda holds the initial tearing is three finger-breadths, and the extra can be of any length. Ula said, ‘The law is according to Rabbi Meir for the initial tearing, and according to Rabbi Yehuda for the extra. There is a baraita that supports this: Rabbi Yosi holds that the tearing is a handbreadth, and the extra can be of any length.’” 47 b. Sanhedrin 88b: “Rabbi Yosi said: ‘Initially there was not a lot of disagreement in Israel. The supreme court of seventy-one judges sat in the Chamber of Hewn Stone, and there were another two courts of twenty-three judges – one at the entrance to the Temple Mount, and one at the entrance to the Temple courtyard. Additional courts of twenty-three judges were positioned in all the cities . . . When the disciples of Hillel and Shammai became less erudite, disagreement became more common, and the Torah lost its cohesion.’” Rabbi Yosi describes some of his

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5. The Disagreement between the Sages and Rabbi Yosi as Representative of Two Approaches I. The Trend toward More Regulation A study of later sources shows that Rabbi Yosi’s view was accepted in theory, but not in practice; the authority of the Tannaitic majority was considered greater, and the Amoraim and Rishonim accepted most of the practices described in the Mishnah, either because they considered the injury being avoided as “ direct and unambiguous,” or for other reasons. This trend does not only apply to these specific laws in the Mishnah. Throughout talmudic and post-talmudic debates, we see that the sages’ trend toward expanding regulation was the one that prevailed; other legal structures continue the theme of “aggravation avoidance.” It would seem that we can understand two additional Amoraic principles in this light: Indirect causation: the concept of “indirect causation” was originated by the Amora Rav Tuvi bar Matna. The idea is that one must avoid not only directly creating an aggravation, but also acting in a way that could cause an aggravation.48 This Amoraic principle creates an additional tier in the Mishnaic concept of irritants. It not only acknowledges the Tannaitic principle of avoiding emotional aggravations as well as physical damages, but also extends that concept to an additional rule to avoid causing aggravations indirectly. Victimless aggravations: The first topic in the Talmud in this chapter49 adds an additional tier of regulation, brought anonymously by the talmudic sages.50 A careful study of the chapter’s methodology demonstrates how these sages tried to create new legal tools in order to make life easier for the property owner and prevent aggravations from being created, even if there is no strict legal recourse. The Amoraim disagree as to whether it should be forbidden to act in a way that does not cause any harm now, but might lead to an aggravation being individual practices for limiting interpersonal conflict: “Rabbi Yosi said: ‘I have never contradicted my peers. I know that I am not a Kohen, yet if my colleagues told me to go up to make the priestly blessing, I would go up.’ Further, Rabbi Yosi said: ‘I have never said anything and been afraid that someone was listening behind my back’” (b. Shabbat 118b). 48 This can be seen in two sections of the Talmud: b. Bava Batra 22b (the discussion of Rav Yosef and Abaye), and b. Bava Batra 23b (the discussion on Rav Tuvi bar Matna’s words). 49 b. Bava Batra 17b. 50 Introductory sections of the Talmud, such as our section, are widely attributed by talmudic scholarship to the Savora’im, the anonymous sages of the Talmud. See, e.g., A. Cohen, “ĐĕĕĠđČĘ ęĕĜđČĎĐ ĦĤđĝĚđ ěĕĥđďĕģ ĥĕĤ ĕĘččĐ ĦĕĕĎđĝ :ĦĕČĤđčĝĐ ĐėĘĐĐ Ęĥ”, Laws of Israel 24 (2006): 161–214.

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created in the future. The Talmud goes even further, suggesting that the Amoraim’s discussion concerns digging a pit adjacent to a field in which pits are not usually dug. The very idea that this Amoraic debate might be over a field that is not usually used for pits changes the discussion dramatically. It suggests that the talmudic concept of nuisances, and perhaps even the Tannaitic concept as well,51 refers not only to concrete damage – not only to aggravations or potential irritants – but to actions that may constitute a nuisance in an unlikely state of affairs that could come about in the future. Indeed, the Talmud’s conclusion is that even harming the potential future financial value of an asset constitutes actual damage, and considers this potential future harm sufficient legal grounds for preventing the owner of the courtyard from digging his pit close to the edge.

II. The Trend toward Less Regulation On the other hand, the viewpoint of Rabbi Yosi has endured; there are a number of more lenient rulings that acknowledge and protect the needs of the individual and his interests. For example, the Rashba rules in a responsum that, despite the Mishnah’s explicit prohibition to dig pits or extend ledges in the public domain,52 one may do so today. He says that, because today everybody does so out of necessity, we assume that such actions are pardonable. He explains that this is the custom of the world; “everyone is used to it, nobody abstains from such behavior; everybody needs to do it, and so they willingly excuse each other.”53

III. The Development of the Two Views – A Study of Communal Laws In the Jewish judicial tradition, ordinances and accords provided the means for solving issues that had no legal precedent in halakhah, as well as for changing existing practice when real-life circumstances demanded it. The sages of past generations regularly made new decrees governing interpersonal and domestic relationships. Some of these rules were intended to promote a pleasant atmosphere in society; others addressed specific issues that arose at the time due to contemporary situations. The legal basis for instituting binding decrees is disputed by the Rishonim, 51 In accordance with the Talmud’s attempt to prove this possibility based on Tannaitic sources. 52 Bava Batra 3:8. 53 Responsa of the Rashba, 2:292. The Rashba’s explicit intent is to excuse the widespread custom which exists in direct defiance of the explicit ruling of the Talmud, as he does regarding various other halakhic topics.

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the Aḥaronim, and modern academic researchers. One approach views the decrees as being accepted through voluntary communal compliance, no different from any other mutually approved business contract.54 However, a diametrically different understanding gained traction in Jewish communities: the decrees were viewed as being forcibly instituted by communal judiciaries, guided by halakhic principles.55 This view is the basis on which we will present our studies of various decrees found in halakhic literature. Our research has revealed an impressive list of ordinances related to our topic, instituted by sages and community leaders in different places and at different times.56 A study of the different ordinances shows how the two approaches expressed themselves in practice. Just as the Amoraim expanded their definition of cases that were legally actionable, later sages also made additional decrees that raised the bar regarding protection for the plaintiff. For example, the regulations of Meah She’arim explicitly rule that, even though the halakhah follows the more lenient view of Rabbi Yosi, in practice one is obligated to follow the more stringent view of the sages: Each person is obligated to be careful, even in private, not to cause any damage or pain to any of his neighbors. This applies to causing noise, smoke, or earth tremors. Even if his close neighbors do not mind, his more distant neighbors can still object. Accepted practice is no excuse (as noted in Choshen Mishpat 150), unless he can ensure that his neighbors are not inconvenienced at all. All this is up to the discretion of the community leaders. All residents must be careful not to cause their neighbors any damage, even indirectly. There should be harmony and amity between neighbors; if any conflict arises, they should present it to the governing committee. The intent of the legislators is clear – to promote harmony by instituting decrees. Each person understands what is permitted and forbidden, and so there “is harmony and amity between them.”

54 This approach is most strongly expressed in the words of Rabbeinu Tam (see Mordechai, Bava Batra, 1:480), as well as by many later Rishonim and Aḥaronim (Talmudic Encyclopedia, ĕčđĔ ĤĕĞĐ, vol. 19, pp. 78–84). See A. Rechnitz, “ěĕď Ħĕč ĦđėĚĝė ĦđĜģĦ ěģĦĘ ĘĐģĐ ĦđėĚĝ”, in ěĕĕď ěĕď – ġĤČ ěđĕďđ (Ofra: Machon Mishpatei Eretz, 2001), 515–17 (“the limiting trend”). 55 This approach was most clearly expressed by the words of the Ra’avya (see Mordechai, Bava Batra: I: 482), and in more detail by the Rashba. Many Rishonim and Aḥaronim supported this understanding; see Rechnitz, Bava Batra, pp. 512–14 (“the expansive trend”). The Rama ruled according to this approach in Choshen Mishpat 2:1, and it was widely accepted by scholars of Jewish law. 56 See Glicksberg, “ĦđĘĕĐģĐ ĦđĜģĦč ĐčĕčĝĐ ĦđėĕČ”, Siach Sadeh 7 (2010): 15–42.

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The annals of the community of Verona from the sixteenth century show an even greater stringency than the law required: The inspectors need to be vigilant with regard to repairing and fortifying the ghetto’s windows and skylights, and the committee can force the public to make repairs . . . From this day forth, no resident may build his house (or part thereof) in such a way that blocks his neighbor’s light in any way, even if he builds at a distance of eight amot or more and gets permission from the surrounding houses. Even though he might be permitted to do so according to the law, we have instituted this rule for the public benefit; residence in the ghetto is considered to be conditional upon accepting such ordinances.57 (The emphasis is my own.) On the other hand, we can see the second approach in many ordinances, where the underlying attitude is one of mutual forgiveness and conciliation. The founders of the settlement of Petach Tikvah ruled that, even though the sages forbade grazing sheep in Israel58 and maintaining dovecotes within the city boundaries,59 it was necessary in this case for the residents to excuse such things: “We undertake that each person should waive his rights in this area. Anyone may raise sheep; but not goats, because they cause more damage. If the animals cause any obvious damage, the owner must pay in accordance with the law; however, any damage of which the plaintiff is unaware is assumed to be forgiven.”60 Sometimes the reason for the adoption of this approach is the pressure exerted by the realities of life, and not necessarily a fundamental preference for legally mandated conciliation. However, the choice itself to deal with these external pressures in this particular way indicates an inclination toward this point of view. Take, for example, an ordinance instituted by the sages of Ancona in the eighteenth century. In his responsum Shemesh Tzedaka, Rabbi Shimshon Morpurgo responded to the question why the Shulchan Arukh’s rulings on avoiding aggravations are not followed in practice. He answered that the original prohibition was instituted for the benefit of the city residents, who needed such laws to keep the peace. However, “in our country, where we are isolated and segregated in a small Jewish area, such rules would be too much for the

57 Y. Buxenbaum, Regulations of the Community of Verona 345–360, part 2 (Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, 1988), 636. 58 m. Bava Qamma 7:7. 59 m. Bava Batra 2:5. 60 ‘“ĐđģĦąēĦĠ ĦĤčēč ĐĕĥĞĚ ĦĕĥČĤ ĤĥČ ,čđĥĕĐ ĕďĝĕĕĚ ĦďđĎČ ĦĤčēĘ ěđĤėĒĐđ ĦĕĤčĐ ĤĠĝ” (Jerusalem: Frumkin, 1881), “General behavior in the community,” ordinance 7.”

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community to deal with.”61 Rabbi Morpurgo added that the local sages had decided that, because of the situation, each person would presumably forgive a priori any aggravation that occurred. It seems reasonable that other communities were similar regarding constraints on available space. Even though not all these places explicitly mandated collective forgiveness, it would seem that they all relied on the assumption that everyone understood the situation and so would absolve each other.62

6. Virtuousness and Going beyond the Letter of the Law: The Voluntary Approach Until now, in trying to understand Rabbi Yosi’s view, we have focused on the voluntary approach as implemented before the stage of legislation. But one can also address the problem at the other end of the process. The framework in which halakhah is developed ensures that there are limits to what it can demand. It can only legislate to a certain extent. Beyond that point, the sages sometimes recommended that we act piously, beyond the letter of the law. In an article that I hope to publish soon, I explain that the sages defined not only the laws concerning aggravations and the environment, but recommended also a more general attitude. The halakhic rules outlined by the Mishnah demonstrate that each person should be careful not to bother another by his actions. This constitutes the law; but the additional tier of prohibitions indicates that sometimes a person has to give up some of his rights for the sake of his neighbor’s welfare or quality of life. The Rambam ruled this way in practice, concluding his “Laws of Neighbors” with: “The sages did not dictate that a person behave this way; rather, one should do so out of virtuousness and goodwill.”63 61 ĐģďĢ ĥĚĥ, Choshen Mishpat 34:11. For more on this, see Ilani, “ąđĘđģČ ęĕďĤĔĕĚč ĘđĠĕĔč ĦđĘĕĞĕ ĕĘđģĕĥ ĦđĕĜĤďđĚ ĦđĕĘėĘė ĦđĕĤđČĕĦ ęĞ ĐČđđĥĐč ĐėĘĐĐ ĦđĤĠĝč ęĕĕĎ”, The Hebrew Legal Annual 16–17 (1989–1991): 64, 67. It is interesting to consider the relevance of this reasoning in modern Israeli life, beyond the constraints of the ghetto. Yosef Shalom Elyashiv, as quoted in ĔĠĥĚč ěđĕĢ (Jerusalem: selfpublished, 1989), 139, claims that people do not follow these laws because there is insufficient space between houses, and expresses a wish that the municipality would allocate enough land for such observance to be feasible. 62 As can be understood from the response of the Rashba, 2:292: “Everyone is used to it, nobody abstains from such behavior; everybody needs to do it, and so they willingly excuse each other.” 63 Rambam, Hilkhot Kinyan, Neighbors 14:5. This principle is explained best by the Maggid Mishneh (Vidal of Tolosa) (Neighbors 14:5) “Our perfect Torah gave us an opportunity to correct our character traits and behavior. It commanded us to ‘be holy’; our Sages explain (b. Yevamot 20a) that ‘you should sanctify yourself through your legitimate activities, and not be steeped in lust.’ Similarly, the Torah commands you shall do what is good and decent; one should behave toward others with decency and integrity. It is not appropriate for the Torah to command us in every detail of this – the mitzvoth of the Torah are applicable to every time and place, whereas appropriate behavior can vary according to the context. Therefore the Sages gave us a few general

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This approach complements the previous one; both promote an atmosphere of conciliation as ideal for maintaining harmony between neighbors. Legislation cannot cover all areas of life, and only an environment of conciliation and peacefulness can preserve such relationships. This dovetails with the view64 of another Rabbi Yosi,65 who saw amity as an ideal way of life for which one should strive: “[Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai] said to [his students], ‘Tell me what is the best character trait that a person can have.’ . . . Rabbi Yosi said, ‘To be a good neighbor.”66 This was the approach of Rabbi Yosi HaKohen, and possibly also that of Rabbi Yosi ben Chalafta: good neighborly relations can be best achieved in an environment of conciliation, rather than through excessive legislation. Such regulation can limit one’s ability to fully enjoy life, and might even create additional tension. Perhaps this is what the sages meant when they said: “Jerusalem was only destroyed because they ruled strictly according to the Torah . . . and did not go beyond the letter of the law” (b. Bava Metzi‘a 30b).

details in order to establish the principle.” It would appear that his source was the Ramban’s commentary on the Torah, Devarim 6:18. 64 It also meshes well with the general view of Rabbi Yosi, who supported going beyond the letter of the law; the Babylonian Talmud brings several examples of this in Shabbat: “Rabbi Yosi said, ‘May my portion be among those who eat three meals on Shabbat . . . May my portion be among those who pray at dawn.’ Rabbi Chiya bar Abba said in Rabbi Yochanan’s name: ‘It is a mitzvah to pray at dawn.’ Rabbi Zeira argued: ‘The verse says: “They shall fear You before the sun, and by the moon for all generations!”’ . . . Rabbi Yosi said, ‘May my portion be among those who die of intestinal disease, as it is said that most righteous people die of intestinal disease.’ Rabbi Yosi said, ‘May my portion be among those who die performing a mitzvah.’ He said, ‘May my portion be among those who bring in Shabbat in Tiberius and bring it out in Tzippori.’ He said, ‘May my portion be among those who cause people to sit in the Beit Midrash, not among those who cause people to leave it.’ He said, ‘May my portion be among those who collect charity, not those who distribute it.’ . . . He said, ‘I never called my wife “my wife” or my ox “my ox” – I always called my wife “my home” and my ox “my field.’” He said, ‘I never looked at my circumcision.’ Really? Wasn’t Rebbi called the Holy Rabbi because he never looked at his circumcision? Rather, it was because Rebbi never placed his hand under his belt. Rabbi Yosi said, ‘The beams of my house have never seen the inside of my shirt’ (b. Shabbat 118b). This did not only apply to religious mitzvot, but also to personal relations: “Rabbi Yosi said, ‘I never contradicted my peer. I know that I am not a Kohen, but if they told me to make the priestly blessing, I would do it.’ He said, ‘I never spoke and was afraid that someone was listening.’” 65 This is Rabbi Yosi HaKohen, the student of Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai, not the Rabbi Yosi mentioned in the chapter about neighborly aggravations. The words of Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai’s students are brought in more detail in Mishnah 8 and 9. 66 m. Avot 2:13.

From Periphery to Center: Early Discussion of Resurrection in Medieval Jewish Thought Eliezer Schlossberg and Dov Schwartz Bar-Ilan University

Medieval Jewish thought developed in Islamic countries and, naturally, was significantly influenced by the style and the contents of the official Muslim theology (Kalām) and, occasionally, by mystical currents as well. One issue that would stir twelfth-century Jewish thought in Islamic countries, spreading to Jewish thought in areas under Christian rule as well, is the resurrection of the dead. In this article, we examine the notion of resurrection at a time when Jewish thought on this subject was becoming systematic: at the turn of the ninth and tenth centuries. We trace the guidelines of the idea of resurrection in its earliest systematic formulation through a comparative study of Dāwūd ibn Marwān al-Muqammiṣ and R. Sa‘adia Gaon.

Background The resurrection of bodies is one of the “necessary beliefs” which determine the content of the Muslim faith. The resurrection of bodies, Qiyāma (derived from the root q-w-m1) occurs in the Qurʾān as many as seventy times, always in the expression yawm al-qiyāma [= “the day of resurrection”]. This day of resurrection follows the annihilation of all creatures (al-fanāʾ al-muṭlaq), and precedes the “day of judgement” (yawm al-dīn). The works of ʿilm al-kalām and of falsafa deal with the entire subject of eschatology under the general title of al-maʿād, “the return,” a term which appears only once in the Qurʾān (XXVIII, 85) in the sense of “the place to which one returns.”1 The idea of resurrection was not at the center of Kalām discourse, but, where it appears, it is anchored in the conception of the soul, since the soul returns to the body at the time of resurrection. When Kalām was taking shape, both

1 L. Gardet, “Ḳiyāma,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition, ed. P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, and W.P. Heinrichs. https://referenceworks.brillonline.com/browse/ encyclopaedia-of-islam-2.

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the body and the soul were perceived as having a material nature. The soul was perceived as the body’s inner impulse, a material drive within it.2 The atomistic approach underlying many Kalām conceptions presented not just the body, but also the soul as built from atoms. Resurrection, then, was perceived as a distinctly material event, common to both body and soul. According to the atomism typical of most Mu‘tazilite thinkers’ view of nature, at the time of resurrection human atoms would gather together anew. In other words, people would re-emerge in their own body and with their own soul and come alive once again. The Mu‘tazila presented resurrection as a fundamental component of the believer’s reward for righteous behavior, and also as facilitating the punishment to be inflicted on those who deserved it. The wicked also must be resurrected, so as to be subject to eternal punishment. According to the Mu‘tazila, resurrection derives from the principles of intermediate position (Manzilah bayna al-Manzilatayni), the promise and the threat (al-Wa‘d wal-Wa‘īd).3 The dominant Kalām view was that certain aspects of the personality would be resurrected. Some Mu‘tazilite and Shī‘ite thinkers, such as al-Hudhayl, were influenced by the spiritual conception of the soul and, therefore, did not side with material resurrection. Most Mutakallimūn, however, did support a material notion of resurrection, where the soul would be part of the resurrected body.4 One question that interested the thinkers we reviewed concerned the state of the soul between death and resurrection. Some mystics, as opposed to Kalām thinkers, held that the soul is in a state of sleep until it is called up to be resurrected.5 We also considered the question regarding where the soul awaits resurrection – does it wait next to the grave, or elsewhere?6 Furthermore, according to the Mu‘tazilites, animals who died innocently (are slaughtered) will also be resurrected. The belief in material resurrection at this time was so widespread that Avicenna was forced to confront the advocates of the view that resurrection would be only physical.7 Avicenna himself interpreted

2 See Yaron Laybovitch, “ěđČĎ ĐĕďĞĝ čĤ Ęĥ ĥĠĜĐ ĦĤđĦč ęĕĜđĕĞ”. PhD diss., Bar-Ilan University, 2016. 3 Sophia Vasalou, Moral Agents and their Deserts: The Character of Mu‘tazilite Ethics (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2008), 159. 4 Jane Idleman Smith and Yvonne Yazbeck Haddad, The Islamic Understanding of Death and Resurrection (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 18–20. 5 For example, the tradition ascribed to Rābi’ah al-’Adhawiyyah (Smith and Haddad, Islamic Understanding, 49). 6 Islamic Understanding, 51–52. 7 See Tariq Jaffer, “Bodies, Souls and Resurrection in Avicenna’s ar-Risāla al-Adhawīya fī amr alma’ād,” in Before and After Avicenna: Proceedings of the First Conference of the Avicenna Study Group, ed. David C. Reisman and Ahmed H. al-Rahim (Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2003), 163–76.

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resurrection as a metaphor for the soul’s return to its source, following Neo-Platonism.8 Rabbinite Jewish thinkers (contrary to the Karaites) did not endorse the atomistic view and, therefore, were less concerned with the identity of the resurrected. They did, however, describe resurrection in classic material terms.9 The Mu‘tazilite and rabbinic background explains the fact that the general concept of material resurrection characterizes the first steps of Jewish thought, as we will see below in length. Furthermore, the moral approach common to Jewish thinkers and to the Mu‘tazilites was that resurrection is necessary for the reward and punishment of human actions, rather than an arbitrary event. We now move on to examine the various manifestations of the resurrection idea in early Jewish thought. We will examine the approaches of Dāwūd ibn Marwān al-Muqammiṣ and R. Sa‘adia Gaon. The evidence regarding Sa‘adia’s familiarity with al-Muqammiṣ or his writings is unclear. We do, however, have two facts: (1) From the eleventh century onward, Jewish thinkers mentioned these two thinkers together. For instance, R. Bahya’s introduction to The Duties of the Heart indeed shows that ‘Ishrūn Maqāla was known in Jewish thought circles.10 (2) Sa‘adia used both al-Muqammiṣ’ terminology and his basic Mu‘tazilite concepts, such as the notions of an objective good and evil that compels God, and the verification of prophecies. These concepts were also the basis of messianic discourse, which included the resurrection of the dead.11 Our task, therefore, is to describe and analyze the theological situation at the start of systematic discussions of resurrection in the Jewish world.

8 For more details see Gardet, “Ḳiyāma.” 9 See, for instance, Yehuda Even-Shmuel, ĐĘđČĎ ĕĥĤďĚ (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1954). On the tension between personal redemption and apocalyptic messianism in the rabbinic period, see Ephraim E. Urbach, The Sages: Their Concepts and Beliefs, trans. Israel Abrahams (Jerusalem: Hebrew University Magnes Press, 1987), 652–54. 10 Bahya ibn Paquda, The Duties of the Heart, ed. Yosef Qafih (Jerusalem, Akiva Yosef Press, 1973), 18 [Arabic and Hebrew] (reference to Al Muqammiṣ). For more details see Sarah Stroumsa, ed., Dāwūd Ibn Marwān al-Muqammiṣ’s Twenty Chapters (ʿIshrūn Maqāla) (Leiden: Brill, 1989), xix–xx. 11 See Sarah Stroumsa, ‘Ishrūn Maqāla; also, Haggai Ben-Shammai, đĦĜĥĚč ęĕĜđĕĞ :ĎĕĐĜĚ Ęĥ đĘĞĠĚ ĎīĝĤ Ęĥ ĦĕĜĥĤĠĐđ ĦĕĦđĎĐĐ (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 2015), 52–53, and especially p. 415, r. 8.

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The Movement to the Center The place and the scope of the concept of resurrection in early Jewish thought merit note, and investigating these aspects involves a significant step beyond the Kalām discussions. We assume that the conceptual and historical place of exile, an event specific mainly to Jewish life, contributed to the intensification of eschatological discussions in general and of resurrection in particular. We will now consider Sa‘adia Gaon’s interpretation of the verse: “See now that I myself am He! There is no god besides Me. I put to death and I bring to life, I have wounded and I will heal, and no one can deliver out of My hand” (Deut 32:39), in a responsum that has not yet been published. He wrote as follows: And this verse is to be understood as four statements against four groups of heretics and deniers. The first group is that of the heretics who say “He is not.” He answered them and said, “I myself am He.” The second are those who denied the oneness of God and joined another god to Him – “there is no god besides Me.” A third group are those who denied the period of resurrection and redemption . . . and He answered them “I put to death and I bring to life.” And because they ponder bad thoughts and say that He puts to death a generation and raises a[nother] generation, meaning an end [and that there is no resurrection] . . . and “I have wounded and I will heal” to announce that, as He heals the sick from his sickness, so does He resurrect the dead and raise him from his dust.12 According to Sa‘adia, resurrection belongs to the dogmatic dimension of Jewish faith; whoever does not believe in it is one of the “heretics.” Of the ten treatises in The Book of Beliefs and Opinions, Sa‘adia devoted three to the messianic realm and, of them, one entirely to resurrection. The idea of resurrection, therefore, was for him a dogmatic foundation of Jewish faith.13 Some scholars have viewed the treatises in The Book of Beliefs and Opinions as attempts to create a dogmatic structure of faith.14 Clearly, then, Sa‘adia granted the belief

12 Catalogue Bernheimer, Milan, Italy 87, Ambrosian Library Milan, Italy, Ms. G 3 Sup. At the Department of Manuscripts and Institute of Microfilmed Hebrew Manuscripts, it is catalogued as F 12270. 13 Dov Schwartz, Messianism in Medieval Jewish Thought, trans. Batya Stein (Boston, MA: Academic Studies Press, 2017), 17–18. 14 Shlomo Pines, ęīčĚĤĐ ďĞ ěđĘĕĠĚ :ĦĕďđĐĕĐ ĐĕĠđĝđĘĕĠĐ ĦđďĘđĦ (Jerusalem: Akademon, 1966).

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in resurrection the status of a dogma. This process, however, was the outcome of a development, as shown below.

Al-Muqammiṣ and Sa‘adia on Resurrection: The Structure Making resurrection a principle of faith and regarding those who do not believe in it as heretics is an innovative step by Sa‘adia, which followed in the wake of a specific development. m. Sanhedrin 10:1 states, “He that says there is no resurrection of the dead laid down in the Torah” has no share in the world to come. Seemingly, however, the Tannaitic sage was not addressing the belief in resurrection as such but only the subject’s appearance in Oral Law. The dogmatic discussion, then, is about rabbinic authority and the transmission of the Torah, not about resurrection per se. This is also the approach of Dāwūd ibn Marwān al-Muqammiṣ, known as “David the Babylonian,” who was active in Syria and northern Iraq in the ninth century.15 The main issues discussed in al-Muqammiṣ’ treatise, ‘Ishrūn Maqāla (“Twenty Chapters”) are epistemology (chapters 1–2 and part of chapter 3), the world (chapters 3–7), God (chapters 7–11), man, revelation, and Moses’s prophecy (chapters 12–16), and a polemic against other religions (chapters 17–20).16 The chapter on reward and punishment, where al-Muqammiṣ discusses the belief in resurrection, is placed at the end of the unit dealing with man and revelation (chapters 12–16). Al-Muqammiṣ claimed that part of the reward for a virtuous act is joy and satisfaction for having made the correct choice or, alternatively, part of the punishment for a transgression is a feeling of guilt. The reward and punishment are also expressed in the positive or negative character

15 For information on al-Muqammiṣ, see Stroumsa, Al-Muqammiṣ, 15–16. On the possibility that R. Sa‘adia Gaon knew al-Muqammiṣ’ work and was influenced by him see Sarah Stroumsa, ĐĕďĞĝ ĦĕĜđėĕĦąęĕ ĐĤčēč ĕďđĐĕ ĐĎđĐ :ěđČĎ (Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University Press 2002), 26–29. 16 This section has not survived, but its content was clarified by al-Muqammiṣ himself in chap. 8 (158, end of section 27). Two brief fragments from chap. 20 in a medieval Hebrew translation survived in a 13th-century book, čģĞĕ ĦđĜėĥĚ by Jacob ben Solomon Sarfati (see Stroumsa, AlMuqammiṣ, 33). On the content of these fragments and their ties to the “Pascalian wager,” see Zev Harvey, “ġĚģĚĘČ Ęĥ ĤđĚĕĐĘ ĘģĝĠ Ęĥ ĤđĚĕĐĐ ěĕč”, Iyyun: The Jerusalem Philosophical Quarterly 45 (1996): 409–12. For another fragment from this work, see Sarah Stroumsa, “Soul-Searching at the Dawn of Jewish Philosophy: A Hitherto Lost Fragment of al-Muqammiṣ’s Twenty Chapters,” Ginzei Qedem, 3 (2007): 137*–61*. For further information on the structure of the book and its plan, see Dmitry Frolov, “Notes on the Composition of David al-Muqammiṣ’s ‘Twenty Chapters,’” in Alei Asor: Proceedings of the Tenth Conference of the Society for Judaeo-Arabic Studies [English Section], ed. Haggai Ben-Shammai and Daniel Lasker (Be’er Sheva: Ben-Gurion University of the Negev Press, 2008), 5–18.

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of the society developing in the wake of the individual’s acts,17 but the main reward and punishment are in the world to come. This is the issue at the core of Chapter 16. He writes: In this chapter we shall explain the meaning of the reward that God bestows on the just in return for their righteous deeds, and of the punishment that He inflicts on the wicked as requital for their wickedness and sins; (and we shall ask) whether this (recompense of His) is to be considered as wisdom and justice on His part, and for what purpose it is needed.18 Al-Muqammiṣ defined the “reward” noted in this passage as follows: “It is the soul’s tranquility and everlasting joy that the soul experiences in the hereafter, and which it receives in return for suffering in life and for avoiding the passions of the world.” This joy (or “reward”) can be found also in the words of the Muslim theologian, al-Qāsim ibn Ibrāhim (d. 680): God, may He be extolled and exalted, has said that His friends will look at Him in the future where He resides. This look is not a look of encompassment or limitation, but they will look at Him without limitation. This look is better than their perception.19 Later, al-Qāsim distinguishes between seeing through sense perception and achieving in the heart. Such an achievement is boundless. Therefore, this achievement of the heart is preferable to physical attainment – to seeing – because it does not limit God. Punishment, or, in his wording, “requital,” is defined as “the roaming of the soul, the everlasting sorrow it suffers, the privation of joy for all generations to come, which it receives in return for its enjoyment of many wicked passions in this world of woe.” Al-Muqammiṣ reiterated that the Creator rewards and punishes rightfully and justly: “To sum up, the punishment is the soul’s sorrow in the hereafter, inflicted on it justly and rightfully by the Lord. The reward is the soul’s harmony and joy in the hereafter, accorded to it justly and rightfully by the Lord.”20 In another discussion he claimed that reward and punishment “are both corporeal and spiritual (nafshani),” and attacked those who deny resurrection.21

17 Stroumsa, Al-Muqammiṣ, 30–33. 18 Stroumsa, Al-Muqammiṣ, 292 (1). The English translation of this chapter is based on a Hebrew medieval translation of the original Arabic text, which has not reached us. 19 B. Abrahamov, Anthropomorphism & Interpretation of the Qur’ān in the Theology of al-Qāsim ibn Ibrāhim Kitāb al-Mustarshid (Leiden: Brill 1996), 141. 20 Abrahamov, Anthropomorphism, (2). 21 Abrahamov, Anthropomorphism, 342 (27).

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In some sense, resonating here is an echo of the Mu‘tazilite principle of promise and threat (al-Wa‘d wal-Wa‘īd) as formulated, for example, by al-Qāsim ibn Ibrāhim.22 Sa‘adia, as noted, devoted a full treatise to resurrection23 and implicitly apologizes for being the first to introduce a new topic. He argues that he has not seen resurrection as a topic that would justify inclusion as a separate treatise in The Book of Beliefs and Opinions, since the very existence and future fulfillment of resurrection are nowhere questioned. What drove him to write this treatise, then, is an essential controversy concerning the timing of resurrection: in this world at the time of redemption, or only in the world to come. In Sa‘adia’s terms, “redemption” will launch the messianic events that commence with the messiah’s victory over the demonic nations, and “the world to come” is the eternal world where all those deserving it will live eternally in their bodies and souls. He then wrote to us that resurrection [would occur] at the time of salvation [yeshu‘ah],24 and His prophets have given us proofs of this. And I have found that a controversy erupted regarding resurrection in this world25 since the multitudes in our nation say that it will take place during salvation and read all scriptural verses on resurrection literally,26 and date them27 to the time of salvation without any doubt. [Yet] I have seen some in our nation who, whenever they find a verse mentioning resurrection at the time of salvation, they interpret [it] non-literally28 as [referring to] the renewal of rule and the rebirth of the nation, while those who assert it is not at the time of salvation, they direct to the world to come.29 I have devoted this treatise to this matter.30 22 See, for example, Binyamin Abrahamov, ed., Al-Kāsim B. Ibrāhīm on the Proof of God’s Existence (Leiden: Brill, 1990), 47. 23 On this issue see also H. Ben-Shammai, “ĕĦČđđĥĐ ěđĕĞ :ęĕĦĚĐ ĦĕĕēĦč ĎīĝĤ Ęĥ ęĕĘĕčģĚ ęĕĜđĕď ĐĞčĤČ”, Ginzei Qedem, 12 (2016): 65–88. 24 Note that in the Arabic original as well, Sa‘adia uses the Hebrew term alyeshu‘ah. Treatise Eight in The Book of Beliefs and Opinions is indeed entitled “fī al-Furqān,” but R. Qafih renders it in his Hebrew version as yeshu‘a (see ĦđĞďčđ ĦđĜđĚČč ĤēčĜĐ ĤĠĝ, ed. R. Yosef Qafih [Jerusalem: Sura, 1970], 237, note 1). See also Joseph Joel Rivlin, “đĚđĎĤĦ ĖđĦĚ ĐĤđĦĘ ĎīĝĤ ĥđĤĕĠ”, Tarbiz 20 (1949): 133–66. Ibn Tibbon too, who translated Treatise Eight as “The Final Redemption,” titled Treatise Seven “Treatise Seven on Resurrection, and is the Most Honorable Festival of the Children of Israel that God Meant for Them at the Time of Yeshu‘ah” (The Book of Beliefs and Opinions [Constantinople, 1562], 117). 25 In the Arabic original, “fī dār al-dunyā.” 26 In the Arabic original, “‘alā zāhirihi,” and see on this term below, p. 190. 27 R. Qafih translated qov‘īm zemano as “determine its time.” 28 In the Arabic original, “yata’awwalūnahu,” and on this term too, see below, p. 190. 29 In the Arabic original, “dār al-ʾākhirah.” On the controversy among Muslim thinkers whether the resurrection of the dead is literal or an allegory, see Gardet, “Ḳiyāma.” 30 Qafih, ha-Nivhar, 218–19.

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Ultimately, Sa‘adia decided that resurrection would occur after the days of the messiah and would precede the world to come. As Sa‘adia emphasizes, this controversy bears implications for biblical exegesis as well: if we assume that the resurrection of the dead will take place in this world, then the verses hinting at it should be interpreted literally, but if we accept that resurrection will take place in the world to come, then these verses require a non-literal interpretation. The theoretical clarification of this controversy, the need to decide on it, and the exegetical effort it required, drove Sa‘adia to devote a separate treatise to resurrection, as he openly wrote. The pioneering character of his initiative, however, is evident between the lines. Sa‘adia was aware that his endeavor was groundbreaking and therefore defends it. Sa‘adia was thus certainly innovative concerning the scope of the discussion on resurrection. The question, however, is whether he also broke new ground concerning the method and the essence of resurrection. We will first examine al-Muqammiṣ’ approach to resurrection, presenting his central claim and its implications in order to reassess Sa‘adia’s stance.

Al-Muqammiṣ on Resurrection: The Argument Al-Muqammiṣ’ eschatological argument has three stages: 1. The infinity of the messianic reward. 2. The messianic reward is material, meaning it applies to both the body and the soul. 3. Resurrection is the final reward. Consider the first stage of the argument. According to al-Muqammiṣ, reward and punishment are eternal, as the world to come is eternal and infinite. AlMuqammiṣ does cite the views of various scholars (without mentioning their names) who state it is appropriate for “reward” and “requital” to be finite. But then, in the name of “one of the scholars” (again without noting his name), he cites “ten signs and logical proofs,” that is, logical justifications for reward in the world to come being everlasting – “the recompense in the world to come is infinite, as are both the reward and the punishment”: 1. “He who guides and warns.”31 God guided and warned humans because of His compassion for them, not because good deeds they had performed in the past granted them the right to be guided and warned. 2. God, who guides and warns, obtains no benefit from these actions – He procures no advantage from them and obviates no harm to Himself. 31 Meaning God, who issued positive commandments and warned against transgressions through negative commandments.

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3. The guidance is meant to benefit people and prevent harm to them “immediately and in the future,” that is, both in the short term and in the long term. 4. The “guided and warned”32 know that they are commanded to do only “what is good and right” and are warned to avoid doing what is “wicked and perverse.” 5. Were individuals given the right to choose a reward for their good deeds, they would choose an infinite reward and, therefore, the Creator that “guides and warns” chose for them infinite reward and punishment. 6. Reason justifies infinite reward and punishment because it grants the righteous suitable incentive to observe the commandments while sufficiently deterring the wicked from transgressing. 7. If He “who guides and warns” is not “trustworthy,” meaning if reward and punishment are not infinite, promises and warnings will be useless and will not ensure sufficient hope or deterrence. 8. God led and warned man to do good deeds and refrain from wicked ones, but man did not choose to obey the commandments and even committed transgressions. Since he was aware of God’s warning, “but he did not believe it or listen to it,” he deserves to be “punished forever.” 9. God is eternal and everlasting, and whoever denies God’s commandments is as one denying God’s existence. The punishment, therefore, must also be eternal and everlasting. 10. Despite the sin, God allowed for repentance. Therefore, whoever fails to avail himself of the possibility that is given to him and “follows his own caprices throughout his life,” deserves that “his punishment in the world to come should last for as long as the world to come.”33 Relying on all the above, al-Muqammiṣ summed up: “Because of these ten indications we say that just as it must be the case that the righteous receive infinite reward for their good deeds, so also it must be the case that the wicked deserve infinite punishment for their evil deeds.”34 Al-Muqammiṣ offered an additional argument (in the name of “one of the scholars”) for the infinity of the punishment, stating that people take God’s unity lightly and fear human beings more than they fear God – “the sinner hides away from people and fears them, but he does not hide away from the Lord, whose eyes are everywhere.” They thereby become “infidels,” “and among all sinners none deserves eternal punishment more than do the infidels.”35 Al-Muqammiṣ also views eternal punishment as an instance of quid pro quo given that, had 32 33 34 35

Meaning humans, who are guided by God and warned by God to observe His commandments. Stroumsa, Al-Muqammiṣ, 296–98, (9)–(18). Stroumsa, Al-Muqammiṣ, 298 (19). Stroumsa, Al-Muqammiṣ, 298 (20).

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people done God’s will, they would have received their reward in the world to come, which is everlasting. Consequently, the punishment of those who anger God should also be everlasting.36 Now for the second stage of the argument. After he demonstrated that reward and punishment are eternal, al-Muqammiṣ proceeded to discuss the question of what aspect of the human individual would receive them. He presented four options: (1) the soul and not the body; (2) the body and not the soul; (3) neither the body nor the soul; (4) both the body and the soul. He clarifies each of the first three options and dismisses them, and, finally, expresses his view that eternal reward and punishment were meant for both the body and the soul. He thereby follows the Kalām mode of argumentation, which demonstrates claims by elimination – the author conveys his own view only after he has refuted all the others and thereby proves it: 1. “Reward and the punishment are spiritual rather than corporeal” – through the reward, the human being rises “to the rank of the angels, which are spiritual beings,” and the reward, therefore, must also be spiritual, meaning given to the soul and not to the body. And since reward is spiritual, so is punishment.37 Al-Muqammiṣ, however, rejects this view, claiming we have not found textual evidence that the reward raises humans to the rank of angels. The reward meant for the just in the world to come is Paradise, which had been Adam’s abode before he was driven out, but “we have no evidence that the angels’ abode is there; we do not find any proof for it in the Scriptures.”38 2. “Reward and punishment are corporeal rather than spiritual” – since all the types of reward and punishment known to us in this world are material rather than spiritual, we may assume that in the world to come they will also be corporeal rather than spiritual.39 Al-Muqammiṣ then argues that this view is possible only if we assume that the soul is material rather than spiritual, and the reward, therefore, must be material as well. But since the soul is spiritual, the reward cannot possibly be only material.40 3. It is not possible that reward and punishment are neither for the body nor for the soul, since “we have found no scholar who denies the reward in the world to come to the extent that he asserts the reward is neither spiritual nor corporeal.”41 In other words, whoever believes that reward and punishment are neither for the body nor for the soul actually negates the very possibility of reward and punishment in the world to come, and no one holds this view. 36 37 38 39 40 41

Stroumsa, Al-Muqammiṣ, 298 (21). Stroumsa, Al-Muqammiṣ, 298–300 (23). Stroumsa, Al-Muqammiṣ, 300 (25). Stroumsa, Al-Muqammiṣ, 300 (24). Stroumsa, Al-Muqammiṣ, 300 (27). Stroumsa, Al-Muqammiṣ, 300 (26).

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After dismissing these three approaches, al-Muqammiṣ brings his own, stating that reward is for both the body and the soul. He then moves to the third stage of the eschatological argument – the presentation of resurrection as the final reward: We ourselves say that a human being is composed of body and soul. By their collaboration in any act, the reward for the good or wicked deed is earned. Hence we say that reward and punishment are both corporeal and spiritual. And just as they are spiritual in a way we cannot grasp, so they are corporeal in a way we cannot grasp. Those scholars who deny the resurrection of the dead say that the reward is only spiritual. Those who deny that the soul is a spiritual being say that the reward is only corporeal. Those who admit that a human being is composed of a material body and a spiritual soul say that the reward is both spiritual and corporeal and admit the resurrection of the dead – may we be counted among them.42 Al-Muqammiṣ rested his claim that reward and punishment are for the body as well as the soul on both having a share in human action in this world and, therefore, both meriting reward for the good deeds they have performed and being liable to punishment for the bad ones. Nevertheless, we cannot apprehend the essence of either “spiritual” or “corporeal” reward and punishment. According to al-Muqammiṣ, it is resurrection that enables reward and punishment for both body and soul, and only one who does not believe in it (such as al-Hudhayl) could hold that reward is only spiritual, just as only one who believes that the soul is not spiritual could believe that reward and punishment are only material. Whoever admits that humans are a combination of a material body and a spiritual soul must necessarily believe in resurrection as well as in reward and punishment being for both body and soul. Al-Muqammiṣ therefore believed that the resurrection of the dead is eternal, as is reward and punishment. It is pertinent here to mention his Christian background, since al-Muqammiṣ was linked in various ways to Christian thought – whether the reports of his conversion to Christianity were true or he was only close to Christian circles. And, as is well known, in the circle of the Baghdadi Christian thinker Yaḥya ibn ‘Adi there were discussions about the resurrection of the dead. 43 Sa‘adia also was probably influenced by Christian thought. Although he did not study in the Syrian academies, which influenced early Muslim Kalām, a Christian influence is often evident in his writings. It should be remembered that in the tenth century, when Sa‘adia lived in Egypt, Christianity had 42 Stroumsa, Al-Muqammiṣ, 300 (27). 43 Joel L. Kraemer, Humanism in the Renaissance of Islam: The Cultural Revival during the Buyid Age (Leiden: Brill, 1986), 119.

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a prominent place there, and that Sa‘adia was exposed to Christian-Syrian influence when he reached the land of Israel. In Babylonia Sa‘adia frequently encountered the Muslim “Kalām,” but it was the Christian influence in his youth that apparently influenced him not to adopt the Mu‘tazilite method in a comprehensive manner, as Jewish sages did in later periods.44 We have no clear knowledge of the extent to which Sa‘adia knew Christian literature, and we do not know if he had direct relations with Christians, such as the relations that R. Hai Gaon had (according to various sources in a later generation).45 However, there is no doubt that he was aware of Christian doctrines and exegesis. According to Lasker, for example, Sa‘adia referred to Christianity in The Book of Beliefs and Opinions.46 Thus it is logical to assume that Sa‘adia was familiar with Christian interpretation of the Scripture and used it in his writings.47 The only Christian work which Sa‘adia mentions explicitly is a book of north African origin: “In our time the people of Qairawan wrote a book in Hebrew on [the book] they have from Sha’dī (?) the Christian.”48 In addition, Sa‘adia once explicitly indicates that he knew the Christian translation of the Holy Scriptures. In a discussion of the lifespans of Adam and his descendants, he writes: “In all of their [= the Christians] versions the dates are similar to our dates.”49 Presumably he knew the Christian translations of the Bible through their translations into Arabic, or through original Christian-Arabic literature that already existed in his day. The resurrection of the body and its resulting persistence through eternity 44 See Stroumsa, A Jewish Thinker, 25–26. 45 R. Josepf b. Judah b. Jacob ibn A ʿ ḳnīn, for example, tells at the end of his commentary on the Song of Songs that R. Hai Gaon sent a student of his to the Catholique of Baghdad, to ask him for an explanation of Psalms 141:5 (Abraham S. Halkin, Ĥĕĥ ĥđĤĕĠ :ĦđĤđČĚĐ ĦĞĠđĐđ ĦđďđĝĐ ĦđĘĎĦĐ ęĕĤĕĥĐ [Jerusalem: Mekize Nirdamim 1964], 494–95). 46 For a summary of R. Sa‘adia’s attitude toward Christianity see E. Schlossberg, “The Polemic of R. Se‘adyā Gaon against Christianity,” in ęĕĕĜĕčĐąĕĚĕ Ęĥ ĦĕďđĐĕĐąĦĕčĤĞĐ ĦđčĤĦč ĕđĜĕĥđ ĦĤđĝĚ, ed. J. Blau and D. Doron (Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 2000), 243–62. See also D.J. Lasker, “?ĐĤđĦĐ ĘđĔĕčč đĜđĕďč ĎīĝĤ ĝĚĘĠĦĐ ĕĚ ďĎĜ”, Daat 32–33 (1994): 5–11, and Schlossberg`s response there, 13–17. 47 R. Moshe b. Ezra, for example, wrote in one of his works that R. Sa‘adia used Christian commentaries “in spite of their faults” (Abraham S. Halkin, ęĕĜđĕĞĐ ĤĠĝ – ĐĤėČĪďĚĘČđ ĐĤĪĢČēĚĘČ čČĦė ĦĕĤčĞĐ ĐĤĕĥĐ ĘĞ ęĕĜđĕďĐđ [Jerusalem: Mekize Nirdamim 1975], 226–27). According to Stroumsa, Christian influence on the exegetical writings of Sa‘adia was even greater than on his theological method (Stroumsa, A Jewish Thinker, p. 26), and see also S. Stroumsa, “The Impact of Syriac Tradition on Early Judaeo-Arabic Exegesis,” Aram 3 (1991): 83–96. 48 “ĕđĘĎĐ ĤĠĝĚ ĔĕĘĠĐđ ďĕĤĥĐ”, in A.E. Harkavi, ęĕĜđĤēČĘ ęĎđ ęĕĜđĥČĤĘ ěđĤėĒ (St. Petersburg, 1892), 150, ll. 18–21. 49 ĎīĝĤ ĥđĤĕĠđ ęđĎĤĦ ęĞ ĝėđĕĔĜČ ĦĘĕĎĚđ ĘČĕĜď ĤĠĝ, ed. Y. Qafih (Jerusalem: Committee for the Publication of the books of R. Sa‘adia Gaon 1981), 178.

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was a crystallized element in early Christian theology.50 In the time of alMuqammiṣ there was an argument concerning whether resurrection also included eternal sorrow, or if it included happiness alone. John Scotus Eriugena, for example, argued that eternal resurrection can only include happiness because evil has no real existence.51 This point of view was very different from that of al-Muqammiṣ, for John Scotus Eriugena was a clear Neo-platonist. But al-Muqammiṣ reports on those who disagree with him, and it can be assumed that the debate had reached the East. We will now examine the differences between al-Muqammiṣ and Sa‘adia, in their methods of argumentation and in their particular foci, and will also aim to elucidate Sa‘adia’s innovations on the matter of resurrection, intending thereby to attain a picture of the development of the belief in resurrection at the early stages of systematic Jewish thought.

Al-Muqammiṣ and Sa‘adia: (1) Method Al-Muqammiṣ demonstrated the necessity of the belief in resurrection and its place in the scheme of reward and punishment after death. He did not, however, devote a separate treatise to resurrection and did not strive to present it separately from messianic goals. The discussion of resurrection is, in his view, a branch of the doctrine of reward. Sa‘adia, by contrast, had already taken steps toward the development of a systematic approach to resurrection, and devoted significant efforts to determine a messianic orientation, that is, to impose order on the many concepts that pointed to a messianic era. Pointing out a number of differences between al-Muqammiṣ and Sa‘adia in regard to resurrection will help us trace the course of this topic’s development as an independent area in Jewish thought. The distinction between al-Muqammiṣ and Sa‘adia is first evident in their methods. Sa‘adia’s approach was characterized by what Harry Wolfson termed “the double faith theory.”52 Wolfson claimed that medieval thinkers fluctuated between two poles and, actually, between two entirely different authorities. One pole is revelation, meaning faith that is transmitted from one generation to another beginning with the Sinai epiphany, or (in other religions) revelations to Jesus and his apostles or to Muhammad. The other pole is reason, meaning

50 See for example, C. Walker Bynum, Resurrection of the Body in Western Christianity, 200–1336 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1995). 51 See J. Pelikan, The Growth of Medieval Theology (600–1300) (Chicago & London: University of Chicago Press, 1978), 104. 52 Harry Austryn Wolfson, “The Double Faith Theory in Clement, Sa‘adia, Averroes, and St. Thomas and Its Origin in Aristotle and the Stoics,” Jewish Quarterly Review 33 (1942–1943): 213–64.

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the results of human inquiry based on the authority of the intellect – which is the view that Sa‘adia endorsed. According to Sa‘adia, regardless of whether the starting point is the biblical-rabbinic tradition or rational thought, the result will be the same: the truth of the Torah (as understood by rabbinic Judaism). Hence, in addition to discursive arguments, Sa‘adia consistently cites texts and sometimes also rabbinic sayings. One example is the argument he cites at the beginning of the treatise on resurrection in The Book of Beliefs and Opinions. There, Sa‘adia argues, “in truth we know that every statement in the Scriptures is to be interpreted literally, except for [those cases] that should not be addressed literally for one of four reasons:”53 if the literal meaning contradicts (1) what humans attain with their senses; (2) what humans attain with their intellect; (3) rabbinic tradition on the verse; (4) or another biblical verse. In these cases it is incumbent on the exegete to explain the verse in non-literal terms. Sa‘adia concluded that the concept of resurrection does not pose a contradiction in any of these cases and, therefore, we have no reason to adopt a non-literal view of it. These four reasons parallel the four sources of knowledge in the introduction to The Book of Beliefs and Opinions,54 and Sa‘adia clearly sought to show the reader that the exegetical and intellectual methods coalesce.55 An early formulation of these rules is already found in the writings of the foremost commentator on the Qur’ān, Muhammad al-Tabarī (b. 923), as well as in the writings of the Spanish Muslim philosopher Ali ibn Aḥmad ibn Ḥazm (b. 1063), who preserves ancient sources in his writings that are not always preserved elsewhere.56 Al-Muqammiṣ, by contrast, did not try to prove resurrection by reference to biblical verses or rabbinic homilies. Following his method, whoever believes that humans are composed of a material body and a spiritual soul, and believes in the doctrine of reward, must necessarily believe in resurrection.

Al-Muqammiṣ and Sa‘adia: (2) A Systematic View Al-Muqammiṣ and Sa‘adia differ in their emphases as well. Al-Muqammiṣ thought it was extremely important to demonstrate the eternity of the reward. Sa‘adia, on the other hand, did not see a need for adducing many proofs of the reward’s eternity. Instead, he expanded his inquiry to questions such as the guarantee of redemption – why are we so sure final redemption is inevitable? Sa‘adia was apparently curious about the order of events in the distant future, when redemption would occur, and likely assumes the reader is familiar with 53 54 55 56

Qafih, ha-Nivhar, 219. Qafih, ha-Nivhar, 14–16. Schwartz, Messianism, 18–21. M. Zucker, ĐĤđĦĘ ĎīĝĤ ęđĎĤĦ ĘĞ (New York: Feldheim 1959), 234–35.

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al-Muqammiṣ’ writings. Systematically, it’s reasonable to assume that Sa‘adia based his arguments on al-Muqammiṣ’ approach regarding the eternity of the reward. It was equally clear to Sa‘adia that the final reward would be material, and he may have based this conclusion too on al-Muqammiṣ. If we are right concerning this claim, then Sa‘adia’s view of resurrection is, in many senses, a continuation and expansion of al-Muqammiṣ’ approach. Al-Muqammiṣ and Sa‘adia certainly conducted their discussions in the cultural and theological climate of the Kalām, and some of their formulations can be viewed from this perspective. They, however, created a systematic approach. Al-Muqammiṣ was far closer to the discussions of Kalām scholars, while Sa‘adia expanded the scope of his argument to new dimensions beyond the Kalām’s doctrines and methods.

Al-Muqammiṣ and Sa‘adia: (3) Questions Already in talmudic literature, we find curiosity about the technical dimensions of resurrection.57 In Treatise VII of The Book of Beliefs and Opinions, Sa‘adia presented several essential and technical questions brought up by the belief in resurrection and considered them systematically. Another compilation of Sa‘adia’s questions has also survived, and was published in the anthology Toratan shel Rishonim. This compilation opens as follows: “Rav Sa‘adia Gaon, of blessed memory, said: ‘My students have asked me ten questions about the resurrection of the dead, as follows.’”58 These questions are identical to those that Sa‘adia presented in the then as yet unpublished responsum noted above (henceforth “the fragment”). The responsum opens with the sentence, “And I included, on the matter of resurrection, ten questions.”59 The compilation and “the fragment” deal mainly with popular questions, such as who will be resurrected and how geographic space will contain the resurrected, since the resurrected are from many generations. These questions overlap several of those in Treatise VII of The Book of Beliefs and Opinions, except that, in this Treatise, Sa‘adia added questions to those that appear in “the fragment,” such as: One might then ponder: when the first generation of humans died, their elements separated and each part returned to its source – heat returned to 57 See, for example, b. Sanhedrin 90b. Note that the curious ones were powerful gentiles, while the rabbis provided answers. The editor, then, wanted to clarify that the belief in resurrection is absolute and the curious ones are outsiders. 58 Hayyim Meir Horowitz, ęĕĜđĥČĤ Ęĥ ěĦĤđĦ (Frankfurt am Main, 1882), 59, quoted also in ĤĢđČ ěĕĤďĐĜĝ ĘĞ ęĕĜđČĎĐ, ed. Hayyim Zvi Taubisch (Jerusalem: Mossad HaRav Kook, 1966), 484. 59 See note 7 above.

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fire and mixed with it, and humidity to air, and cold to water, and dryness remained earth – and the Creator then composed the bodies of the second generation, which already contained in them parts of the first. Then the second generation of human beings died and their parts also mixed with the sources of the elements, and the Creator again composed of them a third generation whose end was like that of the two previous ones, and so with the fourth and the fifth. How, then, will it be possible to return the first generation in its entirety, and the second in its entirety, and the third in its entirety, when the whole of the second generation is already slightly mixed in?60 Sa‘adia, then, posed a challenge: how can the dead be resurrected when their constitutive elements, which broke apart after each of them died, mingled with other dead elements? His answer was that the material space is sufficient to contain all these materials without intermingling them. Parallel discussions were held among Muslim thinkers as to whether the dead would be resurrected in whole or in part.61 The questions in “the fragment” are more popular and convey pure curiosity and imaginary hypotheses about the distant future rather than scientific analysis. In The Book of Beliefs and Opinions, the discussion is more scholarly. Moreover, in this work, Sa‘adia compares resurrection to creation, a comparison which is a leitmotif within several issues discussed in Treatise VII. Evidence can already be found in the treatise’s opening argument, where Sa‘adia claims that creation solves the problem about the power to resurrect the dead: if the Holy One, blessed be He, can create ex nihilo, then he can a fortiori create ex materia. The comparison between creation and the resurrection of the dead is a central principle of the Muslim conception of this subject. See, for example, the words of the Qur’ān: “Have they not seen how God originates creation, then brings it back again? Surely that is an easy matter for God. Say: Journey in the land, and behold how He originated creation; then God causes the second growth to grow; God is powerful over everything.”62 Philosophically, then, the approach here is dialectic. On the one hand, resurrection plays a central role as a significant event in Jewish faith, and, on the other, it is secondary to creation, at least concerning divine power. Traces of some of the questions Sa‘adia grappled with are also evident in the responsum of R. Hai Gaon on salvation.63 60 61 62 63

Qafih, ha-Nivhar, 227. Gardet, “Ḳiyāma,” (a) III . Arberry translation (online edition), 29:19–20. See Eliezer Ashkenazi, ęĕĜģĒ ęĞĔ (Frankfurt am Main, 1855), 59–61; ĐĘđČĎ ĕĥĤďĚ, ed. Yehuda

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Al-Muqammiṣ’ discussion, by contrast, was limited and restricted. He did not discuss essential and technical issues concerning resurrection. He was not bothered by questions such as those that would later bother Sa‘adia, neither those resulting merely from curiosity nor deeper ones. We can thus determine that the detailed analysis of resurrection advanced to the front of the philosophical discourse in the space between the first two Jewish thinkers who upheld the Mu‘tazilite method – al-Muqammiṣ and Sa‘adia.

The Polemic Finally, Sa‘adia was involved in an open polemic with Muslims on resurrection, whereas al-Muqammiṣ was not. Sa‘adia’s role as a leader clarifies his recourse to polemic, and his writings are inseparably linked to the social developments of his time. He considered himself a guardian, whose job was to protect his people and their Torah. It is not surprising, therefore, that the vast majority of his writings were written not because he was asked to do so, but because he saw it as his duty to write them. In the prefaces to his works Sa‘adia often emphasizes the benefits that will come to readers, differing from the authors of other major works from the period of the Geonim, who refrained from doing so. The strengthening of faith, on the one hand, and the uprooting of ideological confusion, on the other, occupy prominent places in the writings of Sa‘adia. Through his polemic he sought to reject the claims made against the Jews, both by Karaites and other heretics from among his own people, and by members of the various faiths among whom he lived, mainly Muslims and Christians. By rejecting these claims he also sought to bring solace and consolation to his people.64 In his exegesis on the binding of Isaac, Sa‘adia notes that the idea of God resurrecting the dead is extremely plausible when explaining how God would keep His promise to Abraham, “for in Isaac shall thy seed be called” (Gen 21:12), despite the command to bind Isaac and ostensibly kill him. One of the celebrated contradictions between biblical verses pointed out by Muslims deals with the binding of Isaac,65 given that God’s command to Even-Shmuel (Tel Aviv: Massadah, 1946), 142–43, and ęĕĜđČĎĐ ĤĢđČ, ed. Hayyim Zvi Taubisch (Jerusalem: Mossad HaRav Kook, 1966), 493–95. 64 On Sa‘adia’s leadership and on his self-perception as a “leader of the generation,” see Haggai Ben-Shammai, “ĎĕĐĜĚ Ęĥ đĘĞĠĚ :ĎīĝĤ Ęĥ ĦĕĦđĎĐĐđ ĦĕĜĥĤĠĐ đĦĤĕĢĕ”, Pe‘amim: Studies in Oriental Jewry 54 (1993): 63–81; Eliezer Schlossberg, “ěđČĎ ĐĕďĞĝ čĤ ĕĤđčĕē Ęĥ ĦđĕĦĤčēĐ ĦđĚĎĚĐ”, Assufot 6 (1992): 71–85; idem, “ěđČĎ ĐĕďĞĝ čĤ Ęĥ đĦđĎĕĐĜĚđ đĦĎĐĜĐ”, Amadot 5 (2003): 213–42. 65 On the place of Genesis 22 in Sa‘adia’s anti-Muslim polemic see Andrew Rippin, “Sa’adya Gaon and Genesis 22: Aspects of Jewish-Muslim Interaction and Polemic,” in Studies in Islamic and Judaic Traditions, ed. William M. Brinner and Stephen D. Ricks (Atlanta, GA: Scholars

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Abraham – “Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains I will tell you about” (Gen 22:2) – contradicts, as it were, God’s explicit promise – “for in Isaac shall thy seed be called” (Gen 21:12) – and abrogates it.66 Furthermore, this command itself was contradicted and rejected several verses later, when God tells Abraham, who is holding the knife, “Do not lay a hand on the boy or do anything to him” (Gen 22:12). God, then, prevents Abraham’s performance of a command that He himself had issued. The Muslims’ conclusion is that, as God abrogated His command to Abraham, He may also abrogate the commandments of the Torah after issuing them. The warranted conclusion, then, is that the Torah of Muhammad abrogates the Torah of Moses.67 Sa‘adia’s direct polemic with the Muslims on the binding of Isaac hinges on the first contradiction mentioned above, stating that God’s command, “offer him there as a burnt offering,” is in striking contradiction to “for in Isaac shall thy seed be called.” Although Sa‘adia does not explicitly note – as he does at the beginning of his next claim – that he directs his response to those who affirm the abrogation (the commandments of the Torah), we cannot deny the possibility that this is the case here too because it is not essentially different from his polemic regarding the second command – that Abraham stay his hand – that, ostensibly, does abrogate the previous one. Sa‘adia discusses the contradiction in his Commentary on Genesis, and notes that the command to sacrifice Isaac is not an abrogation of the promise because Press, 1986), 33–46. Rippin deals with the relationships between Sa‘adia’s Tafsir and his Arabic surroundings, focusing on the Tafsir (the translation – the short interpretation – as opposed to the Sharkh, the long interpretation) and on the Islamic terms that Sa‘adia uses. Rippin deals briefly with the question of “abrogation” (40–42), again relying only on The Book of Beliefs and Opinions. On the role of Genesis 22 in Sa‘adia’s general polemic with Islam and relying on the long interpretation, see Eliezer Schlossberg, “ęČĘĝČĐ ďĎĜ ĎīĝĤ Ęĥ đĝđĚĘđĠč ģēĢĕ ĦďģĞ Ęĥ ĐĚđģĚĘ”, in ĐĕĦđĤđďĘ ĦđĎĐĐ ĕČĤč đĦđĚď – ęĕĜĕĚČĚĐ ĕčČ ęĐĤčČ, ed. Moshe Hallamish, Hannah Kasher, and Yochanan Silman (Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 2003), 115–29. 66 Incidentally, it merits note that not only God’s commands to Abraham are at the center of the Jewish-Muslim polemic but Abraham himself and his “religious membership.” Whereas the Torah describes Abraham as “the first Hebrew” and the father of Jewish religion, Islam describes him as one of the first monotheists and as the founder of the Muslim religion: “Abraham was neither Jew nor Christian, but rather was a ḥanīf, a submitter, and he was not one of the idolaters” (See: The Study Quran: A New Translation and Commentary, ed. Seyyed Hossein Nasr, et al. [New York: HarperCollins, 2015]), 3:67, 148. For an example of the medieval polemic surrounding Abraham and his actions as told in the Torah, see Shimeon Shtuber, “ęĐĤčČ ěĕč – ĦĕĥČĤč ĕĥĎĠĚ ęĕĚĘĝđĚĐ ęĞ ęĕĝđĚĘđĠĘ ĐĕĦđģĕĒ ĘĞđ ČĤĕđ ,ĖĘ ĖĘ ĦđĕĥĤĠč ęĎđē ĕĜčđ ęĕĜđČĎĐ Ęĥ ęĦČĕĤģ ĖĤď ĘĞ) ĦđĢĤČĐ ĕĘĥđĚĘ (ęĕČĤģĐ ęĞđ”, in ĤČĕđĤč ĕėďĤĚ čĤĘ ĘčđĕĐ ĤĠĝ, vol. 1 (Jerusalem: Academon, 1992), 129–43. 67 On this claim, see Eliyahu Strauss, “ĕĚČĘĝČĐ ĝđĚĘđĠĐ ĕėĤď”, in ĐĜĕđč ęĕĜčĤĘ ĥĤďĚĐąĦĕčĘ ěđĤėĒĐ ĤĠĝ (Jerusalem: Ruben Mas, 1946), 184, section 5.

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God could resurrect Isaac after the sacrifice and thereby keep His promise: “Should someone ponder, how can God make promises regarding Isaac, as when saying ‘for in Isaac shall thy seed be called,’ and then command his sacrifice, when this allows the abrogation of the promises?!68 We will tell him, that He could resurrect him after his death and fulfill all the promises about him.”69 In other words, even if Isaac had died, this would not absolutely abrogate the first promise since God could have resurrected him and then fulfilled His promise. Although Sa‘adia views this as merely a theoretical possibility, the rabbis refer to it as a certainty. Several midrashim mention that Isaac’s soul did indeed leave his body and returned to it: R. Judah says: When the sword reached Isaac’s throat, his soul escaped and left him. And when God’s voice was heard through the two angels, “Do not lay a hand on the boy,” his soul returned to his body. And he unbound him, and Isaac stood, and he knew that so would also the dead live, and he said, “Blessed are thou, O Lord, who revivest the dead.”70 The Rishonim later used this midrash to explain the setting of the blessing “who revivest the dead” in the Amidah. R. Zidkiah ha-Rofeh, author of Shibolei ha-Leket, addresses the question of who set the Amidah and, in this context, cites the following midrash: Our rabbis taught: “A hundred and twenty elders, among them some prophets, set the prayer in a fixed order” (Megillah 17b). I found an aggadah: What is “in a fixed order?” It is the order of the world, as we found: the eighteen blessings of the prayer had always been set one after another and the members of the Great Assembly brought them together and set them in their order . . . When Isaac was bound on the altar and . . . his dust was thrown on Mount Moriah, the Holy One, blessed be He, immediately threw dew on him and revived him and David, therefore, said, “like the dew of Hermon descending upon the mountains of Zion . . . ” (Ps 133:3) – like the dew with which God revived Isaac. The ministering angels immediately said: “Blessed are thou, O Lord, who revivest the dead.”71

68 In Zucker’s Hebrew rendition: “This actually shows that [God’s] promises can be abrogated.” See Moshe Zucker, ed., Saadya’s Commentary on Genesis (New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1984), 141, 401 [Arabic and Hebrew]. 69 Zucker, Saadya’s Commentary. 70 Yalkut Shimoni, Genesis, Va-yera, #101, s.v. “ēčĒĚ ęĐĤčČ ęĥ ěčĕđ”. 71 ęĘĥĐ ĔģĘĐ ĕĘđčĕĥ ĤĠĝ, ed. Shlomo Buber (Vilnius, 1886) [offset: Israel, 1977) 9a–b. This midrash is also briefly cited in Beth Yosef on Tur, Oraḥ Hayyim, #112.

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The many sources that cite the homily stating that Isaac’s soul had left him and later returned to him strengthen the hypothesis that Sa‘adia may have known it. Clearly, however, he did not adopt it literally and preferred to view it as merely a theoretical option, possibly helpful in the dismissal of the Muslim claim about the abrogation of God’s promise to Abraham concerning Isaac.

Summary In this discussion, we analyzed al-Muqammiṣ’ and Sa‘adia’s ideas about and methods regarding resurrection, describing the movement from the former to the latter as one from periphery to center, from an incidental to a detailed and extensive discussion, and from a theoretical to a polemical environment. The comparative study of their discussions on resurrection points to two processes: (1) The gradual emancipation of Jewish thought from Mu‘tazilite sources. (2) The systematization of the discussion as such. The arguments of both al-Muqammiṣ and Sa‘adia suit the methods of the Mu‘tazila, as we showed at length. Whereas al-Muqammiṣ did, to some extent, continue the Mu‘tazilite approach, Sa‘adia confined himself to their formal influence only and, instead, turned the issue into a key component of Jewish faith. On this matter, the substantive aspect – the theological need to grapple with the exile – and the political aspect – a leader’s attempt to bring solace and consolation to his community – seem to come together. Sa‘adia, therefore, included his polemical discussion of resurrection in The Book of Beliefs and Opinions. Resurrection, a significant issue in the context of the messianic idea, provided Sa‘adia with tools for contending with the theological and political needs of the Jewish community.

čĤģĕ Ğĥĕđ čĤ ęđĘĥ – Yehuda ha-Levi’s Epistle to Moshe ibn Ezra: A New Edition and Commentary Michael Rand University of Cambridge

In the present article, a full critical edition, with commentary, of Yehuda ha-Levi’s rhymed-prose epistle, Shalom rav veyesha yiqrav, written to Moshe ibn Ezra, is presented for the first time, on the basis of manuscripts from the Cairo Genizah as well as the Firkovitch Collection. The edition is accompanied by an introduction, in which a number of literary questions are elucidated, in particular with regard to ha-Levi’s use of epistolary conventions and the composition/improvisation of muwashshaḥāt (girdle poems) in Almoravid Spain.

I – Introduction The literary epistle čĤģĕ Ğĥĕđ čĤ ęđĘĥ, which Yehuda ha-Levi addressed to Moshe ibn Ezra at the very beginning of his literary career, has had a chequered publication history, and, to date, no authoritative critical edition based on all the available sources has been produced. The text is currently known from a single complete but damaged copy in the Cairo Genizah, along with four separate copies, none of them complete, in the Firkovitch collection. On the basis of these materials it is possible to reconstruct the epistle in its entirety. The Genizah copy consists of two continuous leaves, which are currently known by two disparate shelf-marks: T-S Misc. 35.46 and T-S Misc. 35.19. The first of these was published by Davidson in 1928. Abramson subsequently identified the second leaf in 1970, and published the entire text contained in this copy.1 Fleischer revisited the epistle in 1986, producing an edition based on the Genizah text, which was supplemented by readings from the Firkovitch manuscripts: Firk. Evr. IIA 43, Evr. IIA 105/11, Evr. IIA 209/1, and Evr. IIA 458/4.2 Fleischer was 1 Israel Davidson, ęĕĤĕĥđ ęĕĔđĕĠ :Ď ĤĠĝ – ĤĞĔėĞĥ ĕĒĜĎ (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1928), 319; Shraga Abramson, “ČĤĒĞ ěč ĐĥĚ čĤĘ ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕ čĤ ĦĤĎĕČ”, in ěĚĤĕĥ ęĕĕē ĤĠĝ, ed. Shraga Abramson and Aaron Mirsky (Jerusalem: Schocken, 1970), 404–8. 2 Ezra Fleischer, “ĐĤĒĞ ěčČ ĐĥĚ ĪĤ ęĞ đĕĤĥģ ĦĕĥČĤđ đĕĤđĞĜč ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕ ĪĤ ĦđĤđģĘ”, in ďĤĠĝč ĦĕĤčĞĐ ĐĤĕĥĐ ĐĕĦđēđĘĥčđ, ed. Shulamit Elizur and Tova Beeri (Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi and The Hebrew

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not able to consult the Firkovitch manuscripts directly, and was compelled to rely on readings – especially those of Evr. IIA 43 – that had been provided to him by the Soviet scholar A. Wilsker.3 The latter had not sent Fleischer full transcriptions of the Firkovitch manuscripts, but rather spot-transcriptions of those portions of the text that supplemented the lacunae and corrected the minor errors in Abramson’s Genizah-based edition. As a result, the text of the epistle that Fleischer produced was not quite a full-fledged critical edition, but rather, a composite: the basic text remained that of the Genizah copy, whose lacunae were now filled in and occasional minor corruptions emended – as seemed necessary to Wilsker – on the basis of the Firkovitch materials. Finally, the (readable portion of the) major witness from the Firkovitch collection, Evr. IIA 43, was published independently by Ratzaby in 1998.4 Given the importance of Yehuda ha-Levi to the history of Hebrew literature, the desirability of a full and authoritative critical edition of the epistle is self-evident. Such an edition is provided below, along with an English translation of the text. In the following paragraphs, I have furthermore taken the opportunity to comment on some aspects of the epistle that previous treatments have, in my view, left in need of further elucidation.

II – The Circumstances of Composition The historical/biographical circumstances in which ha-Levi composed his epistle to Moshe ibn Ezra have been convincingly elucidated by Fleischer in his edition on the basis of a careful analysis of the dīwān of Yehuda ha-Levi that was produced by R. Hiyya al-Maghribi.5 The following brief description – necessary as background to the discussion that follows – is wholly dependent on Fleischer. The epistle was composed by the youthful Yehuda ha-Levi, on his way from Christian Spain to meet Moshe ibn Ezra in the latter’s hometown

University of Jerusalem, 2010), 792–94. The article was originally published in Kiryat Sefer 61 (1986): 893–910. 3 See Fleischer, “ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕ ĦđĤđģĘ”, 788–92. 4 Yehuda Ratzaby, “ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕĘ ĕĜđčĤĜ ďđďĚ Ĥĕĥđ ĦĤĎĕČ”, Apiryon 52 (1998): 6. In his publication, Ratzaby mistakenly claimed that the epistle had been written by David Narboni to Yehuda ha-Levi. 5 As is well known, a full critical edition of the entire corpus of ha-Levi’s poetry has not yet been produced. The dīwān that was edited by R. Hiyya is the dominant medieval collection of haLevi’s poetry, represented by numerous copies in the Genizah and Firkovitch collections. A late, 17th-century copy of R. Hiyya’s dīwān has been preserved as ms. Oxford, Bod. Poc. 74/1 (=Adolf Neubauer, Catalogue of the Hebrew Manuscripts in the Bodleian Library [Oxford: Clarendon, 1886], no. 1970). See Joseph Yahalom and Isaac Benabu, “ĦĕĤčĞ Ęđē ĦĤĕĥč ĐĤĕĝĚĐ Ęĥ ĐĕĦđďĘđĦĘ ďĤĠĝĚ”, Tarbiz 54 (1985): 246–55; Ezra Fleischer, “đĦĤĕĢĕđ đĕĕē ĦđĤđģč ęĕĤđĤĕč – ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕ ĪĤ”, in Fleischer, ďĤĠĝč ĐĤĕĥĐ, 838–41.

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of Granada, in the Muslim-held portion of the peninsula. Ha-Levi had previously sent Ibn Ezra a qaṣida, đĜĕēČ ĔĞĚ Ĕģ đďđĚĞ đďĚĞ, which had served as his self-introduction to the elder poet.6 This poem is placed at the beginning of the second section of R. Hiyya’s dīwān, which contains mono-rhymed poems composed in the Classical meters. The header there is: ĦčĪĦČ ČĚ ČĪďĐđ ěĚ ĐĚđďģ ďĜĞ Đč ĐčĔČĪė ČĚ ĘđČ đĐđ ĘīĒ ČĤĒĞ ěč ěđĤĐ ĕčČĘ ĐĤďĢ ČĚ ĖĘĪď ĘđČĠ .ęđĪĔĜĚ ĐĘ ĐďĘč “And this is [the corpus of] his poetry that has been set down in writing. The beginning of this [section] is that which he dispatched to Abu Harun ben Ezra (may his memory be a blessing), which constitutes his first address to him when he came from his land.”7 Moshe ibn Ezra was duly impressed with the young man’s talents as displayed in his poem, and replied with a qaṣida of his own: ČđčĢĘ đĥē ęĕĚĕ ĕďĘĕ.8 In R. Hiyya’s dīwān, Moshe ibn Ezra’s qaṣida comes second in the section of mono-rhymed poems – i.e., immediately following đďĚĞ đďđĚĞ – under the header ĘČģđ ĖĘĪď ĕĘĞ ěđĤĐ (!) ĕčČ ĐčđČĪĎĠ “And [in response] to this, Abu Harun replied to him, and said.”9 Moshe ibn Ezra’s poem is presumably (though not explicitly) the one referred to in our epistle in lines 47–54, and if so it is the one to which the epistle itself – and the poem that accompanied it (see the following paragraph) – was formally a reply. The epistle čĤģĕ Ğĥĕđ čĤ ęđĘĥ is preserved as the first of a group of literary epistles by ha-Levi, which constitutes the first section of R. Hiyya’s dīwān. The header there is as follows (the text is given in the edition below): ďĪĎ[đ] ČĚ ČĪďĐ ĞīĜ ĐĤĒĞ ěč ěđĤĐ ĕč[Č] ĕĘČ Đč čĦČė ČĚ ĖĘĪď ěĚĠ .ČĐč čĦČė ĦČčĦČėĚ ěĚ ĘīĒ ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕĘ “This is what has been identified of the correspondence of Yehuda ha-Levi (may his memory be a blessing), wherewith he corresponded. And of this [material] is that with which he corresponded with Abu Harun ben Ezra (may he rest in Paradise).” In his epistle, ha-Levi indicates that his progress toward Granada 6 Hayyim Brody, ĕđĘĐ ĘČđĚĥ ěč ĐďđĐĕ . . . ěČđĕď, 4 vols. (Berlin: Mekize Nirdamim, 1894–1930), vol. 2, texts, 273–76. 7 This is the header as it appears in ms. Firk. IIA 43 (quoted in Fleischer, “ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕ ĦđĤđģĘ,” 801). A slightly different version is attested in ms. T-S Misc. 35.75: ĐďĕČĢģ ěĚ ČĪĢĕČ ďĪĎđ ČĚ ČĪďĐđ ĐčĦČėĚĘČ ĞĚ ĐĘĘČ ĪēĤ ĐĤĒĞ ěč ěđĤĐ ČčČ Đč čĔČĪė ČĚ ĖĘĪď ěĚĠ .ĘīĒ ĦČĘđĔĚĘČ, “And this is what has also been identified of his lengthy qaṣidas (may his memory be a blessing). And of this [material] is that with which he addressed Abu Harun ben Ezra (may God have mercy on him), along with [his] correspondence [with him]” (quoted in Fleischer, “ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕ ĦđĤđģĘ,” 800). Ms. T-S Misc. 35.75 belongs to a Genizah copy of R. Hiyya’s dīwān that serves as a basis for the edition of haLevi’s epistle given below (ms. ĥĔ). The text as it appears in ms. Oxford, Bod. Poc. 74/1 (=cat. Neubauer 1970) is abridged and the last three words seem corrupt: ĞĚ ČĤĒĞ Īě ěđĤĐ đčČ Đč čĔČĪė ČĚ ĐĘČ ďĕČĢģ (given in cat. Neubauer, ad loc. and Brody, ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕ ěČđĕď, vol. 2, commentary, 249). 8 Hayyim Brody, ĘēĐ ĕĤĕĥ – ČĤĒĞ ěčČ ĐĥĚ, 2 vols. (Berlin; Jerusalem: Schocken, 1935–1941), 1:22–23. 9 This is the header as it appears in ms. Firk. IIA 43 (quoted in Fleischer, “ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕ ĦđĤđģĘ,” 801). The text as it appears in ms. Oxford, Bod. Poc. 74/1 (=cat. Neubauer 1970) is nearly identical: ĘČģđ ĖĘĪď ĘČĪĦĚ ĕĘĞ ĞīĜ ěđĤĐ đčČ ĐčđČĪĎĠ (given in cat. Neubauer, ad loc. and Brody, ČĤĒĞ ěčČ, 2:44).

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has been impeded through circumstances beyond his control, and that he has been delayed in an unspecified location, which appears to be in the general vicinity of his final destination: ę ĀĘăđčĎă ø ĘČþ Ħĥþ Ĉ þĎ ĀĘ ĕĦĕ ü ĥý Ĉ Ĥđø ĐĂ ČāĘ øđ / ę ĀĘ[ĕ] üĘ øĎ ĐĢý ģø ĘČþ ĕĞĕ ü Ďă ü Đÿ ďĞÿ “until I reached the edge of their region / but was prevented from approaching their border” (line 16). He furthermore writes that the delay occasioned his attendance as a guest at a literary gathering, where he succeeded in producing an imitation of the muwashshaḥ (girdle poem) ĐĤĕĞČ čĘ ĦđčĥēĚ ĘĕĘ.10 Ha-Levi dispatches his imitation, the muwashshaḥ ďđĝ ĦđĘĎ ĤēČ, along with the epistle, to Moshe ibn Ezra, and explicitly describes the poem as a response to the one that he had received from his correspondent: ĐčĀ Ĥý Ğú ĐĀ ĖĀ Ħø ĤĕĀ ĥü Ĉ ĘĞÿ / ĐčăĀ đĥĈ Ħø čü đă Đ ýĜĦøă Čþ Āđ “So I made it my reply / to your lovely poem” (line 47).11 This fact is also noted in the header of the muwashshaḥ in the dīwān of R. Hiyya: ěč ěđĤĐ ĕčČ ĕĠ ĐĘđ čĤģĕ Ğĥĕđ čĤ ęđĘĥ ČĐĘđČ ĕĦĘČ ĐĦĘČĝĤ ĕĠ ČĐĕĘČ ĤČĥČ ĕĦĘČ ĕĐđ .ČĤĒĞ “Also by him, concerning Abu Harun ben Ezra. This [poem] is the one to which he referred in his epistle, whose beginning is Shalom rav veyesha yiqrav.”12

III – Conventional Aspects If ha-Levi’s epistle is read in light of the circumstances in which it was composed, it becomes fairly evident that the composition is essentially a string of epistolographic conventions that enfold a rather unconventional core, which consists of a description of a gathering of literati amusing themselves by engaging in a poetic contest. In the present section, I would like to examine those conventional aspects that risk being misinterpreted as conveying real information. The epistle opens with two entirely formulaic components, which are necessitated by the nature of the genre: the address to the recipient, Moshe ibn Ezra, in which he is praised in fairly standard encomiastic terms (lines 1–9), immediately followed by a short section identifying the sender, Yehuda ha-Levi, wherein he takes care to present himself in equally conventional terms of humility (lines 10–12). These are followed by a section in which ha-Levi explains that he has been delayed on his way to Granada (lines 13–16), which has been interpreted as providing real-life information – as though Yehuda ha-Levi were writing to

10 Yona David, ģĕďĢ ěčČ ğĝđĕ ĕĤĕĥ (Jerusalem: American Academy for Jewish Research, 1982), 36–38; Shulamit Elizur, ĦĕĚĘĝđĚĐ ďĤĠĝč ĦĕĤčĞĐ ĘđēĐ ĦĤĕĥ, 3 vols. (Tel Aviv: The Open University of Israel, 2004), 3:85–87. The author of the muwashshaḥ, Yosef ibn Ṣaddiq, is not mentioned by name in the epistle. 11 Ha-Levi’s muwashshaḥ is published in Brody, ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕ ěČđĕď, vol. 1, texts, 135–37; Abramson, “ĦĤĎĕČ,” 409–11; Elizur, ďĤĠĝ ĦĤĕĥ, 3:103–6. 12 This is the header as it appears in ms. Oxford, Bod. Poc. 74/1 (=cat. Neubauer 1970; quoted in Brody, ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕ ěČđĕď, vol. 1, commentary, 222; Abramson, “ĦĤĎĕČ,” 409).

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Moshe ibn Ezra to inform him of some actual, unforeseen delay in his progress.13 However, a careful examination of the conventions of medieval Hebrew epistolography reveals that the plea of a delay is as much a convention as is the praise of the addressee. Let us examine the evidence. It was common in Hebrew literary epistles for the writer to express the wish to see the addressee. Such an avowal was not necessarily an expression of real intent, but rather a matter of courtesy. The employment of this epistolary trope was sometimes also apparently felt to require the specification of an excuse for why the writer had not actually realized that which was supposedly his dearest wish and had sent an epistle instead of having come in person.14 We find an elegant version of this convention articulated in Yehuda ha-Levi’s epistle to Ḥabib al-Mahdawi:15 / ęĕĘăü Ďă ÿ øĘĎă ÿ ĦĢăÿ đĤĚø ĕĦüă ēø ÿăĢ üĜ øđ / ęĕĘăü Ďă ÿ ě āđĚĐú ĕĦüă ēø čă ÿ ĥü Ĉ øđ / ę üĕĚÿ ĕ ýăďčă ÿ øė üĜ ĕĦüă Ğø ģÿ ĤĀ øđ / ę üĕĚÿ ĥĀ Ĉ ĕĦüă Ğø Ĥÿ ģĀ đă Ę ČāĘ øđ ĕĦüă Ğø ÿĎ Āĕ øđ / Ħ āđĕă üĜČû ĕĦüă øė ÿĘ āđĐ øđ / Ħ āđĕă Ģü ĕĦüă øėĤÿ ďĀ øđ / Ħ āđēăđĤ ĕĠý øĜ ÿė ĕĦüă čø ÿėĤĀ øđ / Ħ āđēĤĀ Čû ĕĠý ă ÿĎ ĕĦüă čø ÿĒĞĀ øđ ĕĦü āđ ăĘģÿ øĜ / ę üĕ ÿĜ øĒČĀ ĐĀ ęĞÿ āđĜ øđ / ę üĕĦÿ ĠĀ ĥ ĉ ø ă Đÿ ģĦþ Ěăþ đ / ę üĕ ÿĜĕĞý ĐĀ Ĥ āđČĚø čă ü / ĕĦüă Ğø ÿĎĠăĀ đ ĕĦüă Ğø ÿĎ ĀĜ ĕėăü / ĕĦüă Ğø Ďă ÿ Ĥø Đü ĕēü Ĥø ėăĀ ĘĞÿ čăø đ / ĕ üĜăđČ øĘĐþ ęĐĕþ Ħý āđď øĘ āđĦ øđ / ĕ üĜăđČ ĀĘėăø ęĕĚü ĕă Ā Đÿ ę ĀĘăđČ øđ / ĕ ĀĜĕĞý čă ø ĘĢý ĞĀ ĕĦĕ ü üĕĐĀ øđ ĦČāĒă Ěü ď āđĞ čĦĀ øėčă ü ĥþ Ĉ ę āđĘĥĀ Ĉ čø ĐĠþ ă ĘĞÿ čă ø ĥþ Ĉ ę āđĘĥĀ Ĉ / ĕ üĜăđĤĕĚü Đù If I could rend the heavens, / tread the heaving waters, / still the swelling waves, / command the courses of the heavenly spheres, / leave behind the highways, / ride the winds’ wings, / tramp through the desert wastes, / command ships / and toil tirelessly / so as to encounter and meet / the light of the eyes, / sweetness of the lips, / and pleasure of the ears [i.e., R. Ḥabib] – / I would consider myself unequal to [the intensity of my desire to see you] and a mere sluggard. / However, the days keep me prisoner, / 13 Fleischer speculates that “the delay perhaps pertained to politics/policing. Ha-Levi had come from the regions of Christian Spain, and it is possible that his movements in al-Andalus were subject to oversight and limitations. Tensions between Christian and Muslim Spain ran high in those days” (Fleischer, “ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕ ĦđĤđģĘ,” 802 note 56; translation mine). 14 The notion of a letter as a stand-in for the writer is encountered in Genizah correspondence; see Arnold E. Franklin, “More than Words on a Page: Letters as Substitutes for an Absent Writer,” in Jews, Christians and Muslims in Medieval and Early Modern Times – A Festschrift in Honor of Mark R. Cohen, ed. Arnold E. Franklin, et al. (Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2014), 289–93. The precise counterpart of this notion is encountered in the rhetorical claim that an epistle is no substitute for the sender. This claim is expressed in the poem đĕĔĜ ĤĥČ Đėč ĕĘēĜĚ by Moshe ibn Ezra: ĥĈ āđĜČù ĀĘ ěĕČý đă ĕ ĀđĤø üĕ āđĤČû ĦĀ ĕĚý ĥø Ĉ üĎčø ĕėăü ďĞÿ / ďāģ øĕĐÿ Đčă þ ÿė øĕ ČāĘ āđčĦĀ ėăø ĘĔÿ ĕėăü // . . . // đă ĕ ĀĒēø þĕ đĕčĀ Đāú Č ĦĘăÿ ĂĎĝø ě āđĤĦø üĕ / Ĥĥþ Ĉ Čú ďĞÿ ĞĚÿ ĥý Ĉ čă ø ě āđĤĦø üĕ “For man profits not by hearing until / [his eyes] behold the preeminent among his choicest intimates. // . . . // Surely the dew of his letter will not put out the fire [of longing] / until they are sated with the rains of his corporeal form” (lines 12, 14; Brody, ČĤĒĞ ěčČ, 1:88). Both ideas serve to express the sender’s desire to see the addressee, differing only with regard to whether or not the former has adopted the rhetorical stance of wishing to visit the latter or wishing to be visited by him. 15 Yehuda Ratzaby, “čĕčē ĪĤĘ ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕ ĪĤĚ ĦĤĎČ”, Gilyonot 28 (1954): 269.

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and their blows [lit. offspring] exhaust me. / And against my will they have forced me to substitute / a written greeting for a verbal one. This theme is reiterated later in the same epistle:16 Ėø Ĥþ þăďčă ÿ ęĕĦüă ēÿ Ħø ēÿ øđ / Ėø Ĥþ āđĚ ĕčă ü üĘčă ø ĥĈ ĕă ý ĥþ Ĉ ĕĠü ă ĘĞÿ ğČÿ / Ėø ĦĀă Čü [ēĕ ,Č ĦđĤ] Ħ þė þĘ ĀĘ ČĕĐü ĦĢþ Ěăþ Čÿ Ħø Ěü ĕėăü ĘČþ / Ħ āđďĕďü øĕĐÿ ĕĠý øĜ ÿėčă ø ĕĦüă Ġø Ğÿ ĒČĀ / ĕ üĜăđĤĢø Ğø ÿĕ ČāĘ ęĐĕþ Ħý āđď øĘ āđĦ øđ / ĕ üĜăđĤ øĒĞø ÿĕ ęĕĚü ĕă Ā Đÿ đă ăĘČü / [Đ ,čĕ ĪĐģ] [Č ,ĕ ČīĘĚ] Ħ āđďĕēü čø āđĦ āđĝă ÿĜ øĘ ČāčČĀ øđ / [Ĕĕ ,ęĥ ;Čĕ ,ĕ ĪĜď] Ħ āđďăđĚēú ĥĕĈ Čü For it [i.e., my soul] yearns to go (Ruth 1:18) with you / though my heart is timorous / and there are terrors lying in the way (Qoh 12:5). / If only the days could offer assistance / and their blows [lit. offspring] refrain from resistance, / then would I fly on the wings of friendship / to the man of delights (Dan 10:11, 19) [i.e., R. Ḥabib] / and come to try him with abstruse matters (1 Kgs 10:1). The same topos, sharing a formulation with the lines quoted immediately above, is found in the epistle to the sages of Narbonne that ha-Levi composed on behalf of R. Yosef ha-Levi ibn Megas:17 Ėø Ĥþ þăďĐÿ ģ āđēĤĀ Ėø Čÿ / ĦĢþ Ģþ āđĤĦø Ěü ę þėĕďý Ğú ġăđĤ ĀĘ øđ / ĦĢþ Ěþă Čÿ Ħø Ěü ę þėčă Ā ĥĈ Ġþ Ĝă þ Đÿ ĕėăü Ğÿ ďý āđĕ ďĞý Āđ Ğÿ ďý āđĕă Đÿ øđ đă Ĝ ýĜ āđĢĤø čă ü ęĕĚü ĕă Ā Đÿ ěĕČý øđ / đă Ĝĕ ýĜĕčă ý And He who knows and bears witness knows that [my] soul yearns for you / and strains to run to you. / But the distance between us is great, / and the days are not on our side. An excuse for not having realized the formalized wish to visit the addressee is encountered in the epistles of other authors as well. Thus, Moshe ibn Ezra writes to Yoshia ibn Bazzaz:18 Ħēÿ Ħÿă / ĕčÿ ĀėĤăø đ / ĕĘăÿ Ěü Ħēÿ Ħÿă / ĕ ÿĘ øĎĤÿ ęăđ ĉĥ ĀĘ / ĕĦÿ āđčĥø Ĉ ēø Ěÿ ĕ üĜăđĤĝøă üĕ øđ / ĕĦÿ āđĕ øĘ üė øđ ĕčă ü üĘ ĕ üĜăđĢĞĀ øĕ ĒČĀ øđ ęĞāÿ Ĝ / ĦČāĒă Ěü [ĕčă ü üĘ Ęģý ĀĜ øđ ČīĜ] ď āđĞ ĕĦü āđ ăĘģÿ øĜăđ / ęĕČü čĀ øăĢĐÿ ďēÿ Čÿ ėăø / ęĕČü ĠĀ ĥø Ĉ ĘČþ ġăđĤ ĀĘ øđ / . . . / ĕčÿ ĦĀă øėĚü Ğ ÿĜĚĀ Ğ ÿĎĤþ ĐĀ øđ / đĕĦĀ āđď øĘāĦă ģĘăý ēü ěĚĀ Ēøă Đÿ ĘčĀ Čú / đĕ ĀĜĠĀ ă ĦČþ Ħ āđČĤø üĘ / đĕ ĀĜĕĞý čă ø ĘĠĀ ĥĀ Ĉ Đ ĀĕĐĀ øđ / Ħ āđĒēú ÿĘ đĕ ĀĜĠĀ ă ĞĤĀ ĐĤþ ģø Ěü ččă ý Ħÿă ĝø üĜ øđ / ĞĤāĀ ČĚø ĕ ÿĘĞĀ ĘĎă ÿ øĘĎă ÿ Ħø üĜ ĕ ÿĘČý āđčĦĀ ėăø Ğĕÿ Ďă ü Đü Ĥĥþ Ĉ Čú ę āđĕ ĕėăü ĐĚĀă Đý Ěý ĤĦāý ĕ øđ / đĕĦĀ āđďāČ And then my heart and kidneys counselled me / and my thoughts admonished me / to replace my words / with feet / and my epistles / with chariots / . . . / and to run on the bare mountain-tops / like a gazelle, / though my heart thought itself unworthy19 of this – / beholding his beautiful countenance, / and it was too lowly in its own eyes / to see his face. / 16 17 18 19

Ratzaby, “čĕčē ĪĤĘ ĦĤĎČ,” 270. Brody, ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕ ěČđĕď, vol. 1, texts, 218 (lines 33–35). Brody, ČĤĒĞ ěčČ, 1:291 (lines 30–35). Here I am translating the text as it appears in ms. Moscow, Guenzburg 1332. For the variant, see

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But Time dealt his blows [lit. offspring] / and the moment prevented its intentions, / and what’s more – the day on which his letter arrived an event befell me, / and an evil mishap transpired. Likewise, Anatoli ben Yosef, writing from Alexandria, concludes his epistle to Maimonides in Fustat as follows: ĕĦüă Ĥø Ďă ÿ Čü ĐĞĕĀ Ďă ü Đü ČāĘ đīĢĕ ĕ üĘĐĀ ģø ĕ ýĜģø üĒ ĕ üĜăđĞ ĀĜĚøă ĥþ Ĉ ĕ ýĘăđĘ øđ Ā þĘ øĎĤÿ ĕ ýĜĠø üĘ ĦČāĒ “And were it not for the fact that the elders of my ĕĚü Ģø Ğÿ čă ø ĕ üĜČú ĕĦü ĀĘăđĒ Ėĕ community (may their Rock protect them and keep them alive) are preventing me, this epistle would not have arrived at your feet, but rather I myself.”20 In all the examples quoted above, there is no good reason to think that the expression of the wish to visit the addressee (merely implied in the case of Anatoli ben Yosef) is anything but a polite convention. However, in a number of other epistles, the known biographical context makes it clear that the writer did actually intend to see the addressee. In such cases, the proffered excuse is presumably also real, in the sense that it reflects some aspect of the unfolding of actual events “on the ground” – the writer indeed intends to proceed to the addressee, and the journey is indeed drawn out, a circumstance that he feels compelled to acknowledge and explain. At the same time, the nexus between the notions “I will come to see you” and “I am delayed on my way” nevertheless remains rooted in the formal epistolary convention that we have seen above. In other words, the excuse need not necessarily be taken to mean that the writer is being delayed against his will, but may rather simply serve the purpose of indicating how much he is yearning to see the addressee, as required by etiquette. Thus, we find ha-Levi writing from Alexandria to Shemuel ben Ḥanania the Nagid in Fustat:21 čėăý Ğÿ øĕ ÿđ / ĔČÿ øĘ ĘĐý ÿĜĦø ĕă ü ÿđ / ĔĞĀ Ěø čă ü Đă Ěÿ Đø Ěÿ Ħø üĕ ĕėăü / āđ ăďčø Ğÿ øĘ / āđď āđčėăø ĘĞÿ Ę āđēĚø üĕ / āđ ăďĝø ēÿ čă ø ďĕ üĎĜă Ā Đÿ ĕ üĜāďČ ÿđ ĐĤĀ āđēĝø ģĝþ Ğý čă ø ďĤÿ Ĕø üĜ ĕėăü / āđēĤø ėăĀ ĘĞÿ čă ø / āđēĤø ČĀ ĦČþ

Dan Pagis, ĕĥĕĘĥ ĤĠĝ ,Ęđē ĕĤĕĥ – ČĤĒĞ ěčČ ĐĥĚ (Jerusalem: Schocken Institute for Jewish Research of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America, Jerusalem, 1977), 245. 20 Abraham Lichtenberg, đĕĦđĤĎČđ ęīčĚĤĐ ĦđčđĥĦ ġčđģ (Leipzig, 1859; repr., Gregg, 1969]), part 2, fol. 36b. A similar, though more prosaic, formulation is found in a Judeo-Arabic Genizah letter sent from Alexandria, in which the writer informs his brother of the unsettled political-military conditions in the city that are delaying his onward progress toward him: ĕĦĚČģČ čĪĎđČ ĪďĘČ đĐđ ĕčČĦė ĪġđĞ ĦĜė ČĘđ “And these are [the circumstances] that have necessitated my remaining [in Alexandria], and have prevented me from being a replacement for my letter” (T-S 10 J 31.6, lines 21–22; published in Miriam Frenkel, ĕĚĕč ĐĕĤďĜĝėĘČ ĕďđĐĕ čĤģč ĐĎĕĐĜĚ ĦĕĘĕĞ – īęĕčĕďĜĐđ ęĕčđĐČĐī ęĕĕĜĕčĐ [Jerusalem: Yad Izhaq Ben-Zvi and the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2006], 487). 21 Brody, ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕ ěČđĕď, vol. 1, texts, 213 (lines 59–61). For the circumstances of the epistle’s composition, see Raymond P. Scheindlin, The Song of the Distant Dove (Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press, 2008), 111–15.

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And may my lord the Nagid, in his graciousness, / forgive his servant / for having detracted from his honor – / for he has been somewhat tardy / and proceeded slowly. / He has tarried on the way / against his will, / being encumbered with the need to transact business. Thus also, Yitzhaq ibn Ezra, on his way from Egypt to Iraq, writes to Avraham ben Mazhir, the Head of the Palestinian academy in Damascus:22 Ā þĘČý øđ / ĕĦü ĚĀă ĞĂ øĘ Ėĕ Ā Ħüă Ěø ĉĥÿ ę ĀĘăđČ øđ Ğÿ āđĚĥø Ĉ üė øđ / ĖĀ Ħþ ĤĀ āđĦă ĘČþ ĕ ÿĜ øĒČĀ øđ / ĖĀ Ħþ ĤăĀ đĢ ĘČþ ĕ ÿĜĕĞý øđ / . . . / ĕĦü ĚĀă ÿĎĚø Ėĕ Ā þĘČý øđ / đă ĢČĀ ĔĞÿ Ěø üė øđ / ę üĕ ÿĘ øĎĤÿ ĐĀ đă ČĜă ø ģü / ę üĕďÿ ĕă Ā Đÿ č āđĦ øėčăü đ / ę üĕ ÿĜĕĞý ĐĀ đă ČĜă ø ģü / ę üĕ ÿĜ øĒČĀ ĐĀ ĕ ýĘăđĘ / đă ĢĤĀ Ėĕ Ā ģĥý ă Ĉ ÿĜ øĘăđ / Ėĕďþ ĞĀ Čāč ĀĘ / ĕĦü ĤăĀ đĚĦø Đ þĕĐø Ħüă / ĕĦü ĤĀ Ġø ĝü ĕ ÿĘăđČ øđ / Ĥēý āđ ăč čĘăý Đÿ ĥþ ă Ĉ ĐĚÿ ĘėăĀ / Ĥēý Čÿ Ěø Đÿ ěĚĀ Ēøă Đÿ Ā ďþ Āĕ [ďĕ ,ĎĘ ĪĤč] ĕ üĜ āđďČú ĘČþ ČāčČĀ Ĥĥþ Ĉ Čú ďĞÿ / . . . / Ėĕ Moreover, I keep you before me, / and am on my way to you. / . . . / And my eyes are [directed] toward your image, / and my ears to your teaching. / And as the ears heard, / so the eyes were eager; / and as the hands wrote, / so too were the feet. / So they nearly rushed / and ran to you, / were it not for Time, which puts off / all that the heart chooses. / So perhaps my letter / might substitute for me / in coming to you / and kissing your hands / . . . / until I come to my lord (Gen 33:14). It is noteworthy that in most of the cases cited above, the culprit preventing the writer from proceeding to the addressee is not some concrete, quotidian circumstance, but rather Time, or one of its hypostases: the days and moments, and their attendant blows of Fate – i.e., the impersonal, inexorable and malevolent force known from medieval Arabic (and thence Judeo-Arabic) literature that works in the world by ultimately bringing all things to ruin. Only occasionally does the writer take the trouble to proffer a more concrete excuse for his delay: the length of the journey (“the distance between us is great”), the burdensome professional obligations imposed upon a public figure (“the elders of my community are preventing me”), business dealings (“the need to transact business”), or adverse personal circumstances (“an event . . . an evil mishap”). The tendency to blame Time in general strengthens the impression that, at base, we are dealing with an epistolary convention that on occasion may “overlap” with practical circumstances. This is made clear in the epistle to the sages of Narbonne: “But the distance between us is great, / and the days are not on our side.” However, even in cases of overlap, one gets the impression that the perceived need to refer to retarding circumstances is rooted in convention and etiquette. 22 Menahem Schmelzer, ęĕĤĕĥ – ČĤĒĞ ěčČ ęĐĤčČ ěč ģēĢĕ (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1979), 7–8 (lines 154, 160–64). For the circumstances of the epistle’s composition, see Ezra Fleischer, “čīĕĐ ĐČĚĐ ĕĐĘĥč ĐĕĤđĝĚ ęĕĕĤčĞ Ęđē ĕĤĕĥ”, in Fleischer, ďĤĠĝč ĦĕĤčĞĐ ĐĤĕĥĐ, 1422.

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Given these considerations, in ha-Levi’s epistle to Moshe ibn Ezra it seems best to take the reference to a delay in the writer’s journey (lines 13–16) as a convention, rather than as conveying meaningful information about his progress. This impression receives strong support from the fact that ha-Levi ascribes the blame for the delay to the usual suspect, Time: Ħăđďčý øėčă ü ěĚĀ Ēøă Đÿ ĕ üĜ ýĎĐú ÿĜ øĕ ÿđ “But Time made me proceed sluggishly” (line 13). The epistolary topos of delay is closely related to the topos of the writer’s unworthiness to stand before and see the addressee. We have already seen this conceit employed in Moshe ibn Ezra’s epistle to Yoshia ibn Bazzaz: “[M]y heart thought itself unworthy of this – / beholding his beautiful countenance, / and it was too lowly in its own eyes / to see his face.” A further, unusually well-developed and elegant, instance may be seen in the epistle that Yosef haMa‘aravi sent from Alexandria to Maimonides in Fustat, in anticipation of his own arrival there (square brackets indicate conjectural restorations):23 đĕ ĀĜĕĞý čă ø Đ ĀĕĐĀ / ģ āđē ĕ üĘčø üĘ ĕĦüă Ğø ĝÿ ĀĜ ĕĤý ēú Čÿ / . . . / ĐĢăĀ đģĦĀă ĘČÿ ĖĀ Ğú ĝø ĀĜ øđ ĖĀ Ħø āđĜēú čăÿ đ / ĐĢăĀ đĤ ĕčă ü üĘ øĘ ĤĚÿ āđČ Āđ Ā þėĤĀ ďø čü đă ĕĐø üĕ ĐĚĀă ĀĘ ĤĚāÿ Č Āđ / [ĔĘ ,Ēĕ ČīĚĥ] ĐĝĀă üĜ ČāĘ ĕėăü Ħ þė þĘ ĀĘ Ę[Čāþ ĕă ÿđ] / Đ[ĝĀ ĚĀ Ğú Ě] ęĕĜă ü Ģü Ėĕ ÿ øĘ Ā þĕēĀ øĘčăü đ / ęĕēü Ġÿ ă ĕ üĜčĕý ĥü Ĉ øĕ ÿđ / Ėø Ĥþ āđĢ ě āđĚČĀ ČāĜčă ø ĖĀ øĘ ěĕ[Čý øđ] / Ėø Ĥþ þăďčă ÿ Đăÿ Ěý Đø Ěÿ Ħø Ħüă ĐĚĀă ĀĘ / . . . / ęĕēü ēÿ Ėĕ Ĥĥþ Ĉ Čú ēÿ āđēĐÿ / Ĥ[ āđĚ]ĥăø Ĉ đ ĕ üĘĥĀ Ĉ Ěø Đ ĀĜĕčă ü [ĤĚČ]ā ÿ ĕă ÿđ / āđĦ ĀĜĥø ă Ĉ Ěü Ĥ āđĞ ýĕ Ĥĥþ Ĉ Čú ĥĕĈ Čü ėăø ĕ üĜĤĕý Ğü øĕ ÿđ / āđĦĚĀ ēú čă ÿ ĒČĀ ă Đ ĀĜĦăø đ / ĐĥĀ Ĉ ďĀ ēú ĦĕĤü čø Ħ āđĤ øė üĜ ĐčĀ ĐĀ / [Ĕ ,ďĕ čīĘĚ] ĤāĚČ ýĘ ě āđĜčĀ øĘčă ü Ĥĥþ Ĉ Čú ĒĤþ Čþ ĐĀ ĘČþ ē ÿĘĥĀ Ĉ ě āđĜčĀ øĘčă ü Đďþ ĥ ĉ Ā ă Đÿ Ħĕă ÿ ēÿ ČĢ[ ý Ħ] ýă ÿđ / ēăÿ đĤ øĘ đĕĤĀ čĀ øăď ĦČþ č āđĥĈ ēø ĕă ÿ ÿđ / ēÿ āđēĐÿ đĕ ĀĜĕĞý čă ø Ēčþ ĕă ü ÿđ / ĐĥĀ ă Ĉ Čü øĘ [ĕ üĜčø üĘ] ĖĀ Ħøă čă ü ĦČþ ø Čý øđ / đă Đĝýă ÿėĦøă ÿđ āđč ĐĤĀ čø ĞĀ ēăÿ đĤ øđ / đă Đĝý Ěø Ĥø Ħüă ÿđ / [ę]ĕĐü Ě[ þ øĘ Ėø āđĤĞú ÿĜ Ėĕ ý Ħøă āđ]Đčø Ďă Ā ĘĞÿ đĕČĀ āđĤ Ę Āė øđ [ĒĤþ Č] [ē ,ČĘ Īēĕ] ęĕĐāü ĘČù ě ÿĎčă ø đă Đ[ăđĚĚĀ Ğ] ú ČāĘ [ęĕ üĒ]ĤĀ Čú ÿđ And I said to my heart: Run, / and do not shrink from encamping and setting out! / . . . / After I had traversed unbounded distances, / [the journey] seemed burdensome to it [i.e., my heart], / so it essayed to proceed but it lacked experience (1 Sam 17:39) [i.e., sufficient wisdom to come before Maimonides]. / So I said: Why are there thorns and traps blocking your paths, / and hooks in your jaws? / . . . / Why do you tarry on the way, / though you have no need for Alexandria? / Then he replied to me in anger, / and awakened me like one awakening from sleep. / And he said: Consider my parable and note it. / In Lebanon, the brier sent word to the cedar, saying (2 Kgs 14:9): / Let’s make a new compact – / give your daughter to my son as a wife. But he found the brier despicable / and 23 Joseph Yahalom, “ęīčĚĤĐ ďđčėĘ ěđĞĚĥ ěč ğĝđĕ Ęĥ ĦĤčēĚĐ :ĪĐĕģďĢ ěč ĐĕčđĔ ęđČĜĪ”, Tarbiz 66 (1997): 575–76 (lines 266, 271–78). For the circumstances of the epistle’s composition, see p. 544. Yosef ha-Ma‘aravi came to Egypt in order to study with Maimonides, and it was for him that the latter composed the Guide, in the introduction to which Yosef ’s epistles (sic) from Alexandria are mentioned: ĐĕĤďĜėĝČĘČ ěĚ ĖĦČĚČģĚđ ĖĘĕČĝĤ ĕĜĦĘĢđ ĪďĜĚ ĖĘĪď ěČėđ “This was after your epistles and maqamas reached me from Alexandria” (Salomon Munk, ěđĚĕĚ ěč ĐĥĚ đĜĕčĤĘ . . . ěĕĤĕČēĘČ ĦĘČĘď [Jerusalem: Junovitch, 1929], 1 [lines 8–9]).

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thought his words empty wind. / Then the wild beasts came and trampled it / and the wind blew and covered it [with dust]. / How can we compare to a cedar, whose height excites wonder in all, / and whom no other cedar eclipsed in God’s Paradise (Ezek 31:8)? The circumstances referred to in this passage are quite clear. Yosef, who had travelled from Ceuta seeking instruction from Maimonides in Fustat, was now in Alexandria. Regardless of whether or not, from Maimonides’ point of view, he was tarrying on the way, in his epistle Yosef saw fit to explain his supposedly having been detained. The point isn’t so much whether he really was experiencing a delay, but rather that, from the perspective of epistolary convention, the delay – whether unforeseen and unavoidable, or planned and intentional, or simply fabricated for rhetorical purposes – serves as a basis for developing an elaborate conceit, the upshot of which is praise of Maimonides. Thus, the writer, noting that his heart is resisting making the last leg of the long journey, asks it to account for the delay. In response, the heart cites the parable of the brier and the cedar (2 Kgs 14:9) to indicate that it is apprehensive of coming before the master, for fear that his awesome stature will eclipse it entirely.24 The theme of unworthiness before the addressee and the consequent reluctance to see him is present in ha-Levi’s epistle to Moshe ibn Ezra in a slightly surprising form. The section immediately preceding the conclusion (lines 55–61) opens conventionally enough with praise of the addressee and the plea that he treat the writer kindly and help him to overcome the wiles of Time, which has heretofore prevented his arrival (lines 55–56; cf. the commentary to line 56). Ha-Levi then expresses uncertainty regarding Moshe ibn Ezra’s favorable disposition toward him, and seeks a sign that would confirm his favor (lines 57–58). Following this, in a surprising twist, ha-Levi seems to threaten to turn back if Ibn Ezra is unwilling to respond favorably to his representations (line 59): “If any part of my message seems good to you [I am satisfied]. / Otherwise, by your soul, I will return whence I came.” Fleischer tentatively suggests that these lines are alluding to the logistics of ha-Levi’s journey, but his reconstructed scenario is implausibly cumbersome and unconvincing.25 In fact, the lines do 24 The text of the epistle becomes very fragmentary at this point, but it is clear that the dialogue between Yosef and his reluctant heart continues. 25 “Ha-Levi explains at the beginning of his epistle that he was ‘prevented’ [see line 16 – MR] from arriving at his destination. At the end of the epistle he seems to be hinting that he has attempted to circumvent the obstacles in order to reach Granada by means of another route, upon which he has embarked. Now, encouraged by his addressee’s response [i.e., the poem ČđčĢĘ đĥē ęĕĚĕ ĕďĘĕ, which he received from Moshe ibn Ezra – MR], and seeing that he – i.e., Moshe ibn Ezra – is apprehensive that he has decided to not come to see him at all, he promises to ‘return whence he came,’ i.e., to return to the former, direct route to Granada” (Fleischer, “ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕ ĦđĤđģĘ,” 802; translation mine).

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not refer to logistics at all. Rather, ha-Levi is here simply taking the theme of his own unworthiness before the great man to its logical conclusion – if he cannot get assurance that he has found favor with Moshe ibn Ezra, he will consider himself unworthy to see him and will simply turn on his heels and return whence he came. The writer’s stylized threat to turn back is indeed jarring, but it is not without parallel. In his epistle to Anatoli ben Yosef, Maimonides employs the same device. In the following, the writer (Maimonides) imagines himself being addressed by the addressee’s (Anatoli’s) personified epistle, which has reached him:26 Ā þĜĕĞý čă ø č āđĔ ęČü / āđĦă čă ü Ęēý ĤĀ Ėĕ Ā þĜĠĀ øĘ ĐēăĀ đĘĥø ă Ĉ Đÿ øđ / . . . / āđĦă čø ėăÿ Ĥø Ěþ ęĦÿ ĤĀ ĖĀ ĦČ Ğÿ āđĚĥø Ĉ üĘ Ėĕ ø ĤĀ ģø üĘ ČăđĐ ĐĜă ý Đü øđ ø ĞĤÿ ęČü øđ / [Čė ,Ē ĪđĐĕ] ĕ üĘĐû ČĀ ĐĀ Ė āđĦčă ø ęĜă Ā Đü / ĕ üĘĕēý øđ ĕ ÿĜ Āĕ øĜģü øđ ĕ ÿĜčĀ Čú ĘėăĀ ĉĥĠý ă ēÿ øĘăđ / . . . / ĕĤÿ čĀ øăď ĕ ýĜ øĕ øĜĞü Ā þĜĕĞý čă ø ĕčü ČĀ Ħĕčă ý ĘČþ øđ ĕĦüă ēø Ġÿ ă ĥø Ĉ Ěü ĘČþ / . . . / ĕ üĘ ĐčăĀ đĥĈ ČĀ Ėĕ And behold he [i.e., Anatoli] has harnessed his chariot [to come] to you / . . . / and the one that has been sent before you [i.e., myself, Anatoli’s personified epistle] is his daughter Rachel (cf. Gen 29:6). / If it please you to hear my business / . . . / and to seek out my [precious] stones and possessions and wealth, / they are in my tent (Josh 7:21). / If it please you not, however, I will go back / . . . / to my kin and my father’s house. In Maimonides’ version, there can be no question of actually turning back, as the epistle has already arrived. The threat is therefore transparently a piece of rhetoric. The same is the case with ha-Levi’s address to Moshe ibn Ezra, as he himself all but avows immediately after the suggestion that he might turn back: “Indeed no such thing would have crossed my mind / had I not been anxious about the matter” (line 60).

IV – Two Observations on the Literary Contest The portions of the epistle discussed in the previous section are thus all conventional, and convey no substantial or new information. Rather, their main purpose is merely to reaffirm to the addressee that the writer is on his way to him. In the present section, I would like to make a few observations regarding the centerpiece of the epistle, which describes a scene that falls well outside that which might have been expected on the basis of the epistolographic conventions current in ha-Levi’s world: the description of the literary gathering in which he composed his muwashshaḥ ďđĝ ĦđĘĎ ĤēČ, which accompanied the epistle (lines 17–46). Ha-Levi writes that, as a result of the unavoidable delay 26 Itzhak Shailat, ęīčĚĤĐ ĦđĤĎĕČ, 3rd printing (Ma’ale Adummim: Shailat, 1996), 469 (lines 7–11).

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that he encountered on his way to Granada, he was presented with an opportunity to attend a wine party. At this party, a group of literati were engaged in improvising verses on the basis of the muwashshaḥ ĐĤĕĞČ čĘ ĦđčĥēĚ ĘĕĘ by Yosef ibn Ṣaddiq (the poet’s name is not specified in the epistle), which served them as a type-poem (lines 17–21). The participants in this sport were only partially successful, and therefore invited ha-Levi to try his hand where they had failed (lines 23–24). Out of modesty, he at first demurred that he was unequal to the task (lines 25–34). But they insisted, and he finally complied (lines 35–38). The challenge was daunting and the recalcitrant verses would not bend to his will, as it were, but then, ha-Levi “invoked” the name of Moshe ibn Ezra, which subdued them, and he managed to compose the poem (lines 39–43).27 Finally, ha-Levi gives a technical account of his imitation: he has replaced the rhymes in the first parts of the strophes, i.e., the ones that are not girdle-rhymed, with the result that some of the rhymes have been changed (i.e., those of the first part of every strophe), while some remain the same (i.e., those of the second, girdle-rhymed part of every strophe). But even where the rhymes remain the same, the content of the poem has been changed (lines 44–46). First, it ought to be observed that the literary contest scene described by haLevi is quite plausible historically. The epistle may be dated to the earlier part of the Almoravid period in al-Andalus, regarding which the historian Ibn Khaldūn notes that “[t]here was much competition (in muwashshaḥ poetry) during the reign of the Veiled (Almoravid) Ṣinhājah.”28 He furthermore substantiates this observation by means of an anecdote about the Almoravid-period poets al-A‘mā al-Tuṭīlī and Yaḥyā ibn Baqī:29

27 The invocation of the addressee’s name as a means of overcoming the writer’s inability to compose is yet another conventional trope, encountered in literary epistles as well as in qaṣida poems – see the references in the commentary to lines 41–42. In fact, by itself, the trope of name-invocation is found outside the context of poetic composition. Thus, we encounter it in the wine-section of the poem đĕĤđČ đēďģ ĥČ by Moshe ibn Ezra: ČĤĀ ģø ĕ ÿĜ øĒČĀ / ĕ ýĘĞú ÿđ āđĐ øĎ ĀĜčă ø ĕ ÿĜĕĞý ĥāĈ Ĕ øĘ Đģþ ĥø Ĉ Ěÿ đă ēĦĀă Ġÿ ă Ħø üĕ øđ āđĚĥø Ĉ čü “Cupbearer, whet my appetite [lit. eyes] with its [i.e., the wine’s] sparkle, and upon / my ears invoke its name so that they be opened” (line 18; Brody, ČĤĒĞ ěčČ, 1:73). 28 Ibn Khaldūn, The Muqaddima – An Introduction to History, trans. Franz Rosenthal, 3 vols., Bollingen Series XLIII (New York: Pantheon Books, 1958), 3:442. Ibn Khaldūn’s material regarding muwashshaḥāt that I have cited here derives from Ibn Sa‘īd al-Andalusī, Al-Muqtaṭaf min azhār al-ṭuraf, ed. Sayyid Ḥanafī Ḥasanayn (Cairo: al-Hay’a al-miṣriyya al-’āmma li–l-kitāb, 1983), 256. Ha-Levi was probably born around 1085 (see Scheindlin, Distant Dove, 254 note 3; for a suggested date of ca. 1075, see Jefim Schirmann, ĦĕĚĘĝđĚĐ ďĤĠĝč ĦĕĤčĞĐ ĐĤĕĥĐ ĦđďĘđĦ, ed. Ezra Fleischer [Jerusalem: Hebrew University Magnes Press and Ben-Zvi Institute, 1995], 430), whereas Almoravid intervention in al-Andalus began in 1086 with the battle of Zallāqa (see Hugh Kennedy, Muslim Spain and Portugal [Harlow: Longman, 1996], 161–66). At the time that he composed the epistle, ha-Levi was a young man. 29 Ibn Khaldūn, Muqaddima (Rosenthal), 3:442–43.

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[A] number of authors of muwashshaḥahs once gathered in Sevilla, each of them with a very artistic muwashshaḥ poem of his own composition. Al-A‘mā at-Tuṭīlī stepped forward to recite his poem. He began with his famous muwashshaḥah “Laughing and revealing teeth like pearls . . . ” (When the assembled poets heard that,) Ibn Baqī tore up his muwashshaḥah and all the others followed suit. The scene described here differs significantly in detail from the one described by ha-Levi, but the two together convey the spirit of competition surrounding the composition of muwashshaḥāt. As a result, we may treat ha-Levi’s description as being rooted in a real incident, rather than constituting yet another literary trope whose function is to supply a lively mise en scène for his account of the composition of the muwashshaḥ in praise of Moshe ibn Ezra.30 30 A similar competition scene does, however, become a fairly common literary trope in the Tahkemoni of al-Harizi (died 1225). This may be demonstrated by reducing ha-Levi’s description to its bare essentials: an unknown, traveling poet ends up in a literary salon where the guests are engaged in some sort of competition involving poetry, and whereas the other guests fail, he succeeds. In the Tahkemoni, the traveler is the hero, Hever ha-Qeni, and we encounter him in this sort of scenario in maqamot 12, 40, 42, and 45. Maqama 40 will serve here for purposes of illustration (maqama numbering and text are from al-Harizi, ĕĜđĚėēĦ, ed. Joseph Yahalom and Naoya Katsumata [Jerusalem: Yad Izhaq Ben-Zvi and the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2010]). Here, the narrator, Heman ha-Ezrahi, finds himself at a gathering of poets who at the suggestion of one of their number have decided to try their skill in the composition of tzimmud epigrams, at which point the following ensues: ęĐþ Ěý ďēĀ Čþ ĘėăĀ ġĤĀ / āđĤĚĀ Čú Ěÿ Ħ ÿĜăđčĦø đă Ĝĕčü Đý øđ / āđĤčĀ øăď ęĞĀ Ěø ĥĀ Ĉ øėăđ ĕėăü āđĦ āđČĤø üė øđ / . . . / ĥĕĈ Ěü Āĕ ČāĘ āđĚ āđģĚăø Ěăü đ / ĥĕĈ Ĥü ēú Ěăÿ đ Ğÿ Ěý āđĥĈ ěģý ĀĒ ĥĕĈ Čü Đ ĀĕĐĀ ęĥĀ Ĉ øđ / āđ ăč üĘčă ø ęĕĐāü ĘČù ěĦÿ ĀĜ Ĥĥþ Ĉ Čú Ĥčă ý ēÿ øĕ ÿđ / āđčĕ üĜ Ħ þėĤþ Ğú Ěÿ čă ø Ĥĕĥü Ĉă ĐĀ Ğÿ āđĚĥø Ĉ üĘ đă ĢĤø Ħüă ęČü øđ / . . . / ęĦþă čø Čÿ ĥø Ĉ ģ āđĚĞĀ Ĥ āđ ăčĚăü đ / ęĦþă øėĤÿ øăď ĐĥĀ Ĉ ģĀ Ėø Ĥþ ďþ ĕėăü đă Ğ øăď ęĐþ ĀĘ ĤĚÿ ČĀ / đă Ğďø Āĕ ČāĘ Đ ĀėČ ĀĘĚøă Đÿ øđ / . . . / đă Ğ øĎ Āĕ ăÿ Ěü øĘ đă čĕĥü Ĉ ģø Đÿ øđ / ĕ ÿĘČý ę þėĕ ýĜ øĒČĀ đă Ĕă Đÿ / ďĚĀ ēø Ĝă þ Đÿ čĕĜă ü Đÿ øđ / ďĚĀ Ģø Ĝă ü Đÿ “And upon hearing his proposal / and underĕĘĕ standing the wisdom of his speech, / each one of them ran in his verbal course / and composed whatever God put in his heart. / Now there was an old man there, listening silently / and not budging from his place / . . . / And when he saw that they had exhausted themselves / . . . / and showed no knowledge of the art, / he said to them: Know that you tread a difficult road / and have drawn from a deep well / . . . / And if you wish to hear tzimmud poetry / and pleasant discourse / lend me your ears / and hear my words” (40:15–22). The old man then proceeds to deliver a speech in rhymed prose each pair of whose lines shows tzimmud-rhyme, and follows this up with 22 tzimmud epigrams, one for each letter of the alphabet. In accordance with the typical structure of the Harizian maqama, this display of virtuosity elicits an enquiry as to the stranger’s identity, and the maqama is concluded with Hever’s self-revelation. In terms of the dynamics of the contest, the main difference between the scene in ha-Levi’s epistle and the one in the maqamot is that ha-Levi reports that he was invited by the others to try his hand at the poetic sport, that he at first refused and eventually agreed only after vigorous persuasion, and that he finally succeeded only thanks to having “invoked” Moshe ibn Ezra’s name. Hever, on the other hand, lurks in the wings and lets the others flounder for a while, then forces his way into the competition uninvited and makes off with the prize. The portrait of ha-Levi’s persona, therefore, stresses modesty (at least rhetorically), whereas the exact opposite is the case with Hever’s.

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The second point that deserves mention with regard to the description of the literary contest is connected to a technical term that ha-Levi employs in describing the process of poetic imitation. Composing a poem in structural imitation of a given model derives from Arabic poetic culture, where the practice is known as mu‘āraḍa (literally “opposition, confrontation”), and instances of it are well-attested in the realm of the Hebrew muwashshaḥ, where the model poem could be in either Arabic or Hebrew.31 In his epistle, ha-Levi provides a lively and reasonably detailed description of the actual mechanics of this activity, played out within the context of a Hebrew literary salon. As demonstrated by Stern, in the present instance the muwashshaḥāt of Yosef ibn Ṣaddiq and Yehuda ha-Levi belong to an even more extensive “family” of poems, whose prototype is the Arabic mā ladhdha lī sharbu rāḥi by Abū Bakr al-Abyaḍ, a poet from Almoravid al-Andalus.32 Al-Abyaḍ’s muwashsaḥ was imitated by Yosef ibn Ṣaddiq, whose imitation was in turn imitated by ha-Levi. Finally, the Arabic model was also imitated by Abraham ibn Ezra, in his liturgical poem ĕĦĕĜĕė ČĘ ęĥč ďđď ĘČ.33 Fleischer has argued convincingly that in ha-Levi’s description of the manner in which he imitated his model he employs technical terminology pertaining to the poetics of the muwashshaḥ: Đă Ħĕ Ā ĥČ ü Ĉ Ĥý čă ø ěĎă ý ÿĜ đă čĔü ĕă ý ÿđ “And Ā Ĥü ēú Čÿ ęĐþ Ěý ĤĢý čă Ā Ħüă ÿđ / Đă Ħĕ they improvised its first part well / but its latter part escaped them” (line 23). According to Fleischer, reshit, “first part,” here refers to the first parts of the strophes, and acharit, “latter part,” to the second, girdle-rhymed parts. It is thus also in ha-Levi’s report that he has replaced the rhymes in the first parts: ČāĘ øđ ě āđĥČ[ Ĉ Ĥü Đ] Ā ĒĤĂ ēĀ Đþ ĘėăĀ Ěü ĕĦüă Ĥø Ěÿă Ħÿ ĥø Ĉ Đü “And I did not abstain [from changing] every first

31 For the Arabic technical term see Julie Scott Meisami and Paul Starkey, eds., Encyclopedia of Arabic Literature (London; New York: Routledge, 1998), 534 (s.v. mu‘āraḍa). For mu‘āraḍa in Hebrew girdle poetry see Samuel Miklos Stern, “ĦĕĤčĞĐ ďĤĠĝ ĦĤĕĥč ęĕĕčĤĞ Ħđēĥÿ Ĉă ÿđĚĂ ĕĕđģĕē”, Tarbiz 18 (1947): 166–86; Samuel Miklos Stern, Hispano-Arabic Strophic Poetry (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1974), 45–49; Tova Rosen-Moked, Ĥĕĥ ĤđĒČĘ (Haifa: Haifa University Press, 1985), 65–79. 32 See Stern, “ĦđēĥđĚ,” 168–71, and more fully in Samuel Miklos Stern, “Four Famous Muwaššaḥs from Ibn Bushrā’s Anthology,” Al-Andalus 23 (1958): 347–57; see also Karin Almbladh, “Mā Ladda Lī Sharbu R-Rāḥi – An Arabic Muwashshaḥa and its Hebrew Mu‘āraḍāt,” Orientalia Suecana 41–42 (1992–1993): 5–16. The text of al-Abyaḍ’s muwashshaḥ is given in Alan Jones, The ‘Uddat al-jalīs of ‘Alī ibn Bishrī – An Anthology of Andalusian Arabic Muwashshaḥāt, E.J.W. Gibb Memorial, New Series 31 (Cambridge: Gibb Memorial Trust, 1992), 109–10 (poem 71). It is also found, with an English translation, in Stern, “Four Muwaššaḥs,” 352–54. 33 Israel Levin, ČĤĒĞ ěčČ ęĐĤčČ Ęĥ ĥďđģĐąĕĤĕĥ, 2 vols. (Jerusalem: The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1975), 1:129–30. It is impossible to know whether the imitation was produced directly from the Arabic or through a Hebrew intermediary. In any case, in ms. Berlin, Staatsbibliothek Or. Fol. 1233, fol. 30b, which is the unique manuscript in which the poem is attested, it is preceded by a header that cites the Arabic muwashshaḥ as a type-melody: ēČĤĘČ čĤĥ ĕĘ ĪďĘ ČĚ ěĒđ .ČĪĢĕČ ĐĘđ “Also by him. Melody: mā ladhdha lī sharbu l-rāḥi.”

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rhyme” (line 44).34 Moreover, Fleischer tentatively suggests that in the line in which ha-Levi refers to Yosef ibn Ṣaddiq’s model poem, ĐĤĕĀ ĥü Ĉ / ęĦĀ ĀĜĕ üĎ øĜ ďĕ üĎ øĜĚÿ ĕĐü øĕ ÿđ ęĦĀ āđČčø Ģü Ĥ ĉĥÿ øĘ “And the mangid of their musical improvisation / was a poem by the chief of their number” (line 21), the word mangid refers to the model poem, which “sets up a model for imitation.”35 Fleischer does not offer a plausible etymology for his suggestion, but it would seem that the Hebrew term is based on the Arabic mu‘āraḍa.36 Formally, the latter is the verbal noun of the stem-III verb ‘āraḍa, “to oppose, confront.” The basic, stem-I verb ‘araḍa means “to become visible, get in the way.” It is therefore clear that, for purposes of the present context, the basic meaning of the Arabic root is “to be conspicuous, opposite,” which develops in stem III into “to oppose.” This range of meanings precisely parallels that of the Hebrew root n-g-d, whose basic meaning is also “to be conspicuous, opposite,” and which in post-Biblical Hebrew may be used in the piel with the meaning “to oppose.”37 On the basis of this semantic correspondence, it would seem that ha-Levi is employing the hiphil participle mangid with the meaning “that which guides the activity of mu‘āraḍa,” i.e., the model poem.38 34 Fleischer, “ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕ ĦđĤđģĘ,” 795. Fleischer also suggests (p. 794), less plausibly in my view, that ha-Levi employs the root n-g-n in the epistle (see lines 20 [cf. the commentary, ad loc.], 21, 23) to refer specifically to the composition of muwashshaḥāt. In practice, of course, this is so, since ha-Levi is describing the improvisation of strophic poetry. However, it is difficult to imagine that he had a meaning other than “to make music” in mind. 35 Fleischer, “ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕ ĦđĤđģĘ,” 794 (Heb. ĕđģĕēĘ ĦĠđĚ ďĕĚĞĚĐ). 36 Basing himself on the surmise of Abramson, “ĦĤĎĕČ,” 405, he attempts to derive ďĕĎĜĚ from the Aramaic root n-g-d “to pull.” 37 In the rabbinic literature this usage is, admittedly, quite rare. We find it, however, in a midrash to “I will make a fitting helper for him (ezer kenegdo)” (Gen 2:18): ĐėĒ ęČ . āđďĎă ø ÿĜ øĘ ČĘČ đďĎĜė ĕĤģĦ ĘČ ęēĘĐĘ đďĎĜĘ đČĘ ęČđ .ĤĒĞ đĘ ĐĕĐĦ, “[In the biblical text,] don’t read kenegdo, but rather lenaggedo, [i.e., ‘to oppose him’]. If [man] is meritorious, she will be a helper for him. And if not, lenaggedo, to fight [him]” (Pirqe R. El. 12; parallel in b. Yevamot 63a). In Modern Hebrew, the meaning “to oppose” is conveyed by the hitpael. 38 While the semantic parallel to the Arabic usage is perfect, the syntactic parallel is admittedly only partial. The basic Arabic formulation is fulān yu‘āridu fulān “X imitates [the poem of] Y.” If we were to emend the text of ha-Levi’s epistle, an exact Hebrew parallel to the Arabic construction would be ęĦĀ āđČčø Ģü Ĥ ĉĥÿ øĘ ĐĤĕĀ ĥü Ĉ / ęĦĀ ĀĜĕ üĎ øĜčă ü ęĕďĕü üĎ øĜĚÿ đă ĕĐø ĕă ü ÿđ “And in their musical improvisation, they were imitating (=Arab. mu‘āridūn) a poem by the chief of their number.” It should be stressed, however, that there is no textual support whatsoever for this purely heuristic emendation. Also, if my suggestion regarding the meaning of mangid is correct, we must reckon with a hiphil form in which the first root consonant nun does not assimilate. Such forms are attested in liturgical poetry (piyyut), where the distinction between assimilation and non-assimilation of nun may be employed to create distinctions in meaning – e.g., lehanbia‘ “to cause to flow” versus lehabbia‘ “to utter” (see Israel Yeivin, “ĔđĕĠĐ ěđĥĘ Ęĥ ĐĕĕĠđČ”, in ęĕĥĎđĚ ęĕďđĐĕĐ ĦđĜđĥĘčđ ĦĕĤčĞĐ ěđĥĘč ęĕĤģēĚ ĎĤđĚ ĐĚĘĥĘ, ed. M. Bar-Asher [Jerusalem: Mossad Bialik, 1996], 115–16). In the present case, the non-assimilation would likewise distinguish between the neologism mangid and the common

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V – Translation Note: The symbol // is employed to mark a line division in the Hebrew edition. This is what has been identified of the correspondence of Yehuda ha-Levi (may his memory be a blessing), wherewith he corresponded. And of this [material] is that with which he corresponded with Abu Harun ben Ezra (may he rest in Paradise). May abundant well-being (Ps 119:165) / and salvation draw near / to the light of the West, / sage among Hebrews and Arabs, // a tower of refuge on the day of battle / and a beneficent shade on the day of blistering heat, / the [one of] good and pleasant name – / the magnificent R. Moshe: // magnanimous and noble, / light of [all] hearts, / a cloudless morning (2 Sam 23:4) // raining down showers of kindness / that fructify the earth. // 5 His generous hands are interlocked / with those of his ancestors, // and with their help he wages war / on behalf of thousands and myriads. // For he is the fount of generosity / and ever a refuge in need (Ps 46:2). // He is clothed in divine spirit / and guided by a magnanimous soul. // Thus will he forever be a Western Lamp never failing, / and his well-being will wax and grow. 10 From one insignificant and young, / who rouses the heart of friendship / and kindles the fire of love, / as he comes up from Seir [i.e., Christian Spain] // to bask in the light of accomplished men. / These are the great luminaries (Gen 1:16), // the sages of Western Sefarad [i.e., Muslim al-Andalus] / at whose mention my heart trembles and leaps. 13 Long ago I harnessed the chariots of friendship, / but Time made me (Gen 1:16), proceed sluggishly. // Notwithstanding, I directed my gaze / toward the Lord’s saints. // 15 And I proceeded slowly (Gen 33:14), to seek them out, / a bit here and a bit there (Isa 28:10, 13), // until I reached the edge of their region / but was prevented from approaching their border. 17 Time, however, had forsworn / destroying [me] utterly. // It sustained me in the house where I sojourned, / supported me with songs of love // and gave me my fill of the wine of companionship / after I had become sated with wandering (Job 7:4). // 20 So, sustained by wine goblets, I dealt craftily with Time, / [among] singers of pleasant poems // the object of whose musical improvisation / was a poem by the chief of their number. // Now the beginning of the poem was / At night I arouse the musings of the heart. // And they improvised its first part hiphil participle maggid “telling.” As is well known, ha-Levi was a major liturgical poet, and it is therefore certain that he would have been familiar with the morpho-semantic function of the non-assimilation of nun in Hebrew.

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well / but its latter part escaped them. // Then they haughtily turned to me and said: / As you see, we’ve made a beginning, so you make an end. // 25 To this I replied: God forbid / that I should open wide my mouth and speak proudly. // I will not claim expertise in things I do not know, / lest the hearer reproach me. // For I’ve run with footmen and they’ve tired me out – / how then can I compete with stallions who will put me to shame? // Especially since I’m a tongue-tied stammerer (Exod 4:10) / raised among Dishan and Dishon [i.e., in Christian Spain] – // a fierce and unintelligible folk, / whose sea of stupidity knows no bounds. // 30 And besides, you have asked a difficult thing, / and are oblivious to the terrors lying in this path (Qoh 12:5). // Is it a trifling matter for you to exasperate people (Isa 7:13)? / For the rhymes that you require / are few and hard. // I am sure that I cannot reach the goal, / so why should I toil to no purpose (Job 9:29)? // And who can be so self-assured / as to propose a poem in the wake of his superior? // Who is the poor wretch / who dares follow in the king’s footsteps (Qoh 2:12)? // 35 So they entreated me until refusal would have been an embarrassment, / and I resolved to try my best, // having perceived that there would be no advantage / in my being the last [to try his hand] in this matter. // So I resolved with myself (Neh 5:7): / Come what may, I’ll enter the fray (2 Sam 18:23). Perhaps [I’ll succeed]. // Complying with the wish of my fellow[s], / I too will speak my piece. 39 Now when I saw that the rhymes were beyond my grasp / and that I had not the strength to bring them together and arrange them according to my will, // 40 I thought of a stratagem against them /and dealt with them craftily. // I subdued them by the name of Moshe, / so that the strong was captured and the resistant was rendered pliant. // And they yielded to me after fierce [opposition], / so that I was able to put them in a double check. // Then I rendered them in a poetic arrangement according to the intended sense, / as my lord can see for himself. // And I did not abstain [from changing] every first rhyme, / but rather proceeded as my verbal abilities allowed. // 45 As a result, I changed some of the rhymes, / while others I retained in their original form. // But I reshaped the material [throughout] / to suit the new sense, and it cohered. 47 So I made it my reply / to your pleasant poem, // which yields lovely phrases (Gen 49:21) / and is more desirable than a cluster of henna. // It’s worth more than its weight in the fine gold of Ophir / or precious onyx or sapphire (Job 28:16). // 50 The firmament of its paper is beaten silver-leaf (Jer 10:9) / and brilliant dawn (shachar) bursts forth from the darkness (shechor) of its lines. // For me, its signs are marvelous indeed / and its words are inscribed as a wonder. // It’s framed from your glorious delights / and utters the sweet [inventions] of your palate, // has consoled me in my affliction (Ps 119:50) / and healed me in my infirmity. // I made it the plant in which I delighted / and mixed [the wine in] my goblets with its nectar.

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55 Therefore, I rejoice in praising you, / for your deeds have given me great joy. // May you act kindly with your young [servant] / and graciously guide him to bask in your light. // And how will my having found grace in your eyes become evident (Exod 33:16)? // Surely, through your extending the sceptre of love / and looking on with a gracious and generous eye. // If any part of my message seems good to you [I am satisfied]. / Otherwise, by your soul, I will return whence I came. // 60 Indeed no such thing would have crossed my mind / had I not been anxious about the matter (Josh 22:24). // I hope that you will render [my] highway smooth and straight, / so that I won’t have to tread crooked paths. 62 Indeed, what sense is there in my speaking further / and composing youthful vanities? // My lord is wise with the wisdom of an angel of God (2 Sam 14:20), // whom I entreat to make his greatness everlasting / and double his reward, // 65 as well as to add glory and honour / to that which he already possesses. Amen.

VI – Critical Edition and Commentary ĦđĤđģĚ Misc. 35.19 ,(ĪęĦĕĥģĐĪ 30–1 ,ĦĤĦđė) Misc. 35.46 ĤĔėĥąĤđĘĕĕĔ ğĝđČ ,'ĎďĕĤčĚĕĕģ | ĥĔ (65–ĪęĕĦēĦēđĪ 30) (65-ĪđĐ[ĦėĚĝ]Ī 8) č2–Č1 ğď IIA 43 ġĕčđģĤĕĠ ğĝđČ ,ĎĤđčĤĔĠąĔģĜĝ | ĤĠ (ğđĝĐ ďĞ ĪđďđĐĪ 65) IIA 105/11 ġĕčđģĤĕĠ ğĝđČ ,ĎĤđčĤĔĠąĔģĜĝ | ĤĠ (65–42) 37 ğď IIA 209/1 ġĕčđģĤĕĠ ğĝđČ ,ĎĤđčĤĔĠąĔģĜĝ | ĤĠ (ďčĘč Īđďđčė ĘĞĪ ęĕĘĕĚĐ 65) IIA 458/4 ġĕčđģĤĕĠ ğĝđČ ,ĎĤđčĤĔĠąĔģĜĝ | ĤĠ ĐČĤ ĥĔ ĕīė Ėĕĕĥ ĐĕĘČĥ ĐģĦĞĐĘ .Čĕĕē ĪĤ ĦėĕĤĞč ĘīĐĕĤ ěČđĕď ĦČ ęĕĎĢĕĕĚ ďĕĐ ĕčĦė Ęė :ĐĤĞĐ ,(ĐīĚĥĦ) ďĜ ġĕčĤĦ ,ĪďĤĠĝĚ ĦĕĤčĞ Ęđē ĦĤĕĥč ĐĤĕĝĚĐ Ęĥ ĐĕĦđďĘđĦĘĪ ,đčČąěč Īĕđ ęđĘĐĕ Īĕ .37 ĐĤĞĐ 252–251 ĪĚĞ 65ąĪęĕĦēĦēđĪ 30 ĦđĤđĥ ĤĠ ;ĪęĦĕĥģĐĪ 30–1 ĦđĤđĥ ĥĔ :ęĕĜĠĐ ēĝđĜ (ĕĎđĘđĜđĤė Ĥďĝ ĕĠĘ) ĦđĚďđģ ĦđĤđďĐĚ ĕīė) 319 ĪĚĞ ,ēīĠĤĦ ģĤđĕąđĕĜ ,ęĕĤĢĚčĥ ĐĒĕĜĎĐ ěĚ ęĕĤĕĥđ ęĕĔđĕĠ :Ď ĤĠĝ ,ĤĔėĥ ĕĒĜĎ ,ěđĒďĕđď Īĕ (ďčĘč Misc. 35.46 ĥīĔ ,ĥĔ ěđĝĚĤčČ Īĥ ĦėĕĤĞč ,ěĚĤĕĥ ęĕĕē ĤĠĝ ,ĪČĤĒĞ ěč ĐĥĚ čĤ ĘČ ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕ čĤ ĦĤĎĕČĪ ,ěđĝĚĤčČ Īĥ (ĥĔ ĕīė) 408–404 ĪĚĞ ,ĘīĥĦ ęĕĘĥđĤĕ ,ĕģĝĤĕĚ ĪČđ ,ĤĥĕĕĘĠ ĪĞ :ĖđĦč ,ĪČĤĒĞ ěčČ ĐĥĚ ĪĤ ęĞ đĕĤĥģ ĦĕĥČĤđ đĕĤđĞĜč ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕ ĪĤ ĦđĤđģĘĪ ,ĤĥĕĕĘĠ ĪĞ ,č ĖĤė ,ĞīĥĦ ęĕĘĥđĤĕ ,ĕĤČč ĪĔđ ĤđĢĕĘČ Īĥ ĦėĕĤĞč ,ĐĕĦđēđĘĥčđ ďĤĠĝč ĦĕĤčĞĐ ĐĤĕĥĐ ;910–893 ĪĚĞ ,[ĒīĚĥĦ–đīĚĥĦ] Čĝ ĤĠĝ ĦĕĤģč ĐĜđĥČĤĘ ęĝĤĠĦĐ ĤĚČĚĐ) 794–792 ĪĚĞ (ĤģĝĘĕđ ĪČ ĦđģĦĞĐ ĕĠ ĘĞ ĤĠ ĕīĕėĚ ĦđĠĝđĦč ĥĔ ĕīė ĐĤđĥĚ ĘēĐ ĤĠ ĕīė) 6 ĪĚĞ ,(1998) 52 ěđĕĤĕĠČ ,ĪĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕĘ ĕĜđčĤĜ ďđďĚ Ĥĕĥđ ĦĤĎĕČĪ ,ĕčĐĢĤ Īĕ (ĤĠ ĕīėđ ĪĕĜđĘĕĥėĕđĪ 27

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ĦđĤđĥ) 101 ĪĚĞ ,Ď ĖĤė ďīĝĥĦ čĕčČąĘĦ ,ĦĕĚĘĝđĚĐ ďĤĠĝč ĦĕĤčĞĐ ĘđēĐ ĦĤĕĥ ,ĤđĢĕĘČ Īĥ (ĤĥĕĕĘĠ ĪďĐĚ ĕĠ ĘĞ 47 ,43 ,41–39 ,31–30 ,ĪęĐĘĪ 25–20 ĐĜģĦĐĐ ĕĜĚĕĝ ĤđģĚč ĐĔĚĥĐ ĦĚĘĥĐ : ;ĤđģĚč ĕđģĕĘ ĦĚĘĥĐ :[Č] ;ĤđģĚč ĐĕđģĘ ĦđČ :Č Č .ĐĤčĝĐ ĕĠ ĘĞ ěĐ ĐĘĕčģĚ ĕĠ ĘĞ ēĝđĜĐ ĕĠđĘĕē ĤđďĚč ĦđĚđĥĤ ěĜĕČĥ ĦđĚĘĥĐ :ĐĤĞĐ ČĐč čĦČė ĦČčĦČėĚ ěĚ ĘīĒ ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕĘ ďĪĎ[đ] ČĚ ČĪďĐ ĞīĜ ĐĤĒĞ ěč ěđĤĐ ĕč[Č] ĕĘČ Đč čĦČė ČĚ ĖĘĪď ěĚĠ čĤÿ Ğú ÿđ Ĥčþ Ğý ę ÿėēú / čĤĀ Ğú Ěÿă Đÿ Ĥ āđČ[ øĘ] / čĤÿ ģø üĕ Ğĥÿ Ĉ þĕ øđ / čĤĀ ę āđĘĥĀ Ĉ čĤĀ ĐĀ Đĥāþ Ĉ Ě [ĪĤ] / čĤĀ Ğù Ĝă þ Đÿ č āđĔă Đÿ ęĥý ă Ĉ Đÿ / čĤĀ ĥĀ Ĉ ĦĞý čă ø ďĝþ ēþ ĘĢý øđ / čĤĀ ģø ę āđĕčă ø Ē āđĞ Ę ÿăď øĎĚü Ħ āđčĞĀ ČāĘ Ĥģāþ ăč / Ħ āđččĀ Ęăø Đÿ Ĥ āđČĚăø đ / Ħ āđčĕďü Ĝă ø Đÿ ĕēü Čú [Ħ] āđčăđĜĦøă Ęčý Ħý ĕ ýĜĠø đă Č øĘĚăĀ đ / Ħ āđčĀďøĜ ęĥþ Ĉ Ďă þ ğĕ üĜĚý ăĀ ĥĂ Ĉ Ěø āđ ăďĝø ēÿ ĕďý øĕ 5 Ħāđč đčČĀ ďĝþ ēþ ĕďý øĕ ĘČþ / ĦāčĘđ Ħ āđččĀ Ĥø üĘ øđ ęĕĠü ĀĘČú ÿĘ / Ħ āđčĤĀ ģø ęčă Ā Ėø āđĤĞú ÿĘ ČĢĀ Ěø üĜ Ħ āđĤĤĀĢ[č] ø ĐĀĤ øĒĞþ øđ / ČĢĀ āđĚ ďĝþ ēþ ÿĘ ĥĈ ýĕ ĕėăü đă ĐĦø ĀėĚĀ ĝø ĐčĕĀ ďü øĜ ĥĈ Ġþ þĜ øđ / đă ĐĦø ĥĀ Ĉ čĀ øĘ ęĕĐāü ĘČù ēăđĤ Đčă þ Ĥø üĕ øđ ĐĎă þ ĉĥø üĕ āđĚ āđĘĥăø Ĉ đ / Đčă þ øė üĕ ČāĘ ĕčü ĤĀ Ğú Ěÿ Ĥ ýĜ ď[ĕ]üĚĦĀă Đ þĕĐø üĕ ěėăý ĤĕĞü ĥ ĉ ý ă Ěü Đ þĘ āđĞĐĀ / ĤĕĞü čø Ěÿ ĐčĀ Đú Čÿ ĐĀ ĥĈ Čý øđ / ĤĕĞü Ěý Ħ āđďĕďü øĕĐÿ č ýĘ / ĤĕĞü ĢĀ øđ Đ þĒčø üĜ ĦČý Ěý 10 ęĕ üĘ āđďĎă ø Đÿ Ħ āđĤ āđČĚøă Đÿ ęĐý / ęĕ üĘĞĀ Ġø ĕčă ý Ĥÿ Ĥ āđČčă ø Ĥ āđČ ýĘ ďĤÿ ēù þĕ øđ ęĤĀ øė üĒ øĘ ĤĦÿă üĕ ĕčă ü üĘ / ďĤÿ ĠĀ ĝø čĤÿ Ğú Ěÿ ĕĚý øėēÿ Ħăđďčý øėčă ü ěĚĀ Ēøă Đÿ ĕ üĜ ýĎĐú ÿĜ øĕ ÿđ / Ħăđďĕďü øĕ ĕčý øėĤü ĕĦüă Ĥø ĝÿ ČĀ ĒČĀ Ěăý đ Āĕ øĕ ĥý Ĉ āđďģø ē ÿėāĜ ĘČþ / ĕ ÿĜĠĀ ĕĦüă Ěø āĥÿ ę ĀĘăđČ øđ ęĥĀ Ĉ ĤĕĞý øĒ ęĥĀ Ĉ ĤĕĞý øĒ / ęĥĀ Ĉ ģøă čÿ øĘ ĕĔüă Čü øĘ Đ ĀĘĐú ĀĜĦø Čþ øđ 15 ę ĀĘăđčĎă ø ĘČþ ĦþĈĥþĎ ĀĘ ĕĦĕ ü ĥý Ĉ Ĥđø ĐĂ ČāĘ øđ / ę ĀĘ[ĕ] üĘ øĎ ĐĢý ģø ĘČþ ĕĞĕ ü Ďă ü Đÿ ďĞÿ Đ ĀĘ Āė Đ ĉĥþ Ğú ÿĕ ĕĦüă øĘčü øĘ / Đ ĀĘČĀ ěĚĀ Ēøă Đÿ Ėø Čÿ ĕ üĜďÿ Ġø ă Ĥü Ħ āđďĕďü øĕ ĕĤĕý ĥü Ĉ čăø đ / ĕ üĜďÿ ĞĀ ĝø ĕĦăü đĤĕĎă ý Ħĕčý čă ø ęĕďăü đď øĜ ĕĦüă Ğø čÿ ĉĥĀ Ĥēÿ Čÿ / ęĕďü āđ ăď ěĕ ýĕčø ĕ üĜĞĕý čă ü ĉĥø ĕă ÿ ÿđ ęĕĞü ĀĜ Ĥĕĥü Ĉ ĕĤý Ĥø āđĥĈ Ěø / ęĕĞĕ ü čü øĎčă ü ěĎĜĘ ĐĚĀ ėăø ēÿ Ħø Čþ Āđ 20 ęĦĀ āđČčø Ģü Ĥ ĉĥÿ øĘ ĐĤĕĀ ĥü Ĉ / ęĦĀ ĀĜĕ üĎ øĜ ďĕ üĎ øĜĚÿ ĕĐü øĕ ÿđ ĪĐĤĕĀ Ğü ČĀ č ýĘ Ħ āđčĥø Ĉ ēø Ěÿ Ęĕ ýĘĪ / ĐĤĕĀ ĥü ă Ĉ Đÿ ĦĘăÿ ēü Ħø ĕĐü Ħøă ÿđ Đă Ħĕ Ā ĥČ ü Ĉ Ĥý čă ø ěĎă ý ÿĜ đă čĔü ĕă ý ÿđ Ā Ĥü ēú Čÿ ęĐþ Ěý ĤĢý čă Ā Ħüă ÿđ / Đă Ħĕ ăĘ ă Ĥ āđĚ øĎĦü ĐĦĀă Čÿ øđ đă Ĝ āđ ēü Đú ĐĜý Đü / ĤāĚČ ýĘ ĕ ÿĘĞĀ đă ĤČú ĠĀ ă Ħø ĕă ü ÿđ Đ ĀĘĕ üăď øĎČÿ ęČü øđ þ ă čĕēü Ĥø Čÿ ęČü / Đ ĀĘĕ üĘēĀ ęĐþ ĀĘ ĤĚÿ āđČ Āđ 25 Ğÿ Ěý āđĥĈ ĕ üĜďý ĝøă ēÿ øĕ ěĠþ ă / Ğÿ ďý āđĕ ĕ üĜĕČý ĥþ Ĉ čă ø ĤĤý ĦĀă ĉĥø Čþ ČāĘ øđ ø Čý øđ / ĕ üĜăđČ øĘĕă ÿ ÿđ ĕĦüă Ģø Ĥÿ ęĕ üĘ øĎĤÿ ĦČþ ĕėăü ĕ üĜăđĥĕĈ čü øĕ ęĕĝăü đĝ ĐĤþ ēú Ħø Čþ Ėĕ ě āđĥĕĈ ď[ ü øđ] ěĥĕ Ā Ĉ üăď ĦăđčĤø Ħÿă / ě āđĥĈ ĀĘ ďčÿ øėăđ ĐĠþ ă ďčÿ ėăø ú ĕėăü ğČÿ øđ Đ[ĠĀ ĉĥĀ ęĦăĀ đĕă Ħÿ Ġ] ø ă ę ÿĕ øĘ [ě]ĕČý / ĐĠĀĀ ĉĥ [ĕ]ģøý ĚĞü øđ ĒĞĀ āđĜ [ęĞ] ÿ ęĦĕ þ ĥü Ĉ ģø Đü Ę āđČĥüø Ĉ Ę [ęĦþă Čÿ ę] ÿĎ øđ 30 þ üĒēú ČāĘ Ėø Ĥþ þăďčă ÿ ęĕĦüă ēÿ Ħø ēÿ øđ / ęĦĕ

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Michael Rand ăĀ čĂ Ěø Đÿ ęĕ üĒăđĤēú Đÿ ĕėăü / ęĕĥü Ĉ ĀĜČú Ħ āđČ øĘÿĐ [ęė] ăþ Ěü ĔĞÿ Ěø Đÿ ę[ĕ]ĥü Ĉ ģĀ øđ Ĕ[Ğ]ø ÿ Ě / ęĕĥü Ĉ ģđ Ğ ĀĎĕČü ĘþčþĐ ĐþăĒ [Đ]ĀăĚ ĀĘ øđ / ĞĎă ÿ Čþ ČāĘ ĕėăü ĕĦüă Ğø ďÿ Āĕ ĦČāĒ ďĞÿ øđ ø āđ]ĤĞú ÿĘ / āđČ ĀĘĚø āđăč üĘ Ĥĥþ Ĉ Čú Đ þĒ ĕüĚđă āđČčøĀ Ģ Ĥ ĉĥÿ Ĥēÿ Čÿ Ĥĕĥü Ĉ Ė[ Ėø þĘĚþă Đÿ ĕĤý ēú Čÿ Č āđčĕă Ā ĥþ Ĉ / Ėø þĘēý Āđ Ę ÿăď ęďĀ ČĀ ĐĚĀ ĕėăü ĕĦüă ĥø Ĉ ģăÿ čă ü ĕēāü ė ĕüĠėăø Ħ āđ ĉĥĞú ÿĘ øđ / ĕĦüă ĥø Ĉ āđ ăč ďÿĞ ĕčü đă ĤĢø Ġø ĕă ü ÿđ 35 ě āđĤēú Čÿ ĤčĀ Āăďčă ÿ ĕĦü āđĕĐù / ě āđĤĦø üĕ ěĕČý ĕėăü ĐČþ Ĥø Čþ Āđ ĕ ÿĘăđČ øđ ġăđĤČĀ ĐĚĀ ĕĐĕü üđ / ĕ ÿĘĞĀ ĕčă ü üĘ Ėø Ęăý ĚĀ ĕă ü ÿđ ĕĞü ďý Đđă þ ēÿ Čú ĕ üĜČú ğČÿ / ĕĞü Ĥý ġĠþ ēý ęĕ üĘĥø Ĉ Đÿ øĘ ĕ üĜ āđĢĤø ėăü ę ĀėĤø ĞĀ øĘăđ ęĤĀ čă ø ēÿ øĘ ēāÿ ăė ĕčă ü ěĕČý øđ / ĕĜă ü Ěþă Ěü đă č øĎ ĉĥĀ ĕėăü ęĕ üĒăđĤēú Đÿ ĕĦü āđČĤø üė øđ ęĐþ ĀĘ ĐĚĀ ėăø ēÿ Ħø Čþ Āđ / ęĐĕþ ýĘĞú ĐĚăĀ üĒĚø ĕĦüă čø ĥÿ Ĉ ēĀ 40 Đĥþ Ĉ ģăĀ Đÿ ğĤĕþ ĕă ü ÿđ ģ ĀĒēĀ Đþ ĥčă ÿ øė üĜ øđ / ĐĈĥ þ āĚ ęĥøý Ĉ ăč ęĥý Ĉ čă ø øėČþ Āđ ěĝþ Ĥþ ĘĠþ þėčă ø ęĕĦČ ü čý Đú ĥþ Ĉ ďĞÿ / ěĝþ āđē ĕĤý ēú Čÿ ĕ üĘ đă ĞøĜėăĀ ĕă ü ÿđ đĕ ĀĜĕĕ[Ğý čă ø ĐČþ āđĤ] ĕ üĜ āđ[ď]úČ Ĥĥþ Ĉ Čú ėăÿ / đĕ ĀĜ Āĕ øĜĞü øĘ Ĥĕĥü Ĉ Ėø Ĥþ Ğý ę[Đþ Ěý Ėø āđĤĞ] ù Čþ Āđ ă ă ă ă ă ě āđĥĈ ĘĀ Đÿ Ħ ÿĎĥ ĉ Ā Đÿ ĕüĠėø ĕĦĕ ú / ěāđĈĥČ[Ĥü Đ] Ā ĒĤĂ ēĀ Đþ ĘėĀ Ěü ĕĦüă Ĥø Ěÿ Ħÿă ĥø Ĉ Đü ČāĘ øđ ü ĉĥü ĞĀ ĘĀč[Č] ĕĦüă Ĥø Čÿ ĥø Ĉ Đü ęĦĀă øĜėăĂ Ħø Ěÿ ĘĞÿ ęĐþ Ěăý đ / ĕĦüă Ġø ÿĘēù Đþ ĤþĈĥ[Č] ú ęĕĕ üĒĂĤēÿú ĐýĚđă 45 Ĥčă ÿ ēăÿ Ħø ĕă ü ÿđ Ĥýē[Č] ÿ ě[ Āĕ] øĜĞü øĘ / ĤčĀ ĀăďĐÿ ĕ ýĜĠø ă ĦČþ ĕĦüă čø čă ÿ ĝü ĘčĀ Čú ĐčĀ Ĥý Ğú ĐĀ ĖĀ Ħø ĤĕĀ ĥü Ĉ ĘĞÿ / ĐčăĀ đĥĈ Ħø čü đă Đ ýĜĦøă Čþ Āđ ĤĠāþ ăėĐÿ Ę āđ ăėĥø Ĉ Čþ Ěý ĐďĀ ĚĀ ēù Ĝă þ Đÿ / ĤĠþ ĥĀ Ĉ ĕĤý Ěø Čü Ħ þĜĦþ āđĜă Đÿ ăþ ĝĂ Ħø ČāĘ ĤĕĠü ă ĝÿ øđ Ĥģ[ Ā Āĕ] ęĐÿ āđĥĈ čă ø / ĤĕĠü āđČ ęĦþ þėčă ø ĐĘđ Ğģÿ čă Ā üĕ Ĥēÿ ĥÿ Ĉ ĐĕĀ Ĥăþ đĔ Ĥ āđēĥø ă Ĉ Ěăü đ / ĞģăĀ ĤĂ Ěø ğĝþ ėăþ Đă ĤĀ Ġø ĝü Ğĕÿ ģü Ĥø 50 Ħ āđĦăđĤēú ĦýĠ āđĚ øė ĐĕĀ Ħþ āđčĕĦý øđ / Ħ āđĦ āđČ ĐĕĀ Ħþ āđĦ āđČ ĕĦüă Ěø ĉĥÿ Ħďþ Ďă þ Ěÿ ĖĀ ėăø ēü ĕģăý Ħÿ Ěø Ěăÿ đ / Ħďþ Ěđ þă ĢĂ Ěø ĖĀ ďø āđĐ ĕ ýăďĚÿ ēø Ěÿă Ěü ĕ üĕ øĘēĀ čø ĕĦü ČăĀ đĠĤăø đ / ĕ üĕ øĜĞĀ čø ĕĦü ĚĀ ēĀ þĜ ĕĐü Ħøă ÿđ ĕĞĕÿ čü øĎ ĕĦüă øėĝÿ ĚĀ Đă ĠăĀ đĢčăø đ / ĕĞăÿ đĥĈ Ğú ĥÿ Ĉ ĞĔÿ øĜ ĐĀ þĜĦøă Č[ þ Āđ] Ā þĘ ĀĘĐú Ěÿ čă ø ĕĦüă ēø Ěÿ ĥĀ Ĉ ě ýė ĀĘ øđ 55 ĖĀ þĘĞû ĠĀ čă ø ĕ üĜĦÿă ēø Ěăÿ ĉĥü ĕėăü / Ėĕ ĀĖĤø āđČčă ø Ĥ āđČ ýĘ ě āđĢĤĀ čă ø đă Đ ýĘĐú ÿĜĦăø đ / ĖĀ Ĥĕø Ğü Ģø ęĞü ĖĀ øĎĐĀ øĜĚü čĕĔü Ħý øđ Ā þĜĕĞý čă ø ěēý ĕĦČ Ėĕ ü ĢĀ ĚĀ ĕėăü ĐāĠĕČý Ğďÿ đă Ā üĕ ĐĚþă čăÿ đ ĐčĀ ďĀ øĜăđ ě āđĢĤĀ ěĕĞý čø ĖĀ Ħø āđĜĠø čăü đ / ĐčĀ ĐĀ Čú ĐĀ Ĕĕčü Ĥø ĥÿ Ĉ ĖĀ Ĕĕ ø ĥü Ĉ āđĐčø ČāĘĐú Ā Ā ĕĤÿ ēú Čÿ ĘČþ ĐčăĀ đĥĈ ČĀ Ėĥø Ĉ Ġø ÿĜ ĕēý āđČ / ĕĤÿ čĀ øăďĚü ĤčĀ ďĀ Ėĕ þĜĕĞý čă ø Ĥĥĕü ÿ Ĉ ĕ ęČü ĤčĀ ĀăďĚü Đ ĀĎČĀ øăďĚü ĕėăü / Ĥčÿ ĞĀ ČāĘ ĕčă ü üĘ ĘĞÿ ĦČāĒ Āė ĕėăü 60 Ħ āđ ăĘģÿ øĘģÿ Ğú Ħ āđēĤĀ Čû Ėø ýĘČý Ęčăÿ đ / Ħ āđ ăĘĝü Ěø Đÿ Ĥĥþ Ĉ āđĕ øĘ Ĥĥý ă Ĉ ÿĕĦøă ĕ ÿĘăđČ Ĥčă ý ēÿ øĘ ęĕĤăü đĞ øĜ ĕ ýĘčø Đÿ øđ / Ĥčă ý ďÿ øĘ ď āđĞ ĕ üĘ ĥĈ ĕă ý ĐĚÿ ĕėăü ęĕĐāü ĘČù ĐĀ Ėø Čÿ øĘĚÿ ĦĚÿ øėēĀ ėăø ę ĀėēĀ ĕ üĜ āđďČ ÿđ āđĤ Āė ĉĥø ĘĕĠü ă øė ÿĕ øđ / āđĤďĀ Đú ďĕĚü Ħø ÿĕ ĘČý ĐĀ ěĚý ČĀ . āđď āđčėăø ĘĞÿ ď āđč Āė øđ / [ āđď] āđĐ ĘĞÿ ď āđĐ ğĕĝü āđĕ øđ 65

Yehuda ha-Levi’s Epistle to Moshe ibn Ezra

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ēĝđĜ ĕĕđĜĕĥ ě ĕ Ĕ ĕ ĥ Đ ě ĕ č [čĤĞĚ 12 ĤĠ ĕ Ġ Ę Ğ Đ Ě Ę ĥ Đ Đ [ďĕĚĦ 9 ĥĔ Đ ĕ đ Ę Ħ Ę [ĦđččĤĘđ 6 [ĐĠ 25 ĤĠ đčĔĕĕđ [đčĔĕđ 23 ĤĠ ěĚĒĘ ĪĝĜ ęĕĕĘđĥč [ěĎĜĘ 20 ĥĔ ęĕĕĘđĥč [ĤĦĕ / ĤĠ ĘĞ ĐĚĘĥĐĐ [ĕĜČ 28 ĤĠ ĕĜđĘĕĥėĕđ [ĕĜđĥĕčĕ / ĤĠ ĖČđ [ĖĕČđ 27 ĤĠ ĕĠ ĘĞ ĐĚĘĥĐĐ ĐĚĘĥĐĐ [ęĞ 29 ĤĠ ĕĠ ĘĞ ĐĚĘĥĐĐ [ěđĥĕďđ / ĥĔ đĕĤēČ ģđēĚ ĕĜČ [ěđĥĘ / ĤĠ ĕĠ [ĐĠĥ ęĦđĕĦĠ / ĤĠ ĕĠ ĘĞ ĐĚĘĥĐĐ [ěĕČ / ĤĠ ĕĠ ĘĞ ĐĚĘĥĐĐ [ĕģĚĞđ / ĤĠ ĕĠ ĘĞ ĐĚĘĥĐĐ [ęĕĥģđ ĔĞĚ 31 ĤĠ ĕĠ ĘĞ ĐĚĘĥĐĐ [ęĦČ ęĎđ 30 ĤĠ ĕĠ ĘĞ ĐĚĘĥĐĐ [ĐĚ 34 ĥĔ ĕĠ Ę Ğ ĐĚĘĥĐĐ [ĖđĤĞĘ 33 ĥĔ ĕĠ ĘĞ ĐĚĘĥĐĐ [ĐĚĘđ 32 ĥĔ ĕĠ ĘĞ [ęĐĚ ĖđĤĞČđ 43 ĥĔ ğĤĕđ [ğĤĕĕđ 41 ĥĔ [ĕ]Ħĥč [ĕĦĥđč 35 ĤĠ ĕ ěĚ ĦĜģđĦĚ ĐČĤĜė Đ ĒĤēĐ þ [ĒĤēĐ 44 ĤĠ ĥĔ ĕĠ ĘĞ ĐĚĘĥĐĐ [đĕĜĕĞč ĐČđĤ ĕĜđďČ / ĤĠ ĥĔ ĕĠ ĘĞ ĐĚĘĥĐĐ ĥĔ ęĕĒđĤēĐĚđ Ěđ [ęĕĒĤēĐĚđ 45 ĤĠ ĥĔ ĕ Ġ Ę Ğ Đ Ě Ę ĥ Đ Đ [ĘčČ ěđĥČĤĐ / ĥĔ ĒđĤĤēĐ ĤĠ [ĕĦ]ččĕĝ ĕĝ [ĕĦččĝ 46 ĤĠ ĥĔ ĕĠ ĘĞ ĐĚĘĥĐĐ [ĤĥČ / ĤĠ ĘđĎĕĞ đĕĘĞĚđ ęĕĒđĤēĐĚ ēĐĚ[đ]   ĘėĥČĚ [ĘđėĥČĚ 48 ĤĠ ĕĠ ĘĞ ĐĚĘĥĐĐ [ĤēČ / ĤĠ ĥĔ ĕĠ ĘĞ ĐĚĘĥĐĐ [ěĕĜĞĘ / ĥĔ / ĤĠ ĥĔ ĐĕĤĠĝ [ĐĤĠĝ 50 ĥĔ ĕĠ ĘĞ ĐĚĘĥĐĐ [Ĥģĕ 49 ĤĠ ĥĔ [Ĥ]ĠĠđėĐ [ĤĠėĐ / ĤĠ 56 ĤĠ ĖĘĘĐĚĘ [ĖĕĘĘĐĚč 55 ĤĠ ĕĠ ĘĞ ĐĚĘĥĐĐ [ĐĜĦČđ 54 ĤĠ ĥĔ ĞģđĤĚ [ĞģĤĚ đďĐ ĤĠ ĥĔ ĕ Ġ Ę Ğ Đ Ě Ę ĥ Đ Đ [đďđĐ 65 ĥĔ Đ ĕ đ Ę Ħ đ [ĤĥđĕĘ 61 ĥĔ čĕĔĕĦ Ħ[đ] [čĕĔĦđ   ĤĠ Ĥĝē [ěĚČ / ĤĠ ĤďĐ ěĚ ěģđĦĚ ĤđČĕč ĐĜĠĥ ĐĚ ĐĒĚđ .ěĐč čĦėĦĐĥ đĕĦđĕđčĦėĦĐĚ ĘīĒ ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕĘ ČĢĚĜĥ ĐĚ ĐĒ :ĦĤĦđėĐ ęđĎĤĦ đĕČĤĕĘ čđĤģĪ ĐđđĥĐ :čĤģĕ Ğĥĕđ .Đĝģ ,Ĕĕģ ĪĐĦ :čĤ ęđĘĥ 1 .ĞīĜ ĐĤĒĞ ěč ěđĤĐ đčČ ĘČ ĦĤĎĕČč đč :ĞīčĚĤ Ęĥ Ĥĕĥ ĦēĕĦĠč ĐđđĥĐ .ĦĕčĤĞđ ĦĕĤčĞ ĦđĤĠĝč ČĕģčĐ :čĤĞđ ĤčĞ ęėē .(ĕ ,ĐĠ ĪĐĦ) ĪđĞĥĕ ğđĤĕĢĐ :ĒđĞ ĘďĎĚ 2 .(ĎĘ ĪĚĞ ,Č ,[ĕďČĤč ĪďĐĚ] ĞīčĚĤ ěČđĕď ;1 Ħĕč) ĪĤčþ Ğý øđ čĤþ Ğþ ě āđĥĈ Ęăø Ěü Ħ āđďĚĂ ēĪú ĕĠ ĘĞ :ĦđčďĜ ęĥĎ ğĕĜĚ 4 .ď ,Ďė čīĚĥ :ĦđčĞ ČĘ Ĥģč 3 .čĤĞĐ :čĤĞĜĐ .ďđĞđ ď ,Čĝ ĪĐĦ ĕĠ ĘĞ . . . ĕďĕ 5 .(đ ,Ēė Īĥĕ) ĪĐčđĜĦ ĘčĦ ĕĜĠ đČĘĚđĪ ĕĠ ĘĞ :ĦđčđĜĦ . . . đČĘĚđ .(ĕ ,ēĝ ĪĐĦ) ĪğĕĜĦ ĦđčďĜ ęĥĎĪ đĕďĝē ĦĤĒĞč :ĦđččĤĘđ . . . ĖđĤĞĘ 6 .đĕĐ ęĕďĝē ĕĘĞč ęĐ ęĎĥ ,đĕĦđčČĚ đĘ ĦđČč đĕďĝē :ĦđčČ .(Č ,ēė čđĕČ) ĪČĢđĚ ğĝėĘ ĥĕ ĕėĪ ĕĠ ĘĞ :ČĢđĚ . . . ĕė 7 .đč ęĕĝđēĐ ęĕĜđĚĐĐ ĘĞ ěĎĚ ČđĐ ęĕčĤĐ ĕĠ ĘĞ :đĐĦĥčĘ ęĕĐĘČ ēđĤ 8 .č ,đĚ ĪĐĦ :ČĢĚĜ ĦđĤĢč ĐĤĒĞđ .ďĝēĐ ČĢđĚ ČđĐ ěĞĚĜĐ ,ĤĚđĘė ĐčĕďĜ ēđĤđĪ ĕĠ ĘĞ :đĐĦėĚĝ ĐčĕďĜ ĥĠĜđ .đĕĘĞ ĐēĘĢ ,ĤĚđĘė .(ďĘ ,đ ĪĠđĥ) ĪěđĞďĎ ĦČ ĐĥčĘ ĕĕ ēđĤđĪ .ĒĔ ,ĔĜ Īĥĕ ĕĠ ĘĞ ĐĤđĢĐ :đĐĦėĚĝ .ěĞĚĜĐ Ęĥ ĐčĕďĜĐ đĥĠĜĘ ěČė ĐĜđđėĐđ .(ďĕ ,ČĜ ĪĐĦ) ĪĕĜėĚĝĦ ĪďĐĚ ;ĔĜ ,ĤčďĚč ĕĤĠĝ) ĪĤĕďĦ ĕčĤĞĚ ĤĜ ČĐĕĥ ,[Ď ,ďė Īĕđ] ďĕĚĦ ĪĐ ĕĜĠĘĪ ĐđđĥĐ :Đčėĕ . . . ěė 9 ĤĚđĘė ,(12 ĐĤđĥ) ĪďĤĠĝ čĤĞĚĪč ĞīčĚĤ Ęĥ đĚđģĚĘ ĒĚđĤ ĪĕčĤĞĚ ĤĜĪ ĕđĜĕėĐđ .(149 ĪĚĞ ,ČĜĐė đďĚĞĪ) ĪčĤĀ Ğú Ěÿ ġĤþ Čþ čă ø ĤĎă ý ĕčü ĤĀ Ğú Ěÿ Ĥ ýĜĪ :đĕĘČ ĦđĠĝđĜ ĦđĕĜĠč đč ĥĚĦĥĚ ĘīĐĕĤ .ĦĕĚĘĝđĚĐ ďĤĠĝč ,ĪĖĕĤēČ ĖĕČĪ) ĪĖø čĀ ĤĀ Ğø Ěÿ øĘ čăđĥĈ ĕčü ĤĀ Ğú Ěÿ Ĥ ýĜĪ ;(274 ĪĚĞ ,č ,[ĕďČĤč ĪďĐĚ] ĘīĐĕĤ ěČđĕď ;21 ĐĤđĥ ,ĪđďđĚĞ ĞīčĚĤ ĕĤčď ĘĞ ĐđđĜĞč ĘīĐĕĤ ĐĜđĞ ěČė :ęĕĘđďĎĐ . . . ĦČĚ 11–10 .([93 ĪĚĞ ,Č ,ęĥ] 7 ĐĤđĥ ø ČĪý :đĕĘČ ĤĎĕĥĥ ĪČđčĢĘ đĥē ęĕĚĕ ĕďĘĕĪ đĤĕĥč ĘĞÿ ěĕčü / ĕĤý ĐĀ ĝāĚĞú ÿĕ / ęĕĚü Āĕ ĤĕĞü Ģăø đ / ęĕĞü ĀĜ ěčă ý Ėĕ ,12 ęĕĦč ,ĪČđčĢĘ đĥē ęĕĚĕ ĕďĘĕĪ) Ī āđ ăčēø ĤĀ ě āđėĚăø đ / ę ĀĘ āđĞ Ėø Ĥāþ Č / ĤĕČü ĀĘ ēĤÿ ĀĒ / ĤĕĞü ĥ ĉ ý ă Ěü ěĐý // . . . // āđ ăčĎă ÿ ,Ĕĕģ ĪĐĦ) ĪĐĒčĜđ ĕėĜČ ĤĕĞĢĪ ĕĠ ĘĞ :ĤĕĞĢđ ĐĒčĜ 10 .(Ďė ĪĚĞ ,Č ,[ĕďČĤč ĪďĐĚ] ĞīčĚĤ ěČđĕď ;14 ĤđģĚĐ :ĐčĐČĐ ĥČđ .(Đė ,Čĕ ĪĜď) ĪđččĘđ đēė ĤĞĕđĪ ĐČĤ čĘĐ ĦĤĞĐĘ :ĤĕĞĚ ĦđďĕďĕĐ čĘ .(ČĚģ ěĕĕĢĚ ČđĐ đčĥ ,ĔđĕĠč ĕđĜĕėĐ ĤđģĚ .ĦĕĤĢđĜĐ ďĤĠĝĚ :ĤĕĞĥĚ .đ ,ē ĥīĐĥč ĐĤđĠĔĚĐ Ęĥ ĕĤčĞĐ čđĕČ) ĪęĕĕēĐ ĤđČč ĤđČĘĪ ĕĠ ĘĞ ěđĥĘĐ :ęĕĘĞĠ . . . ĤđČĘ 11 .ĦĕĤĢđĜĐ ěđĕĔĜĒĕčąĕĚđĤ ĦđėĘĚ ĦČ

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Michael Rand

.ĒĔ ,Č ĪĤč :ęĕĘđďĎĐ ĦđĤđČĚĐ .(čė ,Čĕ ČīĐď ;ė ,Ďė čīĚĥ) ĪęĕĘĞĠ čĤĪ ĕĠ ĘĞ ĪęĕĘĞĠ ĕčĤĪđ .(Ę ,ĎĘ ĤĦĕđ ĕčĘ ďĤēĕ ĦČĒĘ ğČĪ ĕĠ ĘĞ :ďĤēĕđ . . . ĕčĘ .ĝđĘďĜČąĘČ ,ĦĕĚĘĝđĚĐ ďĤĠĝ :ďĤĠĝ čĤĞĚ 12 ĦđĜđĥĘĐ .ęĕčđėĕĞč ĕĦĘģĦĜ ĖČ ,Ĥčė ĐĒ ĖĤďĘ ĕĦČĢĕ :Ħđďčėč . . . ĒČĚđ 13 .(Č ,ĒĘ čđĕČ) ĪđĚđģĚĚ ĪĦďčėč đĐĎĐĜĕđ đĕĦāčėĤĚ ěĠāČ ĦČ ĤĝĕđĪ ,(đ ,ďĕ ĪĚĥ) ĪđčėĤ ĦČ ĤāĝČĕđĪ – ęĕĤĢĚ ĦČĕĢĕ ĤđĠĕĝ ĕĠ ĘĞ Ă :ĞīčĚĤ ĘČ ČđčĘ đĦĜđđė ĘĞ ĘīĐĕĤ ĒĕĤėĚ đčĥ ,ĪđďđĚĞ đďĚĞĪ ĖđĦĚ Ħĕč ěČė ĒĚĤĜĥ ĐČĤĜđ .(Đė ,ęĥ) ĘīĐĕĤ ěČđĕď ;20–19 ĦđĤđĥ ,ĪđďđĚĞ đďĚĞĪ) ĪăđĜēý øĒĚü ěĚĀ Ēøă Đÿ ĐĠþ ă Ĥÿ øĕ ČāĘ ęČü / āđĘĐû ČĀ ďĞÿ ĤāĝČù þĜ ęĕ üĜ ĀĜĞú ĕčý øėĤĪü ĦđĞĝĚčđ ĔČ ĔČ ,ĕėĤďč ĕĦėĥĚĐ ĦČĒ ĦđĤĚĘđ :ęĥ . . . ęĘđČđ 15–14 .(274 ĪĚĞ ,č ,[ĕďČĤč ĪďĐĚ] / ĕĔü ĀĘģø Ěü ĤĕĞü øđ / ĕĔü čă Ā Ěÿ Đāė ĐĜă ý ĐĪü :ĘīĐĕĤ ĦđĤĎĕČč ĐđđĥĐ .ęĕČĘĠĜĐ ĝđĘďĜČąĘČ ĕĥĜČ ĘČ ,ęĕĤĢģ / ĔĞĀ Ěø čă ü Đă Ěÿ Đø Ěÿ Ħø üĕ ĕėĪăü ,([208 ĪĚĞ ,Č ,ęĥ ;39–38 ĦđĤđĥ ,ĕĜČĚĞĘČ ěĤĐČ ĘČ) ĪĕĔüă Čü øĘ Đ ĀĘĐú ĀĜĦø Čþ ĕ üĜČú ÿđ ĪĚĞ ,ęĥ ;61–60 ĦđĤđĥ ,ďĕĎĜĐ ĐĕĜĜē ěč ĘČđĚĥ ĘČ) Ī āđēĤø ėăĀ ĘĞÿ čă ø / āđēĤø ČĀ ĦČþ čėăý Ğÿ øĕ ÿđ / ĔČÿ øĘ ĘĐý ÿĜĦø ĕă ü ÿđ ĐĤđĥ) ĪďĤĠĝ čĤĞĚ ĕĚėēĪč ĤčđďĚ ĕĤĐĥ ,ĤĥģĐĐ ĕĠ ĘĞ ęĕčĤ ěđĥĘč ďđģĕĜĐ :ĕĕ ĥđďģ 14 .(213 (ĤĠ) ĘĕčģĚĐ ĤđģĚĐ .(16 ĐĤđĥ) ĪęĘĕĘĎ ĐĢģĪĘ ĞĕĎĚđ (15 ĐĤđĥ) ĪęĥģčĘĪ ĞĝđĜ ěĞđĚĐĥ (12 .ęĒđēĚ :ęĘĕĘĎ 16 .Ďĕ ;ĕ ,ēė Īĥĕ :ęĥ . . . ĤĕĞĒ .ďĕ ,ĎĘ ĪĤč :ĕĔČĘ ĐĘĐĜĦČđ 15 .Ī[..]đđďģ ģĪ :ěČė ĕđģĘ ďĚĢĘ :ĕĜďĠĤ . . . ĕĜďĞĝ .Ēĕ ,ČĚ ĪĤĕ ĐđđĥĐ .đč ĕĦēĤČĦĐĥ ęđģĚč :ĕĦđĤĕĎ Ħĕčč 18 .ĞčĥĜ :ĐĘČ 17 ĘĞ ğđĤĕĢĐ :Ħđďĕďĕ ĕĤĕĥčđ .(Đ ,č ĥīĐĥ) ĪęĕēđĠĦč ĕĜđďĠĤ ĦđĥĕĥČč ĕĜđėĚĝĪ ĐđđĥĐ ĦđĜđĥĘĐ .ďđĞđ (č ,Č ĥīĐĥ) ĪěĕĕĚ Ėĕďāď (ęĕčđĔ ĕė)Ī ĕĠ ĘĞ ĦđĜđĥĘĐ ďĚĢ :ęĕďđď ěĕĕč 19 .Č ,ĐĚ ĪĐĦ ĕĠ ĤĤđĥĚĐ ěĚďĒĐ đĕĘČĥ ĐĦĥĚĐ ĤđČĕĦ ēĦĠĜ ěČė :ęĕĞĜ . . . ĐĚėēĦČđ 20 .ď ,Ē čđĕČ :ęĕďđďĜ ĕĦĞčĥ ĕĦĜĎĠĐđ :ĤĥĕĕĘĠ ĦđčģĞč ģēđďč đĥĤĠĘ ěĦĕĜ ęĕĜĠĐ ēĝđĜ ĕĠĘđ ,ĦĢģĚč Đĥģ ĔĠĥĚĐ .ĞĝđĜĐ ęĞ (ĪęĕĞĕčĎčĪ) ĐĦĥĚč (ĪěĎă ý ÿĜ øĘĪ) ĕĘģĕĒđĚ ĕđđĕĘč ĤđĒČ ĕĤĕĥ ĤđĦĘČč (ĪĐĚėēĦČđĪ) ĕĕĦđĜđĤĥĕė ĦČ  ĤĠ ĕīė ĕĘđĥč ,ĪěĎĜĘĪ ęđģĚč ĖČ .(794 ĪĚĞ ,ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕ ĦđĤđģ ,ĤĥĕĕĘĠ ĐČĤ) ĪęĕĞĜ Ĥĕĥ ĕĤĤđĥĚĪ ěĚĒĘ ĕĦĚėēĦĐđ :ĥĤĠĘđ ,Īđėđ ĪěĚĀ Ēøă ÿĘ ĐĚĀ ėăø ēÿ Ħø Čþ ĀđĪ :ČđĤģĘ ĥĕ ĐĒ ēĝđĜĘđ .ĪěĚĒĘĪ :ĕĠđĘē ēĝđĜ ęđĥĤ ĘėĜĦĚĐ ([ĕ ,Č ĪĚĥ] ĪđĘ ĐĚėēĦĜ ĐčĐĪ ĕĠ ĘĞ ęĐĕĜĥđ ,[40 ĐĤđĥ] ĪęĐĘ ĐĚėēĦČđĪ ĐđđĥĐ ěđĥĘĘ) ĦĤčēčđ (ĪęĕĞĕčĎčĪ) ĐĦĥĚč ĕĦĞĥĞĦĥĐđ ([13 ĐĤđĥ] ĪĦăđďčý øėčă ü ěĚĀ Ēøă Đÿ ĕ üĜ ýĎĐú ÿĜ øĕ ÿđĪ ĐđđĥĐ) ĕĘ ĦėČĘĚĘ ĥĚĕĥĥ ĦĠđĚĐ Ĥĕĥ :ęĦđČčĢ . . . ĕĐĕđ 21 .ĐČĤĜ ĐĒ ēĝđĜđ .đč ęĕĠĦĦĥĚĐ ęĕĤĤđĥĚĐ :ęĦĜĕĎĜ ďĕĎĜĚ .(ĪęĦđČčĢ ĤĥĪ) čđĥē ĤĤđĥĚ Ęĥ đĔĞ ĕĤĠ ĐĕĐ (ĪęĦĜĕĎĜ ďĕĎĜĚĪ) ęĐĘĥ ĕđģĕēĐ đĦđĞĚĥĚđ ĪĕĤĕĥ ĕđģĕēĪ đĥđĤĕĠĥ ,ĪĐĪĢÿ ĤČ ÿ Ğÿ ĚĪĂ ĕčĤĞĐ ēĜđĚĐĚ ĐĤđĒĎ ĐČĤĜė ĪďĕĎĜĚĪ ĐĘĕĚĐ ,ĪďĕĎĜĚĪ ĕĤčĞĐ ēĜđĚĐ ĦČ ĥďĕē ĘīĐĕĤĥ ĐČĤĜ ,ĐĒ ĕĠĘ .ĪďĎĜĚ ĐďĕĚĞ ,ĦđďĎĜĦĐĪ ĦĕĘđĘĕĚĐ ĦĞĢĐ ĦČ ĐđđĥĐ .ĪĐĪĢĤČĞĚĪĐ ĤĚđĘė ,ĪĐďĎĜĐĪĐ ĐĥĞĚ ĦČ ĖĕĤďĚĐ ĦĠđĚĐ ĤĕĥĘ ěČė đĦĜđđėĥđ .ĪĕđģĕēĘ ĦĠđĚ ďĕĚĞĚĐĪ :(ĕčĤĞĐ ēĜđĚĘ ĦđĝēĕĕĦĐ ĕĘč) 794 ĪĚĞ ,ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕ ĦđĤđģ ,ĤĥĕĕĘĠ ĪĚĞ ,Ď ,ĘđēĐ ĦĤĕĥ ,ĤđĢĕĘČ ;405 ĪĚĞ ,ĦĤĎĕČ ,ěđĝĚĤčČ ĐČĤ ĐĒ ğđĤĕĢ ĥĤĠĘ ęĕĤēČ ĦđĜđĕĝĕĜĘ ,Ď ,ĘđēĐ ĦĤĕĥ ,ĤđĢĕĘČ ĐČĤ – ģĕďĢ ěčČ ğĝđĕ Ęĥ ĤđĒČ Ĥĕĥ :ĐĤĕĞČ čĘ ĦđčĥēĚ ĘĕĘ 22 .101 ,ęĕĠĜĞĘ ĒĚĤ ĐČĤĜė) ĤĕĥĐ ĪĦĕĥČĤĪ ĦČ ĦđģēĘ đēĕĘĢĐ :ĐĦĕĤēČ . . . đčĔĕđ 23 .87–85 ĪĚĞ .(ĦėčđĝĚ ęĦĕĜčĦĥ ,ęĕĤđĒČĘ ĒĚĤ ĐČĤĜė) ĪđĦĕĤēČĪ ĕđģĕēč đĘĥėĜ ĖČ (Ħĕĝēĕ ĐĔđĥĠ ęĦĕĜčĦĥ ĪčđĞ ;Ďĕ ,ĐĘ Īēĕ ĕĠ ĘĞ ĐĠ ĦĘďĎĐ .Čė ,ĐĘ ĪĐĦ ;ď ,ĒĜ Īĥĕ ĕĠ ĘĞ ĐĠ ĦčēĤĐ ěđĥĘ :ĐĘĕďĎČ . . . ęČ 25 ĕĠ ĘĞ :ĕĜđĥĕčĕ . . . ĕė 27 .ĕ ,Đė ĪĥĚ ĕĠ ĘĞ :ĞĚđĥ ĕĜďĝēĕ ěĠ .čĤčĤĦČđ ĤĐĕĕĦČ :ĤĤĦĥČ 26 .čĕ ĘĞ :ěđĥĘ . . . ĕė .đĒĚ ĐĤĦĕđ :ğČđ 28 .ĦĘđčģĦĐđ ĒđĤēĐ ěĞĚĘ ĪĕĜđĥĕčĕĪ ĘĞđĠĐ ĦĠĝđĦč ,Đ ,čĕ ĪĤĕ ĐđđĥĐ) ĤĕĞĥ ĕĜčĚ ęĐ ěđĥĕďđ ěĥĕď .ĦĕĤĢđĜĐ ďĤĠĝč ĕĦĘďĎ :ěđĥĕďđ ěĥĕď ĦđčĤĦ .ĕ ,ď ĪĚĥ ĕĠ ĕģĚĞ ęĞ ĐČĤĦ ČĘ ĒĞđĜ ęĞ ĦČĪ ĕĠ ĘĞ :ĐĠĥ . . . ęĞ 29 .Čė–ė ,đĘ ĪĤč ĐČĤ – (10 ĐĤđĥĘ ĤđČĕčč . . . ęĕĦēĦēđ .ĕ ,č čīĘĚ ĕĠ ĘĞ :ęĦĕĥģĐ ĘđČĥĘ 30 .(Ĕĕ ,ĎĘ Īĥĕ) ĪĐĜĕč ěĕČ ěđĥĘ ĎĞĘĜ ĞđĚĥĚ ĐĠĥ . . . ĔĞĚĐ 31 .Đ ,čĕ ĪĐģ :ĖĤďč ęĕĦēĦēđ .ęėĦĥģččĥ ĞĕĦĤĚĐ ĕĥđģĐĚ ęĦĚĘĞĦĐđ :ęĦĕĒē

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ĥđĚĕĥĘ :ĞĎČ . . . ďĞđ 32 .(Ĕ ,ĒĚ ĪĤč) ĪęĕĞĤđ ĔĞĚĪ ĐđđĥĐ ğđĤĕĢĘ :ęĕĥģđ ĔĞĚ .Ďĕ ,Ē Īĥĕ :ęĕĥĜČ . . . ĕĚđ 33 .Ĕė ,Ĕ čđĕČ :ĞĎĕČ . . . ĐĚĘđ .(čĘ ,ēĚ ĪĤĕ ;ē ,ĒĔ Īĥĕ) ĪđĞĎĜ ĤĒĞĕ (ęĕ) ďĞĪ ĐđđĥĐ Ęģ ěĕĕĜčč Ĥĕĥ ĤčēĘ :Ĥĕĥ ĖđĤĞĘ .(Đ ,Ē ĪĝČ) Īěė ĦđĥĞĘ đčĘ đČĘĚ ĤĥČ ČđĐ ĐĒ ĕČđ ĐĒ ČđĐ ĕĚĪ ĕĠ ĘĞ :đČĘĚ ęĎ ěČė ĦĒĚĤĜđ .([43 ĐĤđĥ] ĪĤĕĥ ĖĤĞ . . . [ĖđĤĞ]ČđĪ ,Ī[39 ĐĤđĥ] ĪęėĤĞĘđ ęĤčēĘĪ ĐđđĥĐ) ĤėĒĜĐ ĪęĦđČčĢ ĤĥĪĘ ĒĚĤ :đČčĢ Ĥĥ .čĤģ ĦėĕĤĞė ęĕĤĤđĥĚ ĦđĤēĦ Ęĥ ĐĢđĠĜĐ ĐĤđĠĔĚĐ ĐĘĕĚĐ ĤđĢĕģ .ěėĝĚđ :ĖĘēđ .čĕ ,č ĪĐģ ĕĠ ĘĞ :ĖĘĚĐ ĕĤēČ Čđčĕĥ . . . ęďČ ĐĚ ĕė 34 .21 ĐĤđĥč ĖĕĥĚĐĘ ĕĦĥĕĕčĦĐĥ ďĞ :ĕĦĥđč ďĞ .Ēĕ ,č čīĘĚ ĕĠ ĘĞ :ĕĦĥđč . . . đĤĢĠĕđ 35 .ĪĐ Āė øĘēĪý ĦĕČĤģĚĐ .ĤđĦĘČč đēđė ĦČ ĦđĝĜĘ ęĕĠĦĦĥĚĐ ěđĤēČ ĦđĕĐĘ ĕĘ ĕČďė ČĘ :ěđĤēČ . . . ěĕČ 36 .ĕčđĤĕĝč ĕčĘ ĖĘĚĕđ .ĪēĕĘĢČ ČĚĥ ,ĐĝĜČ ,ĐĕĐĕĥ ĐĚ ĐĕĐĕĪ ,ĕĚĢĞĘ ĕĦĤĚČđ ĕĦĔĘēĐ :ĕĘđČđ . . . ĖĘĚĕđ 37 Ęėđ ĕĞāü Ĥ ĥĤđėĘ ĤĚāČĐĪ ĕĠ ĘĞ :ĕĞĤ ġĠē ęĕĘĥĐĘ 38 .Ďė ,ēĕ čīĚĥ :ġđĤČ ĐĚ ĕĐĕđ .Ē ,Đ ĪēĜ :ĕĘĞ Īčď ĕĠ ĘĞ ěđĥĘĐ :ĕĜĚĚ đčĎĥ 39 .Ēĕ ,ęĥ ;ĕ ,čĘ čđĕČ ĕĠ ĘĞ :ĕĞď . . . ğČ .(ēė ,ďĚ Īĥĕ) Īę üĘĥ ÿĕ ĕĢĠē ĤĒđē ĝđĠđĔ :ěĝĤ . . . ęĥčėČđ 42–41 .čĕ ,Čė ;č ,ĕ ĪĐĦ ĕĠ ĘĞ ěđĥĘĐ :ĐĚĒĚ ĕĦčĥē 40 .đĘ ,č ĦĤĒĞč đĦĞĚĥĚĘ ĤđĝĘ đĦĤĎĕČ ĦđĕĞĘĢĘ đČ đĤĕĥ ĕĒđĤēĘ ęđĤĎĘ ēĕĘĢĚ ĤĤđĥĚĐ :ĘīĐĕĤ ĦĤĕĥč ,ĪĘđĚĦĚ ČĘĪ) ĪăđČčăĀ đ Ėø ĚĀ ĥø Ĉ đă ĞĚø ĥĀ Ĉ ĘčĀ Čú Ĥĕĥü ă Ĉ Đÿ / ĕ ýĘģø ĥø Ĉ Ěü ěĝþ Ĥþ čø Čā ăčĚü đă Ğ øĜĚø üĜ ČāĘĪ :ĐđđĥĐ .ěĞĚĜĐ Ęĥ đĚĥ ęĕĦüă ĥø Ĉ čÿ ėăø // . . . / ęĕĤü ĚĀ Čú ĔĤþ Ġþ ă Ĥĕčü Ďă ø Đÿ Č ĀĜ ČĤĀ ģĪø ;(1 ĪĚĞ ,Č ,[ĕďČĤč ĪďĐĚ] ĘīĐĕĤ ěČđĕď ;6–5 ĦđĤđĥ ĝđēĕĕĘ ;67 ĪĚĞ ,ęĥ ;44–43 ,41 ĦđĤđĥ ,ĪĔĞĚė ďđĚĞĪ) ĪęĕČü ĤĀ Ġø đă ĕĐĀ ĕĤý ēú Čÿ ěĝþ Ĥþ čă ø / đă ČčăĀ đ ĖĀ Ěø ĥü Ĉ Ĥďÿ Đú čă ÿ ĥĕĈ Čü ěĕČý øđ / . . . / ĕĦüă ĥø Ĉ Ĥü ĕĦüă ĉĥø Ĥÿ ĠĀ ă / . . . / ĕ ÿĜ āđĕĞø Ĥÿ đă ďčø ČĪĀ ;(112–111 ĪĚĞ ,ĦđĤĞĐ ,ęĥ ĐČĤ ĘīĐĕĤĘ ĤĕĥĐ ĪęĐĕþ ýĘĞú ęĕčü øė āđĤ ĦĦý ĀĘ / ęĐĕþ ýĘĞú ĖĀ Ěø ĥü Ĉ čă ø ČĤĀ ģø Čþ Āđ / ĕ üĜĝø Ĥü ĘĠþ þėčă ø ęČĕĀ čü Đú ÿĘ / ĕ üĜ āđĢĤø ĘČþ ęĦĀ āđČ Ėø āđĥĈ Ěø üĘ/ ĕĦüă Čü ĕĦüă Ģø Ĥÿ øđ ęĢĀ čă ø ģÿ øĘ ĕĥü Ĉ Ġø ÿĜ ĕĦČ ü ĉĥĀ ĀĜ ĕėĪăü ;(208 ĪĚĞ ,ęĥ ;47–45 ,41 ĦđĤđĥ ,ĕĜČĚĞĘČ ěĤĐČĘ ĦĤĎĕČ) ęĐĕþ ýĘĞú ĥĈ ēý ÿĘ øĘ Đ ĀĜ āđĞ øđ ĦĞý ĕ üĘ ěĚýă ďÿ øĒ üĕ ĕ ÿĘăđČ øđ . . . Ĥčă Ā ďø Ěü ĕďý ĚĂă üĘ ęĕČü ĤĀ Ġø đă ĉĥĞú ÿĜ øđ ĕ üĜĝø Ĥü ĘĠþ þėčă ø ęČĕĀ čü Đú ÿĘ ęĐĕþ Ĥý ēú Čÿ ęĥčėČđ 41 .(222–221 ĪĚĞ ,ęĥ ;81–77 ĦđĤđĥ ,ĕĜđčĤĜ ďđďĘ ĦĤĎĕČ) ĪăđĦă Ġÿ ă Ħø üĕ ĕ ÿĘăđČ øđ čĤý ĞĀ Đþ ĖĀ Ěø ĥü Ĉ čă ø ĘĞ :ěĝĤ . . . ďĞ 42 .(ČĤĒĞ ěčČ) ĐĥĚ ęĥĐ ĦĤĒĞč ęĕĥģđĚĐ ęĕĒđĤēĐ ĘĞ ĕĦĔĘĦĥĐ :ĐĥĚ ęĥč ,Ď ĥīĐĥ) ĪĕĚČ Ħĕč ĘČ đĕĦČčĐĥ ďĞĪ ęĎ ěČė ĒĚĤĜĥ ěėĦĕĕđ .(Đ ,ČĚ čđĕČ) ĪČđčĕ ĕĚ đĜĝĤ ĘĠėčĪ ĕĠ đĥđĤĕĠ :ěđĥĘĐ . . . ČĘđ 44 .(Ďė ,Ě ĪĚĥ) ĪęēĘ ĖĤĞ đĕĘĞ ĖĤĞĕđĪ ĐđđĥĐ :Ĥĕĥ . . . ĖđĤĞČđ 43 .(ď .ęĕĦĠĘēĐđ ĕĘ ěĚďĒĐĥ ĕĠė ĕĦĤčĕē ČĘČ ęĕĠĜĞč ĦĠđĚĐ Ĥĕĥ ĕĒđĤē ĘĞ ĤđĚĥĘ ĕĦĎČď ČĘ :ĐČĤĜė čĕĦėĐ ĕĠ ĘĞ ďđģĕĜĐ :ĒĤēĐ .ęĥ ĤđČĕčč ĐČĤđ ,(23 ĐĤđĥ) ĪĐĦĕĥČĤčĪ ĐđđĥĐ ĕĜėĔ ēĜđĚė ĪěđĥČĤĪĘ ęĎ ĦďĞđĦĚ (!Đėė) ĪĒĤēĐĪ þ ĐĤđĢĐĥ čĘ ęĕĥĘ ĥĕ ĖČ .(ĐČčĐ ĐĤđĥč ęĎ ĐĚđďčđ) ĥĔ ĕīėč ČĘĚĐ ęģĘēđ (ĦĚďđģĐ ĐĤđĥč ĤđĚČė) ĕĦĠĘēĐ ęĕĒđĤēĐĚ ģĘēđ :ĕĦĤČĥĐ . . . ęĕĒĤēĐĚđ 45 .ĤĠ ĕīėč .(ė ,ďĕ čīĚĥ) ĪĤčďĐ ĕĜĠ ĦČ ččă ý ĝÿ ĤđčĞčĘĪ ĕĠ ĘĞ :ĤčďĐ . . . ĕĦččĝ 46 .ęĦĤđĢė ĕĦĤČĥĐ 48 .(12–11 ĦđĤđĥĘ ĤđČĕčč ĐđđĥĐ) ĪČđčĢĘ đĥē ęĕĚĕ ĕďĘĕĪ ĤĕĥĘ ĐĜđđėĐ :ĐčĤĞĐ ĖĦĤĕĥ 47 ,Ĕĕ ĪĐĦ) ĪčĐĒĚ ęĕďĚēĜĐĪ ĐđđĥĐ :ĤĠėĐ ĘđėĥČĚ ĐďĚēĜĐ .Čė ,ĔĚ ĪĤč ĕĠ ĘĞ :ĤĠĥ ĕĤĚČ ĦĜĦđĜĐ ĤđČĕĦ :Ğģčĕ . . . ĞĕģĤ 50 .ĒĔ ,ēė čđĕČ :ĤĕĠĝđ . . . ČĘ 49 .ďĕ ,Č ĥīĐĥ ĕĠ ĘĞ ĪĤĠėĐ ĘđėĥČĪđ ,(Čĕ ĔĞĚė ēđĝĕĜ .Ęđėĕčė ĤēĥĐ ĤđČ ĤĕČĕ ęĐĚĥ đĕĘĞ ęĕčđĦėĐ ęĕĤđēĥĐ ĤĕĥĐ ĕĤđĔđ ĤĕĕĜĐ ěčđĘ ĪĞģÿ čă Ā üĕ Ĥēÿ ĥÿ Ĉ Đă ĤăĀ đĔ Ĥ āđēĥø ă Ĉ Ěăü đ / ĞģăĀ ĤĂ Ěø Đă ĤĀ Ġø ĝü Ğĕÿ ģü ĤĪø :ĦČĕĎ ěčČ ĐĚĘĥ ĘČ ĘīĐĕĤ ĦĤĎĕČč Čč ĐĐĒ :ĕĜČĚĞĘČ ěĤĐČĘ đĦĤĎĕČč ęĎ ĐĚđďčđ ,(330 ĪĚĞ ,č ,[ĕďČĤč ĪďĐĚ] ĘīĐĕĤ ěČđĕď ;4–3 ĦđĤđĥ) ĐđđĥĐ .(207 ĪĚĞ ,Č ,ęĥ ;22–21 ĦđĤđĥ) Īęĕčăü đĢēú Ğĕÿ ģü ĤĀ ĐĀ ěĚü đĕĞăĀ đģă Ĥü øđ / ęĕčăü đĢģø Ĥēÿ ĥÿ ă Ĉ Đÿ ěĚü đĕĤăĀ đĔĪ đĥē ęĕĚĕ ĕďĘĕĪ) Ī āđ ăčĤø Ğÿ ĕĤăý đĔ / đĕ ĀĘĞĀ ĉĥĤÿ ĠĀ ă / Ĥēÿ ĥÿ Ĉ ĕ ýĜĠø üĘ / ĐĚĀ Āăď čĦĀă øėĚĪü :ĪČđčĢĘ đĥē ęĕĚĕ ĕďĘĕĪč ęĎ ĒČĪ ĕĠ ĘĞ :Ğģčĕ Ĥēĥ .Ĕ ,ĕ ĪĤĕ :ĞģĤĚ ğĝė .(čė ĪĚĞ ,Č ,[ĕďČĤč ĪďĐĚ] ĞīčĚĤ ěČđĕď ;7 Ħĕč ,ĪČđčĢĘ ĘĞ ěđĥĘĐ .ĦĠđĚĘđ ĦđČĘ ĕĘ ĐĕĦĚĥ :ĦđĦđČ ĐĕĦđĦđČ ĕĦĚĥ 51 .(ē ,ēĜ Īĥĕ) ĪĖĤđČ Ĥēĥė Ğģčĕ đėēĪ ĕĠ ĘĞ ĦđĜđĥĘĐ :Ėėē ĕģĦĚĚđ . . . ĖďđĐ ĕďĚēĚĚ 52 .(ď ,ďĞ ĪĐĦ) ĪĦđĦāČ ęĦāĦđČ đĚĥĪ ĕĠ

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čīĚĥ) ĪđĕĜĦĚ ĘĞ ĦďĚĢĚ Ă čĤēĪ ĕĠ ĘĞ .ĦĤčđēĚ :ĦďĚđĢĚ .(ĒĔ ,Đ ĥīĐĥ) ĪęĕďĚēĚ đĘėđ ęĕģĦĚĚ čđĔ :ĖĕĘĘĐĚč ĕĦēĚĥ 55 .Ē ,Đ Īĥĕ ĕĠ ĘĞ :ĕĞđĥĞĥĈ ĞĔĜ 54 .Ĝ ,Ĕĕģ ĪĐĦ :ĕĕĜĞč ĕĦĚēĜ 53 .(ē ,ė ,(ĪčĔĕ þ Ħýă ÿđĪ ęđģĚč) čĕĦėĐ ĕĠ ĘĞ ďđģĕĜĐ :čĕĔĦđ 56 .Đ ,čĢ ĪĐĦ ĕĠ ĘĞ :ĖĘĞĠč ĕĜĦēĚĥ ĕė .ĖēčĥĘ ĕĘ ĦČ ěČė ĐĘđĦ ĘīĐĕĤ :ĖĤđČč . . . đĐĘĐĜĦđ .ĐĘČĥĚ ĐČčĐ ĦĕĞĘĢčđ ěČė ĞĕčĚ ĘīĐĕĤĥ ČđĠČ ĤđĤčđ ĐĤđĥ) ĪĦđďčėč ěĚĒĐ ĕĜĎĐĜĕđĪ ĐđđĥĐ – ěĚĒĐ ĕčđėĕĞ ĘĞ ĤčĎĦĐĘ đĘ ĤđĒĞĕĥ ĞīčĚĤč đĕĦđđģĦ ĒĔ ,ĎĘ ĪĚĥ :ĖĕĜĕĞč . . . ĐĚčđ 57 .(11 ĐĤđĥ) Īęĕ üĘĞĀ Ġø ĕčă ý Ĥÿ Ĥ āđČčă ø Ĥ āđČ ýĘĪ đĜđĢĤ ĦČ ęĕĥĎĐĘđ – (13 ěē ĕĦČĢĚ ęČ :ĕĤēČ . . . ęČ 59 .ďđĞđ č ,Đ ĪĝČ ĕĠ ĘĞ :ĔĕčĤĥ ĖĔĕĥđĐč 58 .(ĪČđĠČĪ đĚė ĪĐĠĕČĪ) ĐđđĥĐ ĐĒ ĕĤĘđĔĝĕĠČ ĝđĠđĔĘ .ĕĚđģĚ ĘČ čđĥČ – ďĝē ĕĕĘČ ĐĔĦ ČĘ ęČđ .ĤčďĐ čđĔ ,ĖĕĜĕĞč ĦĤčďĚ ĕĘđĔĜČ ĪĤ Ęĥ đĦĤĎĕČ ĦČ ěĕĕĚďĚ ęīčĚĤĐ Đčĥ ,ěĕĕďĐ ĕĘđĔĜČ ĘČ ęīčĚĤĐ Ęĥ đĦĤĎĕČč Ā þĜĠĀ øĘ ĐēăĀ đĘĥø ă Ĉ Đÿ øđ / . . . / āđĦă čø ėăÿ Ĥø Ěþ ęĦÿ ĤĀ ĖĀ ĦČ ĦĤĎĕČĐ=] Ėĕ ø ĤĀ ģø üĘ [ĕĘđĔĜČ ĪĤ=] ČăđĐ ĐĜă ý Đü øđĪ :Ęđėĕčė đĕĘČ Ā þĜĕĞý čă ø č āđĔ ęČü / āđĦă čă ü Ęēý ĤĀ [ĐĚĢĞ ęĜă Ā Đü / ĕ üĘĕēý øđ ĕ ÿĜ Āĕ øĜģü øđ ĕ ÿĜčĀ Čú ĘėăĀ ĉĥĠý ă ēÿ øĘăđ / . . . / ĕĤÿ čĀ øăď ĕ ýĜ øĕ øĜĞü Ğÿ āđĚĥø Ĉ üĘ Ėĕ Ā þĜĕĞý čă ø ĞĤÿ ęČü øđ / ĕ üĘĐû ČĀ ĐĀ Ėø āđĦčă ø ,ĦĘĕĥ Īĕ ;11–7 ĦđĤđĥ) Īĕčü ČĀ Ħĕčă ý ĘČþ øđ ĕĦüă ēø Ġÿ ă ĥø Ĉ Ěü ĘČþ / . . . / ĕ üĘ ĐčăĀ đĥĈ ČĀ Ėĕ ,ĤĥĕĕĘĠ ĐČĤ ĤēČ ĤđČĕč ĦĞĢĐĘ .(ĔĝĦ ĪĚĞ ,č ĖĤė ,ēīĚĥĦ ęĕĚđďČ ĐĘĞĚ ,ęīčĚĤĐ ĦđĤĎĕČ . . . ĕė 60 .(Ĕĕ ,ęĥ ;ēĕ ,Ĕ čīĘĚ) ĪĕĤēČ ĘČ čāĝĪ ĕĠ ĘĞ ěđĥĘĐ :ĕĤēČ ĘČ .802 ĪĚĞ ,ĕđĘĐ ĐďđĐĕ ĦđĤđģ ĖĕĜĕĞč ěē ČĢĚČ ČĘĥ ĕĘĥ ĦđĥĥēĐ ĕĘđĘ ĕĕĦđčģĞ ĘĞ ĤđĒēĘ ĕĦĞďč ĐĘĞĚ ĕĦĕĕĐ ČĘ :ĤčďĚ Ęĥ ĕĤđĠĔĚ ĖĥĚĐ :ĦđĘģĘģĞ . . . ĕĘđČ 61 .ďė ,čė ĪđĐĕ :ĤčďĚ ĐĎČďĚ .(59–56 ĦđĤđĥč ĔĤđĠĚė) :ĕĜČĚĞĘČ ěĤĐČ ĘČ ĘīĐĕĤ ĦĤĎĕČč ĐđđĥĐ ,ĖĤďĐ Ĥđĥĕĕ Ęĥ ĕđĚĕďĘ .56 ĐĤđĥč ĐĤđĚČĐ ĐĘČĥĚĐ ĘīĐĕĤ ěČđĕď ;40–39 ĦđĤđĥ) ĪĕĔü ĠĀ ă ĥø Ĉ Ěü Ĥ āđČ ĀĘ ČĕĢü āđĐ øĘ / [ĦđđĕĞ ěđĥĘ] ĕĔü čă Ā Ğø Ěÿ Ĥĥý ă Ĉ ÿĕ øĘ / ĕĔü ĀĘĠø Ěü đĕ ĀĘČĪý .Īďėđ (Ď ,Ě Īĥĕ) ĪĐĘĝĚ . . . đĤĥĕĪ ĕĠ ĘĞ ěđĥĘĐ :ĦđĘĝĚĐ ĤĥđĕĘ ĤĥĕĦ .(208 ĪĚĞ ,Č ,[ĕďČĤč ĪďĐĚ] ,Ĕĕ čīĚĥ) ĪĐģďĢ ďđĞ ĕĘ ĥĕ ĐĚđĪ ĕĠ ĘĞ :ĤčďĘ . . . ĕė 62 .đ ,Đ ĪĠđĥ ĕĠ ĘĞ :ĦđĘģĘģĞ ĦđēĤČ ĖĘČ .(46 ĐĤđĥĘ ĤđČĕčč ęĎ ĐČĤ) ė ,ďĕ čīĚĥ :ęĕĐĘČĐ . . . ĕĜđďČđ 63 .(Ĕė Acknowledgments: I would like to thank Kedem Golden, Raymond Scheindlin and Jonathan Vardi for their insightful comments on the original draft of this article, which, inter alia, have saved me a bit of public embarrassment.

Dynasties of Jewish Physicians in the Fatimid and Ayyubid Periods Amir Mazor and Efraim Lev University of Haifa

This article discusses dynasties of Jewish practitioners – physicians, for the most part, as well as pharmacists – in the High Middle Ages in Egypt and Syria. Based on reliable Jewish sources, primarily Genizah documents and Muslim Arabic historiographical literature, twenty-four dynasties of Jewish physicians in Egypt and Syria during the Fatimid and Ayyubid periods (1171–1250/60 ce) are surveyed, with a particular focus on five of them in terms of their social and political status within Jewish society and vis-à-vis the Muslim authorities and social elite.

Introduction The prominent role of Jewish physicians in the medieval world is well known. Alongside commerce and banking, medicine was a prevalent profession among Jews, whose contribution in these fields was of great significance. Due to the depth of Jewish integration in Islamicate societies, especially during what is known as the classical period of Islam (700–1250), Jews in these professions enjoyed social prestige – often in stark contrast to their counterparts in the Christian world.1 However, dynasties of Jewish physicians constitute a neglected aspect of modern research. A dynasty is a sequence of successive rulers or leaders, or a series of family members, who are distinguished by status, wealth, or occupation. In Jewish tradition fathers are encouraged to teach their sons an occupation (b. Qiddushin 19a); according to Goitein, this means that either the father passes 1 On the prominent position of Jews as bankers in the Muslim world, see, for instance, Walter Fischel, The Origin of Banking in Mediaeval Islam: A Contribution to the Economic History of the Jews of Baghdad in the Tenth Century (London: Austin & Sons, 1933). For Jews as long-distance merchants, see, for instance, the numerous studies of S.D. Goitein and, most recently, Jessica Goldberg’s Trade and Institutions in the Medieval Mediterranean: The Genizah Merchants and their Business World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), esp. 50–55, 116–17, 210–11, 350, 354–58. For Jewish careers in medieval Islamic lands and Europe, see Mark R. Cohen’s definitive study, Under Crescent and Cross: The Jews of the Middle Ages (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994), esp. 77–103 (trade and banking), 134–35, 196 (medicine), and see more below, nn. 23, 26.

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on his own profession or pays his son’s tuition to learn another craft. As there were no vocational schools in the Muslim world in the medieval period, and because teaching was communicated verbally by master to students, very few records are extant attesting to the manner of this kind of individual instruction and training. The little evidence available describes traders instructing their sons.2 Preceding the emergence of physician dynasties in Jewish culture, there were dynasties of rabbis who served as community leaders. In early Jewish history, however, in the talmudic period, rabbis did not serve as community leaders; rather, they ran talmudic academies (yeshivot). According to Breuer, we know of only one case from the talmudic period (third-sixth centuries) of yeshivah leadership passing from father to son.3 Later on, in the Geonic period (starting from the eighth century), the office of rosh yeshivah was considered a “family patrimony.”4 Among the reasons for this process, noted by Grossman, are changes in Muslim society that influenced Jews as well. In the early Islamic period the political leader was chosen by the members of the tribe, following ancient tribal law; familial succession of leadership was thus not part of the political perception. From the Abbasid period on, dynasties of rulers became common, and members of ruling dynasties lived in magnificent palaces. By then, Jews had moved to the big cities and capitals of the Muslim world, where it was not uncommon for a Jew to develop close personal relationships in a ruler’s court. Through the economic and cultural influence of these rulers, the principle of familial succession infiltrated religious and secular leadership in Jewish society.5 Grossman has shown that the familial succession principle was also dominant in Ashkenazic yeshivot during the eleventh and twelfth centuries.6 In many Ashkenazic Jewish communities, inheritance of positions, such as rabbinates, had been prohibited for many generations. However, in later periods, possibly due to limited occupational options, rabbis urged the appointments of their sons and sons-in-law, ultimately generating dynasties of rabbis.7 Returning to the Muslim world, Genizah studies indicate that not only heads 2 Shelomo D. Goitein, ĐĒĕĜĎĐ ěĚ ęĕĥďē ĦđĤđģĚ :ęīčĚĤĐ Ħĕčđ ęĕĜđČĎĐ ĕĚĕč ĖđĜĕē ĕĤďĝ (Jerusalem: Yad Ben Zvi Institute and the Hebrew University, 1962), 121–26. 3 Mordechai Breuer, “Appointment and Succession among Yeshiva Deans,” Jewish History 13 (1999): 13. 4 Avraham Grossman, “ęĕĜđČĎĐ ĦĠđģĦč ĘČĤĥĕ ĦđĘĕĐģč ĦĕĜēđĤĐ ĐĤĕĢĕĘ ĕĦĤčēĐ ĐĜčĚĐ ěĕč ĐģĕĒĐ”, Zion 53 (1988): 264. 5 Avraham Grossman, “ęĕĚďģđĚĐ ęĕĕĜĕčĐ ĕĚĕč ĘČĤĥĕ ĦđĘĕĐģ Ęĥ ĦĕĜēđĤĐ ĐĎĐĜĐč ĦđčČ ĦĥđĤĕ”, Zion 50 (1985): 199–200. 6 Grossman, “ĦđčČ ĦĥđĤĕ”, 205–14. 7 Shaul Stampfer, “Inheritance of the Rabbinate in Eastern Europe in the Modern Period: Causes, Factors and Development Over Time,” Jewish History 13 (1999): 35–57.

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of yeshivot, judges, and government officials, but also members of powerful merchant houses, religious dignitaries, and scholars, tended to perpetuate themselves by raising their descendants in the same profession; this was common practice among physicians as well.8 The emergence of dynasties of Jewish physicians was definitely encouraged by the tendency for private tutelage of medical knowledge. Already according to the Hippocratic Oath, the student of medicine or the novice physician should regard his teachers with respect equal to that he has for his parents and, therefore, should pass on medical expertise and knowledge to his teachers’ sons as well as to his own. Indeed, frequently throughout the history of medicine, the father was also the teacher, and the “art” of medicine was considered an endowment to be handed down.9 If this manner of transmission of medical knowledge was prevalent among Muslim families, it was even more common among Jewish and Christian families. As dhimmis, or ahl al-dhimma – protected non-Muslim communities living under Islamic rule – Jews’ and Christians’ possibilities for obtaining medical training from Muslim physicians were more limited. In Christian Spain, for instance, Jews – who were blocked from access to universities or medical schools – studied Arabic and Hebrew medical texts independently, for the most part within the family.10 Similarly, in Muslim Spain – al-Andalus – where no hospitals existed at the time, medical training often remained “a family affair.”11 The situation in the eastern Islamic lands was better, especially during the Fatimid and Ayyubid periods. Goitein notes that the study of medicine during these periods was inter-religious: Jewish students studied with Muslim and Christian teachers, and famous Jewish physicians taught students of other religions.12 Examples can be found in the biographical dictionaries of physicians written by Ibn al-Qifṭī (1172–1248)13 and Ibn Abī Uṣaybiʿa (1203–1270).14 In addition, medical knowledge was transmitted in established hospitals.15 However, teaching or learning from 8 Shelomo D. Goitein, A Mediterranean Society: The Jewish Communities of the Arab World as Portrayed in the Documents of the Cairo Geniza, 6 vols. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967–1993), 3:14. 9 Douglas Guthrie, Janus in the Doorway (London: Pitman Medical Publishing, Co., 1963), 300. 10 Maud Kozodoy, “The Jewish Physician in Medieval Iberia (1100–1500),” in The Jew in Medieval Iberia, ed. J. Ray (Brighton, MA: Academic Studies Press, 2011), 115. 11 Sarah Stroumsa, Maimonides in His World, Portrait of a Mediterranean Thinker (Princeton, NJ and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2009), 129. 12 Goitein, ĖđĜĕē ĕĤďĝ, 195. 13 ‘Alī ibn Yūsuf Ibn al-Qifṭī, Tāʾrīkh al-ḥukamā’, ed. Julius Lippert (Leipzig: Dieterich’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1903). 14 Aḥmad b. al-Qāsim Ibn Abī Uṣaybi ʿa, ʿUyūn al-anbāʾ fī ṭabaqāt al-aṭibbāʾ (Cairo: al-Maṭbaʿa al-Wahhābiyya, 1884), 2 vols. 15 Stroumsa, Maimonides in His World, 129.

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dhimmis still may have been a problematic issue in the view of strict Muslims, as several cases indicate.16 It seems, therefore, that the transmission of medical knowledge within the family was the most expedient way for Jews to enter the medical profession. This method appears to have been the foremost channel for the transmission of medical knowledge among Jews in medieval Christian Europe as well.17

Jews and Jewish Physicians in the Fatimid-Ayyubid Period in Egypt and Syria (969–1250/60) The Fatimid Caliphate in Egypt and Syria (969–1171) is considered a golden age for dhimmis. In general, the dhimmis in this period were not subjected to discriminatory laws and managed to occupy even the highest bureaucratic positions in the state. It is mainly thanks to dozens of Cairo Genizah documents that we may deduce that the discriminatory laws against dhimmis, known as the Pact of Umar, were not enforced during most of this period, and that Jews were not compelled to fulfill most of its humiliating requirements.18 The heterodox Shīʿī-Ismāʿīlī sect, to which the Fatimids belonged, was yet more tolerant toward their non-Muslim subjects.19 On the other hand, the Fatimid rulers were mistrustful of their Sunni counterparts, who formed the majority of their Muslim subjects during the entire period of their reign.20 Correspondingly,

16 For instance, Ibn Abī Uṣaybi ʿa mentions a certain physician in early 12th-century Baghdad who avoided teaching Jews. The Jewish (later convert) physician Abū al-Barakāt Hibbat Allāh b. Malkā al-Baghdādī al-Baladī (“Awḥad al-Zamān”), used to listen to this teacher’s lectures from the corridor (see Ibn Abī Uṣaybi ʿa, ʿUyūn al-anbāʾ, 1:278). Another case is a well-known Muslim physician of Saladin and the Ayyubid rulers, Raḍī al-Dīn al-Raḥbī, who boasted that he never taught a dhimmī, except two: the Jewish ʿImrān al-Isrāʾīlī and the Samaritan Ibrāhīm b. Khalaf, and this only after they pleaded persistently (Ibn Abī Uṣaybi ʿa, ʿUyūn al-anbāʾ, 2:193). 17 Kozodoy came to this conclusion “from the numerous instances in Christian Iberia of Jewish medical dynasties within a single family.” She also notes cases of fathers teaching their sonsin-law, a phenomenon we know also from the Islamic world, as in the case of Maimonides and his son-in-law mentioned below (p. 252); see Kozodoy, “The Jewish Physician,” 114–15. For the same conclusion regarding other regions in Europe, see Joseph Shatzmiller, Jews, Medicine, and Medieval Society (Berkeley; Los Angeles; London: University of California Press, 1993), 22–27. 18 Norman A. Stillman, “The Non-Muslim Communities: The Jewish Community,” in The Cambridge History of Egypt, I: Islamic Egypt, 640–1517, ed. Carl Petry (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 207–8. 19 Stillman, “The Non-Muslim Communities,” 206–7; E. Ashtor, ĦēĦ ĐĕĤđĝđ ęĕĤĢĚč ęĕďđĐĕĐ ĦđďĘđĦ ęĕėđĘĚĚĐ ěđĔĘĥ, 3 vols. (Jerusalem: Mossad HaRav Kook, 1944–1970), 1:28–30. 20 Ashtor, ęĕďđĐĕĐ ĦđďĘđĦ, 1:28; Stanley Lane-Poole, A History of Egypt in the Middle Ages (London: Frank Cass and Co., 1968), 122–40; Goitein, A Mediterranean Society, 2:345–407; Moshe Gil, ĦėĐđ ĐēĠĥĚĐ :ęĕĤĦĝĦĐ (Tel Aviv: The Diaspora Research Institute, The Project “Moreshet” for Research of Oriental Jewry, 1981), 10.

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this period, too, was a golden age for Jewish practitioners, in general, and for Jewish court physicians, in particular. The Ayyubid period, on the other hand, signifies a general deterioration in the status of Jews and Christians in Egypt and Syria, stemming from the replacement of Shīʿī rule by Sunni Islamic rule, established by Saladin (1171–1193). The jihad (holy war) propaganda which this sultan had conducted against the Crusaders indisputably contributed to overall animosity toward Christians and Jews, both by the rulers and the people. However, Jews continued to serve in the government bureaucracy, probably in lesser numbers and in more lowly positions than they had under the Fatimid rule.21 Despite a general decline in the position of the dhimmis in the Ayyubid period, the position of Jewish physicians does not seem to have been affected significantly. This period is considered the last decades of the classical period of Islam, in which Muslim, Christian and Jewish physicians, regardless of their religious affiliation, enjoyed very high status.22 Indeed, Jewish physicians played a prominent role during the classical period, particularly from the end of the tenth century. They contributed meaningfully to the advancement of medical science in the Muslim lands, both as successful physicians at the courts of Muslim rulers and as authors or translators of important treatises.23 How can one account for the Jews’ attraction to medicine as a profession? Goitein asserts that the prominence of Jews in the fields of medicine and pharmacy “calls for comment.” He explains this situation not as the continuation of a pre-Islamic tradition but as a law of economic history, still in effect today, according to which minority groups have the possibility of being successful in occupations not yet monopolized by the more privileged classes of society.24 The medical profession was a highly attractive alternative for an ambitious Jew who sought to achieve a highly regarded scholarly career. Being a physician was highly esteemed both by his own community and by Muslims; especially when most other options for eminent careers were barred to Jews and Christians.25

21 Stillman, “The Non-Muslim Communities,” 207; cf. Ashtor, ęĕďđĐĕĐ ĦđďĘđĦ, 1:31. 22 Goitein, A Mediterranean Society, 2:241; Shelomo D. Goitein, “The Medical Profession in the Light of the Cairo Geniza Documents,” Hebrew Union College Annual 34 (1963): 177. 23 Max Meyerhof, “Medieval Jewish Physicians in the Near East, from Arabic Sources,” Isis 28 (1938), esp. 441; Salo Wittmayer Baron, A Social and Religious History of the Jews, 18 vols. (New York: Columbia University Press, 1980), 17:174; Moshe Perlmann, “Notes on the Position of Jewish Physicians in Medieval Muslim Countries,” Israel Oriental Studies 2 (1972): 316. 24 Goitein, A Mediterranean Society, 2:265–66. 25 Eliyahu Ashtor, “Prolegomena to the Medieval History of Oriental Jewry,” Jewish Quarterly Review 50 (1959): 153.

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Thus, in the Ayyubid period, too, one finds a great number of Jewish court physicians.26 It was mainly in this classical age that eminent physicians were appointed to the Headship of the Jews in Egypt, as well.27 It was also during the latter part of this period that the Jewish leaders who resided in Cairo, or Fustat (Old Cairo), gradually became more powerful in the wake of the decline of the Geonic academies in Babylonia, and especially in Palestine. At a certain point, the Egyptian leader was known as the “Head of the Jews” (Raʾīs al-Yahūd in Arabic). However, since the timing and the emergence of the formal position of Headship of the Jews in Egypt is a matter of controversy among scholars, in the present paper Jewish physicians who also assumed leadership of Egyptian Jewry, though their precise position and official title are ambiguous, will be termed henceforth the “chief leader of the Jewish community.”28

Methodology The vast number of Cairo Genizah documents provides data on various aspects of the lives of hundreds of Jewish physicians who practiced medicine during the Fatimid and Ayyubid periods. The Cairo Genizah, it should be noted, is neither an archive nor a collection of medical records, but rather a rich reservoir of (inter alia) documents containing private correspondences, commercial documents, court orders, marriage contracts, obituaries, and donor lists; all of which enable us to collect bits and pieces of information to form an intricate portrayal of the lives and deeds of medical practitioners. In the present study, we disclose priceless material gleaned over a decade of studying the Genizah as our main source. Thousands of Genizah fragments were scrutinized, and

26 Saladin, for instance, had no less than thirteen dhimmi physicians. Most of them (eight) were Jews. An additional eight were Muslims. See Max Meyerhof, “Sultan Saladin’s Physician on the Transmission of Greek Medicine to the Arabs,” Bulletin of the History of Medicine 18 (1945):169; Joel L. Kraemer, Maimonides: The Life and World of One of Civilization’s Greatest Minds (New York: Doubleday, 2008), 212–13. 27 Goitein, A Mediterranean Society, 2:243–45. 28 The main debate is around the question whether the formal position of the Headship of the Jews was established by the Fatimids on their conquest of Egypt around 970, or only about a century later. In addition, the Hebrew title nagid – a biblical word having royal connotations – started to be used as an equivalent to Raʾīs al-Yahūd only in the first half of the 13th century. For the different views see, for instance: Elinoar Bareket, “Nagid,” in Encyclopaedia Judaica, 2nd ed. (Detroit: Macmillan Reference USA in Association with Keter Pub. House, 2007), 14:731; Marina Rustow, Heresy and the Politics of Community: The Jews of the Fatimid Caliphate (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2008), 102–7; Mark R. Cohen, Jewish Self-Government in Medieval Egypt. The Origins of the Office of the Head of the Jews ca. 1065–1126 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1980); Stillman, “The Non-Muslim Communities,” 204–5.

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various catalogues of Genizah collections, and hundreds of scholarly books and articles were surveyed for the smallest hints and traces of information regarding Jewish practitioners in the medieval Muslim world (primarily in Egypt and the Levant). All the tiniest details from the abovementioned sources were collected, analyzed, separated, and filed in each of the biographies of individual Jewish practitioners. This work of many years resembles the work of an artist incorporating numerous scenes and creating a large mosaic, or dozens of small jigsaw puzzles, collectively composing a single, harmonious picture. To complete the picture of individual Jewish practitioners, and to add many more to our database, we systematically examined contemporary or near-contemporary Muslim-Arabic historical literature. Valuable information on Jewish physicians appears in these medieval chronicles and biographical dictionaries. The foremost of these sources are undoubtedly the two great biographical dictionaries dedicated to physicians, written in the first half of the thirteenth century by Ibn Abī Uṣaybiʿa and Ibn al-Qifṭī. These Jewish and Muslim sources, in many respects, complement one other. Whereas Genizah documents supply intimate, unmediated social information regarding the Jewish practitioner, usually in the context of the Jewish community, Muslim historians often provide “objective” social information concerning the medical and political career of the Jewish doctor within the elite Muslim society. This integration of Jewish and Muslim sources brings our prosopographical study to its maximal fruition. Prosopography (a collective biography or multiple career-lines), according to Lawrence Stone, “has developed into one of the most valuable and most familiar techniques of the research historian.”29 Our current study can be considered a “French prosopography,” defined by Broady as a kind of collective biography, featuring the following key characteristics: it is a study of individuals belonging to the same discipline, based on comprehensive collections of data relating to these individuals (e.g., social origin, educational background, status in the discipline or society, etc.); the same set of data should, as far as possible, be collected for each individual; and, last but not least, the main object of the study is not the individuals per se but rather the history and structure of the discipline.30 It is 29 Lawrence Stone, “Prosopography,” in Historical Studies Today, ed. F. Gilbert and S.R. Graubare (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1972), 107. For another view, see George Beech, “Prosopography,” in Medieval Studies: An Introduction, ed. James M. Powell (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1976), 185–226. For examples of dozens of studies in medieval prosopography using various methodologies, see Medieval Lives and the Historian, Studies in Medieval Prosopography, ed. Neithard Bulst and Jean-Philippe Genet (Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval Institute Publications, 1986). 30 Donald Broady, “French Prosopography: Definition and Suggested Reading,” Poetics: Journal of Empirical Research on Culture, the Media and the Arts, 30 (2002): 381–85. For a detailed

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important to note here that a review of the genre of biography and this genre’s contribution to the research of Arab-Islamic medieval culture was written by Marín.31 Lecker shows how beneficial a computerized database of biographies can be. His project of “The Prosopography of Early Islamic Administration,” which contains the biographical data of more than 1600 people, has proved to be a powerful and efficient research tool.32

Medical Dynasties of Jewish Practitioners: General Information Based on our database, we were able to trace forty medical dynasties of Jewish practitioners who were active in the medieval Muslim world. Thirty-six of these were active in Egypt and Syria between the tenth to early sixteenth century and thus are relevant to our study. Four dynasties that were active in North Africa or in the eastern regions of Iraq, Iran, and Azerbaijan are not discussed in our paper.33 Of the thirty-six dynasties that were active in Egypt and Syria, twenty-four practiced during the Fatimid-Ayyubid period. The following table displays the basic details of each of these dynasties. Five dynasties are fully detailed below (nos. 1, 7, 8, 20, 21). Only a few of the main Jewish and/or Muslim primary sources are mentioned; in the footnotes, as well, only the most prominent studies are mentioned.

introduction to the field, see Katharine S.B. Keats-Rohan, ed., Prosopography Approaches and Applications: A Handbook (Oxford: Prosopographica et Genealogica, 2007), 1–32. 31 Manuela Marín, “Biography and Prosopography in Arab-Islamic Medieval Culture: Introductory Remarks,” Medieval Prosopography 23 (2002): 1–17. 32 Michael Lecker, “The Prosopography of Early Islamic Administration,” Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam 34 (2008): 529–33. 33 The dynasty of court physicians descending from the famous apostate al-Samawʾal al-Maghribī (12th- and early 13th-century Iraq, Iran, and Azerbaijan); the dynasty of court physicians and communal leaders descending from Me’ir Abū al-Ḥasan b. Qamni’el (12th-century Saragossa, Marrakesh); the famous dynasty of Ḥasday Ibn Shaprūṭ (10th to 12th century), whose members converted to Islam and were active mainly in A ndalusia (only a later member of this dynasty was active as a court physician in Cairo, probably as a Muslim, in the first half of the 12th century; see, for instance, Sarah Stroumsa, “Between Acculturation and Conversion in Islamic Spain: The Case of the Banū Ḥasday,” International Journal on the Transfer of Knowledge, 1[2016]: 9–36); and the dynasty of the converted court physician Rashīd al-Dīn al-Hamadānī (13th- and early 14th-century Iran and Azerbaijan).

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Dynasties of Jewish Physicians

Dynasties of Jewish Practitioners in the Fatimid-Ayyubid Period [Abbreviations – IAU = Ibn Abī Uṣaybiʿa, ʿUyūn al-anbāʾ; IQ = Ibn al-Qifṭī, Tārīkh al-ḥukamāʾ; ṢA = al-Ṣafadī, al-Wāfī bi-l-Wafayāt. MI = al-Maqrīzī, Ittiʿāẓ al-ḥunafāʾ.] No Name

No. of Places Generations

Dates

Positions held

ca. mid11th– beginning of 15th century

Court physicians, hospitals, Head of the Jews; judges

Remarks

Sources

FatimidAyyubid; (AyyubidMamluk)

See below, pp. 249–53

1

Moses 6 (Fatimid- Cairo, Maimonides Ayyubid)34 Damascus (9 generations including Mamluk period)

2

Ṣadaqa al-Isrāʾīlī

2

Damascus 12th–13th Court Fatimid(primarily) centuries physician/s, Ayyubid (until hospitals 1239)

IAU, 2:179, 193, 213–14; ṢA, 23:5735

3

Abū alBarakāt b. al-Sharābī

436

Cairo, Mid-12th Physicians Alexandria through 13th centuries

T-S 16.146; Mosseri VII.9.5; T-S 10 J 7 16; T-S AS 145.9; T-S 12.305; Bodl. MS Heb. d. 66, f. 6 2878.37

FatimidAyyubid

34 These six generations refer to the Maimonidean physicians in the Fatimid-Ayyubid period, also taking into account the family of Moses Maimonides’ wife, whose father and great-grandfather were physicians, as well as the couple’s son Abraham, and possibly their grandson David, as discussed below (pp. 249–53). 35 Meyerhof, “Medieval Jewish Physicians,” 453. 36 Four generations of practitioners, the founder of the dynasty was a sharabī (preparer or seller of potions). 37 Goitein, A Mediterranean Society, 4:351 n. 65; Miriam Frenkel, čĤģč ĐĎĕĐĜĚ ĦĕĘĕĞ :ęĕčĕďĜĐđ ęĕčĐđČĐ ęĕĕĜĕčĐ ĕĚĕč ĐĕĤďĜĝėĘČ ĕďđĐĕ (Jerusalem: Ben-Zvi Institute for the Study of Jewish Communities in the East, 2006), 248–51 (doc. no. 3).

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No Name

No. of Places Generations

4

Saʿadya b. Mevorakh

3

Cairo

11th– Court Fatimid mid-12th physicians, centuries Heads of the Jews

T-S 13 J 14.1438

5

Moses b. Jekuthiel

4

Andalusia, Cairo

Mid-11th (1175~) and 12th centuries

Physicians, Fatimidtraders/ Ayyubid merchants, communal leaders

CUL Add. 3418; Bodl. MS Heb. b. 13, f. 3939

6

Zechariah 3 the Alexandrian

Alexandria, 12th Court FatimidJerusalem, through physicians/ Ayyubid Cairo 1st half communal of 13th leaders, century judges; traders/ merchants

T-S NS J 29; T-S 8 J 41.840

7

Moses b. Eleazar

Tunisia, Cairo

See below, pp. 234–39

4

Dates

Mid10th through mid-11th centuries

Positions held

Remarks

Court Fatimid physicians, chief leaders of the Jews/ chief administrators

Sources

38 Goitein, A Mediterranean Society, 2: 244 and see index 6:75; Marina Rustow, “Moses b. Mevorakh,” Encyclopedia of Jews in the Islamic World (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 3:480–81; Marina Rustow, “Judah ben Saʿadya,” ibid., 3:52–53; Marina Rustow, “Mevorakh ben Saʿadya,” ibid, 3:409–10; S. Sela, “The Head of the Rabbanite, Karaite and Samaritan Jews: On the History of a Title,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, 57 (1994), 260; Moshe Gil, ĦĕĚĘĝđĚĐ ĐĠđģĦč ĘČĤĥĕ ġĤČ (1099–634) ĐĜđĥČĤĐ (Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University and Ministry of Defense, 1983), 3 vols. 1:490; Elinoar Bareket, “ģēĢĕ .č ČĠđĤĐ ěĐėĐ ęĐĤčČ – ĐďĞĐ Ĥĥ”, Hebrew Union College Annual, 70/71 (1999–2000): 4, 19, nn. 15, 17. 39 S.D. Goitein and Mordechai A. Friedman, ĘđďĎĐ đďđĐąĤēđĝ ĕďčĘĘČ ğĝđĕ :ĪČ đďđĐ ĤĠĝ (Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi, 2009), 1:39–42, 45–46. 40 S.D. Goitein, ĐĒĕĜĎĐ ĕčĦė ĤđČĘ :ęĕĜčĘĢĐ ĦĠđģĦčđ ęČĘĝĕČĐ ĦĕĥČĤč ĘČĤĥĕ ġĤČč čđĥĕĕĐ (Jerusalem: Yad Ben Zvi, 1980), 322, 327–32, 261; Goitein, A Mediterranean Society, 3:245, nn. 158, 159; 2:380; Frenkel, ęĕčĕďĜĐđ ęĕčĐđČĐ, 603; A.L. Motzkin, “Elijah ben Zechariah – A Member of Abraham Maimonides Court: A Geniza Portrait,” Revue des études juives 128 (1969): 339–48.

231

Dynasties of Jewish Physicians No Name

No. of Places Generations

Dates

Positions held

Remarks

Sources

8

Abū al2 Barakāt Ibn Shaʿyā

Cairo

Probably Court (?) Ayyubid physician period

Karaite, Ayyubid, possibly early Mamluks41

See below, pp. 253–55

9

al-Shaykh Joseph

2

Cairo

1st half of 13th century

Physicians

Ayyubid

Dropsie 467

10

Isaac Hakohen Harofe b. Furāt

2

Cairo, Ramla

11th century

Court Fatimid physicians, chief leader of the Jews

ENA 4020.3242

11

Moses b. 2 Nethanel Halevi (Abū Saʿd)

Cairo

12th century

Possibly Fatimidcourt Ayyubid physicians, hospitals, Head of the Jews

T-S K 25.6443

12

Salāma b. Raḥmūn

2

Cairo

2nd half Physicians of 11th– 12th centuries

Fatimid

IQ, 209; IAU, 2:20644

13

Eli Harofe

2

Cairo

12th century

Physicians

FatimidAyyubid

T-S 16.176

14

Abū alFakhr al-ʿAṭṭār

2

Cairo

13th century

Pharmacists Ayyubid

Bodl. MS Heb. c. 13, f. 6

15

Abū Saʿd al-ʿAṭṭār

2

Cairo

Late 12th–1st half of 13th century

Pharmacists Ayyubid

T-S 13 J 3.27

41 This family might be the forebear of the Ibn Ṣaghīr/Kūjik dynasties; see below, pp. 254–55. 42 Gil, ĘČĤĥĕ ġĤČ, 2:186–88; Goitein, A Mediterranean Society, 2:243–44; Jacob Mann, The Jews in Egypt and in Palestine under the Fatimid Caliphs, 2 vols. (New York: KTAV, 1970), 2:83. 43 Goitein, A Mediterranean Society, 2:32, 528 n. 46, 247–48; Goitein, ĖđĜĕē ĕĤďĝ, 201–2. 44 Meyerhof, “Medieval Jewish Physicians,” 443; Norman Roth, Jews, Visigoths and Muslims in Medieval Spain (Leiden; New York; Koln: Brill, 1994), 180.

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No Name

No. of Places Generations

16

Tiqva Halevi

2

Cairo

17

Abū al-Faḍl 2 b. al-Nāqid

18

Isaac Abū Manṣūr

19

Dates

Positions held

Remarks

Sources

13th century

Physicians, Ayyubid possibly communal leaders

T-S 16.33545

Cairo

2nd half of 12th century

Oculists

Converted (son); FatimidAyyubid

IAU, 2:115; ṢA, 24:74; T-S 16.146 + T-S 12.17646

3

Cairo

12th century

Physicians

FatimidAyyubid

Bodl f. 56, fol. 50

Ephraim Ibn al-Zaffān

? 47

Cairo

11th century

Court Fatimid physicians, traders/ merchants

IAU, 2:105; ṢA, 9:17548

20

Sukra al-Ḥalabī

3

Aleppo

Mid. 12th–ca. mid. 13th centuries

Court Zengidphysicians – Ayyubid; Nūr al-Dīn descenZengī and dants Saladin converted, probably in the Mamluk period

See below, pp. 247–49

21

Aaron 8 harofe al-ʿAmmānī

11th–13th Court FatimidAmman, Alexandria centuries physician, Ayyubid communal leaders, judges

See below, pp. 240–46

45 Areyh Leo Motzkin, “The Arabic Correspondence of Judge Elijah and his Family: A Chapter in the Social History of Thirteenth Century Egypt” (PhD diss., University of Pennsylvania, 1965), 19, n. 5; E. Ashtor, “The Number of Jews in Mediaeval Egypt,” Journal of Jewish Studies 19 (1968): 19; Amir Ashur, “ĦĕĤĕĐģĐ ĐĒĕĜĎĐĚ ĦđďđĞĦ ĕĠ ĘĞ ěĕĝđĤĕČđ ěĕėđďĕĥ” (PhD diss., Tel Aviv University, 2006), 347–48. 46 Goitein, A Mediterranean Society, 4:286; Goitein and Friedman, ĪČ đďđĐ ĤĠĝ , 258; Meyerhof, “Medieval Jewish Physicians,” 445. 47 The al-Zaffān family is mentioned in the Geniza as a family of physicians, see Goitein, A Mediterranean Society, 3:157, n. 74. 48 Goitein, A Mediterranean Society, 3:157, n. 74; Meyerhof, “Medieval Jewish Physicians,” 442.

233

Dynasties of Jewish Physicians No Name

No. of Places Generations

22

Samuel b. Ḥananya (Abū Manṣūr)

2

Cairo

23

Abū alḤasan al-ʿAṭṭār

2

Alexandria End of Pharmacists Ayyubid 12th century, beg. of 13th century

PER H 85; Mosseri V11. 139. 1

24

Abū al2 Bayān b. alMudawwar al-Sadīd50

Cairo

IAU, 2:115, 118–19; ṢA, 15:127.51

Dates 12th century

Positions held

Remarks

Court Fatimid physician, Head of the Jews

12th– Court Karaite, mid-13th physicians, Fatimidcentury hospitals Ayyubid

Sources CUL Or. 1080 J 24; Bodl. MS Heb. f. 56, f. 122; Bodl. MS Heb. f. 61, f. 46; MI, 3:153–55.49

General conclusions from the data appearing in this table will be discussed at the end of this article, after an in-depth discussion of five of these dynasties.

Closer Examination of Five Dynasties In order to highlight the social and political position of the dynasties of Jewish physicians in the Fatimid-Ayyubid period, and to share the extensive and diverse data we collected, we will elaborate on several of the most prominent dynasties and examine them more closely, based on the methodology described above (pp. 226–28). In the section that follows, therefore, we present a family tree and as detailed a biography as possible of each and every member of each dynasty, as well as a brief analysis.

49 Mann, The Jews in Egypt, 1:228–29; Goitein, “The Medical Profession,” 180.  50 Abū ʾal-Faḍl David b. Solomon b. Abū al-Bayān al-Isrāʾīlī al-Sadīd, also a court physician, is presumed to have been the son of Abū al-Bayān b. al-Mudawwar, though this is not explicitly stated by the historians. See: Ramaḍān, al-Yahūd fῑ Miṣr, 442, n. 1. 51 Meyerhof, “Medieval Jewish Physicians,” 445, 452; E. Ashtor-Strauss, “Saladin and the Jews,” Hebrew Union College Annual, 27 (1956): 311; Steinschneider, Die arabische Literatur, 195–96 (no. 154); J. Vernet, “Ibn Abī al-Bayān,” Encyclopedia of Islam, 2nd ed. (Leiden: Brill, 1971), 3:683.

234

Amir Mazor and Efraim Lev

Dynasty A: Moses b. Eleazar/(Paltiel) [no. 7 in the table] Our discussion starts with this dynasty, which seems to stand alone as a dynasty of Jewish court physicians in the classical period. As discussed below, this dynasty and its features embodied the golden age of the Jews, particularly of Jewish physicians, in medieval Egypt and Syria.52

Dynasty A

Moses b. Eleazar/Paltiel 0njVƗE(O‫ޏ‬Ɨ]ƗU  court physicianYL]LHU, chief leader RIWKH-HZV7XQLVLD&DLURGDIWHU

,VPƗ‫ޏ‬ƯOYL]LHU

,VVDFE0RVHV,VতƗTE0njVƗ  (court) physicianYL]LHU, chief leader RIWKH-HZV" G 

‫ޏ‬$ZQ$OOƗK FRQYHUWHGWR,VODP  G 

-DFRE