Isaac’s Fear: An Early Modern Encyclopedia of Judaism 9781644697368

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I SA A C ’ S F EA R

AN EARLY MODERN ENCYCLOPEDIA OF JUDAISM

ISA A C ’ S FE A R

AN EARLY MODERN ENCYCLOPEDIA OF JUDAISM D A V I D M A L KI E L

BOSTON 2022

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Malkiel, David Joshua, author. Title: Isaac’s fear: an early modern encyclopedia of Judaism / David Malkiel. Description: Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2021. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2021037210 (print) | LCCN 2021037211 (ebook) | ISBN 9781644697351 (hardback) | ISBN 9781644697368 (adobe pdf) | ISBN 9781644697375 (epub) Subjects: LCSH: Lampronti, Isaac Hezekiah ben Samuel, 1679–1756. Pah.ad Yitsh.ak. . | Talmud--Dictionaries--Hebrew. Classification: LCC BM500.5.L3 M35 2021 (print) | LCC BM500.5.L3 (ebook) | DDC 296.1/2003--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021037210 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021037211 ISBN 9781644697351 (hardback) ISBN 9781644697368 (adobe pdf) ISBN 9781644697375 (epub) Copyright © 2022 Academic Studies Press All rights reserved. Book design by PHi Business Solutions Cover design by Ivan Grave On the cover: Ketubah, Ferrara, 1728. Courtesy Umberto Nahon Museum of ltalian Jewish Art, Jerusalem. Published by Academic Studies Press 1577 Beacon Street Brookline, MA 02446, USA [email protected] www.academicstudiespress.com  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Contents

Acknowledgmentsvii Introductionix PART ONE 1  1. Empiricism 3     Source: “Empiricism in Isaac Lampronti’s Pahad Yizhak,” Materia Giudaica 10 (2005), pp. 341–51.  2. Palazzo Tè21     Source: “Palazzo Tè between Science and Imagination,” Journal of Early Modern History 20 (2016), pp. 429–61.  3. The Past 51     Source: “The Burden of the Past in the Eighteenth Century: Authority and Custom in the Pahad Yizhaq,” Jewish Law Annual 16 (2006), pp. 93–132.  4. Traditional Society 88     Source: “Ebraismo, tradizione e società: Isaaco Lampronti e l’identità ebraica nella Ferrara del XVIII secolo,” Zakhor 7 (2005), pp. 9–42. PART TWO  5. The Sambation     Source: “The Sambation River and the Ten Lost Tribes in Isaac Lampronti’s Pahad Yizhak,” [Hebrew] Pe‘amim 94–5 (2003), pp. 159–80.

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 6. Intercessory Prayer     Source: “Between Worldliness and Traditionalism: Eighteenth-Century Italian Jews Debate Intercessory Prayer,” Jewish Studies Internet Journal 2 (2003), pp. 169–98.  7. Pollution     Source: “Law and Architecture: The Pollution Crisis in the Italian Ghetto,” European Journal of Jewish Studies 4.2 (2011), pp. 255–84.  8. Christian Hebraism     Source: “Christian Hebraism in a Contemporary Key: The Search for Hebrew Epitaph Poetry in Seventeenth-Century Italy,” Jewish Quarterly Review 96 (2006), pp. 123–46. General Index Index of Sources

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Acknowledgments

A

Harry Starr Fellowship at Harvard University’s Center for Jewish Studies   in 1995–1996 facilitated pursuit of the research project that culminates in the present volume. I take this opportunity to express my gratitude to Professor Jay Harris, as well as to my teacher, Professor Isadore Twersky, who continued to encourage my work until his untimely death in 1997. The articles that comprise this volume were written during the ensuing years and decades, during which I received important feedback and valuable support from a host of colleagues and friends. I am glad to acknowledge the helpful responses of the anonymous readers of the articles collected here, as well as those who offered comments when I presented versions of these articles at academic conferences. It gives me great pleasure to specifically acknowledge the support of the following colleagues: Avriel Bar-Levav, Dora Liscia ­Bemporad, Elisheva Carlebach, Bernard Cooperman, Brendan Dooley, F ­ abrizio Franceschini, Daniel Frank, Matt Goldish, James L. Kugel, David P ­ alterer, Mauro Perani, Dorit Raines, Asher Salah, Giacomo Todeschini, Giuseppe Veltri, and Alessandra Veronese. This is also an opportunity to express my support for Debra Glasberg Gail, who has taken up the baton of Lampronti scholarship and who will surely broaden and deepen our understanding of his work and historical milieu for years to come. I am grateful to Alessandra Anzani, Editorial Director at Academic ­Studies Press, for her steadfast pursuit of this publication project. Publication was made possible by generous contributions from the following sources: The Rabbi Moshe Chaim Lau Chair for the Study of Leadership in Times of Crisis, directed by Moises Orfali and Kimmy Caplan (Bar-Ilan University); Shulamit Michaeli, Vice President for Research and Development (Bar-Ilan University); Centro di Studi Ebraici (CISE), directed by Fabrizio Franceschini (Università di Pisa); Fondazione Ambron Castiglioni, and its President, Alberto Boralevi; Giuseppe Veltri, Head of Institute for Jewish Philosophy and Religion, and Director of

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the Maimonides Centre for Advanced Studies (Universität H ­ amburg). I extend heartfelt thanks to all for their support and patronage. The source of the cover illustration is а ketubah from Ferrara, 1728, which lsaac Lampronti signed as а witness. The ketubah is the property of the Umberto Nahon Museum of ltalian Jewish Art, in Jerusalem, and I extend heartfelt thanks to its curator, Daniel Niv, for permission to use this image. My most loyal devotees are, of course, my family. I express my heartfelt thanks to Brenda, my wife, and to my children, Lily, Nitzan, Sarah, Tehila, and Yakov. I dedicate this book to Hallel, Maayan, and Roee, the youngest members of our clan.

Introduction

T

he challenge of the modern, secular, age for religious people has been to embrace the advances in knowledge and technology of the last few centuries while maintaining their devotion to the traditions and customs of their heritage. There have been and continue to be challenges in a variety of spheres. With respect to Jewish law, one might point to challenges stemming from science and technology, such as the question of the halakhic status of brain death. Spinoza challenged the assumption that knowledge of the world, particularly metaphysics, is to be derived not only through the rational faculty but also through the senses, meaning Revelation and its corollary, tradition. Spinoza’s role in launching biblical criticism is another facet of his importance in nudging citizens of the modern world in the direction of secularism, which poses a fundamental, existential, threat to the survival of traditional monotheism, be it Judaism, ­Christianity and Islam. History offers an avenue for the exploration of how the spiritual leaders of religious communities have confronted the challenges of modernity. It is clear from the example of Spinoza that the crisis of faith can be traced to the early modern era in European history, from about 1500 or so, though of course the roots of some of the same issues can be found in the Middle Ages or even Greco-Roman antiquity. Maimonides is a model of a medieval religious leader who confronted the challenges to religion from science and philosophy, but although his attitudes are useful from a methodological perspective, in thinking about strategic, epistemological, approaches, the body of knowledge, and specifically the assumptions about the world, that underpinned both his worldview and the ideas that challenged it are obsolete and archaic, for they rested on the philosophy of Aristotle and on an epistemology of scholastic reasoning rather than empirical science. We turn, therefore, to early modern thinkers for models of how challenges to traditional religious faith and practice were confronted. Moses Mendelssohn is the classic example of such a thinker, but he was scarcely representative of

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the traditional religious leadership. In search of early modern attempts to create a Weltanschauung that combines fidelity to religious tradition, including observance, with a positive approach to the current state of science and philosophy, scholars have often looked to Italy. This is partly because Italy was home to scholars in the vanguard of scientific enterprises, including Lorenzo Valla, ­Galileo Galilei and Giambattista Vico, and also because the Italian Renaissance, by reviving the kinds of literature and art characteristic of Greco-Roman antiquity, challenged the power exercised by institutionalized religion, specifically the Catholic Church, in molding and directing European thought and social behavior. This aspect of Italian culture, and similarly the pioneering of ­critical-historical thinking by Valla and later Spinoza, are not tantamount to the advent of secularism, but they have been seen as pointing the way to future, modern, developments. Italy’s Jews have a particular historical connection to the developments in critical-historical thinking associated with Valla, a connection that links them directly to Spinoza. In the centuries following the fifteenth-century expulsion of the Jews from the Iberian peninsula, their descendants, now known as “New Christians,” particularly from Portugal, migrated to Italy in significant numbers, whether to escape the scrutiny of the Inquisition or for economic opportunity. Some of the new arrivals elected to abandon Catholicism for Judaism, a religion of which they were largely ignorant, and this population either created new Jewish communities or new ethnic contingents beside their brethren already resident in various cities and towns. Naturally, the new Sephardim, as they were called, underwent a process of becoming educated in the beliefs and practices of their ancestral faith, and while some encountered little difficulty returning to Judaism, others found the faith and practices of their old-new religion puzzling or even objectionable, whether because these seemed irrational and even absurd, or because they did not seem rooted in the Bible, the only Jewish text with which the New Christians were somewhat familiar. Spinoza is an extreme example of a new Sephardi who regarded the Judaism of his day critically, but there are others, including Uriel da Costa, who penned a stinging critique of latter-day Judaism, was blackballed by the Jewish community of Amsterdam, and ultimately committed suicide. The critical-historical thinking that ultimately contributed to the advent of modern thought is linked in Italy not only to the skepticism expressed by some of the Iberian arrivals, but also to the historical scholarship of Azariah De’ Rossi of Ferrara, whose Me’or Enayim (Light of the Eyes), published in 1573, presents a series of critical essays on rabbinic Judaism, questioning, for example, the

Introduction

authenticity of the Jewish calendar. De’ Rossi joined the enterprise of historical criticism through his novel method of comparing traditional Jewish sources with ancient writings by non-rabbinic authorities such as Philo, and also by Christian and pagan writers. De’ Rossi’s wide-ranging erudition exemplifies the high degree of acculturation attributed by historians to the Jews of Italy. Few Jewish scholars could equal De’ Rossi’s worldliness, and his rabbinical colleagues viewed Me’or Enayim as profoundly threatening to Jewish tradition and moved to suppress it. In this sense De’ Rossi failed, and still Robert ­Bonfil, the historian, praised De’ Rossi’s heroic effort to deploy the new critical-­ historical method for the sake of Judaism’s continued survival, and offered the following autobiographical note: “It seems to me that de Rossi was also correct; it is impossible to defend Judaism in times of crisis by taking shelter in a fortress built upon false foundations.”1 Bonfil’s grasp of the relevance of De’ Rossi’s project for our own day also applies to the author of Isaac’s Fear, who, as we shall see, labored to establish the harmony of traditional Judaism and scientific knowledge at a time of rapid and dynamic development. For the most part, in the early modern era Jews and Christians attained maximal intellectual overlap at the university, where youngsters of all backgrounds read the same books and attended the same lectures. This aspect of Jewish-Christian relations showcases Italy’s exceptionally liberal ambience, for at the time Padua’s university was the only one in Europe to allow Jews to matriculate. University attendance was not an issue in the Middle Ages, when Europe’s Jews were known for their knowledge of medicine and astrology, and more often dispensed it to Christians than vice versa. But the flow of knowledge changed direction in the early modern era, and Padua’s medical faculty became a Mecca for aspiring Jewish doctors, many from homes in other European lands, with some two hundred matriculating in the early modern era. Medicine, and science generally, became the testing ground and sometimes the battleground of new scientific ideas, and it was the Jewish physicians who acquired this knowledge and pondered its implications, including its implications for the faith and practice of their religion. Medieval and early modern physicians often had expertise in a broad range of fields, reflecting a holistic conception of knowledge that can be traced to Aristotle. Due to prevailing educational norms and perhaps also to practical considerations, among 1 Robert Bonfil, “Some Reflections on the Place of Azariah de Rossi’s Meor Enayim in the ­Cultural Milieu of Italian Renaissance Jewry,” Jewish Thought in the Sixteenth Century, ed. Bernard Dov Cooperman (Cambridge, Mass., 1983), p. 42.

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the Jews of early modern Italy, many physicians were also versed in Jewish law and theology, including kabbalah, and some of these individuals even held positions as community rabbis or as instructors in rabbinical academies, i.e., yeshivas. In the ranks of early modern Italian Jewry, therefore, we find a cohort of intellectuals with a relatively sophisticated conception of both science and religion, who were thus well-positioned to confront the theoretical and practical challenges to traditional religion posed by the latest advances in European thought. The most prominent member of this cohort was Isaac Lampronti of Ferrara (1679–1756), the rabbi and university-trained physician whose encyclopedia is the subject of this book. The subject of the encyclopedia, entitled Isaac’s Fear (Pah.ad Yis.h.aq), after Gen. 31.42, is Judaism, theory and practice. The studies in this volume explore this voluminous work, as I will shortly explain, but the main point here is ­Lampronti’s perspective on the state of European thought, mainly science, in the latter portion of the early modern era. His career has merited a modicum of scholarly attention, and David Ruderman’s focused analysis of Lampronti’s discussion of spontaneous generation deserves special mention for Ruderman’s appreciation of Lampronti’s importance as a Jewish intellectual who confronted the challenge to traditional Judaism emerging from the rapidly changing body of European knowledge.2 The present book is, however, the first attempt at a broad investigation of the book and its author. Broad, but far from comprehensive, owing to the book’s essential nature. Isaac’s Fear is, of course, Isaac’s brainchild, but he is largely its compiler and editor rather than author, in the sense that his own ideas constitute only a tiny portion of the vast quantity of material on offer. An intellectual biography of Lampronti, then, would obscure his singular achievement. To illustrate, Isaac’s Fear has often been mined for rabbinical writings by a variety of contemporary Italian thinkers, which Lampronti published from manuscript. Of these, L ­ ampronti’s own compositions are only a small and not especially significant fraction, and hence his ideas, views and values should not eclipse the book’s greater significance as a vehicle that affords a close-up view of the thinking of some of European Jewry’s best-educated early modern intellectuals, as they confront the era’s challenges to the mores and values of their ancestors. 2

David B. Ruderman, “Contemporary Science and Jewish Law in the Eyes of Isaac Lampronti of Ferrara and Some of his Contemporaries,” Jewish History 6 (1993), pp. 211–24; Idem, Jewish Thought and Scientific Discovery in Early Modern Europe (New Haven, 1995).

Introduction

That said, Part I of this volume is strictly devoted to Lampronti. The first essay, “Empiricism,” offers a detailed evaluation of the nature of Isaac’s Fear, and focuses on that feature of his thought for which the chapter is named, which is both salient and historically significant. Although Aristotle acknowledged that knowledge is attained through the senses, medieval thinkers viewed the rational faculty as a parallel, equally useful, tool. Saadia Gaon, of tenth-century Baghdad, for example, was a supreme believer in the power of reason to solve philosophical problems in general, and in particular to prove the truth of the Jewish faith through syllogism. True, medieval philosophers never abandoned the conviction that scientific knowledge is rooted in experience, namely in the observation of nature, but the scientific method, which emerged in early modern Europe, involves proactive observation, namely the testing of hypotheses through experimentation.3 This chapter demonstrates that Lampronti was keenly aware of this methodology, and that it was fundamental to his approach to nature, regarding not only scientific questions but also those pertaining to Jewish concepts, principles, motifs and practices. “Palazzo Tè” is a close analysis of a single entry in Isaac’s Fear, one of singular importance for a grasp of Lampronti’s epistemology and of the significance of his approach for his interpretation of Judaism. The entry concerns his interpretation of a rabbinic expression, which he relates to a phenomenon from the physical world that he encountered in Mantua’s Palazzo Tè. The chapter situates Lampronti’s perception of Palazzo Tè in the context of writings on the subject by Christian scholars, several dozen of whom published their interpretations, some of which are cited in Isaac’s Fear. The chapter compares Lampronti’s experience at Palazzo Tè to that of the only other Jewish visitor to visit the palace and pen an account of his experience: Hayyim Joseph David Azulay, the famous rabbinic scholar who circulated in various countries as a fundraiser for the land of Israel in the eighteenth century. The Palazzo Tè encounter exemplifies Lampronti’s heroic efforts to align the science he had learned at the university with the religious traditions he imbibed with his mother’s milk. Chapters 3 and 4 are explorations of Lampronti’s thought along what are sometimes referred to as the vertical and horizontal axes. In assessing the way he approached his Jewish heritage, “The Past” addresses the issue of authority, namely the degree to which subservience and loyalty to the thinking and 3

On this issue, see: Malkiel, “The Artifact and Humanism in Medieval Jewish Thought,” Jewish History 27 (2013), pp. 21–40; Idem, “The Rabbi and the Crocodile: Interrogating Nature in the Late Quattrocento,” Speculum 91 (2016), pp. 115–48.

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d­ ecisions of earlier rabbinical masters, chiefly of the middle ages, directed his own. This issue poses a perennial challenge to rabbis in positions of authority, and through the centuries the call has been sounded for intellectual freedom and independence from predecessors, only to be countered with iterations of the theme that the ancients were closer than moderns to the fount of knowledge and were as giants in comparison with latter-day dwarfs.4 Isaac’s Fear addresses the dilemma of early modern scholars, who were faced with challenges to tradition stemming from the era’s scientific advances, such as the toppling of the geocentric thesis. Lampronti’s empiricism is relevant here as well, for his entries on matters of praxis are devoted to custom as often as to codified law, and not only is custom empirical, but additionally, Lampronti frequently testifies (in the first person) to the existence of myriad customs, whose legitimacy and authority he proceeds to assess. The title “Traditional Society” stems from Jacob Katz’s characterization of early modern Jewish society, notwithstanding the scholarly criticism of this notion, on the grounds that it homogenizes a reality that was diverse and dynamic to the point of kaleidoscopic. Katz searches for the fault lines of Europe’s traditional society, which imploded with the advent of the modern era, as Emancipation made it possible for Jews to live as individuals, rather than as members of a collective.5 Katz ignores the Jews of Italy, and so this chapter surveys the image of Italian Jewish society in the early modern era as it emerges from dozens of entries in Isaac’s Fear. The essay tracks the encyclopedia’s material with regard to challenges from within and without, probing both the extent of the Jews’ fidelity to traditional observance as well as the firmness of ­Jewish identity vis-à-vis the political, social and cultural pressures posed by the ­Christian majority. The chapter reveals a remarkable degree of elasticity in Jewish identity, as Lampronti’s confreres occasionally flout rabbinic law and authority but do not break out in open rebellion. Similarly, while apostasy appears to have been a familiar occurrence, Italy’s Jews are also seen clinging with conviction to their ancestral identity and heritage in the face of contemporary challenges. Notably, Lampronti usually responds with equanimity to the “give” of Jewish society on both the internal and external fronts, its unruly nature and occasional defeats, See Abraham Melamed, On the Shoulders of Giants: The Debate between Moderns and Ancients in Medieval and Renaissance Jewish Thought (Hebrew) (Ramat-Gan, 2003). 5 Jacob Katz, Tradition and Crisis: Jewish Society at the End of the Middle Ages, trans. Bernard Dov Cooperman (New York, 1993). 4

Introduction

without communicating a sense that his world was threatened with extinction. This essay is at the very core of the Lampronti project, for it appraises the Italian experience of modernity, or more specifically the final period of pre-modernity, a historical moment before the political and social upheaval that drastically and permanently altered the political-legal status of European Jewry, their position in society and their attitudes to their age-old identity and tradition. The overall experience that emerges from Isaac’s Fear is one of both pliability and resilience, and fundamentally, then, the absence of the kind of crisis that scholarship on the Jews of northern and eastern European, including Katz’s writings, has led us to expect. The second half of this volume consists of essays that excavate Isaac’s Fear entries about a series of social and cultural themes that resonated powerfully among intellectuals from Lampronti’s milieu. This half of the book, then, is about the intellectual vista of Italian Jewry in the early modern era, one which was not solely Lampronti’s but which finds expression in his encyclopedia. “The Sambation” is devoted to a unique entry in the encyclopedia, the only one in Italian, which is presumably why it remained in manuscript long after the volume in which it should have appeared went to press. Linguistic complexity is also characteristic of this chapter, which is based on a Hebrew article, but which substitutes an English translation of Lampronti’s Italian entry for the Hebrew translation that appears in the published article. The Sambation river is famous in Jewish tradition as the barrier behind which the lost Ten Tribes of Israel are believed to dwell in exile, cut off from their Jewish brethren. On the other hand, the tribes beyond the Sambation supposedly live as fierce warriors, in sharp contrast to the Jews’ political powerlessness, not to mention their lack of military prowess. By the eighteenth century there was a veritable library of Hebrew sources about the Sambation and the Ten Tribes, which never ceased to fascinate the Jews throughout the Diaspora. In contrast, Lampronti’s effort is devoted to sources on the subject by non-­Jewish authors. The chapter explores possible motivations for the entry’s composition, within and without the strictly Jewish environment, and what emerges from both perspectives is the sense that Italy’s Jews were experiencing anxiety over the long-anticipated messianic advent, an anxiety which may have been rooted in the Sabbatian debacle, which continued to reverberate in Italy, as the movement of Ramhal (Rabbi Moses Hayyim Luzzato, 1707–1746) and his circle illustrates most eloquently. Isaac’s Fear testifies that intercessory prayer, the supplication of angels to petition God on behalf of the Jewish people, was another contemporary source

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of anxiety. As “Intercessory Prayer” makes clear, a liturgical tradition of this nature dates back to late antiquity and runs through the Middle Ages, and yet there were those in eighteenth-century Italy who rose up, specifically in Trieste, to object to the use of intermediaries and to stamp out this tradition. The heart of the debate is a set of letters on the subject exchanged by rabbis from northern Italy in 1727, which are published in Isaac’s Fear and constitute one of the encyclopedia’s longest entries. The letters address various concerns, including the uncomfortable similarity of Jewish intercessory prayer to the same Catholic notion and practice. The discussion branches out into a broader discussion of seemingly irrational Jewish customs, and particularly kabbalistic ones, and we find that those who defend intercessory prayer in 1727 lean heavily on the weight of tradition rather than on the prestige of kabbalah, even though kabbalah was then rising to new heights of popularity. The Trieste struggle is situated at a surprising chronological juncture, at the end of a chain of discussion going back centuries, but almost a century before the modern Reform movement revamped the Jewish liturgy. And what fundamentally distinguishes the 1727 initiative from earlier stages of debate is, indeed, the intention of the Trieste protagonists to put an end to intercessory prayer once and for all. It is puzzling that debate over intercessory prayer should have erupted when it did, and the same fundamental historical conundrum surrounds a halakhic debate documented in Isaac’s Fear over the problem of ritual pollution. The encyclopedia publishes a sizeable corpus of rabbinic documents from Lampronti’s milieu about the ostensible impossibility of escaping “tent pollution,” which is contracted by anyone present under the same roof as someone deceased. The pollution seemed inescapable because ostensibly the architecture and urban layout of the ghetto allowed impurity to pass between buildings. As in the case of intercessory prayer, we are witness to an eruption of anxiety over a status quo that had been place since time immemorial, but unlike intercessory prayer, tent pollution did not exercise the rabbis of earlier centuries. The issue seems to have been particular to the Jews of Italy in the age of the ghetto, and it affords a rare opportunity to examine the impact of Jewish space, the ghetto’s physical presence, on the religious life and thought of its inhabitants and their leadership. The pollution entry stands out among other entries comprised of rabbinic letters and treatises in that the problem troubled the rank and file as well as the rabbinic leadership. In fact, the lay leadership of Venice went so far as to propose that, for lack of a better solution, priestly inhabitants, who were singularly

Introduction

affected by the threat of contamination, be banished from the ghetto! Clearly, on the eve of the modern era, the Jews of northern Italy were anything but apathetic towards their religious identity and heritage. The contemporary context may be related to the eschatological anxiety suggested by the Sambation entry, since ritual pollution renders priests unfit to function in the Temple, the reconstruction of which was the subject of heightened interest in early modern Europe among both Jews and Christians. More fundamentally, the anxiety over tent pollution reflects an unwillingness to accept an anomaly in the system of Jewish law and practice, which by the eighteenth century had become highly structured and ramified, and clearly and systematically set down in rabbinic literature. In this respect, the pollution literature dovetails with Lampronti’s overall project, for Isaac’s Fear is an attempt to pull together the multitudinous and multifarious strands of Jewish thought and law, halakhah and aggadah, in a single, comprehensive, literary product, to be made available not only to rabbis but to anyone with a decent Jewish education. The expectation that Judaism, like any other discipline, be consistent and sensible explains the anxiety expressed throughout the pollution literature, and what is new here is the active participation of educated commoners, the so-called “third estate.” The last essay in this collection mainly concerns Christian thinkers. The chief protagonist is Bernardino Ramazzini (1633–1714), who taught medicine in Padua and may have been one of Lampronti’s teachers. In 1680–1682, Ramazzini corresponded with Antonio Magliabechi, the librarian of the Grand Duke of Tuscany and one of Italy’s leading intellectuals, after the latter deputized him to search for Hebrew epitaphs of interest in the Jewish cemeteries of northern Italy. Ramazzini may not have known that Magliabechi acted on behalf of Johan Christian Wagenseil, the renowned Christian Hebraist, who sought to assemble and publish a collection of Hebrew texts of this nature.6 Ramazzini duly approaches his Jewish contacts, primarily rabbis, senior colleagues of Lampronti’s, at least some of whom he probably knew. In the course of his correspondence with Magliabechi, Ramazzini receives and forwards a series of Hebrew epitaphs, but he confesses some frustration when his efforts meet with a lack of cooperation by the Jews, and his letters include 6 See, recently, Michela Andreatta, “Collecting Hebrew Epitaphs in the Early Modern Age: the Christian Hebraist as Antiquarian,” Jewish Books and Their Readers: Aspects of the Intellectual Life of Christians and Jews in Early Modern Europe, ed. Scott Mandelbrote and Joanna ­Weinberg (Boston, 2016), 260–86.

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some ugly remarks about their nature, alongside warm references to his Jewish friends. Ultimately, the correspondence is telling testimony about the relations between Christians and Jews in early modern Italy. It is, basically, a story about a cooperative effort, based on a shared appreciation of Hebrew, and specifically of Hebrew epitaph poetry, an Italian specialty. Yet cooperation is only one side of this story, while the other is of the social and cultural gap that remained firmly in place. To some degree, the refusal of the Jews to convert to Christianity made such a gap inevitable and eternal, something that would survive even the advent of the modern, secular, age, and would disappear only when and where Jews surrendered their particular identity and abandoned their heritage. The story is part and parcel of Lampronti’s world because not only did he undoubtedly know at least some of the rabbis who cooperated with Ramazzini, but he also would have known Ramazzini himself, for Lampronti is known to have consulted with Ramazzini’s colleague at Padua, Giovanni Battista Morgagni. Lampronti probably did not know Magliabechi, but he would certainly have known of him, for Magliabechi was famous throughout Europe for his unparalleled erudition. Both Ramazzini and Magliabechi were part of Europe’s Republic of Letters, with which Lampronti and many of his Italian rabbinical colleagues identified. As the essays in Part Two of this book shift focus from Lampronti to his Italian milieu, this chapter in particular extends its purview beyond Jewish society, to take in Christian colleagues with whom he came into contact, as an intellectual if not in person. What is unique to the experience narrated in this chapter is that, whereas Lampronti and many of his rabbinical colleagues were typically consumers of the thought and writings of their Christian intellectual counterparts, in this case the latter seek access to the treasures of Italian Hebrew literature, testifying to a shared aesthetic and thus, more broadly, to a realm of cultural overlap that deserves to be remembered as part of the legacy of early modern Italy.

Part One

CHAPTER 1

Empiricism INTRODUCTION

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he seventeenth to nineteenth centuries have been portrayed as a lull in ­Jewish cultural creativity. Heinrich Graetz wrote disparagingly of Jewish culture worldwide during the century between Spinoza and Mendelssohn: The Jews were at no time in so pitiful a plight as at the end of the seventeenth and beginning of the eighteenth century … The former teachers of Europe, through the sad course of centuries, had become childish, or worse, dotards … The leaders of the community were for the most part led astray, wandering as if in a dream, and stumbling at every step. But few rabbis occupied themselves with any branch of knowledge beyond the Talmud, or entered on a new path in this study … The rabbis of this period were not models, the Poles and Germans being for the most part pitiable figures, their heads filled with unprofitable knowledge, otherwise ignorant and helpless as little children. The Portuguese rabbis presented a dignified, imposing appearance but they were shallow. The Italians bore more resemblance to the Germans, but had not their learning. Thus, with no guides acquainted with the road, sunk in ignorance, or filled with conceit, beset with phantoms, the Jews in all parts of the world without exception were passing from one absurdity to another, and allowing themselves to be imposed upon by jugglers and visionaries.1

Cecil Roth wrote specifically about Italy, rather than about all of Europe. He also differed from Graetz in that his remarks were more specific. Moreover, he attenuated his criticism, by noting both the conditions that caused the decline, as well as exceptions. Overall, however, in his characterization of the cultural productivity of Italian Jewry after the Renaissance, the negative view predominates: 1

H. Graetz, History of the Jews, vol. 5 (Philadelphia, 1956), pp. 199–201.

4

Part One The daring speculations, the untrammeled intercourse, the penetrating influences of the Renaissance period were now remote memories … It is probably true to say that, whereas before the Renaissance the general intellectual standard of the Jews was higher than that of their neighbors, now it lagged behind … Personalities of slender significance left a mass of writings which endow them with an unjustified prominence in the eyes of posterity … The intellectual life of the Ghetto was increasingly petty, and the writings that emanated from it increasingly trivial.2

On what basis did Roth determine whether writings were trivial or important, whether people’s prominence in the eyes of posterity was justified or not? The criteria are not spelled out. Roth suggests that, viewed against the backdrop of the Renaissance, anything that came afterwards was by definition inferior or decadent. Like Graetz, Roth’s negative image of the period is imposed from without, rather than emanating from within the culture and mindset he was analyzing. Roth’s evaluation continues as follows: Profound rabbinic scholarship was now, to be sure, difficult to attain, in view of the fact that over so great a part of the country the mere possession of the Talmud and much of the allied literature was a penal offense. In many places only the emasculated legal compendia were accessible, so that some of the greatest savants of the age had to study, to write, and even to teach without the aid of the essential material, unless they owned it furtively or were endowed with prodigious memories. The level of achievement was in the circumstances far higher than might have been anticipated … [Then comes a short list of scholars.] Above all, Isaac Lampronti, physician and rabbi at Ferrara, compiled a superb epitome of this activity in his gigantic rabbinic encyclopedia, Pah.ad Yis.h.aq … It may be described as the swansong as well as the greatest monument of talmudic study in Italy.3

Roth eulogized the rabbinic culture of Italy without verifying that it was dead. It appears that he was fitting foot to shoe, for if we look at the conventional image of Italian-Jewish culture between the ninth and eighteenth centuries, an image largely based on Roth’s historical writings, a Hegelian pattern emerges: a stage 2 C. Roth, The History of the Jews of Italy (Philadelphia, 1946), pp. 398–9. 3 Ibid.

Empiricism

of emergence in approximately the ninth to twelfth centuries, the Renaissance stage of efflorescence in roughly the thirteenth to sixteenth centuries, and the period of stagnation and decline in the seventeenth to nineteenth centuries. Thus, Roth’s conception of the Seicento and Settecento reflects his assumption that cultural centers go through a “natural” cycle of appearance, efflorescence and decline. Regarding Italy, the Renaissance was the pinnacle, which was bounded by periods leading up to and down from it. Developments in the study of Italian culture generally, and of Italian-Jewish culture in particular, have challenged this Hegelian approach. Eric Cochrane’s Florence in the Forgotten Centuries, published in 1973, heightened awareness of the creativity manifested in the Seicento and Settecento.4 At around the same time, Robert Bonfil proposed that the cultural legacy of the Jews of Renaissance Italy reflects a centripetal effort to strengthen Jewish identity, rather than centrifugal pressure to assimilate into the general culture.5 More recently, David Ruderman challenged Roth’s image by highlighting the receptivity of Italian scholars to modern science, as it emerged in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.6 Dvora Bregman’s studies of the Hebrew sonnet in Italy during the neglected centuries have further undermined the Graetz-Roth portrayal.7 The achievements of these scholars invite us to revisit the forgotten century and to acquaint ourselves with the concerns and values that engaged its writers. Implicit in this rejection of Roth’s idealization of the Renaissance is the destruction of the entire Hegelian pattern. Consequently, the notion that the seventeenth to nineteenth centuries were a period of decline, or la decadenza, can also no longer be assumed. I would portray the rabbinic culture of pre-modem Italian Jewry as having proceeded along a continuum, in terms of achievement and self-perception. Rabbis drew upon the works of earlier writers, but did not idealize them or denigrate the achievements of their own age. If anything, one might even wonder at the relative absence of the familiar theme of “the decline of the ­generations,” 4 E. Cochrane, Florence in the Forgotten Centuries, 1527–1800, Chicago-London 1973. 5 R. Bonfil, “Expressions of the Particularity of the Jewish People in Italy during the ­Renaissance” [Hebrew], Sinai 76 (1975), pp. 36–46. Bonfil elaborated upon this theme in numerous later writings. 6 D. B. Ruderman, Jewish Thought and Scientific Discovery in Early Modern Europe (New ­Haven-London, 1995). 7 D. Bregman, Path of Gold [Hebrew], Jerusalem 1995; Idem, A Bundle of Gold [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem, 1998).

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and at the liberal expressions of esteem for contemporary scholars and their works. This tentative characterization must be fleshed out through careful study of the rabbinic literature of the period in question. Almost anywhere is a good place to start, but Isaac Lampronti and his Pah.ad Yis.h.aq (PY) are an obvious choice, since the PY is perhaps the greatest Jewish work produced in Italy in this period. The present study offers a preliminary sketch of Lampronti’s intellectual profile, through the exploration of a dominant theme in his approach to both nature and halakha. Lampronti was born in 1679.8 In his early teens, he studied medicine at the university of Padua, where he simultaneously continued his education in ­Jewish studies with local rabbinic scholars. At sixteen, he was awarded the doctorate and also completed his training in ritual slaughter and porging. After a few “lost” years. Lampronti settled in Ferrara, possibly as early as 1701. L ­ ampronti’s first ceremony of levir repudiation (h.alis.ah), in 1708, marks the inauguration of his rabbinical career.9 He married and was ordained in 1712, after which he began teaching and preaching in the study hall of the ltaliani community, although he was a member of the Sephardic synagogue. Turning to his literary achievements, Lampronti left short homiletical essays, and these evince a wide-ranging familiarity with Italian and other non-Jewish literary works, including Greek mythology.10 This is an important observation, because the non-Jewish works cited or discussed in the PY deal with natural science or medicine, offering the mistaken impression that Lampronti’s interest in the world beyond the ghetto was purely professional. Of course, the references to these works also reflect the cultural tastes of his a­ udience, the 8 Lampronti’s biography rests upon a number of works. which, however, require careful, critical use, since they are not subject to verification. Hananel Nepi, whose Toledot Gedolei Yisra’el appeared in 1853, received some information from Lampronti’s son, with whom he studied. Leone Reggio, Ferrara’s rabbi, whose biographical sketch appeared in l869 in Ivri Anokhi, gleaned information from manuscripts of eulogies for Lampronti deIivered by Lampronti’s disciples. Benedetto Levi, whose biography of Lampronti was published in 1871, and Abrarno Pesaro, whose study of Ferrarese Jerry came out in 1878, garnered additional information from local archival and literary sources. More recent scholarship has added little, and subject to a search of Ferrara’s archives, the only control that can still be applied to these sources is the PY itself, in which a few particulars are embedded. For a recent synthesis, see E. E. U ­ rbach, “Rabbi Isaac Lampronti and his book Pahad Yizhak” [Hebrew], in M. D. Herr and Y. Fraenkel (eds.), Collected Writings in Jewish Studies [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem, 1998), pp. 385–90. 9 PY, vol. 4, Venezia 1798, fol. 15v. s.v. h.alis.ah we-sidrah. 10 Three manuscripts survive: Ms. Jerusalem Ben-Zvi Institute 4032; London – British Library Add. 26895; Mantova – Biblioteca Comunale 1047.

Empiricism

rank and file of Italian Jewry in the post-Renaissance age, who consequently cannot be judged more insular or introverted than their ­sixteenth-century ancestors. The homilies were never published, and Lampronti’s first mark on Hebrew literature was the publication, in 1715, of a three-pamphlet series in halakha, known as Bikkure Qas.ir, or First Fruits of the Harvest: Rešit Bikkure Qas.ir, Tosefet Bikkure Qas.ir and ’Itur Bikkure Qas.ir. The series was essentially the first halakhic periodical, antedating Amsterdam’s Pri ’Es. H.ayyim which began appearing in 1728.11 This initiative may have been stimulated by the development of journalism in Italy: Ferrara’s first journal, Giornale di Ferrara, appeared in 1688–89; it was followed by the Galleria di Minerva, which appeared in Venice in l696, and by the famous Giornale de’ letterati d’Italia, in 1709.12 Still, the connection is tenuous, because the form and nature of Lampronti’s series differed significantly from the Italian journals, since Lampronti published a series of responsa, while the Italian journals contained treatises, letters, and book reviews. Whether Lampronti intended to create a journal is also questionable. In the ordination document of Shabbatai Elhanan Delvecchio of Lugo, dated 1727, the three rabbis of Ferrara who proclaimed the ordination state that their action was based on the fact that Delvecchio had exchanged responsa with Lampronti.13 It seems, therefore, that the published responsa may have been intended to stand as a credential for ordination. The PY is replete with responsa penned by Lampronti’ s disciples—at his request—to questions addressed to him. Lampronti’s identity as one of Ferrara’s leading rabbis is established by his signature, in 1718, to his first halakhic ruling as a member of the local General Academy.14 His remaining achievements revolve around the PY, of which he left two manuscript editions.15 Publication began in 1750 and the second volume 11 I. Sonne, “Foundation Stones for the History of Italian Jewry: Texts and Studies about the Circle of Ramhal and R. I. Lampronti” [Hebrew], Horev 5–6 (1939–40), pp. 91–8. 12 On early Italian journalism, see V. Castronovo, G. Ricuperati, C. Capra, La stampa italiana dal Cinquecento all’Ottocento, Roma 1976; B. Dooley – S. Alcorn Baron (eds.), The Politics of Information in Early Modern Europe (London, 2001). 13 M. Benayahu, “R. Isaac Lampronti and R. Sabbatai Elhanan Delvecchio” [Hebrew], in J. L. Maimon (ed.), Sinai – Sefer Yovel ( Jerusalem, 1957/58), p. 500. 14 PY, vol. 9, Lyck 1868, fol. l04r (mistakenly paginated 94), s.v. ‘alilah. In 1716 Lampronti signed a responsum, citing Ferrara as his place of residence, but he could have done so privately, prior to his appointment to the city’s rabbinical court. See PY, vol. 17 ( Jerusalem, 1961), col. 349, s.v. ones noten arba‘ah devarim. 15 The first edition, in 120 volumes, is Ms. Paris – Bibliotheque Nationale Heb. 458–577; the second edition is Ms. London – Valmadonna Trust 18.

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appeared in 1753. However, Lampronti passed away in 1756, and subsequent volumes were published haltingly, the final one appearing over a century later, in 1887.16

THE PY The PY is generally described as an encyclopedia of halakha, which is exciting because of its timing: the eighteenth century is the age of encyclopedias, and not only the Grande Encyclopédie. During Lampronti’s lifetime there were also Italian encyclopedias. Seven volumes—out of a projected forty-five— of ­Vincenzo Coronelli of Venice’s Biblioteca universale sacro-profana, antico-­ moderna appeared in Venice in the first decade of the eighteenth century. Italy’s first complete encyclopedia, Nuovo dizionario scientifico e curioso, sacro e profano by Giovanni Francesco Pivati of Padua, was published in Venice in ten volumes in 1745–1751. Pivati had just published a three-volume Dizionario Universale. Ephraim Chambers’ well-known Cyclopaedia appeared in Venice in 1748–1749, under the title Dizionario universale delle arti e delle scienze. Lampronti’s contemporaries—were aware of the PY’s generic novelty. In his preface, R. Jacob Saraval wrote: “As soon as Lampronti showed me his work, I wanted to print it, for I saw its value, since there has never been anything like it.”17 But Saraval was also cognizant of the work’s similarity to the new literary form known as the encyclopedia. His preface continues: “I was delighted, because something in which the scholars of the nations take pride has appeared among my own people.” Contemporary awareness of the similarity between the PY and the encyclopedia is also evident from the Italian title submitted to the censors—Dizionario Rituale—which appears to mimic the encyclopedias of Pivati and Chambers, which were also called Dizionario. There is, therefore, no doubt that contemporaries, and not only later historians, saw a connection between the PY and the encyclopedia. Nonetheless, the work’s characterization as an encyclopedia warrants a few caveats. Encyclopedia entries summarize their topic, but PY entries bear almost any form except the carefully formulated overview, such as strings of citations, or even wholesale quotations from printed works of halakha. 16 In 1935 a new edition, including aleph-h.et of Lampronti’s own second edition, appeared in Tel Aviv, and in 1961–1986 Mossad Ha-Rav Kook in Jerusalem produced an annotated edition, integrating the entries from the second edition; this project reached gimel. In the references in this book, volumes are numbered in the order in which they were printed. 17 PY, vol. 17, col. 41.

Empiricism

The PY does serve as a reference tool, but it does not focus on the concept or principle, but rather provides whatever references Lampronti considered relevant, even tangentially. If we want to suggest a work that is truly an encyclopedia of halakha, in the sense that its entries present a synoptic overview of principles or concepts, the Encyclopedia Talmudit serves as an appropriate model, and as we might expect, its editors critique the PY for precisely the drawback noted. Another problem with the characterization is that the PY is not strictly about halakha. Certainly, the largest single group of entries is those that survey halakhic topics. Yet as much or more attention has been devoted to a second group, namely the numerous responsa—by 170 scholars—published in the PY. The third group is entries about words, phrases or statements from nonhalakhic texts. This group is larger than the previous one, in terms of the number of entries. In addition to these main groups, the list of types of entries is still quite long. The main other categories are biographical, historical, lexical, medical-scientific. To illustrate the book’s diversity, the following is a unique entry, a riddle. Under the heading “Petahyah is Mordekhai,” a midrashic statement found in the Mishnah,18 we read as follows: And I heard a riddle: Petahyah is Mordekhai, as in the verse “Though your beginning be small, in the end you will grow very great” [ Job 8:7], in the following form:            P  T  H  Y  H            M  R  D  K  Y

Lampronti has placed the consonants of the two words, “Petahyah” and “Mordekhay” on top of one another, and this structural alignment reveals the riddle’s solution: the numerical value of the first three consonants in “Mordekhay” is half that of their counterparts in “Petahyah,” while the opposite is true for the last two consonants, thereby concretizing the verse from Job.19 PY entries can be classified by form, as well as by content. As mentioned, very few entries read like encyclopedia articles. Most entries supply chains of citations, spanning an enormous range of talmudic and post-talmudic sources, including responsa and halakhic works that postdate the Šulh.an Aruk. Some are 18 S.ekalim 5:1. 19 PY, vol. 10, Lyck 1871, fol. 71r, s.v. Petahyah zeh Mordekhai.

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nothing but citations, and some are nothing but wholesale quotations of texts from printed sources, like Šulh.an Aruk, Leket Haqemah., or Šene Luh.ot Haberit. The PY is better described as a data base, compiled by Lampronti over decades. This is immediately evident from the autograph manuscript of the work in Paris’ Bibliothèque Nationale: it contains volume after volume of empty pages, alphabetically ordered, and then an occasional page with an entry. But there is also evidence of the database format in the printed text itself: Lampronti entered corrections into entries he had already composed or compiled. One example shows that he was already writing entries in 1705/06: on the talmudic expression bekor śat.an,20 Lampronti suggests an alternative reading and adds: “After I wrote [this], the En Yisra‘el was printed in Berlin in 5466 [1705/06], and they printed ‘śat.an,’ and ‘śanun’ in parentheses.”21 In another entry, about the anatomy of fowl, Lampronti adds to his own explanation: “After writing this I was fortunate enough to buy the book Keneset Hagedolah on Yoreh De‘ah, where I found …”22 The most exciting glimpse of the PY as an evolving work is in the following entry: And when the messenger of God, the great and complete R. Moses Israel, passed through our holy camp from the city of Jerusalem in the month of lyyar 5488 [1727/28], he desired to see this book, in the study hall of the Talmud Torah. And when he saw this entry, he said to me: “Write these things in my name in your book, if they seem right to you.” And since I have examined them, and since I have taken the utmost care to present the texts of books as they were, but [nonetheless] I was unable to do so, I agreed—on account of my intellectual shortcomings—to the corrections he made in the aforementioned responsum of Asher b. Yehiel, for they are incontrovertible.”23

Then follows Moses’ interpretation of the case discussed in the Asher b. Yehiel text, plus his correction of an error in that text. Moses’ text is presented as an independent document and it is followed by his signature. Lampronti then proceeds to the next entry without further comment. 20 Yevamot 16a. 21 PY, vol. 19, Jerusalem 1970, col. 382, s.v. bekor śat.an. Note that this entry appears out of alphabetical order, after bekorim. 22 PY, vol. 21, Jerusalem 1986, col. 520, s.v. gargeret be-var ozaza [should read: avaza]. 23 PY, vol. 18, Jerusalem 1966, col. 17, s.v. i shetikato.

Empiricism

What happened here? The guest from Jerusalem looked at this particular entry by his own design, knowing of the mistake in Asher b. Yehiel’s responsum and having a new interpretation of the subject. This case reveals the PY in the process of being created, as an ongoing project, of which Lampronti made no secret. The PY was kept in the study hall, presumably so Lampronti and his students could copy material into it on an ongoing basis. This method is reminiscent of the medieval kunteres of Talmudic commentary, associated with Rashi, although the alphabetical format is new.24 The characterization of the PY as an organic database is supported by a form common to numerous entries. These contain anecdotes from Lampronti’s personal experience to support or clarify the topic at hand. The anecdotes typically appear at the end of the entries, as they are personal testimonies, rather than bibliographical citations. They testify to the character of the PY as an organic database, because where there is one anecdote, there is usually more than one, and invariably these anecdotes appear in chronological order. The only reason for them to be chronologically ordered is that they were entered into the manuscript volumes of the PY over time. Finally, a few words about the significance of the PY. The book organizes the mountain of new materials that had accumulated in the almost two hundred years that had passed since the appearance of the Šulh.an Aruk. Like many modifiers, Lampronti responded creatively to the challenge of information overload by producing a new structure, rather than by integrating the new material into a traditional format. As it happens, the Venetian republic was coping with a similar problem in this very period, by organizing its labyrinthine legal system into a set of codes known as the Compilazione Leggi. In the Venetian ease, the problem is largely due to the many sources of Venetian law, including the legal heritage of ancient Rome, as well as local custom and local law codes. This is not unlike the halakhic problem of different halakhic spheres and custom traditions, with which Lampronti and so many of his predecessors were faced. This is not to suggest that the Venetian Republic’s initiative influenced Lampronti, or vice versa, but rather that both projects are responses to a desire to systematize and rationalize a convoluted legal system. The need, perhaps more than 24 The Moses Israel story accords with the report that in October 1725 the Massari forbade Lampronti to keep the PY volumes in the community’s study hall (Talmud Torah), after discovering that his students were copying entries rather than studying. See B. Levi, “Additions and Notes to The Life of R. Isaac Lampronti” [Hebrew], Ha-Maggid 19 (1875), p. 69. I know of no primary source for this incident, but the fact that it is dated suggests that it is not a fabrication.

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its end product, reflects a mindset common to many of the cultural enterprises of Settecento Italy, though perhaps more in the latter half-century than in the former. The next point is that Lampronti’s new structure, i.e., the alphabetical one, served as a vehicle for the popularization of halakha. The PY is even more popular than a code, because its alphabetical format does not even require the user to be familiar with systems of legal classification, like those of Maimonides or Karo. The PY enabled every Jew with a modicum of Jewish education to look up a topic and identify the relevant bibliography on his own. The fact that the book addresses the widest possible audience is more than just an assessment; it is stated three times on the title page, which says that “every seeker of God in this volume … shall find …,” and then later: “every reader shall rejoice …,” and finally: “everything which every individual shall seek in the word of God …”25 Even if Lampronti did not compose this text, it is quite likely that he was familiar with its content, and it is therefore safe to assume that he approved of the appeal to Everyman. The direction of the PY at a popular audience suggests that Lampronti’s Jewish society, rather than being in a state of spiritual enervation, lived a vibrant religious life. It was a society in which the general public was expected to take an active interest in the study of Jewish law and lore. The PY was Lampronti’s vehicle for communicating his views and values not strictly to a small cadre of specialists in Jewish law, but to the vast audience of educated contemporaries.

EMPIRICISM Lampronti’s approach to natural phenomena and to halakha are linked by his devotion to the scientific method, namely observation and empirical testing. This value surfaces in the entry on spontaneous generation, in which Lampronti refers to: “… our days, when the natural scientists [h.akme ha-toledot] observed and witnessed, knew and wrote, that every living thing originates from an egg.”26 The following additional PY texts make this point in various contexts, and they demonstrate that the scientific method was so ingrained in Lampronti’s behavior that it can be considered part of his personality. 25 PY, vol. 17, p. 17. 26 PY, vol. 11, Lyck 1874, fol, 21v, s.v. s.edah. See D. B. Ruderman, “Contemporary Science and Jewish Law in the Eyes of Isaac Lampronti of Ferrara and Some of his Contemporaries,” Jewish History 6 (1992), pp. 211–24.

Empiricism

The first text, on the midrashic expression “ears to the wall”27 relates the following anecdote: In Mantua, outside the city called Tè there is a royal palace, called ­Palazzo Tè, and there is there a building and a very large, vaulted room. If you sit at this corner and speak near the corner in a very, very low voice, so that even the people that are close to you hear nothing, then someone placing his ear at the diagonally opposite corner will hear everything that is said in a whisper, very clearly and plainly. And I, the author, was there many times and tried [it]. And I heard that a similar thing is found in many places in Italy and elsewhere. And this matter is easily understood by anyone with background in the science of geometry.28

In this passage Lampronti ignores any traditions he might have received about the expression in question in favor of a bizarre architectural phenomenon of which he had personal experience. His testimony to having experimented at the Palazzo di Tè, not once but repeatedly, illustrates his passion for the observation of natural phenomena. In the second example, which appears in an entry entitled “fire from wood,” Lampronti makes the following statement: It is easy to get fire from wood by means of a reed from India called ”canna di Hindia,” if you strike two of them against each other with great force. However, during the day, in daylight, you will not see the fire emerge, for the big light darkens the small one, as is known to scholars and to the eye of every person.   It is also possible to get fire from wood by means of an artisan called “torlidore”—a lathe operator—if he would pass two pieces one over the other with great force and would turn the wheel round and round, as is the practice. And you shall present your hand and touch the sawed object which was divided into two by the large saw, and you will feel that a great heat was created at the place of the cut. And if you keep performing the motion, it will create fire, as it is known to the philosophers that motion is the cause of heat. 27 Leviticus Rabbah 32:2. 28 PY, vol. 17, col. 411, s.v. oznayim la-kotel.

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Part One   And the youth, Yoav Barukh Lampronti, my disciple. showed me in the daytime, in a closed room, in darkness, how to get fire easily with the Indian reed, which is the first method I mentioned above.29

This entry is followed by a reference to the Mishnah’s prohibition of drawing fire from wood or water.30 Lampronti quotes Ovadia Bartenura’s explanation of the way a fire can be started using the sun and water in a glass dish, to which he adds: “And an experiment will prove this. And do it in the period of Tamuz.” In these sources Lampronti emphasizes the importance of personal observation and experimentation, namely the scientific method. He and his disciple Yoav witnessed the effect of the Indian reed, which is evident, he writes, “to the eye of every person.” Regarding the lathe, he emphasizes: “And you shall present your hand and touch the sawed object … and you will feel etc.” He ends his presentation of Bartenura’s interpretation with practical advice for the conduct of empirical testing, hinting at more of his own experience. Observation and testing are also the main point in the most important entry for the study of Lampronti’s method as a scientist and halakhist, his entry “there are three pipes,” which deals with the following talmudic passage, concerning bovine anatomy: What is the pipe [kaneh] of the heart? Rabbah b. R. Isaac, in the name of Rav [said]: The fat on the walls of the lung. Amemar, in the name of R. Nahman [said]: There are three pipes: one leads to the heart, one leads to the lung, and one leads to the liver.31   Rashi, the quintessential commentator, explained the dictum of the three pipes as follows: “The windpipe splits into three pipes after it enters the chest.” On the statement that “one leads to the lung,” he noted: “and [it] splits inside it, and these are the bronchia [simponot].” Here L ­ ampronti does the unthinkable—he takes issue with Rashi:   And I, the young author, have difficulty with the interpretation of Rashi and those who follow him, for it seems that they think the tube of the lungs is the tube that enters the heart and the liver, and every scholar who knows something in the field of surgery shall see with his own eyes [emphasis added] with a little observation, that this is incorrect. The conclusive proof 29 PY, vol. 18, col. 565, s.v. ešh min ha-ʻes.im. 30 Bes.ah 4:7. 31 H.ullin 45b.

Empiricism is that after you cut the liver completely and its artery or its large bronchial tube, and separate it from the lung, and similarly after you cut and separate the entire heart and its large artery from the lung, still the lung will rise with inflation, whereas if the tube of the liver and the tube of the heart split off from the tube of the lung, the air should leave through there when they are separated from the lung, and many very large holes remained there.   And I already showed this matter to great and distinguished rabbis and they conceded the truth of my view, namely that the lung pipe splits off and separates into the bronchia and tendrils [kenokanot], which enter the lung and do not go out from it at all. These bring air in and out of the lung, and they do not bring blood at all. And we do not care if the lung contains vessels [mizrakim] and arteries, which pump and do not pump, that bring blood rather than air in and out, pulled from the ‘great pumping vessel’ and from the ‘non-pumping vessel’ called cava, which bring blood to the liver from the lung, and from the lung to the heart, and from the heart to the lung and to the entire body. And there is no relation at all between these vessels and between the windpipe [gargeret], bronchia and lung tendrils, and they do not pour into each other at all. Thus, the tube that splits off to the heart and the liver is neither from the windpipe nor from the lung tendrils, as Rashi thought, but rather from the ‘great pumping artery’ and the ‘great non-pumping artery’ …

In this text Lampronti proposes an experiment to prove his view of the matter, and testifies to having conducted the experiment for the benefit of his colleagues. He then explains that the wording of the Talmud poses no difficulty, because it does not state that one tube branches off from the other. ­Lampronti derives support for his critique of Rashi from Maimonides, the model ­physician-halakhist: According to Maimonides, the prince of physicians, and the scholars in the field of surgery, these three tubes are not related to each other, do not draw from each other and do not branch off from each other, but rather each has its own existence, as opposed to what Rashi stated. See clearly with your own eyes [emphasis added] and the wisdom of your intellect and you will see that I am right.32 32 Lampronti cites H. Šeh.itah 6:8 and 7:1. These laws are irrelevant to our discussion. Cf. ­however, H. Šeh.itah 6:5 and Maimonides’ Mishnah commentary to H.ullin 3:1. See also J. Preuss, Biblical and Talmudic Medicine, trans. and ed. by F. Rosner, (New York, 1978), p. 103.

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Lampronti could have made his discovery during his training in ritual slaughter and porging, or in the course of his career as rabbinic decisor in Ferrara. If, however, he derived his idea from a scientific source, it was very likely the work of Giovanni Fabro of Rome, who in 1624 dissected a calf and conducted experiments to discover whether there was any connection between the branches of the trachea and the pulmonary vein. Blowing hard into the animal’s lungs, Fabro was unable to force air into the heart. He repeated his experiments with other animals and human cadavers and always obtained the same results.33 It is important to note that Lampronti’s contribution is totally non halakhic: it makes no difference, halakhically, whether the three tubes originate in one tube or are separate tubes. Lampronti corrected a mistake in anatomy, and the fact that he did so reveals that medicine and science were important to him, not just professionally, but profoundly and personally. He pursued truth in the study of anatomy, just as he did in the field of halakha. At this point Lampronti’s text moves beyond theory. and even personal experimentation, to an even broader application of his knowledge: In 5487 [1726/27] the Fellow34 Shimshon Hayyim Nahman of Modena35 who lives in Mantua and pours water on the hands of R. David Finzi asked me, on behalf of his teacher and of the entire General Academy of Mantua, to send them these words of mine, so they could examine them and prove empirically [emphasis added] whether or not I am right. I sent these words in a letter and I asked him to ask the Rabbi and his academy to endorse with their signatures whether my words are true. And here is what he answered on July 17, 5487 [ 1727]:   Yesterday the interpretation of H.ullin was put to the test, and after the appropriate observation. which was extremely subtle, everyone unanimously upheld and accepted your interpretation as correct and right, with no one objecting. I asked these gentlemen to endorse your words with their own handwriting, and they answered as one that your accurate words do not need strengthening, particularly after experience has explicitly proven your true words, for there is therefore no reason to fear any opposition, and no force shall be added to your wisdom by a written

33 S. De Renzi, Storia della medicina in Italia, vol. 4 (Naples, 1848), pp. 140–41. 34 H.aver, a low level of rabbinical ordination. 35 I.e. Modon. On Modon, see: H. Nepi, Zekher zaddikim li-verakhah (Trieste, 1853), p. 343, §51; S. Simonsohn, History of the Jews in the Duchy of Mantua ( Jerusalem, 1977), p. 703.

Empiricism e­ ndorsement in a matter which has been seen with the eye to be absolutely true, without disagreement. Nevertheless, R. David Finzi did not refrain from applauding you for expressing such concern for him [i.e., for his opinion] and he told me [i.e., Modon] to write in his name the words that appear at the end of this letter. Further, that R. Aviad Sar Shalom Basilea testified that R. Briel also understood the gemara as you did and interpreted as you did, and was sorely pressed to harmonize Rashi’s words so that they would not contradict that which is empirically visible. Samson Hayyim Nahman [Modon].   And these are the words of R. David Finzi: Your words are all clear to one who understands, and they are absolutely true. And even the wording of the Talmud is more precise according to your words, for if it were true that they all branch off from one, the text should not read “there are three tubes” but “one tube that branches.” It is, therefore, the intention of the Talmud to say that the three tubes are separate from each other …36

The main point here, of course, is the experiment through the dissection of the animal and the examination of its internal structure. Two stylistic mannerisms are, however, also noteworthy. First, Lampronti is punctilious about chronology, as is demonstrated by his careful dating of the letter from Mantua. This is a type of testimony on his part, a comment “for the record.” His conception of the text, and of the PY in general, is that it sets the record straight on numerous matters of law, custom, and in this case anatomy. Second, Lampronti twice uses the expression “see clearly with your own eyes.” This is a classic expression of his, found in many other PY entries. It reflects his commitment to empirical evidence, as opposed to the armchair, or scholastic, approach to problems. Of course, the expression also shows how limited and naive his approach was: he was unaware of the problematics of perception, and of the need for criteria for the evaluation of data.37 Lampronti expresses the same commitment to empirical testing and observation in entries concerning variant halakhic practices. Throughout the PY Lampronti acts as a kind of ethnographer, relating customs practiced in this or that community, by one or another synagogue or ethnic group. This is 36 Lampronti adds a reference to the responsa of Menahem Azaryah da Fano, §92, which follows Rashi’s interpretation. 37 For another PY entry on anatomy, of a rather different character, see PY, vol. 3 (Reggio, 1813), fol. 72v–73r, s.v. kelayot yo‘azot. I hope to analyze this text in depth elsewhere.

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one of his most important personal contributions to the PY, and the r­ eason may be that that it was a rare area in which Lampronti felt that he could contribute something of his own to the halakhic entries. His observations appear after the list of references, towards the very end of entries, and this is because they are not documented in literary sources, but rather by his own real-time experience. It is, therefore, clear why in this context, too, as in medicine and natural science, Lampronti makes constant use of the expression “to see with my own eyes.” For example: “The custom of Ferrara, as I have seen with my own eyes in the days of the Elder Judges is …”38 Similarly: “The custom of ­Ferrara, as I have seen and also heard from the decisors that preceded me is …”39 In these cases and others Lampronti’s observations are more than empirical and scientific—they are judicial. Like a witness in court, he is recording what he saw and heard about customs. His testimony seems intended to carry halakhic weight. This perspective dovetails with the punctilious attention to chronology. The emphasis on personal observation, the meticulous recording of customs and laws, also suggests an insecurity, a loss of confidence, a sense that halakhic traditions are slipping away. This conclusion may not seem warranted on the basis of the evidence presented thus far, but there is more. The following is one of many sources in which Lampronti talks about old traditions that were forgotten, and which he is now rescuing from oblivion: And I, the young author, Isaac b. Samuel Lampronti, was invited, on Wednesday, P. Behar-Beh.uqqotay 5473 [1712/13], 21 Iyyar, to come to the home of Joseph Hayyim of Ancona the shoemaker, whose son was born circumcised, and that day was the eighth day following his birth. The expert circumcisor, Uriel Raphael Finzi, extracted the blood of circumcision, on the knees of the great-godfather Menahem Italia, and the child was named Aaron Berekhia. Also present were the perfect, elderly, pious and humble rabbi R. Joseph Burgo, and his son R. Samuel Barukh, and the expert physician R. Mordecai Zahalon, and also R. Sabbatai Elhanan Recanati, to whom also about eighteen years ago a son was born circumcised, named Moses Hai Recanati, my disciple. And a very big discussion took place there among us about all the points of view brought in the Bet Yosef in the said section, and in Alfasi and in Šilt.e Gibborim, 38 PY, vol. 11, fol. 63v, s.v. qevi‘at maqom le-h.alis.ah. 39 PY, vol. 9, fol. 160r, s.v. ’eruvei tehumin ‘al tenai.

Empiricism ch. 19 of Shabbat, fol. 155r, [§]D, about the question of the blessing over ­circumcision. We accepted and upheld the ancient custom of Ferrara, to have the circumcisor recite “… who has commanded us to extract from him the blood of circumcision,” following R. Simh. ah, as well as all the other blessings and the rite of circumcision customary in children born circumcised. And this is exactly what happened, for the rule “when in doubt about blessings, rule leniently” is inadequate to overturn the accepted custom …40

The formulation “we accepted and upheld the ancient custom of Ferrara” captures the sense that Lampronti strove to preserve or recover traditions. The following is another case, with a slightly different angle: We the members of the Ferrara yeshiva, on 18 Heshvan 5481, namely 1720, formed a quorum and renewed the practice of our city’s ancient custom, and we announced in all the synagogues, by means of the community sexton, to require the examination of endives, as had once been customary and was almost forgotten by most of the rank and file, though a select few continued to uphold the ancient custom, as you can see in the book of the secretary of our yeshiva, the haver Elisha Michael Finzi, my disciple.41

This text raises a number of questions about what might be termed evanescent traditions, questions that for the present must remain unanswered. How did Lampronti understand this “forgetting?” Did he really think that a venerated custom had almost been forgotten, or was he obliquely referring to a shift in values, perhaps the secularization associated with modernization? Equally intriguing is the distinction between “most of the rank and file” and “the select few.” Are these expressions crude words for the more and the less observant sectors of the Ferrara Jewish community? The theme of “evanescent traditions” found in these and other PY entries provides a second cultural context for the creation of the PY, in addition to information overload. Lampronti’s entries on customs suggest that his was a period of upswing, in which traditions were being recovered, restored and strengthened. At the same time that Lampronti expressed the feeling that 40 PY, vol. 6, fol. 92r, s.v. milah, ger she-mal qodem she-nitgayer. 41 PY, vol. 14, Berlin 1887, fol. 13r, s.v. tola’im bi-yereaqot.

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there had been a dip, he celebrated the recent improvement. The reasons for this fall and rise (if this was in fact more than just Lampronti’s impression) are obscure, but the PY seems to be his way of pushing hark the darkness and shoring up the foundations of Jewish tradition. This perspective complements, rather than contradicts, his commitment to scientific knowledge. Lampronti was both rabbi and doctor, halakhist and scientist, and it is scarcely surprising to discover him applying a single method in the pursuit of truth in both of his callings.

CHAPTER 2

Palazzo Tè

F

aced with a site remarkable for its novelty or beauty, travelers are stimulated to reflect upon their own worldview in light of their new experience. If they do so in writing, this moment of reflection affords a glimpse of that worldview, through the traveler’s eyes.1 This study examines two such experiences, stimulated by the visits of two eighteenth-century rabbis to Mantua’s Palazzo Tè, the creation of Giulio Romano, who designed its architecture and executed much of its visual art in roughly 1535–1545. From its creation to the present day, Palazzo Tè has been Mantua’s premier tourist attraction.2 The rabbis are Isaac Lampronti of Ferrara (1679–1756) and Hayyim Yoseph David Azulay of Jerusalem (1724–1806), who visited the palace in the early and mid-eighteenth century respectively, and wrote about their experiences. The accounts of these two figures differ in important respects, reflecting differences in their education and cultural context, for although both were well-known rabbinic scholars, the former was an Italian physician and the latter an itinerant fundraiser from the Holy Land. Furthermore, they were different sorts of travelers, for while Azulay’s Italian peregrinations were a sort of reverse “grand tour,” Lampronti was a local, and traveled a mere ninety kilometers to visit Palazzo Tè from his Ferrara home. * Research for this study was supported by a grant from the Israel Science Foundation (#1262/13), for which I am profoundly grateful.

On travel and travel writing, see: Antoni Maczak, Travel in Early Modern Europe, trans. ­Ursula Phillips (Cambridge, 1995); Joan-Pau Rubiés, “Travel Writing as a Genre: Facts, Fictions and the Invention of a Scientific Discourse in Early Modern Europe,” Journeys: The International Journal of Travel and Travel Writing 1 (2000), 5–35; Idem, Travellers and Cosmographers: Studies in the History of Early Modern Travel and Ethnology (London, 2007); Justin Stagl, A History of Curiosity: The Theory of Travel 1550–1800 (Chur, 1995); Martin Jacobs, Reorienting the East: Jewish Travelers to the Medieval Muslim World (Philadelphia, 2014). 2 Amedeo Belluzzi, Palazzo Tè a Mantova = the Palazzo Tè in Mantua (Modena, 1998) 1–2; Barbara Furlotti and Guido Rebecchini, The Art and Architecture of Mantua: Eight Centuries of Patronage and Collecting (London, 2008); Egon Verheyen, The Palazzo del Tè in Mantua: Images of Love and Politics (Baltimore, 1977). 1

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Differences aside, the Hebrew accounts of Palazzo Tè provide a novel vantage point on the travel experience, and specifically on the opportunity that travel afforded early modern travelers to acquire new knowledge. Visitors to Palazzo Tè were invariably enthralled by the frescoes that adorn its chambers and loggias, but particularly by its Chamber of the Giants, where the awesome power of the wall paintings was intensified by the room’s peculiar echo, which made it a kind of “whispering chamber,” as we shall explain. Amazed travelers of the early modern era labored to understand this effect and some wrote about their reactions and thoughts. Such was also the case for our Hebrew writers, whose descriptions largely resemble those of Christian observers. Thus, early modern accounts of Palazzo Tè illuminate the role of travel in the spread of scientific knowledge, in this case in the field of acoustics.3 Moreover, the exposure to such knowledge stimulated many to ponder the relationship between their experience and their traditions and beliefs. This was also true for thinkers who were themselves engaged in the study of science, such as Isaac Newton, and we shall see that Lampronti exhibits a similar pattern with respect to Palazzo Tè and other scientific phenomena.4

AZULAY Azulay served as an emissary of the rabbinic leadership of Ottoman Palestine, traveling through various countries to raise money on behalf of Palestinian Jewry. Such emissaries were frequently found in Jewish communities of the seventeenth to nineteenth centuries. Azulay is unquestionably the most famous of these emissaries, both because he was one of the greatest rabbinic minds of the eighteenth century, and, for our purposes, because he composed Maʻagal Tov (Good Circuit), 3

4

The term “science” is used loosely here, to refer generally both to natural philosophy and natural history, without delving into the variety of approaches to scientific inquiry, such as the debate over the merits of experience versus experiment. On these issues, see, for example: I. Bernard Cohen, Revolution in Science (Cambridge Mass., 1985); H. Floris Cohen, The Scientific Revolution: A Historiographical Inquiry (Chicago, 1994); Steven Shapin, The Scientific Revolution (Chicago, 1996); John Henry, The Scientific Revolution and the Origins of Modern Science, 3rd edition (London, 2008). On the impact of scientific advances upon religious thought, see, for example: Thomas ­Dixon, et al, Science and Religion: New Historical Perspectives (Cambridge, 2010); Wrestling with Nature: from Omens to Science, ed. Peter Harrison et al. (Chicago, 2011); Margaret J. Osler, Reconfiguring the World: Nature, God, and Human Understanding from the Middle Ages to Early Modern Europe (Baltimore, 2010), 77–93, 159–64. For Italy, see Vicenzo Ferrone, The Intellectual Roots of the Italian Enlightenment: Newtonian Science, Religion, and Politics in the Early Eighteenth Century, trans. Sue Brotherton (Atlantic Highlands, NJ, 1995), esp. 55–9. See also Richard H. Popkin, The Third Force in Seventeenth-Century Thought (Leiden, 1992).

Palazzo Tè

a rich account of his experiences and one of the only printed Hebrew book-length travelogues.5 In the summer of 1776, on his second fundraising tour, Azulay passes through the Po valley, arriving in Mantua on Friday, July 12th. He tours Mantua and the Mantovano, and leaves descriptions of his visits to local sites. Among Azulay’s Mantuan contacts is a local industrialist named Aaron Cohen, who, on August 11th, accompanies him to the city’s recently renovated Palazzo Tè.6 Azulay’s account of his visit in Maʻagal Tov reads as follows: I went with Sr. Aaron to Palacio Te, and there are [there] the forms of warriors and bella Giuditta [beautiful Judith], and similarly, human forms out of stone. And some rooms, above, on the ceiling [have] plastering and painting, beautiful to see, especially for those knowledgeable in the art of painting; and the English come to copy their images. And there [is] the chamber of the sound called echo, done with mathematics, such that one man stands in a corner and his counterpart [is] in another corner diagonal [to him], and they speak in a complete whisper and [nevertheless] hear one another. And between the corners there are 50.5 feet [piès], and we measured with Mantuan arm lengths [brazos],7 and there are approximately twenty one … There, too, is a cave with strange stones and pictures8 which in former days had been an artificial9 water [fountain], but On these fundraising emissaries, see Abraham Ya’ari, Palestinian Emissaries: The History of the Mission from the Land of Israel to the Diaspora from the Destruction of the Second Temple to the Nineteenth Century [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem, 1951); Israel Bartal, “Les émissaires d’Erets Yisra’el: entre la réalité d’un lien et l’abstraction d’une vision,” La Société juive à travers l’histoire, ed. Shmuel Trigano (Paris, 1992), 4:107–21; Matthias B. Lehmann, Emissaries from the Holy Land: The Sephardic Diaspora and the Practice of Pan-Judaism in the Eighteenth Century (Stanford, 2014). On Azulay, see: Meir Benayahu, Rabbi Hayyim Yoseph David Azulay [Hebrew], 1–2 ( Jerusalem, 1959); Idem, ed. The Book of the HYDA: A Collection of Articles and Studies [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem, 1959); Lehmann, ‘“Levantinos” and Other Jews: Reading H. Y. D. Azulai’s Travel Diary,’ Jewish Social Studies 13 (2007), 1–34; M. Liber, “Le Séjour de Azulai à Paris,” Revue des Études Juives 65 (1913), 243–73. 6 The Austrian government had recently renovated the palace, in 1775, under the direction of Giovanni Bottani, professor of painting at the city’s Accademia Virgiliana, which took over the facility. See Kurt W. Forster and Richard J. Tuttle, “The Palazzo del Te,” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 30 (1971), 282–4. 7 The printed Hebrew text has barsos, with a metathesis of the “a” and “r.” Thanks are due to Dr. Claude B. Stuczynski for his help in deciphering this term. 8 Be-avanim ve-tziyurim meshunim. The Hebrew syntax suggests that perhaps this should be read: stones and strange pictures. 9 Lit. artificio.

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Part One now the pipes10 are broken. And the building is more than four hundred years old. They said that in Milano there is an echo where the sound can be heard seven times; and in Athens it was heard thirteen times. And all this is [accomplished] with the science of mathematics.11

Palacio, piès and brazos are Spanish, but bella Giuditta is Italian, which raises the question of the emissaries’ ability to communicate with their hosts. A simple solution was to send them to the lands from which they had emigrated to Palestine: Abraham Rovigo of Modena immigrated in 1702, but returned to Italy three times within the next twelve years. Communication in Hebrew was also an option, but this would have limited direct contact to the educated elite. Azulay leaves no record of conversations in Italian during his first fundraising mission, in 1755, but mentions having conversed with Christians in Italian on two occasions during his second tour, in 1774.12 His strongest European language was and remained Spanish, in which he preached a lengthy sermon to the Jews of Genova, and to which he resorted in conversations with non-Jews in France, with whom he had no other common language.13 Azulay’s account of Palazzo Tè commences with his remarks on its painting and sculpture, and we shall study his encounter with art as well as science, for it is an example, rare in this period, of the encounter of a non-European traveler with European art.14 He finds the frescoes beautiful, admitting however that art connoisseurs are particularly able to appreciate their beauty. Sculpture 10 Silonot, a mishnaic term that can also mean ducts or gutters. 11 Maʻagal Tov ha-Shalem, ed. Aaron Freimann ( Jerusalem, 1933/1934), 80–81. See also The Diaries of Rabbi Ha’im Yosef David Azulai (‘Maʻgal Tov’—the Good Journey), ed. and trans. Benjamin Cymerman ( Jerusalem, 1997), 84. I have altered the translation somewhat. 12 Maʻagal Tov ha-Shalem, 128, 169. Cf. his use of Italian expressions in his description of the sites at Pisa—Ibid., 67. 13 Genova—Maʻagal Tov ha-Shalem, 99; France—Ibid., 125, 161. 14 See: Ibrahim A. Abu-Lughod, Arab Rediscovery of Europe: A Study in Cultural Encounters (Princeton, 1963); Olivia Remie Constable, Housing the Stranger in the Mediterranean World: Lodging, Trade, and Travel in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages (Cambridge, 2003); André Miquel, “L’Europe occidentale dans la relation arabe d’Ibrahim b. Ya’aqub (Xe s.),” Annales: Économies, Sociétés, Civilisations 21 (1966), 1048–64. Such accounts multiply during the colonial era: Susan Gilson Miller, ed. and trans., Disorienting Encounters: Travels of a Moroccan Scholar in France in 1845–1846: the Voyage of Muhammad as-Saffar (Berkeley, 1992); Anouar Louca, Voyageurs et écrivains en France au XIXe siècle (Paris, 1970); Nabil Matar, ed. and trans., In the Lands of the Christians: Arab Travel Writing in the Seventeenth Century (New York, 2003); Rifa Rafi al-Tahtawi, An Imam in Paris: Account of a Stay in France by an Egyptian Cleric, trans. Daniel L. Newman (London, 2004).

Palazzo Tè

would have been problematic for him if the works of art had been carved by Jews, to whom the Second Commandment prohibits the creation of graven images, but clearly did not discomfit him, presumably because they were the work of Christians.15 The only object singled out in this section of his account is bella Giuditta, which can only refer to the biblical Judith. The palace contains two images of a woman holding the decapitated head of a man, and presumably Azulay’s reference is to one or both of these:

Figure 1.  Judith and Holofernes, Chamber of the Eagles. Palazzo Te, Mantua    

Figure 2.  Judith and Holofernes, Chamber of the Candelabra. Palazzo Te, Mantua

Fig. 1 refers to a stucco decoration, probably by Nicolò da Milano, at the northwest corner of the Chamber of the Eagles.16 The image in Fig. 2 appears on the frieze of the south wall of the Chamber of the Candelabra.17 In both 15 Azariah De’ Rossi, the Renaissance Jewish historian, is an example of an early modern Jewish intellectual who is known to have visited Catholic churches and examined their religious art. See Joanna Weinberg, “The Beautiful Soul: Azariah de’ Rossi’s Search for Truth,” Cultural Intermediaries: Jewish Intellectuals in Early Modern Italy, ed. David B. Ruderman and Giuseppe Veltri (Philadelphia, 2004), 123. 16 Belluzzi, Palazzo Tè a Mantova = the Palazzo Tè in Mantua, 1:343, photo 634. For the attribution to Nicolò da Milano, see Ibid., 2:409. 17 Ibid., 1:538, photo 1004. See also Ibid., 2:458.

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rooms the image of Judith with the head of Holofernes appears in close proximity to that of David with the head of Goliath, its biblical, symmetrical, counterpart. Neither of these “human forms” is carved from stone, but neither are they frescoes, Azulay’s only other category of art. For Azulay to focus on this image of Judith is astounding, for it is a work of humble dimensions, inconspicuous among dozens of similar pieces, none of which was meant to attract more than a passing glance. Perhaps a rabbi felt more comfortable with the Judith image than with those of the palace’s Greek gods and goddesses, either because she is a Jewish character or at least because she appears clothed, or at worst with one exposed breast in Fig. 2. Additionally, Azulay might have preferred the Judith images because of the biblical proscription of three-­ dimensional art. At this point it is worth returning to Azulay’s use of the expression “bella Giuditta.” The decision to introduce the Italian phrase suggests that this was the phrase with which he was introduced to the Judith piece. We may assume that Azulay’s local Jewish escort drew his attention to the Judith image with this very expression. Plainly, Azulay’s visit to Palazzo Tè was mediated, with his companion escorting him to the sites he found worth seeing, or perhaps those he deemed worth showing his esteemed guest. Azulay was accustomed to this sort of cultural mediation, for throughout his travels he was always accompanied, invariably by his personal assistant and generally also by someone from the local Jewish community. This was sometimes a practical necessity, to better deal with linguistic and bureaucratic obstacles, but also a point of honor, on the assumption that persons of distinction always moved about with some sort of entourage. Consequently, Azulay processes the sites he visits through the lens of his escorts, and his observations are to some extent theirs. It may be that bella Giuditta was actually nothing of the sort. The following statue, from the north side of the palace’s Loggia di Davide, is just one of several statues of beautiful women in Palazzo Tè, and, whether from ignorance or for Azulay’s benefit, Sr. Cohen may have named one of these Judith even though she does not hold Holofernes’ head:18

18 Dare we suggest that perhaps she did do so, before her hand was mutilated?

Palazzo Tè

Figure 3.  Personification of Virtue, Loggia di Davide. Palazzo Te, Mantua

The inspiration for the identification of a female subject with Judith may have come from the city’s Palazzo Ducale, which devotes an entire room to the subject, including the following image of Judith in her tent (Fig. 4). Azulay’s Jewish companion was less likely to know of the sixteenth-­century fresco of Judith dropping Holofernes’ head into a bucket (Fig. 5), which adorns the Mantegna chapel in the city’s Basilica di Sant’Andrea.19 Apart from his reference to Judith, Azulay also refers to the palace’s grounds, with a very clear and specific description of “a cave with strange stones and pictures, which in former days had been an artificial water [fountain], but now the pipes are broken.” The cave must be the so-called grotto in the apartment of the Secret Garden, mentioned also by Leopoldo Camillo 19 See: Erika Tietze-Conrat, Mantegna: Paintings, Drawings, Engravings (London, 1955), Fig. 33; Richard Joseph Kubiak, The Iconography of Judith in Italian Renaissance Art, unpublished M. A. thesis (University of Wisconsin, Madison, 1965), 71 and Fig. 22b. See also: Frank Capozzi, The Evolution and Transformation of the Judith and Holofernes Theme in ­Italian Drama and Art Before 1627, unpublished Ph.D. dissertation (University of Wisconsin, ­Madison, 1975); Encyclopaedia Judaica ( Jerusalem, 1971), 10:453–8.

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Figure 4.  Judith in the Tent of Holofernes, Judith’s Room. Palazzo Ducale, Mantua

Figure 5.  Judith and Holofernes, Mantegna Chapel. Basilica di Sant’Andrea, Mantua

Volta, a local librarian and historian who described the palace in 1763, not long before Azulay’s visit.20 Shortly thereafter, in 1783, the palace was visited by William Beckford, the English writer, collector and aesthete with a refined appreciation of art, whose travelogue includes an account of his meditation in the garden:21 When it was too late to examine the paintings any longer, I walked into a sort of court, or rather garden, which had been decorated with fountains and antique statues. Their fragments still remain amongst weeds and beds of flowers, for every corner of the place is smothered with vegetation. Here nettles grow thick and rampant: there, tuberoses and jessamine cling around mounds of ruins, which during the elegant reign of the Gonzagas led to grottos and subterranean apartments, concealed from vulgar eyes, and sacred to the most refined enjoyments. I gathered a tuberose that sprang from a shell of white marble, once trickling with water, now half

20 Descrizione storica delle pitture del Regio-Ducale Palazzo del Te fuori della porta di Mantova detta Pusterla (Mantua, 1783), 56. This work is mistakenly attributed to Giovanni Bottani. See also Belluzzi, “La Grotta di Palazzo Te a Mantova,” Arte delle grotte, ed. Cristina Acidini Luchinat et al. (Genoa, 1987), 49–57. 21 Richard Garnett, “William Beckford,” Dictionary of National Biography 4:82–5. See also the website devoted to Beckford: http://beckford.c18.net/ But see now the article by Anita McConnell in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography.

Palazzo Tè filled with mould, and carrying it home, shut myself up for the rest of the night, inhaled its perfume, and fell a-dreaming.22

Azulay’s description of the grotto and its fountain contains a hint of Beckford’s wistful tone. Both Azulay and Beckford reflected upon the fragmentary remains of what seemed to have been an impressive waterworks, and the impact of these ruins on their imagination evokes the eighteenth-century fascination with death (inspired by Edward Young’s Night Thoughts) and adumbrates Shelley’s Ozymandias sonnet of 1818. From art to architecture, the classical nexus of art and science. The second element at Palazzo Tè to attract Azulay’s attention is the echo in the palace’s Chamber of the Giants. We are struck by his passing over in silence the Chamber’s frescoes of the gods destroying the giants (Fig. 6 and 7), a scene recorded in Ovid’s Metamorphoses:23

Figure 6.  Chamber of the Giants. Palazzo Te, Mantua

The paintings cover the room completely, walls and ceiling, and Giorgio Vasari explains that the original mosaic floor continued the scene without interruption. The room’s power was awesome, profoundly impressing early modern art 22 Dreams, Waking Thoughts, and Incidents (London, 1783), 150; Italy Sketches (Paris-Lyons, 1835), 46–7. 23 1.151–76 tells the tale of Jupiter punishing the giants for opposing his power and rebelling against him.

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Figure 7.  Chamber of the Giants. Palazzo Te, Mantua

connoisseurs, including André Félibien and Jonathan Richardson as well as Vasari, all of whom ignored its echo but vividly described its art.24 Later writers, too, were impressed, some negatively: Dickens found the room nightmarish.25 The echo in the room, which was part of its original design, magnified the impact of the images, by intensifying through sound the sense of cataclysmic destruction. Barbara Allason, the twentieth-century Italian author, writes that she was so terrified by the frescoes that she screamed, but then the echo caused “a hundred cavernous, infernal cries” to respond to hers, and she ran from the room and out of the building.26 The focus of Azulay’s reaction to the chamber is science, or more specifically, its acoustic effect. Like others who describe the Chamber of the Giants, Azulay renders careful account of the room’s dimensions. His twenty one or so brazos are a bit more than Vasari’s fifteen braccia, but nearly identical to 24 Vasari, Lives of the Painters, Sculptors and Architects, trans. Gaston du C. de Vere (New York, 1996), 2:126, 130; Félibien, Entretiens sur les vies et sur les ouvrages des plus Exellents peintres, anciens et modernes, avec la vie des architectes (Paris, 1672), 2:188–93; Richardson, Traité de la Peinture et de la Sculpture (Amsterdam, 1728; reprint ed. Geneva, 1972), 3.2:690–95. The Entretiens was published in parts between 1666 and 1685 and brought together later in two volumes, published respectively in 1685 and 1688. 25 Pictures from Italy (London, 1846), 130–31. 26 Risblanchèda (Milan, [1926]), 68; Giancarlo Schizzerotto, Mantova: 2000 anni di ritratti (Castel Goffredo, 1981), 333.

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the twenty braccia mantovane in the description by the Jesuit polymath Daniello Bartoli in 1679, who likewise refers to Mantua’s particular variation on the braccia unit of measurement.27 Giovanni Cadioli, a local artist and architect writing in 1763, also gives the room twenty armlengths, but emphasizes that while the dimensions are modest, the room “seems like a vast country.”28 Ulisse Aldrovandi, the naturalist from Bologna who visited Mantova in approximately 1580, gives the room’s length as “less than twenty paces” (per passus minus viginti),29 and nine years later, an anonymous Parisian visitor gave it just twelve paces.30 Two Germans, Heinrich Schickhardt in 1600 and Martin Zeiller in 1640, put its combined length and breadth at thirty eight feet, with Zeiller adding that the room is thirty feet high.31 Only Azulay, however, provides measurements in two different units of length, displaying a mathematical precision. The scientific air of the passage is reinforced by Azulay’s empiricism, as he emphasizes that he and his companion personally measured the area, an element absent from all the other accounts that provide dimensions. In the same vein, twice Azulay observes that the echo is “done with mathematics” (in the second case: “with the science of mathematics”). Just as Azulay expresses appreciation for aesthetics in his response to the frescoes and statues, here he expresses awe of the precision and power of mathematics. Azulay’s reverence for mathematics is characteristic of his age, when many believed that it held the key to the “Book of Nature.” Galileo maintained that nature is only to be understood by means of geometric figures, and Newton seemed to prove that mathematical calculations explain the laws of physics.32 27 See the text, quoted in full below. 28 Descrizione delle Pitture, Architetture che si osservano nella città di Mantova e ne’ suoi contorni (Mantua, 1763; reprint ed. Bologna, 1974), 100. 29 La scienza a corte: collezionismo eclettico, natura e immagine a Mantova fra Rinascimento e manierismo, ed. Dario A. Franchini et al. (Rome, 1979), 192 and 237 (doc. 60). 30 Voyage de Provence et d’Italie, ed. Luigi Monga (Geneva, 1994), 111. 31 Schickhardt, Wahrhaffte Beschreibung zweyer Raisen … (Mümpelgart, 1602); reprint ed.: Rayss in Italien, 1599–1600: in dreierley Version, ed. Winfried Bolter (Herrenberg, 1986), 140; Schizzerotto, Mantova, 140; Zeiller, Itinerarium Italiae nov-antiquae (Frankfurt a.M., 1640), 85–8; Schizzerotto, Mantova, 159–60. Zeiller refers to Schickhardt in his description, and mentions that the latter was architect to the Duke of Württemberg. For modern scholarship on the echo in the Chamber of the Giants, see: Belluzzi, Palazzo Tè a Mantova = the Palazzo te in Mantua, 2:218; Gianna Suitner Nicolini and Chiara Tellini Perina, Palazzo Tè in Mantua (Milan, 1994), 107–10; Verheyen, The Palazzo del Tè in Mantua, 37. 32 Peter Dear, Discipline and Experience: The Mathematical Way in the Scientific Revolution (­Chicago, 1995). For Galileo’s remark, see Shapin, The Scientific Revolution, 69. Closer to

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The visit to the Palazzo Tè echo chamber confronted early modern travelers with the potential of mathematics to manipulate and control the forces of nature, and while many were puzzled, all marveled. Azulay’s travelogue has many other expressions of his appreciation for the arts and sciences, including natural wonders as well as those of human industry. In Rotterdam his local companion shows him an impressive statue of Erasmus, of whom Azulay confesses complete ignorance. As at Mantua, Azulay’s local companion is only somewhat better informed than his guest, for Azulay dutifully notes that Erasmus lived six hundred years ago.33 In Pisa, Azulay visits a number of local sites, including the Palazzo dei Cavalieri, where he is shown portraits of the dukes of Tuscany, including that of the Grand Duke Ferdinand. He is, however, particularly taken with a fountain: “There [is there] a water fountain, the image of a seated woman, with her bare arms extended, holding in her hands a marble basin (bacino), and streams of water from her mouth and hands, a beautiful and praiseworthy thing.”34 Here, too, Azulay’s use of an Italian term alludes to the role of his companion, who presumably pointed out Grand Duke Ferdinand among the portraits. The description of the fountain is striking because Maʻagal Tov offers few such emotional responses to the attractions which Azulay beholds; even bella Giuditta does not evoke such effusive admiration. Azulay’s response is also remarkable because the subject of his praise is the (three-dimensional) figure of a woman, and one with bare arms at that. This is a stark illustration of Azulay’s extraordinary receptivity to new intellectual and cultural experiences.35 The products of modern science pose no threat to norms of modesty or to the Second Commandment, but early modern rabbis sometimes referred to science as “Greek wisdom,” the pejorative Hebrew term with which Aristotelian science was labelled during the Maimonidean Controversy of the Middle Ages. Azulay responds with enthusiasm to the echo at Palazzo Tè, but elsewhere he responds to new scientific knowledge with expressions of suspicion or skepticism. At Bayonne Azulay is shown a fossil and expresses doubt to his hosts, ­ zulay’s cultural orbit, Pinhas Hurwitz, a younger rabbinical contemporary, declared that A “all external sciences are far from the truth, with the exception of mathematics and geometry.” See his Complete Book of the Covenant [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem, 1989–1990), 189, quoted in translation in: David B. Ruderman, A Best-Selling Hebrew Book of the Modern Era: the Book of the Covenant of Pinhas Hurwitz and its Remarkable Legacy (Seattle, 2014), 46. 33 Maʻagal Tov ha-Shalem, 159. 34 Ibid., 67. 35 On this point, see also Lehmann, Emissaries from the Holy Land, 103–04.

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possibly regarding its essential nature or its antiquity. The fact that the fossil had been exhibited in various countries is adduced as a response sufficient to resolve his doubts. Azulay then relates that a local scholar reported reading that there is a bird created in a tree. Those present laugh dismissively, whereupon Azulay informs them that this fact is found in the Šulh.an Aruk (2:84), the quintessential code of Jewish law. He caps his response and silences his interlocutors with the comment that “our perfect Torah” is absolutely true, unlike gentile lore, such as the claim that a stone was once a tree, i.e. the fossil anecdote.36 This two-part anecdote exemplifies the difficulties facing early modern intellectuals confronted with the latest scientific discoveries, whether because the new knowledge seemed unlikely or because it appeared to challenge traditional belief.37 The respect for mathematics evident from Azulay’s description of the echo in the Chamber of the Giants is remarkable in view of the fact that he had no formal education in disciplines outside the traditional Jewish curriculum. Emissaries who circulated in the lands from which they themselves had emigrated met with no culture gap between themselves and their hosts. By contrast, Azulay was born and raised in the backwater of Ottoman Palestine, which throws into bold relief his esteem for the science of mathematics. Azulay’s quaint admiration for science at Palazzo Tè is of a piece with other currents in eighteenth-century rabbinic thought, particularly in Italy. The Sages’ Faith, by Solomon Basilea of Mantua (c. 1680–1749), depicts kabbalah as allied with science and opposed only to Greek philosophy.38 Basilea’s approach sunders the medieval Aristotelian equation of science with philosophy; it is a logical consequence of the decline of Aristotelianism and the rise of modern 36 Maʻagal Tov ha-Shalem, 37. 37 Azulay would have been acutely sensitive to this issue in Bayone, a Sephardic community which he considered rife with non-traditional behavior and belief. See: Lehmann, Emissaries from the Holy Land, 136–40; Gérard Nahon, “From New Christians to the Portuguese Jewish Nation in France,” Moreshet Sepharad: The Sephardi Legacy, ed. Haim Beinart ( Jerusalem, 1992), 2:336–64, passim; Jay R. Berkovitz, Rites and Passages: the Beginnings of Modern Jewish Culture in France, 1650–1860 (Philadelphia, 2004), 21–7. 38 Advances in various scientific fields in the early modern era did little to discredit the belief in and pursuit of occult knowledge, such as alchemy and kabbalah. See: Lorraine Daston and Katharine Park, Wonders and the Order of Nature 1150–1750 (New York, 2001); William Eamon, Science and the Secrets of Nature: Books of Secrets in Medieval and Early Modern Culture (Princeton, 1994), 269–350; William R. Newman, Promethean Ambitions: Alchemy and the Quest to Perfect Nature (Chicago, 2004), 250–89; Allison P. Coudert, The Impact of the Kabbalah in the Seventeenth Century: The Life and Thought of Francis Mercury van Helmont (1614–1698) (Leiden, 1999), 153–76.

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science.39 This new alliance between kabbalah and modern thought also characterizes the outlook of Moses Hayyim Luzzato (Ramhal), the messianic kabbalist and Basilea’s contemporary from nearby Padua.40 Broadening our perspective, it was eastern European rabbis of the latter nineteenth century, most famously Moses Sofer of Hungary, that expressed ambivalence towards modern European culture in response to its impact on Jewish thought and social life.41 However, these challenges remained beyond the cultural orbit of Mediterranean and Middle Eastern Jewry, and consequently they failed to provoke a reactionary response.42 The result was a refreshing blend of a staunchly traditional view of Jewish values and norms with a liberal attitude towards new ideas concerning nature, science and technology. Azulay expresses this mindset vividly in his travelogue, and it is encapsulated in his appreciation for both art and science in Palazzo Tè.

39 David B. Ruderman, Jewish Thought and Scientific Discovery in Early Modern Europe (New Haven, 1995), 213–28. For more on Jewish writings on science in the eighteenth century, see: Noah J. Efron, Judaism and Science: A Historical Introduction (Westport [CT], 2007), 111–55; Ruderman, A Best-Selling Hebrew Book of the Modern Era, 40–56; Resianne Fontaine, “Natural Science in Sefer ha-Berit: Pinchas Hurwitz on Animals and Meterological Phenomena,” Sepharad in Ashkenaz: Medieval Knowledge and Eighteenth-Century Enlightened Jewish Discourse, ed. Resianne Fontaine et al. (Amsterdam, 2007), 157–81; Noah Rosenblum, “Cosmological and Astronomical Discussions in Sefer ha-Berit” [Hebrew], Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research 62 (1996), 1–36; Maoz Kahana, “An Esoteric Path to Modernity: Rabbi Jacob Emden’s Alchemical Quest,” Journal of Modern Jewish Studies 12 (2013), 253–75; Idem, “The Scientific Revolution and the Encoding of Sources of Knowledge: Medicine, Halakhah, and Alchemy in Hamburg-Altona, 1736” [Hebrew], Tarbiz 82 (2013), 165–212. 40 Jonathan Garb, Kabbalist in the Heart of the Storm [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv, 2014), 230–33. In fact, Luzzato was partial to echo poetry, a form of dialogue in which the response echoes the sound of the final syllable (or syllables) of the previous sentence. See Dvora Bregman, “The Echo in Ramhal’s Poetry” [Hebrew], Deh.ak 5 (2015), 92–121. 41 Nonetheless, a recent paradigm shift suggests that the term “modern” might be applied to traditionalist ideologies of Judaism, for these present modern characteristics, including the weakening of traditional religious authority structures and the democratization of knowledge. See Eliyahu Stern, The Genius:‎Elijah of Vilna and the Making of Modern Judaism (New Haven, 2013). 42 Zvi Zohar, “Halakhic Responses of Syrian and Egyptian Rabbinical Authorities to Social and Technological Change,” Studies in Contemporary Jewry 2 (1986), 18–51; Idem, “­Sephardic Rabbinic Responses to Modernity: Some Central Characteristics,” Jews among Muslims: Communities in the Precolonial Middle East, ed. Shlomo Deshen and Walter P. ­Zenner (­Basingstoke, 1996), 64–80; Idem, “Religion: Rabbinic Tradition and the Response to ­Modernity,” The Jews of the Middle East and North Africa in Modern Times, ed. Reeva Spector Simon et al. (New York, 2003), 65–84.

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LAMPRONTI The echo in Palazzo Tè’s Chamber of the Giants had already fascinated an earlier eighteenth-century rabbinic scholar, Isaac Lampronti of Ferrara (1679–1756). Lampronti studied medicine at Padua’s university and practiced his profession while also teaching at the yeshivah of Ferrara. His magnum opus is a Hebrew encyclopedia of Judaism, Pah.ad Yis.h.aq (Isaac’s Fear), with alphabetical entries on Jewish law and lore.43 The echo chamber at Palazzo Tè is the subject of the following encyclopedia entry: In Mantua, outside the city called Tè there is a royal palace, called Palazzo di Tè, and there there is a building and a large room built in the shape of an arch. If you sit at this corner and speak near the corner in a very, very low voice, such that even the people that are close to you hear nothing, someone placing his ear at the diagonally opposite corner will hear everything that is said in a whisper, very clearly and plainly. And I, the author, was there many times and tried [it]. And I heard that a similar thing is found in many places in Italy and elsewhere.   And this is easy to understand for one strong in the science of geometry. And maybe this is what the Sages had in mind when they said oznayim la-­ kotel [ears to the wall], namely that sometimes a person speaks and thinks that no one hears, and is wrong, for his words are heard at a distance when the ear is brought near the wall, and it is as if the wall has ears that hear.  See Cristiano instruito by the priest Paulus Segneri (the Elder), Pt. 2, Speech 18, n. 1, p. 161, in his words on Gehinom: “Many are the inventions which were invented by the cruelty of Dionysus to appear wise, and if one took the glory, it was the prison44 that he built in the shape of an ear, so that in the small hole that was placed in the arch it would be easy to hear words, laments and noises and cries issued by the prisoners.”45 43 On Lampronti, see: Ephraim E. Urbach, “Rabbi Isaac Lampronti and his Book Pah.ad Yis.h.aq” [Hebrew], Collected Writings in Jewish Studies [Hebrew], ed. Moshe David Herr and Jonah Fraenkel ( Jerusalem, 1998), 385–90; David Malkiel, “Ebraismo, tradizione e società: Isaaco Lampronti e l’identità ebraica nella Ferrara del XVIII secolo,” Zakhor 7 (2005), 9–42 [= “Traditional Society” in the present volume]. 44 The printed text exchanges Ph with S, rendering bet sepher, i.e. school, instead of bet sohar, i.e. prison. 45 Molti furono le invenzioni, con cui mirò la crudeltà di Dionisio Tiranno a dimostrarsi ingegnosa. Ma se veruna si meritò il primo vanto, fu l’artifizio della sua famosa Prigione, lavorata a similtudine di un’Orecchia, affinchè per quel piccolo foro, che riusciva nella parte superior della

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Part One   See for yourself the intention of our Sages when they said oznayim la-kotel.   See also a book called Dimostrazione delle essenze et attributi di Dio dalle opere della sua creazione by Guglielmo [i.e. William] Der[h]am, printed in Florence in 1719 according to the Christian computation, Bk. IV, Ch. 3, p. 106, n. 9.46

The purpose of this passage is to explicate an archaic Hebrew term rather than to describe a site, and thus obviously it differs fundamentally from Azulay’s, but what stands out is their shared attitude towards science. Just as Azulay pointedly remarks that he and his companion measured the dimensions of the Chamber of the Giants rather than rely on received wisdom, Lampronti stresses that he personally tested the room’s echo, and not once but on multiple occasions. The notion that experiments need to be replicated many times before they can be granted credibility was basic to the new experimental approach; Galileo claimed that he had performed his inclined-plane experiments a hundred times!47 For Lampronti as opposed to Azulay, the experimental method is part and parcel of his medical persona, and, indeed, numerous entries in Lampronti’s encyclopedia offer personal testimony about his personal investigation of scientific phenomena.48 The scientific perspective is expressed not only in Lampronti’s statement about personal experience, but also in his reference to “the science of geometry.” A comparison with Azulay highlights the difference between the two authors, for Azulay’s references to “mathematics” and “the science of mathematics” may be reverent but they are also vague, while Lampronti’s remark is specific and precise, making it apparent that he knew whereof he spoke. But whereas Lampronti’s comment is rather cryptic, other early modern scholars went to great lengths to explain the echo phenomenon, including the whispering place effect. volta, si potessero udire più agevolmente i discorsi, le doglianze, le stride de’Carcerati, che se non erano Rei, doveano laggiù divenire col lamentarsi. See Paolo Segneri, Cristiano istruito (Florence, 1686), 2.18.1 (p. 161). Lampronti’s reference is fairly precise, although the title is istruito rather than instruito, and one could quibble with his translation of “­R agionamento” as “Speech.” 46 Lampronti, Pah.ad Yis.h.aq (Venice, 1749/1750), 1:41v, s.v. oznayim la-kotel. 47 Shapin, The Scientific Revolution, 82. 48 See Malkiel, “Empiricism in Isaac Lampronti’s Pahad Yizhak,” Materia Giudaica 10 (2005), 341–51 [= “Empiricism” in the present volume].

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Some took a decidedly wrong turn. There were those who maintained that words whispered in an echo chamber slither or slide from one corner of the room up to the vault only to descend at the opposite corner.49 This interpretation is discredited by Bartoli, who observes that, unlike Mantua’s Chamber of the Giants, the Palazzo Farnese in Caprarola (northwest of Rome) has cornices, which should interrupt the slithering or sliding, and nonetheless the palace is well known for its “speaking room” (stanza parlatrice).50 Another wrongheaded approach was the notion that echo chambers have secret ducts behind the walls which conduct sound from one side to another. Schickhardt debunks this idea, by pointing out that such ducts would require apertures through which the sound would enter and exit, and no such apertures are in evidence.51 Bartoli is equally dismissive, and explains that this erroneous notion was based on a comparison with the “ear of Dionysus” in Siracusa, which, however, also lacks any such secret duct. Apparently oblivious to the arguments of Schickhardt and Bartoli, Ellis Veryard of Devon, writing in 1701, attributes the Mantua echo to “certain conceal’d Pipes,”52 and this despite the fact that he, like Lampronti, was a university-trained physician. Others hewed to the mathematical approach. Schickhardt attributes the echo in Palazzo Tè solely to the angle of the vault, and his view is supported by his countryman Zeiller.53 Athanasius Kircher refers to the Mantua chamber in his 1673 treatise, Phonurgia Nova, in a chapter entitled “Sound Propagated along a Circular Surface Acquires a Huge Force.” Kircher refers to the palaces at Heidelberg and Mantua before closely examining the echo effect in the rotunda of St. Peter’s cathedral in Rome, and he supplies an illustration of the dome and a diagram of its acoustic properties. Elsewhere in this treatise Kircher explores the echo possibilities in rooms with elliptical ceilings, and he labors to explain 49 The precise wording is: “per istrisciamento d’aria.” See Bartoli, below. 50 Bartoli, Del suono, de’tremori armonici e dell’udito (Rome, 1679; Torino 1844), 2.7 (pp. 91– 92). Here and hereafter, references are to the Torino edition. See also: La scienza a corte, 192–3, n. 53; Tellini Perina, “La Sala de’ Giganti nella considerazione degli storici e nella memoria dei visitatori,” I Giganti di Palazzo Te, ed. Carlo Marco Belfanti et al. (Mantua, 1989), 83–4. 51 Rayss in Italien, 1599–1600, 140; Handschriften und Handzeichnungen des herzoglich württembergischen Baumeisters H. S. … (Stuttgart, 1902), 233–45. 52 An Account of Divers Choice Remarks as well Geographical, as Historical, Political, Mathematical, Physical and Moral; Taken in a Journey Through the Low-Countries, France, Italy, and Part of Spain; With the Isles of Sicily and Malta (London, 1701), 121. 53 Loc. cit.

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the echo in Milano’s Casa Simonetta. In every case Kircher’s explanation hinges on the trajectory of the sound, detailing the angles and arcs of each of the ­structures he examines.54 These explanations develop the discussion of echoes in Francis Bacon’s study of sound amplification and conduction, which he published in New Atlantis (1626) and Sylva Sylvarum (1627). Bacon’s theorizing was taken up by Marin Mersenne, in Harmonie Universelle (1627) and later by Kenelm Digby and others. Bacon describes the whispering effect at the Gloucester cathedral, and his text is the subject of a long commentary by Dean Christopher Wren.55 In the second half of the seventeenth century, the Royal Society investigated echo phenomena in the context of their interest in the speed at which sound travels.56 Daniello Bartoli offers the most complete discussion of the echo in Mantua’s Chamber of the Giants: The room is a perfect square, of twenty Mantuan arms lengths (braccia mantovane) on each side. The vault has no lunette, but is entirely simple and round, in the form of a semicircle, but rather acute and ovate. The angles, from the ground to a height of four arms (lengths) are perfectly right; after this height they begin to open up and gradually rise up ever more delicately and enter the vault, the beginning of which cannot be seen, so insensibly does its curvature commence, and in commencing 54 Phonurgia Nova (Kempten, 1673), 1.3.4 (pp. 68–9). On Kircher, see: Penelope Gouk, “Making Music, Making Knowledge: The Harmonious Universe of Athanasius Kircher,” The Great Art of Knowing: the Baroque Encyclopedia of Athanasius Kircher, ed. Daniel Stolzenberg (Stanford, 2001), 76–8; Paula Findlen, “The Janus Faces of Science in the Seventeenth Century: Athanasius Kircher and Isaac Newton,” Rethinking the Scientific Revolution, ed. Margaret J. Osler (Cambridge, 2000), 221–46; Lamberto Tronchin, “Athanasius Kircher’s Phonurgia Nova: The Marvellous World of Sound during the Seventeenth Century,” Acoustics Today 5 (2009), 13. Kircher observes that the floor of the echo chamber in the Heidelberg palace contributes to the echo, further amplifying the sound, and this may have also been true of the original mosaic floor at Palazzo Tè, which according to Vasari, as we have seen, was part and parcel of the room’s narrative. If so, the echo heard by visitors after the 1630 sack of Mantua, including our two rabbis, might have been considerably weaker than during its first century of existence. 55 Sylva Sylvarum (London, 1627, 1670), Century 2, Sec. 148 (p. 39). 56 Frederick V. Hunt, Origins in Acoustics: The Science of Sound from Antiquity to the Age of Newton (New Haven, 1978); Penelope Gouk, Music, Science and Natural Magic in Seventeenth-­ Century England (New Haven, 1999), 157–92; Paolo Mancosu, “Acoustics and O ­ ptics,” Cambridge History of Science, vol. 3: Early Modern Science, ed. Katharine Park and Lorraine Daston (Cambridge, 2006), 596–611.

Palazzo Tè it seems that the angles are lost, but such is not the case: they become greater and almost flat throughout the sky of the vault, which, in order to be completely decorated with pictures, loses this insensible curvature— curvature, I say, not channels, which it certainly does not have … I did speak, and I myself many times spoke from one corner to the diametrically opposed corner, and the voices were always heard clearly and distinctly, just like in confession: without being heard at all by whoever was in the middle or in the corner on the side of the one speaking.57

Clearly, Bartoli sums up, the Mantua chamber has no ducts or furrows to conduct sound from side to side, but rather the echo is created by the reflection of sound across the circle, as a result of the delicate curvature of its vault. The shape of the Chamber of the Giants is aired in eight other descriptions, and of these, Vasari, Richardson and Félibien analogize the vault to an oven.58 John Ray, the English naturalist, describes the room as square, “having the roof arched round in the form of a cupola.”59 What precisely was round was the subject of some confusion. Vasari describes the chamber as “a large round room,” as does Félibien, for which Richardson takes them to task, and offers the following drawing (Fig. 8), which depicts the room with four walls that have rounded corners at the ceiling.60 Ray’s description of the roof as a cupola bears directly upon comparisons with other echo chambers suggested by other writers, including Azulay, comparisons of which Lampronti has heard tell. Ray cites the cathedral at Gloucester and the Farnese palace at Caprarola, and the latter comparison appears also in Bartoli’s treatise.61 Like Azulay, Bartoli compares Palazzo Tè to an echo 57 Bartoli, Del suono, de’ tremori armonici e dell’udito, 87. Unlike the Mantua echo chamber, those of Caprarola and of the Casa Simonetta near Milano (undoubtedly the one to which Azulay refers) do not have the classic structure just described, and Bartoli launches into an explanation of these architectural structures as well. See Tellini Perina, “La Sala de’ Giganti nella considerazione degli storici e nella memoria dei visitatori,” 83–4. 58 Vasari, Lives, 2:130; Zeiller and Félibien, loc. cit. 59 Observations Topographical, Moral and Psychological Made in a Journey Through part of the Low Countries, Germany, Italy, and France (London, 1673), 221. Philip Skippon, who accompanied Ray during his travels on the Continent, describes the room as Ray does: A Collection of Voyages and Traves, some Now first Printed from Original Manuscripts others Now first Published in English (London, 1746), 6:564. 60 Traité de la Peinture et de la Sculpture, 693. 61 Although Bartoli’s book appeared a few years after Ray’s, there is no reason to assume he depended on Ray, given that Palazzo Farnese is in Italy. Edmund Bohun’s geography text, which does not mention Mantua, expatiates upon the Caprarola mansion for its “whispering

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Figure 8.  Drawing of the Chamber of the Giants (Richardson, 693)

chamber in Milano, and, like Kircher, he has in mind Casa Simonetta, which Marc Antonio Dal Re, an engraver and writer, later described as having an echo that repeats sound thirty or more times!62 Azulay also alludes vaguely to Athens, while the physician Edward Brown, who visited Italy in the 1660s, refers to Padua and Montpellier, emphasizing that he had visited these structures. Brown explains that “whispering places” such as those in Padua and Montpellier are possible because “the Angle of Incidence, is always equal to the Angle of Reflection, and the whole top of the room so proportioned as to reflect all to one point, that comes from another opposite to it.” However, he explains that unlike these, the Chamber of the Giants has a “double and cross arch,” which creates what he calls “a large double cross whispering place.”63 These comparisons are somewhat misleading, however, because unlike cathedral cupolas, the Chamber of the Giants is just one small room at the corner of a modest, onestory building. Moreover, while some discussions of echo chambers emphasize their capacity to amplify sound, others focus on the secrecy they afford. The latter is true for the Chamber of the Giants, with approximately half of the descriptions stressing that anyone standing in the center of the room cannot hear what has been said.64 A popular comparison, appearing in Bartoli as well as Segneri (and thence Lampronti) is to the so-called Ear of Dionysus (or Dionysus’ Grotto) of room … where four persons at several corners shall understand the lowest whispers of one to another, whilst those in the middle of the room cannot here [!] a word that is said.” See his A Geographical Dictionary … (London, 1693), 74. 62 Marc Antonio Dal Re, Ville di delizia o sieno palagi camparecci nello stato di Milano (Milan, 1726); Ibid., ed. Pier Fausto Bagatti Valsecchi (Milan, 1963). 63 A brief account of some travels in divers parts of Europe … (London, 1685), 216. 64 On the secretive aspect, see also Bernardo Zamagna, Echo: libri duo (Rome, 1764), 51.

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S­ iracusa in Sicily.65 This also appears in William Derham’s discourse on the ear, cited by Lampronti. Derham’s third chapter examines the sense of hearing and describes the anatomy of the ear. He comments on the ability of certain spaces, like a vault or grotto, to amplify sound and sometimes to transmit even soft sounds great distances. To this statement Derham appends the following note, cited by Lampronti: It would nauseate the reader to reckon up the places famed for the conveyance of whispers, such as the prison of Dionysus at Syracuse, which is said to increase a whisper to a noise, the clapping one’s hands to the sound of a cannon, etc.; nor the aquaducts of Claudius, which carry a voice sixteen miles, and many others, both ancient and modern. If the reader has a mind to be entertained in this way, he may find enough in Kircher’s Phonurgia. But it may not be irksome to mention one or two of our own in England, among which one of the most famed is the whispering place in Gloucester cathedral, which is no other than a gallery above the east end of the choir, leading from one side thereof to the other. It consists, if I mistake not, of five angles and six sides, the middlemost of which is a naked, uncovered window, looking into a chapel behind it. I guess the two whisperers stand at about twenty-five yards distance from one another. But the dome of St. Paul’s, London, is a more considerable whispering place, where the ticking of a watch (when no noise is in the streets) may be heard from side to side; yea, a whisper may be sent all round the dome. And not only in the gallery below, but above, upon the scaffold, I tried and found that a whisper would be carried over one’s head round the top of the arch, notwithstanding there is a large opening in the middle of it, into the upper part of the dome.66

Derham probably relied on earlier writers for the comparison with Gloucester, but like Lampronti, he foregrounds the experimental aspect of his testimony by highlighting his own experiences at St. Paul’s. 65 For an audio recording of the echo in the Ear of Dionysius, see: https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=hVRm3LOutDA 66 Physico-Theology: or a Demonstration of the Being and Attributes of God, From his Works of Creation. Being the Substance of Sixteen Sermons Preached in St. Mary le Bow-Church, London; at the Honourable Mr. Boyle’s Lectures, in the Years 1711, and 1712 (London, 1720), 119–20, note i; Ibid., 12th ed. (Glasgow, 1752), 122, note a. I have modernized the spelling, punctuation and some of the usages.

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Derham never visited Palazzo Tè but likely knew of the Mantuan echo from English visitors. Azulay reports, concerning the frescoes in the Chamber of the Giants, that “the English come to copy their images.” Cadioli had already noted that “many of the most famous and known northern travelers, especially the English, sometimes come to our country only for this.”67 Dickens and ­Beckford have already been mentioned, and another eight Englishmen from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries left descriptions of the Mantua echo chamber. Five early modern Frenchmen mention its acoustic effect, and there are also three German accounts, including those of Schickhardt and Zeiller, as well as the Swedish architect Nicodemo Tessin the younger, who visited the palace in 1688.68 There are, thus, about as many English testimonies as those of other foreign nationalities combined (excluding Azulay), confirming that the English presence in Italy really was far more robust than others.69 The predominance of the English is to be understood in the context of the English Grand Tour, and this makes the prominence of Palazzo Tè all the more remarkable, since Mantua was not on the typical Grand Tour itinerary. Entering Italy from the northwest, most English travelers would either head east towards Venice, via Brescia, Verona and Padua, or down the west coast to Rome, by way of Genova and Florence. Travelers following the latter ­itinerary would often continue to Naples before returning north by way of Loreto, Ancona and Ferrara. From Ferrara, travelers could proceed to Venice or turn homeward via Bologna and Milano. Some would detour southwest to Modena, which was basically en route to Bologna, but few headed northwest to Mantua.70 67 Belluzzi, Palazzo Tè a Mantova = the Palazzo Tè in Mantua, 2:230, citing Cadioli, Descrizione delle Pitture, Architetture che si osservano nella città di Mantova e ne’ suoi contorni (Mantua, 1763; reprint ed. Bologna, 1974), 106. 68 The English include Beckford, Brown, Ray, Richardson, Skippon, Veryard, John Raymond (1648), Thomas Nugent (1756) and John Northall (1766). The French are Félibien, Blaise de Vigenère (1574), Jan Blaeu (1647), Henri de Bourbon (1665) and Jean Huguetan (1681). For the French, see Gilles Bertrand, Le grand tour revisité: pour une archéologie du tourisme: le voyage des français en Italie (milieu XVIIIe siècle-début XIXe siècle) ([Rome,] 2008). 69 Azulay is, in fact, the only early modern non-European of whom I am aware that penned a description of Palazzo Tè. 70 English Grand Tour tourists outnumbered others by the late 1730s, and between 1764– 1796 (the period of Azulay’s visit) the growth of the Grand Tour was “spectacular:” Ilaria Bignamini, “The Grand Tour: Open Issues,” Grand Tour: The Lure of Italy in the Eighteenth Century, ed. Andrew Wilton and Ilaria Bignamini (London, 1996), 32–3. On the routes of the Grand Tour, see: Jeremy Black, The British Abroad: the Grand Tour in the Eighteenth Century (Stroud, 2003), 41–2; John Ingamells, “Discovering Italy: British Travellers in the Eighteenth Century,” Grand Tour, 22. The routes presented here are based on my own

Palazzo Tè

Thus, while it was easy enough for Lampronti to make repeated trips to the Chamber of the Giants, Azulay’s decision to visit Mantua was unusual. Unusual for most travelers, but perfectly understandable in his case, for while Mantua was off the beaten track for Grand Tour tourists, it was a thriving Jewish community and one a diligent Palestinian fundraiser would be sure to include in his particular “grand tour.”71 Lampronti shared the fascination with the palace’s echo chamber, particularly its scientific aspect, but his focus was religion, rather than art or science. In this he bears a certain kinship with Segneri, whose reference to the Ear of Dionysis was likewise merely an instrument in the service of a religious agenda. This shared tendency to combine science and religion is found in the work of many early modern scientists, such as Derham’s Physico-Theology, or his Astro-Theology.72 Derham (d. 1735) was one of many intellectuals who labored to synthesize newly acquired scientific knowledge with the truths of revealed religion. He, Samuel Clarke (d. 1729) and William Whiston (d. 1752), all contemporaries of Lampronti, gave the Boyle lectures, established by Robert Boyle for precisely that purpose. Oznayim la-kotel, “ears to the wall,” the enigmatic Hebrew expression that stimulated Lampronti’s Palazzo Tè passage, appears in texts from the midrashic literature of late antiquity which are cited in the encyclopedia entry. The first to be cited discusses Eccl. 10:20: “Curse not the king, no, not in thy thought, and curse not the rich in thy bedchamber, for a bird of the air shall carry the voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the matter.” In the midrash, R. Jeremiah ben Elʻazar identifies the “bird of the air” as the raven, and explains that the reference alludes to divination.73 At this point R. Levi interjects: “Ears to the r­ esearch, and differ somewhat from earlier studies. See also: Kenneth R. Bartlett, The English in Italy, 1525–1558: a Study in Culture and Politics (Geneva, 1991); Edward Chaney, The Evolution of the Grand Tour: Anglo-Italian Cultural Relations since the Renaissance (London, 1998); Ingamells, A Dictionary of British and Irish Travellers in Italy 1701–1800 (New ­Haven, 1997); Rosemary Sweet, Cities and the Grand Tour: the British in Italy, c.1690–1820 (­Cambridge, 2012). 71 By the late eighteenth century Mantua’s Jewish community numbered in the thousands, partly because its constituents enjoyed a relatively liberal political-legal status. See Paolo Bernardini, La sfida dell’uguaglianza: Gli Ebrei a Mantova nell’età della rivoluzione francese (Rome, 1996). 72 London, [1715]. 73 This midrashic text alludes to a talmudic anecdote (Gittin 45a) about a certain R. Ilish, who, while he was being held captive, saw a raven speak to a non-Jew. The rabbi asked what the raven had said and was told that it had urged him to flee. Many civilizations credit ravens with the power of divination. See, for example: Isidore of Seville, Etymologies 12.7.44; The

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path and ears to the wall,” without elaboration or explanation.74 R. Jeremiah’s interpretation of the Ecclesiastes verse appears again in a later midrashic source, which Lampronti also cites, and again the reference to raven divination is followed by R. Levi’s pithy remark, this time without the accompanying reference to “ears to the path.”75 The encyclopedia entry concludes with a cross reference to the entry on the Mede nation, which quotes R. Akiva as praising the Medes, inter alia, for only giving advice in a field, rather than an urban location. Lampronti supplements this talmudic dictum with the comment thereto by Rashi, the quintessential Bible commentator from eleventh-century Troyes: “As people say, ears to the wall.”76 Rashi’s comment illustrates that people of earlier centuries intuitively understood the expression “ears to the wall” to mean that there is a risk of being overheard, like the equivalent English and French phrases, “the walls have ears” and “les murs ont des aureilles.” Lampronti’s expansive comment is thus seemingly redundant, but it is also counter-intuitive, for it replaces the obvious figurative interpretation with an unlikely, hyper literal, one. Lampronti’s purpose here needs to be seen in the broader context of his lifelong efforts to synthesize science (or nature) and religion, an endeavor that occupied medieval thinkers, including that great physician-rabbi, Moses Maimonides. The lesson of the Palazzo Tè text is that readers should take rabbinic dicta seriously, as texts that are both true and profound, even when they are puzzling and may appear erroneous or—heaven forbid—absurd. In approaching rabbinic texts, particularly midrashic literature, which presents a large measure of folklore, medieval scholars often labored to repackage this material figuratively, to salvage some sort of ethical or metaphysical content. Lampronti’s approach was precisely the opposite: to take the text at face value and prove that it need not be explained away through allegorical interpretation. This is also the strategy behind Lampronti’s claim that the Hebrew term bat qol, “daughter of sound,” traditionally understood as a post-biblical form of divine communication, actually means echo, and in fact he begins the entry Case of the Animals versus Man Before the King of the Jinn: a translation from the Epistles of the Brethren of Purity, trans. Lenn E. Goodman and Richard McGregor (Oxford, 2009), 168. 74 Leviticus Rabbah 32:2. 75 Yalqut Shim’oni Sec. 989. 76 Berakhot 8b and Rashi ad loc. See Lampronti, Pah.ad Yis.h.aq (Livorno, 1840), 6:22v, s.v. Madiyim. Clearly, Lampronti was not interested in the difference in historical context between the rabbis of late antiquity and Rashi, for his concern was purely philological.

Palazzo Tè

devoted to this term by presenting “echo” as its appropriate translation.77 References follow to definitions suggested by earlier writers, and here Lampronti cites Derham on the ability of various instruments to amplify sound, most famously Alexander the Great’s stentorophonic tube (Fig. 9).78

Figure 9.  Alexander the Great’s stentorophonic tube (Kirchner, 133)

Simply put, Lampronti argues that “daughter of sound” represents an indirect reception of the divine voice, like the sight of a person’s reflection, as opposed to unmediated perception. This entry is more audacious than the interpretation of “ears to the wall,” for it concerns a matter of faith rather than merely language. Yet in both cases Lampronti interprets an archaic expression by means of a natural phenomenon rather than an abstract concept. This is a form of realism, which minimizes the need for a figurative reading of canonical texts. Essentially, Lampronti embraces the stereotypical view of the Jew as literalist reader of the Holy Scriptures, but in his case the literalism is in a scientific key.79 This realist tendency is also found in Lampronti’s interpretation of the talmudic text which recommends eating breakfast by the fourth hour of the day, and likens eating at the sixth hour “to throwing a stone into a skin [of water].” Rashi interprets this expression to mean that the food will be difficult to digest, 77 Pah.ad Yis.h.aq 1:76r, s.v. bat qol. 78 Derham, Dimostrazione della essenza, ed attributi d’Iddio dall’opere della sua creazione (Florence, 1719), 4.4, n. 25 (pp. 114–15); Idem, Physico-Theology, 129, n. aa. Fig. 9 is from Phonurgia Nova, 133. Kirchner publishes this image, which he attributes to a manuscript of the Secreta Secretorum in the Vatican library, to demonstrate that such instruments, with the ability to greatly amplify sound, existed in Antiquity. See also Kirchner, Ars magna lucis et umbrae (Amsterdam, 1671), 102. 79 Other Jewish writers, including David Nieto and Solomon Basilea, took a similar tack, as did a long list of Christian writers. See Ruderman, Jewish Thought and Scientific Discovery, passim.

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and Lampronti explains that at so late an hour the stomach, like the skin of water, lacks the ability to actively pull down its contents.80 Like the entries on the echo, the concrete and specific character of this explanation makes the ancient text seem less arcane to the early modern reader and hence more vivid and compelling. The most elaborate instance of this hermeneutic in Lampronti’s encyclopedia concerns a midrashic passage on the role of the human organs: Our rabbis taught: Humans have two kidneys; one advises him for good and one advises him for evil. And reason suggests that the good one is on his right and the evil one on his left, as it is said: “The heart of the wise is on his right, and the heart of the fool is on his left” [Eccl. 10:2].   Our rabbis taught: The kidneys prompt, the heart discerns, the tongue cuts, the mouth completes [speech], the esophagus takes in and lets out all kinds of food, the wind-pipe produces sound, the lung absorbs all kinds of liquids, the liver produces anger, the gall throws a drop into it and allays it, the milt produces laughter, the large intestine grinds, the maw produces sleep and the nose awakens.81

Lampronti parses this text with his state-of-the-art knowledge of anatomy, beginning with the explanation that the kidneys advise for good and evil insofar as they are the source of semen; thus the dictum refers to sexual activity, which can be righteous when its purpose is procreation or sinful when it serves to satisfy lust. The rest of Lampronti’s exegesis is more strictly technical, as when he cites a source from Francesco Redi’s epistolary to explain “the lung absorbs all kinds of liquids,” and then appends his own scientific explanation. Lampronti is delighted with the association of the gall bladder with anger, because it jibes with an anecdote recorded by Jean Fernel (“Fernellio”) about an old, very angry man whose gall bladder had hardened like a rock, since it was unable to secrete a drop into the liver to allow the anger to pass. In short, the passage affords him a wonderful opportunity to drive home the message of Palazzo Tè, that contemporary science provides tools to unlock the mysteries of ancient Hebrew concepts and texts.82 80 Pah.ad Yis.h.aq (Reggio, 1813) 5:106r, s.v. ke-zoreq even le-hemet. For the talmudic source, see Šabbat 10a. 81 Berakhot 61a, b. 82 Lampronti’s exegesis of the kidneys passage may be related to the debate then raging over the relationship between anatomy and ethics, as reflected in the writings of Casto Innocente

Palazzo Tè

But Lampronti also confronts instances when science and religious tradition appear to diverge. A rabbinic tradition posits that one who experiences nocturnal emission on the eve of the Day of Atonement will die, but the encyclopedia cites a late medieval source that reports a case in which such a person did not die, and Lampronti adds that he knows of a number of such cases.83 Another entry cites the custom of eating the heart of a goose slaughtered during the months of Tevet and Shevat (in the Hebrew calendar), on account of the tradition that failure to do so may result in the sudden death of the ritual slaughterer. Lampronti nonchalantly notes that he knows of ritual slaughterers who refrained from doing so without consequence.84 On the whole, however, Lampronti is loath to reject rabbinic traditions. A well-known example is his conservative stance on the falsehood of spontaneous generation, which he acknowledges but which in his view does not justify abrogating a rabbinic precept.85 He is cautious because he is keenly sensitive not only to the holiness of religious tradition but also to the shortcomings of human investigation. An entry on resurrection airs the issue of whether the world is eternal, as well as questions regarding the Afterlife, and while Lampronti offers a few observations, he concludes that ‘on matters like these, I am not embarrassed to say “I do not know.”’86 Elsewhere, Lampronti weighs the merits of suggesting an emendation to a particular talmudic text, but decides otherwise: To correct by means of reason what our feeble intellect has distorted, by multiplying the realities unnecessarily, is not the way of the wise of heart and of the people who carry the Torah of God in their heart. Rather, everyone is obligated to uphold the version of his book by any means available, and if he cannot, then he can alter [it], or else concede that he does not

83 84 85

86

Ansaldi. See Roberto Gatti and Aurelio Rizzacasa, “Momenti di un dibattito nell’illuminismo italiano: ‘anatomia’ ed ‘etica’ in C. I. Ansaldi,” Medicina e biologia nella rivoluzione scientifica, ed. Lino Conti (Assisi, 1990), 289–302. Pah.ad Yis.h.aq (Berlin, 1885), 12:60r, s.v. qeri, ha-roeh oto be-yom ha-kipurim. Ibid. (Berlin, 1886), 13:102v, s.v. shohet. On Lampronti’s attitude to predecessors, see Malkiel, “The Burden of the Past in the Eighteenth Century: Authority and Custom in the Pahad Yizhaq,” Jewish Law Annual 16 (2006), 93–132 [= “The Past” in the present volume]. Ruderman, “Contemporary Science and Jewish Law in the Eyes of Isaac Lampronti of ­Ferrara and Some of his Contemporaries,” The Frank Talmage Memorial Volume, ed. ­Barry ­Walfish (Haifa, 1993), 2:211–24; Idem, Jewish Thought and Scientific Discovery in Early ­Modern ­Europe, 256–72. Pah.ad Yis.h.aq (Berlin, 1887), 14:28r–v, s.v. tehiyat ha-metim.

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Part One know, as a wise man said (to scholars who were discussing some philosophical matter among themselves: after lengthy discussion, they conceded that they did not know or understand, for “what their eyes saw was beyond the understanding of their hearts” [Isa. 44:18]).87

Both of these passages bespeak an epistemological skepticism, and the consequent importance of subordinating scientific inquiry and textual hermeneutics to religious tradition.88 In the same vein, Lampronti upholds tradition as a repository of truths that elude scientific investigation. This is the message of the lengthy methodological statement in the preamble to the kidneys entry. “You know,” he begins, “that the philosophers who strive for knowledge of natural science have achieved great things … but they did not plumb the depths.” On the other hand, he continues: “Profound is the knowledge of our scholars who beheld the mystery of God,” for those in possession of “the true science” “can perform many more wonders than those which the natural scientists took pride in performing by means of the science of alchemy and magia naturale.”89 He concludes: “The human eye cannot see that which is seen by the eye upon which has shone the light of the true science.”90 This preamble introduces a programmatic statement about his approach to conflicts between science and biblical or rabbinic dicta: Therefore, when I arrive at [rabbinic] dicta that talk about matters of natural science, I habitually interpret them in one of two ways: first, according to the opinion of one of the ancient philosophers, even though his colleagues and those who came after him abandoned his opinion … The second [way] is [to interpret them] in keeping with the truth that they knew in the science of tradition, even though this [knowledge] escaped the natural scientists, if it is impossible to reconcile the matter in their method.

87 Pah.ad Yis.h.aq (Venice, 1796), 3:79r–v, s.v. haval ʻalekha qesar. The parentheses appear in the text. 88 Lampronti’s approach to the challenge of synthesizing science and religion is quite similar to that of Muratori, both in De ingeniorum moderatione in religionis negotio (Paris, 1714) and in Riflessioni sopra il buon gusto nelle scienze e nelle arti (Venice, 1707). See Ferrone, The Intellectual Roots of the Italian Enlightenment, 102. 89 His reference to alchemy and magic testifies to the continued vitality of the belief in occult knowledge in early modern Europe. See the literature on alchemy and kabbalah cited above. 90 Pah.ad Yis.h.aq (Reggio, 1813) 5:72v, s.v. kelayot yoʻatzot.

Palazzo Tè

The first approach is a historicist interpretation, in which statements and practices are set in their historical context, rather than evaluated for their objective, scientific, truth. The second reflects the superiority of religious wisdom to science. Lampronti’s epistemological skepticism reflects not only the challenge facing early modern scholars of working out the relationship between the advances in scientific knowledge and religious tradition, but also the confusion engendered by the rapid pace of scientific inquiry, which resulted in the proliferation of all sorts of theories and a dizzying array of belief systems. And still Lampronti labors heroically to knit together science and tradition. The echo in the Palazzo Tè Chamber of the Giants excites him because he is convinced that he has found the true, authentic, source of the Hebrew expression “ears to the wall,” just as “echo” is his translation of “daughter of sound.” These ancient expressions move from the obscurity of religious arcana into the light of science, resolving momentarily the tension between these realms that preoccupied thinkers of his age.

CONCLUSION Lampronti’s remarks on Palazzo Tè illustrate the enthusiasm with which he embraced the pursuit of natural philosophy, not only in medicine, his chosen profession, but in other fields as well. His attitude reflects the greater accessibility of scientific knowledge in the early modern era. By the seventeenth century, as a consequence of the diffusion of printed works and other social developments, the population of knowledge consumers had swelled to include non-specialist intellectuals and even cultivated gentlemen. Not only the nobility, but also the simply affluent, assiduously strove to broaden their intellectual horizons, through travel as well as reading and formal education, and the circle widened to include drapers and even Jews. Young men attended universities and joined academic societies, and their social activity involved polite conversation on recent advances in natural philosophy and natural history. They supplemented their education by undertaking journeys of international travel, and later shared the knowledge and experiences they had acquired not only in conversation but also in writing and by means of the cabinets of curiosities they had assembled.91 91 Betty Jo Teeter Dobbs, “Newton as Final Cause and First Mover,” Rethinking the Scientific Revolution, ed. Margaret J. Osler (Cambridge, 2000), 25–39; Shapin, The Scientific Revolution, 119–35. On science and polite society, see Margaret C. Jacob, The Cultural Meaning

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The role of travel in the acquisition of knowledge, famously in the Grand Tour, is the key to the significance of the Palazzo Tè material for understanding the experience of amateur consumers of knowledge in early modern Europe. The dozens of printed accounts of the Chamber of the Giants concretize that Azulay and Lampronti’s experiences were typical of the age. Azulay was atypical insofar as he hailed from the Middle East, but his account of Palazzo Tè represents the catholicity of the hunger for knowledge expressed by seventeenth- and eighteenth-century European travelers, as he marvels at the wonders of human industry in art as well as science. And, indeed, the arts as well as the sciences were the stuff of genteel conversation in early modern salons and the subjects of treatises and correspondence by all and sundry. Some visitors to Palazzo Tè were stimulated to contemplate scientific principles, others were moved by the genius of Giulio Romano, but all stood and marveled.

of the Scientific Revolution (New York, 1988), 120–35, 144–60; Shapin, A Social History of Truth: Civility and Science in Seventeenth-Century England (Chicago, 1994), 119–25; William Clark, “The Pursuit of the Prosopography of Science,” The Cambridge History of Science, vol. 4: Eighteenth Century Science, ed. Roy Porter (Cambridge, 2003), 211–37; Findlen, Possessing Nature: Museums, Collecting, and Scientific Culture in Early Modern Italy (Berkeley, 1994).

CHAPTER 3

The Past

B

y the eighteenth century, the formative period of Jewish law was a distant memory. Not only had the Babylonian Talmud long since been thoroughly glossed, but even the Šulh.an Aruk had been cloaked in commentaries and glosses. Yet no legal system is ever complete, because new issues crop up in every generation, as social circumstances change. It is, therefore, incumbent upon those in positions of judicial and legislative authority to issue rulings and formulate rules that address the new challenges. However, because Jewish law is based on oral tradition, supposedly linking the Jews of every generation with Moses at Sinai, the endless evolution of the legal system carries with it an ever-increasing tension between the gravitational pull of tradition and the ineluctable need for innovation. Medieval rabbis gave voice to this anxiety in nervous proclamations of fidelity to the Ancients and laments about “the decline of the generations,” as generations became further and further removed from the revelational and traditional sources of knowledge.1 Faced with the intellectual and practical halakhic challenges of the day, rabbinical scholars grappled with the problem of the weight of tradition, as they tried to establish whether, when, and to what extent a latter-day decisor may challenge halakhic positions set down by venerated authorities. A number of calls for intellectual freedom have come down to us. In the introduction to his critical commentary on the code of Alfasi, Zerahiah Halevi of twelfth-century Lunel asserted the scholar’s right—nay, obligation—to differ with his predecessors, however esteemed, in the pursuit of truth, quoting a poetic maxim: “Truth is at variance with Plato, and both are beloved to us, but truth is more

1 Šabbat 112b, Eruvin 53a, Roš Hašana 25b, and medieval interpretations thereof, as well as medieval exegesis of Ecclesiastes 7:10. Cf. W. Jackson Bate, The Burden of the Past end the English Port (London: 1970). See also Menachem Kellner, Maimonides on the ­Decline of the Generations-and the Nature of Rabbinic Authority (Albany: 1996). On intellectual freedom and the dynamic of criticism and dialogue in medieval rabbinic literature, see also ­Isadore Twersky, Rabad of Posquiere: A Twelfth-Century Talmudist, second ed. (Philadelphia: 1980), xx–xiv.

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beloved.”2 In a more militant declaration of independence, Isaiah b. Mali di Trani, of thirteenth-century Italy, insisted that he would not hesitate to reject the express words of Joshua the son of Nun if they struck him as wrong. He justified the implicit effrontery of his stance by citing Bernard of Chartres’ parable of the dwarf seated on the giant’s shoulders, who can therefore see farther.3 Three centuries later, the peripatetic Eliezer Ashkenazi articulated a no-less fervent manifesto in favor of intellectual freedom.4 2 Zerahiah Halevi, introduction to Sefer Hamaor, in the name of Jonah ihn Jannah. Joseph Kimhi had used this expression before him, in the introduc­tion to his Sefer Hagalui; see Israel Ta-Shma, R. Zerahiah Halevi, Author of “Sefer Hamaor” and Members of his Circle (Hebrew), ( Jerusalem:1993); 141. Yair Haim Bacharach provides a list of later scholars who cited this dictum: Azariah de Rossi, Menashe ben Israel, Isaac Troki, Shemtov ihn Shemtov, and ­Moses Alfalas: see Havot Yair (Frankfurt a.M.:1699), #9. He cites it himself in responsum #210. Elia Benamozegh employed the adage with reference to Samuel David Luzzatto; see his Eimat Mafgia al Ari (Livorno: 1855), 1, 17a. 3 Isaiah di Trani, Teshuvot Harid, ed. Abraham Joseph Wertheimer ( Jerusalem: 1967), #1, col. 6–7; Isadore Twersky, “The contribution of the Italian sages to rabbinic literature,” Italia Judaica 1 (1983), 393–4. A similar reference to Joshua the son of Nun appears in Moses Taku’s Ktav Tamim: see Ozar Nchmad 3 (1860), 64. On the parable, see Robert K. Merton, On the Shoulders of Giants: A Shandean Postscript (NY: 1965). Abraham ibn Ezra used the parable before Isaiah di Trani, and much closer to its chronological point of origin, in his poem “Nedod Hesir Oni.” See Avraham Melamed, “On the sources of the grasshopper and giant metaphor in R. Abraham Ibn Ezra’s ‘Nedud Hesir Oni’” (Hebrew), Jerusalem Studies in Hebrew Literature (Hebrew), 13 (1992), 95–102. Isaiah di Trani’s use of the aphorism inspired its appearance in the works of later authors, including Zedekiah Anau, Abraham Bibago, Judah Hayat, Azariah de Rossi, David Gans, Abraham Azoulay, Isaac de Leon, Yom Tov Lipmann Heller, Pinhas Elijah Horvitz, Menahem Mendel. Lefin and Zadok Hakohen of Lublin. See: Dov Zlotnick, “The commentary of Rabbi Abraham Azulai to the Mishnah,” PAAJR 40 (1972), 164–8; S. Z. Leiman, “Dwarfs on the shoulders of giants,” Tradition 27 (1993), 90–94; Yaakov Elhaum, “On the sources and history of the aphorism of the dwarf and the giant” (Hebrew), Sinai 77 (1975), 287; Hillel Levine, “‘Dwarfs on the shoulders of giants’: a case study in the impact of modernization on the social epistemology of Judaism,” Jewish Social Studies 40 (1978), 63–72; Yaakov Elman, “R. Zadok Hakohen on the history of halakha,” Tradition 21 (1985), 6–7. 4 Eliezer Ashkenazi, Maasei Hashem (Venice: 1582–1583), fol. 169r; H.H Ben-Sasson, Social Thought of the Jews of Poland at the Close of the Middle Ages (Hebrew), ( Jerusalem: 1959), 34–8. For phenomenological treatments of the problem of authority, see: Eliezer B ­ erkovits, Halakha: its Power and Function (Hebrew), ( Jerusalem: 1981), esp. 156–08; ­Menachem Elon, Jewish Law: History, Sources, Principles, trans. Bernard Auerbach and Melvin J. Sykes ( Jerusalem: 1994), yol. 1, 266–72; Moshe Sokol (ed.), Rabbinic Authority and Personal Autonomy (Northvale, NJ: 1992); Norbert M. Samuelson (ed.), Reason and Revelation as Authority in Judaism (Melrose Park PA: 1981); J. J. Schachter (ed.), Rabbinic Authority, ­Tradition 27 (special issue) (1993); Shalom Rosenberg, Not in Heaven (Hebrew), (Alon Shvut: 1997); Joel Roth, The Halakhic Process: A Systematic Analysis (NY: 1986), 81–133, 153–204; Avi Sagi, “Models of authority and the duty of obedience in halakhic literature,”

The Pas

Inevitably, independence or autonomy becomes increasingly problematic with the passage of time. As new legal texts are churned out unremittingly, scholars perceive themselves as ever smaller in stature, and feel increasingly hemmed in and paralyzed by the sheer volume of the literature they must master. In the early modern era, namely, the sixteenth to eighteenth centuries, following the publication of the Šulh.an Aruk, which after initial resistance, gradually reached an unparalleled level of canonicity, the sense that the legal tradition had crystallized almost completely, leaving little room to maneuver, must have been stifling. By the end of this period, Jewish law had a byzantine complexity. Indeed, in the eighteenth century, the genius, of Elijah the Gaon of Vilna was his unique ability and willingness to cut through a millennium of medieval precedent and directly address the talmudic sources. To further our understanding of this problem, this chapter examines the Pah.ad Yis.h.aq of Isaac Lampronti of Ferrara (1679–1756), a physician and a relatively well-known (though little studied) halakhic expert, arguably the most illustrious in the history of Italian Jewry. Lampronti studied medicine at the University of Padua, where he was awarded a doctorate at the age of sixteen. He settled in Ferrara, married, and received rabbinical ordination in 1712. In 1715 Lampronti published a series of three pamphlets on halakhic issues, known as Bikkure Qas.ir (First Fruits of the Harvest), Rešit Bikkure Qas.ir, and ‘Itur Bikkure Qas.ir. His main literary achievement, however, was the Pah.ad Yis.h.aq, which had already begun to appear in print when Lampronti passed away in 1756.5 Lampronti serves as a case study of the ways in which rabbinic scholars of the early modern era confronted the dilemma of authority and AJS Review 20 (1995), 1–24; Yochanan Silman, The Voice Heard at Sinai: Once or Ongoing (Hebrew) ( Jerusalem: 1999). For some of the sources cited below I am indebted to the collection assembled by Avi Sagi in Not in Heaven (Hebrew) (Bnei Brak: 1993). 5 A number of works can serve as sources for Lampronti’s biography, but must be used carefully and critically, as they are not subject to independent verification. Hananel Nepi, whose Toledot Gedolei Yisrael appeared in 1853, received some information from Lampronti’s son, with whom he studied. Leone Reggio, Ferrara’s rabbi, whose biographi­cal sketch of Lampronti appeared in 1869 in Ivri Anochi, gleaned information from manuscripts of eulogies for Lampronti delivered by Lampronti’s disciples. Benedetto Levi, whose biography of Lampronti was published in 1871, and Abramo Pesaro, whose study of Ferrarese Jewry came out in 1878, found additional information in local archival and literary sources. More recent scholarship has added little, and subject to a search of Ferrara’s archives, the only corroboration of these sources is that provided by the Pah.ad Yis.h.aq itself, in which a few particulars are embedded. For a recent synthesis, see E. E. Urhach, “R. Isaac Lampronti and his Pahad Yizhak” (Hebrew), in Moses D. Herr and Yonah Fraenkel (eds.), Collected Writings in Jewish Studies (Hebrew) ( Jerusalem: 1998), 385–90.

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autonomy: whether and when they were empowered to depart from legal precedent and follow their own understanding of the sources, and what sorts of justifications they offered for doing so. Hopefully, more investigations of this nature will eventually enable us to situate Lampronti vis-à-vis other early modern decisors in this regard. The present study will shed light on what was possible in his particular historical context.6 The Pah.ad Yis.h.aq is an encyclopedia of Jewish law.7 This, in and of itself, suggests that Lampronti was an innovator, for although works of encyclopedic scope had already been undertaken within the realm of Hebrew literature, such as Abraham Portaleone’s Šilt. e Hagibborim, Lampronti’s legal encyclopedia was the first of its kind. The novelty of the genre was not lost on Lampronti’s contemporaries. In his preface, Jacob Saraval of Venice declared: “As soon as Lampronti showed me his work, 1 wanted to print it, for I saw its value, since there has never been anything like it … I was delighted, because something in which the scholars of the nations take pride has appeared among my own people.”8 But the Pah.ad Yis.h.aq is no ordinary encyclopedia in the modern sense of the term. Pah.ad Yis.h.aq entries take almost every form except the carefully formulated overview, including, for example, unpub­lished responsa, strings of citations, and even wholesale quotations from published legal sources. Moreover, Lampronti’s opus does not focus on the concept or principle under discussion, but rather provides any and all references he deems germane. Third, 6 In exploring this problem, there is no justification for distinguishing between different areas of Jewish law, such as ritual law and civil law, as the issue is methodological rather than substantive. For the same reason, meta-halakhic as well as halakhic entries must be considered. In addition, it is unnecessary to distinguish between entries of different literary forms, specifically, between encyclopedia articles and responsa. Finally, legal experts often express approbation or censure by inclusion or omission of a particular source; ignoring a had book can be a very effective critical mechanism. In theory, therefore, it would be important to survey Lampronti’s use of the medieval legal sources. However, given the scope of the Pah.ad Yis.h.aq, a systematic analysis of this nature would be a gargantuan undertaking, well beyond the capabilities of any one scholar. 7 The first volume appeared in Venice in 1750, the second in 1753. In 1756 Lampronti passed away, and subsequent volumes were published haltingly, in various locations. The final volume was only published in 1887. In 1935 a new edition, including the aleph—h.et entries from Lampronti’s second edition, was published in Tel Aviv, and from 1961–1986 Mossad Ha-Rav Kook produced an annotated edition, inte­grating the entries from the second edition, but covering only alef–gimel. In the following references, volumes are numbered in the order in which they were printed. 8 As noted above, in 1715 Lampronti published Bikkure Qas.ir, a three-pamphlet series on ­Jewish law. This was a pioneering Hebrew periodical, and as such further attests to ­Lampronti’s flair for innovative genres.

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the work is not strictly about Jewish law, but contains articles about terms and expressions from a variety of fields, including biography, history, lexicography, medicine, and science, among others. The Pah.ad Yis.h.aq is more accurately described as a database, compiled by Lampronti over decades. This is evident from a glance at the book’s autograph manuscript, which consists of 120 volumes of mostly empty pages, alphabetically ordered, with an occasional entry.9 There is also evidence of the database format in the book’s printed version, for Lampronti occasionally went back and corrected entries, as attested to by the following remark: “After writing this, I was fortunate enough to buy the book Keneset Hagedolah on Yoreh De‘ah, where I found …”10 The form common to numerous entries also supports the characterization of the Pah.ad Yis.h.aq as an organic database. Many entries contain anecdotes from Lampronti’s personal experience to support or clarify the subject. The anecdotes typically appear toward the end of the entries, as they are personal testimonies rather than bibliographic citations. Where there is one anecdote, there are often more, and invariably they are presented in chronological order. This chronologi­cal order reflects the book’s genesis, as there would be no reason for them to be so ordered other than the fact that they were entered over time, and ultimately printed in the order in which they were entered.11 The Pah.ad Yis.h.aq synthesizes the considerable material that had accumulated in the century and a half since the appearance of the Šulh.an Aruk. Like Maimonides, Lampronti responded to the threat of information overload by jettisoning the traditional format and produc­ing a new structure. And like the Mishne Torah, the Pah.ad Yis.h.aq served as a vehicle for the popularization of the halakha.12 Indeed, it is more user-friendly than a code, because the alphabetical format does not even require the user to be familiar with systems of legal classification. Whether or not this was Lampronti’s intention, the Pah.ad Yis.h.aq enabled anyone of his time with a modicum of Jewish education to investigate a topic and identify the pertinent bibliography. This speaks volumes about the spiritual state of Italian Jewry in the eighteenth century. Although Lampronti described the end of the seventeenth century as an age when Italy “was in the fullness of her Torah,”13 the suitability of 9 Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, Ms. Hebrew 458–577. 10 Vol. 5, Jerusalem 1986, col. 520, s.v. gargeret bevar avaza. 11 On the Pah.ad Yis.h.aq as an evolving work, see vol. 18, Jerusalem 1966, col. 17, s.v. i shetiqato. 12 On Maimonides’ importance for Lampronti, see below. 13 Literally, keshehaita bemiloa shel tora. See vol. 6, Livorno 1840, fol. 199r, s.v. mikve shel rovigo.

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the Pah.ad Yis.h.aq for lay readers suggests that Italian Jewry was by no means spiritually enervated, but rather enjoyed a vibrant religious life. In Lampronti’s society, the general public could be expected not only to participate in religious rites, but also to take an active interest in the study of Jewish law and lore.14 In addition to the importance of the Pahad Yizhak for the study of Jewish culture in Italy, it offers valuable testimony as to the state of Jewish law in the eighteenth century, toward the end of the pre-modern era. From this perspective, its significance extends beyond Lampronti’s lifetime, as it attests to the development of Jewish law in early modern Europe following the publication and general acceptance of the Šulh.an Aruk.

AUTHORITY As a man of science, Lampronti believed that knowledge must be acquired empirically, rather than by abstract reasoning, and he applied this approach to Jewish law as well as to scientific matters. For Lampronti, the realm of the empirical encompassed both intellectual activity, such as halakhic research, and practical matters. In many entries he records the results of his own studies of various objects and issues, and on numerous other occasions he calls upon the reader (addressing him in the second person) to adopt a position on the basis of personal experience, rather than the authority of earlier scholars.15 His attitude not only reflects Lampronti’s intellectual independence from his prede­cessors, but also supplies a theoretical basis for this independence. Lampronti had other grounds for rejecting slavish acceptance of revered legal doctrines and sources, but the point he emphasizes is the right and capacity of the scholar, of whatever era, to pursue his own quest for truth, with a particular emphasis on empirical verification.16 Lampronti did not assume this critical attitude vis-a-vis the Sages of classical antiquity. This is plain from his discussion of a matter related to animal 14 The image of Italian-Jewish culture in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries as stagnant or decadent is problematic. See: David Malkiel, “The Jewish-Christian debate on the eve of modernity: Joshua Segre of Scandiano and his Asham Talui,” Revue des Études Juives 164 (2005), 157–86. Recent scholarship on the cultural activity of this period includes: Devora Bregman, Path of Gold (Hebrew) ( Jerusalem: 1995); Idem, A Bundle of Gold (Hebrew) ( ­Jerusalem: 1998); David B. Ruderman, Jewish Thought and Scientific Discovery in Early Modern Europe (New Haven: 1995). 15 See, e.g., vol. 18, col. 565, s.v. ešh min ha-ʻes.im. 16 On the dilemma facing the decisor when science contradicts Jewish law, see the sources compiled in Hanina Ben-Menahem, Neil Hecht and Shai Wosner (eds.), Controversy and Dialogue in the Halakhic Sources (Hebrew) (Boston and Jerusalem: 1993), vol. 2, 967–1070.

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anatomy.17 First, he cites a statement from Judah Halevi’s Kuzari, namely, that “the Rabbis’ laws concerning the slaugh­tering of animals contain scientific insights that eluded even Galen”18; he follows this up with Solomon ibn Adret’s comment that natural sci­ence cannot explain many of the wondrous properties found in nature, such as magnetism and dream interpretation.19 These dicta preface the methodological declaration that, when confronted with a rabbinic observation that seemingly contradicts scientific knowledge, Lampronti will invoke a matching view expressed by an ancient philosopher, even if this position was subsequently rejected; alternatively, he classifies the rabbinic observation in the category of knowledge derived from tradition, and makes no attempt to reconcile it with current scientific knowledge.20 Changes in the scientific consensus in the early modern period put this policy to the test. Based on evidence that lice reproduce by laying eggs rather than through spontaneous generation, Lampronti ques­tioned the traditional assumption that they may be killed on the Sabbath. He brought the matter before his teacher, Judah Briel of Mantua, who upheld the traditional position. Briel explained that sci­ence contradicts tradition on various matters, such as the existence of the evil eye, but that hitherto this has not been deemed a sufficient rea­son to alter Jewish law. Briel also pointed out that science is fickle, and that the consensus sometimes swings back to the position supported by the scholars of antiquity, as in the case of the heliocentric thesis.21 Lampronti replied that talmudic knowledge could be flawed when the Sages based their dicta on current—ancient—science, rather than on Jewish tradition. He also noted that scientists often disagree, and that it is therefore, still possible to maintain the geocentric thesis as well as belief in the evil eve.22 On the basis Vol. 5, Reggio Emilia 1813, fol. 72v–73r, s.v. kelayot yo‘tzot. Kuzari IV:31. Responsa Attributed to Solomon ibn Adret, #286. There are medieval precedents for the view that the laws of treifot are matters of received tradition, and hence not subject to change on the basis of scientific advances. See: Maimonides, Code, Laws concerning Shehita 10:12; Solomon ibn Adret, Responsa, part 1,108; Isaac b. Sheshet, Responsa, #447. Note that Lampronti approached non-Jewish sources in the same uncritical spirit. He often adduced a Greek or Roman work, and some­times recent European authorities, in support of a statement from a traditional Jewish source, but these sources are never subjected to critical scrutiny. See, e.g., vol. 18, col. 689–90., s.v. isha roa dam; vol. 2, Venice 1753, fol. 100r, s.v. dam nida. 21 Pesah.im 94b. 22 Vol. 11, Lyck 1874, s.v. s.edah. The remark about the evil eve opens a window on Lampronti’s attitude toward magic and the supernatural, a topic worthy of separate investigation. On the lice quandary, see David B. Ruderman, “Contemporary science and Jewish law in the eyes

17 18 19 20

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of these arguments, Lampronti clung to talmudic views on the natural order, with their halakhic implications, in the face of the evidence and conclusions of contemporary science. On the other hand, medieval authorities were fair game. This stance finds expression in Lampronti’s head-on collision with received tradition on another question pertaining to animal anatomy. The Gemara states that cattle have three tubes (kanim). Rashi explains that these three tubes actually refer to the windpipe, which splits into three tubes after it enters the chest; ultimately this interpretation is codified in the Šulh.an Aruk.23 Lampronti flatly rejects Rashi’s interpretation, insisting that the various tubes are not interconnected. This is easily proved, he explains, by inflating the lung after cutting and severing it from the liver and heart: the long would fail to inflate were it connected to these organs.24 The crucial point here is that Lampronti did not hes­itate to give preference to his own knowledge of bovine anatomy over a halakhic tradition dating back to Rashi, though it had held sway for seven hundred years. He made no attempt to salvage Rashi’s position through interpretation, and does not appear to have been the least bit daunted by the weight of Rashi’s authority. Yet we must also note that the incident did not lead Lampronti to question the overall merit of Rashi’s interpretative edifice. On the contrary, in some cases Lampronti upholds Rashi’s comments, but gives them his own reading.25 Lampronti also expressed views at variance with those of the Tosafists, whose glosses on the Talmud and on Rashi had long since been vested with the mantle of legal authority. For example, the Talmud declares a scholar (talmid hakham) to be one who rules that his own meat is unfit to be eaten (H.ullin 44b). The Tosafists linked this statement to another talmudic law (Šabbat 114a), according to which a scholar who claims ownership of a lost object is to be believed on his own say-so, even if he fails to supply any identifying marks. In other words, the Tosafists applied the rule concerning lost objects to anyone known to have prohibited his own meat. Lampronti wrote: “And I, the writer, find this difficult,” because the Talmud defines a scholar differently in its discussion of lost objects. The Tosafists’ dictum has practical implications, and in this respect Lampronti’s rejection of it seems more striking than his critique of

of Isaac Lampronti of Ferrara and some of his contemporaries,” Jewish History 6 (1992), 211–24. 23 H.ullin 45b; Yoreh De‘ah 34:10. 24 Vol. 14, Berlin 1887, fol. 53r–54r, s.v. telata kanei. 25 Vol. 17, Jerusalem 1961, col. 19, s.v. i tania tania.

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Rashi, whose point appears to have been merely academic.26 This is a significant mark of independence from the authority of his great predecessors, in light of the words of Moses Alsheikh, of sixteenth-century Palestine. Alsheikh asserted that latter-day scholars are not empowered to diverge from the positions and rulings of their predecessors when they were on entirely different planes of knowledge, bringing as an example the impropriety of a contemporary scholar taking issue with the Tosafists.27 Maimonides, a fellow rabbi-physician, occupied a special place in ­Lampronti’s heart. His attitude to Maimonides is plain from his discussion of the three tubes: According to Maimonides, the prince of physicians (abir harofim), and the scholars in the field of surgery, these three tubes are not related to each other, do not draw from each other, and do not branch off from each other, but rather each has its own existence, as opposed to what Rashi stated. Look clearly with your own eyes and the wisdom of your intellect, and you will see that I am right.28

In praising Maimonides as “the prince of physicians,” Lampronti was doing more than expressing professional solidarity. By aligning Maimonides with “the scholars in the field of surgery,” Lampronti is suggesting that “the great eagle” held the correct view by virtue of his medical credentials, rather than his halakhic expertise. Despite his affinity for Maimonides, Maimonides’ code plays only a minor role in the Pah.ad Yis.h.aq, for the Šulh.an Aruk had long since become the authoritative source of Jewish law. In a rare exception to this rule, Lampronti followed the Mishne Torah rather than the Šulh.an Aruk in 1728, when faced 26 Another example of Lampronti’s independence of the Tosafists concerns the latter’s assertion that R. Tarfon was R. Akiva’s teacher, a claim Lampronti rejects using strong language. See Tosafot on Avodh Zarah 45a s.v. amar rabi akiva ani ovin veadun lefanekha; Pah.ad Yis.h.aq, vol. 3, Venice 1796, fol. 21v, s.v. halekha hamorekha tarfon. This issue also surfaced in Lampronti’s discussion of the Ten Tribes: vol. 9, Lyck 1868, fol. 172v, s.v. aseret hashvatim. See also David Malkiel, “The Sambatyon and the ten lost tribes in Isaac Lampronti’s Pah.ad Yis.h.aq” (Hebrew), Pe’amim 94/95 (2003), 159–80 [= “The Sambation” in the present volume]. On R. Akiva, see also vol. 19, col. 484–5, s.v. biur trumot umaasrot. 27 Responsa Alsheikh, #39, canonized in the gloss of Shabtai Hakohen on SA, HM 25:3, n. 21. 28 Vol. 14, fol. 53v, s.v. telata kanei havei. See Code, Laws concerning Shehita 6:5, 6:8, 7:1. See also Julius Preuss, Biblical and Talmudic Medicine, trans. and ed. Fred Rosner (New York: 1978), 103.

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with a case of a child whose circumcision had been postponed due to illness, and was now due to take place on the festival of Shemini Atzeret. Circumcision constitutes a desecration of the Sabbath and festivals, and Lampronti wrote that had Shemini Atzeret been the original date of the circumcision, it would have been impossible to postpone the ritual so as to avoid the desecration. However, since Shemini Atzeret was in any case not the original date, it occurred to him (ala bedaati) to conduct the circumcision a day later, on Simhat Torah, since this would only constitute a desecration of the second day of a festival, known as “the second-day festival of the Diaspora,” which by all accounts is a less sacred day. Medieval opinion was divided regarding the permissibility of such desecration, with Maimonides heading the list of lenient authorities and Asher b. Yehiel heading the stringent camp, which included Joseph Karo.29 Lampronti wrote that since the Ferrara community had no fixed custom on this matter, he brought his suggestion before “the great rabbis of the yeshiva,” and they approved it unanimously.30 In this case, then, the Mishne Torah got the nod over the Šulh.an Aruk, although this was not as radical a move as it might appear at first glance, since, as Lampronti noted, Shabtai Hakohen had, in his glosses on the Šulh.an Aruk, already adopted Maimonides’ position. For the most part, however, Lampronti drew from the Mishne Torah in those areas where Maimonides had a special contribution to make. One such area is that of laws that are in abeyance due to the Exile. Thus, Lampronti cites Maimonides on the laws concerning the sale of a daughter into servitude.31 Maimonides also plays a significant role in entries devoted to non-halakhic topics. Lampronti relied on the historical introduction to the Mishne Torah for his entry on R. Judah the Patriarch’s authorship of the Mishnah.32 Maimonides’ Code occupies a particular pride of plate in entries pertaining to matters of science. Lampronti’s entry on the proper way to a healthy regimen is based entirely on Maimonides’ prescriptions.33 Likewise, Lampronti is heavily indebted to Maimonides for pharmacological insights into the composition 29 Code, Laws concerning Circumcision 1:9; SA, YD 266:8. 30 Vol. 6, fol. 96r–v, s.v. mila shelo bizmana eina doha shabat ve-yom tov. 31 Vol. 17, col. 9, s.v. av mokher bito leama. This is not to say that Lampronti only cited the Mishne Tora in cases such as these. There are, e.g., numerous references to it in connection with the laws concerning the return of lost objects, which are certainly applicable to daily life in the Diaspora. 32 Vol. 6, fol. 219r, s.v. mishna, im ketava rabi. 33 Vol. 18, col. 28, s.v. beriut dine hanhagat haadam ba.

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of the Temple incense.34 Elsewhere, Lampronti explains a talmudic expression with an example from logic (including a diagram), and his source—though unacknowledged—is Maimonides’ treatise on logic.35 Ethics, being part of the philosophical curriculum, belongs in this category too, and the Mishne Torah is cited in the entries on love of humanity and of God.36 Naturally, Maimonides plays an important role in entries devoted to theological and philosophical matters, such as resurrection. In these realms (which call for separate treatment) Lampronti’s position vis-à-vis Maimonides is respectful but not uncritical. For instance, he admits to being unable to decide between the views of Maimonides and Solomon ibn Adret on the question of whether the material world will continue to exist at the End of Days.37 In the same vein, an entry devoted to the Guide for the Perplexed states simply: “and his words are very problematic” (udvarav temuhin harbei).38 The limited role of Maimonides’ Code in the Pah.ad Yis.h.aq reflects the niche it occupied in the curriculum of the Ferrara Jewish community somewhat later in the eighteenth century. A set of statutes from the local Talmud Torah, dated 1767, provides for study of sections from the Mishne Torah at three of the school’s four levels, but only particular, isolated sections: for level 2 students, the laws concerning the recitation of the Shema and the Amida prayers; hand-picked students at level 3 were to be taught the laws of doctrines39 and of repentance; students at level 4 were to study the opening section, devoted to fundamentals, and the section on doctrines.40 Those selections deal with what were apparently considered fundamental doctrines of ritual law and religious ideology, areas in which Maimonides’ formulations seem to have provided the desired content in clear, concise, and elegant formulations. As Robert Bonfil has described, during the Italian Renaissance the Mishne Torah declined in popularity as a practical guide to Jewish law, and was largely Vol. 11, fol. 175r–v, s.v. ketoret vesamemanav. Vol. 17, col. 213, s.v. aderaba ifkha mistabra (from second ed.). Vol. 17, col. 216, s.v. ahavat ish et ahiv; ahavat hakadosh barukh hu. Vol. 14, fol. 28r–v, s.v. tehiyat ha-metim. Vol. 6, fol, 67r, s.v. more nevukhim; Lampronti refers readers to his entry on intercessory prayer (vol. 11, fol. 33v–58r, s.v. tzrakhav al yishal). Sec David Malkiel, “Between worldliness and traditionalism: eighteenth-century Jews debate intercessory prayer,” Jewish Studies, an Internet Journal (2003), 169–98 [= “Intercessory Prayer” in the present volume]. 39 Namely Code, Hilkhot De‘ot—Laws concerning the Fundamental Principles of the Torah. 40 Simha Assaf, A Source Book for the History of Jewish Education (Hebrew), second ed., ed. S. Glick (NY and Jerusalem: 2001), vol. 2, 366–7. 34 35 36 37 38

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replaced by Jacob b. Asher’s Arba’ah Turim.41 However, judging by the Pah.ad Yis.h.aq, the Turim was no longer dominant in the eighteenth century. It is rarely cited, and the citations more often address the principal commentaries on the Turim, the Bayit H.adash and Bet Yosef, than the Turim proper. The obvious reason for this change is the appearance of the Šulh.an Aruk around 1565 and its striking ascendancy thereafter. In one instance Lampronti does give serious consideration to the position of Jacob b. Asher.42 At issue was the Tosafists’ view regarding the blessings recited at the conclusion of a wedding feast. Lampronti writes that he was perplexed by the fact that the position attributed to the Tosafists in the Turim contradicts the text of the Tosafists themselves “as you, the reader, can see with your own eyes.”43 He recounts that his suspicion that his text of the Tosafot might be defective led him, while visiting Padua and Venice in 1724, to check a number of texts of the relevant talmudic passage, in different editions, and thereby confirm the accuracy of his own copy. This entry further illuminates Lampronti’s methodology. It is fairly unusual for Lampronti to report having compared different printed editions of halakhic works in order to ascertain the correct text.44 Still, this sort of textual criticism was an element of Lampronti’s empiricism, and it reflects the value he attached to first-hand knowledge, to seeing with one’s own eyes. To return, however, to the main point, the entry documents an exceedingly rare instance in which Lampronti lavished careful attention upon the Arbaa Turim. More surprising is the less-than-complete authority accorded the Šulh.an Aruk in the Pah.ad Yis.h.aq. Lampronti sets down his approach explicitly in the following statement: “There are those who say that it was written, not by R. Joseph Karo, but rather by one or more of his disciples, and therefore we do not rule in accordance with it, but rather we examine the Beit Yosef before issuing a ruling.”45 The statement is ambiguous, for Lampronti neither ­identifies 41 Robert Bonfil, Rabbis and Jewish Communities in Renaissance Italy, trans. Jonathan Chipman (Oxford: 1990), 256, 263–4. 42 Vol. 20, Jerusalem 1976, cols. 133–5, s.v. birkat hatanim. 43 Ata hameayen roe beeinekha. See Arba’ah Turim, EH 62; cf. Pesah.im 102b s.v. sheein omrim. 44 See below, however, on Lampronti’s attitude to textual criticism. 45 Vol. 13, Berlin 1886, fol. 209v, s.v. Šulh.an Aruk. This hypothesis was aired in the seventeenth century, in a responsum by Samuel Aboab, Devar Shmuel (Venice: 1702), #255; see Elon, Jewish Law, n. 4 above, vol. 3, 1371. See also Meir Benayahu, “Why did R. Joseph Karo write the Šulh.an Aruk, and for whom?” (Hebrew) Asufot 3 (1989), 266. For an example of an entry in which a view expressed in the Bet Yosef is explicitly rejected, see vol. 8, Lyck 1866,

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openly with the hypothesis, nor distances himself from it. Whether or not he believed that Karo authored the Šulh.an Aruk, other entries in the Pah.ad Yis.h.aq reflect the same sort of critical stance. In an exchange of views with Samson Morpurgo of Ancona regarding a conflict between the laws of mourning and those of wedding celebrations, Lampronti follows Maimonides rather than the Šulh.an Aruk. Morpurgo criticized him for spurning the Šulh.an Aruk, which he deemed a universally accepted source, in favor of Maimonides and Jacob b. Meir Tam, the Tosafist, whom Morpurgo viewed as less authoritative than Karo.46 Lampronti’s attitude toward earlier authorities and halakhic tradition surfaces obliquely in an entry devoted to a controversy that erupted in Ferrara in 1700 over the wedding of a young, single woman who was already pregnant. At issue was the halakhic requirement that the wedding be delayed for two years. The woman’s family opposed the delay, partly because their prospective son-in-law had threatened that, if forced to wait, the couple would apostasize and marry as Christians. Shabtai Elhanan Sanguinetti of Ferrara was unyielding, arguing, inter alia, that Israel Isserlein of fifteenth-century Germany had already ruled that the threat of apostasy is not a halakhic consideration.47 In reply, Judah Briel and Joseph Barukh Kazes, the leading rabbis of Mantua, cited David b. Samuel Halevi (1586–1667), author of Turei Zahav, one of the principal commentaries on the Šulh.an Aruk, who rejected Isserlein’s position.48 Sanguinetti would not relent, and he upbraided the Mantuan fol. 156r–v, where Lampronti writes: “the Beit Yosef would be pleased to have this obstacle removed from his books, and God is with us.” 46 Vol. 17, col. 118, s.v. aveilut bepurim. See SA, YD 392. A similar combination of deference and independence toward the Šulh.an Aruk was expressed by Jacob Emden, a younger contemporary of Lampronti, in the introduc­tion to his Mishnah commentary, quoted in Roth, n. 4 above, 111–12. In a responsum, Emden cited the dictum, attributed to Moses Lima of Lithuania, that one is only qualified to issue legal decisions if he is able to uproot a section of the Šulh.an Aruk; see Emden’s Sheeilat Yaavetz (Lemberg, 1884), part 2, #20, fol. 12v. On Emden’s attitude to Maimonides, see J. J. Schachter, “Rabbi Jacob Emden, philosophy and the authority of Maimonides,” in Schacter, n. 4 above, 131–9. Yair Haim Bacharach (Havot Yair, #165) anticipated Morpurgo’s wholesale embrace of the Šulh.an Aruk, which was shared by Jonathan Eibeschutz, see Urim Vetumim on SA, HM 25, paras. 123–24 ([Carlsruhe, 1775], vol. 1, fol. 46v-47r). On the his­tory of the reception of the Šulh.an Aruk, see Elon, n. 4 above, vol. 3, 1368–1422; Isadore Twersky, “The Šulh.an Aruk: enduring code of Jewish law,” in Judah Goldin (ed.), The Jewish Expression (New Haven, 1976), 322–43; Ben-Menahem et al., n. 16 above, vol. 1, 513–85. 47 Terumat Hadeshen, Pesakim, #138. Moses Isserles had incorporated Isserlein’s ruling into his gloss on YD 334: 1, regarding the laws of excom­munication. 48 Turei Zahav ad loc.

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a­ uthorities for adhering to the view of a relatively recent scholar against that of earlier ­authorities: And should you say to [your] servant: “The law is in accordance with later scholars, as opposed to those of antiquity,”49 I wish I knew how far back this rule applies, giving permission to recent scholars (­aharonim) to overturn the views of earlier ones (harishonim), whose knowledge was broader than ours is. And should we say “forever,” this is ­unthinkable.50

Ultimately the rabbis of Ferrara, including Sanguinetti, yielded to the Mantuan scholars. Lampronti addressed Sanguinetti’s comment on the authority of predecessors: “You should know that the author of the Turei Zahav was the wonder of his generation, and all the scholars of Israel would yield to his words, for he was like a Tanna and an Amora, and the word of God was truly in his mouth.” He later added a personal note: “I remember that when we once had a case involving some blackguard (beli-yaal), and we considered following the Terumat Hadeshen, we could not bring ourselves to perform an act that contra­vened the [view of the] author of the Turei Zahav, a great

49 Hilkheta kevatraei neged hakadmonim. On this principle, see: Moses Alashkar, Responsa, #54; Moses Alsheikh, Responsa, #39: Moses Isserles on SA, HM 25:2. Numerous sources are collected in Controversy and Dialogue, n. 16, above, vol. 1, 243–91. See also: Abraham Joshua Heschel, Theology of Ancient Judaism (Hebrew), vol. 3 ( Jerusalem: 1990), 147–50; Elon, n. 4 above, vol. 1, 267–7; Israel Ta-Shma, “The law is in accord with the later a­ uthority—­Hilkheta kebatraei: historical observations on a legal rule,” in H. Ben-Menahem and N. S. Hecht. (eds.), Authority, Process and Method: Studies in Jewish Law (Amsterdam: 1998), 101–28 (including both a trans­lation of Ta-Shma’s original article, which appeared in Shenaton ­Hamisphpat Haivri 6–7 (1979/1980), 405–23, and a postscript added in 1994); idem, Ritual, Custom and Reality in Franco-Germany 1000–1350 ( Jerusalem: 1996), 76–8; I. Yuval, “Antiqui et moderni, rishornim veaharonim,” Zion 57 (1992), 372–94; Avraham Meir Rafeld, “The halakha follows the later sages” (Hebrew), Sidra 8 (1992), 119–40; Shai Wosner, “Hilkheta kevatraei: a new perspective,” Shenaton Hamishpat Haivri 20 (1997), 151–67; Jeffrey R. Woolf, “Between diffidence and initiative: Ashkenazic legal decising in the late Middle Ages,” JJS 52 (2001), 92–7. 50 Vol. 18, col. 583, s.v. ‘ishah enah mitqadeshet elah ad ahar zeman yeniqah. Sanguinetti’s final remark is a partial quote from responsum #53 by Moses Alashkar, as he immediately acknowledges. Yuval, n. 49 above, 382–6, notes that, paradoxically, the hilkheta kevatraei principle also served to cut off the possibility of innovation, rather than to justify and expand judicial autonomy. Joseph Kolon, of fifteenth-century Italy, broke new ground by applying the principle to medieval decisors, but did not consider it applicable to subsequent authorities, such as his own contemporaries.

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and ­wonderful rabbi, especially since he was right.”51 Instead of debating Sanguinetti on the merits or relevance of the principle that “the law is in accordance with later scholars” (hilkheta kevatraei), Lampronti emphasized Halevi’s reputation and the justice of his position in the case at hand; for him, these considerations overrode both Isserlein’s reputation and the authority supposedly commanded by his status as an earlier authority. This was so despite the fact that Isserlein’s stance had been codified in Moses Isserles’ canonical gloss on the Šulh.an Aruk, the Mapa. Lampronti’s extravagant praise for David Halevi is noteworthy, for the Pah.ad Yis.h.aq is not rich in encomia for individual scholars, apart from formulaic references to medieval titans. However, it is not unique—Lampronti also extolled an older contemporary of Halevi, Yom Tov Zahalon, the Maharitatz (b. 1559): “I heard from my teachers that the most learned scholars (geonim) wrote that no one knows how to answer the questions of the Maharitatz.”52 This compliment is not nearly as extravagant as Lampronti’s panegyric for a nearer contemporary, Yair Haim Bacharach (1638–1702): He explains his early and later words and strengthens them … with the profundity of his intellect and erudition and the sweetness of his tongue, which is golden. Study him, for he is great and powerful, and I consider his might greater (yishar helei) than that of all of his contemporaries (bnei gilo). For I truly saw from his book that he was perfect in Torah and piety, and expert in all the books and sciences that he needed. And there is in him [something] of Maimonides’ knowledge, and he followed his path; blessed be she who bore him.53

The piety, elegant style, and scientific knowledge for which Bacharach is praised seem to represent the virtues dearest to Lampronti’s heart. Maimonides, to whom Bacharach is compared, very likely served as Lampronti’s role model, not least, as noted above, because of their shared occupation. Lampronti’s position in the Sanguinetti brouhaha was probably determined, at least partially, by his fidelity to Briel and Kazes, both of whom had been his teachers. Lampronti’s devotion to his teachers also emerges from an entry about whether, upon leaving a cemetery, one ought to dry his hands after washing them. 51 Ibid, col. 592. 52 Vol. 6, fol. 25r, s.v. Maharitatz. 53 Vol. 10, Lyck 1871, fol. 4v, s.v. pidyon bekhor.

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Lampronti noted that he had seen his two teachers, Rabbis Briel and Kazes, dry their hands, “and I followed them and always did as they did”54 (emphasis added). Thus it seems that although Lampronti deviated from the medieval masters, he held the authority of his own teachers to the ­unimpeachable.55 Lampronti’s independence of the Šulh.an Aruk was sufficient to allow him, in a matter related to the laws of mourning, to explicitly reject a position codified in the Šulh.an Aruk in favor of that of an exact contemporary, Jacob Reischer of Prague.56 This is a powerful mark of Lampronti’s refusal to blindly accept the rulings of authoritative works. The decision to embrace Reischer’s stance also demonstrates Lampronti’s willingness to invoke a broad spectrum of views. Rather than adhere to the Sefardic axis of Alfasi, Maimonides, Jacob b. Asher, and Joseph Karo, Lampronti cited an impressive range of sources, with no clear preference for earlier works, or for those of a particular geographical or ethnic stamp, be it Ashkenazic, Sefardic, or Italian. This broad-ranging approach to sources is illustrated by Lampronti’s use of unconventional sources from within the corpus of medieval Hebrew literature. A prime example is Azariah De‘ Rossi’s Meor Einayim, banned shortly after it was printed in 1573, and not reprinted until the end of the eighteenth century. Lampronti refers to the four proofs this work offers for the rule that one must begin a tale with an invocation of the divine name.57 He also cites Leon ­Modena’s Shaagat Arye, which was available only in manuscript.58 This ­eclecticism in itself implies independence from authority. 54 Vol. 11, fol. 67v, s.v. qavru ha-met. In 1706 Lampronti queried the two Mantuan scholars on a matter of ritual: vol. 6, fol. 19r–v, s.v. megila mevarekhin ahareha. Similarly, regarding the questionable obligation to prostrate oneself during the passage beginning “And [when] the priests and the people (vehakohanim vehaam)” in the Musaf service for Yom Kippur, Lampronti noted: “And I, the author, served great scholars and saw that they did not prostrate themselves.” See vol. 6, fol. 52r, s.v. musaf beyom hakipurim vedinav. 55 Whether Lampronti’s judicial decisions mirror this declaration of fidelity has yet to he determined. On the requirement of fidelity to teachers, as opposed to other authorities, see Roth, n. 4, above, 84–5; Silman, n. 4 above, 58–61. This value may be related to the veneration of custom, discussed below. 56 Vol. 17, col. 8, s.v. av yakhol letzavot. See SA, YD 344:10 and Reischer, Shvut Yaakov, part 2, #102. 57 Vol. 20, col. 209 s.v. beshem hashem naase venathil kol maase. See also vol. 5, fol. 72v, s.v. kelayot yo‘atzot. Cf. Aviad Sar Shalom Basilea, Emunat Hakhamim (Mantua, 1730), fol. 38r, who critiqued Azariah De‘ Rossi (“Edom”) at roughly the same time. For other references to Meor Enayim in the sixteenth to eighteenth centuries, see Yom Tov Lipmann Zunz, “The history of R. Azaria de Rossi” (Hebrew), Kerem Hemed 5 (1841), 146. 58 Vol. 5, col. 483, s.v. gemara vekabala holkim ze al ze. It seems that Lampronti intended to refer to another of Modena’s manuscript works, Ari Nohem. The error is implied in his remark that

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It might he expected that the legal rulings of one with mastery of such a wide range of sources, who by no means exhibits slavish adher­ence to his predecessors, would be bold and original. In this respect Lampronti’s halakhic judgment is sometimes disappointing. In 1721 he was asked whether it was permissible to lend an object to another for a specified period of time, at the end of which the lender would be repaid the current value of the object, even if that value was higher than the original value, which might render the act usurious and hence unlawful. Lampronti replied in the negative, maintaining, “the new law that you thought to generate from the wellspring and source of your intellect is not to be seen or found in the [responsa of] the Maharik [ Joseph Kolon], nor in any of the decisors, new or old, for the law is not a true law.”59 For Lampronti, the innovation was suspect because it did not fit the main thrust of the legal sources, “new or old.” But Lampronti felt that his correspondent’s suggestion was not only unsubstantiated, but wrongheaded as well. In his view, repay­ment at the commodity’s later value would only be lawful if the con­tract between the parties stated that the borrower would be repaying in kind: if, however, the loan, when originally made, was linked to the initial value of the object, the borrower had to repay the stipu­lated sum, regardless of subsequent fluctuations in the object’s value. In this case, if not always, Lampronti’s respect for sources and prece­dents was of secondary importance. His primary consideration was substantive, rather than methodological: if an idea made sense, he tended to accept it.60 Modena wrote the work for his student, the physician Joseph Hamiz. It was a common error: Isaiah Bassan also referred to Ari Nohem by that name, as did Aviad Sar Shalom Basilea. See Isaiah Tishby, The Wisdom of the Zohar, trans. David Goldstein (Oxford, 1989), vol. 1, 36. Tishby notes that although Ari Nohem was still in manuscript, it was not unknown, as evidenced by the fact that it inspired Moses Haim Luzzato’s defense of kabbalah, Hoker Umekubal. 59 Vol. 8, fol. 1v, s.v. seia beseia asur lilvot. 60 This attitude evokes the talmudic dictum that one must insist that left is left and right is right, and reject assertions to the contrary no matter how authoritative their source. See Horayot 1:1 (45d); Maimonides, Code, Laws concerning Offerings for Transgressions committed through Error 13:5–6. However, the opposite view can also be found: Sifre Deuteronomy, Mishpatim, 154; Rashi on Deuteronomy 17:11; Maimonides, Code, Laws concerning Rebels 2:2. See: Yitzhak D. Gilat, Studies in the Development of the Halakha (Ramat-Gan: 1992), 183–90; Yaakov Blidstein, “‘Even if he tells you that right is left’: on the force and limits of authority in Jewish law” (Hebrew), in Avi Sagi and Zeev Safrai (eds.), Betweeen Authority and Autonomy in Jewish Tradition (Hebrew) (Tel Aviv, 1997), 158–80; Michael Z. Nehorai, “Between knowledge and faith” (Hebrew) ( Jerusalem, 1982), 6–10. This issue often serves as a point of departure for discussions of conscience and equity in Jewish law. See Elon, n. 4 above, vol. 1, 247–61; Aaron Kirschenbaum, “Subjectivity in rabbinic decision-making,” in Sokol, n. 4 above, 61–91.

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This scale of values is implicit in the statement, quoted above, that the rabbis of Ferrara could not bring themselves to contravene the view expressed in David Halevi’s Turei Zahav, “especially since he was right.” But the Pah.ad Yis.h.aq also contains an explicit policy statement to this effect. In one entry, Lampronti notes that the responsa of recent halakhic authorities (aharonim) sometimes state disparagingly that a particular scholar was the only one to draw a certain distinction, while at other times this silence is presented in a benign light: since the schol­arly community did not take issue with the distinction, it must have found it compelling. Lampronti then presents the following view: I have seen in my heart that the nature of this matter depends on the judge’s judgment. if that decisor’s distinction is correct and reasonable, and is not contradicted by the Gemara and by the decisors, even by close analysis (midiuka), then we say that the law is in accord with [the view of] that decisor, and presumably everyone admits [the truth of his distinction]. However, if it is possible to cast doubt (legamgem) on the decisor’s distinction on the basis of the meaning of the Gemara or the decisor, or logically, then we say that presumably they disagree with it.61

Although this passage implies that the decisor enjoys a considerable degree of latitude, it is nevertheless a fairly conservative statement, for it legitimizes novel distinctions and rulings only provided they can be aligned with talmudic and halakhic tradition. By the same token, however, Lampronti is expressing a fairly open view of the halakhic process, since he maintains that there is always room for new contributions, provided they pass the test of critical scrutiny. Being right, as in the case of the Turei Zahav, legitimates new ideas, regardless of when they are produced or by whom. This independence and fidelity to truth rather than authority, is characteristic of Lampronti’s value system. Where Lampronti is situated on the spectrum of conservatism and originality is clearly reflected in a statement he made in a discussion about the ­relatively new fashion of depilation, and its possible viola­tion of the biblical prohibition against the shaving of facial hair (peiot): “I heard that in Rome, and I also see every day here in Ferrara, that it has become customary to shave the peiot of the beard with morducco and squardo, which is a combination of lime and quicksilver and other things that depilate, and I did not see the elder

61 Vol. 10, fol. 10r, s.v. posek.

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decisors object.”62 Although Lampronti conceded that Hillel b. Naftali Hertz of Lithuania prohibited depilation,63 he nonetheless opted to defend the practice, particularly because his own teachers had not protested it. Relying on the statement in the Mishnah that one is liable only if he used a razor, but not the tool referred to as rehitani,64 Lampronti declared: “In my opinion, there is no difference between [the] rehitani and the thing called morducco.”65 Both, he explained, depilate without shaving, and therefore without “destroying” (hashhata) the term that appears in the biblical commandment.66 This entry captures the combination of conservatism and originality that characterizes Lampronti’s activity as a decisor. He utilized a familiar conceptual distinction (between “destroying” facial hair and other methods) to arrive at a novel and liberal ruling. However, Lampronti gave no indication that he was motivated by the need to justify an ostensibly illegal, if widespread, practice. Rather, he stated forthrightly that the behavior of his teachers dictated his position. In this respect his stance reflects a conservative bent as well as a willingness to innovate. Elsewhere, Lampronti’s conservative bent appears to have stemmed not from an ideological opposition to innovation, but from caution. A disciple, Yoav Barukh Lampronti,67 asked him to

62 Vol. 10, fol. 1v, s.v. peiot hazakan. The word “morducco” comes from mordicare, that is, corrosion by means of a chemical agent; the origin of squardo is unclear. Lampronti’s observation on the then-current distaste for facial hair is confirmed by a communal ordinance from Ferrara, dating from before 1751, which permits the use of a razor only to shave below the throat, far from the bone and the upper lip. See Assaf, n. 40 above, vol. 2, 356. 63 See Beit Hillel, #2 on SA ad loc. 64 Makkot 3:5. Rehitani has been variously defined, but is clearly a tool composed of two parts that are easily detached. 65 Vol. 10, fol. 2r, s.v. peiot hazakan. 66 Lampronti’s stance was enthusiastically endorsed by Aviad Sar Shalom Basilea of Mantua, who wrote that the only reason he did not remove facial hair with a combination of lime and quicksilver was that the foul odor was bad for his heart. Basilea also offered an astrological explanation of the prohibition, ibid., s.v. peiot rosh vezakan. Ezekiel Landau, too, allowed the use of chemical depilation, contrary to the view of Hillel b. Naftali Hertz. See Noda Biyehuda, second ed., YD #81. Cf. Samson Morpurgo, Šemeš Tzdakah, part 1 (Venice, 1743), YD 61, 102b. On facial hair in medieval and early modern Jewish culture, see Elliott Horowitz, “The early eighteenth century confronts the beard: Kabbalah and Jewish self-fashioning,” Jewish History 8 (1994), 95–115, as well as the Hebrew version, with slightly different emphases and wonderful illustrations: Elimelech Horowitz, “On the significance of the beard in Jewish communities in the East and Europe in the Middle Ages and early modern times” (Hebrew), Pe’amim 58 (1994), 124–48. 67 He is mentioned in two other places in the Pah.ad Yis.h.aq: vol. 18. col. 565, s.v. ešh min ha-ʻes.im; vol. 11, fol. 16v, s.v. s.edah.

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explain a passage from the Tosafot about the talmudic legend of the woman whose seven sons were martyred at the hands of the Romans. According to the Tosafot, only six sons recited a verse at the moment of their death, but a parallel text in the Midrash associates each of the seven martyrs with a verse.68 Lampronti replied that although he had assumed that the discrepancy resulted from a flaw in the Tosafists’ version of the talmudic text, he was opposed to textual emendation, because: to correct by means of reason what our feeble reason has distorted by multiplying the existing entities (hahavayot) unnecessarily is not the way of the wise of heart and those who carry the Torah of God in their heart. Rather, everyone is obligated to uphold the version of his book by any means available. If he cannot, then he can switch [to another version], or else con­cede that he does not know, as a wise man said (in the presence of schol­ars who were discussing some philosophical matter (hamitpalsefim) among themselves: after lengthy discussion, they conceded that they did not know or understand, for “what their eyes saw was beyond the under­ standing of their hearts” [Isa. 44:18]): The first words of an ignorant man—“I do not know”—are also the last words of a scholar, after all his efforts to attain knowledge.

Ultimately Lampronti became convinced that the Tosatists did, indeed, have a different text, but in the above passage he emphasizes the need for a conservative approach to textual tradition.69 The passage stresses the wisdom of recognizing the limits of one’s knowledge or intellectual capacity. Lampronti also makes this point in his entry on resurrection. When a correspondent invited his interpretation of the legendary scenario of the righteous sitting with crowns upon their heads (Berakhot 17a), Lampronti responded as follows: “My guiding principle is that, on matters like these, I am not 68 Vol. 3, fol. 79r–v, s.v. haval ‘alekha kesar. See Tosafot on Gitin 57b s.v. atiyuhu lekamei; ­Lamentations Rabbah 1, s.v. maase bemiriam. 69 Cf. the passage, above, on his examination of variant texts of the Tosafists. See also vol. 5, fol. 9v, s.v. yehoshafat melekh yehuda, in which Lampronti pondered the meaning of the reference, in 2 Chron. 21:2, to Jehoshaphat as king of Israel rather than Judea. He wrote that of all the copies of the Bible known to him, printed and manuscript, only the handwritten copy of the Ferrara Jewish community (as well as the Vulgate) refers to Jehoshaphat as king of Judea. Rather than emend the text, Lampronti suggested an exegetical solution to the problem. On Lampronti’s awareness of the existence of biblical variants, see also vol. 6, fol. 219v, s.v. mishna, im ketava rabi.

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e­ mbarrassed to say ‘I do not know.’ If you have a decisive argument (hakhraa), on rational, traditional or textual grounds, kindly tell me.”70 The most thoroughgoing discussion of the problem of the weight of tradition appears in the entry on the principle of majority rule. Lampronti declares that one must follow the majority at the time a decision is handed down, but that subsequent decisors are at liberty to reverse earlier rulings, and to adopt what was previously the minority position. Lampronti notes that “the law books are full of cases in which Rashi forbade [a practice] and R. Tam, his daughter’s son, permitted [it], based on his own judgment. However, Lampronti proceeds to distinguish between the authority of earlier generations and that of mere recent scholars. The entry goes on to state that the authority to adopt what was formerly a minority view is only available when a scholar produces irrefutable arguments. “Moreover, in our time … even when we have evidence, we do not rely on the evidence to overturn the reasoning of earlier scholars.”71 This entry also airs the dilemma faced by latter-day rabbis in cases where earlier authorities disagreed with each other regarding a point of law.72 Lampronti maintains that contemporary rabbis lack the authority to adduce evidence in order to choose between the conflicting views of the great decisors; rather, their responsibility is to establish which position was accepted by most of the classic decisors through the ages, and to rule accordingly. In case of a deadlock, one should choose the position of the scholar with the stronger reputation, or, if that cannot be established, adopt the more stringent of the two positions. Lampronti asserts that where earlier decisors disagreed regarding a biblical commandment, the latter-day authority must automatically adopt the more stringent of the two established positions. However, he notes that in practice this policy is often ignored, and scholars routinely choose a lenient ruling over 70 Vol. 14, fol. 28r, s.v. tehiyat ha-metim. The identical sentiment was expressed by Samson Morpurgo of Ancona, Lampronti’s contemporary and fellow rabbi-physician. In a discussion of irrational ritual practices, Morpurgo wrote that whenever he studied these matters: “I knew that I did not know, but I did know that on theological matters one should not add knowledge that does not accord with the principles of traditional wis­dom.” “Traditional wisdom” (hahokhma hamekubelet) usually refers to kabbalah, rather than to halakhic tradition. although in this case both meanings are plausible. See vol. 6, fol. 137r, s.v. minhag uketzat dinav. 71 The opposite view was expressed by Elijah, the Gaon of Vilna. See Beer Eliahu on SA, HM 25, published in Sefer Hagra, ed. J. L. Maimon ( Jerusalem, 1954), part 3, 206. 72 Roth, n. 4 above, 127–32; Silman, n. 4 above, 71–78, 113–15. For sources on the problem of controversy and its relation to authority, see Ben-Menahem et al. n. 16 above, vol. 1, 293–353.

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a stringent one if it reflects the scholarly consensus, even where a biblical commandment is at stake. Lampronti explains this questionable practice by positing that although a minority position is of no consequence when it is held by a single scholar, a contemporary decisor may adopt a minority position when it is the view of two or three authorities. He affirms that this policy is valid not only for civil litigation (dinei mamonot), but also for disagreements regarding biblical commandments. But he requires that the “two or three” scholars be among the greatest and best-known decisors of all time, listing Alfasi, Maimonides, and Asher b. Yehiel as worthy of this designation. As always, Lampronti proffers numerous references in support of his claims, and, although he does not state as much, all the cases he cites refer to situations in which the minority view is the more stringent one, implying that in his view, one may not adopt the minority view when it is also the lenient one. This approach is supported by the prin­ciple he states next, namely, that a stringent position is to be preferred even where it is the minority position, provided that the arguments for it are more compelling. But Lampronti also asserts that one should follow the lenient point of view when the arguments adduced in its favor are stronger than those produced in support of the stringent position. This undercuts the assumption that the minority view is only preferable when it is also the stringent one. It also indicates that despite the examples he brings, in all of which the minority view is the stringent one, Lampronti’s tendency to cite such rulings is not an ideology. Lampronti’s final position is, thus, quite different from the early part of his discussion, for it grants the decisor the freedom to opt for the minority view even where it is the more lenient of the two alternatives.73 The autonomy of the decisor in Lampronti’s halakhic methodology is further attested by his subsequent contention that one may also uphold a lenient position on the basis of the common practice. He illus­trates this principle with the case of the chained woman, or aguna,74 whom decisors have historically 73 This assessment of methodology rests entirely on his own generalizations and principles. A determination as to how radical or con­servative he was in absolute terms can only be made on the basis of a com­prehensive comparison of Lampronti’s judicial decisions with those of contemporaries (Italian or otherwise). On the significance of the minority opinion in Jewish law, see Michael Rosensweig, “Eilu ve-Eilu Dvrei Elohim Hayyim: halakhic pluralism and theories of controversy,” in Sokol, n. 4, above, 110–22. A number of halakhic sources discuss the applicability of the rule that a decision is not binding if it was reached because the decisor was unaware of an authoritative halakhic source (“he has erred on a matter of Mishnah”). 74 I.e., a woman whose husband has disappeared or been reported dead, and who is therefore imprisoned in her marriage either until his death is proven, or he sends her a writ of divorce.

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gone to great lengths to release from the bonds of matrimony, notwithstanding the possibility that their lenient ruling could result in the violation of a biblical prohibition. Lampronti argues that even where a biblical prohibition is at stake, the principle that one must follow the majority opinion is not sacrosanct, and the minority opinion must receive serious consideration. This is so, he explains, because the principle of majority rule originally applied to the courtroom situation, in which an odd number of judges sit in judgment and take a vote to determine their verdict. This social context is not applicable to the work of rabbinic decisors, who, historically, did not function as a group, but rather as discrete individuals, in a wide variety of periods and locales. And so it was that, on the basis of the various criteria set out above, at times the decisors accepted the principle of majority rule, and at other times they ignored it.75 Lampronti’s attitude toward authority is not easily summed up, and certainly defies easy characterization. He makes a number of program­matic statements of a traditionalist flavor, and portrays himself as con­servative, yet his own decisions and actions often reflect an independent spirit. He is critical of medieval authorities, overtly or through his choice of sources, and can frequently be observed to break the bonds of traditionalism for the sake of truth. Nonetheless, to dismiss Lampronti’s traditionalist sentiments as mere lip service or false modesty would be an oversimplification, and, I believe, unjust. Avoiding both the straitjacket of traditionalism and the anarchy of revolution, Lampronti navigated carefully and deliberately between the poles of auctoritas and veritas, After over a thousand years of post-talmudic halakha, this policy can be characterized as not only prudent, but even courageous.

CUSTOM Custom represents the extra-textual, empirical component of Jewish law, and hence an investigation of Lampronti’s attitude to the question of its inviolability will complement the investigation, just completed, of Lampronti’s stance on the authority of written legal traditions. In principle, talmudic tradition revered custom. Classical and medieval scholars assumed that accepted norms might reflect lost ancient legal traditions, and at the very least reflect a genuine effort to fulfill the commandments, in spirit as well as literally. Custom was held in such high regard that a series of major medieval scholars granted greater ­legitimacy to a

75 Vol. 5, fol. 22r–v, s.v. yah.id verabim halakha kerabim.

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custom than to a legal tradition, when the two con­flicted.76 At the same time, custom was a source of tension for rabbinic decisors. Custom lends itself to anarchy. By definition, it is not dictated by the sources, and historically, entrenched customs deemed misguided have often proved difficult to eradicate.77 The ambivalent status of custom makes it a useful vehicle for examining a scholar’s approach to the issue of tradition and innovation. When subjecting the halakhic oeuvre of any expert to examination, it is useful to take note of his attitude both to custom in general, and to particular customs, with special reference to those he deems problem­atic or errant (minhag taut). Under what circumstances does he tend to endorse a custom or strive for its elimination, and what considerations factor into his overall tendency? As was true regarding the issues explored above, a halakhic authority’s views on custom will help us situate him on the spectrum between. traditionalist and innovator.78 Although the legitimacy of custom is a perennial issue, it occupies an especially prominent place in the halakhic literature of the early mod­em era. There are probably many reasons for this, and the matter requires independent study, but a likely factor is the loss of what may be termed uncharted territory. Over time, the legal literature set down in increasingly fine detail the code of behavior mandated by religious law, and hence custom, given its non-textual origins, became the one area in which scholars could play an active, creative role as legal authorities, documenting and evaluating the popular religious practices of their immediate environment. In addition, the burgeoning halakhic literature made it increasingly possible to argue for several alternative courses of action on numerous issues, leaving the decisors with hard choices to make. Custom provided a way out of the labyrinth, and had the advan­tage of being rooted in social reality, which served as the empirical justi­fication for the customs that 76 Chaim Tchernowitz (Rav Tzair), History of Hebrew Law (Hebrew) (New York, 1945), vol. 1, 146–7. 77 A classic example of this pattern is the case of the employ of non-Jews on the Sabbath. As Katz observed, it is noteworthy that in this case popular practice was more stringent than the law. See Jacob Katz, The “Shabbes Goy”: A Study in Halakhic Flexibility, trans. Yoel Lerner (Philadelphia, 1989). Cf. the portrait of early modern Polish Jewry in Edward Fram, Ideals Face Reality: Jewish Law and Life in Poland 1550–1655 (Cincinnati, 1997), 48–64. 78 On the role of custom, see: Zvi Hirsch Chajes, Darkhei Hahoraa, in Kol Sifrei Maharatz Chajes ( Jerusalem, 1958), vol. 1, 225–8; Tchernowitz 1945, n. 76 above, 144–50; Elon 1994, n. 4 above, vol. 2, 880–944; Daniel Sperber, Jewish Customs: their Origins and History (Hebrew), vol. 1 ( Jerusalem, 1989), 20–38; vol. 2 ( Jerusalem, 1991), 1–8; E. E. Urbach, The Halakhah: Its Sources and Development, trans. Raphael Posner ( Jerusalem, 1986), 31–41; Roth, n. 4 above, 205–30; Israel Schepansky, “Communal ordinances,” The Ordinances of Israel (Hebrew), vol. 4 ( Jerusalem, 1993), 1–76. See also the articles collected in Torah Shebeal Pe 41 (2000).

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had become entrenched. This halakhic methodology also became more prominent because of the ever-increas­ing sense of anxiety over the “decline of the generations,” which made scholars reluctant to exercise their authority to lay down the law. An emphasis on custom is manifest in the Pah.ad Yis.h.aq. Lampronti habitually supplements his presentation of textual material with customs, with the goal of offering readers the most detailed instruc­tions for practice, both consuetudinary and text-based, he can provide. While Lampronti peppered countless entries with observations concerning regulations and principles established in the legal litera­ture, his information and views on customs are a particularly valuable resource for the study of Jewish law and cultural history, aside from their considerable significance for his intellectual portrait. Throughout the encyclopedia, Lampronti makes frequent reference to the customs of various communities. He sometimes documents customs from faroff communities, such as Amsterdam and Cracow, but takes most of his examples from Italy, particularly from his own community, Ferrara.79 The location of the references to customs, as well as their number, reflects the perspective of the eighteenth-century halakhic scholar. Typically, customs are mentioned toward the end of entries, after explana­tory material and bibliographical references. This is where Lampronti habitually places his own contributions to entries. It is the space reserved for the contemporary scene, for Lampronti’s own latter-day “turf,” the realm that had yet to become part of the received halakhic canon. On a number of occasions he cites the custom of part of a community, such as a particular synagogue or ethnic group within a community. For example, Lampronti entered into the encyclopedia the custom of Ferrara’s Sefardic community regarding the blessings to be recited over the four cups of wine at the Passover Seder, and then added the tradition of the Ashkenazic ­community.80 This example highlights the question of Lampronti’s intended ­audience. He may have intended to assist decisors everywhere, as they grappled with issues that 79 For Amsterdam, see vol. 3, fol. 4v, s.v. havraa: “And that is what I saw here [to be] the custom of the Sefardic community of Amsterdam.” By “saw here,” Lampronti may have meant that there were Jews from Amsterdam in the Sefardic congregation of Ferrara. For Cracow, about which Lampronti had indirect information rather than personal experience, see vol. 4, Venice 1798, fol. 17v, s.v. h.alis.ah we-sidrah. For Ferrara, see, e.g., vol. 19, col. 496, s.v. beila beshabat. 80 Vol. 18, col. 517–18, s.v. arbaa kosot vedineihem. He derived the Ashkenazic custom from Moses Isserles’ gloss on OH 474: 1. See, similarly, vol. 20, col. 82, s.v. birkat eirusin; vol. 2, fol. 75r, s.v. geshem, zeman hazkarato.

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presented more than one option. Alternatively, he may have recorded these prac­ tices purely for the benefit of his own community, to prescribe a clear course of action. Yet even if Lampronti was, by dint of geographic and pragmatic constraints, somewhat limited in what he was able to observe, his intended audience clearly encompassed both the Ashkenazic and the Sefardic communities.81 Lampronti’s documentation of customs reflects the importance he ascribed to empirical knowledge, as opposed to theoretical specula­tion. This is evidenced by his frequent use of the expression “to see with one’s own eyes.” For example: “The custom of Ferrara, as I have seen with my own eyes in the days of the elder judges (hadayanim hazkeinim) [is] …”82 Similarly: “The custom of Ferrara, as I have seen, and also heard from the decisors that preceded me, is …”83 In these cases and others (though not everywhere), Lampronti refers to his own personal experience in order to stress the reliability of the tradition that he received from his teachers and predecessors. In his mind, then, empirical observation is linked to the idea of the masoretic tradition, the chain of transmission that, according to Jewish tradition, began at Sinai, handing down teachings orally from one generation to the next. But Lampronti’s observations are more than empirical: they are legal. Like a witness in court, Lampronti testifies, stating for the record what he has seen or heard about particular customs. The care he takes to emphasize that his information comes from an eyewitness account suggests that he intended and expected that his testimony would be considered authoritative. This explains why his data on customs is collected in a formal, official style, like that which would be used by a court reporter. Not every encyclopedia entry presents the custom of the Ferrara Jewish community (or an ethnic segment thereof), even when the sub­ject of the entry would seem to warrant it. When, then, did Lampronti see fit to include a ­custom in his discussion? Apparently, the relation­ship between the custom 81 Lampronti was affiliated with the local Sefardic congregation: see vol. 12, fol. 185v, s.v. ktanei ktanim; vol. 14, fol. 152v, s.v. teqi’ot ‘al seder habrakhot. This, despite the fact that in 1711– 1712 he taught in the study hall of the Italiani community: vol. 2, fol. 86r, s.v. dagim vesimanam; vol. 7, fol. 78r, s.v. nefilat apayyim. He also preached to the Italiani community, see vol. 20, col. 420, s.v. gehinom, im haneshamot yordot bo. 82 Vol. 11, fol. 63v, s.v. qevi‘at maqom le-h.alis.ah. 83 Vol. 9, fol. 160r, s.v. ’eruvei tehumin ‘al tenai. See also: vol. 18, col. 262, s.v. almana, hakones ota; ibid., col. 320, s.v. amirah le-goy li-phetoah. ule-qalqel ha-h.otam be-Šabbat; vol. 20, col. 9, s.v. barukh adonai leolam; ibid., col. 152, s.v. birkat kohanim; ibid., col. 257–8, s.v. basar sheshaha; vol. 21, Jerusalem 1986, col. 97, s.v. get baal yikhtevenu; vol. 7, fol. 78r, s.v. nefilat apayyim; vol. 11, fol. 63v, s.v. qevi'at maqom le-h.alis.ah.

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and the written law was an important factor in this decision. Customs may gain halakhic significance where the law is ambiguous. This is illustrated by the case of the pregnant wife of a man of priestly descent. The medieval authorities were divided as to whether or not such a woman must avoid the pollution that results from proximity to corpses (tumat met) for the sake of her fetus, who—though as yet unborn—is also of priestly descent and hence enjoined to avoid contamination. After citing the relevant sources, Lampronti recorded that such avoidance was the custom in Ferrara.84 Customs are also important when they are blatantly extra-halakhic, that is to say, lacking classical or medieval roots. For example, Lampronti recorded the Ashkenazic custom of having mourners refrain from reciting the priestly benediction, and he then noted the deviation of Ferrara’s Ashkenazic community from this tradition.85 In cases like this, Lampronti’s purpose was not necessarily to combat the practice, or even to censure it, but merely to note the history of less-than-total compliance with the relevant law.86 Lampronti did not always accept a custom uncritically. He reported that in 1679, in nearby Cento, the witnesses to a wedding neglected to sign the ­marriage contract (ketuba). He then added the following personal testimony:

84 Vol. 19, Jerusalem 1970, col. 74, s.v. eshet kohen meuberet. See, similarly: vol. 18, col. 493, s.v. afarkesuto. On the role of custom in the resolution of conflicts between laws, see Elon, n. 4 above, vol. 2, 936; Roth, n. 4 above, 223–4. 85 Vol. 19, col. 4, s.v. ashkenazim. For another report of an ostensibly non­halakhic custom, see vol. 6, fol. 192v, s.v. matzat mitzva nohagim shelo lalush beerav pesah ad ahar shesh shaot. On the conflict between custom and law, see: Isaac Zeev Kahana, “On the relationship between law and custom” (Hebrew), in Solomon Joseph Zevin and Zerah Warhaftig (eds.), Mazkeret ( Jerusalem, 1962), 554–64; Yedidya Dinari, “Custom and law in the responsa of Ashkenazic rabbis in the fifteenth century” (Hebrew), E. Z. Melamed (ed.), Benjamin De Vries Memorial Volume ( Jerusalem, 1968), 168–98. 86 The Pah.ad Yis.h.aq records an eighteenth-century debate over whether customs supersede law. Lampronti’s student, Phineas Anau, held that longstand­ing customs supersede law as regards a rabbinic prohibition, even if the latter rests on a biblical allusion. This stance was attacked by Aaron Ashkenazi of Florence, to whom Anau then responded. Joseph Ergas of Livorno sided with Ashkenazi, as did Immanuel Ricchi, and Anau refuted their arguments. See vol. 6, fol. 139v, s.v. minhag mevatel halakha. Relatively speaking, custom has greater authority to establish halakha, and even to displace it, in matters of civil law than matters of ritual law. See Isserles on SA, 0H 690:17 (based on Joseph Kolon); Chajes 1958, n. 78 above, 225–6; Elon, n. 4 above, 903–11; Roth, n. 4 above, 211–22, 226–9; Sperber, n. 78 above, vol. 1, 24–30; Berachyahu Lifshitz, “Custom abro­gates law” (Hebrew), Sinai 86 (1980), pp. 8–13; David Henshke, “Custom abrogates law? (corroborating a theory)” (Hebrew), Dine Israel 17 (1993/4), 135–54; Jeffrey R. Woolf, “The authority of custom in the responsa of R. Joseph Colon (Maharik),” Dine Israel 19 (1997/8), 53–73.

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Part One Know, dear reader, that this bad custom was eradicated from our commu­ nity a long time ago, because it caused trouble, for sometimes the ketuba remained unsigned, and no one knew who the witnesses were. And it once happened to R. Phineas Zamorano, known as “Purim,” that he married Gioia Levia, and the ketuba was not signed on the wedding day, and they lived together for several years and bore children. And in their time of troubles (beet tzarotam) they reviewed their actions and discovered the ketuba unsigned, and no witness could be found who remembered their wedding, The court required Zamorano to write another ketuba, but he passed away before he could do so.87

This source not only proves that Lampronti acknowledged the concept of a “bad” custom, it also reveals that the Ferrara community was ready to take the necessary steps to actively resist undesirable practices.88 This report also illustrates the geographic aspect of Lampronti’s conception of custom: a practice could be common and recognized in Cento but banned in Ferrara, a mere eighteen miles away. Many more examples can be cited of variations between the customs in cities and towns of northern Italy, and it is clear that Lampronti viewed commu­nities as autonomous and authority as decentralized. This approach is similar to that generally taken with regard to the Jewish communities of medieval Germany, and the similarity may he at least partly attrib­utable to the historical links between Italian and German Jewry: in the tenth century, Italian Jews played an important role in the Jewish settlement in the Rhineland, and later, in the fourteenth century, large numbers of German Jews migrated south and founded new communities in northern Italy. However, the similarity may also be the result of a common sociopolitical situation. Throughout the Middle Ages. both Germany and Italy were politically fragmented, and this may have dictated an extremely localized notion of regional identity in the minds of the 87 vol. 19, col. 497–8, s.v. beila beshabat. No details are available on the nature of the couple’s “time of troubles,” although the general tenor of the passage suggests that it involved some sort of family crisis, perhaps a sudden death. 88 Lampronti also attacked the “bad custom” of congregants praying loudly along with the cantor. He added: “And many times we upbraided them and were able to void their had custom for a month, or for some months, but they quickly return to their teaching, like a dog to his vomit.” See vol. 12, fol. 49v–50r, s.v. qeri’at sepher Torah. Note that Lampronti attributed this behavior to the diffusion of prayer books; indeed, it constitutes an excellent example of the impact of printing on religious life.

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inhabitants of these realms, and a c­ orresponding localization of the notion of custom.89 The Pah.ad Yis.h.aq also documents minute variations in custom between even nearby communities. A prime example is the entry about the shoe used in the ritual of halitza, the repudiation of the levir. Lampronti differentiates the shoe of Ferrara from that of Mantua on a number of points. For example, in Ferrara the shoe is made from a sin­gle piece of leather, while in Mantua it is made from three pieces: in Ferrara, but not in Mantua, left-handed levirs wore a special shoe, which Lampronti carefully described, on their left foot.90 The minutiae with which Lampronti and his contemporaries were concerned lends their stock of customs a baroque quality. This could be viewed as the natural result of the development of the legal system. As it developed, Jewish law generated an increasingly ramified network of branches, and with the passage of time increasingly fine points were defined. There is, however, another perspective, more phenomenolog­ical than historical. Customs fill voids left by the legal literature, in a manner analogous to that in which the kashrut regulations in talmudic law spell out the manner in which the prohibition against seething a kid in its mother’s milk is to he observed.91 This is as true for the Middle Ages as it is for the eighteenth century, with the difference that, figuratively speaking, later scholars hold their magnifying glass closer to the object of their scrutiny, and thus describe their subject in greater detail. While kabbalists filled these halakhic voids with ritual content of symbolic significance to their theology, the broader phenomenon is the simple tendency to fill these voids with practical directives, kabbalistic or other. The Pah.ad Yis.h.aq drives home the innovative potential of custom, and also highlights the grey area at the boundary separating custom from law.92 89 The suggested moral of the story—that an unsigned ketuba could account for misfortune— is also significant, for it sheds light on Lampronti’s theodicy and perhaps most significantly, his view of the impact of the supernatural on human existence. Lampronti’s views on metahalakhic matters merit a separate study. 90 Vol. 4, fol. 17r–v, s.v. h.alis.ah we-sidrah, and see also vol. 6, fol. 151r, s.v. minal shel h.alis.ah. Cf. SA, EH 169:15–20. For other differences between the cus­toms of Mantua and Ferrara, see vol. 12, fol. 185v, s.v. ktanei ktanim. 91 This is why custom is sometimes referred to as “concealed legislation,” as opposed to legislated statutes (takanot), which are known as “open legis­lation”; see Encyclopedia Judaica, “Minhag” (written by Menachem Elon). On the supplementary role of custom, see Elon 1994, n. 4 above, vol. 901–3; Kahana, n. 85 above, 560. 92 The idea that some customs did not merely evolve, but were instituted by the religious authorities, is not new. A well-known source is Maimonides, Code, Laws concerning Rebels 2:2–3, which, however, stipulates that the legitimacy of legislated customs is contingent on

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Concerning the salting and rinsing of meat on a Sabbath that happens to be the third day following the slaughter of the animal, by which time these activities must be performed, Lampronti writes as follows: I, the young author, think that I saw it written that by way of a stratagem (haarama), one may wash one’s hands over this meat on the Sabbath, and carry it in an unusual manner (kileahar yad) and place it in rainwater, or else push it with one’s feet—or in some other unusual way—into vessels with water … And I heard from R. Samson Morpurgo that in Ancona they practiced this stratagem, with the consent of the elder decisors. And the same custom was practiced here in Ferrara and the scholardecisors that preceded me did not protest. And after writing this, God illuminated my eyes with responsum #1 in Eidut Beyaakov, and he said it all.93

The stratagem was practiced in both Ancona and Ferrari, although Lampronti says nothing about when and how this transpired. He states that the rabbis of Ancona actively supported the custom, while those of Ferrara did so only passively, but the very mention of these rabbinic responses implies that the custom was not a time-honored tradition. It is, therefore, striking evidence of the innovative role custom sometimes played in eighteenth-century Italy. Notwithstanding Lampronti’s closing remark, it remains an open question whether the relatively new practice was fundamentally text-based or consuetudinary in nature. What is unambiguous, however, is that the proposed solution came into being through an intricate interaction between custom and law, in the liminal zone between the two realms.94 Anxiety over the impression that local traditions had lost some of their authority seems to have been one of the forces that motivated Lampronti’s meticulous recording of customs. The following case illustrates this perspective: their acceptance by the public. See Elon 1994, n. 4 above, vol. 2, 885–8; Joseph B. Soloveitchik, “Two kinds of tradition” (Hebrew), in Shiurim Lezekher Aba Mari ( Jerusalem, 1983), 220–39; Isadore Twerskv, Introduction to the Code of Mamonides (Mishneh Torah) (New ­Haven, 1980), 124–34, especially 130; Gerald J. Blidstein, Authority and Dissent in Mainionidean Law (Hebrew) (Tel Aviv, 2002), 92–108. 93 Vol. 20, col. 257, s.v. basar sheshaha. The author of Eidut Beyaakov (Saloniki, 1719/1720) is Jacob de Boton. 94 Note, also, Lampronti’s willingness to edit his entry, based on the acquisition of new ­information.

The Pas We, the members of the Ferrara yeshiva, on 18 Heshvan 5481 [19 ­November 1720], voted to renew the practice of our city’s ancient custom, and we announced in all the synagogues, by means of the community sexton, [that we would] require the examination of endives [for worms] as had once been customary and was almost forgotten by the public (hamon haam), though a select few (yeh.idei segula) continued to uphold the ancient custom, as you can see in the book of the secretary of our yeshiva, the h.aver Elisha Michael Finzi, my disciple.95

This intriguing process whereby customs are forgotten and renewed is obscure. The text links the dynamic to the dichotomy between “most of the public” and “the select few.” Lampronti’s reference to the public is vaguely disparaging, and thus it might seem, at first glance, that the rank and file of the community had forgotten the custom, while those in the yeshiva had remembered it. Yet Lampronti’s formulation cuts across the rabbinate-laity divide, suggesting that those who had forgotten and those who recalled the custom were not easily classified in terms of these groups. It may be, therefore, that Lampronti is alluding here to the more and the less observant members of the Ferrara community. If so, he speaks of “forgetting” figuratively rather than literally, to indicate a shift in values away from punctilious observance. Whatever the meaning of this “forgetting,” the problem highlights a second cultural context for the creation of the encyclopedia (the first being the information overload generated by the accumulated weight of the ramified halakhic literature). It suggests that Lampronti was making a concerted effort to preserve traditions, by documenting exist­ing customs for posterity, or, as in this case, restoring a lost custom. Or more generally, Lampronti’s Pah.ad Yis.h.aq in its entirety might he intended as a means of shoring up the foundations of tradition. The implications of this suggestion vary according to one’s view of the period: pessimists will emphasize the problem of erosion and loss, whereas optimists will point to the energy, and therefore the hope, with which Lampronti sets about revitalizing the religious life of his flock. The story of another Ferrarese custom reveals a different sort of forgetting and remembering, which also involves change, though no weakening of observance. After adducing evidence that one ought to recite the blessing over the 95 Vol. 14, fol. 13r, s.v. tola’im bi-yereaqot. See also vol. 6, fol. 92r, s.v. milah, ger she-mal qodem she-nitgayer. On the public announcement of customs, see Tchernowitz 1945, n. 76 above, 149.

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new moon out of doors, Lampronti pro­duces sources that mitigate the force of this regulation, including Abraham Gombiner’s comment that one may recite the blessing indoors when there are dirty alleys outside.96 An uncharacteristically vehement narrative follows: And this is the custom of Ferrara. But some neophytes (h.adashim mikarov bau) [Deut. 32:17] who bear a faint scent of Torah and consider tliemselves wise and bearers of tradition, although they are opposed by the wise, leave the Sefardic synagogue on Saturday night, even though they could certainly recite the blessing [while looking] through the windows of the synagogue, or in the synagogue courtyard, which is a clean and open location. Instead, they proceed, contemptuously, along the road opposite the wall of the synagogue, to a very dirty place, near a small and narrow passage (indrona) called “transito,” and there they sit and recite the bless­ing. And many times have I upbraided them and they did not listen to me. Woe to the people from this insult to the Torah and to holiness (mAvot 6:2)—reciting the said holy blessing in a dirty location …97

In this clash of customs, Lampronti sought in vain to stamp out a new custom of which he disapproved. Nevertheless, he would have had to concede that its misguided practitioners were zealous in their religious observance; if anything, their error stemmed from an excess of zeal. Who were they? The only clue as to their identity is the expression that they identified themselves as “bearers of tradition,” mekubalim, which is an ambiguous term, denoting either the tradition of law or that of mysticism. Both are possible, but whereas we know nothing of a renascence of the Jewish legal tradition or spirit in Lampronti’s milieu, communities all over the Jewish world were experiencing the rising impact of kabbalah on religious life, particularly in the eighteenth century, with the widespread dissemination of printed kabbalistic liturgies. Kabbalistic traditions typically embraced the more ascetic of alternative ritual practices, and based on this consideration, self-styled kabbalists would be likely to insist on taking the trouble to leave the building in order to recite the prayer out of doors, unless they were aware of the undesirability of praying in a dirty location. Hence it seems 96 Magen Avraham on SA OH 426:4, n. 11. 97 Vol. 20, col. 90–91, s.v. birkat hah.odesh. On indrona, see also Menah.ot 33b.

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plausible, if not likely, that Lampronti clashed here with pious devotees of kabbalah.98 The endive and new new moon entries reveal much about the deeper implications of custom. Custom is normally associated with a conservative bent or even ideology, because of its links to tradition, but these entries illuminate the creative side of custom. Whether one favored or opposed them, these new customs were innovations (perhaps in the guise of reviving older customs), rather than reflections of stagnation or atavism. Second, we have taken note of two cases involving contemporary practices Lampronti deplored, though regarding the preparation of endives he sought change, whereas regarding the new moon he clung to custom. The veneration or condemnation of custom was obviously a subjective matter, frequently leading scholars into the morass of social and cultural conflict. It is clear that in Lampronti’s age, although customs were normally upheld, and even revered for their antiquity, this was not invariably true. Third, these cases reflect the kaleidoscopic quality of attributions of tradition and innovation: an action interpreted by some as indicative of a new inclination to increasing stringency may be seen by others as representing no more than affirmation of the written law and correc­tion of a lapse. Such differential interpretations can have practical consequences: even a longstanding norm can quickly lose its legitimacy if it is deemed less stringent. Lampronti recorded such a case, concerning cheese made of milk from a cow milked by a Gentile without a Jew being present. Could such cheese he eaten? The Jews of Mantua, we are told, recently abandoned their custom of allowing such milk, and we also learn that in 1674–1675 Florence’s Jews, too, had prohibited a Gentile-made cheese that had hitherto been viewed as permitted. After reporting these developments, Lampronti cited other customs that had also recently been renounced in favor of more stringent policies, implying that he perceived these cases as representative of a new trend, although whether he championed it or condemned it is unclear.99   98 It would not, however, be prudent to draw from this one case any conclusions about Lampronti’s attitude to kabbalah, a subject that awaits thorough investigation. On the efflorescence of kabbalistic ritual in the early modern era, see, Scholem, On the Kabbalah and its Symbolism (New York, 1965), 137–57,   99 We learn that in one such case, local scholars wondered how earlier scholars had ignored the prohibition, but their leader, Judah of Modona, shrugged off the question and replied that “our fathers left us room to erect our own fences,” and that “the law is in accordance with the later scholars” (halakha kevatraei). Modona was completely unapologetic about

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Lampronti then introduces a letter lie received from his mentor, Judah Briel, whose approach to the customs regarding Gentile cheese was more respectful. Citing the custom of the Jews of Parmigiano, Briel remarked that one ought to respect such traditions, for until fifty years ago such was also the custom in the area of Mantua, except for some “special” people. In another letter, Briel observed that Italy did not lack places where Jews clung to the custom of eating the cheese in question, notwithstanding the outrage expressed by some zealous Jews in Montagnana. Briel added that such had also been the practice in Mantua, until the custom was adopted for a Jew to oversee the milking of the cow.100 In the struggle over Gentile cheese, both Lampronti and Briel described a pattern of abandoning customs in favor of a more stringent legal standard. Yet this change, rather than indicating a shift toward stringency (possibly anticipating today’s trend), may also be taken as the corrective annulment of a “bad” custom in favor of normative legal practice. The case is, then, a classic example of the fluidity of attribu­tions of stringency and norrnativeness. It also highlights the notion of “bad” customs, and the dynamic of their critical evaluation and, in some instances, renunciation. The best known Pah.ad Yis.h.aq entry deals directly with the issue of oldnew customs and their critical assessment. It focuses on whether a species of fish called “copese” (a type of sturgeon) exhibits the physi­cal characteristics that define kosher fish. Lampronti reports that in 1711 he examined the copese and found it to be kosher, but nonetheless consulted the other rabbis of the Ferrara yeshiva before issuing his ruling. To account for his hesitation, Lampronti pointed to his youth at that time, but also gave another reason: I feared that perhaps there was an accepted custom in my city not to eat copese, cven though it has all the signs of purity; and I could [then] not declare it permitted, because of [the rule] “You may not permit things that are permitted in the presence of those who are accustomed to prohibiting them.”101 And the elder rabbis answered me with pleasant words: “Heaven his abandonment of a local custom, and had no compunction about describing his ruling as an innovation, rather than the mere restoration of the standard demanded by Jewish law. 100 Vol. 2, fol. 2r, s.v. gevinot hagoyim [#128]. See Michael Ascoli and David Gianfranco Di Segni, “Il problema dei formaggi prodotti da non Ebrei,” Segulat Israel 4 (1996/1997), 46–50. 101 Pesah.im 50a–51b. The copese case was not the only instance in which Lampronti adduced the principle of not permitting something in the face of a contrary custom. He also did so with regard to certain baked goods prepared by Gentiles, from which the Jews of Ferrara

The Pas forbid! There is no custom at all in the city of Ferrara to prohibit copese,” for such was the situation throughout their years as decisors, and even in the years of rabbis more senior than they, who had directed the said yeshiva from time immemorial. All agreed that copese may be eaten, as a point of law and custom.”102

The entry goes on to record that in 1732 someone actually did claim that there was an ancient custom in Ferrara not to eat copese, based on a legal ruling by a scholar of Verona.103 In reply, Lampronti argued that the ruling in question discussed another type of fish, and not copese, but he also pointed out the absurdity of the notion that the testimony of a Veronese rabbi regarding the custom of Ferrara should be pre­ferred to that of the city’s own rabbinic leadership. Faced with a rare and relatively unknown commodity, Lampronti was uncomfortable basing his ruling on legal criteria, without assur­ances that his decision accorded with local tradition. Lampronti assumed that the absence of a custom prohibiting it implied the exis­tence of a custom permitting it. In this case, then, custom in its passive form played a crucial role in the shaping of tradition.104 Such passivity had a significant impact in a conflict over the Ashkenazic custom of donning tefillin on the intermediate days of festivals. Samson were accustomed to abstain, even though the community in neighboring Cento held the opposite policy. Lampronti stated that both traditions were to be main­tained, but he added that Ferrara’s Jews were not at liberty to adopt the Cento custom, even if it was correct, because local custom prohibited the permitted foods. Lampronti added that in Ferrara’s synagogues announcements had repeatedly reminded the congregants of their prohibition, and that he was recording the Ferrarese custom so as to combat its erosion. See vol. 9, fol. 15r, s.v. avar aveira. For a third example, see vol. 13, fol. 43v–44r, s.v. shavu’a she-hal tish’ah be-Av be-tokhah. On the distinction between prohibiting the permitted and vice versa, see Maimonides, Code, Laws concerning Repose on the Tenth of Tishri 3:3; Elon 1994, n. 4 above, vol. 3, 910; Roth, n. 4, above, 215–19. 102 Vol. 2, fol. 86r, s.v. dagim vesimanam. The focus of the halakhic discussion was the possibility that the copese has scales, but they come off in the water. Lampronti was not the only scholar to grapple with the issue. See also: Šemeš Tzdakah, n. 66 above, YD, #14, fol. 6 r–v; Responsa Noda Biyehuda, second ed., YD #29. See also David Giantranco Di Segni, “Il prob­ lema dello storione secondo Rabbi Yitzchaq Lampronti nella Ferrara del ‘700,” Zakhor 4 (2000), 115–25. 103 Note that the entry deals with the copese issue chronologically, illustrat­ing the database format described in the text above at n. 10. Note, too, that 1732 was also the year of Morpurgo’s responsum on the subject. 104 Similarly, see vol. 13, fol. 258r, s.v. šemitat kesaphim ba-zeman ha-zeh. On the significance of passive reaction to custom, see Tchernowitz, n. 76, above, 149.

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­ orpurgo opposed the kabbalists’ attempt to suppress this custom, and LamM pronti supported him, noting, inter alia, that Ferrara’s Ashkenazic community had always had a wide variety of practices regarding the donning of tefillin, since it lacked a fixed custom on the matter.105 Although Lampronti was not pleased by the Ashkenazic anarchy, he admitted that the city’s rabbis had never voiced disapproval, due to the absence of a set custom. With characteristic boldness, the kabbalists lobbied for the promulgation of a new policy, but Lampronti disapproved; medieval scholars had debated the issue without arriving at a clear result, and he could not justify the suppression of a tradition that was both halakhically defensible and accepted by at least part of the city’s Ashkenazic constituency.106 Lampronti expresses categorical opposition to deviation from tradition: “I am greatly pained by those who alter what has been done since antiquity.” He adds that if scholars did not stand firm in their defense of the custom in the tefillin case, it would be impossible to oppose changes—presumably, kabbalistic—in the liturgy.107 Finally, in debates over customs, the polemical exchanges sometimes focus on the rationality of the controversial practice. The Pah.ad Yis.h.aq includes a dossier of documents about a controversy that took place in Trieste in 1727 over the legitimacy of “Ushers of Mercy” (“Makhnisei Rahamim”), a ­liturgical poem in which angels are petitioned to intercede on behalf of the Jewish ­people.108 In this case, as in others, the charge of irrationality is conflated with that of heresy, due to the assumption that behaviors rooted in theological error are by ­definition irrational. Although the charge is ideologically neutral, ­historically, kabbalistic customs have often been subjected to this line of attack. Through his thorough documentation of contemporary praxis, Lampronti might be said to have bridged the gap separating reality and lawbook. The 105 For a similarly laissez-faire policy in Ferrara, in a situation of multiple defensible traditions, see vol. 14, fol. 180v, s.v. tashmish hamita betisha beav. 106 Elsewhere, Lampronti advocated a similarly pluralistic stance by citing the expression “to each river its own flow” (nahara nahara ufeshatei, from H.ullin 18b). See vol. 14, fol. 152v, s.v. teqi’ot ‘al seder habrakhot. 107 Vol. 14, fol. 103v–04v, s.v. tefilin beh.olo shel moed. See Jacob Katz, “Tefillin on intermediate days of festivals: differences of opinion and public controversies of kabbalistic origin” (Hebrew), Proceedings of the World Congress of Jewish Studies 7 ( Jerusalem, 1981), vol. 1, 203–04 [Halakha and Kabbala (Hebrew) ( Jerusalem, 1984), 115–16]. 108 Vol. 11, fol. 33v–58r, s.v. tzrakhav al yishal; vol. 6, fol. 137r, s.v. minhag uketzat dinav. The conflation of irrationality and heresy is also evident in the ­eighteenth-century debate over kaparot. which is mentioned in the aforementioned entry, but which also has a medieval history. On the Trieste struggle over intercessory prayer, see Malkiel, n. 38 above.

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Pah.ad Yis.h.aq’s consuetudinary corpus is significant not only for antiquarians or folklorists in search of the quaint mores of another age. Lampronti’s presentation illuminates both the manifest and the more subtle characteristics and connotations of custom in the early modern period. It also sheds light on Lampronti’s own attitude to tradition. Specifically, it confirms that, with regard to both authority and custom, Lampronti combined reverence for received tradition with its critical evaluation. In his approach to the textual and consue­ tudinary traditions of his age, Lampronti confronted the burden of the past with the care and creativity that make the Pah.ad Yis.h.aq an epoch-making literary ­achievement.109

109 This article is based, in part, on a lecture delivered at the 7th Italia Judaica conference in Reggio Emilia in 1998. I would like to thank Avriel Bar-Levav of the Open University, ­Joseph Davis of Gratz College, and Matt Goldish of The Ohio State University for comments on an earlier version of this paper.

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I

t is widely acknowledged that, in the words of Jacob Katz, “the Ashkenazic Middle Ages were characterized by strict and spontaneous subordination of the community at large to the bearers of halakhic authority.”1 According to this interpretation of Jewish history, this devotion was a feature of pre-modern ­Jewish society (defined by Katz as “traditional”) until the new forces of Emancipation and Enlightenment facilitated the absorption of Jews into European society, from the end of the eighteenth century. Azriel Shohet questions this link between Emancipation, Enlightenment and crisis, claiming that in Germany the first signs of decline in religious observance and obedience appeared earlier, in the first half of the eighteenth century.2 Likewise, Shmuel Ettinger, who actually did not focus on the issue of religious observance, claims that already in the sixteenth to eighteenth centuries tensions between the various sections of Jewish society precipitated a crisis in the authority structures of the Jewish community.3 Katz maintains that deviance from rabbinical and halakhic authority only signaled traditional society’s disintegration when it was based on an ideological justification.4 However, Todd Endelman challenges this thesis: 1 Jacob Katz, The ‘Shabbes Goy’: A Study in Halachic Flexibility, trans. Yoel Lerner (Philadelphia, 1989), 237–8; Ephraim Kanarfogel, “Rabbinic Attitudes toward Nonobservance in the Medieval Period,” Jewish Tradition and the Nontraditional Jew, ed. Jacob J. Shachter (Northvale NJ, 1992), 30–5. 2 Azriel Shohet, Beginnings of the Haskalah Among German Jewry [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem, 1960). Barukh Mevorakh criticized Shohet for extracting scattered traces of antinomian behavior from their historical context, instead of analyzing the multiple factors that contributed to the creation of unique historical conditions. See his review: Qiryat Sefer 37 (1961–1962), 150–5. 3 Shmuel Ettinger, “Review of: Katz, Tradition and Crisis [Hebrew],” Qiryat Sepher 35 (1959– 1960), 15–16. 4 Bernard D. Cooperman, “Afterword: ‘Tradition and Crisis’ and the Study of Early Modern Jewish History,” in Jacob Katz, Tradition and Crisis: Jewish Society at the End of the Middle Ages, trans. Bernard D. Cooperman (New York, 1993), 245–6. Katz based his treatment of various themes related to the nineteenth century on the same concept of the traditional society: A House Divided: Orthodoxy and Schism in Nineteenth-Century Central European Jewry, trad. Zipporah Brody (Hannover, 1998). For a historiographical review of Katz’s work, see Pride of Jacob: Essays on Jacob Katz and his Work, ed. Jay M. Harris (Cambridge MA, 2002).

Traditional Society The vast majority of European Jews, as they came to alter their customary habits, did not construct an intellectual system to justify the changes they were making … Indeed, a full generation before the intellectual revolution inaugurated by Mendelssohn, many German Jews—rich and poor— were beginning to depart from traditional patterns of Jewish life. Ritual laxity, religious indifference, positive evaluations of secular learning, the imitating of non-Jewish fashions and manners, a preference for German over Yiddish, recourse to state courts rather than Jewish religious courts, a decline in the intensity of traditional Jewish learning, and outright apostasy were found among German Jews as early as the first decades of the eighteenth century … Apathy and carelessness promoted the acculturation of European Jews as much as did the Haskalah.5

In the spirit of Endelman’s last sentence, I would argue that at a certain point quantity translates into quality, regardless of ideology. In other words, non-­ normative behavior becomes so common that it replaces the status quo, rendering it obsolete and irrelevant. Our task is therefore to study the evolution of observance and authority, while watching for signs of malaise that indicate that challenges to the pre-modern lifestyle reached a critical mass. The phenomenon of large-scale apostasy that took place in fifteenth-century Spain is an example of this disintegration process. Katz analyzes these issues with reference to Judaism in central and eastern Europe, and he claims that in other communities, like Amsterdam and L ­ ondon, or in other countries such as France or Italy, “different factors and circumstances applied.”6 Ettinger criticizes Katz for excluding the Ashkenazi Jews of Amsterdam or England from his analysis, and he also points out the role of the 5 Todd M. Endelman, The Jews of Georgian England, 1714–1830: Tradition and Change in a Liberal Society (Philadelphia, 1979), 7–8. 6 Katz, Tradition and Crisis, 4. As far as England is concerned, see also Endelman, The Jews of Georgian England, 289–93. For Amsterdam, see also Yosef Kaplan, “An Alternative Path to Modernity,” Everything Connects: In Conference with Richard Popkin. Essays in His Honor, ed. James E. Force and David S. Katz (Leiden, 1999), 213–40 (reprinted in: Idem, An Alternative Path to Modernity: The Sephardi Diaspora in Western Europe (Leiden, 2000), 1–28). For Western Europe in general, see also Jonathan I. Israel, European Jewry in the Age of Mercantilism (1550–1750) (Oxford, 1989), 154–262. Elsewhere, Katz states that French, Dutch and English Jews experienced roughly the same social integration process as German, Austrian and Hungarian Jews, at approximately the same time, but he does not mention Italy. See his Out of the Ghetto: The Social Transformation of Jewish Emancipation 1770–1870 (Cambridge MA, 1973).

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Sephardim in the development of economic diversification.7 A good example of the fact that Italy was indeed different is the well-known story of the failed attempts by Naphtali Herz Wessely, the Haskalah enthusiast, to enlist the support of the most prominent Italian rabbis for his educational reform program.8 This incident is not directly linked to the issue of popular obedience to rabbinical and halakhic authority, but it pertains to the more general topic of this study: the health and stamina of Jewish identity in Italy towards the end of the pre-modern era. This issue has two fundamental aspects, one internal or Jewish and the other external or Christian. The internal or Jewish aspect is the extent to which Jews would submit to rabbinic law and authority. Although it is impossible to draw conclusions on how traditional or new the situation in ­eighteenth-century Italy was in comparison with older Jewish societies (in Italy or elsewhere), we should be able to clarify whether the modernization process represented a radical transformation or the further development of tendencies that could already be observed at the beginning of the eighteenth century, as Shohet maintains. The external or Christian aspect concerns the nature of the ties between Jews and Christians, and in particular the degree of intimacy attained in social interaction between the two populations. We will examine various spheres of interaction—political, economic, social and cultural—in an attempt to evaluate the solidity of Jewish identity among Italian Jews, who conducted various sorts of contact with all sorts of Christians. We will examine the dividing line separating Jews and Christians to assess its consistency and permeability. Instead of trying to study all of Italy, we will concentrate on Ferrara. At the beginning of the eighteenth century, Ferrara did not have any particularly distinctive features to distinguish it from most of Italy’s Jewish communities. With approximately 25,000 inhabitants, Ferrara was a city of average size,9 whose Jewish population, according to a 1703 government census, amounted to over three hundred households, i.e., approximately one thousand souls. Among 7 Ettinger, “Review of: Katz, Tradition and Crisis,” 14–15. 8 Lois Dubin, “Trieste and Berlin: The Italian Role in the Cultural Politics of the Haskalah,” Toward Modernity: the European Jewish Moden, ed. Jacob Katz (New Brunswick NJ, 1987), 189–224; Idem, The Port Jews of Habsburg Trieste: Absolutist Politics and Enlightenment Culture (Stanford, 1999), 215–16. See also Shmuel Feiner, The Jewish Enlightenment, trans. Chaya Naor (Philadelphia, 2002), 177–82. 9 Werther Angelini, Gli Ebrei di Ferrara nel Settecento: I Coen e altri mercanti nel rapporto con le pubbliche autorità (Urbino, 1973), 57, n. 113.

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them were one extremely wealthy family, ten families with some assets, about one hundred families who paid taxes but had limited financial resources, 148 shopkeepers who were unable to pay taxes, and seventy two families that lived on hand-outs.10 Regarding its ethnic profile, the community was made up of Ashkenazi, Sephardi, and Italian Jews, with a synagogue for each group.11 In short, as far as demographic, economic and ethnic profile are concerned, Ferrara was a community like others in the Apennine peninsula, to which the results of this study should also apply. Then why choose Ferrara? Ferrara is special because it allows for the best overview of this study’s subject matter, thanks to Isaac’s Fear (Pah.ad Yis.h.aq), the first encyclopedia of Judaism, compiled by Isaac Lampronti (1679–1756), the city’s most distinguished rabbi.12 Isaac’s Fear is easily the most utilized reference work written by an Italian Jew in the eighteenth century, and it is still appreciated as such by students of Jewish law. For the purpose of our study, it is the richest available source on Jewish religious life in Italy towards the end of the early modern era. This encyclopedia includes hundreds of entries d­ epicting 10 Pierluigi Bruzzone, “Les Juifs des états de l’Eglise au XVIIIe siècle,” Revue des Études Juives 16 (1888), 247–8. For similar estimates, see also Cecil Roth, History of the Jews of Italy (Philadelphia, 1946), 352; Attilio Milano, Storia degli Ebrei d’Italia (Torino, 1963), 336. Regarding the drop in Jewish population in Italy in the eighteenth century, see also Israel, European Jewry in the Age of Mercantilism, 237–9. As a rule, poverty pushed residents below the minimium income level required for membership in the community. Roth states (Ibid., 366) these dynamics were also true for Ferrara, so that at the end of the eighteenth century the community had only thirty members, i.e. not more than two thirds of the number of Jewish heads of families. According to recent studies, the economic and political weight of Ferrara’s community was rather more significant than these figures show. According to Angelini (Ibid., 34–40), the number of wealthy and well-connected Jewish families was closer to twenty than ten. Angelini claims (Ibid., 137), contrary to Roth, that the financial status of Ferrara’s Jewish community remained essentially unchanged for the whole of the eighteenth century. 11 The Italian synagogue was seen as the most famous: see Isaac Lampronti, Isaac’s Fear (­Venice, 1798), 4:17v, s.v. h.alis.ah we-sidrah. There was also a fourth synagogue known as the Sinagoga dei Fanesi, i.e. of the “sons of Fano,” after a local family. Concerning Ferrara’s synagogues, see Ibid. (Berlin, 1887), 14:104r, s.v. tefillin be-h.olo shel mo’ed; Ibid., 152r, s.v. teqi’ot ‘al seder habrakhot; Ibid. (Livorno, 1840), 6:228r, s.v. met be-Šabbat. 12 The first volume appeared in Venice in 1750 and the second in 1753. In 1756 the author died, and subsequent volumes were published at various intervals in different locations, the last appearing in 1887. A new edition was published in Tel Aviv in 1935, including the entries of Lampronti’s second edition, from aleph to h.et. Between 1961 and 1986, Mossad Ha-Rav Kook, in Jerusalem, published an annotated edition, including entries from the second edition, up to gimel. Thus, in this article, volumes are numbered in the order in which they were printed.

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the social and cultural aspects of Jewish life in Ferrara, to the extent that it enables us to draw a picture of society, customs and mental structures that is much sharper than that available for other Italian Jewish communities of the same period. Moreover, many of its entries give a description of the conditions in other Italian communities in Lampronti’s period, and even a few generations earlier. The importance of Isaac’s Fear therefore extends well beyond its specific spatio-temporal setting. To give the study a strong methodological base, ideally we should compare material from Isaac’s Fear with data from other types of sources, both archival and literary, but these materials can rarely be collated and scholarship on them is meager. We shall focus, therefore, on Lampronti’s vision of the contemporary scene, and include not only his values and beliefs but also those he ascribes to his contemporaries. Although Lampronti’s testimony is filtered through his rabbinical identity, he was an eyewitness, and even a shrewd one. Naturally, his image of Ferrara’s Jewish identity is subjective, but it is full of color and details and therefore extremely precious. To anticipate the results of this study, we will say that while, predictably, Isaac’s Fear contains texts reflecting deep religious feeling, it also indicates that Ferrara’s Jewish community included people who were only partially faithful to rabbinic authority and Jewish law. Relations with Christians were not particularly tense, but, paradoxically, the religious divide was omnipresent: Jews saw Christians first and foremost as Christians, rather than simply as people. Remarkably, Isaac’s Fear provides considerable evidence of apostasy among Ferrara’s Jews, showing that the cultural barrier between Jews and Christians was not particularly high. Of the utmost importance, however, is that the book does not grant the impression of a general crisis. Lampronti describes as totally normal a status quo that includes violations of communal or halakhic discipline, and even cases of apostasy, alongside signs of spiritual vitality.

AUTHORITY AND OBSERVANCE What was the degree of ritual observance among the Jews of Ferrara and environs in Lampronti’s day? The general impression is that of a community in close touch with its rabbinic leadership and compliant with its halakhic rulings. This image emerges from myriad statements scattered throughout Isaac’s Fear with respect to Ferrara’s customs on ritual matters, such as liturgy and food preparation. For instance, Lampronti makes the following observation: “In Ferrara

Traditional Society

it happens every day that someone comes before halakhic decisors” to address halakhic problems.13 In a similar description of the devotion of Ferrara’s Jews, Lampronti declares: “The whole congregation came to listen to the sermon, as they did and still do every Saturday and on every festival.”14 In Isaac’s Fear there is also a certain tendency to religious zeal among ­Ferrara’s Jews, particularly with respect to fasting. Lampronti examines the custom of fasting for six consecutive days and nights, and remarks: In Ferrara three people died from the agony of this fast at the time of the false messiah Sabbatai Zevi … Similarly, in [5]426 [1666], when news came from the East that Sabbatai Zevi was identified as Messiah ben David, two people fasted for four days and four nights and died immediately.15

Nor was the protracted fast limited to the heady days of Sabbatai Zevi; ­Lampronti writes that in Ferrara he saw many people fast for two days.16 Nevertheless, in Isaac’s Fear we also find reports of heterodox behavior among Ferrara’s Jews, or more precisely, behaviors defined as such by Lampronti. As we will see, this reality reflects more the limited authority of Ferrara’s rabbis than a decline in religious observance among the city’s Jews. One such source deals with the law that requires mourners to abstain from practicing their profession for the week of mourning prescribed by Jewish law. Lampronti relates that Azariah Melli of Cento, after one of his sons passed away in 1676, obtained permission from the local rabbi for other people to sell merchandise discreetly in his shop. The shop was closed, but buyers would enter the shop through Melli’s home and buy goods from a gentile clerk. Lampronti notes that only with difficulty did the rabbi acquiesce to this arrangement. Melli was dissatisfied nonetheless, and brazenly opened “half ” his shop and had merchandise sold openly, saying that such was the “explicit” custom of Ferrara, “which has various scholars.” Melli added that a certain Moses dei Boteri adhered to custom when he kept open his loan bank during the week of mourning for the death of his nephew. Lampronti notes that Melli, without 13 14 15 16

Isaac’s Fear (Lyck, 1864), 7:30v, s.v. nozot. Ibid., 6:228v, s.v. met be-Šabbat. Ibid., 14:84v, s.v. ta’anit šišah yamim. Ibid., 81r, s.v. ta’anit be-Roš Hašanah. He also refers to the Ferrarese custom of fasting on the eve of Hanukah, the anniversary of the day the community was saved from a fire that started in an oven close to the ghetto in 1688: Ibid., 4:44r, s.v. Hanukah u-Purim ve-dinehem.

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asking permission, had his hair cut after the week of mourning but before the first month had passed.17 The Cento rabbi promptly wrote to Rabbi Judah Hayyim Recanati of ­Ferrara,18 who confirmed that it was the city’s custom to leave open a shop belonging to two brothers or partners when one of them lost a relative, although this practice contradicted the talmudic and post-talmudic halakhic literature. Recanati added that his father had repeatedly ordered a number of people to shut their shops in such situations, but he had never issued a general ruling on the subject. Recanati concluded: “The truth is that ‘the rein was loosened’” (hutrah ha-rezu’ah),19 meaning that people no longer strictly complied with the rule. He also added that he intended to have the rules strictly applied, stressing that the indulgent opinion Melli got from the local rabbi was given him “with difficulty,” that it was merely an ad hoc measure, issued in difficult circumstances (bi-she’at ha-dehaq), and referring to the talmudic principle: “Better that they sin inadvertently than advertently.”20 Recanati’s point was that this particular halakhic ruling could not provide the basis for a more general stance.21 Melli’s blatant transgression of his rabbi’s instructions is an indicator of the decline of rabbinical authority and rigorous halakhic observance. This impression is reinforced by Melli’s having his hair cut before the end of the month of mourning. But Melli cannot be defined as a renegade, because, although social norms and communal authority made rebellion almost impossible, the fact remains that he opened his shop only after asking for permission. This is well within Katz’s model of the traditional society. Moreover, Melli was obviously well versed in Jewish Law, for he gave a legally based explanation, which the Ferrara rabbi was compelled to acknowledge as valid. The episode also demonstrates that Melli had not only a great deal of knowledge, but also a strong sense of halakhic politics. The incident took 17 This comment, and indeed the entire text, seems to have been written by Lampronti, but this is problematic, given that in 1676 the author was only three years old! It is clear that he relied on a source, perhaps a handwritten responsum or a letter, or more simply a local oral tradition. 18 Mordecai Samuel Ghirondi, Toledot gedole Yisraʾel u-geʾone It.alyah v.e-hagahot v.e-tosafot u-veʾurim ʻal sefer Zekher tsadik.im li-verakhah asher asaf h.ananel Nepi (Trieste, 1853), 127; Marco Mortara, Indice alfabetico dei rabbini e scrittori Israeliti di cose giudaiche in Italia (Padua, 1886), 53. 19 Regarding this expression, see below. 20 Mutav she-yehu shogegin ve’al yehu mezidin. See Šabbat 148b. Regarding this adage, see below. 21 Isaac’s Fear ( Jerusalem, 1961), 17:64, s.v. avel asur be’asi’at melakhah.

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place in Cento, a small town southeast of Ferrara. The anecdote shows that the rabbi’s authority was directly proportional to the size and the prestige of his Jewish community, and thus the word of Cento’s rabbi did not have the same weight as that of his Ferrara colleague.22 Melli was well aware of these hierarchical relationships, and he took advantage of Ferrarese tradition to extort concessions from his local rabbi. In theory, any Italian Jew could do so, provided he was conversant with Jewish law or at least with local custom. Thus, we see an educated Jew who mocks the authority of his town rabbi so as to pursue his economic interests, but who nevertheless does not question the halakhic framework or ideology by doing without a halakhic rationale. More significant than Melli’s actions is Recanati’s reference to the recent “loosening of the rein.”23 This vague literary expression conveys that Recanati detected a weakening of halakhic observance, but the issue is more complex. In fact, the specific problem under discussion was a loss of revenue, and we can therefore assume that the drift towards a more permissive policy can be ascribed, at least in part, to the traditional reluctance of rabbis to issue opinions involving financial loss. The expression “loosen the rein” might therefore refer to the leniency of rabbis as much or more as to the laxity of the rank and file. There may have been a weakening of rabbinical authority, but Recanati’s remark does not shed enough light on the Jews’ thought process to enable us to draw wholesale conclusions. The talmudic principle mentioned by Recanati, “better that they sin inadvertently than advertently,” also reflects awareness of the limits of rabbinic authority, even though it suggests that the halakhic violation might have been involuntary rather than intentional, which obviously, from a rabbi’s viewpoint, was a lesser evil. The same principle appears in another Isaac’s Fear entry regarding the ritual pollution of corpses, from which those of priestly descent are required to distance themselves. Lampronti relates that when someone passes away in a building adjacent to the synagogue, instead of staying in the synagogue courtyard until the body is removed, the Aaronites leave the synagogue for home, even though this requires them to incur pollution. ­Lampronti 22 On the other hand, the distance between Cento and Modena, in the southwest, and between Cento and Bologna, in the south, is almost equal to that between Cento and Ferrara. In theory, then, Melli could have added halakhic traditions and opinions issued in these two cities, if they served his purpose. For the Cento Jewish community, see Attilio Milano, “Cento, “ Encyclopaedia Judaica ( Jerusalem, 1972), 5:283–4. 23 The phrase is known from the Palestinian Talmud and from midrashic sources of the same milieu: see, inter alia, PT Bikurim 64a; PT Sotah 22a; PT Qidushin 66a.

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acknowledges that this has been the custom from time immemorial, and hypothesizes that Ferrara’s earlier rabbinical authorities elected not to interfere, based on the principle of preferring accidental transgression to deliberate violation.24 This case strengthens the impression of limited rabbinical authority, but more important is Lampronti’s assumption that earlier rabbis found themselves in a similar situation, signifying that he regarded the imperfect state of rabbinical authority as normal rather than as a new problem. Lampronti was surely concerned by the halakhic problem raised by M ­ elli’s case, because he writes that in 1720 the rabbis of Ferrara’s talmudic academy (yeshivah kelatit), himself included, issued a decree prohibiting commerce during the week of mourning observed by a partner in a business. The ruling exempted businesses with goods that would suffer a drop in price should the shop be shuttered, although even this would not justify the conduct of commercial transactions in the home of the bereaved. Similarly, the academy decreed that Ferrara’s rabbinical court should direct bereaved shopkeepers without partners to abstain from commercial activity until after the week of mourning, “and whoever listens, listens” (ve-hashome’a yishma). Lampronti comments that in Ferrara this practice is still in effect. This decree confirms that early modern Italian Jews continued to adhere to Jewish law, but often honored it in the breach. On the one hand, people needed to be told how to behave, and the academy was openly skeptical about the likelihood of compliance. On the other hand, the proclamation of the decree implied an awareness that Jews, however reluctant to observe inconvenient customs, had not abandoned the basic acceptance of rabbinical authority and halakhic life.25 Furthermore, as mentioned, reprehensible behavior did not necessarily represent a weakening of Jewish law, because, as in Melli’s case, frequently an alternative tradition existed. The rabbis can even be portrayed as reactionary for seeking to homogenize praxis at the expense of halakhic pluralism.26 Nevertheless, despite Melli’s attempt to supply a

24 Isaac’s Fear, 4:69v, s. v. tum’at ohel. See also Ibid., 6:228r, s.v. met be-Šabbat. 25 This is generally true for rabbinical or communal legislation. For more examples of Ferrarese decrees of this period, see Simhah Assaf, A Source-Book for the History of Jewish Education … [Hebrew], ed. Shmuel Glick (New York, 20012), 2:355–6. 26 The nature and goal of this standardization policy, if it indeed existed, would be worthy of investigation. For the halakhic situation in question, see Bet Yosef on Arba’ah Turim, 2.380, n. 21, or the more extensive bibliography mentioned in the related Isaac’s Fear entry. For more details about Ferrarese mourning traditions, see also Isaac’s Fear, 17:78, s.v. avel asur lazet mi-petah. beto.

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halakhic rationale, his motivation was mercenary rather than religious, or so it is described by the Isaac’s Fear entry. We will therefore proceed to another entry, which demonstrates that transgressive behavior was also found among the most devout members of Ferrara’s Jewish community. At issue is the blessing recited monthly at the first sighting of the new moon. Naturally, this rite was normally practiced outdoors, but we read that people preferred to perform it indoors if the streets were dirty.27 To this information, Lampronti adds the following: Such is the Ferrara custom, but some “new, recently arrived” [Dt. 32.17] individuals, who have but a vague idea of the Torah but who nevertheless regard themselves as smart men and bearers of tradition (mequbalim) although they are in the presence of wise men [Isa. 5.21], leave the Sephardic synagogue on Saturday evening, even though they could certainly bless [while looking] through the synagogue windows, or in the synagogue courtyard, which is clean and open [to the sky].28 Out of contempt [for the Law], they take the street in front of the synagogue wall and go to a very dirty place, near a small and narrow passage called transito, and there they sit and recite the blessing. I reprimanded them many times and they did not listen to me. Woe to those who insult the Torah and holiness by reciting the abovementioned holy blessing in a place of filth.29

The pathos of this passage reflects how irritated and frustrated Lampronti was by this group’s repeated refusals to follow his halakhic direction.30 Here, too, Lampronti acknowledges he was dealing with educated, rather than simple, people. Like Melli, these sinners were hardly indifferent to Jewish law, but had an alternative practice. And yet, they seemed quite different from the majority of the Sephardic community, for Lampronti describes them as a distinct group, which formed only recently. A distinctive feature of this circle is evident in his use of the ambiguous term mequbalim, which literally means “bearers of tradition,” but commonly referred to kabbalists. In short, Lampronti hints that the 27 Abraham Gombiner, Magen Avraham on Šulh.an Aruk 1.426, n. 14. 28 Elsewhere Lampronti describes a particular porch located outside the Fanesi synagogue as “exposed and clean” (meguleh ve-naqi): Isaac’s Fear, 6:228v, s.v. met be-Šabbat. Apparently for Lampronti the physician, location was of hygienic as well as ritual significance. 29 Ibid. ( Jerusalem, 1976), 20: 90–91, s.v. birkat ha-h.odesh. 30 To realistically assess Lampronti’s leadership, and perhaps also the power of the city’s rabbinical court, it is important to understand that in Ferrara he was anything but all-powerful.

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behavior of this unruly group stemmed from a kabbalistic orientation, which in their view put them on an equal footing with him and legitimized their disobedience.31 Apparently, then, the formal structures of communal and rabbinical authority of previous centuries were still in place, while at the same time multiple forces allowed educated laymen to challenge Lampronti’s authority and, by extension, that of Ferrara’s rabbinical institutions and their custodians. The use of the biblical expression “new, recently arrived” to define a new challenge to halakhic tradition or rabbinical authority is common in post-­ talmudic literature. It is therefore not surprising that Lampronti uses it again in another entry, even though his criticism there might refer to a different cohort. This entry deals with a Torah scroll in which a mistake has been found by the end of the reading. Lampronti notes that in Ferrara the custom had been to take another Torah from the ark, even when the mistake was found in the final verse of the pericope. Nowadays, he observes, “new, recent arrivals—as my eyes have seen and my ears have heard – have established the practice of not taking out the other Torah scroll after the third verse of the seventh portion [has been read].”32 Lampronti’s intricate analysis of the halakhic issue leaves no doubt that the position he condemns was anything but unfounded, and that he himself had already taken a stand on the issue. In this case, as in the previous one, ­Lampronti denounces as “new, recently arrived” those groups that contravened his halakhic decisions and principles, even though he was aware that their position could lay claim to a degree of legitimacy, and much less that their conduct represented a rejection of rabbinic tradition.33 Lampronti also strongly opposed the practice of praying out loud during a part of the prayer which, in his opinion, requires silence: Both in Ferrara and in other communities in Italy I have seen and heard great outrage and perplexity: people reading from the Torah raise their 31 This suggests that Lampronti did not define himself a kabbalist, although his attitude towards kabbalistic practices was not uniformly hostile: See, e.g. Isaac’s Fear (Lyck, 1874), 11:78r, s.v. qidushin be’ezba revi’i. The spread of kabbalah in the eighteenth century is well known, but awaits systematic investigation as far as the Italian context is concerned. 32 Ibid. (Lyck, 1866), 8:156v, s.v. sepher Torah shel musaphin. 33 It is unclear why these Ferrarese Jews modified the traditional practice. Lampronti presents a document showing that in Ferrara the competition between these traditions stemmed from ethnic diversity: Italians would switch to another Torah scroll, while the Sephardic community would just go on reading. As there is no reason to suspect that Ferrara’s community underwent a sudden change in ethnic composition, the change documented by Lampronti seems to reflect a kabbalistic change in halakhic taste.

Traditional Society voices excessively … And we have frequently reprimanded them, and we were able to suppress their bad habit for a month or for a few months, but they quickly go back to their habit, as a dog returns to its vomit [Prv. 26:11].34

As in the case of the new moon ceremony, Lampronti expresses frustration with halakhic non-compliance, but here the transgressors were only guilty of inappropriately displaying their fervor. A fine example of the difficulty Lampronti occasionally faced in enforcing ritual law concerns the regulation that, to avoid corruption, a ritual ­slaughterer-inspector should be paid equally regardless of whether or not he certifies the slaughtered animal as kosher.35 Lampronti reports that he and ­others in ­Ferrara’s academy issued a regulation to this effect, but he admits that it was not enforced: because of the powerful [alamim], who do not listen to the word of God and do not bend their shoulder to bear the burden of our Lord’s commandments. Instead, each does what is evil in the eyes of the Lord and no one searches or seeks [Ez. 34:6], until the Lord shall look forth and behold from Heaven [Lam. 3:50].”36

Given that the question is limited to a particular rabbinical prescription, describing “the powerful” as generally transgressive would be going too far. And resistance to the decree should not have been especially alarming, as it was based on financial rather than ideological grounds: the offenders did not understand why they should pay the same for an animal they may not eat as for a kosher one. Still, it seems fair to state that in Ferrara some Jews allowed themselves to blatantly disrespect the academy, as the word alam connotes. Gamblers are portrayed in Isaac’s Fear as a discrete category of sinners, and Lampronti not only knew such people but used them as a source of information. He observes that the law prohibiting gamblers from testifying (Roš 34 Isaac’s Fear (Berlin, 1885), 12:49v–50r, s.v. qeri’at sepher Torah. The sources cited state that the prohibition of reading out loud has kabbalistic roots: Lampronti cited the Zohar on Pequdei, as Joseph Karo had done before him in Bet Yoseph on Arba’ah Turim 1.141. 35 Arba’ah Turim and Šulh.an Aruk, 2.18 and other sources cited in the Isaac’s Fear entry. 36 Isaac’s Fear, 4:63r, s.v. tabah ha-notel sakhar. Alam indicates boldness in addition to power. The term entered medieval rabbinical Hebrew from Aramaic: See, e.g., Onqelos on Dt. 31:6; BT H.ullin 39b; Mishneh Torah, H. Sanhedrin 24:6.

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Hašana 1:8) applies particularly to those who play dice (qubi’a), as opposed to other forms of gambling. Dice, he explains, is an exceedingly deceitful game, and he attributes this information to gamblers whom he consulted.37 Another case, submitted to Ferrara’s academy in 1772, similarly refers to Jews whose transgressive behavior Lampronti accepts as a fact of life. Talmudic law forbids haircuts during the week leading up to the ninth of Av fast day. In 1772, the ninth of Av fell on a Saturday, when fasting is prohibited, and so the fast was postponed by a day, as the law requires. Accordingly, a bereaved family whose month of mourning was to end on the previous Monday, the fourth of Av, sought permission to have their hair cut that same week, which seemingly was not the week of the fast. Lampronti refuses, for various reasons, but we are particularly interested in the tongue lashing that he tacks on to his decision: Have you not observed that in Ferrara it is an established custom, not for some of the masses but for the whole holy community, the wicked ­included,38 that nobody has ever been seen or found having his hair cut from the beginning of the month until after the fast, even when the ninth of Av falls on a Saturday and is postponed, as our eyes have seen? We have put well-known people at the entrances of all four of Ferrara’s synagogues to check the people coming in and out, and not even one of the wicked was found to have had his hair cut or was seen daring to do so, not even this year, when the ninth of Av falls on a Saturday and has been postponed … And were you to come before me and tell me that in other cities you have seen “a wicked in great power, spreading himself like a leafy tree in its native soil” (Ps. 37.35), who beautifies himself even following a new bereavement and a fortiori following an older one, know that we are not

37 Isaac’s Fear, 6:212r, s.v. mesah.eq be-qubi’a. On gambling in the Middle Ages, see Israel Abrahams, Jewish Life in the Middle Ages (Philadelphia, 1896), 390–8; Leo Landmann, “Jewish Attitudes Towards Gambling,” Jewish Quarterly Review, n.s. 57 (1966–1967), 298–310; 58 (1967–1968), 34–62; Ephraim Kanarfogel, “Rabbinic Attitudes toward Nonobservance in the Medieval Period,” 27–9. For early modern Italy, see Leone Modena, Sur me-Ra’ (Venice, 1595–1596); Idem, She’elot u-Teshuvot Ziqnei Yehudah, ed. Shlomo Simonsohn ( ­Jerusalem, 1956), 100–114; Ludovico Zdekauer, “Il giuoco a Venezia sulla fine del secolo XVI,” Archivio Veneto 10 (1875), 132–46; David J. Malkiel, A Separate Republic: the Mechanics and Dynamics of Venetian Jewish Self-Government, 1607–1624 ( Jerusalem, 1991), 150, 226. 38 Parizim, as in Jer. 7:11, Ez. 7:22, Ps. 17:4, Dan. 11:14. The root p-r-z refers to the breaking of ties, a suitable definition for the unruly. David Kimhi (Shorashim, ad loc.) adds that parizim may also refer to the very wealthy, because measuring their wealth is difficult, as in Gen. 30:30 or 30:43, but in this case there is no reason to set aside the more common meaning.

Traditional Society dealing with the wicked, from whose behavior no proof may be brought, particularly when, thank God, they are very, very, few, and their number is nullified among 600,000.39

This passage reflects Lampronti’s image of his society. “The masses” refers to the observant members of the community, and bears no pejorative connotation. On the contrary, the text distinguishes between the masses and the wicked, who are mentioned at the beginning and again further on, when Lampronti asserts that not even one of these cuts his hair in defiance of the law. The passage indicates that Lampronti regarded the wicked as a particular social category, in contrast to the texts analyzed above, which blast those who violate individual laws but are generally compliant. We note Lampronti’s triumphal declaration that in Ferrara, unlike other cities, the wicked are very few in number, but take this sanguine assessment with a grain of salt, for it is belied by the description of the supervision of people’s hair at the entrances to the Ferrara synagogues. This assessment of Lampronti’s image of the wicked is supported by an observation he makes later in the same entry. We read that Ferrara’s Jews traditionally refrained from cutting their hair during the first nine days of Av, even when the fast of falls on a Saturday and is postponed. He proceeds: “This custom has become so widespread that when a transgressor enters the shop of gentile barbers to have his hair cut on those days, they scold him. And I heard one of them berate a rich Jew, whereupon the latter changed his mind and did not have his hair cut.”40 Clearly there were transgressors in Ferrara, and Lampronti uses the term “when” rather than “if ” to indicate that he sees this sort of transgression as habitual. Lampronti’s reference to the transgressor as wealthy highlights the lengths to which simple but devout Catholics might go to return straying Jews to the straight and narrow path. The remark about the Catholic barber also testifies to the state of social relations between Jews and Christians. Evidently, even a non-Jew could tell a rich Jew from someone less fortunate, and this was so not only because social class was easily identified in those days, but also for the simple reason that Ferrara’s Jews were few in number, such that their Christian neighbors knew them fairly well. The episode also reveals an intimacy between 39 Isaac’s Fear (Berlin, 1886), 13:42r, s.v. shavu’a she-hal tish’ah be-Av be-tokhah. 600,000 refers to the traditional number of the desert Israelites, and the phrase means that the number of offenders is insignificant in the context of the overall Jewish population. 40 Ibid., 43r.

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barber and client that seems to be universal, but nonetheless suggests a low level of tension between Jew and Christian. The barber’s bold behavior suggests that a Catholic, even a lowly barber, saw himself as equal in social stature to a rich Jew, if not as his superior. This may be going too far, for in an informal and friendly environment, often such a transgression of social boundaries is considered socially acceptable. The references to the masses and the wealthy (and the wicked) showcase Lampronti’s acute class consciousness. He devotes attention to the wealthy in other entries as well, where the term gevir (pl. gevirim) denotes people with political, economic and social clout.41 Lampronti relates that he personally scaled a sturgeon—a fish which many were not sure is kosher—and threw the scales “in front of our esteemed academy … at the home of the gevir Signor Nehemia Hai ben Moses Kohen here in Ferrara.”42 Kohen is depicted as man both wealthy and devoted to the Jewish community.43 His largesse is also noted in an entry where we read that he invited the entire Sephardic community to conduct the Yom Kippur service in his study.44 Notwithstanding Lampronti’s 41 This use of the term gevir is a medieval neologism. Its biblical source is Isaac’s blessing to Jacob (Gen. 27:29), where it means “lord.” 42 Isaac’s Fear (Venice, 1753), 2:86v, s.v. dagim vesimanam. Why Bassano and the yeshivah were gathered at Kohen’s home is not explained, but given that Lampronti refers to Kohen as a gevir, presumably his home was simply the largest space available. 43 Kohen became extremely rich by speculating on grain in times of political and economic upheaval, so much so that on two occasions, in 1740 and 1754, the government was forced to intervene. See also Angela de Benedictis, “Il Settecento: Politica e Società,” Storia illustrata di Ferrara, ed. Francesca Bocchi (Milan, 1987), 2:497–512. 44 Isaac’s Fear, 6:228v, s.v. met be-Šabbat. Elsewhere Lampronti mentions an important halakhic opinion he claims to have seen in a book belonging to the gevir Nehemiah ben ­Moses ha-Kohen: See Ibid. (Venice, 1796), 3:55v, s.v. vashat u-neqivato. Nehemiah and ­Nehemiah Hai could be one and the same. Lampronti’s image of the Kohens is supported by archival sources, which, likewise, depict the Kohen family as by far the wealthiest Jewish family in Ferrara. It is the family listed in the 1703 government census (mentioned above) as ten times richer than the families in the next highest bracket of Ferrara’s Jewish society. Nehemiah’s father Moses was one of the brothers of Felice Coen, a man of legendary wealth. Being childless, Felice left his estate to his nieces and nephews and their children, including Nehemiah Hai. See also Viviana Bonazzoli, “Aspetti della struttura organizzativa delle aziende ebraiche nella Ferrara del Settecento,” Vita e cultura ebraica dello stato estense, ed. Euride Fregni and Mauro Perani (Nonantola, 1993), 314–44. Regarding other gevirim, see Isaac’s Fear, 12:119v–120r, s.v. ro’ah dam mehamat tashmish; Ibid., 7:78r, s.v. nefilat apayyim; Ibid., 6:35r, s.v. mohel im yakhol li-shehot. Lampronti also uses the term gevir regarding his father-in-law, “the gevir and great Signor Moses Israel da Norzi:” Ibid. (Lyck, 1871), 10:4r, s.v. pidyon bekhor. This may be more than a polite gesture, for Angelini (35) lists the Norsa among Ferrara’s wealthy families.

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anecdote about the rich Jew and the barber, he does not normally criticize the religious observance of the Ferrara gevirim. Then again, his portrayal should be read critically, for, as a public official, it would have been unwise of him to speak ill of his community’s financial supporters. Elsewhere in Isaac’s Fear we encounter a religious elite of sorts: “In our city of Ferrara … some ‘men of action’ (anshei ma’aseh) and intellectuals (mevinei mada’) postpone their wives’ ritual bath to Friday, so that they may observe simultaneously the commandments of menstruation, the bread offering (hallah) and candle lighting.”45 The men he regards highly here are not rabbis, and neither are they necessarily wealthy, much less gevirim; they are simply members of the community who stand out for their zealous observance of the ­commandments.46 Lampronti also refers to “the masses,” which we noted in the haircut passage, in an entry that states that in Ferrara the custom of not drying one’s hands after washing them upon leaving the cemetery “is also found among some members of the masses (bi-qezat ha-hamon).”47 Presumably the term refers to commoners, but perhaps it does not signify a lack of education, for Lampronti explains that the custom is based on a respected source, Aaron Berekhiah Modena’s Ma’avar Yaboq (Mantua, 1626), and he adds that such is also the practice of knowledgeable members in other communities.48 45 Ibid., 4:64r, s.v. tevilah be-lel Šabbat. The sentence “commandments of menstruation” refers to the cohabitation laws in Jewish law. For the link between these two commandments, see mŠabbat 2:6. 46 “Men of action” is a mishnaic expression: Sukah 5:4, Sotah 9:15. Rashi defines them as people “confident of their importance and capable of carrying out prodigious actions.” See also his comment on BT Sukkah 49a, s.v. anshei ma’aseh. In the context of Isaac’s Fear, the important element is their self-confidence, and hence their confidence in the righteousness of their actions. On the other hand, in Jacob ben Asher’s Arba’ah Turim the term appears frequently together with hasidim, and both characterize a pious Jew devoted to practices of asceticism and self-mortification. 47 Isaac’s Fear, 11:67v, s.v. qavru ha-met. Elsewhere Lampronti uses the term “the masses” (ha-hamon) in reference to gentiles; see Ibid. (Lyck, 1868), 9:10v, s.v. ‘avodah zarah marhiqim mi-darkah. In another source, he quotes Judah Briel’s view of the scarafaccio, which, according to Briel, the masses term magnacozzo, scarafaggion or scarabio: Ibid., 3:55v, s.v. vashat u-neqivato. Here, too, ha-hamon refers to both Christians and Jews. 48 Lampronti expresses a similar attitude towards popular practice in a letter to Joseph Barukh Kazes of Mantua, in which he approves of Kazes’ opinion that on the Sabbath one may open the wax seals of letters, “as is done among the people [my italics – DM], and also among some scholars, as I have seen myself …:” Ibid. ( Jerusalem, 1966), 18:320, s.v. amirah legoy li-phetoah. ule-qalqel ha-h.otam be-Šabbat. Here the Hebrew expression to indicate “the ­people” is ha’am.

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­ erhaps it is for this reason that he writes “some of the masses,” rather than P speaking categorically. Elsewhere, Lampronti does refer to illiterate members of his community. He reports an episode in which a Jew who had the honor to recite the weekly Haftarah turned out to be illiterate (‘am ha’arez) and had to be replaced.49 But nowhere in Isaac’s Fear is the lack of education identified as the source of insubordination or lax religious observance. Isaac’s Fear portrays the Jews of Ferrara as devoted to their Jewish heritage and spiritual leadership, while it also bears witness to behavior which Lampronti deems non-halakhic and to a degree of resistance to rabbinical authority. Of supreme importance is his attitude, for he reacts to recalcitrant behavior with frustration and anger but rarely with shock. Rabbis are portrayed in Isaac’s Fear as the halakhic and spiritual guides of their communities, but evidently their flock habitually disobeyed them. Lampronti’s age is still the early modern era. To shake the foundations of Jewish identity, the rejection of rabbinical authority and Jewish law had to reach a much greater intensity in both quality and quantity. The apparent flexibility of the Jewish community in Lampronti’s day, among its rank and file and its leadership, and the elasticity of Jewish identity, are of primary importance for understanding both the period and the modern experience that followed.

JEWISH-CHRISTIAN RELATIONS The strength and depth of Jewish identity in each diaspora community are reflected in the attitudes of Jews towards their non-Jewish neighbors and their culture. These attitudes may be measured in different realms: the political realm, i.e. the level of tension and insecurity of Jews vis-à-vis both the civil and ecclesiastical authorities; the social realm, i.e. the degree of freedom and ease with which Jews and Christians interacted; the cultural realm, i.e. the extent to which Jews identified with the general culture and participated in it; and finally, the presence and relative prevalence of Jewish apostasy, which pertains to all of 49 Ibid., 8:156v, s.v. sepher Torah šel musaphin. The Hebrew word ‘am ha-aretz refers here to someone illiterate, rather than to a literate but ignorant person. The same is true for an entry regarding the legitimacy of inviting a blind illiterate (suma ’am ha’aretz) to read the Torah in the synagogue. Here Lampronti points out: “In Ferrara it happens every day that even a blind illiterate reads”: Ibid., 24v, s.v. suma o ’am ha’aretz. Naturally, a blind illiterate is different from those whose illiteracy stems from their socioeconomic status or intellectual capabilities.

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these realms. Isaac’s Fear sheds light on all of these aspects of Jewish-Christian relations, and reveals Lampronti’s perspective as well.50 Ferrara was part of the Papal States, in which Church and State were intimately intertwined. Jews did not enjoy the same rights as Catholics. Jewish children could attend the local ginnasio and university, and even earn a doctorate, but Jews could not testify in court, they could not appear in notarial deeds on behalf of Catholics, and they could not own real estate.51 Supreme political authority was in the hand of papal legates, whose policy regarding the Jewish community was partly determined by the financial power of the city’s richest Jews. In Ferrara these were undoubtedly the gevirim of the Coen family. Thus, in 1697, when Cardinal Fulvio Astalli was the papal delegate, F ­ errara’s government was in need of funds, and the city’s Jewish moneylenders were the only available source. This seems to be the context for Astalli’s 1700 decision to grant Jews the right to arbitrate disputes among Jews concerning sums of up to five scudi.52 That liberal decision sparked opposition, which may explain the bishop of Ferrara’s decision to uproot the gravestones from the Jews’ cemetery and use them to pave his stables.53 We also find traces of Astalli’s favorable attitude towards the Jews in the large number of anti-Jewish writings published in these years by local authors, including Girolamo Baruffaldi (1675–1755), one of the city’s most renowned scholars.54 50 The Jews’ degree of involvement in the intellectual life of the non-Jewish environment is also relevant, but Lampronti’s contribution to our knowledge of this aspect will be analyzed in a further study. 51 Angelini, Gli Ebrei di Ferrara nel Settecento, 135. Regarding the Church’s attitude towards the Jews during this period, see Marina Caffiero, “Tra Chiesa e Stato: Gli ebrei italiani dall’età dei Lumi agli anni della Rivoluzione,” Gli ebrei d’Italia [Storia d’Italia, Annali 11], ed. Cesare Vivanti (Turin, 1997), 2:1091–132, esp. 1103–08. 52 In Ferrara this was an unprecedented privilege: See Angelini, Gli Ebrei di Ferrara nel Settecento, 58–60. 53 Ibid., 61. The pretext for the Bishop’s initiative was the presumably heretical contents of the inscriptions on the headstones. Yitzhak Barukh Halevi, AKA Benedetto Levi, mentions a similar episode from 1756, six months previous to Lampronti’s death, although without documentation: Sepher Toledot ha-Rav ha-Gadol Yizhaq Lampronti (Lyck, 1871), 4r; Benedetto Levi, Della vita e dell’opera di Isacco Lampronti (Padua, 1871), 19. 54 Angelini, Gli Ebrei di Ferrara nel Settecento, 59, n. 117. Baruffaldi’s Rime serie e giocose include the following anti-Jewish short poems: La seconda burletta sbaragliata; Democrito mascherato and Rabbi Talas profeta al ghetto di Ferrara. Baruffaldi also wrote Grillo (­Verona, 1738), a satire of medicine in Molière’s style, with fictitious or pseudonymous characters, including Menachem Ebreo, who might be a parody of Lampronti. See Cesare Menini, “Girolamo Baruffaldi e le scienze mediche,” Girolamo Baruffaldi (1675–1755): Convegno nazionale di studi nel terzo centenario della nascita (Cento, 1977), 1:557. Other Ferrarese

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Lorenzo Casoni, who succeeded Astalli, revoked all the privileges granted by his predecessor,55 but the Jews’ fortunes rose again under Tommaso Ruffo (1710–1714, 1727–1731), especially during his second term in office. This rosy period was disturbed by accusations hurled at the Jewish community and some of its most prominent representatives. In 1721 Ferrara’s Jewish community was accused of having identified Felice Coen, of the gevirim, as the messiah.56 In May of that year a large contingent of political and ecclesiastical ­officials searched the homes of several wealthy Jewish families. Felice Coen was accused of ritual murder and placed under house arrest. It was said that the Jews had attempted collectively to “acquire some right regarding the city and air of ­Ferrara.” A denunciation also stated that a matzah was found hanging in the synagogue, which was taken as a sign that “the Jews had united the ghetto with the entire city.” Apparently the raid had no further consequences and ended silently.57 Lampronti has little to say about the political-legal status of Ferrara’s Jews, except for the following remark: “Unfortunately all the laws of Israel are null and void among us, given that almost everyone bring their disputes before the tribunals of the gentiles.”58 This cannot refer to disputes between Jews and Christians, which were always adjudicated outside the Jewish community, as stated by Cecil Roth: “Jurisdiction in mixed disputes between Jews and Christians was reserved for the ordinary magistracy, the giudice de’ savi.” Ostensibly, Lampronti’s comment is contradicted by the continuation of Roth’s sentence, which states that “down to 1708 Jewish autonomy was retained in civil ­cases,”59 and it also flies in the face of an Isaac’s Fear entry that refers to litigation among Jews.60 In all likelihood, although the community was entitled to settle disputes among Jews, the Jews preferred state tribunals, which had greater executive power. Such was often the case in early modern Europe, notwithstanding the protests of rabbis, and hence this behavior does not indicate pressure by the political or ecclesiastical authorities to limit Jewish autonomy.61 Litigation authors of eighteenth-century anti-Jewish writings are Antonio Trotti, Giuseppe Malucelli and ­Lorenzo Barotti. 55 Angelini, Gli Ebrei di Ferrara nel Settecento, 62, 66–8. 56 Umberto Cassuto, “Ferrara,” Encyclopaedia Judaica (Berlin, 1930), 6:961. 57 Angelini, Gli Ebrei di Ferrara nel Settecento, 88–9. 58 Isaac’s Fear, 13:258r, s.v. šemitat kesaphim ba-zeman ha-zeh. 59 Roth, History of the Jews of Italy, 333. 60 Isaac’s Fear ( Jerusalem, 1970), 19:599, s.v. ba’alei dinim. 61 On this topic, see Menahem Elon, Jewish Law: History, Sources, Principles, trans. Bernard Auerbach and Melvin J. Sykes (Philadelphia, 1994), 1:13–18; Simhah Assaf, Batei Din ve-Sidre-

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before the civil authorities is more an indication of a comfortable atmosphere and an expectation of justice and fairness than of tension and oppression. For the most part, Lampronti does not mention the political upheavals of his time. In the first half of the eighteenth century, Ferrara was involved in the War of the Spanish Succession (1701–1713) and the War of the Polish Succession (1733–1735); these mainly brought about fluctuations in the availability and price of foodstuffs. Isaac’s Fear leaves no trace of these events, although the War of the Austrian Succession (1742–1744) is briefly mentioned. Lampronti reports that in the spring of 1742 someone brought him a chicken with a beetle under the skin to inspect, and he ruled it unkosher, with the following explanation: “There would not be any monetary loss in selling the non-kosher animal to gentiles, particularly nowadays, when the Spanish population has increased, when the ‘sword of peace’62 goes through our land, and ‘when carrion is plentiful, those who eat it increase in number.’”63 Lampronti is saying that the influx of Spaniards has increased the demand for fresh meat, and therefore the chicken’s owner would not suffer a loss. Contrary to the image made popular in Manzoni’s I Promessi Sposi, Lampronti does not associate the passage of troops through the region with looting and impoverishment, nor does he express concern that the war might adversely affect Ferrara’s Jews. A slight sense of insecurity does nevertheless emerge from the following passage, which concerns the city’s political leadership: In 5480, that is 1720 according to the Christian calendar, Marquis Gavassini64 was appointed Judge and giudice de’ savi, i.e. supreme governor of the city of Ferrara. Every year, when the governor is appointed, he walks through the Jews’ street65 twice on the day of the festivities, as he proceeds

62 63 64 65

hem Aharei Hatimat ha-Talmud ( Jerusalem, 1924), 11–13; Shmuel Shilo, Dina de-Malkhuta Dina ( Jerusalem, 1974), 312–402; Robert Bonfil, Rabbis and Jewish Communities in Renaissance Italy, trans. Jonathan Chipman (London, 1993), 214–17; Meir ­Hildesheimer, “The Provisions against Gentile Courts in Late Medieval Ashkenaz: Halakha and Practice” [Hebrew], Proceedings of the Tenth World Congress of Jewish Studies ( Jerusalem, 1990), C/1:217– 24. This was the norm in Lithuania: see Ettinger, “Review of: Katz, Tradition and Crisis,” 14. The expression refers to the military forces crossing a given territory en route to their destination: BT Ta’anit 22a. Isaac’s Fear, 3:55v, s.v. vashat u-neqivato. The last expression (bi-revot ha-nevelah ravu okhleha) is a pun on Eccl. 5:10. Sigismondo Gavassini: See Angelini, Gli Ebrei di Ferrara nel Settecento, 20, 21. I corrected the text, which reads “Gammasino.” Rehov ha-Yehudim, i.e., the ghetto.

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Part One from his home to St. Piero’s house, to swear that he will fulfill his role absolutely faithfully. It is the custom of the Jews to honor the appointed governor as he passes through the ghetto, with stringed instruments and pipe [Ps. 150.4] and signal trumpets [Numbers 31.6], and to adorn the street called Via dei Sabbioni with pleasant objects hung on the walls, and large and small chairs placed on both sides of the street, and lacquered images and glass mirrors and wall tapestries on both sides, and other ornaments that are customary and known to all.   That year the festivities fell on a Saturday, the day when, as is well known, Jews are forbidden to perform any labor. Nevertheless, the governor was to go through the unadorned ghetto [be-h.urbano] twice on a Saturday, and if the Jews would not honor him, as is their obligation to any giudice de’ savi, he would envy the other governors and be angry at the Jews, as though they despise him and do not respect his honor. The communal authorities therefore submitted the matter to our tribunal in the presence of the academy. The academy rabbis agreed to allow gentile laborers, by order of the communal authorities, to come, both on Friday afternoon and on Saturday, and make the necessary expenditures and prepare all the adornments that are customary every year, the labor to be performed by the gentile laborers for an agreed-upon sum. They also authorized the communal authorities to instruct the trumpeters on Friday to play on Saturday, in the Jews’ homes and windows, whenever the governor and judge passes by, in accordance with the annual custom.66

The text paints a clear and detailed picture of the festivities that accompanied such a formal political ceremony.67 Gavassini’s inauguration confronted the community with an emergency, because normally the rabbinical leadership would have been unwilling to tolerate behavior constituting a profanation of the Sabbath. The source depicts the heads of the Jewish community in a state of permanent alert as far as the words and actions of those in power are concerned, 66 Isaac’s Fear, 13:75v–76r, s.v. Šabbat melakhot še-yakhol ha-goy la’asot be’ad Yisra’el bo. 67 See also Cassuto, Gli ebrei a Firenze nell’età del Rinascimento (Florence, 1918), 211–12; ­Milano, Il ghetto di Roma: Illustrazioni storiche (Rome, 1964), 307–22; Simonsohn, History of the Jews in the Duchy of Mantua ( Jerusalem, 1977), 176–8; Malkiel, A Separate ­Republic, 155–7. Regarding civic rituals in general, see David I. Kertzer, Ritual Politics and Power (New Haven, 1988); Edward Muir, Civic Ritual in Renaissance Venice (Princeton, 1981); Idem, Ritual in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, 1997), 229–62.

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ever attentive to the direction the political winds were blowing. They knew that, like Ahasuerus, the rulers could be dangerous when their anger was sparked. At the same time, there is nothing essentially anti-Jewish in the episode: implicitly Gavassini would have been equally insulted and angry if another neighborhood had failed equally to honor his recent appointment. Anti-Jewish unrest broke out in Ferrara in 1749, when ten Jews were accused of fraud, and once again the incident stimulated a number of anti-­ Jewish writings.68 Angelini attributes these anti-Jewish feelings and activities to the Jews’ impressive financial and political power.69 Ironically, therefore, even the sources mentioning unpleasant incidents stress the relatively favorable conditions of Ferrara’s Jews.70 Isaac’s Fear sheds more light on the social interaction between Jews and Christians than on their relations with the authorities. On the economic level, interaction was inevitable, given that Jews were not farmers and naturally bought foodstuffs from Christians, including eggs, vegetables and dairy products.71 Jews also employed Christians, as in the case of the Gavassini celebrations, and a crucial halakhic question was whether Christians could be allowed to perform tasks prohibited to Jews on the Sabbath and festivals. The topic is addressed with respect to industry, construction and other forms of manual labor.72 A domestic example is the custom of having a Christian open the wax seal on a Jew’s mail on the Sabbath.73 68 Angelini, Gli Ebrei di Ferrara nel Settecento, 152. According to Angelini, the case is related to the bankruptcy of a Roman banker called Lopez, which involved all the Papal States. Anti-Jewish literature, including La costernazione del ghetto di Ferrara and La predica al ghetto, appears in the anonymous work Memorie o sia diario delle cose di Ferrara, Ms. Cl. 1, 556, kept at Ferrara’s Biblioteca Ariostea and dated 1748. 69 This also explains the fact that, at the time, a number of Jews were reported to the local Inquisition. Angelini, Gli Ebrei di Ferrara nel Settecento, 87, refers to: Descrizione del fatto degli ebrei successo in Ferrara quest’anno 1721, manuscript in Ferrara’s Archivio di Stato: Misc. Ferrarese Migliori, vol. XVII, file II. 70 Angelini, Gli Ebrei di Ferrara nel Settecento, 137. 71 Isaac’s Fear, 19:275–6, s.v. bes.im ve-dinehem; Ibid., 20:325–8, s.v. gevinot ha-goyim; gevinot šel goyim; Ibid., 12:73v–74r, s.v. re’iya ve-hirher. The abovementioned text regarding the War of the Austrian Succession shows that the Jews sold meat to Christians, as is well known from other sources. See, e.g., Ariel Toaff, Love, Work and Death: Jewish Life in Medieval Umbria, trans. Judith Landry (London, 1996), 61–83. 72 Isaac’s Fear, 13:75r, s.v. Šabbat melakhot še-yakhol ha-goy la’asot be’ad Yisra’el bo. See also Ibid., 9:110v, s.v. ‘ani ha-mehapekh be-hararah; Ibid., 3:6v, s.v. hadas šoteh. Regarding ­Christian barbers, see above, n. 40. 73 Ibid., 18:320, s.v. amirah le-goy li-phetoah. ule-qalqel ha-h.otam be-Šabbat. See above n. 49. Opening the letters constitutes economic cooperation, rather than social interaction,

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Occasionally, Lampronti’s opinions on financial questions illuminate his personal attitude towards Christians. Concerning the prohibition of employing Christians to render medical assistance on the Sabbath, he writes: “We are used to doing everything by means of a Jew, even though there are gentiles among us, because the Jew is undoubtedly swifter to save his brother.”74 Lampronti’s words stem from the assumption that a Jew’s behavior in any social situation is dictated by his national-religious identity. Historically, the clannishness mentioned in this remark contributed to Jews being called swindlers and leeches, and it fostered anti-Jewish feeling and occasionally violence. Isaac’s Fear alludes to this issue in an entry about the Jewish law that allows Jews to profit from financial mistakes by Christians. Lampronti approves the notion that the Jew should point out the error, and he compares this rule to the analogous one in the Šulh.an Aruk (4.348.2) about returning a lost object to a gentile. The following addendum follows: I write this for posterity, having seen many people become great and rich from misleading the gentiles into error, and [ultimately] they were unsuccessful and lost their property and left no blessing after them, as is said in Sefer H.asidim §1074; while many who sanctified the name of God and restored [the money from] the gentiles’ errors concerning an important matter75 became great and rich and succeeded, and “left their abundance to their babes” [Ps. 17:14].76

This entry would have pleased Christian readers, but it probably testifies more to Lampronti’s political sense than to his ethical scruples. Nevertheless his first-person testimony lends the statement a tone of sincerity, for he could have conveyed his message in legal or homiletical, rather than autobiographical, language. His message is that God rewards those who take the high road, and he equates such conduct with the sanctification of the divine name, the noblest and most righteous form of Jewish behavior. b­ ecause it was probably a task performed by Christian servants for their employers, rather than a gesture of friendship or neighborly relations. 74 Ibid., 6:233r, s.v. met mitzvah. This entry also deals with Christian undertakers. 75 The significance of “concerning an important matter” is unclear. 76 Ibid., 4:85v, s.v. ta’ut goy ha-muteret. Regarding the passage taken from Sepher H.asidim, see the edition by Reuven Margaliyot ( Jerusalem, 1956–1957), 550.

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We detect a similar sensitivity in an entry that concerns the image of Jews and Judaism in the eyes of Christians. Under discussion is a 1716 e­ pisode involving a Jewish maidservant who requested compensation from the ­Jewish employer who raped her and caused her to bear an illegitimate daughter. ­Lampronti cites a number of legal opinions, including his own, in support of the mother’s claim. Most interesting for our purpose are the remarks of Abramo Samson Levi Fubini of Torino,77 who supports the view that the rapist should be heavily penalized …: Lest we be scorned and ridiculed by our [Christian] neighbors and the name of God and of our holy Torah be profaned in the eyes of the nations, who would say: “Have you seen this seducer, who seduced, succeeded and repeated [his crime], to the point that he has come to view it as permitted, and the transgressor has emerged with his property intact! Has this house become a den of villains?!”78

Here too, concern for the Christians’ image of Judaism is a primary consideration, and presumably other Jews shared this value.79 On the boundary between economic and social relations we find the issue of sexual intercourse between Jews and Christians, ever a source of anxiety in the Catholic church.80 Lampronti writes that he heard from a “wise man” that having intercourse with a prostitute is a graver sin than with an ordinary gentile woman. This is because intercourse with a prostitute is a random encounter rather than a real relationship, and consequently, unbeknownst to her Jewish client, the prostitute could be menstruating at the time of the sexual act, which would cause the client to violate the prohibition against having relations with a menstruant woman, which carries the punishment of excision (karet), as well as the taboo on intimacy with a 77 On Fubini, see Asher Salah, La République des Lettres: Rabbins, écrivains et médecins juifs en Italie au XVIIIe (Leiden, 2007), 365. 78 Isaac’s Fear, 18:360–61, s.v. ones noten arba’ah devarim. 79 See also Katz, Tradition and Crisis, 36. 80 Bernard S. Bachrach, Early Medieval Jewish Policy in Western Europe (Minneapolis, 1977), 5, 6, 40–1, 48, 51, 63; Simonsohn, The Apostolic See and the Jews (Toronto, 1991), 7:154–6; James Brundage, “Intermarriage Between Christians and Jews in Medieval Canon Law,” Jewish History 3 (1988), 25–40; Walter J. Pakter, Medieval Canon Law and the Jews (Ebelsbach a.M., 1988), 289–304; Amnon Linder, The Jews in the Legal Sources of the Early Middle Ages (Detroit, 1997), index s.v. marriage and sexual intercourse; Solomon Grayzel, The Church and the Jews in the 13th Century (New York, 1966), 61–2.

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gentile. However, Lampronti adds that this topic should not be broached in public or before commoners, who might infer from it that intercourse with Christian women is permitted.81 This entry reveals a sense of hierarchy, as Lampronti distinguishes between educated people and commoners. Of course, it also illustrates that intimacy with Christian women was a real possibility. Apparently, apart from the ideological gap separating Christians and Jews, both groups were also divided by a social boundary, which, however, was permeable and not a very strong deterrent. Lampronti’s view is then echoed by his Mantuan colleague, Aviad Sar Shalom Basilea,82 and we should note that neither scholar refers to relations between Jewish women and Christian males. Whether or not such relations were a social reality, the rabbis’ deliberations resemble the venerable Catholic legislation, which always exclusively addresses the issue of intercourse between Jewish men and Christian women. Whether Jews may hunt, a query Lampronti received from Yoav Barukh Lampronti, his relative and pupil, opens a window on the attitude of Jews towards the customs and culture of their Christian neighbors.83 The query per se implies that some Jews enjoyed the sport. Lampronti did not share this perspective, for he responds that most recent rabbinic authorities forbid hunting even when its purpose is economic gain rather than sport. A personal observation follows: “Someone who hunts for sport [le-tiyul] rather than for profit, what pleasure does he get from killing animals and birds for nothing? He certainly violates the prohibition against destroying trees [Dt. 20:19].”84 Lampronti’s lack of sympathy for a hobby popular among Christians is echoed by his colleague, Sabbatai Elhanan ben Elisha Del Vecchio:85 “Think about it: If someone shoots an arrow at his friend for his own amusement and sport, and his friend dies, shall he not be punished?” Regarding animals, Del Vecchio quotes the verse: “his tender mercies over all his works” (Ps. 145:9). 81 Isaac’s Fear, 19:210–11, s.v. bo’el aramit. Regarding Jewish prostitutes in eighteenth-century Italy, see Simonsohn, History of the Jews in the Duchy of Mantua, 543–4, in particular n. 114. Regarding the medieval background, see Kanarfogel, “Rabbinic Attitudes toward Nonobservance in the Medieval Period,” 17–26. 82 On Basilea, see Salah, La République des Lettres, 70–3. 83 Yoav Barukh Lampronti also appears elsewhere: Isaac’s Fear, 3:79r, s.v. haval ‘alekha qesar; Ibid., 18:565, s.v. ešh min ha-ʻes.im. 84 Ibid., 11:16v–18v, s.v. s.edah. Regarding tiyul as a hobby, see Haym Soloveitchik, “Piety, ­Pietism and German Pietism: Sefer Hasidim I and the Influence of Hasidei Ashkenaz,” Jewish Quarterly Review 92 (2002), 491, n. 109. 85 On Del Vecchio, see Salah, La République des Lettres, 649–51.

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He also quotes a talmudic source deploring the killing of animals for sport,86 and concludes by proscribing hunting as a breach of the biblical prohibition against imitating gentile customs.87 This last argument seems especially apt, because it is typically quoted when the rabbinic consultant discusses a practice he considers alien to the Jewish way of life. Elsewhere Lampronti seems more in tune with his cultural milieu. Regarding the legitimacy of adopting Christian musical themes into the Jewish liturgy, he cites the permissive stance of Joel Sirkes of Krakow, who only outlawed music composed for an idolatrous rite. Lampronti cites Book of Songs (Sefer ha-Shirim), which apparently refers to Salomone Rossi’s Songs of Solomon (Ha-Shirim Asher li-Shelomo, Venice, 1623), which includes an important responsum on the issue by Leone Modena, Venice’s most famous rabbi. The reference to Rossi is unusual and unexpected in a halakhic work, and apart from showcasing the catholicity of Lampronti’s erudition, it underscores his interest in the matter, which was clearly shared by some members of his community.88 Lampronti’s awareness of contemporary Italian culture also emerges somewhat unexpectedly from a discussion of birds with shriveled genitals. Lampronti claims these are kosher, because such birds, like capons, can live without their sex organs. He buttresses this argument with the comparison of birds to human beings, citing the example of castrati, castrated singers.89 Was the opposite also true? – How familiar were Ferrara’s Christians with the Jewish way of life? The anecdote about the Christian barber shows that Christians were somewhat conversant with Jewish mores. This is also clear from a couplet in Baruffaldi’s Grillo (Verona, 1738), which satirizes medicine. The work includes a number of denigrating comments about Jews, including the remark that “the Jew does not tighten his tefillin the way he holds on to his money.”90 This barb shows that not only did Baruffaldi know what tefillin are and how they are to be donned, but that he assumed that his Christian audience did as well. 86 BT, Avodah Zarah 18b. 87 Isaac’s Fear, 11:20v–21r, s.v. s.edah. See the similar debate in: Samson Morpurgo, Šemeš Tzdakah (Venice, 1743), 2 (§18):66v-67r; Meir ben Barukh of Rothenburg, Responsa (Berlin, 1891), §27, 7. See Abrahams, Jewish Life in the Middle Ages, 375–7. 88 For Sirkes’ debate, see his Responsa Bayit Hadaš (Frankfurt a. M., 1696/97), §127. See Isaac’s Fear, 7:57v, s.v. nigun be-h.olo šel mo’ed. 89 Isaac’s Fear, 19:272, s.v. bes.ei zakhar. 90 Baruffaldi, Grillo, song VIII, stanza 50.

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In fact, Baruffaldi knew quite a bit about Judaism, for he studied Hebrew with Giovanni Licini, a Jewish apostate.91 The same is true for the Augustinian friar, Giovan Carlo Benetti, who served as catechist to Ferrara’s Jewish community.92 Domenico Vandelli included some Hebrew words in his correspondence with Gian Andrea Barotti, who clearly knew at least a little Hebrew.93 ­Christians with some knowledge of Hebrew, while few in Ferrara, sometimes used their knowledge to shape popular opinion regarding Judaism, and Baruffaldi’s case illustrates that knowledge does not necessarily foster reconciliation and ­tolerance. Christian Hebraists appear in an entry about the legitimacy of teaching the Torah to gentiles, a practice Lampronti categorically prohibits, even when the Jewish instructor’s motivation is to avoid causing enmity or risk to himself or the community. Lampronti is certainly referring to latter-day gentiles, for he cites his responsum on the legitimacy of selling Jewish books to gentiles, who, he informs us, sometimes pay more than the value of the books on the Jewish market, a clear reference to the local Italian scene. Lampronti prohibits sales to gentiles when the buyer can only procure the book from a Jew, but permits it when other options are available. Presumably, he approved of the policy of hindering access to Jewish books, but thought this makes sense only when access could actually be blocked. The same logic would explain his view that printed books may be sold to gentiles, but not handwritten ones. Lampronti adds that books dealing with the seven Noahide laws may be sold to a non-Jew, because they may aid in the study of his religious duties. On the other hand, he may not be sold books that contain “the tradition of the words of the Torah” (qabalat divrei ha-Torah), which appears to allude to literature of interest to Christian kabbalists.94 The opinion articulated here blatantly contradicts Lampronti’s position in a text which reveals with exceptional clarity his attitude towards Christians and Christianity. At the beginning of Isaac’s Fear, a note (modaʽah) explains that the Hebrew term goyim, which generally denotes non-Jews, does not refer to “messianists” (meshihim), whom Lampronti promptly identifies as “­Christians.” This sort of declaration was the norm, for without it the author might incur the wrath of censors for denigrating or otherwise blaspheming the Christian faith. 91 Teodosio Lombardi, “Le Accademie ferraresi e centesi al tempo di Girolamo Baruffaldi (1675– 1755),” Girolamo Baruffaldi (1675–1755), 133, 139. 92 Maria Giuseppina Muzzarelli, “Gli ebrei,” Storia illustrata di Ferrara, 2:474. 93 Angelini, Economia e cultura a Ferrara dal Seicento al tardo Settecento (Urbino, 1979), 352. 94 Isaac’s Fear, 2:89r, s.v. doresh she-darash be-rabim.

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In this cautionary notice Lampronti describes Christians as civilized people, whom the Jews do not believe at all capable of malevolent intentions or despicable activities: They are not idolaters, but rather they believe in the unity of God. They are not suspected of bloodshed, bestiality, or theft; on the contrary, they punish more severely than we do those who shed blood or are guilty of bestiality or homosexuality. Note that they punish thieves by hanging and death, while we punish them only with a double payment or with a fourfold or five-fold payment,95 but no more … Moreover, we get medical care from them every day, and we allow them to cut our hair at any time, and they do the same, on the orders of [i.e. with the permission of] the Inquisitor and the ministers. And we are not forbidden at all from teaching them the Torah, as is well known.96

Only gentileta, i.e. idolaters, are suspected of abominations, and Lampronti concludes that, “like all Israel,” he uses the term “worshippers of the stars and signs” literally, rather than as a euphemism for Christians.97 The passage details the differences between Christians and idolaters and their halakhic significance, including the suspicion that idolaters sometimes commit bloodshed and bestiality, as well as the prohibition against patronizing an idolatrous barber and teaching the Torah to an idolater. The note provides a series of cross-references to Isaac’s Fear entries that deal with these and related topics.98 Disclaimers like this one were standard in the published Hebrew writings of early modern Italy, because such texts could fall into the hands of Christians through apostates, Hebrew-literate Christians or even well-intentioned Jews. And yet, the text does not seem formulaic; on the contrary, it seems original and authentically his, particularly the remark about the draconian nature of 95 The double payment applies to one who steals an animal, the four-fold payment to one who steals, slaughters and sells a sheep or goat, and the five-fold payment to one who does the same to a cow. 96 Obviously, this last sentence contradicts the attitude expressed in the previous text. See: ­David Kaufmann, “On Jews Teaching Hebrew to Non-Jews,” Jewish Quarterly Review 9 (1887), 500–08; Moses Avigdor Shulvass, The Jews in the World of the Renaissance, trans. Elvin I. Kose (Leiden, 1973), 282–3. 97 Isaac’s Fear, 17:38–9 in the initial section, paginated with Arabic numerals. 98 This statement is contradicted by numerous entries, some mentioned above. See also Ibid., 19:275–6, s.v. bes.im ve-dinehem; Ibid., 2:97v, s.v. deleqah.

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Christian justice, which is novel. This theme appears centuries earlier, in Joseph Kimhi’s twelfth-century anti-Christian polemic, but while Kimhi satirizes the punitive measures taken by Christians as disproportionate and barbaric, Lampronti applauds their severity.99 Lampronti’s view surfaces again in an entry about the prohibition against leaving animals for safekeeping with gentiles because they are suspected of bestiality: “Nowadays this is allowed, because the messianists among us torture and beat and impose punishments for bestiality.”100 The repetition of this notion supports the impression that the initial cautionary statement represents Lampronti’s own convictions. This is also suggested by the reference to Christians seeking medical attention from Jewish doctors, something with which, as a physician, Lampronti would have been intimately familiar. In this case it is also plain that Lampronti practiced what he preached, for he himself referred patients to Christian physicians like Giambattista Morgagni, of the Faculty of Medicine at the University of Padua.101 Whether Christianity is tantamount to idolatry is discussed in the context of a debate about the legitimacy of going about bareheaded. Lampronti justifies the practice of removing one’s hat in church (“the house of their altars”) in the presence of a nobleman or burgher, given that the Jew does so to honor the individual rather than his religion. Nonetheless, Lampronti advises wearing “a small hat or berettino,” thus giving the false impression of being bareheaded, and he mentions that he has seen people doing so in many places.102 Notions of polite behavior may have induced Lampronti to view such gestures as suitable. His recommendation seems to stem from the concern that the failure to remove one’s hat might be interpreted as disrespectful, with possible ugly repercussions. This would imply that the relations between Jews and   99 See Frank Talmage, The Book of the Covenant and Other Writings [in Hebrew] ( Jerusalem, 1974), 26, 39. Ironically, it is Kimhi rather than Lampronti who is in tune with Cesare Beccaria’s call for proportional punishment, which appeared later in the century. 100 Isaac’s Fear, 19:173, s.v. behemah en ma’amidim be-phundeqa’ot šel goyim. Lampronti bases his stance on Nissim of Gerona’s commentary of Alfasi in BT Avodah Zarah 7a. 101 The Clinical Consultations of Giambattista Morgagni: the edition of Enrico Benassi, trans. and rev. Saul Jarcho (Boston, 1984), consultations 39, 53, 69–71. There is more evidence of ­Lampronti’s personal contact with Christian physicians. In an entry regarding the feathers growing inside the body of geese, Lampronti mentions having discussed this anatomical riddle with a Christian physician (literally: “not of our people”). See Isaac’s Fear, 7:30v, s.v. nozot. 102 Ibid., 9:10v, s.v. ‘avodah zarah marhiqim mi-darkah.

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Christian were a bit unstable, with a degree of ambivalence and concern, even if on the whole this last passage and the cautionary statement express civility and good will.103 A fascinating 1673 responsum, which is published in Isaac’s Fear but is not Lampronti’s, does indeed depict churches as dens of idolatry. It concerns a Jewish debtor who avoided the authorities by hiding in a church. The police tried to arrest him anyway, but he remonstrated loudly that their action was illegal. Hearing his cries, a crowd composed of Jews and Christians began hurling insults at the police. The latter withdrew, but the debtor was stricken with remorse for profiting from an idolatrous site, and he asked his rabbi, Israel Solomon Lenghi, to dictate an appropriate penance.104 Lenghi consulted a colleague, Isaac ben Samuel Levi Valle, asking him, inter alia, on what basis Italy’s Jewish communities allow Jewish fugitives to avoid arrest by entering sites of idolatry, i.e. churches or the homes of clergy.105 Clearly, some Italian Jews still equated Christianity with idolatry. On the other hand, the story portrays Jews and Christians standing shoulder to shoulder against the police, the common enemy, at least in this episode. Moreover, Lenghi’s statement that Jews often seek refuge from the authorities in the homes of clergy surely suggests a remarkable degree of coexistence, whatever the beliefs Jews held about the nature of the Christian faith. Notwithstanding the benign social relations between Jews and Christians, the Church’s missionary activity proceeded apace. Isaac’s Fear testifies that conversionary sermons were still being delivered in Ferrara’s Oratorio San Crispino, to which the Jews had direct access from the ghetto. The first in a series of responsa from 1718 concerning the permissibility of carrying objects on the Sabbath, states that until some indeterminate time past, the Jews of ­Ferrara were permitted to carry objects, because the ghetto was surrounded by a boundary (‘eruv), which rendered the entire area shared property, in which objects may be carried. However, the ghetto wall was breached to allow direct passage to San Crispino, and the question posed was whether one may carry 103 Lampronti quotes a number of sources, but not the opinion by Leone Modena about going bareheaded, which had not been printed yet. Elsewhere it is clear that Lampronti equated going bareheaded with “the customs of the gentiles” (huqot ha-goyim): see Isaac’s Fear (Reggio, 1813), 5:86r, s.v. kamah hazif hai gavra. See also Eric Zimmer, Society and its ­Customs [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem, 1996), 17 ff., esp. 28–30. 104 On Lenghi, see Ghirondi, Toledot gedole Yisraʾel, 52, 177; Mortara, Indice alfabetico, 32. 105 Isaac’s Fear, 6:203r–204v, s.v. miqlat. On Valle, see Toledot gedole Yisraʾel, 129; Mortara, Indice alfabetico, 67.

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from the ghetto to San Crispino, which was now outside the boundary and hence not within the shared space.106 The Jews regarded compulsory attendance at such sermons more as a nuisance rather than as a real threat to Jewish identity. Nevertheless, apostasy was anything but unknown in Lampronti’s milieu. According to available statistics, in the seventeenth century the rate of conversion among Ferrarese Jews reached 1.86%, but dropped to 1.33% in the eighteenth century.107 Some Ferrarese apostates are known to us. We remain ignorant of the Jewish roots of Giovanni Licini, with whom, as mentioned, Baruffaldi studied Hebrew,108 but some apostates are familiar figures, for they sprang from the upper strata of Jewish society. Fortunato Cervelli, formerly Judah Rieti, reached the lofty position of Imperial Agent of the Papal States, but maintained his good relationship with the Coens: In 1729, together with the Coens and others, he created a joint company to manage Ferrara’s finances.109 Another rich merchant, Salomone Hanau, converted in 1747, but like Cervelli, remained on friendly terms with his Jewish colleagues.110 The most famous Ferrarese merchant to apostatize was Nehemiah (­Graziadio) ben Jacob Coen, who belonged to family of gevirim and converted in 1735. Lampronti mentions him briefly: “In 5492 [1732] one of the youngest scholars, who later lost his reputation [hiv’iš et reho], as is well known …”111 Kohen was baptized as Tommaso Ruffini by the papal legate, ­Cardinal T ­ ommaso Ruffo, and a pamphlet was published to mark the occasion.112 A number of 106 Isaac’s Fear, 9:153r, s.v. ‘eruv bi-šene batim. See also Isach Ascoli, “Cenni storici sull’origine e sugli avvenimenti riguardanti la Università Israelitica Ferrarese,” Il Corriere Israelitico 6 (1867), 251. Sermons were given by Giovan Carlo Benetti, named catechist of Ferrara’s Jews in 1695: see Muzzarelli, “Gli ebrei,” 474. 107 These figures are given by Angelini, Gli Ebrei di Ferrara nel Settecento, 134, who nevertheless expresses reservations about their reliability. 108 Lombardi, Le accademie ferraresi, 133, 139. 109 Muzzarelli, “Gli ebrei,” 484–6; De Benedictis, “Il Settecento: Politica e Società;” Caffiero, “Tra Chiesa e Stato,” 1106–07. 110 Angelini, Gli Ebrei di Ferrara nel Settecento, 150. For a comparative view of Jewish apostasy in the early modern era, see: Katz, Out of the Ghetto, 25–6; Elisheva Carlebach, Divided Souls: Converts from Judaism in Early Modern German Lands (New Haven, 2001); Edward Fram, “Perception and Reception of Repentant Apostates in Medieval Ashkenaz and Premodern Poland,” AJS Review 21 (1996), 299–39. For Italy, see Luciano Allegra, Identità in bilico: il ghetto ebraico di Torino nel Settecento (Torino, 1996), 86 ff.; Simonsohn, History of the Jews in the Duchy of Mantua, 153–8. 111 Isaac’s Fear, 2:86r, s.v. dagim vesimanam. 112 Roth, “Forced Baptism in Italy: A Contribution to the History of Jewish Persecution,” ­Jewish Quarterly Review 27 (1936), 117–36, esp. 126, n. 15c.

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hypotheses have been proposed to explain the apostasy of the man who was probably the most prestigious Jew of Ferrara, and the most erudite as well. It has been suggested that he did so for love,113 but that seems unlikely for such a powerful man, and it is probable, as Elisheva Carlebach suggests, that this explanation represents an attempt by Ferrara’s Jewish leadership to trivialize the ­incident.114 Another theory would have it that Coen was disheartened by a deteriorating political situation.115 More convincing is the possibility that Coen’s conversion was genuine. Supposedly, this was a consequence of his familiarity with kabbalah, in which he was indeed adept, for he was extremely close to Moses Haim Luzzatto (Ramhal), the kabbalist from Padua whose presumed heresy triggered an international scandal.116 Apostasy is at the core of one of the longest and most complex entries in Isaac’s Fear, which concerns an incident in Ferrara in 1700. The case involves a young couple that tried to get married when the woman became pregnant. The local rabbinical authorities were reluctant to cooperate, because talmudic law requires a pregnant woman to delay marriage until twenty-four months after childbirth, i.e. the end of breastfeeding, so that marital relations will not harm the fetus or affect the quality of the mother’s milk.117 The girl’s parents informed the rabbis that the groom had already squandered the sizeable dowry he had been paid, and would squander the rest if the couple were forced to wait another two years. They also claimed that their prospective son-in-law had threatened to marry their daughter illicitly (“through others”), and that the girl was inclined to agree, since “it is not difficult to make a woman lose her head and to talk her into following a young man.” The parents therefore requested that the waiting period be waived, thereby avoiding the “loss of a soul” (piqu’ah nepheš). The story circulated among several well-known rabbis and, as expected, they arrived at different conclusions. Hananiah Kazes of Florence was inclined 113 Abramo Pesaro, Memorie storiche sulla comunità israelitica ferrarese (Ferrara, 1878–1880) 59; Angelini, Gli Ebrei di Ferrara nel Settecento, 133. 114 Carlebach, The Pursuit of Heresy: Rabbi Moses Hagiz and the Sabbatian Controversies (New York, 1990), 241. 115 Nehemiah ha-Kohen wrote a letter in this vein to Moses Hayyim Luzzatto: Ibid., 238. The source is: Rabbi Moshe Hayyim Luzzato u-Venei Doro, ed. Simon Ginzburg (Tel Aviv, 1937), 1:64–5. It is impossible to establish which of the two Nehemiah ha-Kohens of Ferrara wrote the letter. 116 Carlebach, The Pursuit of Heresy, 241. See also Isaiah Sonne, “Avnei Binyan le-Qorot ha-­Yehudim be-Italia,” Horev 5–6 (1939–1940), 100–12; Ghirondi, Toledot gedole Yisraʾel, 229–31. 117 BT Yevamot 42a.

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to allow the wedding under certain conditions. This upset Sabbatai Elhanan Sanguinetti of Ferrara, who referred the case to Mantua’s Judah Briel and Joseph Barukh Kazes.118 Briel and the Mantuan Kazes sided with the indulgent position of their Florentine colleague, stating that the transgression was much less serious than the risk of losing a soul. The other Ferrarese rabbis agreed, apart from Sanguinetti, who was forced to relent. Lampronti also participated in the debate. He publicized a local precedent taken from the writings of Judah Asa’el Del Bene (meha-Tov), a seventeenth-century Ferrarese rabbi who had already ruled that “usually the venerable rabbis expert in Jewish law would allow a pregnant prostitute or promiscuous woman to get married right away in order to save her from apostasy and danger.”119 The case is unclear, particularly the statement that the young man threatened to marry the girl “through others,” as well as the reference to “the loss of a soul,” an expression that usually refers to mortal danger. Both phrases refer to apostasy, if “through others” is understood as a euphemistic reference to the Church and “the loss of a soul” is interpreted literally. The threat of apostasy was used in this incident to pressure the rabbis into softening their position, and the assumption that the threat was credible implies that venal apostasy was widespread or at least not unlikely. Del Bene’s opinion shows that the dilemma was not new, and what is more, we are told that it was a familiar occurrence. Real or not, the apostasy threat was a card Jews could play when rabbis were uncooperative, especially when the potential apostate was a promiscuous woman whose sexual transgression was seen as symptomatic of her flimsy ties with the Jewish community.120 The episode links the issues of popular attitudes towards rabbinical authority and towards Christianity and Christian society. The protagonists in this case sought a solution within the confines of Jewish law, which indicates that they had not forsaken the community and its law, but they did threaten to 118 On Hananiah Kazes, see Salah, La République des Lettres, 136–7; on Sanguinetti, see Ibid., 585; on Briel, see Ibid., 99–103 and Joseph Barukh Kazes, see Ibid., 142–3. 119 Isaac’s Fear, 18:569–617, s.v. ishah enah mitqadeshet elah ‘ad ahar zeman yeniqah. For Del Bene’s words see Ibid., 571. The term shemad often refers more generally to religious persecution, but in this case it appears to have been used with the specific meaning of apostasy. On Del Bene, see: Ghirondi, Toledot gedole Yisraʾel, 123; Mortara, Indice alfabetico, 7; Bonfil, “Preaching as Mediation Between Elite and Popular Cultures: The Case of Judah Del Bene,” Preachers of the Italian Ghetto, ed. David B. Ruderman (Berkeley, 1992), 67–88. 120 In this case it is stated that the bride got pregnant “in harlotry” (bi-zenut), but that may simply refer to the fact she was not married. Similarly, possibly the groom was given a sizeable dowry for redeeming the girl’s honor, but this is uncertain.

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give up their identity, and Lampronti and his colleagues believed them. These two features suggest that Jewish identity and observance were still sound, but that their foundations were somewhat shaky. How typical these findings are of Italian Jewry in general in the early modern era is difficult to assess. However, a similar set of circumstances, evoking a similar rabbinic response, appears in documents from another cause célèbre recorded in Isaac’s Fear. Rabbi Jacob ben Samuel Aboab of Venice submitted the following case to the highest rabbinical authorities of northern Italy, among them Judah Briel of Mantua and Samson Morpurgo of Ancona, as well as Lampronti.121 A married woman, long suspected of promiscuity, became pregnant from a man other than her husband. The rabbis wanted to excommunicate her, to set an example, but feared that she might apostatize with her four children. On the other hand, they were concerned that not punishing her would rob themselves of an instrument of deterrence. Lampronti urged his colleagues to avoid excommunication and attempt to talk her out of apostasy.122 In this case, too, the threat of apostasy seemed real and weighed heavily on the rabbis’ minds. Here, too, the potential apostate was a promiscuous woman, namely a marginal figure in Jewish society, and the rabbis generally suspected such people of regarding apostasy with indifference.123 Apostasy plays a central role in another bulky Isaac’s Fear entry, but from a different angle.124 This case, from 1728, involves an engaged couple, Solomon Castello and Consola Castro of Pesaro. The groom had postponed the wedding for a year, but then he went mad and twice attempted suicide. In his mad state, he repeatedly renounced Judaism, ignoring people’s efforts to dissuade him. Finally word of his behavior escaped the ghetto and priests went to talk to him. At this point, his fiancée, who was living with her uncle, fled to her mother’s house in Urbino, fearing that the priests would kidnap her along with her beloved. Under these circumstances, her uncle quickly married her off to another man, Moses Samuel Guglielmo. She had agreed, clearly expressing her desire to stay married to Guglielmo even if her former fiancé were to recover. 121 On Aboab, see Salah, La République des Lettres, 23–4; on Morpurgo, see Ibid., 455–60. 122 Isaac’s Fear ( Jerusalem, 1986), 21:385–468, s.v. gilui ‘arayot. For Lampronti’s contribution, see Ibid., 420–24. 123 This kind of venal apostasy appears in thirteenth-century Germany: see Sefer H.asidim, ed. Judah Wistinetzki (Frankfurt a. M. 1924), §200, 75; §875, 215; §1376, 336; §1876, 455. 124 The facts are initially expounded by Judah Guglielmo ben Moses Samuel of Urbino, but his presentation is followed by approximately thirty other different versions. What is presented here is a compendium of the different versions.

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So he did, whereupon Consola reversed course and expressed a desire to return to him. She was told that this was impossible, as she was already married, whereupon her mother and Solomon’s relatives talked her into repudiating her husband, with the help of the secular authorities. The lovers married illegally, despite the efforts of the Jewish community’s lay leadership to prevent them from doing so. The wedding caused quite a stir, and many rabbis opined that Consola could only leave Guglielmo through divorce. Consola and her mother alleged that the latter and his relatives had plotted the whole chain of events to get their hands on Solomon’s money. They also claimed that witchcraft was used to drive him crazy and thus induce Consola to leave him. One witness declared that two Jewish men and one Christian woman had used spells to destroy the couple’s love as well as their engagement, and he added that later a priest from Cesena broke the spells by reciting six psalms while using some objects—a shawl and a bowl of oil—which he, the witness, had obtained.125 This fascinating tale teaches us much about the nature of Jewish identity in Lampronti’s milieu. To begin with, it shows that on a day-to-day basis relations between Jews and Christians were fairly easy, for we see a Christian woman casting a spell on the lovers, which a priest is then summoned to break. Moreover, the fact that members of the clergy got wind of Solomon’s madness highlights the flimsiness of the social barriers separating Jews and Christians. Despite the ghetto, Jews and Christians had a fairly accurate image of each ­other’s environment. On the other hand, the case demonstrates that apostasy was never far from the Jews’ minds, and was a constant source of anxiety. Whatever the nature of Solomon’s mental illness, his rejection of his faith and his suicide attempts were vehicles for expressing a powerful self-destructive impulse. In his mind, when a Jew renounces his place in the Jewish community, he actually ceases to exist. In other words, apostasy, like death, was an available option, but it constituted a complete break from what came before. Whether or not this way of thinking was widespread, it was certainly a possibility for the Jews of eighteenth-century Italy. Apostasy is also part of Consola’s narrative, specifically her claim that she acted out of fear of being kidnapped, a claim explained by Jacob Israel Ben-­ Porat of Pesaro126 in a letter to Samson Morpurgo that was intended to validate Consola’s ultimate marriage to Solomon: 125 Isaac’s Fear, 8:76v-123v, s.v. safeq qidushin. 126 On Ben-Porat, see Salah, La République des Lettres, 91–92.

Traditional Society The girl is attractive and the gentiles might want her “and robbers shall enter into her and profane her” [Ez. 7.22], and who knows whether she will bring apostasy on herself, and in the middle of all the legal disputes [among the Rabbis] the girl will be lost and come to a bitter end, like other actions caused by this reason, [namely] apostasy.127

The specter of kidnapping and baptism was powerful and alarming enough to lead this rabbi and others to hush up the affair instead of forcing the couple to separate. Not so Sabbatai Elhanan Del Vecchio, who refutes the argument that Consola married Guglielmo under duress, out of fear of falling victim to conversion: They [the clergy] lack the power to act, for this depends on the person’s choice, and many left and clung to the faith of the God of Israel and did not commit apostasy. For it is well known that their law imposes a forty-day waiting period, and if they [the cathecumens] persist in their rebellion [against Judaism], they accept them, but if they change their mind, they are allowed to remain in their religion. And this is also the case when someone goes of his own free will … a fortiori under duress, when it is unusual for such a person to convert … Not everyone who induces his fellow to apostatize [succeeds], for many acted and achieved nothing, and therefore this is not considered duress, for it is not within their power to act.128

Del Vecchio believes that a Jew in Consola’s situation would have clung to his beliefs, cognizant that the Church relinquishes determined Jews after a certain waiting period. Even if Del Vecchio is right and Consola lied, she and her supporters assumed that some people would identify with her fears and believe her story. This expectation is an important indicator of the widely held impression of the conversionary pressure exerted by the Church. People seem to have believed that the Church sometimes kidnaps Jews, who risk losing their way.129 127 Isaac’s Fear, 8:89v-90r, s.v. safeq qidushin. 128 Ibid., 103r. Allegra, Identità in bilico, reports (88) that in the eighteenth century, thirteen percent of cathecumens at Torino’s cathecumens house were not actually baptized, but then he explains (93–7) that this was not necessarily due to a crisis of conscience. See also Ibid., 110–62. 129 See Ratto della Signora Anna Del Monte […], ed. Giuseppe Sermoneta (Rome, 1989).

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Del Vecchio’s refusal to demonize the Church is supported by another apostasy entry. In 1718 Isaiah Bassan of Mantua consulted Ferrara’s yeshiva regarding a mother of two from the Parma region whose husband left her.130 She and her children moved in with her brothers. The husband apostatized, whereupon the mother and children moved to Verona, until the husband’s father hid them elsewhere in the Venetian republic. The father sued for custody of the children, and Mantua’s governor arrested the two brothers in whose home she had been staying, and held them until the children were returned, assuming that the brothers provided leverage even if they were ignorant of the children’s whereabouts. After a month, the chief Inquisitor and Vice Governor threatened the rabbis and communal officials that unless they surrendered the children “a fire would go out from the big city,” presumably Venice. Bassan concedes that fear of the governor restrained these authorities from carrying out their threat, but he seeks advice from his colleagues in the Ferrara academy, because he is convinced that “these people will not be silent.” The Ferrara rabbis, including Lampronti, advise him to let matters take their course and allow the children to be handed over to their father. They mention an incident in which the officials of Ferrara’s Jewish community once helped secretly move some children into the jurisdiction of the Venetian republic to prevent them from being converted to Christianity. Later, under pressure, the children were returned and transferred to the gentiles, and “probably the [rabbinical] court neither complained nor handed them over,” meaning that it assumed a passive role.131 The most remarkable aspect of this case is the Jews’ trust in the justice of the secular authorities, which the rabbis proceed to affirm by citing other cases in which justice prevailed over devious machinations. In Rome, we read, the “ministers” seized ten pupils of the Jewish school, promising to return them when some wanted criminals were found. The strategy failed, and when the children were returned, the community proclaimed a day of fasting and celebration. In a separate Ferrara incident, an apostate named Ovadiah tried to convert his daughter’s children, on the grounds that in Jewish law “­grandchildren are

130 On Bassan, see Salah, La République des Lettres, 84–7. 131 Isaac’s Fear, 9:104r–v, s.v. ‘alilah. Regarding apostasy in Mantua, and in particular the problem of kidnappings, see Simonsohn, History of the Jews in the Duchy of Mantua, 155–8. See also, more generally: Roth, Forced Baptisms in Italy, 123–6; Benjamin Ravid, “The Forced Baptism of Jewish Minors in Early Modern Venice,” Italia 13–15 (2001), 259–301.

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like children.”132 His efforts were thwarted when the children’s other grandfather came forward to claim the children.133 These episodes are cited to affirm the righteousness of the authorities, as opposed to the apostates, who are regarded as the enemy. These anecdotes are no substitute for statistics about the incidence of apostasy, but they illuminate the mindset of the Jews, their beliefs and expectations. Venal apostasy seems to have been a part of Jewish life in early modern Italy, together with the Church’s eternal conversionary efforts. Actually, these phenomena indicate two aspects of Jewish-Christian relations which are very different and yet are both documented in the sources. The ease with which some Jews convert implies a generally low level of tension between Jews and Christians, but at the same time, Jews express anxiety about the incessant missionary pressure. Apparently, relations were relaxed and even friendly so long as Jews were left in peace, but tense when conversion initiatives threatened their religious freedom. Even then, however, the Jews’ fears were focused on the Church, rather than on the political authorities or their Christian neighbors and acquaintances.

CONCLUSION This image of Jewish-Christian relations does not accord with Katz’s portrayal of his “traditional society.” He writes that during the early modern era tensions between Jews and Christians abated, because both populations had erected formidable social and cultural barriers, which achieved nearly total separation.134 Shlomo Simonsohn implicitly supports this description with the claim that in eighteenth-century Italy “there were hardly any cases of apostasy.”135 Isaac’s Fear, on the contrary, portrays barriers as low and interaction between Jews and Christians as free and easy. In a sense Roth was right to claim that “no degree of regimentation could eradicate the common humanity of the two segments of the same people.”136 Contrary to Roth, however, Isaac’s Fear also demonstrates that the partition between Jews and gentiles stood firm and was never 132 BT Yevamot 62b. 133 Isaac’s Fear, 9:104b, s.v. ‘alilah. 134 Katz, Tradition and Crisis, 19. But see the criticisms by Haim Hillel Ben-Sasson, “Jacob Katz’s Massoret u-Mashber [Hebrew], Tarbiz 29 (1960), 302–07; Ettinger, “Review of: Katz, Tradition and Crisis [Hebrew],” 16; Cooperman, “Afterword,” 240. 135 Simonsohn, History of the Jews in the Duchy of Mantua, 524. 136 Roth, History of the Jews of Italy, 394.

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f­orgotten, which is probably why Lampronti does not seem to regard the climate of easy interaction as a threat to Jewish identity. Apostasy may have been a constant, but in Isaac’s Fear such instances are described as the exception. For Lampronti, deviant behavior vis-à-vis rabbinical authority and C ­ hristianity, is proof not of the impending disintegration of Jewish identity but of its structural integrity, which was more than adequate to confront the challenges of the turbulent times.137

137 The dialectic between the acculturation of Jews and their unceasing awareness of the gap between them and their Catholic neighbors is at the center of Kenneth R. Stow, Theater of Acculturation: The Roman Ghetto in the 16th Century (Seattle, 2001). See also: Malkiel, A Separate Republic, 206–33; Idem, “Jews and Wills in Renaissance Italy: A Case Study in the Jewish-Christian Cultural Encounter,” Italia 12 (1996), 7–69.

CHAPTER 5

The Sambation

T

he fate of the ten tribes of Israel, exiled by the Assyrian kingdom before the destruction of the Solomonic temple in Jerusalem, never ceased to fascinate the Jewish people; legends and testimony about them survive in talmudic and midrashic literature and in the rabbinic literature of the Middle Ages. Interest reached a new level of intensity in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the age of discoveries, when famed European travelers discovered unknown lands, incidentally raising hopes that the long-lost tribes would be discovered as well. This was also an age of powerful messianic aspirations, which included the element of the ingathering of the exiles. Italy’s Jews play a central role in the literary sources of this period concerning the Ten Tribes. Ovadiah of Bertinoro, the Mishnah commentator who relocated to the Holy Land, testifies about them, and far more amazing is the saga of David Reuveni (the Reubenite), who appeared in Italy in 1523 and presented himself as the brother of the king of the tribes of Reuben, Gad, and half of Menasseh. The significant presence of the Italians in documents concerning the lost tribes is explained by their cosmopolitan lifestyle, which involved international trade, particularly with the Levant. Our focus will be on an unknown source from a later era, one which appears in the book of one of the most important rabbis of early modern Italy, Isaac Lampronti (1679–1756), who taught in the yeshiva of Ferrara in the first half of the eighteenth century. This source proves that even after the sixteenth century, after Holland and England displaced Italy from its dominant position in international commerce, the Jews of Italy continued to seek to learn about the mysterious fate of the lost tribes. The text is an entry in Lampronti’s large and famous book, Isaac’s Fear, an encyclopedia of Jewish law and lore. Two autograph editions of the book survive: the first edition, consisting of 110 volumes (Ms. Paris – ­Bibliothèque Nationale Heb. 458–577), and a second edition of thirty-five volumes (Ms. London – Valmadonna 18). Ms. Paris was the basis for a printed edition, which began appearing in Venice in 1750. The publication history of this book

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is long and tortuous, and the last volume, the fourteenth, was printed in Berlin in 1887. At the entry entitled Sambation, the printed edition has the following statement: “Sambation: the name of a river. See what [the author] wrote about this in the book Zemah David in non-Jewish words [under] the entry ­Sambation, and I shall also present to you here what I have collected from the books of scholars not of our nation1 about the Sambation river. And you, oh reader, study them, and you will find them set upon sockets of truth and justice.”2 The words of those scholars are not, however, found in the continuation of the entry; instead, the following publisher’s note appears at the bottom of the page: After the aforementioned entry are found eight pages in the Italian hand and language concerning different opinions on the subject of the Sambation river, collected from the books of the scholars of the nations. And because the language is very different from the Italian spoken today, and no one here understands it, to proofread it properly,3 we have therefore deleted the text here and sent the sheets to Italy, to one of the scholars, so that he removes its dross, and, God willing, we shall print it at the end of the book.4

The missing material was not printed at the end of the volume, and possibly the publisher intended to integrate it at the end of the work’s last volume, but printing in that town, Lyck (in Prussia), ceased in 1874, at the entry entitled qim, and the last three volumes were published by the Mekize Nirdamim society in Berlin, in 1885–1887, without the Italian material. 1 This euphemism for Christians, or the Hebrew acronym ShLMBʽA, appears often in the rabbinic literature of early modern Italy. Its purpose was to avoid explicit mention of ­Christianity, which could attract the attention of papal censors. 2 Isaac’s Fear (Lyck, 1866), 8:50v. 3 Actually, the Italian of the manuscript entry is not significantly different from modern I­ talian. 4 There is a similar case later in the volume, in the entry s.v. sepher Torah ve-din ha’otiot ve-­ zuratan. An asterisk appears after the replies of the rabbis of Venice to a query by the lay leaders of Rovigo’s Jewish community regarding vav qetiʽa de-shalom (Num. 25:12), and at the bottom of the page, at the matching asterisk, the publisher printed (in Rashi characters) the following: “After these signatures the manuscript has three more pages written in the ­Italian hand and language. And we omitted them here, and they shall appear at the end of the work, for the reason cited earlier, at the entry Sambation” (149r). In Ms. Paris Bibliothèque ­Nationale 534 the responsum is in print, rather than in manuscript, and it occupies fols. 72r:75r. It is followed (75v) by an approbation received by the Small Assembly of Venice on this matter, worded mainly in Italian, with a few Hebrew words, but there are no further handwritten Italian documents.

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Shortly after the appearance of the book’s final volume, Abraham Neubauer, the esteemed scholar, published the missing Italian source.5 The text appeared in unedited form, without an apparatus of commentary and source references, and I have, therefore, decided to publish it anew, in a more complete and useful form and with slight corrections. For the reader’s convenience, I am also providing an English translation, where I have placed the comments and references.6 Let me begin by dating the entry and analyzing its historical significance, and I will also look at Lampronti’s attitude toward the topic under discussion in light of what he wrote in a separate entry on the Ten Tribes. As Lampronti states at the beginning of the entry, it cites the views of non-Jewish authors, approximately thirty, about the Sambation. This is unusual: there is hardly a single Jewish source on the Ten Tribes that takes into account sources written by non-Jews.7 It is worth emphasizing that this text appears in a book by the most important halakhic authority in Italy of the time, who, admittedly, was a physician and thus had a broad general education. For various reasons, this combination of Torah and general knowledge was somewhat more common in Italy than in many other lands. For our purposes, L ­ ampronti’s text is a very rare case of a halakhist and yeshiva instructor, one of the leading Jewish intellectuals of his generation, who chose to research an important topic in Judaism by means of sources from beyond the “Jewish library.” But who, precisely, wrote the text we are studying? The printed version states that Lampronti collected the sources, but the manuscript reads “was collected” instead of “I collected,” and apparently someone else assembled the 5 Abraham Neubauer, “Inyane Asseret ha-Shevatim,” Kovez al Yad 14 (1888), 69–74. Kovez al Yad is the journal of the Mekize Nirdamim society headed by Abraham Berliner, and it was he that received a copy of the text from Rabbi Giuseppe Jarè of Ferrara and forwarded it to Neubauer—Ibid., p. 69. 6 In editing the text, I updated the paragraphing and punctuation. I changed the spelling where I thought that the original might annoy the reader, and I also updated the use of capital and small letters. Angled brackets enclose the printed text and square brackets the editor’s contributions. Discrepancies between what Neubauer published and the text in the Paris manuscript are noted where they seem significant. Thanks are due to Dr. Dorit Raines, who located sources for me from rare books in the Marciana state library of Venice, and to Renato Spiegel of the Central Archives for the History of the Jewish People, Jerusalem. 7 An exception is Azariah De’ Rossi, the well-known historian of sixteenth-century Mantua, who supplied a number of non-Hebrew sources about the Ten Tribes in his famous book, Me’or Enayim (Mantua, 1573), Imre Binah, Ch. 13: see his The Light of the Eyes, trans. ­Joanna Weinberg (New Haven, 2001), 257–64. A second case is Rabbi Menasseh Ben Israel of ­Amsterdam, whose contribution is discussed below.

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material for him.8 This also emerges from the end of the text, where the author expresses his gratitude to his addressee, for granting him the opportunity to be of service. The identity of this research assistant is explicit in the version published by Neubauer, who included a line from the Hebrew opening line that was erased from the Paris manuscript: “I will also present to you what one of the scholars of our generation, the perfect scholar R. Samson Kohen Modon of Mantua, wrote me about what he collected on this subject from the books of the scholars not of our nation about the Sambation river.”9 This detail illuminates the relationship between Kohen Modon and Lampronti, but more important here, it is clear from this passage that the entry was prepared no later than 1727, the year of Kohen Modon’s death.10 It appears that the line mentioning Kohen Modon was erased in order to attribute to Lampronti erudition in non-Jewish sources, with the assumption that this would redound to his credit. However, the erasure created a problem, for then “he collected” was left without a subject, which is why someone added two letters (“ti”) and transformed the verb from the third person to the first person, i.e., from “he collected,” as appears in the Neubauer version, to “I collected,” in the printed edition. The two letters were not added to the Paris manuscript, and so the problem was solved by adding the vowel (qubuz) that creates the passive form “was collected.”11 The beginning of the entry directs the reader to Zemah David, David De Pomis’ dictionary, which surveys the topic. De Pomis begins by quoting “Elia the grammarian,” namely Elia Levita Bahur, who is responsible for the famous etymology of the word “Sambation,” namely the weekly rest of the river on the Sabbath. Then De Pomis writes that in his opinion the Ten Tribes were settled on the 8 There are errors in the bibliographical references, and it is therefore noteworthy that apparently Lampronti was not the entry’s author. 9 Neubauer, 69. 10 On Kohen Modon, see: Mordecai Samuel Ghirondi, Toledot gedole Yisraʾel u-geʾone It.alyah v.e-hagahot v.e-tosafot u-veʾurim ʻal sefer Zekher tsadik.im li-verakhah asher asaf h.ananel Nepi (Trieste, 1853), 343; Shlomo Simonsohn, History of the Jews in the Duchy of Mantua ( ­Jerusalem, 1977), 703 and the bibliography listed there. 11 The Hebrew introduction to the entry was printed in 1864, based on the autograph copy, which the Bibliothèque Nationale acquired in 1845. Apparently, at the time the entry was printed the section missing from the Paris manuscript had already been erased, notwithstanding the different solutions provided in the autograph and printed copies for the word “l-q-t.” However, Rabbi Jarè only settled in Ferrara in 1880, and thus necessarily copied the text from a source other than the autograph. This explains how he could have copied a text that apparently had already been erased, and it also explains the many minor discrepancies between the text published by Neubauer and the autograph.

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lands of people uprooted by order of Salmanassar, the Assyrian king, who resettled the latter in Samaria in place of the Ten Tribes. It is stated that the existence of the river was verified for him by “an elderly Christian, fairly lucid,” whom De Pomis met “a year after the plague,” namely in 1576. Afterwards the author notes that according to Paolo Orosio, the ancient historian, the Ten Tribes are in Hyrcania, which is east of Media, north of Parthia and west of the Margiana region.12 De Pomis’ survey did not satisfy Lampronti, and the question is: Why? What was missing in De Pomis’ text, that motivated Lampronti to seek other sources? A quick comparison between the relevant entries in Zemah David and Isaac’s Fear highlights the ambitious nature of the latter. De Pomis relied on just a handful of sources, and had no intention of studying the subject thoroughly, much less comprehensively; for example, De Pomis makes no mention of the travel account of John de Mandeville, which is mentioned in Isaac’s Fear. Additionally, De Pomis’ account was of limited value for Lampronti because of the amount of time that had elapsed since it appeared in 1587. This consideration is apparent from the bibliographical entries in Kohen Modon’s text, all of which – except for Mandeville – were printed after Zemah David. Thanks to Kohen Modon, Lampronti was able to supply his readers with an up-to-date list of the geographical literature. The key to our question is seemingly found in the continuation of ­Lampronti’s words, namely in his decision to share references to sources by “scholars not of our nation.”13 It seems that the non-Hebrew texts were important to Lampronti precisely because they were written by Christians. This does not imply that he was concerned that Jewish readers might be skeptical about material from the talmudic and midrashic corpus, for Isaac’s Fear is replete with aggadic entries from this corpus, and the Sambation entry is the only one in a non-Jewish language. Obviously, it was the subject matter that required this special treatment on Lampronti’s part. The text does not identify the immediate stimulus for the presentation of the views of non-Jewish scholars, but we may be dealing with an attempt to refute Christian criticism of the Jewish faith concerning the Sambation river and the survival of the Ten Tribes. Christian theologians scornfully dismissed these beliefs and attacked them, for they were held responsible for the Jews’ 12 David De Pomis, Zemah David (Venice, 1587), 150r-152r, s.v. milot nokhri’ot. De Pomis’ book seems to have been widely available and useful, for it appears in the curriculum of the Ferrara Talmud Torah in 1767: see Simhah Assaf, A Source-Book for the History of Jewish Education … [Hebrew], ed. Shmuel Glick (New York, 2001), 2:367. 13 On this expression, see n. 1, above.

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clinging to their hope of redemption in the End of Days and their stubborn refusal to accept baptism. This viewpoint is explicit in one of the central sources on the Sambation composed in Lampronti’s time: Giulio Bartolocci’s text, in his hefty Hebrew bibliography, Qiryat Sepher or Bibliotheca Magna Rabbinica. Bartolocci deals in detail with Eldad the Danite, the Ten Tribes and the Sambation, and rejects testimony on the Sambation because it “stimulates and nourishes in the souls [of the Jews] a great hope of their liberation.”14 A statement by Kohen Modon alludes to Lampronti’s particular interest: “In any case, this matter does nothing to confirm the Jews’ faith, for a faith is not confirmed by whether the believers are numerous or few.”15 It is clear from this remark that the entry’s main purpose was confirmation of the Jews’ faith and religion. Since, however, the Christian position could not be neutralized on the basis of Jewish writings, which the Christians dismissed as sheer fantasy, Lampronti, with Kohen Modon’s assistance, identified a series of Christian sources that accept as fact the existence of the wondrous river and, by extension, the survival of the Ten Tribes. Of course, the Jews were Lampronti’s audience, whose purpose was clearly not to respond to the Christians directly, but rather to place at the disposal of his Jewish readers sources with which they could reply to their Christian interlocutors that Jewish writers were not the only ones to believe in the existence of the Sambation and to report its location, but Christian ones as well, whose reliability was ostensibly not to be doubted. Kohen Modon begins his survey with the well-known contradiction between the views of Josephus Flavius and Pliny the Elder, the Roman ­polymath – the former claiming that the Sambation flows on the Sabbath and is still the rest of the week, and the latter maintaining the exact opposite – and then cites sources that harmonize the two views. He then turns to the Ten Tribes, and cites sources and references to show that the tribes still exist in a secret location. Here the main protagonist is Menasseh ben Israel, the illustrious rabbi of seventeenth-century Amsterdam, and his work Esperança de Israel (Spes Israelis, Mikveh Israel), published in Amsterdam in 1650.16 Kohen Modon 14 Giulio Bartoloccio, Bibliotheca Magna Rabbinica (Rome, 1675), 1:112, s.v. Eldad ha-Dani: “spem de illorum liberatione maiorem in animos induceret ac nutriret.” Bartoloccio is not mentioned in the Isaac’s Fear entry, which may testify to his negative view of the Sambation. 15 See below, in the translation to 332r. 16 A stormy debate broke out over the location of the Ten Tribes in the time of Rabbi Menasseh Ben Israel, which was related to the attempts to attain permission for the Jews to settle once again in England. See David S. Katz, Philo-Semitism and the Readmission of the Jews to England, 1603–1655 (Oxford, 1982), 127–57.

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writes that there is no point in listing the historians and geographers that appear in Menasseh ben Israel’s work, for they are too numerous, but only to add those he omitted or who wrote after him. The authors of the sources quoted or cited in the entry express different views regarding the location of the Sambation and the Ten Tribes. Some place the Ten Tribes in Syria-Lebanon, Tartary or Madagascar. Common to them all is their withdrawal from the direction characteristic of the age of discoveries, up to and including the age of Menasseh ben Israel, namely the attempt to identify the Ten Tribes with the natives of the new world. Kohen Modon ignores this possibility entirely and focuses on sources from the geographies popular in his time, the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, and the age of discoveries seems to have lost its ability to fire the imagination. Kohen Modon cites the various theories without taking a stand, for the question of the identity of the Ten Tribes was less important to him than that of their continued existence. On this issue, he deviates in mid-entry from his normal style of citations and quotations to present an argument based on logic. For nearly nine centuries, he writes, the geographers remained ignorant of the region known as Las Batueças, in the heart of Spain, from which Christian scholars concluded that it should come as no surprise that the location of the Garden of Eden remains a mystery.17 Kohen Modon seems to have copied this claim from the Spanish Jewish thinker, Isaac Cardoso, who, in his Las Excelencias de los Hebreos, concludes – as does Kohen Modon – that the lengthy isolation of the Ten Tribes is also a possibility.18 This remark is followed by another series of sources on the Sambation and the Ten Tribes, which contribute nothing to the content of the discussion, but simply add bulk to the refutation of the Christian claim that the Jews have no hope of redemption from exile.19 17 The location of the Garden of Eden was also of interest to Lampronti, who devoted an entry to this topic in the second edition of Isaac’s Fear, s.v. gan eden, be’ezeh zad shel olam hu. The entry commences with the conclusion: “The matter is in doubt,” and explains that the Tosaphists had already deliberated on whether it is located in the east or west, based on talmudic and midrashic dicta: see Isaac’s Fear, first and second editions ( Jerusalem, 1986), 5:501–02. This entry, like the Sambation entry, combines an interest in geography and eschatology, but it differs in that it does not adduce sources from non-Jewish writers. This suggests that the Garden of Eden question was of purely academic interest to Lampronti, and was not charged with ideological (eschatological, theological, polemical etc.) overtones. 18 See below, in the notes to the text. On the myth of Las Batueças in the culture of ­seventeenth-century Spain, see Fernando R. de la Flor, De las Batueças a las Hurdes: fragmentos para una historia mitica de Extremadura (Mérida, 1989). 19 The question of the possible abrogation of the commandments in the End of Days is another topic linking eschatology and Jewish-Christian polemic, for on this the Christians based

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Apart from the anti-Christian tenor of the entry, it may have also served an internal, Jewish, agenda. Lampronti refrained from detailing the sources in the talmudic and midrashic literature on the Sambation and the Ten Tribes, such as Samuel bar Nahman’s words: “Israel was exiled three times, one before the Sambation river …”20 Aside from the consideration that Jewish sources were not likely to persuade a Christian adversary, this silence implies a concern that these sources might undermine the faith of Jewish readers in the eschatological scenario. Such a concern could have been based upon the disagreement in the Talmud regarding the return of the Ten Tribes, for the Mishnah attributes to Rabbi Akiva the view that “the Ten Tribes are not destined to return,” and the opposite view to Rabbi Eliezer.21 The Isaac’s Fear entry on the Ten Tribes makes it clear that some of Lampronti’s Jewish contemporaries were, indeed, troubled by this mishnah. Lampronti publishes a letter that attempts to explain away Rabbi Akiva’s position. The letter is unsigned and Lampronti’s authorship is uncertain. Initially, the letter states that “it would be very, very difficult” if the mishnah were referring to the Ten Tribes exiled by the Assyrian monarch, and if it signified that the messiah will not “accept” their descendants. The problem was not merely Rabbi Akiva’s claim, but rather, and mainly, the assumption that his view was accepted as law and became normative, based on the principle that Jewish law prefers the view of Rabbi Akiva to that of his colleague in cases of disagreement. The letter suggests three technical solutions to the problem. It explains that Akiva’s view is not preferred to that of his “colleagues,” i.e. when more than one is involved, and in this case he is opposed by two scholars, Rabbi Simon and Rabbah. Second, the topic under discussion has no halakhic significance, and thus there is no need to decide between the divergent positions.22 Third, their argument that the abrogation of the commandments following the historical appearance of Jesus does not contradict the Jewish faith. The matter is discussed in Isaac’s Fear (Berlin, 1887), 14:21r, s.v. torah bitulah. Lampronti discusses this also in the entry entitled tehiyat ha-metim (Ibid., 28r–v), but here the polemical aspect is absent. Lampronti publishes there his correspondence with Aviad Sar Shalom Basilea of Mantua concerning the status of the commandments after Resurrection. For Lampronti, this question was part and parcel of the question of whether the world would continue to exist in the messianic era, which is related to doubts about whether Resurrection would be physical or spiritual. Both entries merit thorough examination. 20 PT Sanhedrin, Ch. 10, 29v, Col. 1. 21 mSanhedrin 10:3. For a review of the talmudic-midrashic sources on the Ten Tribes, see Zvi Avni, “Sambation: Recurrence of Tradition” [Hebrew], Jewish Studies 37 (1997), 147–59. 22 Maimonides, in his Mishnah commentary, made the same comment about this mishnah.

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the talmudic principle does not apply to cases in which the Talmud reaches an unequivocal ruling, as here, for the talmudic debate concludes with the view of Judah the Patriarch: “They are to come to the World to Come.” The letter goes on to show that Rabbi Akiva referred only to the generation of the exiled Israelites, and not to their descendants. We read in the tractate Makkot (24b) that Rabbi Akiva laughed at the sight of a fox emerging from the Holy of Holies. He explained to his colleagues that it was now certain that the prophecy of the prophet Zechariah would come true, “there shall yet old men and old women sit in the broad places of Jerusalem” (8:4), for Uriah’s prophecy of destruction, “therefore for your sake shall Zion be plowed as a field” (Micah 3:12), has been realized. The letter emphasizes that it was Rabbi Akiva who quoted the prophecy of Zechariah, which is followed by “and it shall come to pass that, as ye were a curse among the nations, O house of Judah and house of Israel, so will I save you, and ye shall be a blessing …” (8:13), from which he derives that Rabbi Akiva, too, believed that the descendants of the Ten Tribes were destined to be redeemed in the End of Days. Following the attempt to salvage Rabbi Akiva from the negative view of the Ten Tribes, the letter turns to the view of Rashi.23 On the aforementioned mishnah, Rashi comments that it does not discuss “their sons and grandsons,” while on the ensuing gemara he writes: “that the messiah will not accept them with the other exiles, for they spoke ill of the land of Israel.” In an effort to harmonize these two sources, the author of the letter suggests that although Rashi opined that the Ten Tribes themselves would not rise at Resurrection with their brethren, their descendants would merit resurrection and the ultimate redemption. He adduces support for the claim that such was Rabbi Akiva’s view from the amoraic statement in the tractate Sanhedrin that the rabbis killed Ben Koziba after concluding that he was not “morah. ve-da’in,” which refers to judging defendants with the sense of smell, in accordance with the words of Isaiah regarding “a shoot out of the stock of Jesse” (11:1): “he shall smell him with the fear of the Lord” [my translation – DM] (11:3). The letter explains that this prophecy of Isaiah, which concerns redemption in the End of Days, refers also to the Ten Tribes, from which he concludes that Rabbi Akiva 23 Here the author of the letter reveals that under discussion is a letter and not Lampronti’s analysis, for the discussion of Rashi commences with the words: “I cannot fathom my lord’s opinion that Rashi’s commentaries ride two harnessed horses [Ketubot 55b] etc.” More evidence appears later: “What he showed me explicitly … is well …” – Isaac’s Fear (Lyck, 1868), 9:172r, s.v. ʽaseret ha-shevatim.

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accepted the belief that their descendants were destined for redemption, for he, too, ­participated in the decision to execute Ben Koziba.24 Rabbi Akiva’s position is not identical to the Christian one, for he did not maintain that the Ten Tribes were extinct, and furthermore, one could argue that the eschatological scenario could play out without them. Nevertheless, it is clear from the letter that its author was worried about the possibility that the talmudic sages embraced the seemingly harsh view of Rabbi Akiva. The regnant view seems to have been that the return of the tribes was an indispensable component of Jewish eschatology, and that rejection of the possibility of their return might jeopardize the belief in the ultimate redemption. From this perspective, this encyclopedia entry complements the one devoted to the Sambation. It is difficult to assess the intensity with which these words were penned, but it would seem that Lampronti (or his addressee) wrote out of a sense of crisis or at least pathos, for the two documents in Isaac’s Fear are without equal in Jewish literature.25 It may be possible, therefore, to see in these two entries the expression of a degree of tension among the Jews of Italy in the first half of the eighteenth century on the subject of redemption, even if the background for this remains unclear.26 Ostensibly, the importance of these entries should not be exaggerated, for it is only natural that an encyclopedia of this sort would include a document or discussion on the subject, but the letter was certainly not written for the purpose of being included in the encyclopedia, such that an argument cannot be made from genre. In any case, elsewhere in Isaac’s Fear Lampronti gives voice to his own longing for redemption, in a response to his 24 In Isaac’s Fear (Ibid.), we read: “Our rabbis were of one mind.” On the problem of Rabbi Akiva’s view of the mishnah in Sanhedrin, see Avraham Gross, “The Ten Tribes and the Kingdom of Prester John – Rumors and Investigations before and after the Epulsion from Spain” [Hebrew], Pe’amim 48 (1991), 6–7. 25 I know of only one document similar to the letter regarding Rabbi Akiva’s view: David ibn Zimra of sixteenth-century Egypt was asked a similar question: see his Responsa from Manuscript [Hebrew], ed. Isaac Sopher (Bene Beraq, 1975), #85, 57–8. 26 This may be the same messianic tension that led to the persecution of the Sabbatian, Nehemiah Hiyya Hayyun, and later of R. Moses Hayyim Luzzatto (Ramhal). In Hayyun’s case, too, eschatology and Jewish-Christian polemic are linked, for Elisheva Carlebach has pointed out that many scholars that polemicized against Christians, especially in Italy, feared that Sabbatian texts might serve the Christians in their polemic against Judaism: Elisheva Carlebach, The Pursuit of Heresy: Rabbi Moses Hagiz and the Sabbatian Controversies (New York, 1990), 146–7. And, indeed, in 1735 Rabbi Nehemiah ben Jacob ha-Kohen of Ferrara converted to Christianity, an act Carlebach associates with his kabbalistic-messianic worldview, under Ramhal’s influence (Ibid., 237–42).

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colleague, Samson Morpurgo of Ancona, concerning the donning of tefillin on the intermediate days of festivals. Lampronti protests the pressure exerted by kabbalists against the Ashkenazi Jews to put an end to their custom of donning the tefillin on these days: “Perhaps it was on account of this that God did this to us, to leave us for many days in exile, and did not yet bring us to the rest and the inheritance [Dt. 12:9], for so far He is not comfortable with the spirit of Israel, to walk with him plainly [my translation – DM] and in peace.”27

MS. PARIS – BIBLIOTHÈQUE NATIONALE HEB. 532, 329R-332V [329r] Sambation: the name of a river. See what [the author] wrote about this in the book Zemah David in non-Jewish words [under] the entry Sambation, and I shall also present to you here what I have collected from the books of scholars not of our nation about the Sambation river. And you, oh reader,28 study them,29 and you will find them set upon sockets of truth and justice. Che si trova il fiume sabbatico, il quale ogni giorno di sabbato si ferma dal suo corso e lo ripiglia al tramonatre del sole, sono due gl’antichi et uno il moderno autore che l’assicurano. Gioseffo nostro nel suo libro De Bello Judaico, libro 7 cap. 35 (non capitolo 24 come per errore viene da molti citato) nella traduttione francese del Mr. d’Andelì, si legge nel cap. 13, n’assicura la notitia, ne descrive il corso e suoi confini e che l’imperatore Tito fosse ad osservarlo. Plinio nella sua Historia Naturale, lib. 31 cap. 2 f.m.30 980 nota: in Giudea è rio che si secca ogni sabbato. Il canonico e teologo della catedrale di Viterbo, Domenico Magro, nelle apendici e correttioni al tom. 2 del Lexicon Geographicum del Baudrand, stampato in Padova l’anno 1694, f.m. 496, così scrive:

27 Isaac’s Fear (Berlin, 1887), 14:104v, s.v. tefillin be-h.olo šel moʽed. See Jacob Katz, “Tfilin on the Half-Holidays – An Example of the Channels of Kabbalistic Influence” [Hebrew], Proceedings of the Seventh World Congress of Jewish Studies: Studies in the Talmud, Halacha and Midrash [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem, 1981), 7,3:203–06 [=Idem, Halakhah and Kabbalah ( Jeusalem, 1984), 114–17]. 28 The personal style of writing, with frequent use of the first and second person, is characteristic of Lampronti in Isaac’s Fear. For other instances of direct address to the reader, see the entries nedunya nigvet be-haye ha-baʽal o lo; ʽavar ʽaverah ve-shanah bah naʽaset lo ke-heter; teqiʽot ʽal seder ha-berakot; mazat mizvah nohagim she-lo la-lush be-ʽerev Pesah ʽad ʽahar shesh shaʽot. 29 Printed ed.: “Look in the books.” 30 This abbreviation refers to the page number, but I am unsure how to interpret the abbreviation “m.” It appears similar to the expression pagina mihi (or mihi pagina), on 332r and 332v, but mihi is unclear per se.

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Sabbaticus fluvius verum quidem est quod sabbato quiescit. Sed falso adducitur Josephus hebreus, qui contrarium omnino scripsit, existimavit enim hunc fluvium sabbatis tantum fluere, ceteris utro diebus quiescere, quem secuti sunt Baronius, Menochius, et alii. Siecatur ergo penitus diebus Sabbati teste ­Plinio, quod prodigium egomet vidi et fuse in meo itinerario disservi adducens auctores veros. Feria igitur sexta ad solis occasum aquae deficiunt redeuntque die Sabbati eadem hora. Che debba però altrimente intendersi il testo Gioseffo lo spiega il dottisimo Cardoso nella sua Filosofia Libera, lib. 2 quest. 20 [329v] fol. m. 68, e correge il medesimo testo dall’originale Greco il Casaubon, Exercitationes ­adversus Baron, exer. 15, dove dimostra essere il sentimento di Gioseffo uniforme à quello di Plinio, che non scorre il Sabbato, e tanto afferma il Buxtorfio nel suo Lexicon Chaldaicum Rabbinicum, col. m. 1414 et seqq., dove difusamente discorre di tal fiume. E lo stesso motiva pure l’eruditissimo Samuel Basnage nella sua Historia des Juifs, tom. 4 lib. 6 cap. 3, sicchè non si deve correggere il sentimento di Plinio, come fa il Padre Menocchio nelle sue ­Stuore, part. 3 cap. 45. Che poi le dieci tribù captivate e disperse dal Re Salmanassar durante il primo santo tempio restassero di là del sudetto fiume Sabbatico ò di là dell’Eufrate senza più ritornare à riunirsi con li restanti Giudei è verità costante et indubitata, e solo bastarebbe il sacro testo d’Esdra, da cui vedesi che condusse seco nel ritorno da Babilonia una parte delle sole tribù captivate dal Re Nabucco. E lo stesso Esdra, autore del libro Paralip., scrive nel lib. 1 cap. 5 che l’altre dieci tribù erano rimaste in Oriente. Se pure à ciò non potesse repplicarsi che forse durante poi il tempio secondo per più di quattro secoli fossero ritornate tutte le tribù al culto in Gerusalemme. Ma cade il dubbio e si scioglie con ciò che l’historico Gioseffo, il qual scrisse doppo la dissolutione del detto secondo tempio, assai chiaramente assicura, nel libro 11 cap. 5 delle Antichità, che le sole due31 tribù sparse per tutta l’Asia et Europa erano soggette all’imperio Romano e che le altre dieci erano inumerabili oltre l’Eufrate, così dicendo: Totius autem populus Israel in illa Provincia permansit ideoque duae tantum tribus consistunt per Asiam et Europam obsequentes [330r] Romanis, decem autem tribus hactenus trans Euphoratem commorari probantur quarum moltitudines inestimabiles, minimè possunt numero comprehendi. Nel qual sentimento concorre Mr. de Goerè nella sua traduttione di Pietro Cuneo, lib. 1 cap. 8 in fine f.m. 55. 31 Neubauer omits “due.”

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Che restassero poi le predette dieci tribù segregate, allontanate e sparse nelle parti remotissime orientali per divina providenza lo motiva l’autore del libro 4o d’Esdra, sebene apocrifo, nel cap. 13 ver. 39 et seqq., da cui suppongo che ne prese la diffusa descrittione Zuane Mandavilla nel suo libro Delle Maraviglie del Mondo, stampato in Venetia l’anno 1496, nel cap. 163, nel qual proposito trovo il Jurisconsulto Marquardo nel suo trattato De Judeis, part. 3 cap. 1 fol. m. 116, che dice: Habetur de Alexandro Magno secundum quosdam qui cum venisset ad montes Caspios et petiuissent filij captivitatis X Tribuum licentiam egrediendi ab eo, ipse cognita causa inclusionis eorum scilicet quia apertè recessissent à deo Israel vittuli aurei immolando et per Prophetas dei illis pr[a]edictum à captivitate non redituros respondit, se arctius eos inclusurum cumque angustas vias eorum obstruere vellet molibus uituminatis,32 videns laborem humanum non sufficere, orauit deum Israel ut opus illud compleret, et accesserunt ad sè inuicem praerupta montium et factus [330v] est locus immeabilis propter peccatum idolatriae. Nelle quali lontanissime provincie si ha per autorità di molti gravi scrittori che vi siano li discendenti di detti hebrei, come l’eruditissimo nostro Menassè Ben Israel lo dimostra nel suo opuscolo Esperança de Israel, per totum à cui mi rimetto, senza estendere il lungo catalogo degl’autori historici e geografi citati dal medesimo, il quale crede ancora che di là possano esser passate per lo stretto d’Anian nell’Indie occidentali, ò sia America, come l’opinione del Genebrardo, al quale trovo che aderisce il Pad. Menocchio nelle Stuore, centuria 2a cap. 41. Aggiongero solo alli predetti citati autori quelli che furono non osservati o posteriori al medesimo Ben Israel, e sono il Magini nelle sue descrittioni geografiche, sopra la tavola 28 della Tartaria nell’estremità Boreale33 fol. m. 171, che dice: Verso’l promontorio Scittico si trovano l’orde de Danori, de Naptali, de ­Turbori ecc. Certi scrittori asseriscono che alcuna di queste regioni della Tartaria è abitata dalle dieci tribù d’Israele che furono da Salmanassar Re degl’Assirii condotte ne Monti Caspii, ma queste genti solo mantengono il nome degl’Hebrei e la circoncisione, che nel rimanente hanno bevute le creanze e le fierezze de’ Tartari. Il Signore della Croix nella sua Geografia Universale, tom. 4 cap. 5,34 scrive che verso il mare Caspio vi sono molti antichi hebrei. Tomaso Cornelio35 nel 32 Neubauer: “molitus intuminatis;” but this is not what appears in “Marquardo,” i.e. Marquardus de Susannis. 33 Neubauer: “Loreale” – inaccurate. 34 Neubauer does not supply the chapter number. 35 Neubauer: “Carmelis” – inaccurate.

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suo grande Dittionario Geografico impresso in Pariggi l’anno 1708, nel tom. 3o fogl’ m. 160, descrivendo il Porto alle Prune dalla parte settentrionale dell’Isola di [331r] Madagasacar, così traducendo fedelmente dal francese dice: Gli habitanti sono molti dati all’opere, e più tosto morrirebbero di fame che mangere d’un animale che fosse stato occiso da qualche cristiano ò altro huomo del sud. Si dicono della linea d’Abraham, da cui s’appellano36 Zaffehibrahim, e non conoscono punto Mahometo, e si chiamano Caffres quelli che seguitano la loro religione. Et honorano li Patrichi Noè, Abraham, Isach, Jacob, Josef, Moisè, et David, senza haver veruna cognitione degl’altri profeti ne di J. C. Questi popoli sono circoncisi et il Sabbato è il giorno del loro riposo, come l’è degl’altri Hebrei. Non hanno digiuni, ne publiche orationi, ma fanno sacrificii di bovi, vacche, capreti et uccelli. Li loro vilaggi37 sono meglio disposti di quelli del restante paese, et in ciascheduno vi è il Filoubei, che rende giustitia, e tutti poi dipendono da un Antiano che è l’arbitro delle loro controversie. Tutte queste cose sono rapportate da Flaunt nella sua historia di Madagascar. Più preciso e notabile si è Mr. Jovet nella sua Historia delle Religioni del Mondo, tom. 2 f. 548, che tradotto dal francese, così si spiega: “Vi sono ancora molti hebrei in Bagdad, in Babilonia, in Persia di là delli monti di Nisb, che è un paese della lunghezza di venti giorni di camino, occupato dalle tribù di Dan, Zevulun, Asser, Naftalì, che vi hanno molte città, e non soggetti che a loro medesimi.” Ma se con tutto ciò paresse [331v] strano ad alcuno come possono restare occultate le predette dieci tribù dalla vista dei geografi doppo massime le moderne navigationi, riflettano di gratia come siasi potuto nascondere per quasi nove secoli nel mezzo delle Spagne38 il territorio de Las Batueças, nel Regno di Leon, tra Salamanca e Placentia sino al tempo del Re Filippo 2do, supponendo l’historico Mariana che fossero quei popoli reliquie degl’antichi Gotti, che collà si retirassero per nascondersi dall’invasioni d’altri popoli, come lo riferisce anco il predetto Tomaso Cornelio, e come l’osserva il dottore Cardoso nel suo libro de Las Exçellentias, fol. m. 110, asserendo che sia un territorio di miglia 80, e dove riflette ancora39 che restano à geografi gradi 20 di lungitudine, gradi 32 di latitudine meridionale, e gradi 9 della settentrionale di terra incognita. Anzi che 36 37 38 39

Neubauer omits “s’appellano.” Neubauer: “uccelli di loro vilaggi” – inaccurate. Neubauer: “potuto per quasi nove secoli nel mezzo delle Spagne nascondere.” Neubauer: “ancora riflette.”

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dallo scoprimento predetto de Las Batueças si vole il P. Nieremberg nel libro Tesoro de’ Maravillias, stampato in Madrid l’anno 1634, nel fine del cap. 35, per forte argomento contro quelli che negano l’esistenza del Paradiso terrestre per non essersi mai scoperto da geografi, concludendo con queste parole, tradotto dal suo idioma spagnolo: “Se dunque tra la frequenza della gente e senza straordinaria providenza del cielo restò à noi occultata quella terra sino à questi tempi, come ci sembrara strano se il Paradiso restasse poi nascosto da noi per singolare consiglio di Dio e ministero degl’angeli?” Concetto vero e molto [332r] ben addattabile all’assunto nostro dell’occultatione del luogo preciso dove siano le dieci tribù unite, ò sparse in luoghi remotissimi, non essendo oltre di ciò tal articolo il sostegno della fede degli hebrei, nulla contribuendo alla verità della religione40 che siano molti o pochi li credenti, bastando solamente dimostrare che non sii assurda ne da deridersi l’opinione di quelli che credono trovarsi anche hoggidì le antecedenti dieci tribù, e che debbano alla fine de’ tempi riunirsi, per compimento di molte profetie che lo promettono, e principalmente di quella d’Ezechiel cap. 37.41 Tomaso Tomai da Ravenna, fisico et accademico innominato, nel suo libro appellato Idea del Giardino del Mondo, stampato in Venetia anno 1597, al cap. 44 pagina mihi 57 dice: Scrivo Solino che il fonte di Paflagonia fa imbriacare chiunque ne beve. Quello del sole bolle la notte et il giorno sta freddo et à chi ne beve fa cadere i denti. Altre acque accendono fuoco, e si vede questo effetto in Epiro, perciò che vi è un fonte [332v] che mettendovisi torci s’accendono, altre convertono in ferro et altre in petra ogni cosa che vi si getta dentro. Et in Giudea è un ruscello il quale, oltre che come scrive Isidoro, fa l’istesso e si secca tutti i Sabbati. Giovanno Botero Benese,42 Delle Relationi Universali, parte prima libro 2o mihi pagina 130, stampato in Brescia presso la compagnia Bresciana anno MDXCV, con licenza de Superiori, nell’Asia,43 al capitolo dell’ultima parte della Tartaria, dice le precise parole: 40 Neubauer: “della religione,” without the words in the middle: “fede degli hebrei, nulla contribuendo alla verità.” 41 An erased paragraph appears here, instead of at the end of 332v: “E ciò è quanto ho potuto sollecitamente osservare e raccogliere nell’articolo ricercatomi, col piacere d’essermi dato l’honore di servirla, come mi auguro maggior capacità per continuare nel desiderato impiego de suoi comandi, conche divotamente la riverisco.” This is followed by half a line of text that is completely obscured. 42 Neubauer omits “Benese.” 43 Neubauer omits “stampato in Brescia presso la compagnia Bresciana anno MDXCV, con ­licenza de Superiori, nell’Asia.”

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Questa parte abbraccia il promontorio Sittico, e quel che Plinio chiama Tabin, paesi poco conosciuti. Nel primo habitano ì Chiesani, Usezucani, Ciremissi, Daniti, Neftaliti (dall’hebraico tribù di Dan e Naftalì) Turbi, Mecriti, e la paludosa provincia di Bargo. Segue Tabòr, il cui prencipe venuto à trovar prima il Re Francesco, e poi Carlo quinto Imperatore, per solecitare I prencipi Christiani al Judaismo fu l’ordine dell’Imperatore abbruggiato in Mantova l’anno 1540. Si tiene che le sudette genti siano discese dalle tribù d’Israel, trasportate del Re Salmanazar nella Siria e poi condotte quà, non so come. Non ritengono però altro Giudeo che la circoncisione e il nome. E ciò è quanto ho potuto sollecitamente osservare e raccogliere nell’articolo ricercatomi, col piacere d’essermi dato l’honore de servirla, come mi auguro maggior capacità per continuare nel desiderato impiego de suoi comandi; conche divotamente La riverisco. S’osservi il Mr. P. Agostino Calmit nel suo eruditissimo dittionario alla rubrica Sabbathicus.

TRANSLATION [329r] Sambation: the name of a river. See what [the author] wrote about this in the book Zemah David44 in non-Jewish words [under] the entry Sambation, and I shall also present to you here what I have collected from the books of scholars not of our nation about the Sambation river. And you, oh reader, study them,45 and you will find them set upon sockets of truth and justice. Two ancient authors and one modern one confirm that there is a Sabbatical river, that ceases to flow every Sabbath day and resumes at sunset. Our Joseph, in his book De Bello Judaico, Bk. 7 Ch. 35 (not 24 as is cited by many46)47 in the French translation of Mr. d’Andelli,48 in Ch. 13 one reads a section that confirms the information, describes its course [of the river] and its boundaries, and that Emperor Titus would watch it. Pliny, in his Historia Naturale, Bk. 31 Ch. 2, p. 980, notes: “In Judea there is a river that dries up every Sabbath.”49 The canon 44 See note 12, above. 45 In the printed Isaac’s Fear, instead of “study them”: “seek in books.” 46 Buxtorf, in his lexicon (cited below) does indeed cite Ch. 24. Bartoloccio explains that the source is in Ch. 35 in the edition printed in Venice in 1481: Bartoloccio, Bibliotheca Magna Rabbinica, 1:119. 47 Ch. 5 in the modern editions: War of the Jews 7.5.1. 48 Robert Arnaud d’Andilly, Histoire de la guerre des Juifs contre les Romains … par Flavius Joseph (Paris, 1680), 5:7.13.515, 282–3. 49 Pliny the Elder, Natural History, trans. W. H. S. Jones (London, 1963), 8:31.18.24, 392.

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and theologian of the Viterbo cathedral, Domenico Magro,50 with additions and corrections to Vol. 2 of the Lexicon Geographicum by Baudrand, printed in Padua in 1694,51 p. 496, writes as follows: “The Sabbatical river does indeed rest on the Sabbath, but Joseph the Jew led astray when he wrote the complete opposite. He thought that this river does indeed flow on the Sabbath and rest on other days, and he was followed by Baronius, Menochius and others. Pliny testifies that it is completely dry on the Sabbath: I saw the supernatural phenomenon and integrated it in my itinerary, adding true authors. Thus, from sundown on Friday the water weakens and they return to strength on the Sabbath at the same time.” But the learned Cardoso, in his Philosophia Libera,52 Bk. 2 Que. 20, p. 68, explains that Joseph’s text should be understood differently, [329v] and this text, through the Greek original, is corrected by Casaubon, Exercitationes adversus Baron,53 Exercise 15, where he shows that Joseph’s opinion is identical to Pliny’s, [namely] that it does not flow on the Sabbath, and Buxtorf confirms this in his Lexicon Chaldaicum Rabbinicum,54 Col. 1414 f., where he discusses this river at length. The same is also maintained by the learned Samuel Basnage in his Historia des Juifs,55 Vol. 4, Bk. 6, Ch. 3, such that there is no need to correct Pliny, as Father Menochio does in his Le Stuore,56 Pt. 3, Ch. 45. It is quite true and indubitable that the Ten Tribes, captured and scattered by King Salmanassar during the first holy temple, remained beyond the aforementioned Sabbatical river, or beyond the Euphrates, without returning and reuniting with the rest of the Jews. The holy book of Ezra suffices, from which one sees that he brought back with him on his return from Babylonia part of 50 His Breve racconto del viaggio al Monte Libano (Rome, 1655) is cited by Bartoloccio, Cuneo and others. 51 Philippus Ferrarius Alexandrinus, Lexicon Geographicum … edidit Philippus Ferrarius … nunc Michael Antonius Baudrand Parisinus … hanc editionem emendavit, illustravit, & dimidia parte (Padua, 1674). Clearly, Baudrand is Michel Antoine Baudrand, the Parisian geographer that corrected Ferrarius’ book, illustrated it and divided it into sections. 52 Isaac Cardoso, Philosophia libera in septem libros distributa (Venice, 1673), 68, Col. 2. 53 Isaac Casaubon, De rebus sacris et ecclesiasticis exercitationes XVI ad cardinalis Baronii … (­Geneva, 1654), Exer. XV, anni XXXIII, Nu. XXXVII, 392–3. 54 Lexicon Chaldaicum Talmudicum et Rabbinicum (Basel, 1639), 1417–21, s.v. Sabbat. 55 Samuel Basnage, Histoire des Juifs, depuis Jesus-Christ jusq’ a present (The Hague, 1716), 7:7.5.13, 114–16. 56 Giovanni Stefano Menochio, Le stuore, overo trattenimenti eruditi … (Venice, 1675). The author does not discuss the Jews or the Sambation in the stated chapter, but the previous chapter he discusses the broad dispersion of the Jews before the Crucifixion, to explain the Spartans’ relationship to the Jews: 3.5.44, 65–6.

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the only tribes captured by King Nebuchadnezzar. And the same Ezra, author of the book Chronicles, writes in Bk. 1, Ch. 5,57 that the rest of the Ten Tribes remained in the Orient. Although one cannot dismiss the possibility that during the period of the Second Temple, for more than four centuries, all the tribes returned to the Jerusalem cult; this possibility is doubtful and melts with what the historian, Joseph, who wrote after the destruction of the second temple, clearly affirms in Bk. 11 Ch. 5 of the Antichità, [namely] that only the two tribes scattered throughout Asia and Europe were subjects of the Roman empire, while the other Ten Tribes are innumerable beyond the Euphrates, saying thus: “But all the Israelites generally remained in that province. Therefore, two tribes dwelling in Asia and Europe are Roman subjects [330r], while the Ten Tribes, incalculable multitudes whose number cannot be known, have tried to stay beyond the Euphrates.”58 Mr. de Goerè agrees with this opinion in his translation of Pietro Cuneo, Bk. 1 Ch. 8, at the end, p. 55.59 The author of Ezra IV, although it is apocryphal, in Ch. 13 verse 39 f., affirms that those aforementioned Ten Tribes remained segregated, distant and scattered in the most remote eastern parts, by divine providence.60 I suppose that Zuane Mandavilla took from him the extensive description in his book, Delle Maraviglie del Mondo, printed in Venice in 1496, Ch. 163,61 and on this 57 58 59 60 61

1 Chr. 5.26. Antiquities of the Jews 11.5.2. La Republique des Hebreux, trans. Willem Goeree (Amsterdam, 1705), 55–6. 4 Ezra 13.39–46. According to Mandeville, Alexander the Great enclosed the Ten Tribes within the Caspian Mountains, in Scythia, by the will of God, who did not heed their pleas to be released. God closed the mountains around them so that they would remain cut off from the world on all but one side, which was open to the Caspian Sea. The story thus far is nearly identical to the version in De Susannis, as is noted below. Mandeville goes on to ask why the Ten Tribes did not escape by sea, and explains that this would lead them into a desert that continues until Persia. He clarifies that the body of water is really not a sea but a lake, the largest in the world, and thus one who embarks knows not where he will make landfall. Mandeville adds that for the Ten Tribes escape is also hampered by their only knowing their own tongue. Finally, he notes that this is the only land in the world to belong to Jews, but even they pay tax to the queen of the adjacent Amazon kingdom. See John de Mandeville, Trattato delle cose piu merauigliose de mondo ([Venice], 1496), Ch. 48, n.p. The story about Alexander the Great is in keeping with the genre of Alexander legends, especially those about his adventures in distant and unknown lands, including that of his encounter with the queen of the Amazons, mentioned by Mandeville. See The Josippon [Josephus Gorionides] [Hebrew], ed. David Flusser ( Jerusalem, 1981), 1:481–3, and see also Joseph Dan, The Hebrew Story in the Middle Ages [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem, 1974), 106.

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matter I find Jurisconsult Marquardo, in his treatise De Judeis, Pt. 3 Ch. 1, P. 116, who says:62 “It is known about Alexander the Great, according to some, [that] upon arriving at the Caspian mountains, and following the request of the sons of the captives, the Ten Tribes, for permission to go from there, since he knew the reason for their enclosure, definitely because they abandoned the god of Israel when they sacrificed a golden calf,63 and that the prophets of their god prophesied that they shall not return from captivity, responded that he sought to block the narrow places of their enclosure, as well as their narrow roads, with bitumen glaciers. Seeing that human labor would not suffice, he prayed to the god of Israel to complete the work, and the steep parts of the mountains came towards one another, [330v] and this place became obstructed, because of the sin of idolatry.”64 According to many serious authors, in those very distant regions are found the descendants of the aforementioned Jews, as our learned one, Menasseh Ben Israel, demonstrates in his little creation, Esperança de Israel,65 to whom I leave everything, without extending the long list of historian and geographer authors noted by him. He, too, believes in the possibility that they could have left there by way of the strait of Anian to the West Indies, namely America, in accordance with the view of Genebrardo,66 which I find was also adopted by Father Menochio in Le Stuore, Pt. 2 Ch. 41.67 To the authors noted above I shall only add those not noticed by the same Ben Israel or who were after him, and they68 are 62 Marquardus de Susannis, Tractatus de Judaeis et aliis infidelibus ([Venice], 1568). This source does not appear in the book’s first edition, in 1558. See the 1584 edition [=Tractatus ­illustrium, Vol. 14], 54. 63 De Susannis wrote “calves,” in the plural, but here this was changed to the singular. A ­ pparently, De Susannis was referring to the two golden calves of the days of King Jeroboam: 1 Kings 12:28–9; 2 Kings 17:16. 64 Thanks are due to Stuart Vanning of Jerusalem for his assistance with the translation of this citation. 65 Menasseh Ben Israel, The Hope of Israel, ed. Henry Mechoulan and Gerard Nahon (Oxford, 1987). 66 Ibid., 116–17. Genebrand (i.e. Genebrard), 53, mentions the Euphrates, but his words regarding Salmanassar and the exile of the Ten Tribes are taken from another source. See ­Gilbert Genebrand, Chronologiae Hebraeorum (Paris, 1600), 161–3. 67 This reference is imprecise, but elsewhere the author discusses the connection between the population of the West Indies and the Jews captured by Salmanassar of Assyria. The author cites the view of Genebrand, but also offers arguments against his position – Le Stuore, 2.4.41. 68 Sic. However, despite the use of the plural, only Magini is listed.

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Magini in his geographical descriptions, at Table 28 of Tartary at its northern edge, p. 171,69 which says: “Towards the Scythian promontory are found hordes of Danorites, ­Naptalites, Turborites etc. Some authors claim that one of these regions of T ­ artary is populated by the Ten Tribes of Israel, who were brought by ­Salmanassar king of the Assyrites to the Caspian mountains, but these people only preserve the name of the Jews and circumcision, while in other areas they adopted the manners and solemnities of the Tartars.” Sr. de La Croix in his Geografia Universale, Bk. 4 Ch. 5,70 writes that towards the Caspian Sea there are many ancient Jews. Tomaso Cornelio, in his big Dittionario Geografico, printed in Paris in 1708, in Vol. 3, P. 160, while describing Port of Prunes in the northern section of the island [331r] of M ­ adagascar,71 translating faithfully from the French, says:72 “The inhabitants devote themselves greatly to action, and would rather die of hunger than eat an animal killed by some Christian or other man from the south. They say that they are of the seed of Abraham, and after him are called Zaffehibrahim73 and do not know Mohammed at all, and those who live by their religion are called Caffres. And they honor the patriarchs Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses and David, with no knowledge of other prophets or of J. C. These nations are circumcised, and the Sabbath is their day of repose, as it is for the other Jews. They have no fasts or public prayer service, but they sacrifice bulls, cows, kids and fowl. Their villages are more orderly than those in other parts of the country, and in each there is a Filoubei that sits in judgment, and all rely on one old man who arbitrates their disputes. All these things are reported by Flaunt74 in his Historia di Madagascar.” 69 Giovanni Antonio Magini, Geografia cioè descrittione universale della terra (Venice, 1597). This is an Italian translation of Ptolemy’s geography. The quotation here differs a little from the original. 70 A. Pherotée de La Croix, Nouvelle méthode pour apprendre facilement la géographie universelle … (Lyon, 1690), 4:5, 109 (“La Tartarie”): “Près de la Mer Caspienne il y a quelques Anciens Juifs & quelque Nestoriens, on y voit tres-peu de Catholiques.” 71 Port of Prunes is Tametavi, on the east coast of the island – see the attached map, from that of d’Anville, printed in 1772. I thank the staff of the Laor map collection at the Jewish National and University Library, Jerusalem, for their help in identifying the place and for allowing publication of the relevant section. 72 Thomas Corneille, Dictionnaire universel, géographie et historique … (Paris, 1708), 160, Col. 2, s.v. Port-Aux-Prunes. 73 See the attached map. 74 This is a reference to the work of Etienne de Flacourt: Histoire de la grande isle Madagascar (Paris, 1658), Ch. 9, 22–3.

The Sambatio

More precise and noteworthy is Mr. Jovet, in his Historia delle Religioni del Mondo, Vol. 2, P. 548, which, translated from the French, explains thus:75 “There are still many Jews in Baghdad, in Babylonia, in Persia beyond the Nisb mountains,76 which is a land a twenty days walk in length, held by the tribes of Dan, Zevulun, Asser, Naftalì, where you have many cities, and they are subject only to themselves.”

But if, in spite of everything, it shall seem [331v] strange to someone that those aforementioned Ten Tribes could remain hidden from the sight of the geographers after the latest sailings, let them please think about how it was possible for the Las Batueças region, in the kingdom of Leon, between Salamanca and Placentia, in the center of Spain, to be hidden for almost nine centuries, until the time of King Philip II. The historian, Mariana, supposes that these nations are relics of the ancient Goths, who sequestered themselves there in order to hide from the invasions of other nations,77 as is also reported by the aforementioned Tomaso Cornelio,78 and as Dr. Cardoso observes in his book, Las Exçellencias,79 P. 110, claiming that there is an eighty-mile area, and noting, too, that 75 Nicolas Jovet, L’histoire des religions de tous les royaumes du monde (Paris, 1724), 4:174. This is not found in earlier editions. 76 Perhaps Nusaybin (Nisibis) is intended. 77 Juan de Mariana (1536–1624). Apparently this refers to his main work: Historiae de rebus Hispaniae (Toledo 1592), but I was unable to locate the precise reference. 78 See n. 72, above. Corneille writes that the inhabitants of Las Batueças were unknown before the sixteenth century, when the Duke of Alba discovered them. Also, that they dwell mainly in the valley between Penna di Francia and the Tormes river, in the Coria diocese. Corneille attributes to Mariana and other historians the thesis that these inhabitants are descended from the ancient Goths, who hid from the Moors in the high mountains: see Corneille, Dictionnaire universel, géographie et historique, 1:304, s.v. Batuecas. The author of the Isaac’s Fear entry seems, therefore, to have relied on Corneille for his reference to Mariana. 79 Isaac Cardoso, Las Excelencias de los Hebreos (Amsterdam, 1679), 109–11. Cardoso writes that some geographers doubt the existence of the Sambation because it is not mentioned by ancient or modern geographers, or by historians, and they rely on the assumption that the entire world was discovered by the great seagoing voyagers of Spain, Holland, England and other nations. This reasoning also causes them to doubt the survival of the Ten Tribes. To this Cardoso responds that twenty degrees of latitude and thirty two of longitude have yet to be explored. He buttresses his argument by referring to the case of Las Batueças, and he, too, attributes their discovery to the Duke of Alba (in the reign of Philip II), or more precisely to his servant, who discovered them while riding, as usual, with his married lover in hidden locations, to avoid detection. The duke allegedly forgave his transgression and annexed the inhabitants to his sovereign territory.

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the ­geographers still have twenty degrees of longitude, thirty two degrees of latitude and nine northern degrees of virgin land. On the other hand, based on the aforementioned discovery of Las ­Batueças, Father Nieremberg, in his book Tesoro de’ Maravillias, printed in Madrid in 1634, at the end of Ch. 35, argues strenuously against those who reject the existence of the terrestrial paradise on the grounds that it was not discovered by the geographers. He concludes with these words, translated from the Spanish language: “Therefore, if during the contact among people and without special celestial providence this land has remained hidden from us to this day, why should it appear strange if paradise still remains hidden from us, by the special decision of God and the lord of the angels?”80 This is a true idea and [332r] very adaptable to our assumption, of the concealment of the precise location of the Ten Tribes, united or scattered in very remote places. Nothing else of this subject sustains the Jews’ belief, for it does not contribute to the truth of religion whether its believers are many or few; it suffices to show that one ought not to deem absurd and worthy of derision the view of those who believe that even today the ancient Ten Tribes are to be found, and that they must reunite at the End of Days, in order to fulfill many prophesies that promise this, especially that of Ezekiel Ch. 37. Tomaso Tomai of Ravenna, an unknown physician and academic, in his book entitled Idea del Giardino del Mondo, printed in Venice in 1597, in Ch. 44, P. 57, says:81 “Solino writes that the spring of Paflagonia intoxicates whoever drinks from it. It boils from the sun at night and remains cold during the day and whoever drinks from it, his teeth fall out. Other water ignites flame, and this phenomenon can be seen at Epiro, for there is there a spring [332v] which, when torches are placed in it, ignites them; others turn into iron – and others into stone – anything that is thrown in. And in Judea there is a stream that, apart from what Isidore writes,82 does the same thing and dries up every Sabbath.”

80 Juan Eusebio Nieremberg, Curiosa filosofia y tesoro de maravillas de la naturaleza (Madrid, 1634), 30r. I am grateful to my colleagues, Dov Stuczynski and Javier Castagno, for helping me to identify this source. 81 Tomaso Tomai, Idea del giardino del mondo (Venice, 1611), 84v-85r. 82 Isidori Hispalensis Episcopi, Etymologiarvm sive originum, ed. Wallace Martin Lindsay (Oxford, 1911), 2:13, l. 9: “In Iudaea quondam rivus sabbatis omnibus siccabatur.”

The Sambatio

Giovanni Botero Benese, Delle Relationi Universali, Pt. 1, Bk. 2, P. 130, printed in Brescia at the Brescia Company in 1595, with the license of the authorities, at “Asia,” in the chapter on the last part about Tartary, says these very words:83 “This part includes the Scythian promontory and the one that Pliny calls Tabin, less known lands. In the first reside the Chiesani, Usezucani, Ciremissi, Daniti, Neftaliti (from the Hebrew, the tribes of Dan and Naftali), Turbi, Mecriti, and the swampy area of Bargo. Afterwards Tabòr, whose prince went to find first King Francesco and then Emperor Charles V, to convert the Christian rulers to Judaism, [and] by imperial order was burned at Mantua in 1540.84 It is said that these nations are descended from the tribes of Israel, brought by King Salmanazar to Syria and later brought there, I know not how. However, of the Jew they only observe circumcision and the name.”85

And this is what I was able to observe and collect on the subject researched by me, with the pleasure of being granted the honor to serve you,86 just as I wish myself greater ability to continue in the desired task of your commands. And with this, in devotion, I bid thee farewell. See Mr. P.87 Agostino Calmet in his most erudite dictionary, in the entry “Sabbathicus.”88

83 Giovanni Botero Benese, Delle relationi universali. … (Brescia, 1595). In the Rome 1595 edition the text is a bit different: 2:260. 84 The Tabor story appears in De’ Rossi’s The Light of the Eyes, 261 (Imre Binah, Ch. 13). De’ Rossi corrects the story, based on Joseph ha-Kohen, and explains that the prince is actually David Reuveni, while the martyr is Solomon Molcho. The matter is also discussed by Menasseh Ben Israel (Hope of Israel, 130–31), who also cites Botero. 85 Here the writing changes, and apparently the final part was written by someone else. It was he, it seems, that erased this part at the beginning of the text, where it appeared by mistake. 86 “Him” in the original, in accordance with the custom of addressing distinguished persons in the third person. The same is true at the end of the sentence, regarding the commands. 87 Padre. 88 Calmet cites the testimony of Domenico Magro, mentioned above, who visited the site mentioned by Pliny and saw the river dry up on at dusk on Friday: Antoine Augustin Calmet, Dictionary of the Holy Bible (London, 1732), 571. Calmet is mentioned elsewhere in Isaac’s Fear (Lyck, 1874), 11:175r, s.v. qetoret ve-samemanav.

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Intercessory Prayer

T

he earliest known Jewish liturgical manuals, from tenth-century Babylonia or possibly earlier, include the following prayer for the pre-dawn ritual of the days of repentance between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur: Ushers of mercy, usher in our mercy before the Merciful one. Reciters of prayer, recite our prayer before the Hearer of prayer. Sounders of cries, sound our cry before the Hearer of cries. Ushers of tears, usher in our tears before the King who is appeased by tears. Beseech and engage in lengthy entreaties and supplications before the lofty and towering King. Utter to Him, sound to Him, the Torah and good deeds of those who dwell in the dust.1

This prayer is atypical of the Jewish liturgy, because of its appeal to angels for their intercession on behalf of the supplicant.2 The idea of pleading with the *

Thanks are due to the Center for Jewish Studies at Harvard University for awarding me a Harry Starr fellowship in 1995–1996, which facilitated the research that yielded this paper.

Seder Rav Amram ha-Shalem, ed. Aryeh Leib Frumkin, Jerusalem 1912, fol. 157r. Amram headed the rabbinical academy of Pumbedita (in Babylonia) in the ninth century, but his prayer book is known to contain numerous later interpolations. However, the prayer also appears in the liturgy of Sa‘adia b. Yosef, leader of the “Sura” yeshiva in tenth-century Baghdad: Siddur R. Sa‘adja Gaon, ed. Israel Davidson et al., Jerusalem 1970, p. 357. Sa‘adia’s Karaite contemporary, Abu Yussuf Ya‘aqub al-Qirqisani, in his Kitab al-Anwar wal-marakib, objected to the “Ushers of mercy” prayer and to its underlying principle of angelical intercession, which he claimed was based on the rabbanites’ equation of angels with the “winged creature” of Eccl. 10:20. See Wilhelm Bacher, “Qirqisani, the Karaite, and his Work on Jewish Sects,” Jewish Quarterly Review, o.s. 7 (1895), p. 695; Leon Nemoy, “Al-Qirqisani’s Account of the Jewish Sects and Christianity,” Hebrew Union College Annual 7 (1930), pp. 332–3. The fourteenth-century Karaite, Aaron Elijah of Nicomedia, also disapproved of “Ushers of mercy”: see his Keter Torah, vol. 2, fol. 65v. This text was already noted by Leopold Zunz; see his Die Synagogale Poesie des Mittelalters (Frankfurt a.M., 1920), p. 150. 2 However, it is by no means unique. Another well-known example is the penitential poem for the Fast of Gedaliah that calls upon the “Angels of mercy, ministers of the Most High” 1

Intercessory Prayer

angels to expedite human supplication has a source in the midrash that “the angel appointed over the prayers takes all the prayers … and fashions crowns from them which he places on the head of God.”3 These rabbinic roots help to explain the durability of prayers like “Ushers of mercy,” which remained in the liturgy throughout the Middle Ages and early modern era, despite concerns about the appeal to intermediaries.4 It is, therefore, startling to discover a heated debate over the issue at the end of this period, in Isaac Lampronti of Ferrara’s Pahad Yizhak (“Isaac’s Fear”).5 This work, compiled in the first half of the eighteenth century, is a fourteen-­volume encyclopedia of Jewish law and lore, but it is also a repository of n­ umerous ­letters and responsa, by dozens of seventeenth- and e­ ighteenth-century Italian rabbis, that were not published elsewhere. One of the longest articles in the encyclopedia, twenty-five densely printed folios in length, documents a contemporary controversy over intercessory prayer. The following study sketches the contours of the conflict and explores its historical significance. This emerges clearly when the debate is viewed against the backdrop of earlier, medieval sources. The discussion begins, therefore, with a review of the notion of intercessory prayer in talmudic sources and medieval Jewish law. (Mal’akhei rahamim meshartei ‘Elyon) to beseech God to forgive the Jewish people. For a list of poems of this nature, see Solomon Sprecher, “The Controversy over the Recitation of ‘Ushers of Mercy’” (Hebrew), Yeshurun 3 (1997), pp. 706–11; Ephraim Kanarfogel, “Peering Through the Lattices.” Mystical, Magical, and Pietistic Dimensions in the Tosafist Period, Detroit 2000, p. 134, n. 4; p. 147. There are also prayers that beseech God’s attributes (e.g., mercy, patience) for intercession on behalf of human petitioners, and the legitimacy of these was also explored by medieval scholars. 3 Ex. R. 21:4. Sandalfon is the name of the angel associated by the Sages with this task: see Midrash Konen 26. Origen, however, identified him with Michael: De Princ. I,8.1. See L ­ ouis Ginzberg, The Legends of the Jews, vol. 5, Philadelphia 1947, pp. 48, 71. Sandalfon and his legendary function were immortalized in the poetry of Solomon ibn Gabirol and—of all ­people—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. For ibn Gabirol, see Shirei ha-Qodesh le-Rabbi Shelomo ibn Gabirol, ed. Dov Yarden, Jerusalem 1973, vol. 2, p. 534; for Longfellow, see his “Birds of Passage: Flight the First.” My thanks to Professor Daniel Frank of The Ohio State University for his help with these references. 4 On intercessory prayer in nonrabbinic postbiblical sources, see: Maxwell J. Davidson, ­Angels at Qumran, Worcester 1992 [ JSP supplement series 11], pp. 309–13; Rachel E ­ lior, “­Mysticism, Magic and Angelology: The Perception of Angels in Hekhalot Literature,” Jewish Studies Quarterly 1 (1993), pp. 3–53, esp. pp. 40–2; Michael Mach, “Studies in the J­ewish ­Angelology of the Hellenistic-Roman Period” (Hebrew), Unpublished Ph.D. D ­ issertation, Tel-Aviv University 1986, pp. 398–9; Loren T. Stuckenbruck, Angel Veneration and ­Christianity (Tübingen, 1995), pp. 173–80, 192–200. 5 Henceforth: PY. The source of the title is Gen. 31:42 and 31:53. The relevant entry is in vol. 11 (Lyck, 1874), fol. 33v–58r.

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DO ANGELS UNDERSTAND ARAMAIC? The debate appears in the PY under the entry entitled: “Let one not petition for his needs in Aramaic.” This strange heading is based on the following talmudic exchange. It is related that, when visiting a sick person, Rabbi Ele‘azar customarily wished him, in Aramaic: “May the Merciful One remember you in peace.” The question is then posed: Did not Rabbi Judah say, in the name of Rav: ‘One should never petition for his needs in Aramaic’; moreover, Rabbi Johanan said: ‘When one petitions for his needs in Aramaic, the Ministering Angels (Mal’akhei ha-Sharet) do not heed him, for they do not understand Aramaic?’ The difficulty is resolved with the response that this rule does not to apply to invalids, who are always accompanied by the Shekhinah, the Divine Presence, whose presence renders the linguistic shortcomings of the Ministering Angels moot.6 The prohibition on petitioning in Aramaic and the attendant explanation also make another talmudic appearance, following the declaration that one may pray in a language other than Hebrew. The apparent contradiction between this rule and the prohibition on praying in Aramaic is resolved by the assertion that group prayer may, indeed, be conducted in any language, but prayer conducted in private may not be recited in Aramaic, for the reason cited.7 The discussion then adduces anecdotal evidence to challenge the assumption that the angels do not know Aramaic. This thrust is parried with the response that the anecdotes in question refer to the type of divine speech known as Bat-Kol, which is formulated in the lingua franca of its target audience, because its purpose is communication with humans; prayer, on the other hand, is directed towards the Divinity, rather than towards humans, and must therefore be uttered in the Holy Tongue. Alternatively, the Talmud suggests that the Bat-Kol was issued by the angel Gabriel, who—alone among the angels—does know Aramaic.8 6 BT Šabbat 12a. This generalization appears elsewhere in the PY: vol. 3, Venice 1796, fol. 87r, s.v. H.oleh ha-nikhnas le-vakero; vol. 12, Berlin 1885, fol. 137r, s.v. Rah.mana Yadkerinakh liŠelam; vol. 14, Berlin 1887, fol. 93v, s.v. Tefillah bi-Lešon La‘az. 7 On the basis of this resolution of the contradiction, the medieval lawbooks, beginning with that of Isaac Alfasi of eleventh-century Lucena, state that Aramaic may only be the language of public prayer. See Jacob b. Asher, Arba‘ah Turim, Orah. H.ayyim, §101; Joseph Karo, Šulh.an Aruk ad loc. See also Isaac b. Moses of thirteenth-century Vienna, Or Zaru‘a, Zhitomir 1862, H. Shabbat, §50, fol. 11r. 8 BT Sotah 33a. Accordingly, Isaiah di Trani the Younger of thirteenth-century Rome cited Gabriel’s linguistic facility to justify the recitation of certain liturgical poems in ­Aramaic: see Joshua Boaz, Shiltei Gibborim on Alfasi to Berakhot, fol. 7r, §4. Medieval thinkers were unsure whether in these talmudic texts Aramaic serves as a paradigm for ­languages other than ­Hebrew, or whether it was singled out. Asher b. Yehiel (Germany-Spain,

Intercessory Prayer

These exchanges appear to have plunged the Jews of tenth-century Qairwan (in north Africa) into confusion, for in 992 they submitted a query on the subject to Sherira, the Ga’on (i.e. Head) of the “Pumbedita” yeshiva in Baghdad, the seat of authority in matters of Jewish law.9 The correspondents say that they cannot reconcile the talmudic material with the simple fact that Aramaic is the language of liturgical texts received by their ancestors from the yeshiva. Sherira replies that prayers directed towards God can, of course, be formulated in any tongue, which explains the use of Aramaic in the received liturgy. Hence one is only prohibited from reciting supplications addressed directly to angels, who are known to enjoy a degree of autonomy in responding to human supplications; for example, they are the direct addressees of amulets. This division of labor, so to speak, fits the Talmud’s explanation that prayers on behalf of the sick may be formulated in Aramaic, for God is their intended recipient. The Jews of Qairwan also asked, simply, why the Ministering Angels do not heed prayers in Aramaic, and here Sherira seems to have been somewhat at a loss. He, himself, proffers several pieces of evidence of the liturgical use of Aramaic in rabbinic tradition, and acknowledges that no one seems to have heeded the warnings of Rav and Rabbi Johanan. He even concedes that “their dictum is remote from reason” (merhak memrehon min sevara), since it is known that some angels are charged with the duty of keeping a written record of human conversation.10 Sherira concludes by notifying his Qairwan interlocutors that the injunction is not taken seriously.11 Less than a century later, Solomon b. Isaac (Rashi) of Troyes, in his classic talmudic commentary, took it upon himself to harmonize the two sets of t­ hirteenth-­fourteenth century) held that the angels considered Aramaic particularly odious, but others disagreed. See the novellae of Samuel Edeles ad loc. 9 There is an explicit reference to this prayer in a letter sent by Sherira (ca. 906–1006) to the Jewish community of Fez. See Ozar ha-Ge’onim, 1–13, ed. Benjamin M. Lewin, Haifa and Jerusalem 1928–1942, vol. 5 (Ta‘anit), pt. 1, p. 25. Abraham b. Isaac of twelfth-century Narbonne incorporated this document into his legal compendium; see his Sefer ha-Eshkol, ed. Shalom and Hanokh Albeck ( Jerusalem, 1935–1938), fol. 52r, p. 135. 10 The source of this idea is unclear. There is a tradition, based on Amos 4:13, that even the frivolous conversations of husband and wife are read back to a person at the hour of his death: see Lev. R. 26:7; Lam. R. 3:29; Tanhuma, Vayigash 7:7. However, these texts attribute the recording of human conversation to God, rather than to angels. That angels keep a daily record of a person’s actions is stated in Pesikta Rabbati 44, but nothing is said there about speech. 11 Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim, ed. Abraham Elijah Harkavy, Berlin 1887, pp. 188–190; Ozar haGe’onim, Shabbat, pp. 4–6. See Joseph Yahalom, “Angels Do Not Understand Aramaic: On the Literary Use of Jewish Palestinian Aramaic in Late Antiquity,” Journal of Jewish Studies 47 (1996), pp. 33–4.

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s­ upposedly contradictory talmudic texts about prayer in Aramaic. Regarding the prayer for invalids, he explains that while a well-wisher might require angelical intercession, “the one praying has no need for the Ministering Angels to bring his prayer behind the curtain (pargod) of heaven,” and may therefore pray in any language. Similarly, Rashi maintains (citing Job 36:5) that although God invariably heeds the prayers of the collective, individuals require the cooperation of the Ministering Angels. Clearly Rashi’s worldview was sufficiently mythical to include the doctrine of angelical intercession.12 On this matter Rashi reflects a powerful Ashkenazic tradition, expressed before him, among others, by Simeon b. Isaac ‘the Great’ of Mainz (ca. 950–1030).13 Remarkably, Rashi’s intellectual heirs, the Tosafists of twelfth-century France, followed Sherira rather than their mentor in expressing wonder at the notion that the Ministering Angels might be ignorant of Aramaic, since ostensibly human thought is an open book to them.14 Moreover, in a departure from their standard mode of discourse, the query is not followed by a solution. Perhaps even more striking, the idea that one might legitimately offer supplication to supernal beings other than God did not strike Sherira or the Tosafists, much less Rashi, as downright idolatry. Yet this problem was already noted in the following passage from the Palestinian Talmud: “If troubles comes upon a person, let him cry neither to Michael nor to Gabriel, but let him cry unto me, and I shall answer him forthwith.”15 12 This is also evident in his exposition of yet another talmudic dictum. The Talmud records, in the name of Rabbi Johanan: “One ought always to plead for mercy, [so] that all may increase his strength, and let him not have enemies above.” Presumably the “enemies above” are angels, and it is therefore reasonable for Rashi to explain the word “all” as, likewise, referring to (benevolent) angels: “So that the Ministering Angels will assist him to ask for mercy, and so that he not have enemies above.” See Rashi on BT Sanhedrin 44b, s.v. le‘olam yevakesh. 13 This worldview is rooted in the Hekhalot literature of ancient Palestine, which is known to have had a powerful impact on the Jewish culture of medieval Germany. Nonetheless, as was mentioned above, our earliest sources on the legitimacy of intercessory prayer were compiled in the Islamic ambient. On intercessory prayer in the thought of the mystics of medieval Germany, see Daniel Abrams, “The Evolution of Intention of Prayer to the ‘Special Cherub,’” Frankfurter Judaistische Beiträge 22 (1995), pp. 1–26. 14 Tos. on Šabbat 12b, s.v. Še’ein. Elijah, ‘the Ga’on,’ of Vilna suggested that the notion that the angels know human thought may have been drawn from the talmudic dictum that a person is ultimately reminded of his failure to concentrate when praying: see Tos. on Roš Hašana 16b, s.v. Ve‘iyun tefillah. See his comment on Šulh.an Aruk, Orah. H.ayyim, §101. Note that a prayer for angelical intercession is attributed to Jacob b. Meir ‘Tam’ of twelfth-­century Ramerupt, perhaps the greatest of the Tosafists. See Joseph Yozpa Hahn, Yosef Omez ( ­Jerusalem, 1965), §484, p. 102. 15 PT Berakhot 9:12 (13a). Cf. the talmudic tale of the sinner, El‘azar b. Dordiya, who broke down and prayed to God directly only after the hills, heavens and stars refused to intercede

Intercessory Prayer

Nonetheless, in the course of the Middle Ages a series of scholars were troubled by this issue. Maimonides’ fifth principle of faith cautioned against praying to angels or other celestial entities, including requests for intercession.16 Citing this last talmudic passage, Nahmanides concedes that intercessory prayers, like “Ushers of mercy,” could be considered idolatrous.17 On a lighter note, Joseph Zuckmentel of fifteenth-century Germany alludes to the problem of heresy in a casual aside. Concerning the recitation of the hymn “Angels of mercy” on the

on his behalf, on the grounds that they must pray for themselves: BT Avodah Zarah 17a. Similarly, Jacob Halevi of thirteenth-century Marvège asked in a dream for the appropriate angels to help him achieve wisdom and other desirable commodities, but was told that he ought to direct his request directly to God, rather than to angelical intermediaries. See his She’elot u-Teshuvot min ha-Shamayim, Tel Aviv 1979, p. 54. See also Ephraim E. Urbach, The Sages. Their Concepts and Beliefs, trans. Israel Abrahams (Cambridge, Mass. and London, 1987), p. 182. 16 Mishnah Commentary, Sanhedrin, ch. 10. Maimonides’ Code, the Laws of Repentance 3:7 defines as a renegade (min) one who worships an intermediary, such as a star or astrological sign, so that it should serve as an intermediary between himself and God. Cf. his explanation of the roots of idolatry in the Laws of Idolatry 1:1: Isadore Twersky, A Maimonides Reader (New York, 1972), pp. 71–2. Joseph Albo of fifteenth-century Spain, in his articulation of the principles of faith, referred to mediation as a transgression of the biblical injunction against praying to other gods: see his Book of Principles (Sefer ha-‘Ikkarim), trans. Isaac Husik, Philadelphia 1929–1930, pt. 1, ch. 3, vol. 1, p. 58. See also Ibid., pt. 2, ch. 17, vol. 4/1, pp. 154– 7; pt. 2, ch. 28, p. 184; pt. 3, ch. 18, vol. 3, pp. 158–9, 163–4. Albo’s discussion formed the basis of the treatment of the topic by his countryman, Isaac Abarbanel, who quoted the text from PT Berakhot in his explication of Maimonides’ principles of faith: see his Rosh Amanah, ed. Menahem Kellner (Ramat-Gan, 1993), ch. 3, p. 55; ch. 12, pp. 90–3. Equally categorical was Moses b. Joseph di Trani of sixteenth-century Safed: see his Bet Elohim, Jerusalem 1985, Sha‘ar ha-Tefillah, ch. 1, pp. 3–5. 17 Moses b. Nahman, Kitvei Ramban, ed. Charles B. Chavel, Jerusalem 1963, vol. 1, p. 171. See also his commentary on Gen. 46:1, Ex. 20:3. The Book of the Pious (Sefer H.asidim), which is mainly attributed to Judah b. Samuel ‘the Pious’ of twelfth-century Regensburg, likewise advises readers to refrain from adjuring angels and exhorts them to pray only to God, although it does not refer specifically to a liturgical context. See Sefer H.asidim, ed. Re’uven Margaliyot, Jerusalem 1957, §205, p. 194, but cf. Ibid., §1157, pp. 573–4. On the other hand, given the impact of Hekhalot literature on the German pietists, the mild objection to intercessory prayer clearly does not reflect their full thinking on the subject of angels. In any case, a similarly critical stance was also expressed by Jacob Anatoli of thirteenth-century Provence, in his collection of sermons, Malmad ha-Talmidim, Lyck 1866, pericope Jethro, 67v-68r. Anatoli’s words also appear in the responsa of Me’ir (Maharam) b. Barukh of thirteenth-century Rothenburg: Responsa (Berlin, 1891), §5, pp. 325–6. A similar formulation also appears in the work of Yom Tov Lipmann Mülhausen of fourteenth-fifteenth century Prague. See his Sefer Nizzahon, §132, and also: Frank Talmage, “Angels, Anthems and Anathemas: Aspects of Popular Religion in Fourteenth-Century Bohemian Judaism,” The Frank Talmage Memorial Volume, ed. Barry Walfish (Haifa, 1992), vol. 2 [=Jewish History, 6], pp. 14–15.

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afternoon of Yom Kippur, he allegedly quipped: “All day we stood before God and now we come before the angels?”18 Jacob ibn Habib of sixteenth-century Salonika states as axiomatic that intercessory prayer is prohibited, and admits that for this reason he found the Talmud’s dictum on the angels’ ignorance of Aramaic puzzling, as well as Rashi’s explanation thereof.19 Others address the theological problem by throwing up defenses of various sorts. Zedekiah b. Abraham Anau of thirteenth-century Rome insists that prayers like “Ushers of mercy” do not violate the injunction against comparing God to something created.20 El‘azar b. Judah of Worms (ca. 1165–1230) notes the appearance of “Ushers of mercy” and similar prayers in the responsa of heads of the Babylonian academies, who obviously did not consider them heretical. Mostly, however, El‘azar adduces texts from talmudic-midrashic literature that uphold the notion of intercessory prayer. A famous example is the custom of visiting the graveyard to beseech the deceased to intercede on behalf of the living.21 The Kol Bo, an anonymous 18 Joseph b. Moses, Zuckmentel’s younger contemporary and compatriot, who preserved this tradition in his manual, Leqet Yosher, infers from the survival of the anecdote that Zuckmentel’s critical remark was considered legitimate and that, therefore, the custom ought to be abandoned. See Leqet Yosher, ed. Jakob Freimann (Berlin 1903–1904), pt. I, §4, p. 141. 19 Ein Ya‘aqov on BT Šabbat ad loc. 20 Lit. “associating the name of Heaven with anything else”: see Sukkah 4:4, BT Sukkah 45b. Anau mentions that his teacher, Avigdor b. Elijah Katz, held the same position, on the basis of BT Sanhedrin 44b and Rashi’s interpretation thereof (see note 12, above), as well as other sources. Anau also states that according to his brother Benjamin, some prayers are in fact recited in Aramaic because there are angels who know Aramaic, including those “appointed [as supervisors] over the gates of prayer,” although not those who serve as one’s constant spiritual companions. See Zedekiah b. Abraham Anau, Shibolei ha-Leqet ha-Shalem, ed. Solomon Buber (Vilna, 1887), §282, fol. 133r-v. See also the contemporary (anonymous) work, Tanya (Mantua, 1514), §72. 21 This custom is based on BT Ta‘anit 16a. It was also cited by Menahem Recanati of ­thirteenth-century Italy, Perush al ha-Torah, Venice 1523, pericope Shelah. On the other hand, Me’ir b. Simeon of thirteenth-century Narbonne wondered whether beseeching the dead might also be heretical; see his Milhemet Mizvah, pt. 4, published in his Sefer ha-Me’orot on Berakhot, ed. Moses Judah Blau (New York, 1964), pp. 181–2. Also, Abraham b. Solomon Treves Zarefati, a sixteenth-century cosmopolite, penned a polemical essay against Recanati’s formulation. Treves mentions his essay in a parenthetical note to Menahem b. Zerah’s Zedah la-Derekh (Ferrara, 1554), essay 4, §4, ch. 5, fol. 208r, and it has survived in manuscript: JTS mic. 9134, fol. 41r-47v. El‘azar’s responsum has recently been published twice from manuscript: Joseph Samuel Zachter, “A Responsum by the author of the Rokeah on the Recitation of ‘Ushers of Mercy’” (Hebrew), Yeshurun 3 (1997), pp. 41–6; Simhah Immanuel, “On the Recitation of the Liturgical Poem ‘Ushers of Mercy’” (Hebrew), Ha-Ma‘ayan 38 (1997), pp. 7–10. Immanuel questions the attribution of this responsum to El‘azar b. Judah of Worms, since it is signed simply “El‘azar.”

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legal compendium from ­fourteenth-century Germany, explains that “any thinking person” ought to understand that the angels are only to be exhorted to usher our supplications, but that these are addressed solely to God, in accordance with the text about not crying to Michael or Gabriel.22 In the same vein, Israel Bruna of fifteenth-­century Germany compares the role of angels to that of courtiers, whom petitioners often ask to mediate between themselves and their Sovereign as a mark of respect, although they have the right of direct petition.23 Reinterpretation was another tack. Thus, Judah b. Yaqar of twelfth-­century France maintains that the expression “ushers of mercy” does not refer to angels at all, but rather to the generation’s most righteous Jews, upon whom it is incumbent to pray on behalf of their contemporaries.24 This luminary also observes that strictly speaking the talmudic text says that the angels do not “recognize” (makkirin) Aramaic, rather than “know” or “understand” it. He concludes that the angels understand Aramaic prayers, but ignore them; a preference for the Holy Tongue was the putative reason for their disdain.25 Similarly, Aaron ha-Kohen and Menahem ha-Me’iri, both of fourteenth-century Provence, turn 22 Kol Bo, Fjorda 1782, §10. See also Aaron ha-Kohen of Lunel, Orhot Hayyim, H. Qeri’at Shema §19 ( Jerusalem, 1956), p. 27. This is also the position of Avigdor Kara of fifteenth-century Prague: see Talmage (above, n. 17), pp. 15- 16. 23 Responsa, Saloniki 1798, §274. This view was also expressed by Isaac b. Jacob Yozbel Segal of sixteenth-century Venice, about whom more below. 24 Perush ha-Tefillot veha-Berakhot, ed. Samuel Yerushalmi ( Jerusalem, 1979), p. 73. This text, too, was already noted by Zunz, loc. cit. (above, n. 1). Judah b. Yaqar’s interpretation also appears elsewhere. See Me’ir b. Simeon, Milhemet Mizvah (above, note 21), pp. 181–2; Johanan Treves, Qimhah de-Avishuna, printed in the margins of Mahzor kefi minhag K”K Roma, Bologna 1540–1541, pt. 2, pp. 14–15. The source for this notion may be BT Nedarim 20a–b or Qiddushin 72a, where the “Ministering Angels” are equated with the Sages. See Judith Z. Abrams, “The Reflexive Relationship of Mal’achei HaSharet and the Sages,” CCAR Journal 42 (1995), pp. 26–9. Note that according to Judah b. Samuel ‘the Pious,’ “Ushers of mercy” is intended to sway the angels to intercede on behalf of the Jewish people precisely because the righteous refrain from doing so, for they consider themselves unworthy. See Daniel Abrams and Israel Ta-Shema, Sefer Gematriot of R. Judah the Pious (Hebrew) (Los Angeles, 1998), p. 17. Cf. the view of Sefer Hasidim in note 17, above. 25 Judah b. Yaqar, Perush ha-Tefillot veha-Berakhot, p. 20; Abraham b. David of Posquières, Temim De‘im, Lwow 1812, §184, fol. 20r. See, similarly, Jonathan ha-Kohen of Lunel’s commentary on BT Berakhot, ch. 2; Jonah Gerundi on Alfasi, Berakhot, ch. 2, fol. 7r, s.v. Aval be-yah.id. For the notion that the angels understand Aramaic but find it disagreeable, see also: Zohar, Sitrei Torah, pt. 1, fol. 89r (cited by Moses Isserles, Darkhei Moshe on Arba‘ah Turim, Orah Hayyim, §101); Me’ir b. Simeon, Sefer Ha-Me’orot on Berakhot, p. 183; Joseph Karo, Bet Yosef on Arba‘ah Turim, ad loc., where the idea is attributed to Asher b. Yehiel; Jacob ibn Habib, loc. cit. (above, n. 19).

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the problem of Aramaic on its head and explain that it is not the angels, but rather the supplicants, who do not understand Aramaic; supplication in Aramaic was therefore prohibited because most people are incapable of praying with the proper concentration.26 Throughout the Middle Ages, then, intellectual leaders grappled with the proscription of supplication in Aramaic and, more generally, with the legitimacy of intercessory prayer. The durability and ubiquity of the problem indicate that “Ushers of mercy” continued to be recited. Although Johanan Treves of sixteenth-century Rome writes that, on account of its heretical implications, the petitionary poem, “Angels on high” (Mal’achei meroma), is no longer recited “in most places,” his is the only evidence that pressure was being exerted to curtail the custom.27 Other authorities describe the practice as deeply engrained and impossible to uproot. Avigdor Kara of fifteenth-century Prague testifies that intercessory prayer “is spreading everywhere” ([ha-]mitpashet be-khol ha-gelilot) and admits that he feels compelled to legitimize such prayers because they are “an accomplished fact.”28 The sense that “Ushers of mercy” and its like were too deeply entrenched in the liturgy to be dislodged stimulates Judah Loew of sixteenth-century Prague, the famed Maharal, to craft a characteristically creative response to the ideological challenge. He acknowledges that prayers of this type had been part of the liturgy for centuries, and therefore proposes a simple emendation of the text, such that instead of the hortatory “usher in our mercy,” one prays, wishfully, in the future tense: “May the ushers of mercy usher in our 26 Aaron ha-Kohen of Lunel, Orhot Hayyim (above, note 22); Menahem ha-Me’iri, Bet ha-­ Behirah on Shabbat, ed. Isaak S. Lange ( Jerusalem, 1968), p. 52. The same sentiment appears in the Kol Bo, §10. This was of course the opposite of the tenth-century situation, as described by Sherira and his correspondents. The problem of praying in a tongue one does not understand has implications for other liturgical and ritual acts, as well: see, for example, Yom Tov Lipmann Heller, Tosafot Yom Tov on Sotah 7:1. 27 Above, note 24. 28 Lit. “since the matter has gone forth, it has gone forth rightfully” (ho’il ve- yazah ha-davar, be-heter yazah). Kara’s letter is in Ms. Oxford-Bodley Opp. 525, fol. 63r-66v, and the two phrases are on fol. 64r; cf. Talmage (above, n. 17), p. 16. Kara rationalizes the prayers as self-exhortations, which the supplicant utters while continuing to address the Divinity. Regarding the reservations expressed by both Mülhausen and Kara to intercessory prayer, Talmage emphasizes the impact of Maimonidean influence on Bohemian Jewry in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. This perspective is applicable, too, to the attack on “Ushers of mercy” in the diatribe against kabbalah by Moses Ashkenazi of Candia in 1466: see Efraim Gottlieb, “Vikuah ha-Gilgul be-Kandia ba-me’ah ha-15,” Studies in the Kabbala Literature (Hebrew), ed. Joseph Hacker (Tel Aviv, 1976), p. 385.

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­mercies.”29 The tide of custom was, however, against Maharal, and his initiative was ineffectual.

THE TRIESTE CONTROVERSY Lampronti’s PY actually contains two entries entitled: “Let one not petition for his needs in Aramaic.” The first offers a very meager list of talmudic and medieval sources, including the unresolved question of the Tosafists. Lampronti interjects that he30 fails to see a problem, for the angels only know what God allows them to know.31 However, the next entry presents the views of those who did not fail to see a problem, although the focus is on the angels’ intercession, rather than on their knowledge of Aramaic. The PY presents six texts. The first two are a polemical thrust and apologetical parry, the former in opposition to intercessory prayer and the latter in its defense. These are followed by the responsum of Shabbatai Elhanan Recanati of Ferrara, who rules against the elimination of “Ushers of mercy.”32 The fourth and fifth documents are another exchange between the principal antagonists. A responsum by Samson Morpurgo of Ancona concludes the series, perhaps especially because Morpurgo, like Recanati, decides in favor of intercessory prayer. A second letter by Morpurgo on the subject appears elsewhere in the PY, and both were also printed in Morpurgo’s collected responsa.33 29 Lit. Yakhnissu rahamenu. See Netivot ‘Olam, ed. Hayyim Pardes (Tel Aviv, 1982), vol. 1, “­Netiv ‘Avodah,” ch. 12, pp. 279–80. Maharal also suggests that the prayer may, in fact, not be ­hortatory at all, but rather a command by the supplicant for the angels to perform their duty of ushering prayer. 30 Lit. “I, the young author,” an expression which typically introduces Lampronti’s own view of the subject under discussion. See PY: vol. 1, Venice 1750, fol. 9v, s.v. Avelut be-Purim; vol. 2, Venice 1753, fol. 86v, s.v. dagim vesimanam; vol. 12, fol. 119v, s.v. ro’ah dam mehamat tashmish. 31 The entry concludes with a few references to biblical and more recent sources. Particularly noteworthy are the references to the Zohar (1:101v) and to Isaiah Horowitz’s Shnei Luhot ha-Berit (Amsterdam 1649, vol. 1, fol. 40v), which indicate that Lampronti was receptive to kabbalistic works, although his attitude towards kabbalah awaits careful scrutiny. This is relevant to the controversy, as we shall see. 32 The critic claims that his adversary had traveled to Ferrara in search of confederates, but had only succeeded in enlisting Recanati, and even the latter had acted in defense of custom, rather than out of support for intercessory prayer. The critic also claims that although he had given his counterpart a copy of his essay, the latter had failed to reciprocate, and that only by chance did he obtain a copy of his adversary’s response. The apologist replies that he concealed his text because he knew that his opponent was obstinate, and despaired of changing his mind: see fol. 51r, 54v. 33 Šemeš Tzdakah, Venice 1743, §23–4, fol. 30r-31r. For Morpurgo’s second letter, see also the PY, vol. 6, Livorno 1840, fol. 136v–137r, s.v. minhag uketzat dinav.

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The conflict can be dated to 1727, the year of Recanati’s missive and Morpurgo’s first epistle.34 Morpurgo informs us that the debate was conducted between two residents of Trieste.35 From some of the documents it emerges that a new rabbinic leader had settled in Trieste, who disapproved of intercessory prayer but waited several years before taking action. When he did attempt to eliminate this practice, the congregants heeded his wishes, but only in his presence. A critique of the custom, composed by a student of the new rabbi, triggered a response by another young scholar, who held the opposite view.36 The social context that underlay the cultural conflict is, of course, of the greatest importance for understanding the concerns and considerations that motivated the antagonists and their supporters. Unfortunately, no light can be shed on this aspect of the affair, because virtually nothing is known of the ­Triestine Jewish community in the first half of the eighteenth ­century.37 Acknowledging, therefore, that a full grasp of the controversy lies beyond reach, analysis must be limited to the case itself. The task shall be to identify the claims made by the parties to the conflict, and to compare and contrast their 34 Recanati’s letter is dated the eve of Yom Kippur [5]488, i.e., September 13, 1727. In the printed edition of the PY, at the conclusion of Morpurgo’s epistle, the letters taw, bet and pe are enlarged, and their numerical value equals 482, corresponding to the year 1722; however, in the autograph manuscript the letter waw is also enlarged, adding six more years and thus matching the year stated in Recanati’s text: see Ms. Paris-Bibliothèque Nationale Héb. 548, fol. 164r. At the end of Morpurgo’s second missive, the letters lamed, het, yod, taw, nun and waw are enlarged, and their numerical value indicates the year 504, corresponding to 1744. However this date cannot be right, for Morpurgo died in 1740, and we may therefore conjecture that originally the letters yod and waw were not enlarged, which would render the year 488, as in the other two responsa. This problem was noted by Wilensky, but not solved: see M. Wilensky, “On the Rabbis of Ancona” (Hebrew), Sinai 25 (1949), p. 71, n. 11. 35 This information appears in the prologue to Morpurgo’s first letter, but Lampronti omitted it from the PY. The names of the protagonists are not known, although Sprecher noted that the documents mention the names Benjamin (fol. 36v), David (fol. 49r) and Ephraim (fol. 52v): see Sprecher, p. 720, n. 64, 66. From context it would appear that Ephraim or Benjamin is the name of the critic and David is the apologist. Incidentally, Morpurgo mentions (fol. 57r) that he did not know the critic’s name. 36 The critic insists, in his first text, that importance ought to be attributed to his message, rather than his identity, which may mean that his social status was not very high. 37 See: Riccardo Curiel, “Le origini del ghetto di Trieste,” Rassegna Mensile di Israel 6 (1931– 1932), pp. 446–72; Idem, “Gli ebrei di Trieste nel secolo XVIII,” Ibid. 12 (1938), pp. ­241–3; Gemma Volli, “La nazione ebrea a Trieste,” ibid. 24 (1958), pp. 206–14; Paolo S. Colbi, “Note di storia ebraica a Trieste nei secoli XVIII e XIX,” Ibid. 36 (1970), pp. 59–73; Idem, “The Golden Age of Hebrew Literature in the City of Trieste” (Hebrew), Sinai 8 (1978), pp. 70–9; G. Cervani and L. Buda, La comunità israelitica di Trieste nel sec. XVIII (Udine, 1973), pp. 42–3.

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views with those articulated in earlier sources, in order to highlight the significant features of the struggle in Trieste. Turning, therefore, to the substance of the published documents, the opening salvo commences with a public outcry against intercessory prayer. Without naming names, the polemicist indicts all those rabbinic leaders who have allowed congregations to recite “Ushers of mercy,” “Angels of mercy,” and the like. He does, however, single out two literary opponents: Isaac b. Jacob Yozbel Segal of Venice, author of Hadrat Qodesh, a commentary on the liturgy, and Gedaliah b. Solomon Lifshitz of Poland, author of ‘Ez Shatul, a commentary on Joseph Albo’s ‘Ikkarim. Naming these authors was hardly an indiscretion, for Segal and Lifshitz lived in the sixteenth century and their works were printed fairly promptly: Hadrat Qodesh in 1568 and ‘Ez Shatul in 1618 (both in Venice). The initial manifesto against “Ushers of mercy” is followed by a point-bypoint refutation of Segal’s defense of intercessory prayer. The latter is introduced by the ringing generalization that “these doubts are the opposite of the absolute reasoning (ha-sevara ha-muhletet) and axioms (u-muskalot rishonot),” which is then followed by nine arguments: (1) The use of an intermediary enhances a monarch’s glory and grandeur; paradoxically, the more the intermediaries, the stronger the belief in God’s exclusive sovereignty. (2) The appeal for intercession expresses the Lord’s greatness, because it conveys the supplicant’s awareness that he is unworthy to approach God directly. (3) One who prays thus cannot be accused of idolatry,38 for in beseeching the angels to usher his prayer before God, one expresses belief in the absolute sovereignty of the Divine. (4) Intercessory prayer cannot be compared to cases of genuflection to angels, which is a mark of respect towards the angel per se. (5) The text from the Palestinian Talmud which prohibits crying to Michael or Gabriel cannot be adduced as proof against intercessory prayer, since it has never carried sufficient weight to move scholars to proscribe the latter. (6) Marks of respect towards intermediaries and servants also enhance the dignity of the monarch. Here Segal appears to withdraw his objection to genuflection, and this is evident from his next point: (7) As a rule, he summarizes, God scrutinizes one’s intention (Rahmana liba ba‘ei), for in genuflecting to the angel ( Jos. 5:14), Joshua intended to pay homage to the servant as a mark of respect towards his

38 Lit. “the error of the generation of Enosh” (ta‘ut dor Enoš), which in talmudic-midrashic literature was considered idolatrous, based on the traditional interpretation of Gen. 4:26. See Rashi ad loc., BT Šabbat 118b, Gen. R. 4:6 and elsewhere.

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Master, which is certainly true for the latter-day supplicant. (8) God expressed satisfaction with this view of genuflection when he told Moses, in the Golden Calf incident: “Now let me be, that my anger may blaze forth” etc. (Ex. 32:10).39 (9) Neither experience nor reason have indicated that expressions of respect towards intermediaries and requests for their mediation loosen the reins of human devotion to God.40 The critic responds to Segal’s opening reference to “axioms” with a great deal of bluster and indignation, and with a quotation from Maimonides’ fifth principle of faith, with its condemnation of intercessory prayer. He then provides a Hebrew translation of the statement, from Theologia Judaica,41 by Joannes a Lent, a seventeenth-century Christian Hebraist, that the God of Israel is not too proud to accept the prayer of his people, such that they would find it necessary to pray to intermediaries for its acceptance. Similarly, he cites the words of Menasseh ben Israel of seventeenth-century Amsterdam, who wrote that God has no need for the stratagem of human rulers, who strive to instill awe in their subjects by not deigning to accept petitions directly.42 In refutation of Segal’s claim that intercessory prayer is not idolatrous, the polemicist maintains that the notion of intermediaries was central to the polytheism and idolatry of ancient Greece. The idolators of yore, he explains, believed in the supreme dominion of Jove, but erected a hierarchy of lesser divinities, because they felt that the distance separating Creator from creature is unbridgeable. Beyond emphasizing the abundance of biblical verses about direct petition and the absence of prooftexts to the contrary, the author attacks the notion of intercession on the grounds that it should not end at angelical intercession: by rights one ought to pray to the deceased for intercession. As we have seen, a number of medieval authors held this point of view, but the polemicist argues 39 In Tanhuma ad loc. (pericope Ki Tissa §22), God utters this phrase immediately after complaining that the Israelites have genuflected to the golden calf. However, midrashic sources (and Rashi ad loc.) interpret this verse as an invitation to Moses to pray on behalf of the Israelites. Thus, perhaps Segal means that God expressed here a liberal attitude towards the genuflection to intermediaries. 40 Mahzor ke-minhag K. K. Ashkenazim, Venice 1599, pt. 1, fol. 87r. The critic writes that Lifshitz (pt. 2, ch. 28) holds the same position as Segal, but neither recapitulates nor refutes it (fol. 40v). 41 Sic. The full title of this work is: Emunah shel Yehudim Aharonim seu de moderna Theologia Judaica, Herborn 1694. See p. 282 ff. 42 Menasseh ben Israel, The Conciliator of R. Manasseh Ben Israel, 1–2 (London, 1842), vol. 1, Que. 102, pp. 162–3.

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that the dead are oblivious to the concerns of this world, and are therefore ­incapable of intercession. Prayers for angelical intercession, the writer observes, are not found in Sephardic or Italiani prayer books, nor in those of the Jews of the Ottoman empire and north Africa; German and Polish Jewry are the only centers to have incorporated them into their liturgy, and moreover, this practice is a relatively recent innovation, dating back a mere three hundred years. He goes on to express amazement that Ashkenazic Jews should transgress the biblical sin of adhering to “the laws of the gentiles” (hukkot ha-goyyim), for they initiated the custom of eating before dawn on the morning preceding Rosh Hashana precisely so as to avoid this very offense.43 How, he asks, could they, whose punctilious behavior is known to all, be so careless with their words as to echo the Christian petitionary prayer: “Omnes sancti Angeli et Arcangeli orate pro nobis” (“All the holy angels and archangels—pray for us”)?44 The response to the attack on “Ushers of mercy,” entitled Agudat Ezov (“A Bunch of Hyssop”),45 consists of two sections. First, Agudat Ezov (as its author might well have been labelled in rabbinic parlance) offers brief, often caustic, rejoinders to the formulations of his adversary. These jibes are not entirely free of personal invective and contribute little of substance to the debate.46 Yet in this section the author also expands the scope of the discussion, by introducing broader issues, particularly the age-old conflict over the legitimacy of “Greek wisdom” (fol. 37v). Responding to the charge that intercessory prayer violates Maimonides’ fifth principle of faith, Agudat Ezov condemns Aristotelian philosophy and science. Quoting Menasseh ben Israel, he characterizes Maimonides as having denigrated prophecy by maintaining that the insights revealed to the prophets could be attained through rational enquiry. He piles 43 He cites Minhagei Maharil, in which the custom is indeed cited, in the laws of the High Holy Days, although it is referred to as a custom of “youths and maidens” (ne‘arim u-vetulot) and no mention is made of “the ways of the gentiles.” 44 The Latin text is from the “Invocation Sanctorum” section of the “Litaniae Sanctorum.” I have used Lampronti’s autograph copy of the PY to correct the printed text, which reads: “Omnes sancti Arjeli et Arearajeli orosi pro iis dis” (21v). See Ms. Paris-Bibliothèque Nationale Héb 548, fol. 133r. 45 The title reflects the writer’s purpose. It alludes to the biblical commandment to use a bunch of hyssop in order to purify a person tainted with impurity (Num. 19:18). Thus it symbolizes the author’s intention to purge his adversary of his incorrect views. The symbolism is made fairly plain in Agudat Ezov, at the bottom of fol. 48v. 46 Incidentally, in his preamble he states plainly that his words are only directed towards the critic, rather than towards “the Rabbi,” to whom he refers as his own teacher (fol. 37r).

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on e­ xamples of biblical incidents which Maimonides interpreted as imagined, rather than prophesied, and cites Hasdai Crescas’ critique of this position.47 Then, in an abrupt reversal, Agudat Ezov voices doubt that Maimonides could have authored such unorthodox views, and quotes the well-known tradition that Maimonides was ultimately initiated into the mysteries of kabbalah and consequently rejected much of his earlier writing.48 He then argues that “Ushers of mercy” does not really contravene Maimonides’ fifth principle, since the petitioner does not attribute power to angels, but rather beseeches them to usher his prayer before the Omnipotent. Similarly, Agudat Ezov affirms Segal’s view that intercessory prayer is not tantamount to the worship of intermediaries, since it does not constitute “worship.” The importance of fidelity to custom is a second broad issue to which Agudat Ezov links the problem of intercessory prayer. Injecting a measure of ethnic pride, he trumpets the reputation of “the sons of Ashkenaz [i.e. Germany] and Poland” for wisdom and orthodoxy, and takes umbrage at the suggestion that the controversial prayers are marginal and hence of questionable legitimacy because they are only recited by these ethnic groups.49 Agudat Ezov proceeds to defend the concept of liturgical diversity, which stems, he affirms, from the myth that each of the twelve Israelite tribes has its own window to heaven, over which a particular angel presides.50 In the second part of Agudat Ezov, short, staccato bursts of polemic and apologetic give way to a chapter-length review of talmudic and midrashic 47 This formulation is quoted from Menasseh ben Israel’s Nishmat Hayyim, Amsterdam 1651, pt. 3, ch. 12, fol. 140v (Although there is an error in the pagination of Nishmat Hayyim, and the page number should read 114, not 140, Lampronti’s reference is technically correct). Agudat Ezov cites the Guide, II, 42 and Crescas’ critique ad loc. 48 Gershom Scholem, “From Scholar to Kabbalist” (Hebrew), Tarbiz 6 (1935), pp. 90–8; ­Michael A. Shmidman, “On Maimonides’ ‘Conversion’ to Kabbalah,” Studies in ­Medieval Jewish History and Literature 2 (Cambridge, Mass., 1984), pp. 375–86; Moshe Idel, “­Maimonides and Kabbalah,” Studies in Maimonides, ed. Isadore Twersky (Cambridge, Mass., 1990), pp. 31–81. 49 Agudat Ezov attaches the Ashkenazic Jews of Italy to the category of German-Polish Jewry which he extolls, and specifically names the Ashkenazic community of Ferrara, which he labels “a large city of scholars and kabbalists” (‘ir gedolah shel hakhamim u-mequbbalim). Apparently Agudat Ezov or his adversary enjoyed some sort of relationship with the Ferrara community, but no details are known, apart from the fact that Lampronti and Recanati lived in Ferrara. 50 Agudat Ezov cites Aaron Berechia Modena’s Ma‘avar Yaboq, “Siftei Zedek,” ch. 31. Cf. Dt. R. 2:20, according to which the angels seal the windows of heaven to block the prayer of the wicked King Menasseh b. Hezekiah, but God digs beneath the heavenly throne to receive it.

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sources, as well as exegetical, halakhic and mystical texts from the Middle Ages, with the intention of demonstrating the antiquity of intercessory prayer. Prominent in this torrent of erudition is the notion that angelical intercession is particularly salutary for Diaspora Jewry, because outside the Holy Land the Sefirah of Judgment (Din) prevails over that of Mercy and interposes obstacles between the supplicant and God.51 Agudat Ezov also devotes a chapter to the legitimacy of invoking the intercession of the dead, which his mentor had called into question because of the biblical prohibition of necromancy (Dt. 18:11). Again Agudat Ezov offers a mass of references to “the pillars of the world” (fol. 48r), namely classical and medieval authorities, to document the orthodoxy of this ­custom. In refutation of his adversary’s contention, the author strives to demonstrate that the souls of the deceased are aware of the activities and predicaments of the living.52 He observes, for example, that it would make no sense for the dying to express burial wishes if indeed “the dead know nothing” (Eccl. 9:5). Agudat Ezov also distinguishes intercessory prayer from necromancy, which he defines as the adjuration of the dead for the purpose of acquiring ­information. Following the exchange of critique and defense, the PY publishes the opinion of Shabbatai Elhanan Recanati of Ferrara.53 Recanati weighs in with a resounding, multifaceted defense of intercessory prayer. The custom, he holds, has ancient roots, and furthermore, the Babylonian Talmud is later and therefore more authoritative than the Palestinian Talmud, which prohibits crying to Michael or Gabriel. Recanati particularly objects to the attack on custom, especially one that is widespread, ancient, and solidly grounded in Zoharic and halakhic literature. He cites unimpeachable sources that express approbation of the notion that one may beg the dead for intercession, from which the legitimacy of intercessory prayer to angels is implicit.54 Recanati concludes by 51 Fol. 44r–v, 45v–46r. The roots of this idea are located in the Zohar, vol. 3, fol. 225v. For the notion that there are innumerable celestial servants who seek to obstruct human prayer, Agudat Ezov also cites a text from the Zohar, vol. 2, fol. 248v and Menahem ‘Azariah da Fano, ‘Asarah Ma’amarot, Venice [1597], fol. 104. See Isaiah Tishby, The Wisdom of the Zohar, trans. David Goldstein, Oxford 1989, vol. 3, pp. 956–7, 959. 52 He relies heavily on Menasseh ben Israel’s Nishmat Hayyim, which labored to prove that the soul continues to exist after death. 53 Recanati wrote his responsum in reply to a query, which appears to have been circulated among several scholars, since it is addressed to addressees, in the plural. The query is not signed, but appears to have been written by a third party. 54 Šulh.an Aruk, Orah. H.ayyim §579; Zohar pt. 3, fol. 70r–71v.

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dismissing the charge that a disciple may not take issue with his teacher, citing several precedents.55 The rivals studied each other’s tracts and embarked upon a second round of challenge and response. The critic challenges the sanctity of custom. He laments the popular tendency to defend any and all customs, including kapparot, the penitential slaughter of a rooster on the eve of Yom Kippur, which he labels “a custom of folly” (minhag shetut), that ought to be suppressed.56 The polemicist also revisits the themes of genuflection and “the laws of the gentiles,” arguing that since genuflection was banned in order to shun “the laws of the gentiles” even though it is abundantly attested in the Bible, a fortiori prayer to angels, which has no biblical foundation, ought also to be proscribed.57 The issue of whether or not one ought to don the tefillin on the intermediate days of festivals also serves the purpose of this writer. Agudat Ezov had drawn heavily from the Zohar in defense of the German-Jewish tradition of intercessory prayer. The critic voices disdain for the supreme authority attributed by his antagonist to the Zohar, but now uses it to his advantage, since while Ashkenazic tradition required that the tefillin be worn on intermediate days, the Zohar forbade this. Which, needles the author, should an Ashkenazic devotee of the Zohar follow—Ashkenazic tradition or the Zohar?58 The writer also takes aim at his adversary’s use of the legitimacy of ethnic diversity as an argument in defense of intercessory prayer; the issue, he insists, 55 This was a very broad issue, from which the critic sought to draw strength, just as his adversary sought to “plug in” to the argument that custom enjoys an almost sacred status. 56 No less an authority than Joseph Karo had already recommended that kapparot be suppressed, because it constitutes “the ways of the Amorites”: Šulh.an Aruk, Orah. H.ayyim §605:1. On kapparot, see: Jacob Z. Lauterbach, “The Ritual for the Kapparot-Ceremony,” Jewish Studies in Memory of George A. Kohut, ed. Salo W. Baron and Alexander Marx (New York, 1935), pp. 413- 422; Idem, “Tashlik, A Study in Jewish Ceremonies,” Hebrew Union College Annual 11 (1936), pp. 262–82, 312–13; Daniel Sperber, The Customs of Israel (Hebrew), 1–6 ( Jerusalem, 1989–1998), vol. 1, pp. 33–4; vol. 2, pp. 84–6. 57 He cites Issachar Baer Eilenburg of seventeenth-century Gorizia’s Be’er Sheva (Frankfurt a.M., 1608/9), §74, fol. 89v. Agudat Ezov responds that Eilenburg discussed the gesture of praying with one’s hands pressed together, rather than genuflection. 58 Agudat Ezov later (fol. 56r) comes back with the well-known policy of following the Talmud whenever it contradicts the Zohar. On the tefillin controversy, see the PY, vol. 14, Berlin 1887, fol. 99v–114v, s.v. tefilin be-h.olo shel moed. See also Jacob Katz, “Tefillin on Hol ha-Mo’ed: Differences of Opinion and Public Controversies of Kabbalistic Origin” (Hebrew), Proceedings of the Seventh World Congress of Jewish Studies, Jerusalem 1981, pp. 191–213 [=Halakhah and Kabbalah (Hebrew) ( Jerusalem, 1984), pp. 102–24].

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is the appeal to intermediaries, about which reservations were expressed in ­Germany, too. In a surprising move, the critic concedes that intercessory prayer is not the sole prerogative of the Jews of Germany and Poland; he has discovered a penitential poem from the Italiani liturgy, recited in the final moments of Yom Kippur, in which the supplicant pleads with “those beloved of the Lord, guardians of the gates of the glorious palaces” to hear the voices of God’s loyal servants and open the gates of heaven at this the eleventh hour.59 He adds, however, that many Italiani Jews have told him that these verses ought to be skipped, as was in any case recommended by Johanan Treves.60 In reply, the apologist focuses on the relative merits of philosophy and kabbalah. He lambasts his opponent for basing his position entirely on “the method of investigation and reason, for such is the way of the philosophers: [they] believe only in what rational analogy requires … They became intoxicated by the pride of the Greeks and swayed by their arrogance, [as a result of which] they distort the Law … and scorn the wisdom of the true tradition [ha-qabbalah ha’amitit] etc.”61 This tirade dovetails with the outrage Agudat Ezov expresses over his rival’s attack on kapparot. Countering with his own litany of halakhic sources, including the Talmud, he asks: Why stop there, and not ridicule the custom of eating the head of a ram on Rosh Hashana, or other customs, which are likewise grounded in the Talmud? Apparently Agudat Ezov felt that the image of intercessory prayer and kapparot as irrational underlay the scorn heaped upon them by his opponent. A bit later he cites a text by Asher b. Yehiel on the superiority to philosophy of Torah, which originates in Revelation and is therefore not bound by natural law. Follow the example of Maimonides, urges Agudat Ezov, and replace philosophy with kabbalah! The final document in the PY is Samson Morpurgo’s decision. Morpurgo reproves the critic for his ill-considered critique of kapparot, which he notes was practiced by an impressive string of medieval Ashkenazic authorities. He recounts having heard from his teacher, Samuel Aboab of Venice, that the statement in Joseph Karo’s Šulh.an Aruk to the effect that kapparot is a

59 Yedidei El shomrei sha‘arei zevul armonim. This poem is not listed in Israel Davidson’s Thesaurus of Mediaeval Hebrew Poetry, 1–4 (New York, 1933). 60 See above, n. 24. 61 Fol. 52v. Agudat Ezov repeats his anti-Maimonidean position, including the complaint that according to Maimonides, various prophetic visions recorded in the Bible were products of the imagination.

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“­custom of folly” was authored by typesetters, rather than by Karo himself.62 If, however, the polemicist knows this, and used this expression merely for rhetorical effect, Morpurgo simply advises him to exercise greater caution and discipline in the future. As for intercessory prayer, Morpurgo feels that the legitimacy and authority of custom must carry the day. The idolatry of ancient times, he explains, has been eradicated, and there is really no danger that the average Jew will confuse the angels with God. He concludes that supporters of intercessory prayer can cling to their tradition, and their opponents must bow to the will of the majority.63 Morpurgo acknowledges that the arguments marshalled by the polemicist were as numerous and weighty as those of his rival, but he dismisses them as derived from foreign sources, namely natural science and rational theology, rather than from “the true tradition” (ha-qabbalah ha’amitit), which lies beyond reason.64 Morpurgo penned a second letter on intercessory prayer, or rather on the abrogation of customs, including “Ushers of mercy.”65 Assuming a very conservative stance, he champions with passion and eloquence the sanctity of even the most bizarre customs. As an example, Morpurgo cites the respect that Issachar Baer Eilenburg shows the kapparot ritual in his discussion of its problematic nature.66 He also discusses the practice of genuflection during the Yom Kippur service, and narrates the following anecdote. In the Ashkenazic synagogue of Padua it was customary for the cantor alone to genuflect during the confessional prayer of Yom Kippur, but in 1700 the rabbi, Isaac Vita C ­ antarini, promulgated a ruling that henceforth the entire congregation, too, must genuflect with the cantor. Worried that this might constitute “the laws of the gentiles,” Morpurgo consulted the rabbis Solomon Nizza of Venice and Mordecai Bassan 62 The formulation appeared in the first edition of the Šulh.an Aruk (Venice 1565), in the heading of Orah. H.ayyim §605, but it is not to be found in standard printed editions. Neither Morpurgo nor Aboab was the source of this idea: see Me’ir Benayahu, “Why and for Whom Did Maran Compose the Shulhan ‘Arukh?” (Hebrew), Asufot 3 (1989), p. 266. See also ­Sperber, The Customs of Israel, vol. 2, p. 84. 63 It is not clear whether this expression refers to a majority of the Trieste constituency, or to a majority of German-Jewish halakhic authorities. 64 As above, “the true tradition” appears to refer to kabbalah, towards which Morpurgo held a lukewarm, if respectful, attitude. On Morpurgo’s attitude towards philosophy, kabbalah and science, see David B. Ruderman, Jewish Thought and Scientific Discovery in Early Modern ­Europe, pp. 213–28. 65 See above, n. 33. 66 Be’er Sheva, §53, fol. 86r.

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of Verona, who dismissed his concern, citing the Talmud’s rule that every locale should adhere to its own custom.67 Morpurgo concludes from this incident that, contrary to the view of the critic, genuflection was not abrogated out of concern for “the laws of the gentiles,” but rather for other ­reasons. Turning to “Ushers of mercy,” Morpurgo corrects the claim, apparently aired by his interlocutor, that this prayer had been abrogated by Hefez ­Gentili, the rabbi of neighboring Gorizia. Morpurgo recollects that Gentili merely altered the text so as to read: “May our prayers enter …” (Yikanesu tefillotenu), and that he sang the tune so as to conceal the new formulation from the congregants.68 Morpurgo refers to a certain Rabbi Marini, and writes that he is not swayed by his indifference to the disappearance of the intercessory prayers, because Marini is an Italian; Ashkenazic Jews, he asserts, ought to respect the tradition of their ancestors.69 A note of caution and humility caps Morpurgo’s second responsum: “Whenever I studied metaphysics, I knew that I did not know.70 Apart from this, I saw with a discerning eye that anyone who acquires knowledge of God according to the roots of the traditional wisdom adds pain.”71 The expression “traditional wisdom” (ha- hokmah ha-mequbbelet) typically refers to kabbalah, the mystical counterpart of metaphysics. As David Ruderman has shown, Morpurgo was an experimentalist rather than a theoretician, which explains his diffident stance vis-à-vis both philosophy and kabbalah. Perhaps this is why in this letter, rather than expatiate upon the relative merits of these disciplines, Morpurgo underlined his traditionalism.

ECHOES AND ADUMBRATIONS Most entries in the PY include a generous string of citations of sources, and thus the appearance of a mere handful of sources in the entry on intercessory 67 Lit. “every river has its own course” (nehara nehara u-feshateh): see BT H.ullin 18b. 68 This rabbi’s behavior is clearly modeled on the course of action mandated by Judah Loew of Prague. See above, n. 29. 69 The reference is probably to Sabbatai b. Isaac Marini of Padua (d. 1748). This is the first mention of Marini in connection with intercessory prayer, and what role, if any, he played in the Trieste conflict is unknown. See Mordecai Samuel Ghirondi, History of the Great Men of Israel (Hebrew), Trieste 1853, pp. 342, 344, §51. 70 Similarly, writing about resurrection, Aviad Sar Shalom Basilea of Mantua writes: “As a rule, I am not embarrassed on matters of this nature to say: ‘I do not know …’” See the PY, vol. 14, Berlin 1887, fol. 28r, s.v. tehiyat ha-metim. 71 Cf. Eccl. 1:18.

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prayer might lead one to conclude that this was a new issue. The preceding review of the medieval literature makes it abundantly clear that the eighteenth-­ century controversialists echo themes and arguments articulated as much as six hundred years earlier. For example, in support of intercessory prayer, El‘azar of Worms had invoked the tradition of graveyard visitation, and Israel of Bruna had suggested that addressing angels is a mark of respect towards the true ­Sovereign. The scholars of Trieste elaborated these and other medieval ideas, but clearly their controversy was merely the latest stage in a conversation that had been proceeding for centuries, among thinkers of various stripes, operating in diverse disciplines. Recognizing the hoary roots of the discussion throws into relief the novel features of its Trieste stage. The sheer volume of writing on the subject was unprecedented. Medieval authors rarely addressed the matter in more than a few sentences, and absolutely no one tackled it on such a grand scale. Nor was the scale of the PY writings a function of their late date, for although they quote and cite the basic classical texts, polemicist and apologist do not present litanies of precedents, but rather detailed expositions of the subject at hand, the like of which had never been written before. The eighteenth-century debate also exhibits new ideas and emphases. The most novel feature of the critic’s polemic is his citation of works that are normally beyond the purview of halakhic discourse. He draws from the writings of Menasseh ben Israel, labelled “a knowledgeable and wise man.” Although he was the leading rabbi of the western Sephardi diaspora in the seventeenth century, citations of Menasseh’s writings are quite rare in halakhic literature. More arresting are the citations of non-Jewish works, which are rarely found in rabbinic discussions of Jewish law. The critic quotes from Joannes a Lent’s Theologia Judaica, and is clearly cognizant of his innovation, for he apologizes for introducing into evidence the work of a non-Jew, excusing himself on the grounds that it merely “recounts the story of our faith” (sofer sipur emunatenu). Similarly, Cicero’s De Natura Deorum serves as a prooftext for the explanation that the idolators of yore created a hierarchy of lesser divinities because they felt that the distance separating Creator from creature is unbridgeable. The critic’s worldliness extends beyond mere book learning to a remarkable awareness of Christian praxis. His citation of the Christian intercessory prayer, “Omnes sancti Angeli et Arcangeli orate pro nobis” is a doubly innovative contribution to the literature on intercessory prayer: not only is it the first text to quote an eerily similar text from the Catholic liturgy, but it is also the

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first indictment of intercessory prayer to raise the halakhic issue of “the laws of the gentiles.” Admittedly, the comparative approach was not altogether unprecedented. In the anti-Christian polemic of Joseph Kimhi of twelfth-century Provence, the ­Christian (min) interlocutor defends the Christian practice of petitioning the dead (i.e., saints) with the explanation that it is common practice for petitioners to appeal to courtiers to intercede on their behalf before the monarch. Predictably, Kimhi has the Jew (ma’amin) reply that God has no need of intermediaries, be they angels or the deceased, for He knows people’s thoughts and emotions.72 The ­Christian worship of non-Divine entities is also attacked in the polemic of Yom Tov Lipmann Mülhausen, who explains that in the few instances in which biblical figures appeal to human intermediaries, they continue to address their prayer to the Lord.73 The reference to Christian practice in anti-Christian polemics such as these is still not as striking as it is in the PY, where the documents are situated in a halakhic, and therefore intra-Jewish, literary context. The appearance of “the laws of the gentiles” in eighteenth-century documents is particularly noteworthy because it is such an obvious mechanism for attacking intercessory prayer; considering that Jews had been living in Catholic society for centuries, it is remarkable that this argument should make virtually its first appearance on the eve of the modern era. In the Trieste controversy, however, “the laws of the gentiles” was not nearly as significant a theme as the clash between rationalism and traditionalism. This was clearly not a new issue. Maimonides’ fifth principle of faith was the basis for the opposition to intercessory prayer expressed by many medieval writers, leading up to Gedaliah Lifshitz’s commentary on Albo’s ‘Ikkarim, which was one of the works criticized by the Trieste critic. Remarkably, in the sixteenth century it was Segal, the apologist for intercessory prayer, who waved the flag of rationalism, but his was the only breach of the lines of affiliation. In the name of Maimonidean dogma, the critic in the PY bases his attack on a conception of monotheism so pure as to exclude intercessory prayer. Predictably, Agudat Ezov responds with a critique of philosophical rationalism that could have been penned at any stage of the protracted ­Maimonidean controversy. This aspect of the polemic seems to have struck Lampronti as fundamental, for he created an entry devoted to Maimonides’ 72 See his Sefer ha-Berit, ed. Frank Talmage, Jerusalem 1974, pp. 54–5. 73 See above, n. 17.

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Guide of the Perplexed, which states simply: “and his words are very problematic” (u-devarav temuhin harbei), and is followed by a cross-reference to the “Ushers of mercy” entry.74 In the early modern age kabbalah largely replaced philosophy as the key to an understanding of metaphysics in general, and of Judaism in particular, and this sort of symmetry finds expression in the PY, as well. Agudat Ezov cannot resist introducing the tale of Maimonides’ ultimate repudiation of philosophy and conversion to kabbalah. He cites Sefirotic doctrine to explain the importance of angelical intermediation for Diaspora Jewry. And both Agudat Ezov and Morpurgo counterpoise the wisdom of “the true tradition,” namely kabbalah, to Aristotelian philosophy and “Greek wisdom,” generally. The polemicist plays the kabbalah card to his own advantage, by pointing to the controversy that had arisen within recent memory in nearby Gorizia over the innovative kabbalistic prohibition of tefillin during the intermediate days of festivals. His point is that to equate kabbalah with tradition and custom is to distort the historical record. This argument highlights the peculiar role assigned to kabbalah in the Trieste conflict: although adduced repeatedly, to bolster intercessory prayer and to whip that perennial whipping boy, Aristotle, it is neither the heart of the dispute nor even an integral component. Regardless of the contribution of Zoharic literature to intercessory prayer, the medieval authorities who aired their opinions on the subject neither cited the Zohar nor considered it significant. In Agudat Ezov, too, kabbalistic sources and concepts constitute only part of the total arsenal and are not presented as essential. A clear illustration of the peripheral role of kabbalah in the conflict is the point of view of Morpurgo, who rules in favor of intercessory prayer, but expresses reservations vis-à-vis the metaphysics of both philosophy and kabbalah. Rather than kabbalah, a fierce and stubborn traditionalism was the counterweight to philosophy in the PY controversy. Agudat Ezov defends intercessory prayer in the name of custom, specifically the aggregate of customs that carry the stamp of German-Jewish tradition.75 This value dictated other aspects 74 PY, vol. 6, Livorno 1840, fol. 67r, s.v. Moreh Nevukhim. I treat Lampronti’s attitudes towards philosophy, kabbalah and science in a work in progress. 75 Ashkenazic Jewry attached great value to its tradition even in the Middle Ages, and hence this was hardly a new phenomenon. See Israel Ta-Shema, “Ashkenazic Jewry in the Eleventh Century: Life and Literature,” Ashkenaz: The German-Jewish Heritage, ed. Gertrude Hirschler, New York 1988, pp. 30–42; Idem, The Early Sages of Ashkenaz: Their Lives, Leadership and Works (900–1096) (Hebrew), Jerusalem 1981, pp. 13–105. However, Sephardic Jews, too, venerated custom, perhaps none more eloquently than the mighty Joseph Karo

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of the debate. By its very nature, a blind traditionalism invites a rationalist critique, and hence it was completely foreseeable that the struggle would take on the complexion of a Maimonidean controversy of sorts. It was equally predictable that the critic would widen his assault to include other customs that could easily be depicted as irrational or absurd, like kapparot.76 Kabbalah thrived on such customs, and thus the kabbalist defense of these customs was also practically inevitable.77 Nonetheless, Agudat Ezov’s basic defense was simply that Jews faithful to the Ashkenazic rite had been reciting “Ushers of mercy” for centuries. Traditionalism, too, it seems, was a kind of ideology, albeit not of the metaphysical kind. If the Trieste controversy was medieval in the sense that it echoed the claims and perspectives of earlier centuries, it was also modern, for its main theme was the tension between a rationalist approach to religion on the one hand and nonrational religious practices on the other, and both of these concerns were central to the Berlin Haskalah (Enlightenment) later in the eighteenth century and to the Reform movement a few decades later. For the Haskalah, the classic example is Mendelssohn’s Jerusalem, which judiciously scrutinized the rationality of Jewish ceremonial law (though not only custom). The Reform movement altered or did away with rituals that did not seem to jibe with modern values, including (but not only) customs that appeared irrational or absurd, such as kapparot.78 As it happens, Moses Sofer of Pressburg, the father of modern ultra-orthodoxy, authored a responsum in defense of “Ushers of mercy,” which reads like the direct continuation of the discussion that had been going on for of sixteenth-century Safed. See Israel Ta-Shema, “Rabbi Joseph Karo: Between Spain and Germany” (Hebrew), Tarbiz 59 (1990), pp. 153–9. 76 A polemic over the rationality or absurdity of Jewish customs had been going on between Christians and Jews for at least a century, since the publication of Johan Buxtorf ’s Synagoga Judaica in 1603 and Leon Modena’s Historia de’ Riti Hebraici in 1638. See Mark R. Cohen, “Leone da Modena’s Riti: A Seventeenth Century Plea for Social Toleration of the Jews,” Jewish Social Studies 34 (1972), pp. 287–321. Other authors, too, attacked both intercessory prayer and kapparot as irrational, superstitious or even heretical customs, such as the anonymous author of ‘Alilot Devarim: see Ozar Nehmad 4 (1864), pp. 187, 188. Aaron Worms of Metz is an eighteenth-century example: see Jay R. Berkowitz, “Authority and Innovation at the Threshold of Modernity: The Me’orei Or of Rabbi Aaron Worms,” Me’ah She‘arim: Studies in Medieval Jewish Spiritual Life in Memory of Isadore Twersky, ed. Ezra Fleischer et al. ( ­Jerusalem, 2001), pp. 275–7. 77 See Gershom Scholem, “Tradition and New Creation in the Ritual of the Kabbalists,” On the Kabbalah and Its Symbolism, (New York, 1965), pp. 118- 157. 78 Michael Meyer, Response to Modernity: A History of the Reform Movement in Judaism (New York and Oxford, 1988), pp. 157, 158.

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centuries.79 Thus, the 1727 conflict adumbrates the modern struggle, with the rationalist, reformist critic seeking to abrogate an ancient custom and the apologist fighting for its survival, rational or not. By coincidence, the “Ushers of mercy” debate also finds expression in another cultural issue debated in the days of Haskalah and Reform, namely the importance of Hebrew. Although Haskalah brought about a revival of Hebrew, Mendelssohn translated the Bible into German and the Reform movement advocated prayer in the vernacular. The abandonment of the holy tongue outraged the traditionalists, who drew upon the rabbinic literature on the legitimacy of prayer in languages other than Hebrew.80 From this perspective, too, therefore, the PY controversy raises a problem that was soon to attract substantial attention. There is also, finally, an Italian perspective on the Trieste controversy. Rightly or wrongly, Italy’s Jews are usually portrayed as having enjoyed an extraordinary degree of acculturation. The documents in the PY appear to support this crude generalization, specifically the critic’s use of non-Jewish sources, and especially his quote of “Omnes sancti Angeli etc.” The acculturation of Italian Jews does not mean that they were necessarily Maimonidean rationalists, for as is well known, Isaiah di Trani the Younger opposed Greek wisdom in the thirteenth century and Yehiel Nissim da Pisa championed kabbalah at its expense three hundred years later. Italy was no exception to the worldwide embrace of kabbalah in the early modern era, and indeed, if one were to oversimplify and portray the 1727 conflict as a microcosm of the competition between philosophy and kabbalah, then there can be no doubt that kabbalah carried the day. Nevertheless, other voices continued to be heard, including the famous critiques of kabbalah by Leon Modena and Jacob Frances, and the more balanced worldview advanced by Morpurgo, in his Tree of Knowledge (Ez ha-Da‘at).81 Additionally, even kabbalah sympathizers in Italy, such as Aviad Sar Shalom Basilea, did not champion cultural insularity, but rather shared the general desire to remain attuned to contemporary fashions in the arts and sciences. 79 Responsa, Orah Hayyim §166. Sofer takes it upon himself to explain the Maharal’s inclination to suppress “Ushers of mercy,” but he concludes with the admission that the prayer is still recited. 80 See Sofer’s responsa, pt. 6 (Likutim), §84, 86. On the concern in this period with the generally low level of Hebrew literacy among the Jewish rank and file, see Simhah Assaf, Sources for the History of Jewish Education (Hebrew), ed. Samuel Glick, Jerusalem 2001, index s.v. lashon ha-qodesh. 81 See above, n. 64.

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It is, therefore, no surprise that the Jewish culture that developed in Italy during the Renaissance has been portrayed as an adumbration of the Berlin Haskalah.82 More to the point, in the 1780s Naftali Herz Wessely, a leading architect of the Haskalah program, saw Italian Jewry as his natural allies and canvassed their support.83 Wessely was right to assume that Italians would identify with his claim that every Jew ought to acquire a broad, general education, but he did not anticipate the conservatism with which his initiative would be met. His Italian correspondents expressed the concern that the new program might undermine traditional Jewish values and religious observance.84 This conservatism was at least one of the factors that prevented the Reform movement from gaining a foothold in Italy. Although communal leaders discussed the need to reform certain religious practices, few changes were enacted and no Reform movement took root on Italian soil.85 The balance between the Enlightenment-like values of Italian Jews and their tenacious traditionalism remained much as it had been in 1727. Trieste played a prominent role in the Haskalah and Reform campaigns, presumably because of its proximity to the metropolitan centers of the ­Hapsburg empire. The Scuola Pia Normale of Trieste, which opened its gates in 1782, embodied Wessely’s educational reforms, and his most staunch Italian supporter was Elia Morpurgo of neighboring Gradisca.86 On the other hand, Abraham b. Eliezer Halevi, the rabbi of Trieste, led the Italian anti-­Reform campaign in 1819. Obviously various factors determined which positions were assumed at any given time, but nevertheless, the leadership displayed by the Trieste c­ ommunity—pro and con—in confronting Haskalah and Reform exemplifies the complex combination of worldliness and traditionalism displayed in the 1727 struggle over intercessory prayer. 82 Isaac E. Barzilay, “The Italian and Berlin Haskalah (Parallels and Differences),” Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research 29 (1960), pp. 17–54. 83 Lois C. Dubin, “Trieste and Berlin: The Italian Role in the Cultural Politics of the Haskalah,” Towards Modernity, ed. Jacob Katz, New Brunswick and Oxford 1987, pp. 189–224; Idem, The Port Jews of Habsburg Trieste: Absolutist Politics and Enlightenment Culture (Stanford, 1999), pp. 95–137. 84 Ibid. 85 Lois C. Dubin, “The Rise and Fall of the Italian Jewish Model in Germany: From H ­ askalah to Reform, 1780–1820,” Jewish History and Jewish Memory, ed. Elisheva Carlebach et al., ­Hanover and London 1998, pp. 271–95. On Italian reform initiatives, see David M ­ alkiel, “Technology and Culture Regarding Cremation: A Historical and Phenomenological ­Analysis” (Hebrew), Italia 10 (1993), pp. 37–70; Idem, “Texts and Themes of Modern ­Italian Halakhic Literature” (Hebrew), Pe‘amim 86–7 (2000), pp. 272–90. 86 See n. 83.

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That Trieste was the site of this controversy is an intriguing coincidence, because the PY controversy was an actual attempt to change the official, public liturgy. This is altogether different from what had come before. Unlike medieval texts, which typically present this or that scholar’s deliberations, rationale or condemnation,87 the PY documents state plainly that “Ushers of mercy” was in real danger of being censored. This was a social confrontation, with the critic making an earnest bid to eradicate intercessory prayer and Agudat Ezov striving valiantly to thwart his efforts. It is this sense of imminent and far-reaching change that links the story of the 1727 controversy in Trieste to the revolutionary movements that were to touch Trieste when modernity dawned.

87 A possible exception is the statement by Menahem Recanati: “This dictum will muzzle the mouths of those who say that one ought not to recite ‘Ushers of mercy,’” although R ­ ecanati may refer here to predecessors, like Nahmanides, rather than to contemporary critics. See above, n. 21. Recanati’s words were later quoted by Menahem b. Me’ir Ziyyon of fourteenth-century Köln, in his Ziyyoni, Cremona 1560, ad loc.

CHAPTER 7

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A

substantial body of scholarship exists about Italy’s Jews in the fifteenth   and sixteenth centuries, the period of the Renaissance and Counter-­ Reformation, covering a range of topics pertaining to their society and culture: legal status, economic activity, religious life, social organization and dynamics, and intellectual, literary and artistic activity. Although the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries are also part of what we have come to call the early modern era, less is known about Italian Jewry in these later centuries, which are usually depicted as characterized by stagnation and decline in both the social and cultural realms, with the exception of a few illustrious literary figures. This characterization and the commensurate dearth of interest have roots in European historiography, which until fairly recently paid little attention to what Eric Cochrane called “the forgotten centuries.” And as historians have broadened their gaze in recent decades to take in the early modern era in its entirety, rather than focus overwhelmingly on the Renaissance, so too have students of Jewish history begun to devote greater attention to the latter portion of this period. Archival research has generated a stream of publications on social, economic and political-legal activity, and studies on religious and intellectual life have yielded a richer and more profound understanding of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries in Italian Jewish life. Rabbinic literature has been a useful tool with which to explore this society and culture, notwithstanding the methodological obstacles involved in its utilization. Pahad Yitzhaq (PY), an encyclopedia of Jewish law and lore by Isaac Lampronti of Ferrara (1679–1756), is a treasure-trove of historical documentation on a wide variety of topics, and as such has been mined for insights into Italian Jewish life in Lampronti’s age.1 The present study seeks to expand our 1

On Lampronti and his encyclopedia, see David B. Ruderman, “Contemporary Science and Jewish law in the Eyes of Isaac Lampronti of Ferrara and Some of his Contemporaries,” Jewish History 6 (1992): 211–24; Ephraim E. Urbach, “Rabbi Isaac Lampronti and his book Pahad Yitzhaq,” in Collected Writings in Jewish Studies, eds. Moses David Herr and Yonah Fraenkel ( Jerusalem: The Hebrew University Magnes Press, 1998), 385–90 [Hebrew];­

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understanding of this period by examining a small body of rabbinic literature, much of it from the Pahad Yitzhaq, on the problem of ritual pollution in the Italian ghetto, as it was perceived in the latter half of the seventeenth century and the early decades of the eighteenth century. Specifically, the sources betray the concern that ghetto conditions make it impossible for kohanim, Jews of ­Aaronite or priestly descent, to escape the ritual pollution incurred through proximity to a corpse. More precisely, the central concept in the relevant source materials is “tent pollution” (tum’at ohel), with which one is contaminated when under the same roof with a dead body. The source for this law is biblical: “This is the law: when a man dieth in a tent, every one that cometh into the tent, and every thing that is in the tent, shall be unclean seven days” (Nu. 19:14). Biblical law refers to tents, as opposed to permanent dwellings, and offers a ritual mechanism for purification which was not available to those living after the destruction of the Temple. Nonetheless, rabbinical authorities applied the prohibition on tent pollution to houses and maintained the priestly obligation to avoid contamination, in keeping with the biblical commandment stated in Lev. 21:1–3.2 This arcane topic begs our attention because the concern it addresses is essentially new, although admittedly there are a few scattered sources from earlier centuries and from contemporary centers outside Italy. The goals of this study are to explore the issues raised in the pertinent rabbinic literature and to suggest some contexts and perspectives with which to understand this new concern. Much of the PY pollution material consists of anecdotes about situations that arose in Lampronti’s own community, Ferrara, mainly concerning problems that arose when pollution contaminated the synagogue. In Ferrara three synagogues—the Italiani, Ashkenazi and Fanese (from Fano)— David Malkiel, “The Burden of the Past in the Eighteenth Century: Authority and Custom in the Pahad Yizhaq,” Jewish Law Annual 16 (2006): 93–132 [ = “The Past” in the present volume]; Asher Salah, La République des Lettres (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 336–40. This last work is an excellent resource for bio-­biographical information on the rabbis of eighteenth-century Italy. For historical studies based on the Pah.ad Yis.h.aq, see David Gianfranco Di Segni, “Il problema dello storione secondo Rabbi Yitzchaq Lampronti nella Ferrara del ’700,” Zakhor 4 (2000): 115–25; Malkiel, “The Sambation River and the Ten Lost Tribes in Isaac Lampronti’s Pahad Yizhak,” Pe‘amim 94–5 (2003): 159–80 [Hebrew] [ = “Sambation” in the present volume]. 2 For contemporary discussions of the practical problems posed by tent pollution, see Alfred S. Cohen, “Tumeah of a Kohen: Theory and Practice,” Journal of Halacha and Contemporary Society 15 (1988): 25–53; Levi Yitzchak Halperin, Purity of the Gates: Solutions for the Problem of Kohanim in Hospitals ( Jerusalem, 1978) [Hebrew].

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were housed in a single building, which abutted a residential building, and several PY entries discuss cases in which pollution contaminates or threatens to contaminate the city’s priests in the synagogue.3 For instance, Lampronti recounts an incident from February 1727 in which a death occurred under the same tent as the synagogue in which a circumcision ceremony was due to be conducted. Lampronti relates that he and the city’s other rabbis ruled that the ceremony, rather than the body, should be moved, noting that pollution frequently prevents priests from entering the synagogue complex, and that the accepted practice is to have the priests proceed to the Sephardi synagogue, at another location.4 The priests’ inability to attend synagogue services because of a pollution problem inconvenienced all the congregants on the special occasions when the priests would normally recite the priestly benediction. Lampronti documents an incident of this nature that took place on Yom Kippur of 1730, and he records that in this case, too, the decision was to have the priests assemble elsewhere for the priestly benediction.5 On the other hand, other Pah.ad Yis.h.aq anecdotes, from Cento and Ferrara, record occasions when rabbinical authorities allowed the 3 The building of the three synagogues is currently at via Mazzini 95. See figures 1 and 2. The Ashkenazi synagogue is on the first floor, and a long corridor leads from there to the room which once housed the Italiani synagogue. Lampronti patronized the Sephardi synagogue, which was—and still is—located at what is currently via Vittorio 39. He was, however, fully conversant with the ritual and liturgical traditions of the other ethnic groups as well: see PY, s.v. teqi‘ot ‘al seder ha-berakhot; ibid., s.v. tefilin be-h.olo shel mo‘ed. The Pahad Yitzhaq has a complicated publishing history: the first volume appeared in Venice in 1750 and a century later about half of the work had been printed, by presses in various Italian cities. Publishing was resumed by the Meqitze Nirdamim society in Lyck and Berlin and the final volume appeared in 1887. Two volumes of additional entries, based on a later autograph manuscript by Lampronti, were published in 1935 and 1942 in Tel Aviv, and in 1961–86 Jerusalem’s Mossad ha-Rav Kuk published five volumes of a projected scholarly edition, covering the first three letters of alphabetical entries. Throughout this article PY citations refer to entries in the initial set of volumes unless otherwise specified. Page references are only provided for direct quotes and for analysis of PY language. 4 PY, s.v. met be-Šabbat. 5 The 1730 anecdote appears immediately following the 1727 one, which is characteristic of Lampronti’s chef d’oeuvre: Lampronti entered material into the encyclopedia on an ongoing basis, and as a result the anecdotal material is in chronological order. Lampronti relates that Moses Israel, the Palestinian emissary, and Aviad Sar Shalom Basilea of Mantua also weighed in on the issue of the proper procedure when a death threatens to prevent priests from reciting the priestly benediction in the synagogue. For Moses Israel’s opinion, see Moses Israel, Mas’at Mosheh, vol. 1 (Constantinople, 1734), pt. 1, nr. 3, f. 9v. On Moses Israel see the following PY entries: i shetiqato; rava eno melamed soferim; ‘aseh doheh et lo ta‘aseh; sefer Torah; safeq qidushin; and see also Avraham Ya‘ari, Sheluhei Eretz Yisra’el ( Jerusalem, 1950/51), 376–80.

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removal of a still-born child from its present location in order to enable priests to perform the priestly benediction.6 Lampronti also narrates cases in which pollution only affected the priests’ own religious life. One such incident concerns the suspicion voiced that ­Mordecai Tzahalon, a fellow Ferrara rabbi, tricked the father of a deceased child into moving the corpse so that a certain priest would be able to attend services and hear the weekly sermon.7 Elsewhere Lampronti relates two tales in which grooms were forced to leave their own wedding celebration so as to avoid pollution. In one case, dated 1728, the priest-groom was compelled to leave at the conclusion of the feast on account of tent pollution and to recite the Grace after Meals at another location.8 The cases described up to this point concern contamination within a single building or in adjoining structures. There was, however, a bigger problem. Lampronti writes that he was disturbed by the practice of the priests in his own community, who leave the three-synagogues building for home when they learn that there is a deceased person in the adjacent building. This, he avers, accomplishes nothing, because “all the houses in the Jews’ street [i.e. the ghetto], on each and every path, are surrounded by a projection on all their sides, or are surrounded by a projection under the roofs, which protrude over the entrances to the houses.” Because of this projection, all the houses in the ghetto constitute a single tent and perforce everyone in the ghetto contracts pollution the moment someone dies. Lampronti is sure that earlier rabbis had never challenged the priests’ practice and he supposes that they must have felt that the priests would simply refuse to heed a stringent ruling. His discussion makes it plain, however, that other scholars might have held a different view from his, which would legitimate the priests’ custom. At issue is the rabbinic principle that “pollution will exit” (sof tum’ah la-tzet), or seeks to escape confinement; thus, pollution will exit a confined space and avoid entering a neighboring confined space. Whether this principle is of Sinaitic, i.e. biblical, or rabbinic origin was unclear, and this is important, because rabbis are required to rule leniently on matters of rabbinic law and stringently when a biblical law is at stake.9 Lampronti determines that the principle is biblical and concludes: “If I had the strength, I would abrogate this custom.”10 6 7 8 9 10

PY, s.v. nefalim. PY, s.v. met be-shabat. PY, s.v. birkat hatanim. The second tale, dated 1737, is told in the same PY entry. See Shabtai Hakohen commentary on Šulh.an Aruk, II, 372:1. PY, vol. 3, fol. 69r, s.v. tum’at ohel.

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Because pollution exits but does not enter, the presence of a corpse does not pollute neighboring structures so long as it is sealed off from neighboring buildings by closed windows and doors. If the doors and windows are closed in both the building housing the deceased and in adjacent buildings, then neighboring priests can escape contamination by remaining in their homes until the corpse is removed. However, if only the apertures of the building housing the deceased are closed, then the principle that “pollution will exit” might signify that ultimately the neighboring building would be contaminated as well. Since the law in this situation would not be clear-cut, the status of the adjacent building would depend on whether the principle of “pollution will exit” has the status of biblical or rabbinical law.11 In fact, rabbis other than Lampronti did classify “pollution will exit” as a rabbinic obligation and therefore ruled leniently. Lampronti tells of a priest who was instructed not to go home from his shop that evening, because he would have to pass beneath the roof of a building in which a woman had died. The priest disregarded these instructions and the local rabbi reprimanded him and instructed him to remain at home until after the woman was buried. The priest flouted this order as well, basing his conduct on a ruling by his teacher, and the rabbi excommunicated him for flouting his authority.12 The excommunicated priest solicited the opinion of Moses Israel, the Palestinian emissary, who ruled that the excommunication was a hasty, mistaken act, because the priest based his behavior on the view of an earlier local rabbinical authority. What is more, Israel adds, “pollution will exit” is merely a rabbinical decree and not a biblical precept.13 More significant than the status of “pollution will exit” is the issue ­Lampronti raises of whether a death in any building in the ghetto inevitably causes everyone in the ghetto to become contaminated. The PY publishes 11 Lampronti refers to a responsum by Samuel Aboab of Venice (d. 1694), which explains that because the status of “pollution will exit” is unclear, the Venetian community has decided that, following a death, priests may not enter the synagogue to perform the priestly benediction or other commandments, even if the doors and windows of the polluted house are closed. See Samuel Aboab, Devar Shmuel (Venice, 1702), nr. 172. 12 Sefer Pahad Yizhak ha-Shalem, ed. Jakob Freimann and Abraham Hayyim Freimann (with addenda from Lampronti’s second edition) ( Jerusalem, Zvi Kanel, 1942), vol. 2, 43 (= ­second pagination), col. 2, s.v. derekh ha-tum’ah la-tzet ve’en darkah le-hikanes. 13 Mas’at Mosheh, nr. 24, 85c, 87a. Israel cites Samuel de Medina, Responsa, pt. 3, nr. 235. Elsewhere in the PY, Lampronti cites local custom as the basis for his decision that the pregnant wife of a priest must strive to avoid tent pollution, so as to prevent her fetus from incurring pollution: PY, s.v. eshet kohen me‘uberet.

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fourteen eighteenth-century responsa about an attempt to limit the seemingly boundless spread of pollution in the Italian ghetto. These documents are followed by a reference to a ruling on the subject by Abraham Yitzhaqi, a Palestinian emissary who spent time in Italy in 1711/12, and whose legal ruling offers the most detailed presentation of the pertinent issues.14 The question put to Yitzhaqi describes the Venetian ghetto as a set of three courtyards connected by bridges; this refers to the Venetian ghetto’s three ­sections—the ghetto nuovo, vecchio and nuovissimo. The question explains that pollution is not contained within the area of the deceased, because “projections”15 protrude from one ghetto to another, linking the three ghettos and spreading pollution everywhere. Currently, when word spreads of a death, the priests leave the synagogue and return to their homes, but their homes afford no more refuge from pollution than does the synagogue. The priests are demoralized, because the problem appears intractable. The most extreme solution raised by Yitzhaqi’s correspondent would be for the priests to leave Venice permanently, but this is deemed undesirable because there would be no one to perform the priestly rituals, like the redemption of first-born males.16 Alternatively, we read, the priests could leave the ghetto whenever someone dies, and wait outside until the corpse is buried, but this would pose a hardship, because the priests would remain without shelter in inclement weather. The Jewish cemetery of Venice, at the Lido, can only be reached by water, and talmudic law prohibits boat travel on the Sabbath and festivals.17 Thus the community is sometimes compelled to delay burial by a 14 First Lampronti provides the heading: “The ruling of the great rabbi R. Abraham Yitzhaqi, emissary of Jerusalem,” but then we read: “When I was about to copy it here, I saw that it was already printed in his book, Zer‘a Avraham, pt. 2, nr. 17, and therefore I omitted it.” This is rare evidence of Lampronti’s editorial activity. Lampronti testifies to Yitzhaqi’s presence in Ferrara in 1712: PY, s.v. nefilat apayyim. On Yitzhaqi, see Ya‘ari, Sheluhei Eretz Yisra’el, 353–8. 15 Zizin. The ‘Arukh, a medieval lexicon of talmudic terminology, defines these as objects that protrude or project from a door, wall or building, like a board or beam that protrudes horizontally. Ohalot 14:1 defines a ziz as a protuberance that faces downward; Ohalot 14:4 refers to a ziz that surrounds an entire house. 16 Ex. 13:13; Šulh.an Aruk, pt. 2, §305. 17 There is, however, a tradition, attributed to Isaiah ben Mali di Trani (d. c.1250), which sanctions the use in Venice of the traghetto (and not the gondola, as scholars have suggested) on the Sabbath. See Zedekiah Anau, Shibolei ha-Leqet ha-Shalem, ed. Shlomo Buber (Vilna, Romm, 1886/87), 42a. Lampronti recounts that Simone Luzzatto penned a detailed responsum on the subject, which was, however, rejected by the community’s Small Council: PY, s.v. sefinah qetanah, 58v. Luzzatto’s responsum is no longer extant, and it is unclear whether

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day, which would leave the priests wandering out of doors for over twenty-four hours. The nautical aspect of the problem is uniquely Venetian, which may explain why the city of the lagoons plays a central role in the tent pollution literature. Yitzhaqi proposes having the priests close the doors and windows to their houses and to the synagogue to prevent contamination. He directs priests found in the synagogue when a death occurs to remain there for the rest of the day, rather than go home. A priest hearing of a death while out in the street should enter a nearby house, but if that house is contaminated on account of projections and balconies, he is to step beneath the roofs of the shops located at street level, which block the pollution above them. On the Sabbath, when the shops are closed, he may enter a nearby courtyard. The projections responsible for the uncontainable pollution are located at the ghetto entrance; this is plain from the question posed to the authors of the fourteen responsa, all dated the summer of 1728. The question states that the entrance to the ghetto is protected from the elements by a projection, which extends beneath the eaves of the buildings on both sides of the ghetto entrance. Apparently, some years earlier priests raised the concern that the projection might conduct pollution from one side of the street to the other, whereupon rabbis inspected the site and ruled that the projection actually blocks the advance of pollution. Recently the question has surfaced again and this time the concern has been raised that pollution can pass from side to side even when the open window in the house of the deceased is situated above the projection, on account of the talmudic principle known as “Throw it down!”.18 The current rabbinical authorities claim that “throw it down” does not apply, because the buildings are flush against the projection, with no gap to allow pollution to pass underneath the projection. Nonetheless, there are those in the community who would like to see the ghetto entrance physically altered to remove any chance of contamination. “Throw it down” originally appears in a discussion of the qualities of a sukkah or tabernacle. The Talmud discusses the case of a booth in which most of the reeds comprising the roofing have slid down and collected towards the bottom of the frame, while some remain higher up, creating a gap in between the pollution was a consideration. See also Jacob le-veit Halevi, Responsa (Venice, 1613/14), nr. 4; Leon Modena, Responsa, ed. Shlomo Simonsohn ( Jerusalem: Mossad ha-Rav Kuk, 1956/57), nr. 90. 18 Havot remi: see Sukkah 22a.

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two batches. The Talmud introduces the phrase “Throw it down!” to indicate that the reeds located high up are to be viewed as if they too slid down and thereby filled the gap. Thus it was suggested that on account of this principle the projection over the ghetto entrance is to be considered level with the windows of the adjoining houses perpendicular to the entrance, including the home of the deceased, enabling pollution to cross to the other side of the street and proceed to the next street and so forth. Israel Berekhiah da Fano, the rabbi of Lugo, dismisses the “throw it down” principle as irrelevant and advises maintaining the status quo, citing concern for the reputation of earlier authorities, particularly since in his view they acted properly.19 His is, however, the minority view. Ephraim Kohen of Modena recommends breaking the projections in the middle, creating an interruption in the flow of pollution and thereby eliminating the problem.20 Sabbatai Elhanan Delvecchio of Senigaglia, Abraham Segre of Casale and a third, anonymous, respondent concur with this course of action.21 Netanel Halevi of Modena, Aviad Sar Shalom Basilea of Mantua and Samson Morpurgo of Ancona testify that in their respective communities, the gates of their ghettos were so modified.22 The PY entry concludes with what seems to be a coda by Lampronti: “Thank God the projections were repaired in the aforementioned year, and that is all there is to say.”23 Thus we learn of the successful resolution of the Venetian community’s pollution crisis through physical alteration.24 Within the context of the concern that pollution was uncontainable, we have seen that the Jews of Venice faced a particular hardship, because they could not conduct burials on the first day of a two-day festival, since their cemetery on the Lido could only be reached by boat. Venetian priests located under the 19 PY, s.v. tum’at ohel, 70a. In 1708 a death on the first day of Rosh Hashanah threatened to prevent a Lugo priest from attending the synagogue and performing the priestly benediction: see Bracha Rivlin, “The Record Book of the Burial Society of Lugo, 1658–1825,” Asufot 10 (1997): 176 [Hebrew]. 20 PY, s.v. tum’at ohel, 75d. 21 For their responsa see Delvecchio: 70d–71d; Segre: 72b–c; Anonymous: 73c–75c. The anonymous responsum is not entirely anonymous, but the author conceals his identity with a cryptic signature, which even Lampronti was unable to decipher. 22 See: Netanel Halevi—73b–c; Aviad Sar Shalom Basilea—75d; Samson Morpurgo—76d. 23 77a. 24 Lampronti’s encyclopedia entry on tent pollution includes some other responsa, by the following authorities: Israel Berekhiah Fontanella (75d); Abraham Samson Levi Fubini (72a); Isaiah Bassan (76a–b); and the rabbis of Livorno—Malakhi ha-Kohen, Abraham Hayyim Rodrigues and Emmanuel b. Raphael Calvo (72c–73b). These responsa do not contribute to our understanding of the legal issues or historical context.

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same roof as the departed would leave their homes and remain in the courtyard until the body was removed, even in inclement weather. In the late seventeenth century, a group of Venetian rabbis, headed by Samuel Aboab (d. 1694), suggested that the corpse be covered by a “tent,” which would insulate the rest of the house from pollution. The proposed structure would consist of five wooden boards, four to be placed along the body’s four sides and the fifth on top; the boards would be connected by wooden pegs.25 The cover would have small holes, to enable the odor of decay to escape.26 Aboab’s initiative provoked a controversy, which is chronicled in a manuscript entitled Scholars’ Correction (Tiqqun Soferim).27 The manuscript dates from the fall of 1733, but it recounts the history of this issue from 1673/74. The introduction to the manuscript, apparently by Isaac Pacifico, a leading Venetian rabbi, records that the city’s rabbis embraced Aboab’s proposal and asked the Small Council, the community’s executive board, to issue a statute calling on the local Ashkenazi, Sephardi and Levantini congregations to put the initiative into effect. The statute was issued, but for some reason it was not implemented, and following Aboab’s death the initiative was dropped. When Abraham ­Yitzhaqi arrived in Venice in 1711/12, local priests explained the problem to him, and he endorsed Aboab’s proposal, adding the element of the tiny holes in the cover. Yet at this stage, too, matters did not progress from the planning stage to action. Only in the fall of 1733 did the rabbis of the city’s rabbinical academy approach the Small Council again and request that another edict be issued to the three ethnic communities.28 Before the council could act, an unnamed local rabbi challenged the measure, arguing that the act of erecting the wooden tent on the Sabbath would constitute a “weekday activity” (shevut), which is prohibited on the Sabbath. Others rejected this claim and Pacifico assembled 25 When Aboab first mooted his wooden tent proposal, in the 1670s, he corresponded about it with Moses Zacut, the famous kabbalist, poet and dramatist. Zacut replied with the suggestion that the boards be joined with wooden pegs, rather than with iron nails and hinges, because the latter conduct pollution: Zacut, Responsa (Venice: n.p., 1760), nr. 15. See also Aboab, Devar Shmuel, nr. 223, 224. 26 PY, s.v. tum’at ohel, 77a. 27 Ms. Frankfurt a.M.—Universitätsbibliothek Johann Christian Senckenberg, hebr. oct. 107, 5. The Frankfurt library allowed me to study the manuscript from a copy prepared for me by the Institute for Microfilming Hebrew Manuscripts (F25923). Thanks to both institutions for their cooperation. 28 The decision taken by the rabbis is included in the manuscript, at fol. 29b, where it is followed by the signatures of the following rabbis: Solomon b. Moses Levi Mintz, Solomon Zalman b. Meir Polacco, Solomon b. David Altaras, and Nisim David b. Moses ha-Kohen.

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a response ruling entitled The Power of Permission (Koha de-Hetera), which is included in the manuscript.29 The way was now clear for the Small Council to convene the ethnic communities and pronounce the new statute, “with drums and dancing.”30 However, three months later the new initiative was challenged again, this time by Jacob Belilios of Venice,31 whose brief appears in the manuscript under the title Edifice of Children (Binyan Ne‘arim), where it is followed by Pacifico’s Destruction by Elders (Setirat Zeqenim), a lengthy refutation.32 Pacifico’s The Power of Permission seeks to uphold Aboab’s initiative by negating, or at least mitigating, the argument that erecting the wooden tent constitutes a “weekday,” or profane, activity (shevut). He explains that the actual labor would be performed by a gentile, who merely would be instructed by a Jew; even if this falls under the rubric of weekday activity, it would not be a significant concern when contrasted with the importance of sparing the priests considerable suffering and enabling them to perform various commandments, including the priestly benediction and the enjoyment of the Sabbath and ­festivals. Belilios’s main argument against Aboab’s remedy, in Edifice of Children, is that it is no remedy, for pollution will escape through the tiny holes in the wooden cover and pollute the entire house. He buttresses this argument with the claim that “pollution will exit” is a biblical, not a rabbinic, principle and hence not to be trifled with.33 Pacifico responds that “pollution will exit” is a rabbinic, rather than biblical, principle, and he asserts that the wooden tent is efficacious, because it is analogous to a chimney discussed in the Mishnah.34 There we read that a house is pure if the deceased lies beneath a chimney situated directly below an attic, provided that the chimney’s aperture is less than a handbreadth in size, too small to allow pollution to reenter the house. Pacifico 29 33a–38a. This text is dated 1734, not long after the controversy over the ghetto entrance. 30 The Small Assembly statute is dated October 10, 5494 (1733), and signed by the same rabbis as above, as well as by Joseph Aboab: 30b. The Small Council members signing the statute are: Isaac Bordolan, Isaac b. David Uziel, Isaac Levi del Banco and Aron b. Jacob Coen. The General Community Council ratified the statute on November 15, by a vote of 28 in favor and 17 opposed. 31 Belilios’ ruling also appears in the responsa of Hayyim Jacob b. Jacob David of Safed, Sama de-Hayyei (Amsterdam, 1739), pt. 2, nr. 19, 51c–53d. For another PY appearance by Belilios, see PY, s.v. sefer torah. 32 All this is told in fols. 1b–2b. For Edifice of Children, see 40a–49b. This is identical to the Belilios responsum published in the PY. For Destruction by Elders, see 51a–77a. 33 78c. 34 Ohalot 10:2.

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analogizes the tiny holes in the wooden tent’s cover to the chimney, the four wooden boards to the house, and the room containing the corpse to the attic; he concludes that the wooden tent effectively blocks the spread of pollution. The dispute over Aboab’s initiative spilled over from Italy to the international arena. This was not accidental: Belilios approached a number of highly respected rabbis to enlist their support, among them David Pardo (d. 1792), a Venetian who held rabbinical posts in Split and Sarajevo.35 Predictably, Pardo rejects Aboab’s initiative, for various reasons, including the conviction that “pollution will exit” is a biblical principle. Pardo’s responsum is particularly valuable for its bibliographical survey of the international debate over Aboab’s innovation. He writes that international opposition to the wooden tent was spearheaded by Hayyim Abulafia and Joseph David, who headed the rabbinical courts of Smyrna and Saloniki respectively. Pardo alleges that these leaders were supported by the rabbinical court of Aleppo, consisting of Samuel Laniado, Mordechai Atzban (d. 1750) and Tzadka Hussein (d. 1773), and he links the name of Moses Ibn Adret of Safed to theirs.36 Documents enable us to ascertain the positions of some of these authorities. A brief responsum by Joseph David, dated 1736, stresses that scholars ought not to question practices which strike them as strange, because this would undermine the common people’s belief in the immutability of the law and weaken their religious commitment. The responsum does not discuss substantive issues at length; it only cites Belilios’ argument that pollution can escape through the holes in the tent’s cover.37 For the Aleppo group, a responsum by Tzadka Hussein is the only available primary source. This document says nothing about the views of other members of the Aleppo rabbinical court, and in imputing Hussein’s stance to Laniado and Atzban, Pardo (or perhaps Belilios) may have stretched the truth. Hussein states forthrightly that he was approached by someone opposed to Aboab’s innovation—presumably Belilios—and thus the fact that he took up his pen is already an indication that he would argue against the wooden tent. We read that Hussein’s interlocutor presented him with the argument concerning the holes, which he accepts, and since this is also the pattern of Joseph David’s document, it appears that Belilios approached both scholars and laid out for them 35 David Pardo, Mikhtam le-David (Salonika, 1772) pt. 2, nr. 51. 36 Mikhtam le-David, 139c. 37 Joseph David of Saloniki, Bet David, nr. 175. The date given in the letter is 11 Sivan 5496, i.e., 10.5.1736.

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the legal issue he considered crucial. Hussein’s responsum is, however, anything but a slavish endorsement of Belilios’ position. He maintains that “pollution will exit” has the status of a rabbinical prohibition, and is therefore swayed by concern for “the dignity of creatures,” i.e., the desire to spare the priests the indignity of having to remain out of doors in inclement weather.38 Pardo portrays the rabbis of Jerusalem as coming to the defense of Aboab’s wooden tent idea, including Eliezer b. Jacob Nahum of Constantinople (d. 1744), “Moses” and “Meir.” Nahum addresses a range of legal concerns aired by Belilios, disputing the applicability of certain texts or ideas, and occasionally questioning their interpretation by his adversary. As always, whether the principle that “pollution will exit” is biblical or rabbinic is a central issue, and Nahum subscribes to the latter viewpoint. This segues into his claim that concern for dignity takes precedence over the pollution issue.39 Thus his stance is not very different from that of Hussein, who supposedly was in Belilios’ camp. “Moses” is Nissim Hayyim Moses Mizrahi, chief of Jerusalem’s rabbinical court and head of a local rabbinical academy, and he too defends Aboab’s initiative.40 His brother “Meir,” i.e. Israel Meir Mizrahi, who also held a teaching position in Jerusalem, finds support for the wooden tent innovation in Ohalot 15:4, from which he derives that pollution can only escape through an aperture a handbreadth in size, but no smaller. Like his brother, Meir says he has nothing to add to Yitzhaqi’s exhaustive discussion of “pollution will exit.”41 Pardo’s survey of the international debate over the wooden tent includes scholars from northern Europe as well, to whom he also attributes rejection of Aboab’s initiative. This list of participants is even less reliable than his references to scholars in the Ottoman Empire, since no documents on tent pollution by those cited are known. Pardo lists Aryeh Loeb Loewenstamm (cited as “A of Cracow”), head of the Amsterdam rabbinical tribunal, and two rabbis from Hamburg: Ezekiel Katzenellenbogen (“Ezekiel”), head of the rabbinical court, and Moses Hagiz, the Palestinian scholar who resided in Altona from 1714–38;

38 Tzadka Hussein, Tzedaqah u-Mishpat ( Jerusalem, 1926), pt. 2, nr. 19. The talmudic concern for “the dignity of creatures” usually refers to the dead, not the living. See Gerald I. Blidstein, “‘Great is Human Dignity’—the Peregrination of a Law,” Shenaton ha-Mishpat ha-Ivri 9–10 (1982–83): 127–85. 39 Eliezer b. Jacob Nahum of Constantinople, “Ruling about the Priests’ Correction,” in idem, Hazon Nahum (Contantinople: Reuben ve-Nissim Ashkenazi, 1745), 251b–55b (= end). 40 Nisim Hayyim Moses Mizrahi, Admat Qodesh, vol. 1, pt. 2, nr. 22. On Mizrahi, see Hayyim J. D. Azulai, Shem ha-Gedolim (Livorno, 1774), s.v. Mosheh Mizrahi. 41 Admat Qodesh, vol. 1, pt. 2, nr. 23. On Israel Meir, see Azulai, s.v. Meir Mizrahi.

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Hagiz is described as “with him,” i.e., as supporting Katzenellenbogen’s position and as subordinate to him. Pardo also cites “J. Katz, head of the rabbinical court at Frankfurt am Main.” This seems to refer to Jacob Kohen Poppers (d. 1740), since he was an Aaronite as the name Katz implies, but it was actually his successor, Jacob Joshua Falk (d. 1756), that penned a responsum on tent pollution, although not about the wooden tent idea. Falk writes that Frankfurt’s Jewish quarter consists of two neighborhoods, and that within each neighborhood the buildings abut one another. As a result, when a death occurs in one neighborhood, the priests migrate to the other neighborhood until the body is removed for burial, and if deaths should occur simultaneously in both neighborhoods, the priests have few options. We read that the priests complained to Falk, who proposed that an “interruption” be created between the buildings, like a firewall (brandmauer). The priests replied that even so pollution could spread through the sewer system, but Falk disputes this assumption, noting that cities everywhere have sewer systems, but nowhere, including in his native city of Lwow, has this created a tent pollution crisis.42 The thrust of the preceding discussion is that the tent pollution crisis of the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century is a departure from the norms of medieval and (earlier) early modern Jewish life, in both the social and intellectual realms. Nowhere in the Jewish world since the destruction of the T ­ emple had corpse pollution, tent pollution or priestly pollution attracted the attention this complex of topics suddenly received in the ghettos of late ­Seicento and early Settecento Italy. Interest in pollution in the Middle Ages, both in the Islamic realm and in Christendom, was virtually nil. Maimonides details the laws of pollution in his code and his set of laws played a central role in the early modern deliberations, but his treatment is perfunctory.43 Nor is there a significant number of medieval responsa on tent pollution in either the Islamic realm or in Christendom. New ideas or social trends rarely appear ex nihilo, and this is also true in the present case. Precedents are few, but a responsum by Hayyim b. Isaac 42 See Mordechai Halberstadt, Ma’amar Mordekhai, nr. 56. Falk explains that he was faced with the community’s tent pollution problem upon his arrival in Frankfurt, following Poppers’ death, which may explain Pardo’s confusion of the two names. See also Marcus Horowitz, Rabanei Frankfurt, trans. Yehoshua Amir ( Jerusalem: Mossad ha-Rav Kuk, 1972), 93–4. 43 This is significant, given that buildings in medieval Fustat were seven or more stories high. See Shelomo D. Goitein, A Mediterreanean Society: The Jewish Communities of the Arab World as Portrayed in the Documents of the Cairo Geniza, vol. 4 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983), 54–5, 58–9.

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Or Zaru‘a of thirteenth-century Vienna does touch upon the issue that so vexed the communities of Italy. The document concerns a town in which Jews created an eruv or boundary44 by extending beams horizontally from the edges of the houses on both sides of the alleys into the alleys’ air space, symbolically linking the alleys’ two sides to one another. The problem aired in this text is that because the beams extend beneath the roofs of the houses on both sides of the alleys, they enable pollution to pass from alley to alley, leaving priests with no escape from pollution within the entire zone.45 This medieval text shares the early modern concern with the inescapability of pollution, but it differs from the ones surveyed above in that the problem only arises because of the newly extended beams. The alleys or streets and squares of medieval Europe were discrete units, but they were linked in the early modern era, when cities became more heavily built-up, making pollution harder to contain or escape. Apart from the impact of congestion, we have seen that the wall circumscribing the Italian ghetto effectively linked the entire neighborhood. The tent pollution material is, thus, a rare case of architecture and urban layout driving concerns and developments in Jewish law. Apart from the lone source from medieval Vienna, there is a smattering of relevant material by late medieval and early modern central European rabbis. The published responsa of Israel Isserlein (d. 1460) document the case of a priest whose neighbors roust him from his bed and force him out into the street, without giving him time to get dressed, on account of a death in his building. Driving him from his home, Isserlein rules, is legitimate, but he recommends that priests be allowed to get dressed, for the sake of their dignity.46 Jacob Moellin (d. 1427), Isserlein’s older contemporary, also approves of waking up priests and forcing them to leave the building when someone dies at night under the same tent. Furthermore, he sees no compelling reason to force the family of the deceased to remove the body immediately to enable the priests to return to their homes.47 Isserlein also discusses the practice of forbidding priests from passing through the neighborhood or city gate from the time a death has occurred until the burial procession has passed through the gate. He tells his younger contemporary, Aaron Pappenheim, that this was the custom in Vienna, and 44 On this concept see Encyclopedia Judaica, vol. 6, col. 849–50. 45 This responsum is cited in Joel Sirkes’ Bayit Hadash on Jacob b. Asher’s Arbaa Turim, pt. 2, nr. 371. 46 Terumat ha-Deshen, nr. 285. 47 Responsa, nr. 65.

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that it was the subject of communal legislation at the regional assembly of Erfurt in 1420.48 Similar issues appear in the writings of seventeenth-century scholars, and not only in Italy. Ephraim b. Jacob ha-Kohen of Ofen (d. 1678) writes that in Prague, in the winter of 1664, a local priest was driven from his home on account of a death, and was forced to remain in the street, in the cold weather, because it was the only space open to the sky and thus free of contamination. This scholar rules that concern for “the dignity of creatures,” namely for the priests’ comfort, justifies allowing them to find refuge in a neighboring “tent.”49 Jacob Reischer of Metz (d. 1733) adds that priests living outside the land of Israel need not take extreme measures to escape pollution, since “the lands of the nations” are considered polluted in any case.50 Ephraim ha-Kohen also testifies to Ofen’s particular pollution problem. Here walls run along two sides of a street, and a dome overhangs both walls; one of the walls is the wall of the building that houses the synagogue. A third wall has been constructed above the dome on both sides of the street, such that one can cross the street and enter the building containing the synagogue. A roof overhangs the dome, the two walls and the shared wall. Normally, when someone dies on the other side of the street, the priests use the third wall to cross over to the synagogue, but some people suspect that pollution crosses to the other side of the street. Ha-Kohen responds that the community should break some of the shingles (schindlen) above the shared wall, to create a gap that would interrupt the passage of pollution from one wall to the other. Ha-Kohen explains that this solution had already been proposed by his predecessor in the Ofen rabbinate,51 and we have seen that a similar solution was enacted in various Italian communities. In a third source, Moses Boton of Ankara recounts that in Safed the priests have decided to refrain from passing through the neighborhood gate from the time someone has died until the body is removed. This practice has aroused opposition, on account of its novelty. Boton’s respondent, Joseph b. Moses de Trani of Constantinople (d. 1639), explains that it is appropriate to avoid 48 Isserlein, ibid., Pesaqim u-Ketavim, nr. 24. On the Erfurt assembly, see Israel J. Yuval, Hakhamim be-Doram ( Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1988), 152–7. For an earlier ruling on the need to avoid the city gate, see Menahem Recanati (of thirteenth-century Italy), Pisqei Halakhot (= Sefer Recanati), nr. 587. 49 Sha‘ar Efrayim, nr. 93. 50 Shvut Yaakov, pt. 1, nr. 85. 51 Mordekhai Halberstadt, Ma’amar Mordekhai, nr. 94.

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the entrance from which a corpse is to be removed when that entrance is the single aperture of the house containing the body, but this would not apply to the gate of a neighborhood or city. Thus, the priests’ new custom is merely a supererogatory stringency, which they have chosen to adopt on the off chance that while passing through the gate they might encounter a funeral procession and become polluted; this, de Trani feels, is not reprehensible per se. Thus, he explains, his father had ruled that a priest may pass through the city gate freely on the Sabbath, without fear of unexpectedly encountering a funeral procession, because funerals are not conducted on the Sabbath.52 The Italian material is thus neither unprecedented nor unique, and yet, as I have said, the other sources are sparse and do not indicate a significant change in the social or cultural sphere. To some extent, the volume of ­Italian writing probably reflects Lampronti’s efforts at gathering and publishing the rulings of Italian rabbis, but this is at best a partial explanation. The sheer volume of Italian writing on the subject in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century provides a clear indication that tent pollution exercised the Jews of early modern Italy to a far greater extent than it did those of earlier centuries and other lands. That something new was happening is acknowledged in the primary sources. We read in the PY that a certain Rabbi Judah of Modona (!) went to Florence and saw the connected buildings in the ghetto, with the deceased “tenting” over everyone, and forbade priests to remain in the ghetto. The text states that people found it puzzling (“they saw and wondered”—Ps. 48:6) that earlier scholars ignored this problem, but acknowledged that any generation is empowered to erect “fences,” namely safeguards against transgression.53 The question, rather than the answer, testifies to contemporary awareness of the novelty of the discussion, if not of the actual problem. Other scholars squarely confronted the issue of novelty or precedent. Abraham Segre of Casale, whose responsum is one of the fourteen in the PY series from 1728, favors the priests’ initiative of making a physical adjustment in the ghetto entrance and explains why none was made before:

52 Trani, Responsa, pt. 1, nr. 96. Other early modern rabbinical authorities from northern Europe contributed further to the discussion of Isserlein’s rulings: Hakham Tzvi Ashkenazi, Responsa, nr. 103; Jacob Emden, Responsa, pt. 1, nr. 159; Ya’ir Hayyim Bacharach, Responsa Havvot Ya’ir, nr. 95–6, 191. 53 PY, vol. 4, Jerusalem 1976, s.v. gevinot ha-goyyim, p. 366. Rabbi Judah of Modona may be the famed Leon Modena of Venice.

Pollution When the ghetto was first created, things were done the way that was then feasible, and perhaps on account of harassment it was not possible to do things properly, and so the righteous ones, for whatever reason, said: “­Better that they err [than sin knowingly],”54 and the like. With the passage of time, having become attractive to the ministers and rulers, we are at liberty to make adjustments, and thus the problem of casting aspersions [on earlier generations] disappears.55

Segre sees the political fortunes of Italian Jewry as progressing from a state of insecurity and anxiety to stability and the relaxation of constraint. This is an important statement of the political self-image of Italian Jews in the early eighteenth century, a period when this diaspora is often viewed as sunk in decline or decadence. Whether or not Segre’s historical reconstruction is accurate, some of his contemporaries likely shared his perception. The main point for our purposes is that Segre floated an explanation for the apparent novelty of the current pollution crisis. The anonymous responsum in the 1728 series, written in Venice, likewise addresses the issue of novelty, but offers a historical explanation diametrically opposed to that of Segre.56 This scholar posits that previous ­generations had, in fact, made the requisite adjustment in the ghetto entrance. He explains that a minute gap, the width of a plumb line, would suffice to interrupt the flow of pollution, and assumes that tiny cracks had been made in the buildings adjacent to the gate, but these became filled in over time by natural forces without anyone noticing. The practical suggestion, therefore, is to inspect the site to locate the ancient cracks and to repair them if need be. In effect, this Venetian rabbi acknowledges that his contemporaries are confronting an issue that did not trouble their predecessors, but he uses history and archaeology to explain away the novelty and to align contemporary trends with tradition. Further evidence that the Italian tent pollution crisis was new can be found in the Pahad Yitzhaq itself. The vast majority of its entries are little more than strings of citations of ancient, medieval and early modern sources. On the rare occasions when Lampronti puts forward his own views or those of his contemporaries, we may reasonably infer that he felt that he and they had ­something 54 Betzah 30a; Bava Bathra 60b. 55 PY, s.v. tum’at ohel, 72b. 56 Ibid., 75d.

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new to offer.57 Hence, the plethora of PY material on tent pollution, not only in the dedicated entry but in numerous other entries as well, indicates that ­Lampronti sensed that he and his colleagues were facing a new problem, on which they had a good deal to say. Not only was the pollution crisis new, it displays a number of novel and significant features. To begin with the social realm, the piety of the rank and file is impressive, though not unique. As Jacob Katz has shown regarding the laws pertaining to the use of a “Sabbath gentile” for performing actions prohibited on the Sabbath, so too in the case at hand the call for stringency, for a tightening of standards, did not come exclusively or even predominantly from the communities’ rabbinic establishment, but from ordinary people. Lay persons are described as literally hounding the priests for fear they will become polluted.58 This is a significant finding, because the familiar dynamic in Jewish history—pre-modern and modern—has rabbis chiding their flock for their less than scrupulous observance of Jewish law and exercising endless creativity in the production of safeguards and stringencies to forestall transgression.59 Moreover, the piety of the rank and file contradicts the argument that the neglect or wholesale abandonment of religious observance in the nineteenth century was foreshadowed by an inexorable decline in the 1700s.60 Admittedly, the pollution material from early modern Italy also contains some evidence of impiety on the part of the rank and file. Isaac Pacifico of Venice writes, in the introduction to Scholars’ Correction, that his efforts were intended as a response to “common folk who welcome any opportunity to abuse those who walk on the right path […] to those who turn law to gall.”61 Apparently there were in eighteenth-century Venice Jews who scoffed at the fastidious observance of Jewish law. This motif also appears in the statute of the Small Council, which states: “We are more than happy to lend support and strength to the commandments.”62 Ultimately, we read, the rabbis of Venice 57 On this aspect of Lampronti’s encyclopedia, see Malkiel, “Empiricism in Isaac Lampronti’s ­Pahad Yizhak,” Materia Giudaica 10 (2005): 344–6 [= “Empiricism” in the present volume]. 58 See, e.g., the question put to Abraham Yitzhaqi: Zer‘a Avraham (Izmir, 1732/33), pt. 2, nr. 17, 64a. 59 Jacob Katz, The “Shabbes Goy”—a Study in Halakhic Flexibility (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1989), 231, 236–7. 60 Azriel Shohat, Beginnings of the Haskalah Among German Jewry ( Jerusalem: Mossad Bialik, 1960) [Hebrew]. See the review by Barukh Mevorach in Kiryat Sefer 37 (1961/62): 150–5. 61 Scholars’ Correction, 1a. 62 1b.

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renewed their efforts because they sensed that “impudence has increased and the mask of shame has become alien,” and they agreed that “it is incumbent upon us to restore the dignity of yesteryear.”63 But these remarks need to be understood in context. For Pacifico, the apathy of some priests towards pollution does not signify a feeble commitment to Jewish law; it is, rather, a natural consequence of the law’s excessive hardship. Because pollution can no longer be contained, they must leave their homes whenever someone dies in the ghetto, even if the death does not occur in their own building, and that is simply an unbearable hardship.64 Implicitly, Pacifico views his contemporaries’ standard of religious observance as generally high, and there would seem to be no cause for reading into the pollution crisis an intimation of the later crisis or collapse of fidelity to Jewish law and tradition. This is also the conclusion warranted by the PY tale recounted above of the recalcitrant priest who based his disregard for a rabbinic directive on a competing halakhic tradition. Likewise, Lampronti, speaking of his home community, admits that he lacks the power to abrogate the priests’ behavioral norm, but he does not portray them as deficient in piety. The pollution problem not only belies the notion of a loss of religious fervor in the eighteenth century, it also challenges the image that the communal leadership of Italy’s Jews in the early modern era was riven by tension between rabbis and lay leaders, an image commonly associated with the western Sephardi diaspora as well as with Italy.65 Our sources depict the rabbis of Venice working hand in glove with the Small Assembly to confront the tent pollution crisis, in a coordinated maneuver marshaling both ­political 63 2a. 64 34a. On the level of rabbinical authority among the Jews of eighteenth-century Italy, see Malkiel, “Ebraismo, tradizione e società: Isaaco Lampronti e l’identità ebraica nella Ferrara del XVIII secolo,” Zakhor 7 (2005): 9–23 [=”Traditional Society” in the present volume]. 65 Jacob Katz, Tradition and Crisis: Jewish Society at the End of the Middle Ages, trans. Bernard Dov Cooperman (New York: New York University Press, 1993), 74–5; Robert Bonfil, Rabbis and Jewish Communities in Renaissance Italy, trans. Jonathan Chipman (London: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 1993), 66–75; Jonathan I. Israel, European Jewry in the Age of Mercantilism 1550–1750 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 19892), 254–7; Malkiel, A Separate Republic: The Mechanics and Dynamics of Venetian Jewish Self-Government (1607–1624) ( Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1991), 165–205; Yosef Kaplan, An Alternative Path to Modernity: The Sephardi Diaspora in Western Europe (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 108–54; Adam Sutcliffe, “Regulating Sociability: Rabbinical Authority and Jewish-Christian Interaction in Seventeenth-Century Amsterdam,” in Rabbinic Culture and its Critics, eds. Daniel Frank and Matt Goldish (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2008), 289–312.

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and scholarly authority in support of Aboab’s initiative. This material does not sustain the polarized image that associates rabbis with piety and lay leaders with political-economic interest. Among the rank and file, the priests play an understandably prominent role in the pollution literature, and one which represents a radical departure from the social norms of medieval Jewish society. We read with amazement that the Venetian community weighed their expulsion; this is a unique case of a Jewish community contemplating the expulsion of an entire sector of its own population, and for the sake of halakhic convenience! It is no less astonishing that the suggestion is abandoned not because it is outrageous, but because there would be no one to perform the priestly benediction and the redemption of first-born sons, two relatively rare and therefore minor religious obligations. Furthermore, the priests themselves count among those constituents moved to action by fear of pollution, even though they stand to be inconvenienced by directives to be issued by the community’s rabbinic and lay leadership. “Doubt has surfaced,” writes Israel Berekhiah da Fano, “among some people knowledgeable in Torah, among them priests.”66 And Sabbatai Elhanan Delvecchio informs us that it was the priests who mooted the suggestion that the ghetto entrance be physically altered.67 The priest in Lampronti’s own anecdote was apathetic in the face of pollution, but clearly others were at least as zealous as their brethren to uphold the law. There is more. The tent pollution sources suggest that the priests occupied a discrete niche in the Jewish society of early modern Italy. In contrast to the references in the sources from fifteenth-century Germany to individual priests who are chased from their homes, the Italian sources frequently refer to “the priests,” in the plural, as a group or population. Lampronti writes of his misgivings about “the custom of the priests of Ferrara.”68 The question put to Abraham Yitzhaqi reports, as we have seen, that “the priests are demoralized.” Netanel Halevi of Modena recounts that “the priests sat in the ghetto courtyard and effected a [physical] adjustment at the ghetto entrance facing the market.”69 The prologue to the statute of the rabbis of the yeshiva of Venice favoring Aboab’s initiative commences: “The priests asked us to find a solution to the problem that whenever someone dies they cannot escape pollution […].”70 It would 66 67 68 69 70

PY, s.v. tum’at ohel, 70a. Ibid., 71b. Ibid., 69b. Ibid., 73d. Scholars’ Correction, 29a.

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appear that in Venice, and possibly elsewhere as well, the Aaronites coalesced into a self-conscious and recognized subgroup of the Jewish population.71 Venice had a Midrash Coanim [!] or priests’ synagogue, and the very existence of this institution may reflect the presence of the city’s priests as a discrete social group. Admittedly, the synagogue was probably named for its founding family, like the Luzzatto and Mesullamim synagogues, and membership was not necessarily reserved for Aaronites.72 And while it is true that the synagogue existed as early as 1587, it appears to have enjoyed a growth surge towards the end of the seventeenth century.73 At any rate, the existence of the Midrash Coanim as a significant, identified presence in the ghetto in the period of interest here supports the suggestion that the priests constituted a coherent social unit. The emergence of such a cohort supplies a possible social context for the eruption of the pollution crisis. Social tensions or conflicts involving the city’s priests, possibly concerning the community’s institutions, may have underpinned the issue of pollution, but such tensions remain hidden from view. Clearly, however, the priests were the focus of communal attention, particularly their sacral status, and this may have been stimulated by their social cohesion. The public importance of the priests also has a cultural context, one with roots dating back to the sixteenth century but reaching forward to the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century. The tent pollution problem expresses the vivid presence of the priesthood for early modern Jews, one it had not enjoyed during the Middle Ages. The reinvigoration of the ­Palestinian center in the sixteenth century stimulated renewed interest in the Temple and the Temple cult. Sixteenth-century examples of this include Jacob Berab of Safed’s attempt to reinstitute ordination as well as detailed descriptions of the ­Temple by Moses Isserles, Solomon Ibn Verga and Samuel Usque.74 This trend ­continued in the 71 See also Shabbatai Baer, Be’er ‘Eseq (Venice, 1673/74), nr. 14a–b. Similar language appears in the responsum by Joshua Falk. 72 Two lists of members, in manuscript, from the early nineteenth century include non-priest members: MS. Venice-Comunità Ebraica R8; MS. Venice- Comunità Ebraica 27. 73 Ennio Concina, “Parva Jerusalem,” in La città degli ebrei: Il Ghetto di Venezia—architettura e urbanistica, eds. Ennio Concina, Ugo Camerino and Donatella Calabi (Venice: Albrizzi, 1991), 98. The synagogue was reassessed in 1696, from which Concina extrapolates that it was renovated, including an expansion, shortly beforehand. For the location of the Schola Coanim Tedesco in 1930, see the map of the Venetian ghetto prepared by Guido Sullam: Cecil Roth, Venice (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1930), 373. 74 Isserles, Torat ha-‘Olah (Prague, 1570); Ibn Verga, Shevet Yehudah, ed. Azriel Shohat ( ­Jerusalem: Mossad Bialik, 1946/47), §64, 128–41; Samuel Usque, Consolation for the ­Tribulations of Israel, ed. Martin A. Cohen (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1965), 51–2, 134–5.

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seventeenth century with Abraham Portaleone’s monograph on Temple architecture and activities and subsequently with Jacob Judah Leon Templo of Amsterdam’s writings and model of the Temple.75 The renewed interest in the Temple dovetails with the period’s intense interest in study of the Mishnah, including the orders dealing with the laws of the land of Israel and the Temple cult, a development which relates to the personification of the Mishnah by Joseph Karo and other sixteenth-­ century kabbalists. In the seventeenth century, Mishnah commentaries by Moses Zacut and Yom Tov Lipmann Heller contributed to the promotion of Mishnah study.76 The new interest in the Temple and the Mishnah would have made early modern Jews more aware of and sensitive to the pollution problem. The revival of interest in the Temple cult is also linked to messianic expectations, which ran high in the sixteenth century, exploded in the Sabbatian movement of 1665–66 and continued to reverberate for decades thereafter. In Italy, messianic fervor continued unabated after the Sabbatian movement. Nathan of Gaza visited Venice in April 1668, though he was rebuffed by the city’s rabbinical leadership, including Samuel Aboab and Moses Zacut,77 and hope also attached to the prophetic activity of Mordechai Eisenstadt in Modena in 1682.78 In the eighteenth century, the adherents of Moses Hayyim ­Luzzatto (Ramhal) anticipated redemption in 1731, with Moses David Valle in the messianic role,79 and both Isaac Vita Coen Cantarini of Padua and Immanuel Hai 75 Abraham b. David Portaleone, Šilṭe Hagibborim (Mantua, 1611/12). Templo [ Jacob Judah Aryeh Leon], Tavnit Hekhal (Amsterdam, 1650); idem, Retrato del templo de Selomo (­Middelburg, 1642); idem, Tratado de los cherubim (Amsterdam: n.p., 1654); idem, T ­ ratado de la arca del Testamento (Amsterdam, 1653); idem, Retrato del Tabernaculo de Moseh (­Amsterdam, 1654). 76 The overall rise in the printing of talmudic literature in the eighteenth century included the Mishnah, which was printed 18 times in the sixteenth century, 53 times in the seventeenth century and 65 times in the eighteenth century. See Zeev Griess, The Book as an Agent of Culture (Tel Aviv: Hakibutz Hameuchad, 2002), 51 [Hebrew]. 77 Devar Shmuel, f. 263–7. See Scholem, Sabbatai Sevi, 496–503, 764–70. 78 Scholem, “Apocalyptic and Messianic Chapters about Rabbi Mordecai of Eisenstadt,” in ­Sefer Dinaburg, ed. Yitzhak Baer et al. ( Jerusalem: Qiryat Sefer, 1949), 242 [Hebrew]; Malkiel, “Christian Hebraism in a Contemporary Key: The Search for Hebrew Epitaph Poetry in ­Seventeenth-Century Italy,” Jewish Quarterly Review 96 (2006): 133–7 [= “Christian ­Hebraism” in the present volume]. 79 Isaiah Tishby, Paths of Faith and Heresy ( Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 19822), 193 [Hebrew]. See also: Jacob Barnai, “Renewal of the Jewish Settlement of Tiberias in 1740,” Shevet ve-‘Am 3 (1978): 35–62 [Hebrew]; Arie Morgenstern, Mysticism and Messianism from Luzzatto to the Vilna Gaon ( Jerusalem: Maor, 1999), 37–75 [Hebrew].

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Ricchi expected redemption in 1740, the half-millennium according to the ­Jewish Creation calendar.80 There is a piece of evidence directly linking messianic activism and the ­latter-day priesthood. During the period of euphoria surrounding Sabbatai Zevi’s appearance, the Portuguese community of Amsterdam marked the messianic advent by having their Aaronite congregants recite the priestly blessing every Sabbath, instead of only on the festivals of Passover, Pentecost and ­Tabernacles. The local rabbinical authorities elected to retain this liturgical innovation even after Sabbatai Zevi’s apostasy.81 Plainly the priestly blessing acquired a messianic connotation, and in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century this may have heightened the popular awareness of and concern about priestly purity among the Jews of northern Italy. The pollution crisis also reflects cultural trends which the Jews of early modern Italy shared with their non-Jewish neighbors, although the latter knew nothing about tent pollution. The pollution literature devotes much attention to the principles governing the movement of pollution, such as its tendency to rise and to exit confined spaces. The preoccupation with this material at this particular time coincides with a profound and widespread concern about miasma, bad air. Pollution is a metaphysical substance, but like air it circulates imperceptibly, and at a time when many were troubled by the idea of being surrounded by miasma, it is not surprising that the ubiquity of pollution triggered a similar anxiety.82 Miasma became a watchword when and because medical authorities replaced Galen’s view that disease stems from an imbalance within the human body with Hippocrates’ belief that it is the result of environmental conditions. Giovanni Lancisi of Rome attributed malaria to swamps and the fetid air they emit. John Arbuthnot of Scotland’s An Essay Concerning the Effects of Air on Human Bodies, published in 1733, explains that air quality is determined by its temperature, pressure and humidity, as well as by particles exuded from the ground and from bodies of water. 80 For Cantarini, see Zalman Shazar, The Messianic Hope for the Year 1740 ( Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1970) [Hebrew], 21–4; for Ricchi, see Morgenstern, Mysticism and Messianism, 31–6. See also PY, s.v. rov ha-qahal kofeh. 81 Jacob Sasportas, Tsitsat Novel Tzvi, ed. Isaiah Tishby ( Jerusalem: Mossad Bialik, 1954), 211–20; See Gershom Scholem, Sabbatai Sevi: The Mystical Messiah, 1626–1676, trans. R. J. Zwi Werblowsky (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1973), 534. The priestly blessing bore kabbalistic significance regardless of the messianic expectations: see the letter by Moses Zacut to Solomon Formiggini of Mantua: Moshe Zacut, Letters (Livorno, 1739/40), nr. 4, 3a–b [Hebrew]. 82 I am grateful to Laura P. Stokes of Stanford University for proposing this line of inquiry.

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This approach to disease, known as environmentalism, took root because it dovetailed with a new sense that nature could be manipulated and controlled. Thus, in the eighteenth century governments in many European countries initiated public projects to combat disease: sewage systems were installed, cemeteries relocated beyond the city limits and swamps drained, all in the belief that human waste, dead bodies and stagnant water infect the air, spread disease and trigger epidemics. Instruments were invented for measuring meteorological conditions and from about the 1660s, scholars including John Locke and Robert Boyle in England and Bernardo Ramazzini in Padua began taking atmospheric measurements and publishing what became known as medical topographies.83 The Jews of early modern Italy did not equate pollution with miasma. ­Abraham Catalan, a Jewish physician from Padua, records in his log of the 1630–31 plague that the local priests neglected the laws of tent pollution and remained under the same roof as deceased persons, because they feared that moving elsewhere might expose them to infection.84 Clearly these Aaronites distinguished between the metaphysical problem of pollution and the dire threat miasma posed to their health. Nevertheless, the two substances are subtly linked: both are pervasive pernicious substances and hence both occasion intense speculation about their presence and about the principles governing their flow. Thus, Catalan writes that, after the death of his daughter: “I feared that the infected air from the Lustro house entered those of my windows adjacent to his, above the courtyard of the Ashkenazi synagogue.”85 This comment bears an uncanny resemblance to the discussions of the movement of pollution and the difficulty of stemming its advance. The pollution crisis also echoes a broad change in the popular way of thinking during the early modern era. The responsa relate that people became aware of an internal contradiction in the legal system, because priests circulated freely in the ghetto following a death even though pollution had become inescapable. This sort of anomaly might not have troubled a community whose ritual law was flexible and fluid, with room for multiple sets of customs and variations, but the sensitivity to anomalies would intensify as a society’s code of conduct became increasingly systematized and articulated. By the mid-seventeenth 83 See James C. Riley, The Eighteenth-Century Campaign to Avoid Disease (New York: Macmillan, 1987), 1–27; Mary Lindemann, Medicine and Society in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 177–80. 84 Cecil Roth, “Olam hafukh,” Kovetz al Yad 4 (1946): 85. 85 Ibid.

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c­ entury there was less room than in medieval times for local or ethnic variation, as Joseph Karo’s Šulh.an Aruk, supplemented with the addenda of Moses Isserles, gradually attained worldwide acceptance. The increasing homogenization of Jewish law led to a lower tolerance for diversity and to a concomitant desire to close gaps and loopholes in the search for consistency. In a sense, Lampronti’s decision to create an encyclopedia of Jewish law reflects this very tendency, since it aspires to present Jewish law in its entirety, as a complete and whole system of concepts and laws. From this perspective, the tent pollution material appears to reflect an intellectual trend in the general community, for the early eighteenth century is famously an age of encyclopedias.86 More broadly, beginning with the scientific discoveries of Copernicus and Galileo, a thought system with coherence and integrity became a Holy Grail for scientists and philosophers, such as Leibniz or Descartes, and this quality of early modern thought is characteristic of the mindset driving the pollution crisis. A similar pattern of thought is evident in the controversy that erupted among the Jews of Trieste in 1727 over prayers that invoke the intercession of angels on behalf of the Jewish people. Such prayers had been part of the liturgy for centuries, and though there were always those who viewed the notion of angelic intercession as misguided or even heretical, in eighteenth-century Trieste a call was sounded for the elimination of these prayers from the liturgy.87 In this case, too, we find a kind of hardheaded way of thinking, accompanied by a willingness or even an enthusiasm for change, even radical change. Thus, in Trieste one camp maintained that intercessory prayer should be abolished since it is unnecessary and possibly heretical, and in the pollution crisis the perceived impossibility of containing pollution generated a similar call for immediate and possibly radical action. The need for thought systems to be coherent and complete, coupled with the drive to act upon this need by pushing for sweeping changes in the traditional way of life, evince a freshness and vigor, one might say 86 Silvano Garofalo, L’enciclopedismo italiano: Gianfrancesco Pivati (Ravenna: Longo, 1980); Frank A. Kafker, Notable Encyclopedias of the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries: Nine Predecessors of the Encyclopédie (Oxford: Voltaire Foundation, 1981); Richard Yeo, Encyclopedic Visions: Scientific Dictionaries and Enlightenment Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001). 87 Malkiel, “Between Wordliness and Traditionalism: Eighteenth-Century Italian Jews Debate Intercessory Prayer,” Jewish Studies Internet Journal 2 (2003): 169–98 [= “Intercessory Prayer” in the present volume]. For similar themes and dynamics, see Jay R. Berkovitz, Rites and Passages: The Beginnings of Modern Jewish Culture in France, 1650–1860 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004), 70–3.

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a quickening, that is characteristic of Western European thinking in the early modern era, although its far-reaching effects are not keenly felt until the close of the eighteenth century.

Figure 10.  Façade of the building at no. 95 Via Mazzini. (Source: Annamarcella Tedeschi Falco, Ferrara: Guide to the Synagogues and Museum [Venice: Marsilio, 2000], 8)

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Figure 11.  The courtyard at no. 95 Via Mazzini. (Source: Annamarcella Tedeschi Falco, Ferrara: Guide to the Synagogues and Museum [Venice: Marsilio, 2000], 12)

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Christian Hebraism

T

he Hebrew language and Jewish biblical interpretation have been and are of perennial interest to Christian theologians, primarily because of ­Christianity’s hermeneutical and ideological roots in the Old Testament. This interest, known as Christian Hebraism, was the focus of the scholarly activity of the Victorines in twelfth-century Paris. From the thirteenth century, the attention of Christian Hebraists shifted toward postbiblical texts, particularly the Talmud and midrashic literature. During the Italian Renaissance, Christian Hebraism was directed towards the recovery of the prisca sapientia, the wisdom of the Ancients, i.e., those prior to the Greek philosophers. Thus, Elia Levita and other Jewish luminaries of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries taught Hebrew, and sometimes also Kabbalah, to Pico della Mirandola and other famous ­Italian  thinkers. This intellectual dependence of Christian thinkers upon Jews was not unusual in the Middle Ages, for Jews were renowned for their familiarity with Greek science, particularly medicine and astronomy. However, with the recovery of the Greek classical corpus, dependence upon non-Christians waned, and the intellectual center of gravity shifted to European universities. By the end of the sixteenth century, this trend is clearly in evidence, and the Jews no longer occupy a prominent place on the European intellectual stage. There is a concurrent decline in the centrality of Christian Hebraism, as the Counter-Reformation pushed out the notion of prisca sapientia, with its noticeably pagan flavor. Although an increasing number of scholars knew some Hebrew, Hebrew played a less significant role than it had in the Renaissance and became the preoccupation of specialists, or of dilettantes with an idiosyncratic predilection for matters Hebrew. Yet the fundamental place of the Bible and ancient Judaism in the ­Christian faith guaranteed that Hebrew would continue to be studied and Hebrew works

*

My friends Daniel Frank and Matt Goldish, both of The Ohio State University, were kind enough to read and comment upon a draft of this article. Responsibility for its contents rests solely with me.

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subjected to scholarly scrutiny, particularly in the European universities, where Hebrew had become an established academic discipline. For some, the purpose of this study was purely scholarly. Others had a religious agenda; it might be missionary or polemical vis-à-vis the Jews, while vis-à-vis the Christian audience, it might have been motivated by theological concerns such as eschatology, or by a new antiquarianism and a drive for encyclopedic erudition. The following study illuminates an episode of Christian Hebraism that took place in Italy during the late seventeenth century. In this period Christian Hebraists showed a marked interest in postbiblical and even post Talmudic literature, as is evident in the work of John Selden, John Lightfoot, and the Buxtorfs, as well as of Giulio Bartoloccio, Italy’s outstanding seventeenth-century Hebraist, author of Bibliotheca Magna Rabbinica (Rome 1675). The episode at hand is curious, unprecedented and unparalleled. It is also of some historical significance, for it deviates from the familiar pattern of Christian Hebraism. In contrast to the preceding sketch of the historical development of Christian Hebraism, here we find Christian intellectuals drawing water once again from the well of the Jews, and this in an age when there was nothing unusual about Christians doing Hebrew without Hebrews. Furthermore, whereas Christian Hebraists typically perused biblical or postbiblical texts, the case at hand concerned Hebrew writings composed in the Hebraists’ own day and age. Additionally, these compositions could not have served a missionary or polemical purpose, which is also out of the ordinary. Thus, a minor episode adds a new dimension to our understanding of premodern Christian Hebraism and suggests the possibility of an even broader and more flexible image of this eternal phenomenon.

THE CORRESPONDENCE Our story primarily involves two Italian intellectuals of the mid- to late seventeenth century. One is Antonio Magliabechi of Florence, who was born in 1633 and served as librarian to the grand duke of Tuscany from his appointment in 1673 until his death in 1714. Magliabechi owned one of the best-stocked libraries in Europe. At his death, he bequeathed to the Palatina library, whose custodian he had been, a collection of 30,000 volumes. He was also extremely erudite, famously so. Eric Cochrane described his reputation in the ­following terms: Magliabechi did not have to give proof of his learning by writing books: the scores of authors who applied to him for information kept his name

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Fortunately, Magliabechi’s passion for collecting extended not only to books but also to letters, including the correspondence which is the primary source for the affair at hand. Magliabechi’s letters include the ones he received, not just wrote. Our concern is with a series of eight missives addressed to him in the latter half of 1682 by Bernardino Ramazzini. Ramazzini was a physician and an academic. Born in Carpi in the same year as Magliabechi, Ramazzini received his medical degree in 1659, at Parma. In 1676 he settled in Modena and in 1682 he was appointed chief professor of medicine at the city’s studio or university, which had been closed but was reactivated in that very year. A mark of his academic stature is the fact that he delivered the address that inaugurated the studio, even though this honor traditionally went to a professor of law.2 In 1700 Ramazzini moved to Padua, where he held the chair of theoretical medicine. He wrote several medical works, notably his study of workers’ diseases (De Morbis Artificium, Modena 1700), which made his reputation as the father of industrial and occupational medicine. Ramazzini died in 1714.3 Ramazzini admired Magliabechi: the latter was the object of the dedication of Ramazzini’s Constitutio Epidemica Ruralis, published in Modena in 1690, and he was also the primary addressee of Ramazzini’s letters.4 Magliabechi had many contacts in Germany, and his relationship with Ramazzini expedited the spread of the latter’s reputation north of the Alps, although Ramazzini ­established his 1 Eric W. Cochrane, Florence in the Forgotten Centuries 1527–1800 (Chicago, 1973), 267. 2 Bernardino Ramazzini, In solemni Mutinensis Academiae instauratione Oratio (Modena, 1683) [=Opera Omnia (London, 1718), 1–7]. See Pericle Di Pietro, ‘‘Benedetto Bacchini, Bernardino Ramazzini e la cultura a Modena alla fine del Seicento,’’ Accademie e cultura: Aspetti storici tra Sei e Settecento (Florence, 1979), 153–4. 3 For Ramazzini’s biography, see Bartholomeo Ramazzini, ‘‘Bernardini Ramazzini Vita,’’ Opera Omnia, i–xxxi; Pericle Di Pietro, ‘‘Bernardino Ramazzini (Carpi of Modena 1633–Padua, 1714), on the CCCL Anniversary of his Birth,’’ Celebration of the 350th Anniversary of the Birth of Bernardino Ramazzini. International Ramazzini Symposium, ed. C. Maltoni et al. (Bologna, 1983), 15–24. See also Pericle Di Pietro, Bibliografia di Bernardino Ramazzini (Rome, 1977). 4 See also the laudatory remark in Ramazzini’s De Fontium Mutinensium, in his Opera Omnia, 164.

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own relationship with Leibniz when the latter came to Modena in 1690, and the two scholars remained friendly thereafter. Our concern is with the epistles pertaining to Hebrew poetry. Unfortunately, we have only Ramazzini’s side of the correspondence. In his letters to Magliabechi, Ramazzini wrote of his sustained effort to procure the texts of Hebrew poems inscribed on tombstones in various Jewish cemeteries.5 Surprisingly, although Ramazzini collected the texts for Magliabechi, the moving force behind the enterprise was Johan Christian Wagenseil, the famous German Christian Hebraist, who coincidentally was also born in 1633. Wagenseil, who taught at the university of Altdorf from 1667 until his death in 1705, published numerous treatises about Judaism, dealing inter alia with usury, the blood libel, and the Hebrew prayer ‘Alenu. He also prepared a Latin edition of the talmudic tractate Sotah (Altdorf 1674). But Wagenseil is best known for Tela Ignea Satanae (Altdorf 1681), a potpourri of Hebrew anti-Christian polemical tracts from the Middle Ages which exposes the Jews’ virulence toward the Christian religion. As we will see, fieldwork for Wagenseil’s Judaic scholarship (which encompassed Yiddish as well as Hebrew) brought him into contact with Jewish contemporaries, with whom he appears to have had cordial relations.6 In December 1680, a year and a half before Ramazzini’s first letter on the subject, Wagenseil wrote to Magliabechi that he planned to collect and publish Hebrew epitaph inscriptions from Europe’s Jewish cemeteries. He asked Magliabechi to aid in procuring Italian inscriptions, specifically from Rome, Venice, Padua, Ferrara and Mantua, and recommended that Magliabechi deputize ­Jewish agents to do the fieldwork. In his letter, Wagenseil expressed particular interest in the inscriptions of famous individuals. He related that he had acquired the epitaph of Don Isaac Abarbanel, but that when he tried to authenticate the text, by comparing it with Abarbanel’s actual gravestone, he was informed that it had been destroyed in war, along with those of other Paduan Jews.7 Wagenseil also sought texts of 5 Ramazzini, Epistolario, ed. P. Di Pietro (Modena, 1964), 15–26. Some of Ramazzini’s letters on Hebrew epitaph poems also discuss other matters, but as these are irrelevant to our concern, I have omitted any discussion of their contents. 6 On Wagenseil, see, recently, Paul-Gerhard Aring, Wage du, zu irren und zu träumen: Juden und Christen unterwegs; theologische Biographien, biographische Theologie im christlich judischen Dialog der Barockzeit (Leipzig, 1992). 7 Fol. 35r–v of the Leipzig manuscript, described below, contains the story, in Italian, of Abarbanel’s death and burial ceremony. It is followed by a letter to Wagenseil, in French, which describes the contents of the Abarbanel text. The letter is dated August 18, 1680, but its signature is illegible.

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aesthetic-literary value: he asked Magliabechi to obtain extravagant inscriptions (elegantiores), whether of men or women. Finally, Wagenseil told Magliabechi that he had seen some inscriptions that the Jews of Rome habitually prepare— and later destroy—in honor of newly elected popes, and was anxious to obtain such texts.8 This apparently refers to the traditional greeting ceremony, for which the city’s Jews would prepare placards with biblical verses and analogous Latin expressions, expressing praise and good wishes for the incoming pontiff.9 Almost a year later, on November 5, 1681, Wagenseil wrote another letter to Magliabechi on the same subject. He stated expressly that he was preparing a volume of Hebrew inscriptions, the likes of which had never been published, and urged Magliabechi to report to him any Italian material he could procure.10 The following March, Wagenseil referred once more to his epitaphs project, informing Magliabechi that his book of Jewish gravestone inscriptions was nearing publication, including texts from Venice, Rome, and Ancona.11 Wagenseil’s three letters to Magliabechi were written well before July 1682, when Ramazzini began sending Magliabechi texts. Nevertheless, Wagenseil’s and Ramazzini’s letters are intimately connected, for all of Ramazzini’s inscriptions were ultimately bound together in a Hebrew codex of Wagenseil’s that is conserved in the university library of Leipzig.12 Wagenseil’s codex also contains six letters from Magliabechi to Wagenseil, written from July to December 1682, on various aspects of our subject; of these, three were appended to Ramazzini’s inscriptions and explained their provenance. The Wagenseil codex also contains Hebrew poetic epitaphs from cities other than those cited in Ramazzini’s letters.13 We know nothing about the 8 MS Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale di Firenze, classe VIII, no. 320, fol. 17r–v, 20.XII.1680. Almost all of Wagenseil’s dozens of letters to Magliabechi are in Latin, except for two or three in Italian. 9 Attilio Milano, Il ghetto di Roma: ilustrazioni storiche (Rome, 1964), 307–13. 10 MS Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale di Firenze, classe VIII, no. 320, fol. 20r–v, 5.XI.1681. 11 Ibid., fol. 21r–v, 13.III.1682. 12 MS Leipzig—Universitätsbibliothek Cod. B. H. 18 (i.e., the Wagenseil codex), fol. 18r–38v. For a description, see Heinrich Leberecht Fleischer and Franz Delitzsch, Catalogus librorum manuscriptorum qui in Bibliotheca senatoria civitatis Lipsiensis asservantur (Grimma, 1838), 299, Cod. B. H. 18. I would like to thank Dr. Steffen Hoffmann of the Leipzig library for his cooperation. See my edition of the Ramazzini inscriptions: David Malkiel, ‘‘Epitaph Poems from Northern Italy in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century’’ (Hebrew), Pe’amim 98–9 (2004): 132–54. 13 The breakdown of the numerical and geographical distribution of epitaphs is as follows: ­Livorno: 15; Siena: 19; Pisa: 119; Androna [sic]: 3, and one each from Carrara, Sarzana, and London.

Christian Hebraism

process of their collection, although Ramazzini was probably not involved, for he does not mention these locations in his letters to Magliabechi, and they are far from his home in Modena. Many of these other inscriptions are from cities in Tuscany, principally Livorno, Siena, and Pisa. This suggests that Wagenseil found an agent in that general area, and, as a Florentine and a close associate, Magliabechi himself would seem to be a likely candidate. However, the Tuscan epitaphs are not accompanied by cover letters, such as those Magliabechi regularly attached to Ramazzini’s inscriptions. And this was not only his pattern vis-à-vis Ramazzini. In a letter to Wagenseil dated December 26, 1682, Magliabechi writes that his source for the two enclosed inscriptions from Carrara and Sarzana is Francesco Berrettari, a resident of Carrara and himself a poet.14 It therefore does not seem likely that Magliabechi implemented or oversaw the Tuscany initiative. Ramazzini’s first letter, dated July 3, 1682, opens with the statement ‘‘I have endeavored to serve you as diligently as possible in everything you deigned to ask of me.’’15 He then informs Magliabechi that he is sending him a page with seven tombstone inscriptions.16 Ramazzini writes that he received the texts from a rabbi, who admitted to having authored the last one which, Ramazzini reports, is to be found in Reggio, meaning on a tombstone in Reggio’s J­ewish cemetery.17 It is clear that the rabbi prepared the transcription at ­R amazzini’s request rather than of his own initiative, and that Ramazzini had acted at ­Magliabechi’s behest. The rabbi is identified as ‘‘a friend of mine’’ (mio amico) rather than as an acquaintance, neighbor, or colleague. It is unusual in this period for a ­Christian to characterize his relationship with a Jew as something as intimate as friendship, and the same can be said of a Jew. Ramazzini’s friendship with the rabbi does not reflect a positive attitude toward Jews in general, as we will see. ­Nonetheless, it is noteworthy that he felt comfortable characterizing the 14 Ms. Leipzig—Universitätsbibliothek Cod. B. H. 18, fol. 15v. 15 Ho procurato di servirla con ogni possibil diligenza in tutto ciò s’è degnato comandarmi. See Ramazzini, Epistolario, letter #5, 3.VII.1682, pp. 15–16. 16 For these inscriptions, see MS Leipzig—Universitätsbibliothek Cod. B. H. 18, fol. 19r-v. The texts appear in the following order: Eliakim b. Or Shraga Sanguini (1583), Simh.ah b. Eliakim Sanguini (1592), Israel Sanguini (1630), R. Judah b. Isaac Ravenna (1681), Stella, widow of R. Isaac da Ventura (1581), Simh.ah, wife of Eliakim Sanguini (1582), R. Barukh Poggetto (1583). Magliabechi’s cover letter to ­Wagenseil, accompanying these inscriptions, is dated July 14, 1682; see MS Leipzig—­Universitätsbibliothek Cod. B. H. 18, fol. 18r. 17 On the Reggio cemetery, see Cultura Ebraica in Emilia-Romagna, ed. S. M. Bondoni and G. Busi (Rimini, 1987), 99.

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r­elationship as such in a letter to Magliabechi, for, although Ramazzini took pains on Magliabechi’s behalf, his efforts bespeak Magliabechi’s fame rather than true friendship, of which there is no trace in his letters. Ramazzini may have made the point about the rabbi in order to emphasize the latter’s credibility, and perhaps also to convey the hope that he might be induced to procure additional inscriptions in the future. Ramazzini’s rabbi cannot be identified with any degree of certainty, but there is someone who more than fits the profile. Assuming that the rabbi in question was a fellow resident of Modena, he is likely to have been Ish Ger, the Hebrew acronym for Abraham Joseph Solomon Graziani (d. 1684). Graziani was the first Italian Jew systematically to collect Hebrew books and manuscripts, and his collection was not only one of the largest but perhaps also the greatest in early modern Italy.18 It would have been perfectly in character for him to have copied the texts of poetic Hebrew tombstone inscriptions. Moreover, as mentioned, the seven inscriptions included one by the rabbi, and Graziani did indeed have considerable experience at writing verse: an extant manuscript includes fifty-five of his poems, dating from 1643 to 1673, including elegies.19 Ramazzini goes on to narrate the circumstances that led to the transcription of the seven epitaph poems. He reports learning from the rabbi that the latter copied the inscriptions after the Jews had removed all of the tombstones from their cemetery and deposited them in a cellar for safekeeping.20 They had done so after Duke Francesco d’Este confiscated the land of the Jewish 18 See Salo W. Baron, ‘‘A Responsum in Italian by R. Abraham Graziano’’ (Hebrew), Studies in Jewish Bibliography and Related Subjects in Memory of Abraham Solomon Freidus (1867– 1923) (New York, 1929), 122–37. Graziani left responsa and also several manuscripts of notes on halakhic texts, such as the Shulh.an ‘arukh. A manuscript of sermons is also extant (MS New York—JTS Rab. 137), which includes eulogies. On Graziani, see also Yael Okun, ‘‘The Relationship between Manuscripts and Prints in the Library of Ish Ger’’ (Hebrew), Asufot 10 (1997): 267–86. 19 See Salomone Jona, ‘‘Abraham Joseph Salomon Graziani: Poète hébreu du XVIIe siècle,’’ Revue des Etudes Juives 4 (1882): 113–26. Graziano’s elegy for Aaron Berechia Modena, which was printed at the beginning of the latter’s Ma‘avar Yabok (Amsterdam, 1732), is preceded by a preamble, which states that the great-grandchildren of the deceased promoted the printing of Graziano’s elegy, ‘‘in order to display his greatness to the nations and the lords’’ (paraphrasing Esther 1.11). See Jona, ‘‘Abraham Joseph Salomon Graziani,’’ 121. This statement testifies that non-Jews were known to be able to appreciate Hebrew poetry, and it is probably coincidental that there, as in the Ramazzini letters, the poem in question was an elegy. 20 The decision to uproot the tombstones seems to signify that these were accorded a degree of sanctity. Whether or not, in various periods and locales, Jews regarded their tombstones as sacred or profane merits separate investigation.

Christian Hebraism

c­ emetery, located within the city’s walls, in order to found a convent for the order of Discalced Carmelites. There is a bit more to the historical circumstances narrated by Ramazzini. The history of Jewish burial in Modena is a complicated one, often involving more than one cemetery. By the middle of the seventeenth century, the Jews of Modena had used, and perhaps continued to use, at least two cemeteries, the second inaugurated by government fiat following the plague of 1630. An archival document of 1657 states that a ducal edict issued in that year decreed that the Jewish burial ground located on the grounds of the cloister of the Discalced Carmelite nuns be reduced to farmland. The harshness of this decision was somewhat attenuated by the clause that prohibited the unauthorized exhumation of the bones of the deceased.21 Ramazzini’s letter obviously refers to the same Carmelite convent mentioned in the ducal edict, but the latter implies that the monastery was already standing. Indeed, the edict does not provide the background to the Duke’s decision, and this lacuna may have led someone, by simple logic, to assume that the convent was only just being built. Ramazzini’s statement, or rather that of his rabbi-friend, confirms that the Jews were forced to uproot their tombstones, but this may have been the extent of their dislocation. They were opposed to the relocation of their cemetery and very likely engaged in the time-honored practice of procrastination, which would have also been necessitated by the difficulty of raising a sum sufficient for the purchase of a new plot of land. The death, a year later in 1658, of Duke Francesco may have deferred execution of the decree. Ultimately, however, the decree seems to have been implemented. This is suggested by a note in a manuscript of Hebrew poems by the same Graziani, about the interment in 1660 of the bones of Judah Poggetto and Speranza Usiglio, both of Modena. Salomone Jona has interpreted this to mean that the Jews did, in fact, rebury their dead in a new cemetery, and he maintains that they did so little by little, which would account for the fact that Graziani’s note only refers to two secondary burials.22

21 Archivio di Stato di Modena, filza XV, fasc. 3, May 21 and 24, 1657, cited in Andrea Balletti, Gli Ebrei e gli Estensi (Reggio Emilia, 1930), 102. On the Modena cemeteries, see Cultura Ebraica in Emilia-Romagna, 102–03. 22 Jona, ‘‘Abraham Joseph Salomon Graziani,’’ 124–5, n. 3. Jona asserts that R. Trabot was one of the first to be buried in the new cemetery, but he provides no documentation and does not even specify which Trabot he had in mind—presumably Netanel b. Benjamin. Judah Poggetto was one of Trabot’s colleagues in the Modena rabbinate. See Hananel Nepi, Zekher tsadikim li-verakha (Trieste, 1853), 271; Shlomo Simonsohn, History of the Jews in the Duchy of Mantua ( Jerusalem, 1977), 576, 727, n. 222.

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In any case, it seems that Modena’s Jews continued to bury their dead inside the city, for in 1685 Duke Francesco II ordered them to obtain land outside the city for use as a cemetery once their cemeteries inside the city were filled to capacity.23 Ramazzini writes of the rabbi’s decision to transcribe ‘‘the most famous of the inscriptions,’’ and this is interesting, because it implies that Jews paid attention to tombstone inscriptions and regarded them as important cultural artifacts, to the point where some were actually famous. Why some were more renowned than others is not made clear. Most likely, the deceased individuals were well known and the community cherished their memory. Ramazzini may have been more interested in inscriptions of literary-aesthetic value, but the biographical and literary criteria were often intertwined, since the more renowned the deceased, the more elaborate the epitaph. In the continuation of his letter, Ramazzini confides that he eventually hopes to examine all the tombstones in the cellar, and he promises to send these texts on to Magliabechi in due course, if he should find among them ‘‘matters of particular importance’’ (cose di maggior rilievo). This last remark is deserving of comment. Even someone with no knowledge of Hebrew might a­ ppreciate tombstones that are exceptionally large, or those fashioned from unusually beautiful stone. But Ramazzini’s letter indicates plainly that Magliabechi sought inscriptions, and thus the phrase ‘‘matters of particular importance’’ must refer to literary qualities such as rhyme, meter or imagery. A later letter reveals that although Ramazzini may have known some Hebrew, he approached Jewish acquaintances for help in the evaluation of Hebrew texts, and he would certainly have needed to do so in order to identify these so-called matters of importance. The epistle then turns to another related matter of interest to Magliabechi. Ramazzini informs Magliabechi that ‘‘Leon Modana [sic]’’ was indeed a native of Modena but lived most of his life in Venice. This is obviously a reference to the illustrious Venetian rabbi, who died in 1648. Clearly, Magliabechi asked Ramazzini about Modena and probably requested tombstone inscriptions by him. Magliabechi seems to have thought that Modena had lived ­primarily 23 Balletti, Gli Ebrei, 102. On the Jewish community of Modena in the seventeenth century, see also Albano Biondi, ‘‘Inquisizione ed ebrei a Modena nel Seicento,’’ Vita e cultura ebraica nello Stato estense, ed. E. Fregni and M. Perani (Bologna, 1993), 259–73; Euride Fregni, ‘‘La Comunità ebraica di Modena nelle carte del suo archivio storico (sec. XVII–­ XVIII),’’ Vita e cultura, 299–316. Fregni refers (p. 308) to documentation of the Jews’ efforts to purchase a meadow which would serve as a cemetery, though he does not provide the date of this episode.

Christian Hebraism

in Modena, and it may be that this assumption stimulated his approach to Ramazzini in the first place. The reference to Leon Modena eliminates any doubt that Magliabechi’s primary interest in the inscriptions was literary, rather than biographical, for the focus here is on an epitaph’s author rather than subject. Ramazzini reports that his local rabbi-friend had shown him an inscription which Modena had composed for a Jew who had died in Venice. Ramazzini admits that he found the text rather galante, since it is composed alternately, one verse in Hebrew and one in Tuscan (i.e., Italian).24 It is uncertain that Ramazzini was praising Modena’s inscription, for galante can connote not only elegance but exaggerated elegance. This may explain why, as Ramazzini notes, he decided to settle for the seven inscriptions he had already acquired, and not to ask his Jewish contact for a copy of Modena’s inscription. Nonetheless, Ramazzini adds that he thinks he can acquire the inscription at a later date should he desire to do so. Modena did indeed compose epitaph inscriptions, including one that is multilingual. However, the Leipzig manuscript contains a macaronic composition, which obviously Ramazzini ultimately succeeding in procuring (even though none of his letters mentions this success), and it is not an epitaph poem but rather an elegy for Leib Saraval, one of Venice’s leading rabbis and communal leaders.25 Ramazzini’s discussion of Modena’s epitaph poem is a significant contribution to our knowledge of the latter’s Nachleben.26 Modena had already been dead for thirty-four years, but clearly his literary reputation continued to shine, although perhaps not quite as brightly. The timing of this incident is also significant: the interest that Modena held for nineteenth-century historians of 24 The rabbi-friend’s decision to show Ramazzini a macaronic poem may be a further indication that Ramazzini had only a limited grasp of Hebrew. 25 MS Leipzig—Universitätsbibliothek Cod. B. H. 18, fol. 32r. In the cover letter to Wagenseil that accompanied the macaronic elegy, dated August 15, 1682, Magliabechi expresses the hope that it, and other inscriptions which he hopes to forward in the future, will help make Wagenseil’s volume as rich as possible: see fol. 38v. Modena’s elegy for Saraval has been published: The Divan of Leo de Modena, ed. S. Bernstein (Hebrew; Philadelphia, 1932), #207, 212–13; Dvora Bregman, A Bundle of Gold: Hebrew Sonnets from the Renaissance and the Baroque (Hebrew; Jerusalem, 1997), no. 131, 187. This is not Saraval’s epitaph; for the latter, see Mordecai Samuel Ghirondi, Toledot gedole Yisra’el (Trieste, 1853), 218. Modena’s Hebrew-Italian epitaph is that of Zalman b. Isaac Yozbel: see Simon Bernstein, ‘‘Luh.ot Abanim, Part II,’’ HUCA 10 (1935): 502, no. 31 (225). 26 This topic is still terra incognita, uncharted even in the monumental dissertation by ­Howard E. Adelman, ‘‘Success and Failure in the Seventeenth-Century Ghetto of ­Venice: The Life and Thought of Leon Modena, 1571–1648’’ (Ph.D. dissertation, Brandeis ­University, 1985), i–ii.

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the Wissenschaft des Judentums school is well attested, but our correspondence reflects his fame during what Eric Cochrane called ‘‘the forgotten centuries,’’ that is, the early modern era. At this point in his letter, Ramazzini updates Magliabechi on his plans to procure further Hebrew poetic epitaph inscriptions. We learn of his intention to write to a friend in Reggio, in order to get all the inscriptions to be found in that city. He will also ask this friend to copy poetic epitaphs in Carpi, where Ramazzini claims to know that there are ‘‘three or four inscriptions,’’ as well as ‘‘whatever else is to be found in our country,’’ and he promises to forward these discoveries to Magliabechi without delay. The identity of this friend from Reggio is a mystery, although he was probably a Jew, because it is difficult to imagine a Christian traipsing through a Jewish cemetery, copying inscriptions. It would seem, then, that Ramazzini had more than one Jewish friend, and if this was common knowledge, it would provide another explanation for Magliabechi’s decision to enlist his services in the search for Hebrew inscriptions. The letter then turns to another topic entirely. Ramazzini claims complete ignorance of the ‘‘new Messiah,’’ to whom Magliabechi had made oblique reference. This expression seems pointedly not to refer to Sabbatai Zevi, whose messiahship could not be called ‘‘new’’ at so late a date, but rather to more recent developments. ‘‘None of these Jews,’’ responds Ramazzini, has given any sign of the ‘‘new Messiah,’’ and he has not heard a word spoken about it. Nevertheless, he adds, because these people (costoro) are extremely wary of revealing their affairs, he undertakes to make every effort to obtain further information. This seems to mean that Ramazzini is prepared to exert himself because he assumes that the Jews of Modena do know about the new messiah and are concealing their knowledge. Ramazzini’s use of the pejorative costoro expresses feelings of alienation and suspicion. Such sentiments are unexpected in a letter which testifies to remarkably friendly relations with Jews. Ramazzini appears to erect a partition between himself and his Jewish associates, and to distance himself from his earlier expressions of familiarity. The reality was probably more complex: although Ramazzini had a few Jewish friends, his attitude toward Jews in general, like that of any Catholic of the day, was doubtless colored by their traditional image. This always included a component of Jewish clannishness, if not misanthropy, and these characteristics sit well with the charge of secretiveness. Admittedly, it would not be surprising if Modena’s Jews truly strove to keep the ‘‘new messiah’’ secret, for the Sabbatian debacle exposed them to ridicule and, what is more serious, to a powerful wave of polemical and conversionary

Christian Hebraism

Christian rhetoric. Moreover, after Sabbatai Zevi’s apostasy, his believers were careful to conceal their continued fidelity and were therefore secretive among fellow Jews, as well as among Christians. A relevant example is the delay in the communication of the news of Sabbatai Zevi’s death in 1676, which was apparently motivated by fears of conversionary pressure and of the collapse of Jewish belief and identity on the part of the faithful.27 Similar concerns may have followed the relatively recent death of Nathan of Gaza in 1680, not long before the Ramazzini letters. Whatever Ramazzini did or did not hear, Magliabechi’s inquiry about a ‘‘new messiah’’ was right on target. Ramazzini notes that this matter had also been aired by ‘‘il S.r Vuagenseil,’’ who is, of course, Wagenseil. Wagenseil airs the matter in his third letter to Magliabechi, dated March 13, 1682. He writes that he recently heard that the Jews have a new messiah, who had won many adherents, especially among the circumcised of Modena. This messiah, Magliabechi is told, was born in Germany, his name is R. Mardochai [sic], and not long ago he left Italy and returned to Germany.28 The appearance of this information in a letter of this date is a surprising development, for it has long been assumed that Wagenseil learned of the affair from a letter by Baer Perlhefter, a respected rabbinic scholar and kabbalist from Prague, who lived in Wagenseil’s house in Altdorf in 1675–76 and taught him Jewish studies. From Altdorf, Perlhefter moved to Modena, Ramazzini’s own city, where he served for five years as an instructor in the study hall of Abraham Rovigo, an ardent and active Sabbatian.29 Perlhefter wrote to Wagenseil about the ‘‘new messiah’’ on 19 Adar II 5442, i.e., March 29, 1682, two weeks after Wagenseil wrote to Magliabechi on the 27 Gershom Scholem, ‘‘Apocalyptic and Messianic Chapters about R. Mordecai of Eisenstadt,’’ Sefer Dinaburg, ed. Y. Baer et al. (Hebrew; Jerusalem, 1948), 242; Scholem, Sabbatai Zevi: The Mystical Messiah 1626–1676 (Princeton, NJ, 1973), 918–20. 28 MS Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale di Firenze, classe VIII, no. 320, fol. 21r, 13.III.1682. 29 On Rovigo’s Sabbatian identity, see Isaiah Tishby, ‘‘R. Meir Rofe’s Letters of 1675–80 to R. Abraham Rovigo’’ (Hebrew), Sefunot 3–4 (1960): 84–90; Scholem, The Dreams of R. Mordecai Ashkenazi, a Follower of Shabbetai Zevi (Hebrew; Berlin, 1938). On Rovigo’s later career, see Jacob Mann, ‘‘The Settlement of the Kabbalist R. Abraham Rovigo and his School in Jerusalem in 5462’’ (Hebrew), Me’asef Tsion 6 (1934): 59–84. Tishby argues (pp. 84–5) that Perlhefter, too, was a Sabbatian, but the sources he cites testify only to his skill in practical kabbalah. Scholem suggests that Rovigo was among those who achieved maggidic revelation: Shabbatai Zevi veha-tenu‘ah ha-Shabbta’it bi-yemei h.ayyav (Tel Aviv, 1957), 2:788, n. 1. See also Isaiah Sonne, ‘‘New Material on Sabbatai Zevi from a notebook of R. Abraham Rovigo’’ (Hebrew), Sefunot 3–4 (1960): 41–69; Sonne, ‘‘Visitors at the House of R. Abraham Rovigo’’ (Hebrew), Sefunot 5 (1961): 275–95.

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same subject. Perlhefter’s letter narrates the dramatic circumstances that caused him to leave Modena precipitately. A certain Mordecai of Eisenstadt ‘‘had proclaimed himself a prophet, and afterwards said that he was the messiah, and the Ashkenazim believed him.’’ Perlhefter wrote to Mordecai, who was living in Prague at the time, and prevailed upon him to come to Italy. Upon arriving in Modena, Mordecai was received by ‘‘all the Jews’’ with great respect, ‘‘and they would call him ‘Messiah’.’’ All except Perlhefter, who questioned Mordecai and quickly concluded that he was mad. Rashly, Perlhefter shared his findings with his Modenese confreres, who, Perlhefter tells Wagenseil, ‘‘wanted to eat me [alive].’’30 Choosing flight over fight, Perlhefter packed his bags, for which he was rewarded with a letter of introduction, but also with the threat of retribution, should he persist in speaking ill of the new messiah. After a time, Mordecai lost his mind and fled, initially to Fu¨rth and thence to Poland.31 This was unfortunate for Perlhefter, for the mad messiah’s Modenese enthusiasts blamed Mordecai’s insanity on Perlhefter’s defamation campaign and wrote to Ansbach, Perlhefter’s latest port of call, urging the community’s leaders to ­banish him, or worse.32 This letter does not tell the whole story. It seems that the main characters knew each other before they converged in Modena: Mordecai knew ­Perlhefter 30 On the other hand, from a letter by R. Moses Zacut of Mantua (MS Jerusalem—JNUL 8o 1466, fol. 223v), Scholem infers that Rovigo, too, was disillusioned with Mordecai. See Scholem, ‘‘Apocalyptic and Messianic Chapters about R. Mordecai of Eisenstadt,’’ 243. Other documents indicate that Mordecai was ridiculed in other cities, too; see Scholem, ‘‘Apocalyptic,’’ 247. The Maggid of R. Mordecai Ashkenazi also testified to Rovigo’s disillusionment; see Scholem, The Dreams of R. Mordecai Ashkenazi, 55–6. 31 Tobias Kohen, the Italian-born physician, also testified to Mordecai’s descent into insanity. See his Ma‘aseh Tuviah (Cracow, 1908), fol. 18v. 32 In 1697 Johannes à Lent described the incident and published Perlhefter’s letter to Wagenseil; see his Schediasma historico philologicum de Judaeorum Pseudo-Messiis (Herborn, 1697), 102–04. The letter was published four more times in the modern period, with the date: ­Alexander Büchler, ‘‘Die Grabschrift des Mardochai Mochiach,’’ Gedenkbuch Zur Erinnerung an David Kaufmann, ed. M. Brann and F. Rosenthal (Breslau, 1900), 3:455–6; Heinrich Graetz, Geschichte der Juden (Leipzig, 1902), 10:468; Bernard Weinryb, ‘‘Historisches und Kulturhistorisches aus Wagenseils hebräischem Briefwechsel,’’ MGWJ n.s. 47 (1939): 337–8; Weinryb, ‘‘Ein Hebraisch-Yiddische Korrespondenz Zwischen Professor Wagenseil un Yidden,’’ Gedank un Leben 2.2–3 (1944): 129–30. See also David Kaufmann, Die letzte vertreibung der Juden aus Wien (Budapest, 1889), 201; Sonne, ‘‘On the History of Sabbatianism in Italy,’’ Alexander Marx Jubilee Volume, ed. D. Fränkel (Hebrew; New York, [s.n.] 1943), 95–101; Scholem, ‘‘Apocalyptic and Messianic Chapters about R. Mordecai of Eisenstadt,’’ 237–62, esp. 237–41, 246–8; Tishby, ‘‘The First Sabbatian ‘Maggid’ in the Bet-Midrash of R. Abraham Rovigo’’ (Hebrew), Zion 22 (1957): 27–8, 44–50; Tishby, ‘‘R. Meir Rofe’s Letters of 1675–80 to R. Abraham Rovigo’’ (Hebrew), 71–130; Elisheva Carlebach, Divided Souls: Converts from Judaism in Germany, 1500–1750 (New Haven, Conn., 2001), 80–81.

Christian Hebraism

from their years in Prague, and he was in touch with Abraham Rovigo even before the summer of 1679.33 Furthermore, it seems that in 1680, before ­Mordecai’s arrival in Italy, he had already incurred Perlhefter’s disapproval.34 Additionally, Wagenseil inferred from Perlhefter that fear of the Inquisition caused Mordecai to flee Italy.35 Finally, Perlhefter may have been forced out of Modena not only on account of his opposition to Mordecai but also because of his friendship with Wagenseil, which, it was feared, might lead to his apostasy. This seems to have been the real reason for Perlhefter’s banishment from Schwabach, and Tishby has posited, not implausibly, that the same might have been true for his experience in Modena.36 The Mordecai story also has some loose ends. In a letter to Wagenseil from six months earlier, October 1, 1681,37 Perlhefter wrote that he had left Modena, not because of the Mordecai fiasco but because his wife’s health had suffered from the Italian climate.38 One wonders which explanation is true, and why Perlhefter would change his story, particularly when the addressee of both letters was the same person. Another loose end is that the friendship between Perlhefter and Abraham Rovigo survived the former’s departure from Modena, despite the fact that Rovigo, a Sabbatian enthusiast, could not have agreed with Perlhefter’s assessment of Mordecai and would likely have sided with his Modenese antagonists.39 What is clear, however, is that Mordecai of Eisenstadt was Magliabechi’s referent. This is evident both from Wagenseil’s letter to Magliabechi and from Perlhefter’s description of the affair in his missive to Wagenseil. It is also apparent that the basic facts of the new messiah affair were in Magliabechi’s 33 In 1680 Rovigo received a letter expressing anticipation of the messianic advent in that very year, and this was confirmed by Mordecai of Eisenstadt. See Meir Benayahu, ‘‘Sabbatian Rumors: From the Record Books of R. Benjamin ha-Kohen and R. Abraham Rovigo’’ (Hebrew), Michael 1 (1973): 9–77, esp. 32, 34–5 (=The Sabbatian Movement in Greece [Hebrew], Sefunot 14 [1977]: 449– 584). On Mordecai and Rovigo, see also Scholem, ‘‘Apocalyptic and Messianic Chapters about R. Mordecai of Eisenstadt,’’ 240. On Mordecai and Perlhefter, see Tishby, ‘‘The First Sabbatian ‘Maggid’,’’ 44. 34 Tishby, ‘‘The First Sabbatian ‘Maggid’,’’ 48–9. 35 Graetz, Geschichte der Juden, 10:468. 36 Graetz, Geschichte der Juden, 10:53–4. 37 This date can be considered a terminus ad quem for the duration of the ‘‘new messiah’’ ­incident. 38 Weinryb, ‘‘Ein Hebraisch-Yiddische Korrespondenz Zwischen Professor Wagenseil un ­Yidden,’’ 126. 39 Scholem, ‘‘Apocalyptic and Messianic Chapters about R. Mordecai of Eisenstadt,’’ 238, n. 6; Tishby, ‘‘The First Sabbatian ‘Maggid’,’’ 49–51.

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p­ ossession before he raised the matter with Ramazzini. Indeed, Magliabechi probably knew more about it than Ramazzini did, despite the fact that the latter resided in Modena. Over the course of the next half year, Ramazzini wrote seven more letters to Magliabechi about matters Jewish, primarily about epitaph poems. The second letter followed the first by just a few weeks, and naturally it addressed some of the same topics.40 Ramazzini wrote that things had not progressed as speedily as he had hoped, and he apologized for the delay in the supply of further inscriptions, since those from Reggio and elsewhere had yet to reach him. Ramazzini also apologizes for failing to send Leon Modena’s epitaph poem, in which Magliabechi had apparently expressed interest, following Ramazzini’s first letter. Ramazzini does not explain the delay, and it is to be presumed that his rabbi-friend was less cooperative or efficient about copying the text for Ramazzini than he had been about showing it to him. On the plus side, Ramazzini includes a letter by Wagenseil, and he states that he does so at Magliabechi’s request. Ramazzini had written in his previous letter that Wagenseil, too, had mentioned the new messiah, and it is now obvious that Wagenseil had corresponded with Ramazzini directly about this matter. Obviously Magliabechi had requested a copy of Wagenseil’s letter on the subject (although his motive for doing so is unclear), and the ever-helpful Ramazzini happily obliged. A little over a month later, in early September, Ramazzini wrote his third letter to Magliabechi.41 We learn that he has become frustrated by the failure of his efforts to obtain Hebrew epitaph poems. He tells Magliabechi that he has made strenuous efforts to acquire texts from the cemetery of Reggio but failed to receive a single one, and that ‘‘after great effort,’’ he procured a lone inscription from Carpi, which he now forwards. Actually, the Wagenseil codex includes two inscriptions from Carpi, but Ramazzini and Magliabechi thought they were one and the same.42 This letter revisits Ramazzini’s complex attitude toward Jews. Ramazzini attributes his lack of success to the Jews’ collective paranoia. His letter opens with the exasperated declaration ‘‘In all my days I have never met anyone more suspicious than the Jew.’’ Referring to his failed efforts in Reggio, he explains: 40 Ramazzini, Epistolario, #6, 30.VII.1682, p. 17. 41 Ramazzini, Epistolario, #7, 4.IX.1682, pp. 17–18. 42 See MS Leipzig—Universitätsbibliothek Cod. B. H. 18, fol. 25v. Magliabechi forwarded this material to Wagenseil on November 18, 1682; Ibid., fol. 26v. On the Carpi cemetery, see Cultura Ebraica in Emilia-Romagna, 100.

Christian Hebraism

‘‘These people are suspicious, and worry that this is sought for the purpose of their disgrace, and they did not want to give anything outside [their community].’’ On the other hand, he states that he had approached ‘‘friends,’’ in his efforts to acquire the Reggio inscriptions, and these friends must have been Jews, or else Christians who were on intimate social terms with Jews. Thus, again we find Ramazzini combining an expression of a warm social relationship with that of an insurmountable cultural barrier between the members of the two faiths. At the close of the third letter we are introduced to a new protagonist. Shifting his geographical and personal focus, Ramazzini informs Magliabechi that a certain Consigliere Galliani, presumably of Modena, has promised to write to Finale, where he was once governor, in the hopes of obtaining from there three or four Hebrew epitaph inscriptions.43 Ramazzini’s fourth letter to Magliabechi, penned three weeks later, is more upbeat.44 He announces that, notwithstanding the great obstinacy of the Jews, he has obtained two inscriptions from the Jewish cemetery at nearby Reggio, which he will send along to Magliabechi, as he had promised in his first letter.45 The texts from Reggio are, he maintains, among the best in that particular cemetery; but he adds that when he showed them to his friend, the rabbi of Modena, the latter declared that they contain nothing of importance (cosa di rilievo).46 Here it is plain that Ramazzini was unable to assess the inscriptions’ importance on his own. This letter also harks back to Leon Modena. Ramazzini announces that he is sending Magliabechi a quatrain by Modena, which he received from a contact in Finale. Modena’s quatrain has survived in the Wagenseil codex, and it was not an epitaph inscription but rather what Franz Delitzsch, author of the Leipzig catalogue, described as ‘‘epigramma jocosum.’’ Presumably, Ramazzini’s Finalese contact sent it to him anyway because he was aware of his interest in Modena’s poetry. The poem in question reads as follows: 43 On the Jews of Finale, see Balletti, Gli Ebrei e gli Estensi, 186–7; Annamaria Masina, ‘‘­Vicende della comunità ebraica a Finale Emilia nel XVII secolo,’’ Vita e cultura, 317–28. 44 Ramazzini, Epistolario, #8, 25.IX.1682, pp. 18–20. 45 Two is, indeed, the number of inscriptions from Reggio in the Wagenseil codex: Moses Levi and Nathan Nata Shapira of Jerusalem. The latter, originally of Cracow (1662), is well known for his book Tuv ha-’arets (Venice, 1655). Thus, Scholem’s statement that Shapira died ‘‘at the height of the Sabbatian movement’’ stands in need of correction (Sabbatai Sevi, 77). 46 Ramazzini’s insistence on the quality of the inscriptions conforms to his initial promise to inform Magliabechi about the Reggio tombstones if they contain matters of particular ­importance.

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‫כי תראה שיר‬ ‫גם אם יישיר‬ ‫אם לא ירוץ הקורא בו‬ ‫תאמר עליו אויב"ו‬ This poem appears in Modena’s Divan, although in a slightly different form.47 It urges the reader to express disgust—‘‘Ohibo!’’—at any poem that is prolix or unclear, rather than fluent and graceful. In the Leipzig codex, the quatrain is followed by a Latin transliteration and an Italian translation, which Ramazzini would certainly have found helpful. The forwarding to Magliabechi, and thence to Wagenseil, of this second poem by Modena underscores the interest he held for latter-day intellectuals, and for the Venetian polymath in particular. Ramazzini also reports other success in Finale. He forwards to Magliabechi six inscriptions obtained through the efforts of Consigliere Galliani.48 Moreover, Ramazzini pins upon Galliani the hope that he will be receiving ‘‘something beautiful’’ (qualche cosa di bello) from the cemeteries of Ferrara and of Mantua, although we now know that he did not expect to be the judge of the poetry’s beauty. He explains that his expectation is based on the word of a Jewish merchant from Finale who, we are told, is greatly obligated to Galliani and has therefore undertaken to procure the most beautiful inscriptions to be found in these two cities.49 47 MS Leipzig—Universitätsbibliothek Cod. B. H. 18, fol. 39r. Cf. The Divan of Leo de Modena, #114, p. 145. 48 From the period under discussion, the following tombstones are still to be found in the Finale cemetery: Simh.ah Formigine (1585), Livia Formigine (1624), Moses Leon (1632), an unknown female (1637), and ‘‘Nathan’’ (1671/2). See Maria P. Balboni, L’Antico cimitero ebraico di Finale Modena (Modena, 1996). The inscriptions from Reggio are included in MS Leipzig—Universitätsbibliothek Cod. B. H. 18, fol. 24r; those from Finale, including those of Moses Leon, Nathan, and Livia Formigine are on fol. 20r, 21r. Magliabechi’s cover letter, presenting all this material to Wagenseil, is dated November 21, 1682, and is located on fol. 23v. 49 The earliest Jewish graveyard in Ferrara was at San Girolamo, but in 1452 this land was granted to the neighboring monks, and the Jews were granted an alternate property in S. ­Maria Nuova. Beginning in 1551, the Sephardim operated a cemetery next to that of S. Maria ­Nuova (today’s via Garibaldi), and in the 1570s they opened a second cemetery on via S. ­Caterina da Siena (today’s via Arianuova). In the middle of the seventeenth century a third cemetery was in operation, outside the city, at via del Pavone; this cemetery belonged to the Saralvo family. See Abramo Pesaro, Memorie storiche sulla Comunità israelitica ferrarese (­Ferrara, 1878), 9–12; Nello Pavoncello, ‘‘Epigrafe ebraica del XVI secolo dell’antico cimitero di Ferrara,’’ Henoch 6 (1984): 57–8; Pier Cesare Ioly Zorattini, ‘‘I cimiteri sefarditi di Ferrara,’’ Annali di Ca’ Foscari 25 (1986): 36–9.

Christian Hebraism

A little over a month later, Ramazzini has further progress to report, and Finale is, again, the source of his good fortune.50 He sends Magliabechi an unspecified number of inscriptions, which, he writes, were obtained from Ferrara after repeated requests by Galliani to a rabbi of Finale.51 He also sends another Hebrew composition, which was also acquired (presumably by ­Galliani) from the said rabbi of Finale.52 The latter work can be identified as ‘Olam hafukh, by Judah (Leon) ­Matsliah (Prosper) Padova of Modena, which appears in the Leipzig codex together with the epitaph poems.53 In ‘Olam hafukh, a tombstone exhorts the passersby to heed the vanity of human existence. Thus, although, at six ottava verses, ‘Olam hafukh is probably too long to have been an epitaph poem, it reads like one, which would explain the Finale rabbi’s assumption that it would appeal to Ramazzini.54 50 Ramazzini, Epistolario, #9, 6.XI.1682, pp. 20–21. On the other hand, Ramazzini reports that the inscriptions from Mantua have yet to arrive, but he promises to forward them upon arrival. 51 The Wagenseil codex includes five inscriptions from Ferrara. The first is for Azriel Petah.ya Alatino (d. 1623), a well-known rabbi and physician, who debated the Jesuit Alfonso Caracciola. See Nepi, Zekher tsadikim li-verakha, 289–90; Giuseppe Jare, Debate on the Eternity of the Torah (Hebrew; Livorno, 1867). Another Ferrarese inscription is for Leib Lonigo (d. 1648), who is labeled the head of the yeshiva, and who appears as a signator to two copyright documents from Venice; see David Malkiel, A Separate Republic (Jerusalem, 1991), 263–4. Also included are the inscriptions of Moses b. Mordecai Boteri, Solomon b. Yoav (d. 1623), and Joseph Barukh Zalman (d. 1669). Another known Ferrarese inscription is that of David Franco (d. 1549); see Pavoncello, ‘‘Epigrafe ebraica del XVI secolo dell’antico cimitero di Ferrara,’’ 62. Note that it is not a poem, despite the Sephardic identity of the deceased. 52 Finale did not produce many rabbis of enduring fame, and in fact only one left any sort of mark on the historical record: Moses Judah Belgrado is the only rabbi from seventeenth-­century Finale to appear in Marco Mortara’s list of Italian rabbis: Marco Mortara, Indice ­alfabetico dei rabbini e scrittori israeliti di cose giudaiche in Italia (Padova, 1886), 7. Magliabechi’s cover letter to Wagenseil, accompanying the Ferrara inscriptions, is dated ­November 14, 1682; see MS Leipzig—Universitätsbibliothek Cod. B. H. 18, fol. 27v. Magliabechi also mentions that he is forwarding the Hebrew composition. The Ferrara texts appear in the Wagenseil codex (29r-30r), as does the Hebrew composition (22r). 53 Ramazzini’s statement that the rabbi of Finale sent a second composition necessitates a correction of Zunz’s assertion that Padova’s poem was copied into Wagenseil’s Leipzig codex from the Finale cemetery. See Leopold Zunz, Literaturgeschichte der synagogalen Poesie (Berlin, 1865), 448. Delitzsch erred (Catalogus, 299) in listing ‘Olam hafukh among the seven epitaph inscriptions obtained from Finale; this is plain from Ramazzini’s statement that he is sending Magliabechi six texts. 54 ‘Olam hafukh has since been published, from the Leipzig manuscript: Anthologie der Hebräischen Dichtung in Italien, ed. J. Schirmann (Hebrew; Berlin, 1934), 354–6. The Finale cemetery contains a tripartite tombstone, memorializing three people, who were almost

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Ramazzini adds that he is unsure whether this last composition is good, because he has not had time to show it to his local rabbi-friend. This is further evidence of Ramazzini’s ignorance of Hebrew, or at least of Hebrew poetics. Equally important, it testifies yet again to his relationship with his Modenese rabbi-friend. Moreover, Ramazzini notes that he decided to send the composition in any case, because he was loathe to abuse the Finalese rabbi’s good will, since ‘‘he likes us’’ (ci favorisce). As earlier, Ramazzini has managed to communicate in a single letter both the intimacy of his friendship with Jews and the gap separating him from them. His use of ‘‘us’’ in the phrase ‘‘he likes us’’ expresses a sense that there is, and will always be, a special bond between Catholics, and an equally unbridgeable gap separating them from Jews. Ramazzini proceeds to make the same point from the Jewish perspective. Echoing the theme of Jewish secretiveness, he explains that the pursuit of his objective required persistence, because the Jews (of Finale or Ferrara) became suspicious, and had great difficulty in releasing any Hebrew material ‘‘outside’’ (fuori), which, as we have seen, means outside the Jewish community. They explain, writes Ramazzini, that on other occasions these sorts of transactions have led to no small amount of trouble, although they do not provide details.55 The key word here is ‘‘outside’’ (fuori), which expresses precisely the same notion of an invisible yet constant divide between Jews and Christians. Indeed, the ghetto’s walls might be considered a physical symbol of this more subtle, yet perhaps even more impregnable, cultural barrier. For Ramazzini it was clear that the Jews were as cognizant of this reality as he was. The news about the Ferrara inscriptions reveals that Ramazzini has significantly expanded his campaign for Hebrew inscriptions. It has become rather ramified, as he cast his net widely, mobilizing acquaintances in other towns on his behalf. In the case at hand, the source of the Ferrara inscriptions was removed from Ramazzini by three levels of contact: he (or she, or they) gave them to the unnamed rabbi of Finale, who handed them over to Galliani (his personal acquaintance), who offered them to Ramazzini.56 c­ ertainly family members. Only one epitaph is legible, and it is dated 1671–2. See the cover illustration of Balboni, and Balboni, 44–5, stone #5. It is not impossible that ‘Olam hafukh was inscribed on the back of this tombstone. 55 Magliabechi relays these circumstances and sentiments to Wagenseil in his cover letter; see MS Leipzig—Universitätsbibliothek Cod. B. H. 18, fol. 27v. 56 Galliani would probably not have asked the rabbi of Finale to make an effort to acquire inscriptions from some other city, and it is more likely that he expressed a general desire for Hebrew epitaph inscriptions.

Christian Hebraism

Ramazzini’s remaining letters document the continuation of his wide-­ ranging campaign. Just three days after the previous letter, Ramazzini writes to Magliabechi with a new batch of Hebrew poetic epitaphs, which Galliani had acquired from Mantua.57 He reports excitedly to Magliabechi that the marble statue of a famous Venetian Jewish banker who died in Finale during the summer will soon be erected in the town’s Jewish cemetery, with a ‘‘famous’’ epitaph by a renowned Venetian rabbi; naturally, Ramazzini promises to send it to Magliabechi at the earliest opportunity.58 Switching topics, Ramazzini explains to Magliabechi that Duello della Morte, which he is enclosing, was written by one Leon Padova, ‘‘a young man with great expectations among the Jews.’’59 The young man in question is the same Judah Matsliah Padova mentioned above, who did indeed live up to his community’s ‘‘great expectations.’’ In the early eighteenth century, he headed the yeshiva of Modena and was the community’s leading rabbinic authority.60 Ramazzini’s assessment of Padova’s reputation within his own community is striking, because it implies that Ramazzini was well acquainted with Modena’s Jewish society, whether through personal interaction or by means of a local Jewish friend, such as the aforementioned rabbi. Fortunately, Padova’s composition is extant in Wagenseil’s Leipzig codex.61 Its Hebrew title is Mah.loqet ‘al ha-mitah, and it is a dialogue between ba‘al ha-takhlit and ba‘al ha-reshit, in which the former depicts death as final, and therefore dreadful, while the latter represents death as the gateway to Paradise and the beginning of one’s eternal life. As Schirmann explained, Padova’s opus belongs to a genre of dialogue elegies, including those by his contemporaries Joseph Fiammetta of Ancona and Joshua Joseph Levi of Venice.62 57 MS Leipzig—Universitätsbibliothek Cod. B. H. 18 contains two inscriptions from Mantua, only one of which supplies the name of the deceased, Samuel; see fol. 27r. Magliabechi forwarded these texts to Wagenseil on November 18, 1682; see fol. 26v. 58 Ramazzini, Epistolario, #10, 9.XI.1682, pp. 21–2. Neither the illustrious banker nor the Venetian rabbi can be identified. The incident illustrates the relationship between money and elaborate tombstone inscriptions. 59 Ramazzini says nothing about how Padova’s composition came into his possession. 60 Nepi, Zekher tsadikim li-verakha, 163. Padova was a disciple of Abraham Rovigo of Modena but was skeptical of the Maggid of Mordecai Ashkenazi; see Scholem, The Dreams of R. ­Mordecai Ashkenazi, 33–4. 61 MS Leipzig—Universitätsbibliothek Cod. B. H. 18, fol. 31r-v. Magliabechi forwarded Leon Padova’s poem on November 18, 1682, together with the inscriptions from Mantua and Carpi: fol. 26v. 62 Jefim Schirmann, Studies in the History of Hebrew Poetry and Drama (Hebrew; Jerusalem, 1979), 2:86–7. Delitzsch (Catalogus, 299) identified ‘‘Judah Padua’’ as the author of

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The title and theme of Padova’s text place it in the broader context of contemporary European discourse (poetic or prosaic) about the proper attitude toward death. John Donne’s last sermon preached a month before his death on February 12, 1631, and printed in London a year later, bears exactly the same title as the one cited by Ramazzini: Death’s Duell.63 Donne’s sermon, too, argues for a benign attitude toward death. Oddly, another work with the same message and title appeared in that very time and place, London 1632. This book, La dance machabre or Death’s duell, by Walter Colman, an English Franciscan, consists of 262 stanzas with the rhyme scheme ‘‘ababcc.’’ Whether or not Ramazzini or Padova were acquainted with these works, Ramazzini’s comment illuminates an exciting moment of cultural congruence between a s­eventeenth-century Italian Jewish intellectual and the wider context of the day.64 On December 15, 1682, Wagenseil penned a final letter on the subject of Hebrew inscriptions to Magliabechi, thanking him for his three letters, with their batches of inscriptions from various locations. He urges Magliabechi to seek Hebrew epitaphs from Venice and Rome, where he is sure that monuments were erected with distinguished and verbose (insignes et verbosiores) texts, honoring the rabbis who lived there in every age. Wagenseil also repeats his desire to see some of the Hebrew texts which the Jews of Rome regularly composed and later destroyed on the occasion of the installation of a new pope.65 Ramazzini never mentions Rome in his letters to Magliabechi, but he did procure inscriptions from Venice. In late 1682 (possibly before Wagenseil’s last letter) Ramazzini wrote to Magliabechi that he was still waiting for some Hebrew epitaph poems,66 and in a final letter on the subject, dated March 7, 1683, he inquires whether Magliabechi received his latest shipment of Hebrew texts, obtained from Venice. We may assume that this query merited a ­negative Mah.loket ‘al ha-mittah, but assumed that he was from Padua, and therefore listed the work as originating in Padua. For the text of Padova’s poem, see Malkiel, ‘‘Epitaph Poems from Northern Italy in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century,’’ 149–51. 63 The full title is: Death’s Duell, or, A consolation to the soule, against the dying life, and living death of the body. 64 The same awareness of a broader cultural context may, perhaps, be posited with respect to a famous Hebrew work on death from the same period, Tofteh ‘arukh, by Moses Zacut of Venice and Mantua. See H.ayyim H.amiel, ‘‘Tofteh ‘arukh by R. Moses Zacut’’ (Hebrew), Sinai 25 (1949): 304–19; Sinai 26 (1950): 101–12. On Tofteh ‘arukh, see, more recently, the articles by Dvora Bregman and Ronit Meroz in Pe‘amim 96 (2003). 65 MS Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale di Firenze, classe VIII, no. 320, fol. 63r, 15.XII.1682. 66 Ramazzini, Epistolario, #11, p. 22. The letter does not provide a specific date, and Di Pietro, the editor, dates it to the final months of 1682.

Christian Hebraism

reply, for the Leipzig manuscript includes no such corpus of Venetian inscriptions. Ramazzini observes wryly that if someone other than Magliabechi opened the letter, the texts would have struck him as great mysteries. Nonetheless, Ramazzini adds that he is enclosing a cipher to enable Magliabechi to ensure the privacy of his communications.67

CONCLUSION In the foreground of our investigation stands Ramazzini, the storyteller. His addressee, Magliabechi, lurks in the background but is obviously also a major player, for he was clearly the moving force, who prodded Ramazzini to provide material. Nearly out of sight is Wagenseil, whose powerful presence is nevertheless palpable, through his letters to Magliabechi, his role in the ‘‘new messiah’’ affair and, of course, his ultimate reception and conservation of Ramazzini’s material in the Leipzig manuscript. The list of dramatis personae lengthens substantially with the addition of Ramazzini’s ‘‘silent partners,’’ namely, his Jewish acquaintances, or as he calls them, his friends. The Modenese rabbi-friend, whom I have suggested may be the well-known Ish Ger, as well as the kindly disposed rabbi of Finale, were among Ramazzini’s network of Jewish informants, which included others who remain unnamed and unidentified. To these we should add the faceless ‘‘research assistants’’ who procured Hebrew epitaph inscriptions from the various Tuscan communities, as the Leipzig codex documents. The search for epitaph poems is, thus, not only Ramazzini’s story but one which encompassed an entire cast of characters, Jewish and Christian, and it is therefore a multifaceted and almost panoramic image of Italian culture in the late seventeenth century. This is exemplified by Leon Padova’s Duello della Morte, with its European cultural framework, but the Hebrew epitaph poems probably also reflect, in style and content, the literary and cultural fashions of the time in Italy and perhaps elsewhere. The implications of the correspondence for our understanding of ­Jewish-Christian relations are by no means insignificant. Over and over, we have seen Ramazzini combine expressions of warmth and even friendship visà-vis his various Jewish contacts with disparaging or piqued comments about Jews in general. His campaign required an extraordinary degree of interfaith cooperation; even so, his letters testify to the limits of the social and cultural 67 Ramazzini, Epistolario, #15, 7.III.1683, p. 25.

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absorption of premodern Jewry in European society, and this in Italy, where historically Jews and Christians interacted freely and were separated by a relatively low cultural barrier. The absence of any ideological or professional agenda behind ­R amazzini’s search is the affair’s salient feature. Christian Hebraists such as Johannes ­Buxtorf the Elder taught Hebrew composition, including poetry writing, as part of their Hebrew-language instruction. Buxtorf even tried his hand at Hebrew poetry, and other academics did the same, including Ramazzini.68 They would therefore have been likely to appreciate the achievements of gifted poets, even ­latter-day ones. Yet the characters in our story were not Hebrew teachers, and their taste for contemporary Hebrew poetry was largely literary or aesthetic. Epitaph poems were hardly grist for the missionary or polemical mill, nor could they have been particularly useful for any theological agenda. Indeed, the secular nature of the epitaph campaign is a striking characteristic. This was a historic—very rare—moment of an aesthetic community. It was fleeting and it was limited to cognoscenti of Hebrew literature, but nonetheless, its very existence demonstrates that a neutral cultural space was possible prior to the modern period.

68 Stephen G. Burnett, From Christian Hebraism to Jewish Studies: Johannes Buxtorf (1564–1629) and Hebrew Learning in the Seventeenth Century (Leiden, 1996), 46, n. 55 and 149, 167. On Buxtorf ’s contribution to the study of Hebrew poetics, see 145–51. For ­R amazzini’s efforts at poetry, see his biography, in his Opera Omnia, vii-viii; Di Pietro, ‘‘Benedetto ­Bacchini, Bernardino Ramazzini e la cultura a Modena alla fine del Seicento,’’ 157.

General Index Abarbanel, Isaac, 157 Aboab, Joseph, 188 Aboab, Rabbi Jacob ben Samuel, 62, 121, 169, 183, 187–189, 200 Abragam b. Isaac, 155 Abraham b. David, 159 Abraham Catalan, 202 Abulafia, Hayyim, 189 Adelman, Howard E., 215 Adret, Moses Ibn, 189 Adret, Solomon ibn, 57, 61 adumbrations, intercessory prayer, 171–178 Agudat Ezov, 165–169 Akiva, Rabbi, 44, 136–138 Alashkar, Moses, 64 Alatino, Azriel Petah.ya, 223 Albo, Joseph, 157, 163 Aldrovandi, Ulisse, 31 Alexandrinus, Philippus Ferrarius, 145 Alfasi, Isaac, 154 Allason, Barbara, 30 al-Qirqisani, Abu Yussuf Ya‘aqub, 152 Alsheikh, Moses, 59 Anau, Phineas, 77 Anau, Zedekiah b. Abraham, 158 Angelini, Werther, 90, 105, 106, 109, 114, 118 Aramaic, understanding, 154–161 Arbuthnot, John, 201 Asher b. Yehiel, 10, 11, 60, 169

Ashkenazi, Eliezer, 52 Ashkenazi, Moses, 160 Ashkenazic community, 75–77, 86 Ashkenazic Jews, 139, 165, 166, 174 Assaf, Simhah, 61, 106 Assyrian kingdom, 129 Astalli, Cardinal Fulvio, 105 Atzban, Mordechai, 189 Atzeret, Shemini, 60 Auerbach, Bernard, 106 authority and observance, 56, 92–104 Azulay, Hayyim Joseph David, xiii, 21 Babylonian Talmud, 51, 167 Bacharach, Yair Haim, 65 Bachrach, Bernard S., 111 Bacon, Francis, 38 Bahur, Elia Levita, 132 Balletti, Andrea, 213 Banco, Isaac Levi del, 188 Barotti, Gian Andrea, 114 Bartenura, Ovadia, 14 Bartoli, Daniello, 31, 37–39 Bartoloccio, Giulio, 134, 207 Baruffaldi, Girolamo, 105, 114 Barzilay, Isaac E., 177 Basilea, R. Aviad Sar Shalom, 17, 67, 69, 112, 136, 171, 176, 181, 186 Basilea, Solomon, 45 Basnage, Samuel, 145 Bassan, Isaiah, 67, 124, 186

230

General Index Bassan, Mordecai, 170 Bate, W. Jackson, 51 Bat-Kol, 154 Beckford, William, 28, 42 Belgrado, Moses Judah, 223 Belilios, Jacob, 188 bella Giuditta, 26 Belluzzi, Amedeo, 21 Ben Israel, Menasseh, 147, 164–167, 172 Benayahu, M., 7 Benese, Giovanni Botero, 143, 151 Benetti, Giovan Carlo, 114 Ben-Porat, Jacob Israel, 122 Ben-Sasson, H.H, 52 Berab, Jacob, 199 Berliner, Abraham, 131 Biblical Judith, 25 Biblical law, 180 Bibliotheca Magna Rabbinica, 134, 207 Bignamini, Ilaria, 42 Blaeu, Jan, 42 Bohun, Edmund, 39 Bolter, Winfried, 31 Bonfil, Robert, xi, 5, 61, 62, 107, 197 Bordolan, Isaac, 188 Boton, Moses, 193 Bottani, Giovanni, 28 Boyle, Robert, 202 Bregman, Dvora, 5 Briel, Judah, 57, 63, 84, 120, 121 Brody, Zipporah, 88 Brotherton, Sue, 22 Brown, Edward, 40, 42 Brundage, James, 111 Bruzzone, Pierluigi, 91 Burnett, Stephen G., 228 Buxtorf, Johannes, 175, 228 Cadioli, Giovanni, 31 Calabi, Donatella, 199 Calmet, Agostino, 151

Calmet, Antoine Augustin, 151 Calvo, Emmanuel b. Raphael, 186 Camerino, Ugo, 199 Cantarini, Isaac Vita Coen, 170, 200 Caraciola, Alfonso, 223 Cardoso, Isaac, 135, 145, 149 Carlebach, Elisheva, 118, 119, 138, 177 Casaubon, Isaac, 145 Casoni, Lorenzo, 106 Caspian mountains, 146, 147, 148 Castello, Solomon, 121 Castro, Consola, 121 Cervelli, Fortunato, 118 Chambers, Ephraim, 8 Chavel, Charles B., 157 Chipman, Jonathan, 107, 197 Christian Hebraism, 206–228 Clarke, Samuel, 43 Cochrane, Eric W., 5, 179, 207, 208, 216 Coen, Aron b. Jacob, 188 Coen, Felice, 106 Coen, Nehemiah (Graziadio) ben Jacob, 118 Cohen, Aaron, 23 Cohen, H. Floris, 22 Cohen, I. Bernard, 22 Cohen, Martin A., 199 Colman, Walter, 226 concealed legislation, 79 Concina, Ennio, 199 Cooperman, Bernard Dov, 88, 197 Cornelio, Tomaso, 148, 149 Coronelli, Vincenzo, 8 Cymerman, Benjamin, 24 d’Andilly, Robert Arnaud, 144 Da Costa, Uriel, x Da Fano, Israel Berekhiah, 186, 198 Da Milano, Nicolò, 25 Dal Re, Marc Antonio, 40 Davidson, Israel, 169

General Index De Boton, Jacob, 80 De Bourbon, Henri, 42 de Goerè, 146 De La Croix, A. Pherotée, 148 De Mariana, Juan, 149 De Medina, Samuel, 183 De Pomis, David, 132, 133 De Renzi, S., 16 De Susannis, Marquardus, 147 De Trani, Isaiah, 154 De Trani, Joseph b. Moses, 193 De Vigenère, Blaise, 42 De’ Rossi, Azariah, x, xi, 25, 66, 131 Dear, Peter, 31 Death’s Duell, 226 Deiot, Hilkhot, 61 Del Bene, Judah Asa’el, 120 Del Vecchio, Sabbatai Elhanan, 7, 112, 123, 124, 186 Delitzsch, Franz, 221 Derham, William, 41–43, 45 Deshen, Shlomo, 34 Di Trani, Isaiah ben Mali, 52, 176, 184 Di Trani, Moses b. Joseph, 157 Diaspora Jewry, 167, 174 Digby, Kenelm, 38 Dixon, Thomas, 22 Dobbs, Betty Jo Teeter, 49 Donne, John, 226 Dordiya, El‘azar b., 156 Dubin, Lois C., 90, 177 Duke of Alba, 149 Ear of Dionysus, 40 ears to the wall, 13, 35, 43–45, 49 Echoes, intercessory prayer, 171–178 Eilenburg, Issachar Baer, 168, 170 Eisenstadt, Mordechai, 200 Eliezer b. Jacob Nahum, 190 Eliezer, Rabbi, 136 Empiricism, xiii, 3–20

Encyclopedia Talmudit, 9 End of Days, 134, 135, 137, 150 Endelman, Todd M., 88, 89 Episcopi, Isidori Hispalensis, 150 Ergas, Joseph, 77 Esperança de Israel, 134 ethnic group, 17 Ettinger, Shmuel, 88, 90 European history, ix European Jews, 89 evanescent traditions, 19 Fabro, Giovanni, 16 Falk, Jacob Joshua, 191 Félibien, André, 30 Ferdinand, Grand Duke, 32 Fernel, Jean, 46 Ferrara community, 81 Ferrara Jewish community, 19, 61, 70, 124 Ferrara’s Jews, 98, 109, 118 Ferrone, Vicenzo, 22 Finzi, Elisha Michael, 19, 81 Finzi, R. David, 16, 17 Finzi, Uriel Raphael, 18 fire from wood, 13, 14 Flavius, Josephus, 134 Fontanella, Israel Berekhiah, 186 Formigine, Livia, 222 Formigine, Simh.ah, 222 Frances, Jacob, 176 Francesco II, Duke, 213 Frank, Daniel, 197, 206 Frankfurt’s Jews, 191 Freimann, Aaron, 24 Freimann, Abraham Hayyim, 183 Freimann, Jakob, 183 Frumkin, Aryeh Leib, 152 Fubini, Abraham (Abramo) Samson Levi, 111, 186 Furlotti, Barbara, 21

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General Index Galilei, Galileo, x Galliani, Consigliere, 221–224 Garb, Jonathan, 34 Garden of Eden, 135 Garnett, Richard, 28 Garofalo, Silvano, 203 Gavassini, Marquis, 107–109 Gavassini, Sigismondo, 107 German Jews, 78, 89 German-Polish Jewry, 166 Ghirondi, Mordecai Samuel, 94 Ginzburg, Simon, 119 Glick, S., 61 Goeree, Willem, 146 Golden Calf, 164 Goldish, Matt, 197, 206 Gombiner, Abraham, 82, 97 Graetz, Heinrich, 3, 219 Grayzel, Solomon, 111 Graziani, Abraham Joseph Solomon, 212 Greco-Roman antiquity, ix, x Greek mythology, 6 Greek wisdom, 32 Guglielmo, Moses Samuel, 121 Habib, Jacob ibn, 158 Hagiz, Moses, 190, 191 Ha-Kohen, Aaron, 159, 160 Ha-Kohen, Ephraim b. Jacob, 192–193 Ha-Kohen, Joseph, 151 Ha-Kohen, Malakhi, 186 Ha-Kohen, Nehemiah, 119 Ha-Kohen, Rabbi Nehemiah ben Jacob, 138 Hakohen, Shabtai, 60 Halevi, Abraham b. Eliezer, 177 Halevi, David b. Samuel, 63, 65, 68 Halevi, Jacob, 157 Halevi, Judah, 57 Halevi, Netanel, 186, 198 Halevi, Yitzhak Barukh, 105

Halevi, Zerahiah, 51, 52 Ha-Me’iri, Menahem, 159, 160 Hamiz, Joseph, 67 Hanau, Salomone, 118 Hapsburg empire, 177 Harkavy, Abraham Elijah, 155 Harris, Jay M., 88 Harrison, Peter, 22 Haskalah, 175, 177 Hayyim Jacob b. Jacob David of Safed, 188 Hayyun, Nehemiah Hiyya, 138 Henry, John, 22 Hertz, Hillel b. Naftali, 69 Hildesheimer, Meir, 107 Holy Grail, 203 Holy Land, 21, 167 Holy Scriptures, 45 Holy Tongue, 154 Huguetan, Jean, 42 human forms, 26 Hunt, Frederick V., 38 Hurwitz, Pinhas, 32 Husik, Isaac, 157 Hussein, Tzadka, 189, 190 Ilish, R., 43 intercessory prayer, 152–178, xvi Isaac’s Fear, 129, 133, 136, 138, 139, 144, 153 Israel Science Foundation, 21 Israel, Jonathan I., 197 Israel, R. Moses, 10, 11, 181, 183 Israel, ten tribes of, 129, 148 Isserlein, Israel, 192, 193 Isserles, Moses, 63, 65, 199, 203 Italian Jewish communities, 92 Italian Jews, 53, 55, 78, 90, 91, 96, 129, 169, 177, 179, 195, 197, 212 Italian Renaissance, 61 Italian-Jewish culture, 4, 56

General Index Jacob b. Asher, 62, 66 Jarcho, Saul, 116 Jerusalem, Solomonic temple in, 129 Jewish ceremonial law, 175 Jewish community, x, 22, 26, 78, 88, 90, 95, 97, 104, 106, 122, 155, 198, 224 Jewish law, ix, xvii, 12, 33, 35, 51, 53–57, 59, 61, 91, 92, 95, 96, 104, 124, 129, 136, 153, 172, 179, 196, 197, 203 Jewish-Christian relations, 104–125, 125, 227 Jews in Montagnana, 84 Jews of Mantua, 83 Jews of Parmigiano, 84 Jews of Qairwan, 155 Jews of Trieste, 203 Jews of Venice, 186 Johanan, Rabbi, 154–156 Johannes à Lent, 218 Jona, Salomone, 213 JoseMoses, Joseph b., 158 Joseph David of Saloniki, 189 Jovet, Nicolas, 149 Judah b. Yaqar, 159 Judah of Modona, 83 Judah, Rabbi, 154, 194 Kafker, Frank A., 203 Kanarfogel, Ephraim, 153 Kaplan, Yosef, 197 Kara, Avigdor, 160 Karo, R. Joseph, 60, 62, 63, 66, 200, 203 Katz, Jacob, xiv, 74, 88, 89, 90, 125, 177, 196, 197 Katzenellenbogen, Ezekiel, 190 Kazes, Hananiah, 119, 120 Kazes, Joseph Barukh, 63, 120 Kazes, Mantuan, 120 Kellner, Menahem, 157 Kircher, Athanasius, 37, 38 Kohen, Ephraim, 186

Kohen, Signor Nehemia Hai ben Moses, 102 Kohen, Tobias, 218 Kolon, Joseph, 64 Lampronti, Isaac, xii, xiii, xv, xviii, 6–11, 35–49, 53–73, 75, 78–85, 87, 92, 93, 95–99, 101, 103–107, 110–117, 121, 124, 125, 129, 131, 133, 136, 139, 153, 161, 173, 179–183, 194, 198, 203 Lampronti, Yoav Barukh, 14, 69, 112 Lancisi, Giovanni, 201 Landau, Ezekiel, 69 Lange, Isaak S., 160 Laniado, Samuel, 189 Las Batueças, 135 laws of doctrines, 61 Lenghi, Israel Solomon, 117 Leon, Moses, 222 Levi, Benedetto, 6, 53 Levi, Moses, 221 Levi, R., 43, 44 Levia, Gioia, 78 Lewin, Benjamin M., 155 Licini, Giovanni, 114, 118 Lifshitz, Gedaliah, 173 Lightfoot, John, 207 Linder, Amnon, 111 Lipmann Heller, Yom Tov, 52, 200 Locke, John, 202 Loew, Judah, 160 Lombardi, Teodosio, 114 loosen the rein, 95 Luzzatto, R. Moses Hayyim, 34, 119, 138, 200 Maczak, Antoni, 21 Magini, Giovanni Antonio, 148 Magliabechi, Antonio, xvii, 207–212, 214–217, 220, 221, 224–227

233

234

General Index Magno, Habetur de Alexandro, 141 Magro, Domenico, 145 Maimonides, ix, 12, 15, 44, 55, 57, 59–61, 63, 65–67, 72, 157, 163–166, 169, 173–174, 191 Mandavilla, Zuane, 146 Mantua’s Jewish community, 43 Marini, Sabbatai b. Isaac, 171 Marquardo, Jurisconsult, 146 Mekize Nirdamim society, 130, 131 Melli, Azariah, 93–96 Menasseh b. Hezekiah, 166 Menasseh ben Israel, 134, 135 Mendelssohn, Moses, ix, 175 Menochio, Giovanni Stefano, 145 Meyer, Michael, 175 Middle Ages, ix, xi, xvi, 32, 78, 129, 153, 157, 160, 167, 174, 191, 199, 206, 209 Milano, Attilio, 210 Mirandola, Pico della, 206 Mizrahi, Israel Meir, 190 Mizrahi, Nissim Hayyim Moses, 190 Modena, Aaron Berekhiah, 103, 166 Modena, Leon, 66, 113, 117, 175, 176, 214, 215, 221 Modon, R. Samson Kohen, 132–135 Moellin, Jacob, 192 Mordecai of Eisenstadt, 218, 219 morducco, 68–69 Morgagni, Giambattista, 116 Morgagni, Giovanni Battista, xviii Morpurgo, Elia, 86, 174, 176, 177 Morpurgo, Samson, 63, 71, 80, 121, 122, 139, 161, 169–171, 186 Mortara, Marco, 94, 223 Moses b. Nahman, 157 Mülhausen, Yom Tov Lipmann, 173 Muzzarelli, Maria Giuseppina, 114, 118 Nahnian, Samson Hayyim, 16, 17 natural cycle, 5

Nebuchadnezzar, King, 146 Nepi, Hananel, 6, 53 Netanel b. Benjamin, 213 Neubauer, Abraham, 131, 132, 141–143 New Christians, x Newton, Isaac, 21 Nicolini, Gianna Suitner, 31 Nieremberg, Juan Eusebio, 150 Nieto, David, 45 Nizza, Solomon, 170 Northall, John, 42 Nugent, Thomas, 42 open legislation, 79 Oratorio San Crispino, 117, 118 Orosio, Paolo, 133 Osler, Margaret J., 22, 49 Ottoman Empire, 190 Ovadiah of Bertinoro, 129 Pacifico, Isaac, 187, 196, 197 Padova, Judah Matsliah, 217, 223, 225 Padova, Leon, 225 Paduan Jews, 209 Pakter, Walter J., 111 Palazzo Tè, xiii, 21–50 Palestinian Talmud, 167 Pappenheim, Aaron, 192 Pardes, Hayyim, 161 Pardo, David, 189–191 Perina, Chiara Tellini, 31 Perlhefter, Baer, 217–219 Pesaro, Abramo, 53, 119 Pesaro, Abrarno, 6 Philip II, King, 149 Phillips, Ursula, 21 Pivati, Giovanni Francesco, 8 Poggetto, Judah, 213 Pollution, 179–205 Popkin, Richard H., 22 Poppers, Jacob Kohen, 191

General Index Portaleone, Abraham, 54, 200 Post-Renaissance age, 7 Qimhi (Kimhi), Joseph, 52, 116, 173 Qimhi, David, 100 rabbinic culture, 4, 5, 197 Ramazzini, Bernardino, xvii, 202 Rashi, 44, 58, 71, 137, 156 Ray, John, 39, 42 Raymond, John, 42 Rebecchini, Guido, 21 Recanati, Menahem, 158, 178 Recanati, Rabbi Judah Hayyim, 94 Recanati, Shabbatai Elhanan, 161, 167 Redi, Francesco, 46 Reggio, Leone, 6, 53 Reischer, Jacob, 192–193 Renaissance, x, 3–5, 10, 61, 177, 179, 206 Reuveni, David, 129, 151 Ricchi, Immanuel, 77 Richardson, Jonathan, 30, 42 Rieti, Judah, 118 Rodrigues, Abraham Hayyim, 186 Romano, Giulio, 21 Rosh Hashana, 152, 169, 186 Rossi, Salomone, 113 Roth, Cecil, 3–5, 106, 118, 125, 202 Rovigo, Abraham, 23, 217, 219, 225 Rovigo’s Jewish community, 130 Ruderman, David B., xi, xii, 5, 34, 47 Ruffo, Tommaso, 118 Saadia Gaon, xiii Sabbatical river, 144, 145 Salmanassar, King, 145 Sambation, 129–151 Samuel bar Nahman, 136 Samuel, Judah b., 157 Samuel, Judah Guglielmo ben Moses, 121

Sanguinetti, Sabbatai Elhanan, 63, 120 Saraval, Jacob, 54 Saraval, Leib, 215 Saraval, R. Jacob, 8 Sasportas, Jacob, 201 Schickhardt, Heinrich, 31 Schirmann, Jefim, 223, 225 Scholem, Gershom, 166, 217, 219 Sefardic community, 75, 76 Segal, Isaac b. Jacob Yozbel, 163, 165 Segneri, Paulus, 35 Segre, Abraham, 186, 194 Selden, John, 207 Sephardic community, 97 Sephardim, x Shapin, Steven, 22 Shapira, Nathan Nata, 221 Shmidman, Michael A., 166 Shohat, Azriel, 88, 196, 199 Simeon b. Isaac, 156 Simh.ah, R., 19 Simon, Rabbi, 136 Simon, Reeva Spector, 34 Sirkes, Joel, 113, 192 Skippon, Philip, 39, 42 Small Council, 187, 188, 196 Sofer, Moses, 34, 175 Solomon b. Isaac, 155 Solomon Ibn Verga, 199 Solomon, Gedaliah b., 163 Solomonic temple in Jerusalem, 129 Sonne, I., 7 Stagl, Justin, 21 Stow, Kenneth R., 126 Stuczynski, Claude B., 23 Sutcliffe, Adam, 197 Sykes, Melvin J., 106 talmudic law, 58, 79 talmudic passage, 14 Tam, Jacob b. Meir, 63

235

236

General Index Tam, R., 71 Tarfon, R., 59 Tchernowitz, Chaim, 74 Templo, Jacob Judah Leon, 200 Ten Tribes, 129, 131, 133–137, 146–150 Tesoro de’ Maravillias, 150 Tessin, Nicodemo, 42 Tishby, Isaiah, 200, 201 Tomai Da Ravenna, Tomaso, 143, 150 Tomai, Tomaso, 150 Torah, Simhat, 60 torlidore, 13 Trabot, R., 213 traditional religious leadership, x traditional society, xiv, 88–92 Treves, Johanan, 160 Trieste controversy, xvi, 161–171 Triestine Jewish community, 162 Twersky, Isadore, 52, 157 Tzahalon, Mordecai, 182 Ushers of mercy, 86, 152, 153, 157, 158, 160 Usque, Samuel, 199 Uziel, Isaac b. David, 188 Valla, Lorenzo, x Valle, Isaac ben Samuel Levi, 117 Valle, Moses David, 200 Vandelli, Domenico, 114 Vasari, Giorgio, 29 Venetian community, 198 Venetian republic, 124 Venice Jews, 196 Verheyen, Egon, 21 Veryard, Ellis, 37, 42

Via dei Sabbioni, 107 Vico, Giambattista, x Volta, Leopoldo Camillo, 27–28 Wagenseil, Johan Christian, xvii, 209, 210, 215, 218–220, 222, 223, 226, 227 War of the Austrian Succession, 107 War of the Polish Succession, 107 War of the Spanish Succession, 107 Weinberg, Joanna, 131 Weinryb, Bernard, 219 Weltanschauung, x Wertheimer, Abraham Joseph, 52 Wessely, Naphtali Herz, 90, 177 whispering chamber, 22 Whiston, William, 43 Wilton, Andrew, 42 Wren, Christopher, 38 Yeo, Richard, 203 Yerushalmi, Samuel, 159 Yitzhaqi, Abraham, 184–185, 187, 198 Yom Kippur, 102, 152, 158, 162, 168–170, 181 Young, Edward, 29 Zacut, Moses, 187, 200, 218 Zahalon, Yom Tov, 65 Zamorano, R. Phineas, 78 Zeiller, Martin, 31 Zemah David, 130, 132, 133, 139 Zenner, Walter P., 34 Zevi, Sabbatai, 93, 201, 217 Zohar, Zvi, 34 Zuckmentel, Joseph, 157

Index of Sources Aaron ha-Kohen of Lunel, 159–160, 159n22, 160n26 Abarbanel, Isaac, 209, 209n7 Rosh Amanah, 157n16 Aboab, Jacob ben Samuel, 121, 121n121 Aboab, Samuel, 169, 170n62, 187–190, 198, 200 Devar Shmuel, 62n45, 183n17, 187n25, 200n75 Abraham b. David of Posquières Temim De‘im, 159n25 Abraham b. Isaac Sefer ha-Eshkol, 155n10 Alashkar, Moses responsa, 64n49, 64n50 Albo, Joseph Sefer ha-‘Ikkarim, 157n16, 163 Alfasi, Isaac, 18, 51, 116n100, 154n7, 154n8 ‘Alilot Devarim, 175n76 Alsheikh, Moses responsa, 59n27, 64n49 Amran Seder Rav Amran ha-Shalem, 152n1 Anatoli, Jacob Malmad ha-Talmidim, 157n17 Anau, Zedekiah b. Abraham, 158, 158n20 Shibolei ha-Leqet ha-Shalem, 158n20, 181n17 ‘Arukh, 184n15

Asher b. Yehiel, 154–155n8, 159n25, 169 Azulai, Hayyim Yoseph David, 191n41 Ma‘agal Tov ha-Shalem, 23–33, 39–40, 42 Bacharach, Yair Haim, 65, 194n52 Havot Yair, 52n2 responsa, 52n2 Baer, Shabbatai Be’er ‘Eseq, 199n17 Basilea, Aviad Sar Shalom, 69n66, 171n70, 176, 186 Emunat Hakhamim, 66n57 Bartolocci, Giulio Qiryat Sepher, 134, 134n14 Bayit H.adash, 62 Beit Hillel, 69n63 Benamozegh, Elia Eimat Mafgia al Ari, 52n2 Berab, Jacob, 199 Bible Pentateuch Genesis 20:3, 157 Genesis 27.29, 102n41 Genesis 30:30, 100 Genesis 30:43, 100 Genesis 31:42, xii, 153n5 Genesis 31:53, 153n5 Genesis 4:26, 163n38 Genesis 46:1, 157n17 Exodus 13:13, 184n16

238

Index of Sources Exodus 20:3, 157n17 Exodus 32:10, 164 Leviticus 21:1–3, 180 Numbers 19:14, 180 Numbers 19:18, 165n45 Numbers 25:12, 130n4 Deuteronomy 12:9, 139 Deuteronomy 17:11, 67n60 Deuteronomy 18:11, 167 Deuteronomy 20:19, 112 Deuteronomy 31:6, 99n36 Deuteronomy 32:17, 82, 97 Prophets Joshua 5:14, 163 1 Kings 12:28–9, 147n63 2 Kings 17:16, 147n63 Isaiah 5:21, 97 Isaiah 44:18, 48, 70 Jeremiah 7:11, 100n38 Ezekiel 7:22, 100n38, 123 Ezekiel 34:6, 99 Ezekiel 37, 150 Amos 4:13, 155n10 Micah 3:12, 137 Writings 1 Chronicles 5:26, 146 2 Chronicles 21:2, 70n69 Psalms 17:4, 100n38 Psalms 17:14, 110 Psalms 48:6, 194 Psalms 145:9, 112 Job 36:5, 156 Job 8:7, 9 Proverbs 26:11, 99 Ecclesiastes 1:18, 171n71 Ecclesiastes 5:10, 107n63 Ecclesiastes 7:10, 51n1 Ecclesiastes 10:2, 46 Ecclesiastes 10:20, 43, 152 Ecclesiastes 9:5, 167 Lamentations 3:50, 99

Daniel 11:14, 100n38 Ezra, 145–146 Belilios, Jacob, 188–190 Binyan Ne‘arim, 188 Boaz, Joshua Šilṭe Gibborim, 18–19, 154n8 Boton, Jacob de Eidut Beyaakov, 80, 80n93 Boton, Moses, 193 Briel, Judah, 120, 121 Bruna, Israel, 159 Cardoso, Isaac Las Excelencias de los Hebreos, 135, 149–150, 149n79 Philosophia Libera, 145 Chajes, Zvi Hirsch Darkhei Hahoraa, 74n78, 77n86 Crescas, Hasdai, 166, 166n47 da Fano, Israel Berekhiah, 198 da Fano, Menahem Azariah ‘Asarah Ma’amarot, 167n51 David ibn Zimra, 138n25 David, Joseph, 189 Bet David, 189n37 David Reuveni, 129 De’ Rossi, Azariah Light of the Eyes (Me’or Enayim), x–xi, 66, 66n57, 131n7, 151n84 De Pomis, David Zemah David, 130, 132–133, 133n12 Delvecchio (Del Vecchio), Sabbatai Elhanan, 7, 112, 123–124186, 186n21, 198 di Trani, Isaiah Teshuvot Harid, 52n3 di Trani, Isaiah, the Yonger, 154n8, 176 di Trani, Joseph b. Moses, 193–194 di Trani, Moses Bet Elohim, 157n16

Index of Sources Efraim ha-Kohen of Ofen, 193 Sha’ar Efraim, 193n49 Eibeschutz, Jonathan Urim Vetumim, 63n46 Eilenburg, Issachar Baer Be’er Sheva, 168n57, 170n66 El‘azar b. Judah of Worms, 158, 158n21, 172 Elia Levita Bahur, 132 Elijah, Gaon of Vilna, 156n14 Beer Eliahu, 71n71 Emden, Jacob, 63n46, 194n52 Sheeilat Yaavetz, 63n46 En Yisra‘el, 10 Falk, Jacob Joshua, 191 Ghirondi, Mordecai Samuel Toledot gedole Yisra’el, 94n18, 117n104, 117n105, 119n116, 120n119, 132n10 Gombiner, Avraham Magen Avraham, 82n96, 97n27 Halberstadt, Mordechai Ma’amar Mordekhai, 191n42, 193n51 Halevi, David b. Samuel, 63, 64–65 Turei Zahav, 63, 63n48, 68 Halevi, Jacob, 157n15 Halevi, Judah, 57 Kuzari IV:31, 57n18 Halevi, Netanel, 186, 186n22, 198 Halevi, Zerahiah, 51–52 Sefer Hamaor, 52n2 Hayyim b. Isaac Or Zaru‘a, 192 Hertz, Hillel b. Naftali, 69 Hussein, Tzadka Tzedaqah u-Mishpat, 190n38 Horowitz, Isaiah Shnei Luhot ha-Berit, 161n31

ibn Adret, Solomon responsa, 57nn19, 20 ibn Ezra, Abraham “Nedod Hesir Oni,” 52n3 Ibn Verga, Solomon, 199, 199n74 Isaac b. Moses Or Zaru‘a, 154n7 Isaac b. Sheshet responsa, 57n20 Israel, Moses, 183 Mas’at Moshe, 183n13 Isserlein, Israel, 63, 64, 192–193 Terumat Hadeshen, 63n47, 192n46, 193n48 Isserles, Moses, 63n47, 64n49, 75n80, 77n86, 159n25, 199, 203 Torat ha-‘Olah, 199n74 Jacob ben Asher Arbaa Turim, 62, 62n43, 96n26, 99n34, 99n35, 103n46, 154n7, 159n25, 192n45 Jacob ibn Habib Ein Ya‘aqov, 158n19, 159n25 Jacob b. Meir Tam, 63, 156n14 Jonathan ha-Kohen of Lunel, 159n25 Joseph b. Moses Leqet Yosher, 158n18 Judah b. Yaqar, 159, 159n24, 159n25 Keneset Hagedolah, 10, 55 Kara, Avigdor, 159n22, 160, 160n28 Karo, Joseph, 200 Bet Yosef, 18, 62, 62n45, 96n26, 99n34, 159n25 Šulh.an Aruk, 9, 10, 11, 33, 51, 53, 55, 58, 60, 62–63, 66, 99n35, 110, 169–170, 184n16, 203 Orah. H.ayyim, 154n7, 156n14, 167n54, 168n56, 170n62 Yoreh De‘ah, 10, 55, 58n23, 60n29, 63n47, 66n56

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Index of Sources Even Haezer, 79n90 H.oshen Mishpat, 59n27, 63n46, 64n49 Kimhi, David Shorashim, 100n38 Kimhi, Joseph, 116, 116n99 Sefer Hagalui, 52n2 Kohen Modon, Samson, 132, 132n10, 134–135 Kohen, Tobias Ma‘aseh Tuviah, 218n31 Kol Bo, 158–159, 159n22, 160n26 Kolon, Joseph, 67, 77n86 Lampronti, Isaac Isaac’s Fear (Pah.ad Yis.h.aq, PY), xi, xiiff., 4, 6, 8ff., 91, 129–130, 153, 179–180, 179n1 vol. 1, fol. 9v (Avelut be-Purim), 161n30 vol. 1, fol. 21v, 165n44 vol. 1, fol. 37r, 165n46 vol. 1, fol. 37v, 165 vol. 1, fol. 40v, 161n31 vol. 1, fol. 41v (oznayim la-kotel), 35–36, 36n46, 43 vol. 1, fol. 44r–v, 167n51 vol. 1, fol. 45v–46r, 167n51 vol. 1, fol. 48r, 167 vol. 1, fol. 48v, 165n45 vol. 1, fol. 51r, 161n32 vol. 1, fol. 52v, 169n61 vol. 1, fol. 54v, 161n32 vol. 1, fol. 56r, 168n58 vol. 1, fol. 76r (bat qol), 45n77 vol. 1, fol. 101v, 161n31 vol. 2, fol. 2r (gevinot hagoyim), 100n84, 194n53 vol. 2, fol. 75r (geshem, zeman hazkarato), 75n80

vol. 2, fol. 86r (dagim vesimanam), 76n81, 85n102, 118n111 vol. 2, fol. 86v (dagim vesimanam), 102n42, 161n30 vol. 2, fol. 89r (doresh shedarash be-rabim), 114n94 vol. 2, fol. 97v (deleqah), 115n98 vol. 2, fol. 100r (dam nida), 57n20 vol. 3, fol. 4v (havraa), 75n79 vol. 3, fol. 6v (hadas šoteh), 109n72 vol. 3, fol. 21v (halekha hamorekha tarfon), 59n26 vol. 3, fol. 55v (vashat u-neqivato), 102n44, 103n47, 107n63 vol. 3, fol. 69r (tum’at ohel), 182n10 vol. 3, fol. 72v–73r (kelayot yo‘azot), 17n37 vol. 3, fol. 79r (haval ʻalekha qesar), 130n83 vol. 3, fol. 79r–v (haval ʻalekha qesar), 48n87, 70n68 vol. 3, fol. 87r (h.oleh ha-nikhnas le-vakero), 154n6 vol. 4, fol. 15v (h.alis.ah we-sidrah), 6n9 vol. 4, fol. 17r–v (h.alis.ah we-sidrah), 79n90 vol. 4, fol. 17v (h.alis.ah we-sidrah), 75n79, 91n11 vol. 4, fol. 44r (Hanukah u-Purim ve-dinehem), 93n16 vol. 4, fol. 63r, 99n36 (tabah ha-notel sakhar) vol. 4, fol. 64r (tevilah be-lel Šabbat), 103n45

Index of Sources vol. 4, fol. 69v (tum’at ohel), 96n24, 186nn19–24, 195nn55–56, 198n66 vol. 4, fol. 85v (ta’ut goy hamuteret), 110n76 vol. 5, fol. 9v (yehoshafat melekh yehuda), 70n69 vol. 5, fol. 22r–v (yah.id verabim halakha kerabim), 73n75 vol. 5, fol. 72v (kelayot yo‘atzot), 48n90, 66n57 vol. 5, fol. 72v–73r (kelayot yo‘atzot), 57n17 vol. 5, fol. 86r (kamah hazif hai gavra), 117n103 vol. 5, fol. 106r (ke-zoreq even le-hemet), 46n80 vol. 5, col. 483 (gemara vekabala holkim ze al ze), 66n58 vol. 5, col. 501–02, 135n17 vol. 5, col. 520 (gargeret bevar avaza), 55n10 vol. 6, 19r–v (megila mevarekhin ahareha), 66n54 vol. 6, fol. 22v (Madiyim), 44n76 vol. 6, fol. 25r (Maharitatz), 65n52 vol. 6, fol. 35r (mohel im yakhol li-shehot), 102n44 vol. 6, fol. 52r (musaf beyom hakipurim vedinav), 66n54 vol. 6, fol. 67r (more nevukhim), 61n38, 174n74 vol. 6, fol. 92r (milah, ger shemal qodem she-nitgayer), 19n40, 81n95 vol. 6, fol. 96r–v (mila shelo bizmana eina doha shabat ve-yom tov), 60n30 vol. 6, fol. 136v–137r (minhag uketzat dinav), 161n33

vol. 6, fol. 137r (minhag uketzat dinav), 71n70, 86n108 vol. 6, fol. 151r (minal shel h.alis.ah), 79n90 vol. 6, fol. 192v (matzat mitzva nohagim shelo lalush beerav pesah ad ahar shesh shaot), 77n85 vol. 6, fol. 199r (mikve shel rovigo), 55n13 vol. 6, fol. 203r–204v (miqlat), 117n105 vol. 6, fol. 212r (mesah.eq be-qubi’a), 100n37 vol. 6, fol. 219r (mishna, im ketava rabi), 60n32 vol. 6, fol. 219v (mishna, im ketava rabi), 70n69 vol. 6, fol. 228r (met be-Šabbat), 91n11, 96n24 vol. 6, fol. 228v (met beŠabbat), 93n14, 97n28, 102n44, 181n5, 182n7 vol. 6, fol. 233r (met mitzvah), 110n74 vol. 7, fol. 30v (nozot), 93n13, 116n101 vol. 7, fol. 57v (nigun be-h.olo šel mo’ed), 113n88 vol. 7, fol. 78r (nefilat apayyim), 76n81, 76n83, 102n44, 184n14 vol. 8, fol. 1v (seia beseia asur lilvot), 67n59 vol. 8, fol. 24v (suma o ’am ha’aretz), 104n49 vol. 8, fol. 50v, 130n2 vol. 8, fol. 72r–75v, 130n4 vol. 8, fol. 76v–123v (safeq qidushin), 122n125, 181n5 vol. 8, fol. 89v–90r (safeq qidushin), 123n127

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Index of Sources vol. 8, fol. 103r, 123n128 vol. 8, fol. 149r, 130n4 vol. 8, fol. 156r–v, 62–63n45 vol. 8, fol. 156v (sepher Torah shel musaphin), 98n32, 104n49, 181n5 vol. 8, fol. 329r–332v (Sambation), 139–151 vol. 9, fol. 10v (‘avodah zarah marhiqim mi-darkah), 103n47, 116n102 vol. 9, fol. 15r (avar aveira), 85n101 vol. 9, fol. 172r (ʽaseret ha-shevatim), 137n23, 138n24 vol. 9, fol. 104r (‘alilah), 7n14 vol. 9, fol. 104r–v (‘alilah), 124n131 vol. 9, fol. 104v (‘alilah), 125n133 vol. 9, fol. 110v (‘ani hamehapekh be-hararah), 109n72 vol. 9, fol. 153r (‘eruv bi-šene batim), 118n106 vol. 9, fol. 160r (’eruvei tehumin ‘al tenai), 18n39, 76n83 vol. 9, fol. 172v (aseret hashvatim), 59n26 vol. 10, fol. 1v (peiot hazakan), 69n62 vol. 10, fol. 2r (peiot hazakan), 69n65 vol. 10, fol. 4r (pidyon bekhor), 102n44 vol. 10, fol. 4v (pidyon bekhor), 65n53 vol. 10, fol. 10r (posek), 68n61 vol. 10, fol. 71r (Petahyah zeh Mordekhai), 9n19

vol. 11 (s.edah), 57n22 vol. 11, fol. 16v (s.edah), 69n67 vol. 11, fol. 16v–18v (s.edah), 130n84 vol. 11, 20v–21r (s.edah), 113n87 vol. 11, fol. 21v (s.edah), 12n26 vol. 11, fol. 33v–58r (tzrakhav al yishal), 61n38, 86n108, 153n5 vol. 11, fol. 63v (qevi‘at maqom le-h.alis.ah), 18n38, 76n82, 76n83 vol. 11, fol. 67v (qavru ha-met), 66n54, 103n47 vol. 11, fol. 78r (qidushin be’ezba revi’i), 98n31 vol. 11, fol. 175r (qetoret vesamemanav), 151n88 vol. 11, fol. 175r–v (ketoret vesamemanav), 61n34 vol. 12, fol. 49v–50r (qeri’at sepher Torah), 78n88, 99n34 vol. 12, fol. 60r (qeri, ha-roeh oto be-yom ha-kipurim), 47n83 vol. 12, fol. 73v–74r (re’iya vehirher), 109n71 vol. 12, fol. 119v (ro’ah dam mehamat tashmish), 161n30 vol. 12, fol. 119v–120r (ro’ah dam mehamat tashmish), 102n44 vol. 12, fol. 137r (rah.mana yadkerinakh li-šelam), 154n6 vol. 12, fol. 185v (ktanei ktanim), 76n81, 79n90 vol. 13, fol. 42r (shavu’a she-hal

Index of Sources tish’ah be-Av be-tokhah), 101n39 vol. 13, fol. 43r (shavu’a she-hal tish’ah be-Av be-tokhah), 101n40 vol. 13, fol. 43v–44r (shavu’a she-hal tish’ah be-Av betokhah), 85n101 vol. 13, fol. 75r (Šabbat melakhot še-yakhol ha-goy la’asot be’ad Yisra’el bo), 109n72 vol. 13, fol. 75v–76r (Šabbat melakhot še-yakhol ha-goy la’asot be’ad Yisra’el bo), 108n66 vol. 13, fol. 102v (shohet), 47n84 vol. 13, fol. 209v (shulhan arukh), 62n45 vol. 13, fol. 258r (šemitat kesaphim ba-zeman hazeh), 85n104, 106n58 vol. 14, fol. 13r (tola’im biyereaqot), 19n41, 81n95 vol. 14, fol. 21r (torah bitulah), 136n19 vol. 14, fol. 28r (tehiyat hametim), 71n70, 171n70 vol. 14, fol. 28r–v (tehiyat ha-metim), 47n86, 61n37, 136n19 vol. 14, fol. 53r–54r (telata kanei), 58n24 vol. 14, fol. 53v (telata kanei havei), 59n28 vol. 14, fol. 81r (ta’anit be-Roš Hašanah), 93n16 vol. 14, fol. 84v (ta’anit šišah yamim), 93n15 vol. 14, fol. 93v (tefillah bi-lešon la‘az), 154n6

vol. 14, fol. 99v–114v (tefilin be-h.olo shel mo‘ed), 168n58 vol. 14, fol. 103v–04v (tefilin be-h.olo shel mo‘ed), 86n107, 181n3 vol. 14, fol. 104r (tefilin be-h.olo shel mo‘ed), 91n11 vol. 14, fol. 104v (tefilin be-h.olo shel mo‘ed), 139n27 vol. 14, fol. 152r (teqi’ot ‘al seder habrakhot), 76n81, 91n11, 181n3 vol. 14, fol. 152v (teqi’ot ‘al seder habrakhot), 76n81, 86n104 vol. 14, fol. 180v (tashmish hamita betisha beav), 86n105 vol. 17, col. 8 (av yakhol letzavot), 66n56 vol. 17, col. 9 (av mokher bito leama), 60n31 vol. 17, col. 19 (i tania tania), 58n25 vol. 17, col. 38–9, 115n97 vol. 17, col. 41, 8n17 vol. 17, col. 64 (avel asur be’asi’at melakhah), 94n21 vol. 17, col. 78 (avel asur lazet mi-petah. beto), 96n26 vol. 17, col. 118 (aveilut bepurim), 63n46 vol. 17, col. 213 (aderaba ifkha mistabra), 61n35 vol. 17, col. 216 (ahavat ish et ahiv; ahavat hakadosh barukh hu), 61n36 vol. 17, col. 349 (ones noten arba‘ah devarim), 7n14 vol. 17, col. 411 (oznayim la-kotel), 13n28

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Index of Sources vol. 17, p. 17, 12n25 vol. 18, col. 17 (i shetiqato), 10n23, 55n11, 181n5 vol. 18, col. 28 (beriut dine hanhagat haadam ba), 60n33 vol. 18, col. 262 (almana, hakones ota), 76n83 vol. 18, col. 320 (amirah le-goy li-phetoah. ule-qalqel ha-h.otam be-Šabbat), 76n83, 103n48, 109n73 vol. 18, col. 360–361 (ones noten arba’ah devarim), 111n78 vol. 18, col. 493 (afarsekuto), 77n84 vol. 18, col. 517–18 (arbaa kosot vedineihem), 75n80 vol. 18, col. 565 (ešh min ha-ʻes.im), 14n29, 56n15, 69n67, 130n83 vol. 18, col. 569–617 (ishah enah mitqadeshet elah ‘ad ahar zeman yeniqah), 120n119 vol. 18, col. 571 (ishah enah mitqadeshet elah ‘ad ahar zeman yeniqah), 120n119 vol. 18, col. 583 (ishah enah mitqadeshet elah ‘ad ahar zeman yeniqah), 64n50 vol. 18, col. 592, 65n51 vol. 18, col. 689–90 (isha roa dam), 57n20 vol. 19, col. 4 (ashkenazim), 77n85 vol. 19, col. 74 (eshet cohen meuberet), 77n84, 183n13 vol. 19, col. 173 (behemah en ma’amidim be-phundeqa’ot shel goyim), 116n100

vol. 19, col. 210–11 (bo’el aramit), 112n81 vol. 19, col. 272 (bes.ei zakhar), 113n89 vol. 19, col. 275–6 (bes.im vedinehem), 109n71, 115n98 vol. 19, col. 382 (bekor śaṭan), 10n20 vol. 19, col. 496 (beila beshabat), 75n79 vol. 19, col. 497–8 (beila beshabat), 78n87 vol. 19, col. 484–5 (biur trumot umaasrot), 59n26 vol. 19, col. 599 (ba’alei dinim), 106n60 vol. 20, col. 9 (barukh adonai leolam), 76n83 vol. 20, col. 82 (birkat eirusin), 75n80 vol. 20, col. 90–91 (birkat hah.odesh), 82n97, 97n29 vol. 20, col. 133–5 (birkat hatanim), 62n42, 182n8 vol. 20, col. 152 (birkat kohanim), 76n83 vol. 20, col. 209 (beshem hashem naase venathil kol maase), 66n57 vol. 20, col. 257 (basar sheshaha), 80n93 vol. 20, col. 257–8 (basar sheshaha), 76n83 vol. 20, col. 325–8 (gevinot hagoyim; gevinot šel goyim), 109n71 vol. 20, col. 420 (gehinom, im haneshamot yordot bo), 76n81 vol. 21, col. 97 (get baal yikhtevenu), 76n83

Index of Sources vol. 21, col. 385–468 (gilui ‘arayot), 121n122 vol. 21, col. 420–24 (gilui ‘arayot), 121n122 vol. 21, col. 520 (gargeret be-var ozaza [avaza]), 10n22 ‘aseh doheh et lo ta‘aseh, 181n5 gan eden, be’ezeh zad shel olam hu, 135n17 derekh ha-tum’ah la-tzet ve’en darkah le-hikanes, 183n12 nefalim, 182n6 rava eno melamed soferim, 181n5 sefinah qetanah, 184n17 sepher Torah ve-din ha’otiot vezuratan, 130n4 unpublished homilies, 6–7 First Fruits of the Harvest (Bikkure Qas.ir), 7, 53 Landau, Ezekiel Noda Biyehuda, 69n66 Responsa Noda Biyehuda, 85n102 Leket Haqemah., 10 Lifshitz, Gedaliah b. Solomon, 163, 164n40 ‘Ez Shatul, 163 Lipmann Heller, Yom Tov, 200 Tosafot Yom Tov, 160n26 Lipmann Mülhausen, Yom Tov, 173 Sefer Nizzahon, 157n17 Loew, Judah (Maharal), 160–161, 161n29, 171n68, 176n79 Luzzato, Moses Haim (Ramhal), 119, 119n115, 138n26, 181n17, 200 Hoker Umekubal, 67n58 Maharil, 165n43 Maimonides, 136n22, 157n16, 166, 169, 169n61, 175 Mishne Torah, 55, 59–61, 191

Hilkhot De‘ot, 61n39 Hilkhot Avodah Zarah 1:1, 157n16 Hikhot Tešuvah 3:7, 157n16 Hilkhot Milah 1:9, 60n29 Hilkhot Ševitat Asor 3:3, 85n101 Hilkhot Šehitah 6:5, 15n32, 59n28 Hilkhot Šehitah 6:8, 15n32, 59n28 Hilkhot Šehitah 7:1, 15n32, 59n28 Hilkhot Šehitah 10:12, 57n20 Hilkhot Šegagot 13:5–6, 67n60 Hilkhot Sanhedrin 24:6, 99n36 Hilkhot Mamrim 2:2, 67n60, 79n92 More Nevukhim, 61, 166n47, 174 principles of faith, 157, 173 Marini, Sabbatai b. Isaac, 171n69 Meir ben Barukh of Rothenburg (Maharam) Responsa, 113n87, 157n17 Me’ir b. Simeon Milhemet Mizvah, 158n21, 159n24 Sefer Ha-Me’orot, 159n25 Menahem ha-Me’iri, 159–160, 160n26 Menahem b. Zerah Zedah la-Derekh, 158n21 Menasseh Ben Israel of Amsterdam, 131n7, 134–135, 134n16, 151n84, 164n42, 172 Nishmat Hayyim, 166n47, 167n52 midrash, 43–44 Genesis Rabbah 4:6, 163n38 Exodus Rabbah 21:4, 153n3 Leviticus Rabbah 26:7, 155n10 Leviticus Rabbah 32:2, 13n27, 44n74 Lamentations Rabbah 1, 70n68 Lamentations Rabbah 3:29, 155n10

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Index of Sources Midrash Konen 26, 153n3 Pesikta Rabbati 44, 155n10 Sifre Deuteronomy, 67n60 Tanhuma, Vayigash 7:7, 155n10 Tanhuma, Ki Tissa $22, 164n39 Yalkut Shim‘oni 989, 44n75 Mishnah, 200n76 Berakhot 9:12, 156n15, 157n16 Šabbat 2:6, 103n45 Ṣekalim 5:1, 9n18 Sukkah 4:4, 158n20 Sukkah 5:4, 103n46 Bes.ah 4:7, 14 Roš Hašana 1:8, 99–100 Sotah 7:1, 160 Sotah 9:15, 103n46 Sanhedrin 10, 136n20 Sanhedrin 10:3, 136, 136n21, 136n22 Sanhedrin 11:1, 137 Sanhedrin 11:3, 137 Makkot 3:5, 69n64 Makkot 8:4, 137 Makkot 8:13, 137 Avot 6:2, 82 H.ullin 3:1, 15n32 jHorayot 1:1 (45d), 67 Mizrahi, Nissim Hayyim Moses, 190 Admat Qodesh, 190n40, 190n41 Mizrahi, Israel Meir, 190 Modena, Aaron Berekhiah Ma’avar Yaboq, 103, 166n50 Modena, Leon, 176, 185n17, 194n53, 221–222 Ari Nohem, 66–67n58 Historia de’ Riti Hebraici, 175n76 Shaagat Arye, 66 Moellin, Jacob, 192 Morpurgo, Samson, 80, 85n103, 121, 121n121, 122–123, 139, 161, 161n33, 162, 162n34, 162n35, 169–171, 170n62, 174, 186

Ez ha-Da‘at, 176 Šemeš Tzdakah, 69n66, 85n102, 113n87, 161n33 Moses Ashkenazi of Candia, 160n28 Nahmanides, 157, 157n17 Nahum, Eliezer b. Jacob of Constantinople, 190 Hazon Nahum, 190n39 Nehemiah Hiyya Hayyun, 138n26 Nissim of Gerona, 116n100 Ovadiah of Bertinoro, 129 Pacifico, Isaac, 187–188, 196, 197 Koha de-Hetera, 188 Setirat Zeqenim, 188 Padova, Judah Leon of Modena, 223, 225–226 ‘Olam hafukh, 223 Pardo, David, 189–191 Mikhtam le-David, 189n35, 189n36 Poppers, Jacob Kohen, 191 Portaleone, Abraham, 200 Šilṭe Hagibborim, 54, 200n75 Pri ’Es. H.ayyim, 7 Rashi, 16–17, 44, 44n76, 67n60, 71, 155–156, 156n12, 158n20, 163n38, 164n39 Recanati, Shabbatai Elhanan, 161, 161n32, 162n34, 167, 167n53 Recanati, Menahem, 178n87, 193n48 Perush al ha-Torah, 158n21 Reischer, Jacob, 66, 193 Shvut Yaakov, 66n56, 193n50 Rossi, Salomone Ha-Shirim Asher li-Shelomo, 113 Sa‘adia b. Yosef Siddur R. Sa‘adia Gaon, 152n1

Index of Sources Samuel de Medina, 183n13 Segal, Isaac b. Jacob Yozbel, 159n23, 163–164, 166 Hadrat Qodesh, 163 Sefer H.asidim, 110, 110n76, 121n123, 157n17, 159n24 Segre, Abraham of Casale, 194–195 Scholars’ Correction (Tiqqun Soferim), 187, 196, 196n61, 196n62, 197n63, 197n64, 198n70 Shabtai Hakohen, 59n27, 182n9 Sherira Ga‘on, 155, 155n9 Sirkes, Joel, 113 Responsa Bayit Hadaš, 113n88, 192n45 Sofer, Moses of Pressburg, 175–176, 176n80 Šene Luh.ot ha-Berit, 10 Talmud, 17, 51, 167 Babylonian Talmud Berakhot, 159n25 Berakhot 8b, 44n76 Berakhot 17a, 70 Berakhot 61a, b, 46n81 Šabbat 10a, 46n81 Šabbat 12a, 154n6 Šabbat 12b, 156n14, 158n19 Šabbat 112b, 51n1 Šabbat 114a, 58 Šabbat 118b, 163n38 Šabbat 148b, 94n20 Eruvin 53a, 51n1 Pesah.im 50a–51b, 84n101 Pesah.im 94b, 57n21 Pesah.im 102b, 62n43 Sukkah 22a, 185n18 Sukkah 45b, 158n20 Sukkah 49a, 103n46 Betzah 30a, 195n54 Roš Hašana 16b, 156n14

Roš Hašana 25b, 51n1 Ta’anit 16a, 158n21 Ta’anit 22a, 107n63 Yevamot 16a, 10n20 Yevamot 42a, 119n117 Yevamot 62b, 125n132 Ketubot 55b, 137n23 Nedarim 20a–b, 159n24 Sotah 33a, 154n8 Qiddushin 72a, 159n24 Gittin 45a, 43n73 Gittin 57b, 70n68 Bava Bathra 60b, 195n54 Sanhedrin 44b, 156n12, 158n20 Makkot 24b, 137 Avodah Zarah 7a, 116n100 Avodah Zarah 17a, 157n15 Avodah Zarah 18b, 113n86 Avodah Zarah 45a, 59n26 Menah.ot 33b, 82n97 H.ullin 18b, 86n106, 171n67 H.ullin 39b, 99n36 H.ullin 44b, 58 H.ullin 45b, 14n31, 58n23 Ohalot 10:2, 188n34 Ohalot 14:1, 184n15 Ohalot 14:4, 184n15 Palestinian Talmud Berakhot 13a, 156n15, 157n16 Bikurim 64a, 95n23 Sotah 22a, 95n23 Qidushin 66a, 95n23 Sanhedrin 29b, 136n20 Tchernowitz, Chaim (Rav Tzair) History of Hebrew Law, 74n76, 74n78, 81n95, 85n104 Templo, Jacob Judah Leon, 200, 200n75 Tosafot, 58–59, 59n26, 62, 63, 70, 70n69, 156, 156n14, 161 Šabbat 12b, 156n14 Roš Hašana 16b, 156n14

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Index of Sources Sotah 7:1, 160n26 Gittin 57b, 70n68 Treves, Johanan, 159n24, 160 Usque, Samuel, 199, 199n74 Worms, Aaron of Metz, 175n76 Ya‘ari, Avraham Sheluhei Eretz Yisra’el, 181n5, 184n14

Yitzhaqi, Abraham, 184, 187, 198 Zer‘a Avraham, 184n14, 196n58 Zacut, Moses, 187n25, 200, 218n30 Tofteh ‘arukh, 226n64 Ziyyon, Menahem b. Me’ir Ziyyoni, 178n87 Zohar, 161n31, 167n51, 167n54, 168 Pequdei, 99n34 Sitrei Torah, 159n25