Studies in Arabic and Hebrew Letters in Honor of Raymond P. Scheindlin 9781593337018, 2007019745, 1593337019

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STUDIES IN ARABIC AND HEBREW LETTERS

GORGIAS PRÉCIS PORTFOLIOS 1

Studies in Arabic and Hebrew Letters in honor of Raymond P. Scheindlin

EDITED BY JONATHAN P. DECTER AND MICHAEL RAND

GORGIAS PRESS 2007

First Gorgias Press Edition, 2007 Copyright © 2007 by Gorgias Press LLC All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise without the prior written permission of Gorgias Press LLC. Published in the United States of America by Gorgias Press LLC, New Jersey ISBN 978-1-59333-701-8 ISSN 1935-3871

GORGIAS PRESS 46 Orris Ave., Piscataway, NJ 08854 USA www.gorgiaspress.com Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Studies in Arabic and Hebrew letters : in honor of Raymond P. Scheindlin / edited by Jonathan P. Decter and Michael Rand. -- 1st Gorgias Press ed. p. cm. -- (Gorgias pricis portfolios; v. 1) Includes bibliographical references. 1. Hebrew poetry, Medieval. 2. Judeo-Arabic poetry. 3. Hebrew language-Lexicography 4. Letter writing, Hebrew. 5. Letter writing, Arabic. 6. Arabic poetry. 7. Bible. O.T.--Criticism, interpretation, etc. 8. Piyutim. 9. Jews--Study and teaching. I. Scheindlin, Raymond P. II. Decter, Jonathan P., 1971- III. Rand, Michael (Michael Chaim) PJ5041.S78 2007 892.4’09--dc22 2007019745 The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standards. Printed in the United States of America

TABLE OF CONTENTS Raymond P. Scheindlin – A Sketch

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Michael Rand and Jonathan P. Decter

Bibliography of the Writings of Raymond P. Scheindlin

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Notes on Two Passages in the Biblical Account of Prehistory 1 Tzvi Abusch

He Said, She Said: Reinscribing the Andalusi Arabic Love Lyric 7 Ross Brann

On the Interplay of Arabic and Hebrew in the Cairo Geniza Letters

17

Mark R. Cohen

Yedaiah Bedersi’s Elef Alafin

37

Susan L. Einbinder

The Still, Small Voice: 1 Kings 19 and the Roots of Intolerance in Biblical Religion 47 Stephen A. Geller

Ill-Starred Characters

61

Andalusian Responses to Ptolemy in Hebrew

69

András Hámori

Robert Morrison

The Human Dimension of Wissenschaft des Judentums: Letters from the Rawidowicz Archives Benjamin Ravid

v

87

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

What Does a Father Want?: An Unpublished Poem and Its Intertexts 129 Tova Rosen and Uriah Kfir

Some Minutiae of Raymond Scheindlin’s Job Translation in Light of Medieval Hebrew Exegesis, Philology, and Poetry 155 Angel Sáenz-Badillos

“You’d Have Seen What Melts the Mind” – Ibn al-‘Arabī’s Poem No. 20 from the Turjumān al-Ashwāq

175

The Urge to Be Immortalized: Zechariah Ald.āhirī’s Poetic Epitaphs for Himself

181

Michael Sells

Adena Tanenbaum

The Dirges of Don Benvenist and Doña Tolosana de la Cavalleria for the Death of Their Son Solomon

211

Judit Targarona Borrás

Major Themes in the Poetry of Rabbi Sālim al-Shabazī Mark S. Wagner

225

The Drama of Joseph and His Brothers in Piyyut Literature 249 Yosef Yahalom

‫שיר פרישות פייטני לדויד הנשיא‬

‫א‬

‫ שירי מצבה של משה זכות‬:‫הן עתה תהיה על בתי אבן‬

‫יג‬

‫החשוקה כמשל לחכמה האלוהית בשירי אבן גבירול‬

‫כג‬

Tova Beeri

Dvora Bregman Yosef Tobi

RAYMOND P. SCHEINDLIN – A SKETCH

MICHAEL RAND AND JONATHAN P. DECTER Professor Raymond P. Scheindlin lives in a spacious apartment on Riverside Drive in New York. A short walk down Broadway, past the Columbia University campus, is the Jewish Theological Seminary, where he teaches; there, he occupies an office that constitutes half of the office formerly occupied by Professor Saul Lieberman, whose classes Scheindlin once attended as a rabbinical student. When Scheindlin first took up professional duties at the Seminary in the early 1970s, his office was the one formerly assigned to Professor Shalom Spiegel, another of his former teachers. Now, in addition to his other responsibilities, Scheindlin is director of the Shalom Spiegel Institute for Medieval Hebrew Poetry. The books in Scheindlin’s office reach back to his student days—such as the grammar from which he learned Arabic and the outdated Buber edition of the Pesikta de-Rav Kahana. His working library is at home. One of Scheindlin’s closest friends, Stephen Geller, whom he met when the two were rabbinical students at JTS, is a professor in the Seminary’s Bible department. Another close friend from those days, Professor Mark Cohen of Princeton, lives nearby. The two are frequent visitors at the Scheindlin home, and both have contributed to this Festschrift. Scheindlin shares the apartment with his wife, Janice Meyerson, who practices an unusual combination of professions: she is an opera singer and a copyeditor. (She helped to copyedit this volume, for which the editors would like to record their gratitude to her.) In his acceptance speech upon receiving an award for lifetime achievement from the National Foundation for Jewish Culture in June 2004, Scheindlin referred to her “delightful companionship, [which] has been the perfect domestic counterpart to a vii

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delightful career.” Meyerson loves cats, of which the couple has two. Cats also constitute a decorative theme of their apartment. In addition to the feline presence, the apartment shows signs of a deep involvement with music: posters from some of Meyerson’s performances over the years, photographs of her on stage, concert and opera scores on shelves, and a grand piano, which Scheindlin likes to play, sometimes as an accompaniment to Meyerson’s singing. Scheindlin sings as well, in a chorus called the New Amsterdam Singers, which performs in New York twice a year. Though not a professional musician like his wife and his son, he is usually engaged in some musical activity. Books are casually scattered on shelves throughout the apartment. These are mostly general fiction, poetry, and history, plus some Israeli fiction in Hebrew. Scheindlin’s professional library is housed in his study, whose door, though usually open, bears the (not very forbidding) sign Kein Eingang. The books are exactly those that one would expect to find in the study of a specialist in medieval Hebrew poetry in general and in Hebrew poetry of the Andalusian Golden Age in particular: critical editions of classical Hebrew texts as well as Hebrew and Arabic dictionaries. There is also a set of well-worn, large-format volumes of the Talmud; Scheindlin likes to study Talmud sometimes for diversion. A younger colleague is bound to be struck by the many out-of-print books—which these days can only be acquired after much diligent searching, and at a high price, if at all—many of which Scheindlin bought when he was a rabbinical student, in the days when the bookshops of the Lower East Side (especially Feldheim’s and Biegeleisen’s) were filled with volumes brought over by immigrants from the Old World. A photograph of FDR looks down benignantly on Scheindlin’s desk. Throughout the apartment, family photos reach back into the America of the earlier twentieth century, the figures in them looking like ordinary Americans of that sepia era: a man and a woman behind the counter of their grocery store (Scheindlin’s maternal grandparents); a little girl on a tricycle (Scheindlin’s mother); a middle-aged immigrant and his teenage son (Scheindlin’s grandfather and father, just united after a decade’s separation). The photographs share wall space with a few framed manuscript leaves of Muslim import (a page from a Qur’an, for example), some reproductions of Jewish graphic art, a picture of the English countryside painted by Stephen Geller, and a decorative hand towel from Yarnton Manor of the Oxford Centre for Hebrew and Jewish Studies, where Scheindlin has been a Fellow on a number of occasions, and of which he and Meyerson are especially fond.

RAYMOND P. SCHEINDLIN – A SKETCH

ix

Raymond Scheindlin was born in 1940 in Philadelphia, to Irving Scheindlin and Betty Bernstein Scheindlin. Betty was born in Illinois. Irving was born in a shtetl in the district of Vilna, and as a teenager was brought to the United States by his mother. (His childhood is sketched in Scheindlin’s “High Holiday Memoir.”) Scheindlin, together with his younger brother, Larry, was brought up in a working-class neighborhood, where his father, a pharmacist, had a small drugstore. His mother was a housewife. His parents, though synagogue-affiliated, were not particularly religious, and Scheindlin remembers that his childhood home was relatively unaffected by the strongly expressed ideological stances that one might have found in a Jewish home of that time: Zionism, Hebraism, Yiddishism, Socialism. In the early 1950s, the family moved to Lower Merion, a suburb of Philadelphia that was only then beginning to acquire a Jewish population. Scheindlin graduated from Lower Merion High School in 1957. After his bar mitzvah, he continued to study Hebrew at Har Zion Temple in Wynnefield, Pennsylvania. At the age of fifteen, he also began to attend Camp Ramah, which at the time constituted a thoroughly Hebraized environment. Through Camp Ramah, he became involved in various Conservative-oriented Jewish youth movements and also became engaged in Jewish religious practice. Scheindlin attended the University of Pennsylvania from 1957 to 1961, majoring in what was then called Oriental studies, namely, Hebrew and Arabic. During the first two years of this period, he also took classes at Gratz College, which was primarily a Jewish teachers’ college but which offered courses in classical Hebrew texts and Hebrew literature. He spent his third year abroad, at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, which he reached by means of the O(niyat) Q(itor) Zion, a passenger liner that stopped at Gibraltar and Athens on its way to Haifa. Scheindlin attended his classes on Giv‘at Ram and studied in the library in the Terra Sancta building. During the year, he tackled Agnon, his first serious reading of Hebrew fiction. Of the classes he took, he most fondly remembers his course in classical Greek, taught by R. Meridor. Having to learn Greek in Hebrew also helped him with mastering the latter. Scheindlin still loves Greek, and sometimes, when he is not diverting himself with Talmud, he likes to review the principal parts of Greek verbs or dip into Homer. He met Stephen Geller when he observed that his neighbor in a Seminary class was conjugating Greek verbs instead of taking notes on the lecture; Scheindlin passed him a note: τι γραφεις, “What are you writing?” They’ve been friends ever since.

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In those days, rabbinical school was the only real option for those seriously pursuing the academic study of Jewish texts, so upon completion of college, in 1961, Scheindlin enrolled in the rabbinical program at JTS. He became a Fellow of the Herbert Lehman Institute, a program for those who wished to concentrate on the academic, rather than the practical, aspects of the rabbinate. In those years, Scheindlin taught in the Seminary’s Prozdor program. He also began taking Arabic courses at Columbia University in 1962. After he received his rabbinic ordination in 1965, he enrolled as a fulltime doctoral student at Columbia, earning his Ph.D. in Arabic literature in 1971. His education was subsidized by a federal grant, since Arabic was then considered, as it is now, a “strategically important” language. After the 2001 attack on the World Trade Center, Scheindlin volunteered his services as a translator of Arabic documents in the office of the New York State attorney general. He remains bemused that neither he nor any of the hundreds who benefited from government subsidies for the study of Arabic was ever approached by a federal agency for help in that national emergency and that federal agencies actually rejected offers of volunteer help. From 1968 to 1970, Scheindlin served as a research assistant to Shalom Spiegel, who at the time was engaged in the massive project of editing for publication the oeuvre of the seventh-century Palestinian liturgical poet Eleazar be-rabbi Qillir. Scheindlin’s duties consisted of transcribing the Geniza manuscripts on the basis of photos. The project was never fully realized, and still remains a major desideratum in the field, though a small portion of the work done in connection with it was edited and published posthumously by Scheindlin’s colleague Menahem Schmelzer, as The Fathers of Piyyut. The Spiegel archive is still housed at JTS, in Professor Schmelzer’s office, and some of the materials in it were generated by Scheindlin. Before graduating from Columbia, Scheindlin had begun his career, as assistant professor at McGill University in Montreal, from 1969 to 1972, where he taught Hebrew. It was during this period that his children were born: Dov in 1970; and Dahlia in 1972. Dahlia, a political consultant, now lives in Tel Aviv. Scheindlin visits her in Israel and chats with her frequently, in Hebrew, via the Internet. Dov is a violist who performs internationally with major orchestras and chamber groups. In 1972, Scheindlin became an assistant professor of Hebrew and Arabic at Cornell University, under the chairmanship of Prof. B. Netanyahu. He remained at Cornell until 1974, when he was invited by Gerson Cohen to join the faculty of JTS. Scheindlin had first encountered Cohen at Camp Ramah. He described this encounter in his speech at the NFJC:

RAYMOND P. SCHEINDLIN – A SKETCH

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As a junior counselor at Camp Ramah, I attended Gerson’s daily classes, which were held under a certain tree that was known as Etz Gershon. One summer he taught us there the chapter of Tractate Sanhedrin in which the following tradition is reported: “Rabbi Yoḥanan said in the name of Rabbi Shimon ben Yehoṣadaq: When a sage’s teaching is reported in his name in this world, his lips murmur in the grave.” That image has been with me ever since, and the dictum came to be a watchword for my career as it later developed.

In 1972, Cohen had just been named the new chancellor of the Seminary, and wanted Scheindlin to be part of the team of young, talented, and energetic scholars that he was then assembling. Scheindlin has been there ever since, teaching and serving in various administrative functions, including provost. His rabbinic ordination also was eventually put to use. On joining the Seminary faculty, Scheindlin settled in Brooklyn Heights, and became a member of the Kane Street Synagogue in Cobble Hill. From the beginning, he fulfilled many of the synagogue’s ritual functions, including reading Torah every Shabbat for about seven years and serving as a cantor. When the congregation lost its rabbi in 1979, Scheindlin stepped into that role as well, and continued in it until 1982. He still serves as the synagogue’s High Holy Day cantor. When he gave his speech at NFJC, many members of that congregation were present. It seems appropriate to sum up by developing a theme: namely, that Scheindlin’s environment and, more important, his interaction with it have clearly impressed upon him the stamp of a cosmopolitan, liberal humanism that seems to belong to an earlier time. This is perhaps what lies at the root of Scheindlin’s commitment to the literary culture of medieval Iberian Jewry, which more obviously and dazzlingly than others evolved under the aegis of intercultural contact. It is also the root of his commitment to literary translation as a way of making the fruits of strictly scholarly investigation relevant to the humanitarian discourse of our own times. Scheindlin clearly believes that the medieval Hebrew poetry that he studies with such academic exactitude is not merely an antique artifact but a living literature. It is therefore important for him to see it woven into the everemerging tapestry of humanity’s attempt at self-understanding through literature, as a means of enriching both the whole as well as the part to which he has dedicated his life’s work. But for fear of indulging in excessive nostalgia, it is perhaps best to conclude with the traditional glance forward. Both of the editors of this volume were Scheindlin’s students: one is now a scholar of Golden Age

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Hebrew literature; the other is a scholar of Palestinian piyyut. Many contributors to this volume are also former students, who have become colleagues. Their participation in this project is a tribute to Scheindlin’s generosity, both intellectual and personal, as a teacher and mentor. Thus, in addition to having made the lips of ancient scholars murmur in the grave— which is the same as saying that he has made an important and lasting impression on the academic landscape of his own generation—Scheindlin has shaped a number of younger scholars, whose lips now murmur in front of university classes and whose fingers now clatter on keyboards, helping to preserve, re-create, and hand on the world of letters in which we live.

BIBLIOGRAPHY OF THE WRITINGS OF RAYMOND P. SCHEINDLIN BOOKS 1. Form and Structure in the Poetry of al-Mu‘tamid Ibn ‘Abbād. De Goeje Fund, no. 24. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1974. 2. 201 Arabic Verbs. Woodbury, N.Y.: Barrons Educational Series, 1978. 3. Wine, Women, and Death: Medieval Hebrew Poems on the Good Life. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1986; paperback, New York: Oxford University Press, 1999. 4. The Gazelle: Medieval Hebrew Poetry on God, Israel, and the Soul. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1991; paperback, New York: Oxford University Press, 1999. 5. The Book of Job (translated, introduced, and annotated). New York: W.W. Norton, 1998; paperback, 1999. 6. A Short History of the Jewish People. New York: Macmillan, 1998; paperback, New York: Oxford University Press, 2000; Japanese version, Tokyo, 2004. 7. Chronicles of the Jewish People (illustrated version of the Short History) New York: Michael Friedman Publishing Group, 1996. 8. (Coeditor) The Literature of Al-Andalus (vol. 5 of The Cambridge History of Arabic Literature). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. 9. The Song of the Distant Dove: Pilgrimage Poems by Judah Halevi. New York: Oxford University Press, forthcoming in autumn 2007.

TRANSLATIONS 1. Of Bygone Days, by Mendele Mokher Seforim, in The Shtetl and Other Yiddish Novellas, ed. Ruth R. Wisse (New York: Behrman House, 1973). 2. “The Sorcerer,” by Isaac Ibn Sahula, in Fiction 7 (1983): 168–84; repr. in Rabbinic Fantasies (see no. 3 below), 295–311. 3. “Asher in the Harem,” by Shelomo Ibn Saqbel, in Rabbinic Fantasies, ed. David Stern and Mark Mirsky. (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication xiii

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Society, 1990), 253–67; paperback, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998. 4. “The Gift of Judah: The Misogynist,” by Ibn Shabbetai, in Rabbinic Fantasies, 269–94. 5. “Four Hebrew Sonnets from Italy” (by Immanuel of Rome, Joseph Sarfati, and Moses ben Joab), in Prooftexts 11 (1991): 225–29. 6. “Judah Abravanel to His Son” (translation of the poem “Zeman hika”), in Judaism 41 (1992): 190–99; repr. in Medieval Iberia, ed. Olivia R. Constable (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997), 357– 63. 7. Jewish Liturgy in Its Historical Development, by Ismar Elbogen (Philadelphia and New York: Jewish Publication Society and the Jewish Theological Seminary, 1993). 8. “Buczacz,” by S. Y. Agnon, in S. Y. Agnon: A Book That Was Lost and Other Stories, ed. Alan Mintz and Anne Golomb Hoffman (New York: Schocken, 1995), 220–26. 9. Selections from Job in Arion 4 (1997) and in Anthology of World Poetry in Translation, ed. Katherine Washburn and John Major (New York: W.W. Norton, 1998). 10. “The Battle of Alfuente,” by Samuel the Nagid, in Medieval Iberia, 84–90 (see above, translation no. 6). 11. Chapter from Voyage to the End of the Millennium, by A.B. Yehoshua, in Modern Hebrew Literature, n.s. 19 (1997): 2–8. 12. “The Lamp Within,” by Moses Ibn Ezra. Translation and notes in Prooftexts 17 (Sept. 1997): 260–65. 13. “The Unetane Toqef: A New Translation,” in Conservative Judaism 50 (1998): 48–50. 14. Poems and epistles by Vidal Benvenist Ben Lavi and Solomon ben Meshulam de Piera, in Révue des Études juives 160 (2001): 112–33. 15. Poems by Immanuel of Rome, Moses ben Joab, Joseph Sarfati, Leone da Modena, and Jacob Frances, in Lady, Take a Lover Now: Music and Poetry from the Ghettos of Renaissance Italy (music CD). 16. Cantos 1 and 2 of Miqdash me‘at, by Moses de Rieti, in Prooftexts 23 (2003): 25–93. 17. Seven poems by Judah Halevi, in Essays on Hebrew Literature in Honor of Avraham Holtz, ed. Z.B-Y. Ginor (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 2003). 18. Five poems by Judah Halevi in Pequod 48–50 (2005): 289–93.

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ARTICLES 1. “Structure in Arabic Poetry: Three Poems by al-Mu‘tamid Ibn ‘Abbād,” Humaniora Islamica 1 (1973): 173–86. 2. “Rabbi Moshe Ibn Ezra on the Legitimacy of Poetry,” Medievalia et Humanistica, n.s. 7 (1976): 101–15. 3. “The Influence of Muslim Arabic Cultural Elements on the Literature of the Hebrew Golden Age,” Conservative Judaism 35 (1982): 63–72. 4. “A Miniature Anthology of Hebrew Wine Poems,” Prooftexts 4 (1984): 269–300. 5. “A Miniature Anthology of Hebrew Love Poems,” Prooftexts 5 (1985): 105–35. 6. “Fawns of the Palace and Fawns of the Field,” Prooftexts 6 (1986): 189– 203. 7. “The Book of Delight: Maqāma or Bildungsroman?” [in Hebrew] (review article), Hadoar (October 3, 1986): 26–29. 8. “Redemption of the Soul in Golden Age Religious Poetry,” Prooftexts 10 (1990): 49–67. 9. “Die Fäden des Hebräischen: Jüdische Sprachen in den Kulturen der Welt,” in Jüdische Lebenswelten: Essays (book accompanying the exhibition Jüdische Lebenswelten, Berlin, 1992), ed. Andreas Nachama (Frankfurt: Jüdischer Verlag, Suhrkamp, 1991), 68–85. 10. “The Jews in Muslim Spain,” in The Legacy of Islamic Spain, ed. Salma Khadra Jayyusi (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1992), 188–200. 11. “Hebrew Poetry in Medieval Iberia,” in Convivencia: Jews, Muslims, and Christians in Medieval Spain, ed. V. Mann et al. (New York: George Braziller, 1992), 39–59. 12. “Al-Harizi’s Astrologer: A Document of Jewish-Muslim Relations,” Studies in Muslim-Jewish Relations 1 (1993): 165–75. 13. “Ibn Gabirol’s Religious Poetry and Arabic Zuhd Poetry,” Edebiyat 4 (1993): 229–242. Hebrew version in Proceedings of the First International Conference on the Heritage of the Jews of Spain (Tel Aviv, 1991), ed. Aviva Doron, 71–82. 14. “Contrasting Religious Experience in the Liturgical Poems of Solomon Ibn Gabirol and Judah Halevi,” Prooftexts 13 (1993): 141–62. Hebrew version in Masoret hapiyut, ed. Binyamin Bar-Tiqva and Ephraim Hazan (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University, c. 1996). 15. “Ibn Gabirol’s Religious Poetry and Sufi Poetry,” Sefarad 54 (1994): 109–42.

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16. “The Love Stories of Jacob ben Eleazar: Between Arabic and Romance” [in Hebrew], Proceedings of the Eleventh World Congress of Jewish Studies, Division C, vol. 3 (Jerusalem, 1994), 16–20. 17. “Is There a Khafajian Style? Recent Studies of Ibn Khafaja” (review article), Edebiyat 6 (1995): 123–30. 18. “Poet and Patron: Ibn Gabirol’s Palace Poem,” Prooftexts 16 (1996): 31– 47. 19. “The Hebrew Qasīda,” in Qasida Poetry in Islamic Asia and Africa, ed. Stefan Sperl and Christopher Shackle, 2 vols. (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1996), 1:121–35, accompanied by translations in 2:141–53. 20. “El poema de Ibn Gabirol y la fuente del Patio de los Leones,” Cuadernos de la Alhambra 29–30 (1993–94): 185–89. 21. “Secular Hebrew Poetry in Fifteenth-Century Spain,” in Crisis and Creativity in the Sephardic World, ed. Benjamin R. Gampel (New York: Columbia University Press, 1997), 25–37, 301–7. 22. “La situación social y el mundo de valores de los poetas hebreos,” in La sociedad medieval a través de la literatura hispanojudía, ed. Angel SáenzBadillos and Ricardo Izquierdo Benito (Cuenca: Ediciones de la Universidad de Castilla–La Mancha, 1998). 23. “Medieval Jewish Literature,” in From Mesopotamia to Modernity, ed. Burton L. Visotzky and David E. Fishman (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1999), 127–66. 24. “Moses Ibn Ezra,” in The Literature of Al-Andalus (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 252–64. 25. “Ḥ. Schirmann, The History of Hebrew Poetry in Muslim Spain, and The History of Hebrew Poetry in Christian Spain and Southern France [in Hebrew] (review article), Zion 64 (1999/2000): 384–99. 26. “Communal Prayer and Liturgical Poetry,” in Judaism in Practice, ed. L. Fine (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2001), 39–51. 27. “Old Age in Hebrew and Arabic Zuhd Poetry,” in Judíos y musulmanes en al-Andalus y el Magreb: Contactos intelectuales, Collection de la Casa de Velázquez, no. 74 (Madrid: Casa de Velázquez, 2002), 85–104. 28. “Merchants and Intellectuals, Rabbis and Poets: Judeo-Arabic Culture in the Golden Age of Islam,” in Cultures of the Jews: A New History, ed. David Biale (New York: Schocken, 2002), 313–86. 29. Commentary on Cantos 1 and 2 of Miqdash me‘at by Moses Rieti (coauthor), Prooftexts 23 (2003): 64–93. 30. “Samuel ha-Nagids Gedicht über die Schlacht von Alfuente als ein Kunstwerk jüdisch-arabischer Kultur,” Judaica (2004).

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31. “El cantar de la paloma callada,” in Poesía hebrea en al-Andalus, ed. Angel Sáenz-Badillos and Judit Targarona (University of Granada, 2003), 187–211. English version in Stephen A. Geller Festschrift (forthcoming). 32. “Islamic Motifs in a Poem by Judah Halevi,” The Maghreb Review 29 (2004): 40–52. Hebrew version in the Aharon Mirsky Festschrift (forthcoming). 33. “Tawakkul in the Poetry of Judah Halevi,” in the Sasson Somekh Festschrift (forthcoming).

REVIEWS 1. Ḥ. Brody and Ḥ. Schirmann, eds., Solomon Ibn Gabirol: Secular Poetry; and Dov Jarden, ed., The Secular Poetry of Solomon Ibn Gabirol [in Hebrew], in Hadoar 56, no. 25 (April 29, 1977): 415–16. 2. Andras Hamori, On the Art of Medieval Arabic Literature, in Speculum 52 (1977): 688–90. 3. Ḥayim Schwarzbaum, The Mishle Shu’alim (Fox Fables) of Rabbi Berechiah HaNakdan, in Association of Jewish Studies Newsletter 28 (March 1981): 20–21. 4. James A. Bellemy and Patricia Owen Steiner, Ibn Sa‘īd al-Maghribī, The Banners of the Champions: An Anthology of Medieval Arabic Poetry from Andalusia and Beyond, in Journal of the American Oriental Society 110 (1990): 524–25. 5. T. Alsina Trias and Gregorio del Olmo Lete, El Dīwān de Yosef ibn Ṣaddīq, in Jewish Quarterly Review 80 (1991): 423–26. 6. Michael A. Sells, Desert Tracings: Six Classic Arabian Odes by Alqama, Shánfara, Labīd, ‘Antara, al-A‘shā, Dhū al-Rumma, in Journal of the American Oriental Society 111 (1991): 158–60. 7. Nehemia Allony, Studies in Language and Literature, vol. 4 [in Hebrew], in Hadoar (April 17, 1992): 24–25. 8. Isaac Jack Lévy, And the World Stood Silent: Sephardic Poetry of the Holocaust, in Melton Journal 26 (1992): 20–21. 9. Shulamit Elizur, Liturgical Poems by Eleazar Qiliri [in Hebrew], in Hadoar 72 (1993): 20–21. 10. Ross Brann, The Compunctious Poet: Cultural Ambiguity in Muslim Spain, in Journal of the American Oriental Society 113 (1993): 125–27. 11. Jacob Lassner, Demonizing the Queen of Sheba: Boundaries of Gender and Culture in Postbiblical Judaism and Medieval Islam, in Al-Masaq 8 (1995): 198–204.

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12. Peter Cole, Selected Poems of Shmuel HaNagid, in Commentary (Nov. 1996): 61–64. 13. Arie Schippers, Spanish Hebrew Poetry and the Arabic Literary Tradition: Arabic Themes in Hebrew Andalusian Poetry, in Journal of the American Oriental Society 117 (1997): 188–90. 14. A.B. Yehoshua, Journey to the End of the Millennium, in Forward (January 15, 1999). 15. Robert Alter, The David Story, in Forward (Sept. 10, 1999). 16. Leon J. Weinberger, Jewish Poet in Muslim Egypt: Moses Dari’s Hebrew Collection, in Hebrew Studies 61 (2000): 343–47. 17. Moses Hadas, Fables of a Jewish Aesop, in Forward (Aug. 2002). 18. Yosef Tobi, The Relationship between Hebrew and Arabic Poetry in the Middle Ages [in Hebrew], in Pe‘amim (2003). 19. Shulamit Elizur, The Liturgical Poems of Rabbi Pinhas Ha-Kohen [in Hebrew], in Katharsis (forthcoming)

ENCYCLOPEDIA ARTICLES 1. Encyclopaedia Judaica. Marcus, Joseph; Oberman, Julius; Obermeyer, Jacob. 2. Dictionary of the Middle Ages. Hebrew Belles-Lettres; Abraham Ibn Ezra; Hebrew Poetry. 3. Encyclopedia of Religion. Bahya Ibn Pakuda. 4. Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics, new edition. Hispano-Arabic Poetry; Hebrew Love Poetry. 5. Encyclopaedia of Islam, new edition. Mu‘tamid Ibn ‘Abbād; al-Sharīf alṬalīq. 6. Encyclopedia of Arabic Literature, ed. Julie Scout Meisami and Paul Starkey (London: Routledge, 1998) abū Iṣḥāq al-Ilbīrī; abū Madyan alTilimsani; al-A‘mā al-Ṭutīlī; Ḥafṣa bint al-Ḥājj al-Rukunīya; Ibn ‘Abbād al-Rundi; Ibn Gabirol; Ibn Gharsīya; Ibn al-Ḥaddād; Ibn al-Khatīb; Ibn al-Labbāna; Ibn Sahl al-Ishbīlī; Maimonides; al-Mu‘tamid Ibn ‘Abbād; al-Shiblī; al-Shusturī; abū l-Walīd al-Ḥimyarī; ‘Alī b. ‘Abd alGhānim al-Ḥusri; Aḥmad Ibn al-Abbār; Ibn Bāqī; Ibn Darrāj alQasṭallī; Ibn Khafāja; Ibn Sharīf al-Rundī; Ibn Zamraq; Moshe Ibn Ezra; al-Sharīf al-Ṭalīq. 7. Encyclopedia of Medieval Iberia (forthcoming). Ibn Darrāj al-Qasṭallī; Zohar.

MISCELLANEOUS PUBLICATIONS 1. “The Purim Miracle and Its Historical Lesson” [in Hebrew]. Essay. Hadoar 57, no. 20 (March 24, 1978): 311. 2. “Judaism Is My Art Form.” Essay. Sh’ma 14 (1984): 132–34.

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3. Miriam and the Angel of Death. Libretto for an opera based on a story by Y.L. Peretz; music by Lee Goldstein. New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1984. 4. “Gerson D. Cohen.” Necrology. Hebrew version in Mada‘ei hayahadut 32 (1992): 46–48; English version in Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research 58 (1992): 15–18. 5. “Gerson D. Cohen.” Necrology. Conservative Judaism 45 (1993): 14–18. 6. “Abraham S. Halkin.” Necrology. Conservative Judaism 45 (1993): 27–31. 7. “Society and Culture of Medieval Sephardic Jewry: An Interdisciplinary Approach.” Syllabus, with Prof. Benjamin Gampel, in Sephardic Studies in the University (Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1994). 8. “Museum of Death, Museum of Life.” Essay. Tikkun 8, no. 6 (1993): 85– 87. 9. “Beauty from Tainted Sources.” Essay. Sh’ma 25 (1995): 3–12. 10. “The Assassination in Light of Jewish Religious Law.” Essay. Tikkun 11, no. 1 (1996): 64–65. 11. “The Judeo-Arabic Renaissance.” Essay. Sh’ma 31 (2000): 4–5. 12. “The Diwan of Judah Halevi,” in World Literature and Its Times 6: Middle Eastern Literatures and Their Times, ed. Joyce Moss (Detroit: Gale, 2004), 141–51. 13. “The Inner Art of Prayer,” in The Unfolding Tradition: Jewish Law after Sinai, ed. Eliot Dorff (New York: Aviv Press, 2005), 395–404. 14. Untitled piece on Judeo-Arabic culture in “Table Talk” section of The Threepenny Review (spring 2006): 4–5. 15. “High Holiday Memoir,” in Kerem (forthcoming).

NOTES ON TWO PASSAGES IN THE BIBLICAL ACCOUNT OF PREHISTORY

TZVI ABUSCH Elsewhere, I have presented my overall understanding of the biblical account of prehistory.1 Here, I wish to pick up on that topic and present some additional thoughts on two of the passages treated there.

THE CREATION OF MAN AND WOMAN Gen. 1-2:4a is the priestly (P) account of creation. Here, God (‫)אלהים‬ stands at some distance from his creation. Among other creations, the passage describes God’s creation of humanity. In the earlier J account (chap. 2), man and woman were not created at the same time; first man was created from earth, and only later woman was created from the body of man—and neither was created initially for the purpose of sexual reproduction. By contrast, in P, man and woman are created together in the image of God and are expected to reproduce. The text of Gen. 1:26-27 reads: ‫אמר ֱאלֹ ִהים ַנ ֲע ֶשׂה אָ ָדם ְבּ ַצ ְל ֵמנוּ ִכּ ְדמוּ ֵתנוּ וְ יִ ְרדּוּ ִב ְד ַגת ַה ָיּם וּ ְבעוֹף‬ ֶ ֹ‫ ַויּ‬26 ‫ ַויִּ ְב ָרא‬27 ‫ ָהאָ ֶרץ‬-‫ ָה ֶר ֶמשׂ ָהרֹ ֵמשׂ ַעל‬-‫ ָהאָ ֶרץ וּ ְב ָכל‬-‫ַה ָשּׁ ַמיִ ם וּ ַב ְבּ ֵה ָמה וּ ְב ָכל‬ Professor Raymond Scheindlin is a master of language and poetry. It is a special pleasure to dedicate these two notes, one on poetic form, the other on the theme of language, to Ray, an old friend with whom I first bonded over glasses of hot coffee. 1 “Biblical Accounts of Prehistory: Their Meaning and Formation,” in Bringing the Hidden to Light: The Process of Interpretation. Studies in Honor of Stephen A. Geller, ed. K.F. Kravitz and D. Sharon (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, in press).

1

2

TZVI ABUSCH ‫ ָהאָ ָדם ְבּ ַצ ְלמוֹ ְבּ ֶצ ֶלם ֱאלֹ ִהים ָבּ ָרא אֹתוֹ ָז ָכר וּנְ ֵק ָבה ָבּ ָרא‬-‫ֱאלֹ ִהים ֶאת‬ ‫אֹ ָתם‬ 26 And God said, “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. They shall rule the fish of the sea, the birds of the sky, the cattle, the whole earth, and all the creeping things that creep on earth.” 27 And God created man in His image, in the image of God created He him; male and female created He them.

We may begin with the obvious question: Why does God speak in the plural and state, “Let us make man…”? Explanations for the plural, such as the writer’s use of the “royal we” as God’s mode of speech, or the background of the text in Near Eastern mythological tales set in the divine council have been offered. It seems to me that a solution is rooted in the overall thought of the passage and can be inferred from the linguistic/poetic form of the two verses. The writer believed that man and woman were created together and that both were formed in the image of God. But how was the writer to shift from the man made in the image of God (‫ )ויברא אלהים את האדם בצלמו‬to male and female (‫)זכר ונקבה ברא אתם‬, both in the image of God? That is, how was he to convey the fact that the two sexes were made in the image of the one God while maintaining both their inherent duality as well as the oneness of God? He solved (or perhaps only sidestepped) a logical problem by linguistic legerdemain of a most elegant sort. A careful examination of the two verses should make this clear. Let us look first at v. 27. This verse begins with the statement that God made (singular) “man” (‫ )האדם‬in his own image. The author then restated his position but shifted from the use of nouns to the use of pronouns and stated that God created “him” (‫ )אתו‬in his own image. Following this, the author split “him” into two, male and female, and transformed the singular pronoun “him” into the plural pronoun “them” (‫)אתם‬: ‫זכר ונקבה ברא אתם‬, “male and female created he them.” The writer made this transformation seem natural by beginning v. 26 not with the singular, “Let me make man in my image,” but rather with the plural, “Let us make man in our image.” The existence of the literary tradition of the divine council provided the writer with the means to have God speak in the plural and thus allowed him to open the passage in the plural. The author then shifted to the singular in v. 27. But by means of the final transformation of the singular pronoun “him” into plural “them” at the end of v. 27, he brought back the plural and thus rounded off the passage. A circle had been created that opened with the plural “Let us make…” of v. 26 and concluded with the plural “them.”

TWO PASSAGES IN THE BIBLICAL ACCOUNT OF PREHISTORY

3

Thus, the plural in v. 26 prepared the reader for the transformation of the singular human into the dual man and woman, both created in the image of God. By creating a chiastic structure (plural-singular-singularplural), the writer has solved his logical and theological problem.2

THE TOWER OF BABEL Gen. 11:1-9, the account of the tower of Babel, recounts the story of a migrating humanity that spoke one language. In concise terms, the story runs as follows: migrating from the east, mankind settled in the land of Shinar and there built a city. Threatened by what they were doing, Yhwh confounded their speech and dispersed them over the earth. When I first analyzed this passage, I assumed that it was an old Yahwistic (J) account and reflected an early Israelite anti-urban strain. This remains true, I think, but some years later I realized that I could not just assume that the Babylon tradition was brought to Israel with the patriarchs and therefore represented second-millennium traditions. Rather, I had to look for a context that might explain the choice of the name of the city as Babylon, and thus it occurred to me that the text may owe some elements to a late revision of J. It now seems to me that one should imagine the text as comprising two strata and treating two separate themes: city life and language. In the base text, an early Israelite anti-urbanism came to expression. This text would not—and, in any case, need not—have dealt with Babylon; the city could remain nameless. At a later stage, the language stratum and the name “Babylon” were brought in. If we imagine this text as having been revised in the exilic age, we can identify a very distinct purpose served by this addition. The purpose of the revision could have been to persuade the exiles not to settle in an urban metropolis like Babylon, for there they would lose their linguistic and ethnic distinctiveness. Rather, so the argument would have gone, they should settle in separate communities, as most of the Babylonian Jews of that era actually did, and thus maintain their group identity. Apparently, then, an original anti-urban text was transformed into a polemic against living in a metropolis like Babylon characterized by a melting pot that assimilated diverse communities by means of a common language. 2 Some months after submitting this article and many years after working out the analysis of Gen. 1:26-27, I discovered that some of my arguments had been anticipated by P. Trible, God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1978), 12-21.

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The basic anti-urban text would have been vv. 2-5, 8, and perhaps 9b, to which were added the elements that presume that people were settling in the city of Babylon and spoke only one language: vv. 1, 6-7, 9a. Using the NJPS translation, we may lay out the two strata of the texts. A. The Original Anti-Urban text … 2And as they migrated from the east, they came upon a valley in the land of Shinar and settled there. 3They said to one another, “Come, let us make bricks and burn them hard.”–Brick served them as stone, and bitumen served them as mortar.–4And they said, “Come, let us build us a city, and a tower with its top in the sky, to make a name for ourselves; else we shall be scattered all over the world.” 5The Lord came down to look at the city and tower that man had built… 8Thus the Lord scattered them from there over the face of the whole earth; and they stopped building the city. …and from there the Lord scattered them over the face of the whole earth.

B. The Babylon/Language Addition 1Everyone

on earth had the same language and the same words. … 6and the Lord said, “If, as one people with one language for all, this is how they have begun to act, then nothing that they may propose to do will be out of their reach. 7Let us, then, go down and confound their speech there, so that they shall not understand one another’s speech.” … 9That is why it was called Babel, because there the Lord confounded the speech of the whole earth.

Only later, after having worked out this analysis, did I recall Hermann Gunkel’s brilliant analysis of this story in which he argued that the text was made up of two separate and independent sources that had been joined.3 One source, a Babel recension, involved the issue of language and presumed that people were already dispersed over the world and spoke only one language; the other source, a tower recension, involved a nomadic population that stopped to build a tower but then was scattered. However drawn I am to his analysis, it still seems to me that the assumption of an early anti-urban source overlaid by an anti-Babylon source 3 H. Gunkel, Genesis, trans. M.E. Biddle (Macon, Ga.: Mercer University Press, 1997), 94-102. (The English translation is based on the third German edition; I have before me the second German edition: H. Gunkel, Genesis2, HK [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1902], 81-89.)

TWO PASSAGES IN THE BIBLICAL ACCOUNT OF PREHISTORY

5

has the advantage of placing the material into a historical context, and that in a short text of this sort, a rewriting of a base text by expansion seems more reasonable than a conflation of two independent sources. Still, Gunkel’s analysis is sufficiently elegant and compelling for us to leave the matter as an open question.

HE SAID, SHE SAID: REINSCRIBING THE ANDALUSI ARABIC LOVE LYRIC

ROSS BRANN For readers familiar with Andalusi literary and social history, the literary intellectual Ibn Zaydūn and the Umayyad princess-poet Wallāda (bint alMustakfī) were celebrated, aristocratic literary paramours of eleventhcentury Cordoba. Their story functioned as an Andalusi cultural trope akin to Caesar and Cleopatra, Abelard and Heloise, or to use more culturally apposite examples, Majnūn and Laylā, and Jamīl and Buthayna. The literary imagination and life as it is lived cross paths in Ibn Zaydūn and Wallāda: their exchange of poems includes some very sharp retorts from the latter in which she vents her impatience with and disdain for her on-again, off-again lover.1 Lesser known than Ibn Zaydūn and Wallāda but no less interesting is another pair of star-crossed poets from noble families of Granada, Ḥafṣa bint al-Ḥājj al-Rukūniyya (c. 1135-91) and Abū Ja‘far ibn ‘Abd al-Malik ibn Sa‘īd (d. 1163). They lived and wrote under the ostensibly austere and

This exercise in reading is offered as an homage to Raymond Scheindlin and what I have learned from him regarding the Arabic and Hebrew love lyric. 1 In two satiric little ditties beginning “Inna ibna zaydūn ‘alā faḍlihi” (“Ibn Zaydūn, for all his virtue”; Ibn Bassām, Al-Dhakhīra fī maḥāsin ahl al-jazīra, ed. Iḥsān ‘Abbās [Beirut: Dār al-thaqāfa, 1979], 4:206), the poet (Wallāda) chides Ibn Zaydūn for supposedly favoring young men and their charms over her and hers. For a recent synthetic view of Ibn Zaydūn and his work, see Devin J. Stewart, “Ibn Zaydūn,” in The Cambridge History of Arabic Literature: The Literature of Al-Andalus, ed. Maria Rosa Menocal, Raymond P. Scheindlin, and Michael Sells (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 306-17.

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supposedly aesthetically rigid al-Muwaḥḥid rule more than 100 years after their more famous ṭā’ifa precursors.2 My purpose here in this studied exercise in reading involves setting aside historical considerations in favor of literary-historical and literarycritical concerns. But a few biographical details are necessary in order to fully appreciate our poets’ exchange of poems. Abū Ja‘far, whose teachers are said to include the brilliant twelfth-century poet Ibn Khafāja, served as an important court secretary for Abū Sa‘īd ‘Uthmān, the governor of alMuwaḥḥid Granada. Unfortunately for Abū Ja‘far, his powerful boss also fell in love with Ḥafṣa, and our poet’s position in the ensuing love triangle seems to have forced him to flee Granada. Abū Ja‘far joined Ibn Mardanīsh’s rebellion against al-Muwaḥḥid rule in al-Andalus. He was eventually apprehended and then executed in 1165. For her part, Ḥafṣa was brought to Marrakesh by the al-Muwaḥḥid caliph Ya‘qūb al-Mansūr to tutor his daughters.3 The two texts by Abū Ja‘far and Ḥafṣa I would like to reread are preserved in several Andalusi and Maghribi sources, the earliest of which is Rāyāt al-mubarrizīn wa-ghāyāt al-mumayyazīn (Banners of the Champions and Standards of the Elite), the thirteenth-century literary collection of exemplary Andalusi Arabic lyrics compiled by Ibn Sa‘īd al-Maghribī. With slight grammatical variations, the poems also appear in al-Maqqarī and in other later sources.4 Here is Abū Ja‘far’s lyric: 2 Recent studies of Ibn Quzmān and Ibn Khafāja, among others, demonstrate that the al-Murābiṭ and al-Muwaḥḥid rulers of al-Andalus presided over a period rich in Andalusi cultural productivity, suggesting that historiography has exaggerated their austerity and rigidity for polemical reasons. 3 The biographical details are transmitted (along with verse) by al-Maqqarī, Nafḥ al-ṭīb min ghusn al-andalus al-raṭīb, ed. Iḥsān ‘Abbās (Beirut: Dār Ṣādir, 1968), 4:17181; Ibn Sa‘īd al-Maghribī, Al-Mughrib fī ḥulā al-maghrib, ed. Shawqī Ḍayf (Cairo: Dar al-ma‘ārif bi-miṣr, 1955), 2:138-39, 164-66; Lisān al-Dīn ibn al-Khāṭib, Al-Iḥāṭa fī akhbār gharnāṭa (2d rev. ed.), Muḥammad ‘Abd Allāh ‘Inān (Cairo: Al-Khangi Bookshop, 1973), 1:491-94. See also A.R. Nykl, Hispano-Arabic Poetry and Its Relations with the Old Provençal Troubadours (Baltimore: Hispanic Society of America, 1946), 317-24, Teresa Garulo, Dīwān de las poetisas de al-Andalus (Madrid: Hiperión, 1985), 71-89, and Louis di Giacomo, “Une Poétesse Andalouse du temps des Almoḥades: Ḥafṣa bint al-Ḥajj ar-Rukūnīya,” Hesperis 34 (1947): 9-101. 4 Ibn Sa‘īd al-Maghribī, Rāyāt al-mubarrizīn wa-ghāyāt al-mumayyazīn, ed. AlNu‘mān ‘Abd al-Mut‘āl al-Qāḍī (Cairo: Al-Ahrām, 1973), 92-93, and al-Maqqarī, Nafḥ al-ṭīb, 4:177-78. Incidentally, our poet Abū Ja‘far was Ibn Sa‘īd’s great-uncle. For alternate translations, see Nykl, Hispano-Arabic Poetry, 320-21, and James A. Bellamy and Patricia Owen Steiner, The Banners of the Champions: An Anthology of

HE SAID, SHE SAID

9

May God preserve that nighttime, free of blamers, which secretly concealed us in Ḥawr Mu’ammil. A fragrance drifted in from Najd; when it spread, wafted was the scent of cloves. The turtledove was singing in the tree and sweet myrtle branches bent low over the stream. The garden was delighted with all it could see: hugging, and embracing and kissing lips. On the face of it, we have a short four-line love poem employing many thematic materials and conceptual and figurative elements familiar from the Arabic literary tradition: we are given the barest glimpse of a secret evening tryst between lover and beloved held in the most idyllic setting—a lush enclosed Andalusi garden. Even the love lyric’s stock figure of the spying censor is present here, ironically, by mention of his fortunate absence. Invoking God’s power, the poet reconstructs the magical moment himself by recourse to his memory and with his apparent skill with Arabic and mastery of its literary tradition. Like the rendezvous itself, the representation is ever so discreet: the ambience and the moment completely overshadow the barely inscribed human personae. Only the single direct object suffix (“concealed us,” wārānā) alludes to the hidden presence of lover and beloved in the poem. Contrast this extreme restraint and circumlocution with Ibn Zaydūn’s famous Nūniyya to Wallāda, in which the end rhyme of each of the lyric ode’s fifty-two verses offers an acoustic echo (“us,” -inā) through which the anguished lovesick poet attempts to recapture in language an intimacy lost in life.5 Note that the gallery of sensual pleasures in Abū Ja‘far’s lyric is detached from anything human and displaced onto the natural realm. As usual, there is abundant fragrance in the air, the sight of the myrtle, the rushing sound of the fountain’s water and accompaniment of the melodious bird, and finally, undifferentiated touching. More significant still, the lyric’s affective response to the setting and the interlude is transferred from the poet and his companion onto the garden and its songbird. As though they are approving observers and very nearly participants, the turtledove croons and the garden is delighted “with all it could see.” Yet even here, what the Medieval Arabic Poetry from Andalusia and Beyond (Madison, Wisc.: Hispanic Seminary of Medieval Studies, 1989), 175-76. 5 See the discussion of the poem by Michael Sells, “Love,” Cambridge History of Arabic Literature: The Literature of Al-Andalus, 129-34.

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garden sees is rendered abstractly with a series of verbal nouns undifferentiated by subject markers or any reference to human participants (“hugging, and embracing and kissing lips,” ‘ināqun wa-ḍammun wa-’rtishāfu muqabbal). Of course, we can read the assemblage of natural elements, especially the garden, as more than atmosphere but as a symbolic representation of the human figures deliberately obscured from our direct view. We should not neglect to observe the culturally specific geographic markers of the poem’s first two verses, the only signs of specificity in a poem otherwise set in the perfect archetypical Andalusi urban garden. Ḥawr Mu’ammil and Najd are famous places of recreation in Muslim Granada,6 the latter’s place name also suggestive of the sacred home of Islam in the Arabian Peninsula. Of course, such allusive references underscore the nostalgic tone of the poem as a whole and resonate with a cluster of love and longing motifs established in the nasīb (prelude) of the classical Arabic ode.7 As much as they venerated al-Andalus, Andalusi poets were not averse to casting their mind’s eye eastward for a source of inspiration or just as often in cultural competition with their Eastern counterparts. In any case, these geographic markers are the only signs in the lyric pointing to experience as it is specifically lived rather than as poets imagined it in verse. The poem thus rests almost entirely upon an artful imaginative rendering of the elements found in a paradigmatic Andalusi urban garden. With the social encounter obscured from view and only implied, the poem appears to paint a scene of perfect natural harmony and uncommon beauty. Abū Ja‘far’s poem is a work of pure convention, and yet it is also unusually optimistic for a love lyric. It celebrates a supposedly blissful rendezvous with the poet’s beloved and memorializes it in verse. However, the etiquette of Arabic courtly love poetry, as in the medieval romance lyric, usually requires that the beloved be utterly cruel and the lover completely frustrated in his quest for love. That is not the case here. Jacques Lacan frames the paradox as though he were a reader of the Arabic lyric: “Love is a love of the obstacle which forever thwarts love.”8 To put it another way: the poet can demonstrate that he is truly a lover only if his anguish is absolute and he is prepared to sacrifice everything for love.

Rāyāt al-mubarrizīn, 92 n. 9. On which, see Jaroslav Stetkevych, The Zephyrs of Najd: The Poetics of Nostalgia in the Classical Arabic Nasib (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993). 8 Cited by Tova Rosen, Unveiling Eve: Reading Gender in Medieval Hebrew Literature (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003), 51. 6 7

HE SAID, SHE SAID

11

Typically, the love poem is a dramatic monologue in which the poetlover addresses an inaccessible, absent, departed, or silent woman (or young man) for whom he longs. The poet’s stance may be that of an observer in the Arabic lyric, but his posture is more frequently petitionary: he implores the beloved to listen, to respond to his increasingly desperate advances, and he pleads that she/he stop victimizing him with her/his unresponsive attitude yet irresistible charms. To convince us that the beloved is indeed captivating, the poet also catalogs his affective response to the beloved (sometimes universalizing his response): typically, he offers flattering, although usually stock, descriptions of her/his incomparable beauty, and he tells us of his sleeplessness, his copious tears, and his psychosomatic agonizing pain. The beloved, however, never ever succumbs to the poet’s pleadings, leaving him frustrated and anguished beyond measure—a hopeless poet and forlorn lover.9 By contrast, in our text the poet (Abū Ja‘far) does not suffer for love, and the beloved does not rebuff his advances. Rather, the portrait, if we can call it that, is of a pair of lovers enjoying the harmony of togetherness in perfect and approving surroundings. The petitionary element is lacking, as is any description of the beloved’s physical beauty or emotional characteristics. That is, the conventional affect is transformed from frustration and suffering to the joy that accompanies complete fulfillment. The poet thus constructs a mood, setting, and personae at variance with courtly poetic tradition, and he does no better in representing his beloved, about whom nothing at all is said. When reading more conventional courtly lyrics, the reader must take care not to be misled by the figure of a woman seemingly so empowered as to hold the poet’s life in the balance. She is always a woman as men would imagine her, an ideal and objectified figure whose frequent appearance in love poetry underscores the fact that most Andalusi women were denied a prominent public voice in society.10 I should note that critics such as Raymond Scheindlin assert that the Arabic love lyric attaches no particular importance to the beloved’s gender (except for the description of a few obvious body parts); that is, the construction of the beloved and the Raymond P. Scheindlin, Wine, Women, and Death: Medieval Hebrew Poems on the Good Life (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1986), 80-86, introduces this conceptual framework (descriptive/petitionary) for reading the Hebrew (and Arabic) love lyric. 10 Maria J. Viguera, “Aṣluḥu li l-ma‘ālī: On the Social Status of Andalusi Women,” in The Legacy of Muslim Spain, ed. Salma Khadra Jayyusi (Leiden: Brill, 1992), 709-24. 9

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relationship between lover and beloved transcend the latter’s gender. However, as we shall see in a moment, the inverted power relationship of male lover and female beloved in the male-authored lyric certainly involves gender considerations related to the critical issue of who is permitted to speak. That is not to say that Andalusi Muslim women were silent in its literature. On the contrary, we know of some forty women poets whose work is represented in Andalusi letters. Arguably the most important Andalusi woman poet, Ḥafṣa bint al-Ḥājj is the author of eighteen poems that have come down to us. The immediate purposes of Andalusi Arabic poetry were to entertain, persuade, and ritually celebrate the aesthetic values of its audience of likeminded Arabic literary intellectuals. How, we might wonder, did its addressee read the first poem? In al-Andalus, the answer to such a question frequently comes in the form of another epistolary lyric, which, in this case, represents a biting refutation: She answered, saying: By my life! The garden took no delight in our union, but rather, showed us rancor and envy. And the river didn’t applaud in joy at our closeness, nor did the turtle-dove sing, except of its own ardor. Don’t think so well of everything, as you are apt to do; it isn’t justified in every circumstance. I don’t believe the horizon showed us its star, unless it was in order to spy on us.11 The rejoinder is crafted in the meter (ṭawīl) that is set by the first poem, although with a different end rhyme. It also neatly follows the canons of Arabic rhetoric by engaging the first scriptor and his discourse in a counterexercise on the theme, using and negating or qualifying many of the same images and conceptual elements employed in the first poem. Indeed, in the classical age of Islam debate, poems (and rhymed-prose debates) were a favored enterprise of the learned classes, who enjoyed the intellectual stimulation and aesthetic pleasure of clashing point with counterpoint.12 Rāyāt al-mubarrizīn, 93, and, with slight variations, al-Maqqarī, 4:177-78. Di Giacomo, “Une Poétesse Andalouse,” 98, provides all the textual variants for both poems. 12 See Wolfhart Heinrichs, “Rose Versus Narcissus: Observations of an Arabic Literary Debate,” in Dispute Poems and Dialogues in the Ancient and Mediaeval Near East, ed. G.J. Reinink and H.L.J. Vanstiphout (Leuven: Uitgeverij Peeters, 1991), 179-98, 11

HE SAID, SHE SAID

13

The second poet lays out a different and overtly personal perspective, signaled by her outburst “By my life!” Recall that Abū Ja‘far’s poem concludes by observing (with evident self-satisfaction) the garden’s delight with the pair’s encounter. Ḥafṣa counters with the opposite assertion and reinscribes herself into the lyric in the first person (and subsequently second-person address) from the get-go: “By my life! The garden took no delight in our union, but rather, showed us rancor and envy” (ma surra r-riyāḍu bi-waṣlinā wa-lakinnahu abdā lanā l-ghilla wal-ḥasad) (line 1). The poet turns her companion’s words back upon him stylistically as well as conceptually: the second lyric foregrounds the presence of an identified “us” and turns it into an opposition of I/you. The two are not hidden and implied subjects but direct objects (“us”) of the garden’s manifest malice. The garden (joined in the final line by the star) thus assumes the conventional role of the raqīb (watcher/spy/slanderer) whose purpose in the love poem is to represent the social voice of conventional morality and help subvert the poet’s quest for love. What was secretly concealed from view in the first poem is revealed in the second and in a harsh light to boot. The second line proceeds to reverse two of the remaining affective perceptions established in the first poem: She said: And the river didn’t applaud in joy at our closeness, nor did the turtle-dove sing, except of its own ardor. He said: The turtledove was singing in the tree and sweet myrtle branches bent low over the stream. The river and the turtledove were indeed present on the scene, as they frequently are in the love lyric, but not in the way the lover imagines. The water’s rustle and the songbird’s crooning have nothing to do with the lover and beloved. Nature is thus portrayed as either hostile to the couple or altogether indifferent to their assignation. It is as detached and disconnected from them here as it was symbiotically at one with them previously. Arguably the most direct and stinging rebuke comes in the third line. It scolds the poet-lover for his self-satisfaction, an attitude said to be characteristic of him and not merely a response to a moment he misconstrued as wonderful. (“Don’t think so well of everything as you are and Geert Jan Van Gelder, “Arabic Debates of Jest and Earnest,” in Reinink and Vanstiphout, 199-212.

14

ROSS BRANN

apt to do; it isn’t justified in every circumstance.”) But the criticism of the lover’s perception and self-absorption does not end even here. Abū Ja‘far’s poem permitted no “blamers” and did not mention the stars that by convention watch over the evening meeting of lover and beloved. Ḥafṣa restores both motifs in her poetic rejoinder, consistent with its inversion of the garden’s elements’ affect. Abū Jacfar’s certainty that all was well is matched by her assurance that the thrill is gone and the watching star was, in fact, a spy out to ruin the evening. Measure for measure, his comeuppance is complete. Ironically, from the perspective of Arabic literary tradition, the female poet in the second poem plays the conventional role of the beloved to near perfection except that she speaks, albeit in castigating tones and manner. To put it another way, she refuses to play the role of the “mute beauty,” as Tova Rosen deems this figure, and she takes control of the process by which the male poet typically enacts (his) desire through language. In assuming this role, she not only voices her own perspective but also casts her companion’s character against his will, as it were, as a proper courtly lover who suffers for love. By thoroughly rejecting the lover’s perspective and his posture, if not the lover himself, she personifies Judith Fetterley’s “resisting reader.”13 Her poetic variations on the conventional themes that he introduces invert and thus subvert the male poet’s recollection of the evening and rendering of it in his lyric. Against the background of the conventions of courtly love, it is as though Ḥafṣa must herself tutor Abū Ja‘far in how to compose a more correct, traditional love poem. As we have seen, she does so by enlisting the metaphorical analogue of the garden and its elements to voice her annoyance with the poet-lover. Whereas the garden and its harmony enveloped the couple protectively and approvingly in the first poem, its sounds and sensibility turn decidedly inhospitable and hostile in the second: the harmony of the enclosed space is shattered. We might say that the garden joins the female poet in speaking up. This rhetorical maneuver appears cleverer still when we realize that the garden conventionally evokes comparisons to the beloved’s body (her breasts are like ripe fruit, her figure resembles a slender bough, and so forth). Ḥafṣa’s poem thus offers a singular form of literary criticism directed against her counterpart: Abū Ja‘far stands accused of being a poor lover. It seems to have been good for him, but it surely wasn’t good for her. But 13 Judith Fetterley, The Resisting Reader: A Feminist Approach to American Fiction (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1978); Tova Rosen, Unveiling Eve, 201 n. 60, brought my attention to Fetterley’s work and notion.

HE SAID, SHE SAID

15

worse still is that Ḥafṣa’s lyric accuses Abū Ja‘far of misrepresenting himself, of misrepresenting her, the beloved, and misrepresenting their encounter against the conventions of the lyric. He is thus deemed a dreadful poet. In Andalusi Arabic cultural terms, that is a fate far worse than rejection or death.

ON THE INTERPLAY OF ARABIC AND HEBREW IN THE CAIRO GENIZA LETTERS

MARK R. COHEN This essay addresses an aspect of the interplay between Arabic and Hebrew in the Middle Ages that has not been much studied. I offer it not as a literary scholar but as a historian who for years has engaged in a mutual sharing and critique of work with Raymond Scheindlin. This foray into a little-recognized medieval literary phenomenon is in no small measure a sign of how much I owe to his influence and friendship. This is not another inquiry into the influence of Arabic on medieval Hebrew poetry, about which Ray Scheindlin has written with such authority.1 Nor does it relate to the well-known phenomenon of Arabic influence on medieval Hebrew in Europe through the translation of JudeoArabic texts into Hebrew.2 Rather, it concerns original prose writings from everyday life, specifically epistolary prose, as represented in the historical documents of the Cairo Geniza. See the bibliography of his writings in this volume. The excellent article by B. Klar, “On Methods of Expansion of the Hebrew Language in the Middle Ages” (Hebrew), in Meḥqarim ve-‘iyyunim ba-lashon ba-shira uva-sifrut (Tel Aviv, 1954), 31-46, takes its examples from medieval Hebrew poetry. 2 See M.H. Gottstein, “Syntax and Vocabulary of Medieval Hebrew as Influenced by Arabic” (Hebrew) (Ph.D. diss., Hebrew University, 1951); A. Ivry, “Philosophical Translations from the Arabic in Hebrew during the Middle Ages,” in Rencontres de cultures dans la philosophie medievale: Traductions et traducteurs de l’antiquité tardive au XIVe siècle, ed. J. Hamesse and M. Fattori (Louvain-la-Neuve, 1990), 16786; C. Rabin, “The Linguistics of Translation,” in Aspects of Translation, ed. A.D. Booth (London, 1958), 133, notes that the translations from Arabic to Hebrew were often so literal that “they created, in fact, a completely new Hebrew language.” 1

17

18

MARK R. COHEN

The inquiry is aided by two things: the increasing availability of Muslim Arabic correspondence roughly contemporary with the “classical Geniza period” (c. 1000-1250);3 and the online, searchable database of historical fragments in the Princeton Geniza Project, which greatly facilitates access to the kinds of information underlying this study.4 In measuring the impact of Arabic on Hebrew, we must keep in mind that Jewish writers often incorporated Middle Arabic forms, closer to spoken Arabic than the classical model, into their writings. The very same is true of Arabic letters written by Muslims. Thus when I speak of the interplay between Arabic and Hebrew, the former should be understood broadly to encompass both the classical language and the more casual language of daily use enshrined in Judeo-Arabic. Over many years of research on the Geniza letters, I have noticed that correspondents writing in Hebrew, or interjecting Hebrew in Arabic letters, often employ words or phrases that appear to have been influenced by the latter language. The linguistic phenomenon falls into two categories: Hebrew calques or loan translations of Arabic locutions; and examples of Arabic epistolary practice expressed in Hebrew, including calques of Arabic idioms, that appear more Arabic than Hebrew in their syntax. Since Geniza people thought and spoke in Arabic and usually wrote in that language, the influence is primarily unidirectional. It is doubtful that medieval writers of Hebrew letters had Hebrew models on which to base their work. To be sure, Jews living in the preTo be found in the various editions of Werner Diem from European library collections: Arabische Briefe auf Papyrus und Papier aus der Heidelberger Papyrus-Sammlung (Wiesbaden, 1991); Arabische Geschäftsbriefe des 10. bis 14. Jahrhunderts aus der Österreichischen Nationalbibliothek in Wien (Wiesbaden, 1995); Arabische Privatbriefe des 9. bis 15. Jahrhunderts aus der Österreichischen Nationalbibliothek in Wien (Wiesbaden, 1996); Arabische Briefe des 7. bis 13. Jahrhunderts aus den Staatlichen Museen Berlin (Wiesbaden, 1997); and in the letters from the archaeological find at Quseir al-Qadīm, now published in Li Guo, Commerce, Culture, and Community in a Red Sea Port in the Thirteenth Century: The Arabic Documents from Quseir (Leiden and Boston, 2004). The letters in Albert Dietrich, Arabische Briefe aus der Papyrussammlung der Hamburger Staatsund Universitäts-Bibliothek (Hamburg, 1955), date mostly from the ninth century, with only a few from the tenth, so they are earlier than the Geniza period. 4 http://gravitas.princeton.edu/tg/tt/, the New Princeton Geniza Browser, contains now (Nov. 2005) almost 4,000 documents, amounting to 25–40% of the “documentary Geniza,” depending on varying estimates of the total number of such fragments. Though the browser is still “under construction,” it is available to the general public, entering as “guest” as instructed. Users then must select “Princeton Geniza.” 3

ON THE INTERPLAY OF ARABIC AND HEBREW

19

Islamic Middle East corresponded with one another. A trace of a Hebrew missive, for instance, is found in the Palestinian Talmud.5 But the Jews of late antiquity probably wrote their missives mostly in Aramaic, if the limited evidence of the Bar Kokhba correspondence is representative.6 At any rate, we have very few extant examples of Jewish epistolary practice prior to the Arab period, and what exists bears little resemblance in its formal, rhetorical features to the Hebrew letters of the classical Geniza period.7 It is only with the Arabic period, after the Islamic conquests, that we begin to have Jewish letters in abundance. We recall the famous polemical letter called “Pirqoi ben Baboi” (eighth century) in Hebrew as well as the early responsa of the Babylonian geonim in Aramaic, which were dispatched as letters to outlying communities or individuals. The two most famous of these are the Hebrew letter of R. Amram Gaon (gaon, 861-72) prefacing his long responsum (in Aramaic) on the order of the prayers,8 and the responsum (in Aramaic) of Sherira Gaon (gaon, 968-1006) sent to Qayrawan in Tunisia (in 987), which is regularly called a “letter” (iggeret).9 Both the Pirqoi ben Baboi missive and R. Amram’s letter date from the period when Arabic had not yet become established as the dominant literary language of the Jews of Arab lands, while Sherira’s “letter” dates from the period of transition. More germane to the present inquiry are the letters from everyday life preserved in the Geniza, which begin to mount up at the beginning of the eleventh century, after Aramaic had given way to Arabic as the spoken Discussed in P. Schäfer, “From Jerusalem the Great to Alexandria the Small: The Relationship between Palestine and Egypt in the Graeco-Roman Period,” in The Talmud Yerushalmi and Graeco-Roman Culture, ed. Peter Schäfer (Tübingen, 1998), 129-40. The Jews of the Geniza period would not have been aware of the two Jewish letters in 2 Maccabees, found only in the Apocrypha in Christian Bibles, and written in Greek. 6 Among the published letters from the Bar Kokhba period, only three (or four) are in Hebrew, and nine are in Aramaic. Two are in Greek. See The Documents from the Bar Kokhba Period in the Cave of Letters: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Nabatean-Aramaic Papyri, ed. Yigael Yadin et al. (Jerusalem, 2002), 277-366. 7 Neither the letters from the Jewish colony in Elephantine, Egypt (fifth century BCE), which are entirely in Aramaic, nor the famous Lachish letters (beginning of sixth century BCE) preserved on clay shards (ostraca) and written in Paleo-Hebrew are relevant. On the innovation of Hebrew epistolography at the beginning of the Arab period, see Y. Ratzaby, “Hebrew Lexical Items in the Letters of Yemenite Jewry” (Hebrew), Leshonenu la-‘am 25 (1973-74): 175. 8 Seder Rav Amram Gaon, ed. D. Goldschmidt (Jerusalem, 1971). 9 Iggeret R. Scherira Gaon, ed. B.M. Levin (Haifa, 1921). 5

20

MARK R. COHEN

tongue of most of the Jews of the Islamic world and when Arabic was becoming solidly established as their literary medium, following the model of the oeuvre of Saadia Gaon (d. 942).10 Though most of the Geniza correspondence is in Judeo-Arabic, the quantity of Hebrew letters is far from negligible. Jacob Mann constructed his pioneering book in 1920-22 on the Jews in Fatimid Egypt and Palestine largely on the basis of Hebrew correspondence, much of it from communal dignitaries.11 The geonim of Palestine and Babylonia wrote in both Hebrew and Arabic, seemingly employing Hebrew much the same way that speakers of European vernaculars from the elite (notably churchmen) used Latin, especially when corresponding about political and ecclesiastical affairs. In their Hebrew correspondence, the geonim tried to imitate the high register of classical Arabic by employing rhymed prose (saj‘; see below). The same phenomenon of Hebrew saj‘ crops up in the letters of the twelfth-century Babylonian gaon Samuel ben Eli (gaon, 1164-93), in letters written entirely in Hebrew and in Hebrew introductions to Judeo-Arabic missives.12 As incoming correspondence to Fustat, these geonic letters ended up in the Geniza, to our good fortune. In my recent work on poverty and charity in medieval Egypt, I identified about 485 Geniza letters of or on behalf of the poor.13 Most of them are written in Judeo-Arabic, but approximately 10 percent are in Hebrew. In addition, many of the Arabic letters have Hebrew introductions, which is where the impact of Arabic epistolographic conventions is often seen. Some of the Hebrew letters come from Jews originating in Europe, who did not have sufficient command of Arabic. Others were scribed by Arabic speakers, who may have chosen Hebrew as their linguistic medium because they were writing to recommend a foreign indigent from Latin or 10 Saadia’s pioneering role is masterfully restated by Raymond Scheindlin in his essay “Merchants and Intellectuals, Rabbis and Poets: Judeo-Arabic Culture in the Golden Age of Islam,” in Cultures of the Jews: A New History, ed. David Biale (New York, 2002), 322ff. 11 Jacob Mann, The Jews in Egypt and in Palestine under the Fāṭimid Caliphs, 2 vols. (London, 1920-22). 12 See S. Assaf, ed., “Letters of R. Samuel b. Eli and His Contemporaries” (Hebrew), Tarbiz 1, no. 1 (1929), 102-30; ibid., no. 2 (1930), 43-84; ibid., no. 3 (1930), 15-80. See also M. Gil, Be-malkhut yishmael bi-tequfat ha-geonim, 4 vols. (Tel Aviv, 1997), 2:204-14. 13 M.R. Cohen, Poverty and Charity in the Jewish Community of Medieval Egypt (Princeton, 2005) and The Voice of the Poor in the Middle Ages: An Anthology of Documents from the Cairo Geniza (Princeton, 2005).

ON THE INTERPLAY OF ARABIC AND HEBREW

21

Byzantine lands. From these letters as well as others, we are able to track the influence of Arabic on Hebrew epistolary prose, whether the influence came directly from Muslim Arabic models or, more commonly, through the medium of Judeo-Arabic. One can find examples of the reverse, too: expressions in Judeo-Arabic that seem to be influenced by Hebrew.14 This, too, demonstrates the interplay between the two languages in the Geniza.

STYLE: HEBREW RHYMED PROSE First, some comments on the interplay of Arabic and Hebrew style. Jews began employing rhymed prose (saj‘) in Hebrew letters under the influence of Arabic. The style then passed to Europe, and an early example of this is the Hebrew Megillat Aḥima‘aṣ, composed in Italy in 1054.15 While JudeoArabic letters often begin in rhymed Arabic prose, the writers usually “give up” after a few lines, abandoning, so to speak, the standard established in model letters in classical Arabic that one finds in Arabic epistolographical manuals. Hebrew letters, however, show more success in using rhymed prose. For instance, the epistles of the geonim of Palestine and Babylonia mentioned above,16 what we might tag “high register” Hebrew, are often composed entirely in that style. It seems easy to explain the difference between Judeo-Arabic and Hebrew in this matter. Jews already had practice with the repeating rhythm of rhyme syllables in the Hebrew piyyutim of late antique Palestine, long before the advent of Islam. This paved the way for the skillful application of that type of rhyme to Hebrew prose epistles when Arabic saj‘ came along. Moreover, it seems reasonable to assume that Jews would have wanted to apply the rules of classical Arabic prose to Hebrew, in the same way that they adapted rules of Arabic prosody to Hebrew poetry. Rina Drory argues, convincingly in general terms, that Jews used Arabic exclusively for genres of writing (including letters, she says) meant to convey information (the “communicative function”) and reserved Hebrew for genres, notably poetry and artistic prose like the maqāma, which were designed to be appreciated for their literary beauty (the “festive” or Cf. the long appendix on “The Integration of Hebrew Elements in JudeoArabic,” in J. Blau, The Emergence and Linguistic Background of Judeo-Arabic, 3d rev. ed. (Jerusalem, 1999), 133-66, which, however, does not contain any of the examples presented below. 15 Ed. B. Klar (Jerusalem, 1974). 16 Many of them published by Mann, Assaf, and Gil. See above, nn. 11 and 12, and also Gil, Ereṣ yisrael ba-tequfa ha-muslemit ha-rishona, 3 vols. (Tel Aviv, 1983). 14

22

MARK R. COHEN

“grandiloquent function”).17 In fact, Hebrew letters seem to hold the middle ground between these extremes. The letters of the elite (geonim, for instance) possess artistic quality (rhymed prose), yet they were also intended to convey information, even if some of the clarity (to us moderns, at least, if not to the average medieval Jew) got lost in the complexity of the literary style. On the other hand, in the case of letters of the poor and letters written on their behalf, including Hebrew ones, rhymed prose is much less prevalent. We might call this “low register” Hebrew epistolary style. One might say, using Drory’s terminology, that the “communicative function” of such letters was so important—making clear the needs of the indigent— that rhymed prose tended to be avoided.

THE INTERPLAY OF ARABIC AND HEBREW IN GENIZA LETTERS Below, I give some representative examples of the interplay of Hebrew and Arabic in the Geniza letters, following the structure of the letters themselves. (1) The Jewish Basmala Others have commented on the Jewish benediction for God at the beginning of Geniza letters, both Judeo-Arabic and Hebrew. It is the Aramaic ‫בשמך רחמנא‬, bi-shmakh raḥmanā (“in your name, O Merciful”), frequently abbreviated ‫ב''ר‬, b-r. The Aramaic exordium is the functional equivalent of the Islamic basmala, bism allāh al-raḥmān al-raḥīm (“in the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate”). Goitein hinted that the invocation is an imitation of the Jewish Aramaic, since inscriptions in the crypts of south Arabian Jews buried in the Jewish necropolis of Bet She’arim in Israel dating from c. 200 CE refer to God by the name Raḥmān.18 Leaving aside the question of influence, it is quite clear that medieval Jews regularly used the expression in cognizance of the Islamic usage. An interesting hybrid form of the abbreviation using Arabic characters crops up at the head of a Judeo-Arabic letter, in the form b-sh-m : the first letter is Arabic bā’ without the under-dot; the second, with three super-dots,

17 Rina Drory, Reshit ha-magga‘im shel ha-sifrut ha-yehudit ‘im ha-sifrut ha-‘aravit bame’a ha-‘asirit (Tel Aviv, 1988), 50-51; and her Models and Contacts: Arabic Literature and Its Impact on Medieval Jewish Culture (Leiden, 2000), 170-77. 18 S.D. Goitein, Jews and Arabs, new ed. (Mineola, N.Y., 2005), 47.

ON THE INTERPLAY OF ARABIC AND HEBREW

23

is Arabic shīn; and the third is Arabic final mīm.19 In a more obvious example of imitation of the Islamic blessing, we find a calque of the Muslim blessing at the beginning of a Hebrew letter: ‫בשם אל רחום וחנון‬, be-shem el raḥum veḥanun (“in the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate”).20 The Jewish parallel in the well-known “Thirteen Attributes of God” ( ‫ה' ה' אל‬ ‫רחום וחנון‬, adonai adonai el raḥum ve-ḥanun, “Lord, Lord, the Merciful, the Compassionate,” Exod. 34:6, also recited in the liturgy) only increased Jewish comfort mimicking the Islamic model. We even occasionally encounter the exact Islamic blessing in Hebrew characters at the head of Judeo-Arabic letters; for instance, the words‫בסם ]אללה[ אלרחמן אלרחים‬, bism [allāh] al-raḥmān al-raḥīm at the top of a Jewish business letter.21 Even more conclusive of the Jewish pattern of mimicking Islamic practice is the bism al-raḥīm found in the Arabic cipher authenticating the official letters of the head of the Jews, the Nagid Joshua (d. 1355), the great-great-grandson of Maimonides. This is nothing but a back-translation of the Aramaic bishmakh raḥmanā, the normal Jewish basmala,22 confirming once again the interplay of Jewish prose (Aramaic, in this case) and Arabic epistolary conventions. (2) Epithets for God: “God May He Be Exalted” In Judeo-Arabic, as in Muslim Arabic, the most common epithet attached to the name of God is the Islamic phrase ‫( תעאלי‬usually abbreviated '‫)תע‬, as in ‫אללה תעאלי‬, allāh ta‘ālā (“God may He be exalted”). The Hebrew equivalent, ‫השם יתעלה‬, ha-shem yit‘aleh, or variants like ‫הבורא יתעלה‬, ha-bore’ E.g., TS 8 J 21.20, line 1, translated in Cohen, The Voice of the Poor, no. 4. Li Guo discusses a “mysterious logogram” at the top of some of the letters from Quseir al-Qadīm (above, n. 3). It takes the following form ; see Guo, Commerce, Culture, and Community, 111-14 with plate 3, opposite p. 112. He hypothesizes— correctly, as the Geniza evidence unknown to him proves—that it stands in for the basmala. The Geniza case further strengthens Guo’s theory, against the interpretation of similar ciphers in Arabic manuscript letters published by Diem (see Guo, ibid.). I suggest, however, on the analogy of the Geniza letters, that the mark in the Quseir letters is an abbreviation, rather than a “mysterious logogram” (Guo, op. cit., 112, 148). What he takes to be l-y simply represents the first and last letters, bā’ and final-mīm, of the phrase bism allāh al-raḥmān al-raḥīm. 20 TS 8 J 13.5, line 1, also translated in ibid., no. 20. 21 TS 8.82, line 1. Other examples: TS 13 J 8.7 and more in the Princeton Geniza Browser (above, n. 4). 22 TS 6 J 6.21, line 1, trans. in Cohen, The Voice of the Poor, no. 87. 19

24

MARK R. COHEN

yit‘aleh (“the Creator may He be exalted”), is not found in the Bible or in early rabbinic literature, but it is common in medieval Hebrew religious literature and in modern religious texts as well.23 The natural place to look for the origins of this Hebrew epithet for God is in translations of JudeoArabic writings, which began in the twelfth century in Christian lands of southern Europe. Not surprisingly, they render the phrase allāh ta‘ālā in Judeo-Arabic literary texts by the Hebrew ha-shem yit‘aleh. But Geniza letters illustrate that the phrase entered Hebrew even earlier. While allāh ta‘ālā (sometimes ‫אלכאלק תעאלי‬, al-khāliq ta‘ālā, “the Creator may He be exalted”) constitutes the ever-present soubriquet for God in Judeo-Arabic (as in Muslim Arabic) letters, Hebrew missives sometimes use the very same locution, ‫השם יתעלה‬/‫אלהים‬, elohim/ha-shem yit‘aleh, which became standard for the Hebrew translators of literary texts later on.24 This case represents one instance among many in which the epistolary Hebrew of the Jews of the Geniza, whose manuscripts are usually originals and not subject to scribal updating, forms an important source for the development in the Middle Ages of Hebrew neologisms under the influence of Arabic prior to the work of the translators of Judeo-Arabic literary sources that began in southern France in the late twelfth century.25 So a search of the Bar-Ilan database confirms. E.g., TS 6 J 3.31, line 9, ed. Gil, Ereṣ yisrael, 3:33. An unusual hybrid of the Hebrew expression in a Judeo-Arabic letter is ‫ אלכאלק יתעלה שמו‬al-khāliq yit‘aleh shemo, TS 13 J 20.22, line 4. The locution ‫ אלהינו יתעלה שבחו‬elohenu yit‘aleh shivḥo in a Hebrew letter mimics the Islamic-Arabic ‫ אללה תעאלי סבחאנה‬allāh ta‘ālā subḥānuhu (“God, may His praise be exalted”); TS 18 J 4.4, line 13, ed. A. Scheiber, Geniza Studies (Hildesheim, 1981), Hebrew sec., 79-81; trans. in Cohen, The Voice of the Poor, no. 14. Jewish awareness of the Muslim treasury of epithets for God is reflected in the frequent appearance of God’s name using the perfect-optative, for example: ‫גל‬ ‫ אסמה‬jalla ismuhu (“of the illustrious name”), TS 13 J 20.17, line 21; ‫ גל קדרתה‬jalla qadratuhu (“with illustrious power”), Bodl. MS Heb. c 28.20, line 4, ed. Gil, Ereṣ yisrael, 3:203; ‫ גל ועז‬jalla wa-‘azza (“illustrious and powerful”), TS 13 J 17.11, in the address, ed. S.D. Goitein, “The Jewish Trade in the Mediterranean at the Beginning of the Eleventh Century, from the Archive of the Ibn ‘Awkal Family” (Hebrew), Tarbiz 36 (1967): 387-88; ‫“( גל תנאה‬of illustrious praise”), TS 10 J 13.8, lines 7-8, ed. idem, “Documents on Abraham Maimonides and His Pietist Circle” (Hebrew), Tarbiz 33 (1964): 187. These examples, which are representative of many more in each case, were located easily, with their bibliographical data, by searching for the word ‫ גל‬in the Princeton Geniza Browser. 25 Michael Rand informs me that the liturgical Geniza manuscript TS H 11/51 is superscribed ‫“ על שמך בריין‬In Your name, O Creator,” which, in the light of the 23 24

ON THE INTERPLAY OF ARABIC AND HEBREW

25

(3) Opening Formulas (3a) “Kissing the Hand” and “We Are in Health” Those familiar with Muslim Arabic and Judeo-Arabic letters will recall that one of the typical opening formulas is the declaration of “kissing the ground” (taqbīl al-arḍ) before the recipient. Generally, the writer states that “your servant kisses the ground [yuqabbil al-arḍ] before my master, etc.” The formula is employed most rigidly in formal petitions, but it occurs in less official letters as well.26 This rhetorical device occurs in a salutation in a Hebrew epistle, ‫הנני משתוקקת לראות פני מעלתכם ומנשקת ידיכם ואנחנו בגדר‬ ‫הבריאות‬, hineni mishtoqeqet lir’ot penei ma‘alatkhem u-menasheqet yedeikhem vaanaḥnu be-geder ha-beri’ut (“I yearn to see the face of your Excellency and I kiss your hands. We are in health”).27 It is possible that when writing in Hebrew, this person, a woman, evaded the exact expression, “kisses the ground,” because of a taboo in Judaism about bowing down to mortals. When writing in Arabic, Jews may have been more inclined to adhere to the Arabic convention because of its essentiality in the Arabic literary form of the petition. The expression of physical well-being (“we are in health”) in this passage parallels the mention of salāma (“health, safety”), reported almost de rigueur in the introduction to Muslim Arabic and Judeo-Arabic missives.28 (3b) “My Yearning for You/to See You” Arabic letters (Muslim and Jewish) regularly contain the expression of “longing,” a sentiment that Arabic epistolography recommends for introductions to letters, especially letters written from afar. This is usually summed up under the category of shawq/shawqiyya (“longing”) in Arabic epistolographical manuals.29 Typical in Judeo-Arabic letters is the phrase ‫כם‬/‫ך‬/‫הא‬/‫שוקי אליה‬, shawqī ilayhi/hā/ka/kum (“my yearning for you”),30 Judeo-Arabic equivalent cited here, he is inclined to think is based on an Arabic model. 26 Discussed in M.R. Cohen, “Four Judeo-Arabic Petitions of the Poor from the Cairo Geniza,” Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam 24 (2000): 449 and 451 n. 15. 27 TS 16.95, lines 5-6. 28 ‘An salāma, ‘an ḥāl salāma, fī ḥayyiz al-salāma, fī ḥayyiz al-salāma wa’l-‘āfiya. See Princeton Geniza Browser for many Judeo-Arabic examples. For Muslim letters, see, e.g., Diem, Arabische Briefe auf Papyrus und Papier, 62, line 3: ‘alā ḥāl al-salāma wa’l‘āfiya; and Guo, Commerce, Culture, and Community, 306, line 5: yaktabu salāmatakum (“may God write [destine] your safety”). See also Goitein, Mediterranean Society, 5:46. 29 Goitein, Mediterranean Society, 5:230-31. 30 Dozens of examples can be located via the Princeton Geniza Browser by searching for the word shawq.

26

MARK R. COHEN

sometimes strengthened as ‫שדה שוקי‬, shiddat shawqī (“my strong yearning”).31 A variation of the shawq clause is ‫שוקי אלי נטרה‬, shawqī ilā naz.arihi (“my yearning to see you”).32 The notion of shawq is represented in Hebrew letters by the verb ‫נכסף‬, nikhsaf or, more commonly, by the word ‫משתוקק‬, mishtoqeq, cognate with the participial form mushtāq found in Muslim Arabic letters.33 An example of the former appears in the salutation “[From] the slave of your Excellency [‫הדרת‬, hadrato], who yearns to see you [‫הנכסף לראותו‬, ha-nikhsaf lir’oto],” clearly a calque of shawqī ilā naz.arihi (above).34 The participial form appears, for instance, in the first half of the salutation just cited above (3a), hineni mishtoqeqet lir’ot penei ma‘alatkhem (“I yearn to see the face of your Excellency”).35 (3c) “To Be (Re)United with You” Commonly in Muslim Arabic as well as Judeo-Arabic letters—usually near the beginning—one finds a phrase expressing the writer’s wish to be reunited with the addressee. Typical is the following: “May God hasten our being reunited under the most favorable circumstances” (qarraba allāh alijtimā‘ ‘alā afḍal al-aḥwāl).36 Looking for influence on Hebrew prose, I found an echo of the Arabic verb ijtama‘a in the following sentence: “We ask your honors to come tomorrow on the Sabbath and join together with the elders [‫ולהקבץ עם הזקנים‬, ule-hiqabbeṣ ‘im ha-zeqenim], may their Rock guard them, and listen to words of Torah.”37 The difference is that the Hebrew example envisions an actual meeting, whereas the Arabic trope is usually invoked when the letter writer is too far away from the addressee to visit him in person. His letter substitutes for his physical presence, preserving contact

Search this combination in the Princeton Geniza Browser. E.g., TS 16.301, line 18, ed. Goitein, Sefunot 11(1970): 26-29. 33 See, for instance, Guo, Commerce, Culture, and Community, 164, line 4; Diem, Arabische Briefe des 7. bis 13. Jahrhunderts, 133, line 4: fa-innahā mushtāqatun ilā ru’yatika; idem, Arabische Briefe auf Papyrus und Papier, 283, line 6: wa-anā mushtāq li-naz.ar wajhihi al-malīḥ. 33 TS 16.95, lines 5-6. 34 TS 6 J 4.29, ed. Mann, Jews, 2:305. 35 TS 16.95, lines 5-6. 36 TS 8 J 22.1, line 3. For examples of the ijtimā‘ trope, see Guo, Commerce, Culture, and Community, 164, line 5, and 204, line 4: jama‘a al-rasūl baynanā ‘alā asarr ḥāl (“May the Prophet unite us in the best circumstances”); Diem, Arabische Privatbriefe, 111, line 2: aḥtāju ilā al- ijtimā‘ ma‘aka. 37 TS 8 J 13.15, line 8. 31 32

ON THE INTERPLAY OF ARABIC AND HEBREW

27

and securing relationships, often business relationships, in the highly mobile society of the Geniza world.38 (3d) “It Has Been a Long Time since/X Years since [I Heard from You/Saw You/Was in Such-and-Such a Place/Went Away]” This is related to expressions of yearning discussed above. The standard phrase in Judeo-Arabic letters is ‫לי מדה טוילה‬, lī mudda ṭawīla, “it has been a long time since [I have seen a letter from you, etc.].”39 This type of expression is encountered in Maimonides’ responsa, as well.40 It seems to be a Middle Arabic vernacularism. It appears in modern spoken Egyptian Arabic in the question, lik mudda safirt? “Is it long since you left?”41 In Hebrew letters from the Geniza, it is found in ‫לי ארבעה )!( שנים יצאתי‬ ‫מארצי‬, lī arba‘a shanim yaṣa’ti me-arṣi, “it has been four years since I left my country.”42 I have not come across lī mudda ṭawīla in medieval Muslim Arabic letters, but the Judeo-Arabic (anticipating modern Egyptian) and Hebrew equivalents illustrate the interplay of Arabic and Hebrew in Jewish epistolary style from the Geniza period. (4) Blessings for the Addressee (4a) “May God Grant You Long Life” This is the ubiquitous aṭāla allāh baqā’ka or, more commonly, aṭāla allāh baqā’hu, at the beginning of letters in Arabic and Judeo-Arabic, referring to the addressee, and frequently repeated in the body of the message whenever any person is mentioned. It is often construed (in both Jewish and Muslim letters) with (i.e., followed by) such phrases as adāma ‘izzahu wa-ni‘māhu (“may God prolong your strength and His favors for you”). Examples in Muslim Arabic abound in the letters published by Werner Diem and by others.43 In the Geniza, the phrases are too numerous to require citation.44 38 An excellent discussion of the role of letters in the maintenance of commercial relations is to be found in Jessica Goldberg, “Geographies of Trade and Traders in the Mediterranean in the Eleventh Century: A Study Based on Documents from the Cairo Geniza” (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 2005). 39 TS 10 J 17.21, line 3. 40 Moses ben Maimon, Responsa, ed. J. Blau, 3 vols. (Jerusalem, 1957-61), see examples and discussion in 3:97 (131c). 41 J. Selden Wilmore, The Spoken Arabic of Egypt: Grammar, Exercises, Vocabulary (London, 1905), 317. 42 TS 12.354, lines 10-11. 43 See the indexes in any of Diem’s abovementioned editions and in Guo, Commerce, Culture, and Community (above, n. 3). 44 See in the Princeton Geniza Browser.

28

MARK R. COHEN

The Hebrew equivalent in Geniza letters is ‫ יאריך צור חייו‬ya’arikh ṣur ḥayyav (“may the Rock [God] grant you long life”).45 Of course, the phrase ya’arikh yamim is common in biblical and postbiblical Hebrew. But the Arabic idiom gave it a special salience in Hebrew letter writing and bears witness to the interplay of Hebrew and Arabic. (4b) “May God Subdue Your Enemies” This is a very common wish, especially when addressing someone threatened by opposition. It crops up, like the previous example, in introductions to letters but also elsewhere whenever the addressee is mentioned. These recipients are often Jews who worked in the corridors of Muslim government and bureaucracy, where quarrels and disputes were common and court intrigue often spelled danger. But it was also said of Jewish officialdom, for quarrels and enmity were no less prevalent within the Jewish community than in Muslim courts. The Arabic is ‫כבת אללה אעדאה‬, kabata allāh a‘dāhu (“may God subdue your enemies”);46 a Hebrew example bearing the influence of the Arabic is ‫אויביו יכרתו ויושפלו‬, oyvav yikkaretu ve-yushpelu (“may your enemies be cut off and subdued”).47 The beginning of this phrase appears in the Bible, e.g., Mic. 5:8, ‫וכל‬ ‫אויביך יכרתו‬, ve-khol oyvekha yikkaretu, and that biblical quotation on its own appears often in letters. The second expression, yushpelu (“be subdued”), is also found in the Bible but only in the active voice—“The Lord gives courage to the lowly and subdues [mashpil] the wicked to the dust” (Ps. 147:8). Nonetheless, I would argue that the whole expression echoes the Arabic kabata allāh a‘dāhu. When Jews used the verse from Micah and other biblical allusions, they at the same time thought of the common and similar imprecation in Arabic and Judeo-Arabic, so the act of quoting from the Bible here also reflects the cultural interplay of Hebrew and Arabic. (4c) “Open for You His Bounteous Store” Quoting the Bible (Deut. 28:12), a letter writer might exhort God on behalf of his or her addressee to “open for you His bounteous store,” ‫יפתח ה' לך‬ E.g., TS 24.56, line 12. Bodl. MS Heb. d 66.5, line 2, ed. Gil, Be-malkhut yishmael, 4:58-62, and reedited subsequently, with more detailed discussion and contextualization, by Mark R. Cohen, “A Partnership Gone Bad: A Letter and a Power of Attorney from the Cairo Geniza, 1085,” to be published in the Sasson Somekh Festschrift, ed. D. Wasserstein and M. Ghanaim, forthcoming. The letter is addressed to one of the chief parnasim, or Jewish social welfare officers, in Fustat, an office that frequently brought opposition and complaints on the shoulders of its incumbents. 47 In the Hebrew opening to a Judeo-Arabic letter, TS 10 J 10.16, line 13. 45 46

ON THE INTERPLAY OF ARABIC AND HEBREW

29

‫את אוצרו הטוב‬, yiftaḥ adonai lekha et oṣaro ha-ṭov, as a reward for good deeds or to protect him against poverty.48 When we find the parallel expression in Judeo-Arabic, ‫והו יפתח לה מן כזאינה‬, wa-huwa yaftaḥu lahu min khazā’inihi,49 we are witness to the reverse phenomenon: Hebrew making an impact on Judeo-Arabic in the interplay of the two languages. (5) Blessings for the Addressee or Others: “May His Rock [God] Protect Him” (Hebrew), and “May the Merciful Guard Him” (Aramaic) The first variant of this blessing, ‫שמרו צורו‬, shemaro ṣuro, usually abbreviated ‫ש''צ‬, less often '‫שמ' צו‬, is found everywhere in Geniza letters and other writings.50 It is appended to the name of the living, as opposed to phrases like “of blessed memory” and the very common ‫“( נוחו עדן‬who rests in Eden”), reserved for the dead. The blessing employs the perfect tense. This is not standard Hebrew for the optative mood. That would require the imperfect, ‫ישמרו צורו‬, yishmero ṣuro, appearing in expressions like the wellknown “priestly blessing” in the Bible and in the daily prayers, '‫יברכך ה‬ ‫וישמרך‬, yevarekhekha adonai ve-yishmerekha (“may the Lord bless you and protect you,” Num. 6:24). Similar to the Hebrew optative shemaro ṣuro is the Aramaic expression ‫נטריה רחמנא‬, naṭreh raḥmanā (“may the Merciful guard him”)51 and comparable expressions such as ‫נטרוהי מן שמייא‬, naṭrohi min shemayā (“may they guard him from heaven”), also in the perfect tense. This locution is not found in the Talmuds. It crops up apparently for the first time in the responsa of the Babylonian geonim during the early Islamic period52 and is found in Geniza correspondence written in both Hebrew and Judeo-Arabic, though much less often than shemaro ṣuro. The perfect-optative exists in Syriac, though it seems to be restricted to the verb hwa (“to be”) followed by an adjective or participle, as in the phrase hwayt ḥlīm “may you be well/farewell.”53 But it is doubtful that this grammatical form from TS NS 321.22, line 14, ed. Gil, Ereṣ yisrael, 2:415-16. TS 6 J 3.10v, line 5. 50 So common as to need no reference. See the Princeton Geniza Browser. 51 Abbreviations are '‫נט' רח‬, '‫נט' רחמ‬, and less often ‫נ''ר‬. 52 For examples, see the Bar-Ilan database and the Princeton Geniza Browser and also Michael Sokoloff, A Dictionary of Jewish Babylonian Aramaic of the Talmudic and Geonic Periods (Ramat Gan, 2002), 745. 53 Theodor Nöldeke, Compendious Syriac Grammar, trans. J.A. Crichton (London, 1904), §260. I thank Michael Rand for pointing this out to me and for other assistance with the Aramaic side of things. 48 49

30

MARK R. COHEN

Christian literature would have made its mark on Jewish texts, unless the usage reflects spoken Syriac, in which case influence of Syriac upon Hebrew cannot be discounted. The imperfect-optative was an option for Jews. Indeed, the imperfect yishmero ṣuro appears in many Geniza letters.54 The form occurs in other expressions as well; for example, ‫ יברכם צורם‬yevarkhem ṣuram (“may their Rock [God] bless them”), ‫ יברכם אלהינו‬yevarkhem elohenu (“may God bless them”), etc.55 Since Jews living in the Arabic-speaking world knew the proper Hebrew grammatical form using the imperfect for the optative but regularly chose the perfect tense for the blessing “may God protect him” (in Hebrew) or “may the Merciful guard him” (in Aramaic), the question arises, why? Exemplifying the interplay between Arabic and Hebrew (and also Aramaic in this case), the answer appears to be rather straightforward. While absent in classical Hebrew and in Talmudic Aramaic, the perfectoptative is commonplace in Arabic. As mentioned above (4a), Jews, like Muslims, typically opened their Arabic letters with phrases in the perfectoptative, such as the ubiquitous wish, aṭāla allāh baqā’hu (“may God lengthen your life”).56 The Hebrew expression shemaro ṣuro, like the Aramaic naṭreh raḥmanā, both of which are first documented in the Islamic period, mimic the Arabic, and we may imagine that it is a calque of an Arabic phrase such as ḥafiz.ahu allāh (“May God guard him”). This blessing occurs in Muslim Arabic correspondence as well as in Judeo-Arabic letters.57 (6) Transition Phrases (6a) “After All This”

For many examples, see the Princeton Geniza Browser. Sometimes one and the same letter can have both forms—the imperfect and the perfect, e.g., Mosseri L 129.1 (II 127.1), lines 2 and 4. 55 Search ‫ יברכם‬in the Princeton Geniza Browser. 56 For examples in Muslim Arabic letters, see the volumes published by Diem (above, n. 3), passim. 57 For examples in Muslim Arabic letters, see Diem, Arabische Briefe auf Papyrus und Papier, 57, line 2 and others in the index, 325. Many more examples may be found in his Arabische Briefe des 7. bis 13. Jahrhunderts, index, 322. For one JudeoArabic example from among very many, see Antonin 1154, line 8, ed. J. Mann, Texts and Studies in Jewish History and Literature, 2 vols. (1931-35; repr., New York, 1972), 1:261-62. 54

ON THE INTERPLAY OF ARABIC AND HEBREW

31

Jews used the classical Arabic ammā ba‘du in their letters, as well as (and even more commonly) ‫וסוא דלך‬, wa-siwā dhālika (“and further”).58 I found the Hebrew equivalent of ammā ba‘du in the form ‫אחרי כל זאת‬, aḥarei khol zo’t.59 (6b) “I/We Hereby Inform You” Another transition phrase is found (though not exclusively) in letters formulated as petitions, following the Islamic model of this type of letter.60 The petition begins with introductory sections praising the addressee and invoking his titles, similar to the arenga in Greek and Latin petitions. It is then followed by a section describing the circumstances motivating the petition proper (in Latin diplomatic correspondence, this section would be called the expositio). The Islamic and Jewish Arabic expositio is introduced by a phrase meaning “I/we hereby inform you.” Usually, it is the word yunhī from the Arabic verb anhā, “to transmit/make known.” Letters, particularly petitionary letters, written in Hebrew make the transition from introduction to expositio with a word derived from Hebrew verb “to know/make known,” exactly like the Arabic case just cited. A typical example, one from among many, is ‫אודיע לאדוני הזקן היקר‬, odi‘a laadoni ha-zaqen ha-yaqar (“I hereby inform my lord the reverend elder”).61 This locution is not totally absent from rabbinic literature and occurs occasionally in late Hebrew responsa as a term introducing information given by the responding rabbi.62 In the Hebrew Geniza letters, however, it appears in exactly the same spot and performs exactly the same function as the Arabic yunhī. I conclude that it is a Hebrew equivalent of the technical Arabic transition word and yet another instance of the interplay of Arabic and Hebrew in the Jewish epistolary prose of the Arab Middle Ages. 58 Ammā ba‘du in the Geniza, e.g., Mosseri L 197 (II, 195), line 6, ed. Goitein, Jewish Quarterly Review 73 (1982): 144-45. Muslim example: Diem, Arabische Briefe des 7. bis 13. Jahhrunderts, 8, line 4. Wa-siwā dhālika in the Geniza: see s.v. in the Princeton Geniza Browser. In Muslim letters, see, e.g., Diem, Arabische Privatbriefe, 47, line 5. 59 Dropsie 386, ed. Mann, Texts and Studies in Jewish Literature, 1:459-63 (462, line 34). 60 See Cohen, “Four Judeo-Arabic Petitions,” 446-71, and many examples in English translation in idem, The Voice of the Poor. The most recent study of the Islamic petition form is in G. Khan, Arabic Legal and Administrative Documents in the Cambridge Genizah Collections (Cambridge, 1993). 61 TS 10 J 10.4, line 8, trans. in Cohen, The Voice of the Poor, no. 31. For others, see s.v. in the Princeton Geniza Browser. 62 See in the Bar-Ilan database.

32

MARK R. COHEN

(6c) “The Reason for This Letter” The expression sabab kitābī hādhā appears in Arabic missives, both Muslim and Jewish.63 It occurs in a Hebrew loan translation as ‫מגמת כתבנו זה‬, magamat ketavenu zeh.64 I have not, however, found the more obvious phrase using the Hebrew cognate sibba. This case demonstrates once again the interplay of Hebrew and Arabic in the letters of Arabic-speaking Jews of the Geniza world. (7) Body of the Letter (7a) “The Bearer of This Letter/Note” If they did not use the commercial overland mail service,65 letter writers commonly dispatched their missives privately, often with a poor person whom they recommended for charitable assistance. This was a charitable act in itself, putting into action the Jewish idea that inducing others to give charity is as meritorious as giving charity oneself, if not more so.66 The letter writer would introduce the letter bearer with the expression in Arabic ‫מוצל‬ ‫הדא אלכתאב‬, mūṣil hādhā al-kitāb (“the bearer of this letter” or “the bearer of this note [‫רקעה‬, ruq‘a]”), followed by a short description of the person and his plight. The same formula occurs in Muslim letters.67 In Hebrew, I have found the calque “the bearer of this note,” ‫( מוביל פטק זה‬movil peṭeq zeh).68 (7b) “Act with Him as Is Your Beautiful Habit” This phrase embodies a common trope in letters of recommendation for the poor. An example in Judeo-Arabic is: ‫יפעל מעה מא הו אהלה כמא גרת‬ ‫עאדתה אלגמילה‬, yaf‘al ma‘ahu mā huwa ahluhu kamā jarat ‘ādathu al-jamīla (“act with him as is fitting of you, as is your beautiful habit”).69 The expression is echoed in a Hebrew missive recommending an indigent man: ‫יעשה עמו‬ ‫כוסתו הטובה‬, ya‘aseh ‘immo ke-vesto ha-ṭova (“act with him as is your good

For Jewish examples, see the Princeton Geniza Browser. Muslim letter: Diem, Arabische Geschäftsbriefe, 248, line 28: sabab katb hādhihi al-khidma, where khidma means “petition.” 64 TS 20.94, line 57, ed. Gil, Ereṣ yisrael, 2:40. 65 See Goitein, Mediterranean Society, 1:281-95. 66 See Cohen, Poverty and Charity in the Jewish Community, 247. 67 Diem, Arabische Geschäftsbriefe, 110, line 4: mūṣil hādhihi al-ruq‘a; Arabische Briefe auf Papyrus und Papier, 213, line 4, a letter of recommendation on behalf of the letter bearer, a foreigner, introducing him to the addressee. 68 CUL Or 1080 J 48, trans. Cohen, The Voice of the Poor, no. 57. 69 TS NS J 120, lines 13-14. 63

ON THE INTERPLAY OF ARABIC AND HEBREW

33

habit”).70 The writer of these words, from whose hand we have several letters in Judeo-Arabic, was a prominent cantor and scribe in Ascalon, Palestine, at the end of the eleventh century. Was he thinking of a model known to him in Muslim epistolography? The idiomatic expression ‘alā or ka-jārī al-‘āda is typical classical Arabic and crops up in Muslim Arabic letters, but I have not seen there an equivalent of the complete JudeoArabic phrase.71 The expression is possibly Jewish, originating either in Hebrew or in Judeo-Arabic, expressing the ethics of Jewish charity. In either case, it constitutes yet another demonstration of the interplay of Hebrew and Arabic. (7c) “Were I to Explain Even Part of This…” Commonly, letter writers apologize for omitting full details (paper was expensive, for one thing) by explaining that they were doing the addressee a favor by cutting things short. The Arabic runs something like this: ‫לו שרחת‬ ‫בעצה למא כאן יסעה קרטאס‬, law sharaḥtu ba‘ḍahu la-mā kāna yasa‘uhu qirṭās (“were I to explain even part of this, a whole sheet of paper would not hold it”).72 The very same idea crops up in Muslim letters.73 The writer of a Hebrew letter certainly was thinking of the Arabic trope when he wrote ‫אילו‬ ‫הגדתי מקצתה לא היו לדברי סוף‬, illu higgadti miqṣatah lo hayu le-devaray sof (“were I to relate even part of this there would be no end to my words”).74 Moderately learned Jews might have been familiar with the Hebrew phrase from the Mishnah and other postbiblical books, (im ken) ein la-davar sof (“[if so,] there would be no end to the matter”). This would have made the entire expression seem Hebrew rather than borrowed.75 (7d) “It Is Not Hidden from You” (= “You Know Very Well”) The Hebrew idiom ‫לא נעלם ממנו‬, lo ne‘elam mimmenu, a common expression, probably came into Jewish epistolary prose from Arabic. The example in Judeo-Arabic is ‫ מא יכפי ענה‬mā yakhfi ‘anhu.76 Though I have not come across a specimen of this expression in a Muslim Arabic letter, the correlation here illustrates the interplay of Hebrew and Arabic nonetheless. 70 TS 18 J 4.4, line 24, ed. Scheiber, Geniza Studies, Hebrew sec., 79-81; trans. Cohen, The Voice of the Poor, no. 14. 71 E.g., Diem, Arabische Briefe des 7. bis 13. Jahrhunderts, 307, line 2: ‘alā jārī al-‘āda. 72 TS 13 J 27.2, lines 3-4. 73 Diem, Arabische Briefe auf Papyrus und Papier, 252, lines 3-4: wa-law dhahabtu aṣif lakum mā anā fīhi min al-ta‘ab wa-shughl al-qalb la-ṭāla al-sharḥ bi-dhālika. 74 TS NS J 279, lines 3-4. 75 Mishnah Yoma 1:1 and elsewhere. 76 E.g., TS Misc. Box 35 (formerly TS Loan 44) v, line 2, ed. Gil, Ereṣ yisrael, 2:57. Judeo-Arabic example: TS 13 J 18.13, line 15.

34

MARK R. COHEN

(7e) “Your Slave’s Request from [You]…” In the formal Arabic petition, after informing the correspondent of the difficulty or other circumstance leading up to the request—equivalent to the expositio of Latin or Greek diplomatic writing—the petitioner comes to the request itself. The request formula is introduced by a phrase containing the verb sa’ala. In the Fatimid period, that word appears in the imperfect: yas’al. Later, in the Ayyubid and Mamluk periods, the request formula is typically led off by a nominal clause, such as wa-su’āl al-mamlūk min ṣadaqāt mawlānā (“your slave’s request from our master’s [the caliph’s] benevolence is…”).77 We encounter the same in Judeo-Arabic petitions in the phrase ‫ואלסואל ען‬ ‫אלחצרה‬, wa’l-su’āl ‘an al-ḥadra (“my request from your Excellency [lit., “the Presence”]).78 The equivalent in Hebrew correspondence, also common, is ‫המשאל ממנו‬, ha-mish’al mimmenu (“my request from you is…”).79 Biblical Hebrew uses the perfect or imperfect tense for such constructions, but not the noun form, as in the Arabic petition. As far as I have been able to determine, classical rabbinic literature also lacks the expression employing the noun.80 This makes the interplay between Arabic and Hebrew suggested here probable. (8) Closing of Letters (8a) “May God Be Your Succor” This phrase occurs often, but not exclusively, at the end of letters, in the form ‫ה' יהיה )יהי( בעזרך‬, adonai yihyeh (or yehi) be-‘ezrekha (“may God be your succor”).81 Such a locution does not occur in the Bible, though it is not rare in rabbinic Hebrew. It occurs, however, in Judeo-Arabic letters in the form (‫אללה )תעאלי‬, allāh (ta‘ālā) or ‫אלחק תעאלי יכון פי עונך‬, al-ḥaqq ta‘ālā yakūn fī ‘awnika (“may God [the exalted] be your succor,” or “may God [lit., the True One] be your succor”).82 A similar idiom, but grammatically correct in its use of the perfect-optative, crops up in Muslim letters, as aḥsana allāh Khan, Arabic Legal and Administrative Documents, 312. E.g., TS 13 J 22.9, line 8. 79 TS 8.220, line 8, ed. Gil, Ereṣ yisrael 2:258-59 and previously by S.D. Goitein, Ha-yishuv be-ereṣ yisrael be-reshit ha-islam uvi-tequfat ha-ṣalbanim, ed. Joseph Hacker (Jerusalem, 1980), 120. 80 As per the Bar-Ilan database. 81 E.g., TS 13 J 19, right margin (end of letter). 82 E.g., TS 13 J 27.21v, line 2, and TS 6 J 6.21, line 8, trans. into Hebrew in S.D. Goitein, Tarbiz 54 (1985): 82, and into English in Cohen, The Voice of the Poor, no. 87. 77 78

ON THE INTERPLAY OF ARABIC AND HEBREW

35

‘awnaka.83 The Geniza example, while it roughly mimics the Muslim usage, should probably be seen as a hybrid, influenced by both the Arabic and the Hebrew. This would constitute a complex instance of the interplay of Hebrew and Arabic. (8b) “I Thank You for Your Favor(s)” A favorite self-description of Judeo-Arabic letter writers in the address at the end is ‫שאכר תפצלה‬, shākir tafaḍḍulahu or (less often) ‫איאדיכם‬, ayādiyakum or ‫מודתכם‬, mawaddatakum (“I thank you for your favor[s]”).84 Using equivalent wording, writers of Hebrew often adopt ‫מודה חסדו\חסדיו‬, modeh ḥasdo/ḥasadav, a combination not appearing in the Bible.85 In my survey of the addresses of published Muslim Arabic letters, I have come across shākir tafaḍḍul.86 I end this essay on that note, hoping that the start made in this small contribution to the literary history of the interplay of Arabic and Hebrew in the Middle Ages will induce others to search for other examples. I would be most grateful to receive references to additional illustrations of the phenomenon that I have drawn attention to here. Anā shākir tafaḍḍulakum.

83 Diem, Arabische Briefe des 7. bis 13. Jahrhunderts, 186, line 9. Cf. wa-aḥsana ‘awnahu in the notation on the back of a petition from a Jew in debt (twelfth century), which was received by the Fatimid vizier and returned to the petitioner (and ended up in the Geniza); S. Stern, “Three Jewish Petitions of the Fāṭmid Period,” Oriens 15 (1962): 183, b, lines 5-6. 84 An example from among many of the most common, shākir tafaḍḍulahu, is found in Bodl. MS Heb. b3.16, in the address, ed. Gil, Be-malkhut yishmael, 4:234. 85 Modeh ḥasadav is found in Bodl. MS Heb. d 66.37, address in upper margin, ed. Gil, Ereṣ yisrael, 3:464. 86 Diem, Arabische Geschäftsbriefe, 392, address; cf. 394.

YEDAIAH BEDERSI’S ELEF ALAFIN

SUSAN L. EINBINDER Yedaiah Bedersi, also known as “HaPenini,” was a precocious composer of verse in addition to his better-known roles as a philosopher, poetical theorist, apologist for rational learning, and commentator on Avicenna. The elegy known as the Elef Alafin, or “A Thousand Alefs,” was composed not long after the expulsion of the Jews from France in the late summer of 1306, and scholars as early as Renan read allusions to this tragedy in Bedersi’s elegy. At the time of the expulsion, Bedersi was residing in Perpignan, which certainly saw a large influx of refugees. I believe it is likely that the poem alludes to the troubling social and moral questions that confronted Jews of privilege as their city became home to the destitute exiles. The poem itself exists in many manuscript copies, and its eccentric organizing principle—that each word begins with an alef—caught the fancy of educated Jewish readers over the centuries. Some manuscript traditions attribute the composition to Yedaiah’s father, Abraham, who was known for his love of rhetorical excess. Nonetheless, I agree with the majority of the manuscripts and with the great Ḥ. Schirmann that the poem was probably Yedaiah’s work; indeed, we know of several other compositions of this sort (elegies in mem and lamed) by Yedaiah as well.1

1 Two or more of the elegies often appear together in manuscript anthologies. The Baqashat ha-Memim, another 1,000-word elegy each of whose words begins with the same letter (in this case, mem), often follows copies or editions of the author’s popular philosophical work, the Behinat ‘Olam.

37

38

SUSAN L. EINBINDER

Bedersi’s Elef Alafin was published once, by Samuel Della Volta.2 In honor of my former teacher, I have used that edition and the luxury manuscript copy found in the Jewish Theological Seminary Library, JTS 4067, in preparing this translation. I have equally tried to honor the medieval author by producing a translation that pays homage to his poetic technique—with a thousand A’s.

THE ELEGY OF A THOUSAND A’S An offering to the Rock on High this praise: With sad and contrite hearts He surely stays. I bring a gift of song to Him and raise My heart to serve Him with a thousand A’s.3 God, my God, ’tis You I seek;4 God of Faith, long-patient,5 God of Gods, my Lord, I shall give You glory, I shall speak of the Unity of Your Godhood.6 I shall laud the magnificence of Your Faith.7 I shall exalt You, O my Father! [You are] armed with Strength!8 I shall bless You, God of Truth! I shall extol You,9 Father of the Miserable! I shall sanctify You, O Prince of the weak!10 Truly You are the Lord God, the “I am what I am.”11 You are One, an authentic Unity; There is no God save You. O awesome Father, Strong and Mighty,12 there is no other, naught are [other] gods. To You, my Lord, I cry,13 God of Gods, Lord of Lords, You are my God! I give You thanks, my God.14 I exalt You.15 To You I shall sing, I shall chant, I shall craft speech. I shall declare to You, I

Kerem Ḥemed 4 (1839): 57-65. Ps. 141:2, 12; Dan. 7:10. 4 Ps. 63:2. 5 Ps. 86:15, 103:8, 145:8; Prov. 14:29, 16:32; Num. 14:18, etc. 6 Ps. 143:5. 7 E.g., Isa. 55:5, 60:7. For ‫אדר‬, which means both “magnificence” and “garment,” see Mic. 2:8, Zech. 11:3. 8 Cf. 1 Sam. 2:4. 9 Isa. 29:23. 10 JTS has ‫ ;אביר אומללים‬cf. Neh. 3:34. 11 Exod. 3:14. 12 ‫—אמיץ‬e.g., Isa. 28:2, Job 9:4 (describing human strength); ‫ —אדיר‬e.g., Ps. 8:2, 93:4. 13 Joel 1:19. 14 Ps. 43:4, 118:28. 15 E.g., Ps. 30:2, 118:28, 145:1; Isa. 25:1. 2 3

YEDAIAH BEDERSI’S ELEF ALAFIN

39

shall speak, I shall murmur, I shall wake the dawn watches,16 I shall praise You, I shall speak to men’s ears,17 I shall relate Your Faith to them. I shall hold dear the flagstones of Your Hallway, I shall run to abide in Your Tabernacle,18 I shall adore the seats of Your Palace.19 I shall fall abject before Your ark and I shall bow twice toward the earth.20 I shall fall down, I shall bow, I shall kneel. I shall recall God, I shall moan,21 in language I shall admire You, I shall yearn for You, God!22 Oh my God, my God! Lacking Your might,23 where can I go? If I am helpless to sustain the fears You cause me,24 how shall I sustain those of savage men? [p. 60] But if I discard the splendor of Your light, I shall be exiled to another land. Where is the magnificent mantle of Your nation?25 [Where is the robe of Your truth, how will I Don it? How to interpret the enemy’s repugnance for Your truth?]26 The fawn of love has said: Once my husband loved me, but (now) I am a widow.27 How can bereavement befall me?28 I shall go and return to my husband.29 Although You said, “You are my Sister,30 I shall bring you back to Me, I shall build [you] a marriage canopy,”31 I regard my antagonist as she says, “Where is the Lord Your God?”32 You are my Father, the God of Truth, the God of my Father, the God of Abraham. You said to him, “I am with you. Assuredly, I will safeguard Your future after you.”33 O, Please my Lord! I shall seek34 Your word—[but] O,35 what about that which You have

‫—אשמורות‬Ps.63:7, 90:4, 110:148, etc. ‫—אגלה אזן אנשים‬e.g., 1 Sam. 9:15, 2 Sam. 7:27, etc. 18 ‫ארוץ אגורה אהלך‬. JTS has ‫אגורה אהלך‬. 19 ‫—אאהב אשנבי‬Prov. 7:6, Judg. 5:28. JTS has ‫אהב אשנבי ארמונך אתם אשתוחח‬. 20 Cf. Ps. 5:8, 138:2; Gen. 19:1. 21 ‫—אזכרה אלהים אהמיה‬Ps. 77:4 (‫)ואהמיה‬. JTS elides the next word (‫)אמרי‬. 22 Cf. Ps. 42:2. 23 ‫—אילות‬not biblical. JTS has ‫אם אין אתי אילותך‬. 24 Ps. 88:16. 25 JTS has ‫—אדרת אמתך‬the mantle of Your truth. 26 ‫איפה אדרת אמתך איככה אלבשנה איך איבת איוב )!( אמתך‬. In JTS but not in ed. Della Volta. 27 2 Sam. 14:5. 28 Isa. 47:9. 29 Hosea 2:9. 30 Prov. 7:4. 31 Song of Sol. 3:9. JTS has bungled this a bit: ‫אפריון אבוי‬. 32 ‫ ;איו‬JTS has ‫איה‬. 33 JTS has ‫אחריתך אחריך‬. 34 JTS has “O please, I shall seek…” 16 17

40

SUSAN L. EINBINDER

said: “I have loved you, said the Lord?”36 How have You loved us, my Father, if Your word is not among us? How have the lions ravished us!37 Those who are the leaders of Edom! The valiant men of Eliphaz have acted with force against me.38 If we are brothers, shall I learn from those set as heads over me,39 the leaders of Oholibama, the leaders of Elah? To my antagonist, the leader of Omar,40 I shall say, I have loved my Lord.41 If You are a Father, where is Your love? If You are a Lord, where is Your awesome dread? Those who stalked me yesterday said, “I shall swallow and ravage the land of your inheritance. I shall devastate your treasuries,42 I shall carry off what your fathers had gathered.” The enemy said, “I shall chase and I shall overtake. I will parcel out [the spoil],43 I shall ascend and I shall spread across the land, I shall hew down the word of God,44 and cast Truth to the earth. I shall unravel the wheel of the language of Truth.45 I shall make my signs authentic, I shall hew and carve down the faith of the steadfast.46 I shall capsize [p. 61] Ariel’s foundations,47 and plunder the

‫או‬, elided in JTS. Ed. Della Volta reads this as an exclamation of grief, as in Mal. 2:17. 36 Mal. 1:2. 37 The same expression occurs in the Elef Alafin of Joseph b. Sheshet Latimi, written in response to Bedersi’s. 38 Eliphaz is the son of Esau by Ada—cf. Genesis 36. 39 Reading with Jer. 10:2 (‫ )אל דרך הגוים אל תלמדנו‬and Jer. 13:21 ( ‫למדתי אותם‬ ‫)עליך אלופים‬. JTS vocalizes the verb l-m-d in the qal, which I have adopted. 40 All these names are found in Genesis 36. Oholibama is the wife of Esau, Elah a son, and Omar a grandson (the son of Eliphaz). 41 Exod. 21:5. 42 ‫—אשמים‬found as ‫( אשמם‬ashimmem) in Ezek. 20:26. For “treasuries,” see Prov. 3:10, Deut. 28:8. This word is frequently used in Latimi’s elegy and suggests that the shock from the despoliation of the Jews must have been great. JTS has ‫אשמים אזכיר אסמים אשא‬. 43 Exod. 15:9. Cf. also Ps. 18:38. 44 Cf. Isa. 45:2, Ps. 75:11. Cf. also 2 Chron. 14:2; Deut. 7:5, 12:3, where the reference is to cutting down idols. Here, it is ironically a punishment inflicted upon “the word” of the Jewish God. 45 Following ed. Della Volta, the first ‫ אופן‬is “wheel,” while the second refers to speech, as in Prov. 25:11. 46 Lev. 25:3-4. For the entire passage above beginning “I shall hew down the word of God,” JTS has the following: ‫אסלה אבירים איתנים אסלף אדריכם אורחות‬ ‫אידם אגדע אמוד )?( אלוה אשליך אמת ארצה אסיר אופן אופני אמת אשים אותותי אותות‬ ‫אנתק אזור אמונה אומן‬, “I shall spurn [Ps. 119:118] the mighty and powerful, I shall pervert [Prov. 21:12, Job 12:19], I shall guide [them] on calamitous paths. I shall 35

YEDAIAH BEDERSI’S ELEF ALAFIN

41

mantle of the valiant ones. These [people] have no gods—I shall fill their tents with brambles48 and rattle [their] foundations. I shall raze their palaces; I shall absolutely exterminate them.49 I shall ascend to seek [them] and I shall lay low the castles.50 I shall bear a quiver51 and I shall swallow the land.52 I shall make the islands quake and I shall make the lakes go dry. I shall batter amethyst53 pillars and cleave carbuncle54 halls. I shall rain down ravishing fire, I shall blaze garnet stones.55 I shall cause a fatal and fearful disaster,56 I shall cast down hailstones.57 I shall chase after my foes and overtake them. I shall crush them,58 I shall grind them to sand,59 I shall draw [my blade] on them, I shall stamp on them. I shall assail them with dread.60 I shall increase my burden.61 As I have said, I shall scatter them afar and cut them off. I shall parch them and weaken the valiant.62 I shall vanquish my enemies! I shall make their land desolate,63 I shall make the beams of their palaces lament64 and sway the walls of their villas.65 I shall scatter the servants of their mansions66 and place hooks in their noses!”67 Alas, my Lord God! To You I bear my groan! I groan like a captive,68 I search for hew down the measure [?] of God. I shall cast truth to the earth, and I shall unravel the wheel of the language of Truth…” 47 Jer. 50:15. 48 Isa. 13:21 (hapax). 49 Jer. 8:13. 50 Dan. 11:45. 51 Isa. 22:6, Ps. 127:5. 52 Job 39:24. 53 Exod. 28:19, 39:12. 54 Exod. 28:17, 39:10; Ezek. 28:13. 55 Isa. 54:12. 56 “Fatal and fearful”—drawing from both meanings offered by Radaq to Ezek. 21:20. 57 Ezek. 38:22. 58 Ps. 18:39, 2 Sam. 22:38. 59 2 Sam. 22:43. 60 Exod. 23:27. 61 Job 33:7. 62 Job 12:21; ed. Della Volta comments that ‫ אמיץ‬substitutes for ‫מזיח‬. 63 Lit., “I shall make their land like Admah”; cf. Gen. 10:19, Hos. 11:8. 64 Lam. 2:8. 65 Ezek. 19:7, 22:25; Isa. 13:22. 66 I rely on Ezek. 12:14, 38:6, 22, translated by the RSV as “helpers” or “hordes.” However, the word can also refer to the “wings” of the house. 67 Job 40:26. 68 Ps. 79:11, 102:21.

42

SUSAN L. EINBINDER

oblivion,69 I elect the grave. How can I see the annihilation of people of faith?70 How can I pasture, how can I water a land that has been accursed by my Lord?71 I shall hope in You, I shall await the light72 as I grope about in absolute darkness.73 I shall bewail.74 The most miserable of mankind mourns and laments! The men of the assemblies—annihilated!75 The masses76—annihilated in one fell swoop!77 I see the obliteration of those who cultivated faith. They said, “Where are they? Where are their gods?”78 My God! Where shall I go? Where shall I hide? [p. 62] If I ascend the mountains,79 I find foes. If I say, I shall forget my disaster and leave off my mourning, I shall be glad,80 how shall I remain silent, how shall I show restraint,81 after all that I have seen? If a blaze from God has laid waste my palaces, yet the tent of my foe is unwasted! Unhappy is the land82 that has lost all faith, that has lost the steadfast among men, the blaze has eaten the sustenance of warriors! Yea, we are at fault.83 We have learned the ways of wayward men.84 I call to you, O people! Come unto God!85 I shall answer them as I pray unto God,86 I shall cry unto Him, “My Father art Thou!” and as I talk I shall fear Him. Afraid, I shall speak in dread. How shall I approach His Palace?87 How shall I ascend to my Father? And yet I shall seek out God, to God I shall appoint my speech.88 I shall make admission to You, my God! My transgressions I shall tell.89 E.g., Job 28:22, 31:12; Ps. 88:12; Prov. 15:11. Esther 8:6. 71 Jer. 33:12, Ezek. 34:15. 72 Job 30:26. 73 Lit., “in the pupil of blackness”; cf. Prov. 7:9, 20:20. 74 Ps. 76:6. 75 Dan. 11:10, Eccles. 12:11. 76 Num. 11:4. 77 Cf. 2 Sam. 2:25. 78 Ps. 79:10. 79 Ps. 139:8, Isa. 33:7. 80 E.g., Job 9:27, Ps. 39:14. 81 Isa. 42:14. 82 Isa. 33:9, lit., “Mourning and miserable is the land.” 83 Gen. 42:21, lit., “But we are guilty.” 84 Cf. Prov. 22:25 (‫)פן תאלף ארחותיו‬. 85 Cf. Isa. 21:12. 86 Exod. 8:4, 9:28, etc. 87 Ezek. 41:15. 88 Perhaps responding to the language of Isa. 51:16 (‫)ואשים דברי בפיך‬. 89 Cf. Ps. 38:19. 69 70

YEDAIAH BEDERSI’S ELEF ALAFIN

43

Yea, assuredly I have transgressed!90 I have lost faith, I have been infatuated with those who were infatuated with sin, and I walk after them.91 I have hewn down the staunch cedars [of faith] even as I grew large the oaks of idolatry.92 I plant the tamarisk of my transgressions even as I amputate the branches and pinnacles of [His] sayings.93 I wander the ends of the earth. I seek asinine men and I cultivate them.94 To Your tent I advance slowly, even as I make haste with asses.95 If I speak wantonness, I adumbrate with arrogance; if I speak the language of truth, I speak weakly and faintly.96 If I make an oath to do evil, I consummate it; if I say I shall adhere to faithful ways,97 I repudiate what I have said.98 I lie, I cheat, I accuse and speak evil.99 I aim leftward or rightward or backward.100 If I see a man of faith, [p. 63] I tempt him, and gradually I shall prevail over him.101 I value bad men,102 and I am accounted among the transgressors. I cause my own downfall,103 I entangle my path.104 I behave meanly to the poor.105 I swear an oath and profane my words, I make wicked oaths. I am alert to106 shady characters. I have aversion for the mansions of aristocrats but embrace the dung-heaps of fools. I fill my warehouses with dung, and pasture dust.107 I speak flatteringly.108 I abandon my leaders and forget them. I deafen my ear to the stalwart109 and attend the ways of the fool. I am Cf. Lev. 5:19; referring to a sin against the “holy things,” understood as a turning to other gods (cf. Rashi and Ibn Ezra). 91 Continuing the theme of the attraction of other gods. 92 For cedars as “God’s trees,” cf. Ps. 80:11, 104:16. Oaks are associated with idolatry—cf. Isa. 2:13, Hos. 4:13, Ezek. 27:6, etc. 93 ‫—אשל‬Gen. 21:33; 1 Sam. 22:6, 31:13. ‫—אסעף‬Isa. 10:33. 94 “I cultivate them”—citing Prov. 8:30 (‫)אהיה אצלו אמון‬. 95 Cf. Jer. 17:16, Prov. 19:2. 96 Ps. 88:5. 97 Job 34:8. 98 Perhaps evoking Prov. 30:9; there is no biblical use of the hif’il. 99 Cf. Isa. 58:9. 100 Cf. 2 Sam. 14:19, Ezek. 21:21, Gen. 13:9. 101 “Tempt”; cf. Prov. 1:10, 16:29. “Tempt and prevail”; 1 Kings 22:22. 102 ‫—אנוש‬cf. Ps. 9:20, 56:2, 66:12. 103 Lit., “I twist my feet”; cf. Ps.44:19, 17:5, 11. 104 Joel 2:7. 105 JTS has ‫אל אביוני אהפך אכזרי‬. 106 Lit., “I observe”—e.g., Ps. 33:14, Isa. 14:15, Song of Sol. 2:9. 107 Isa. 44:20. 108 Prov. 28:23. 109 Isa. 6:10, Zech. 7:11. 90

44

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wearisome to men as well as to God.110 I stand at the head of the path111 and accuse all I accost. I turn away widows in abject despair. I crush the [outspread] arms of the poor.112 I cause pain to mourners, sadness to brothers, shame to sisters.113 I steal from [my] father and carry [my] mother away. I adorn myself in search of the affection [of the nations]114 I follow alien gods, even as I disdain the words of God. I annul the declaration of the faithful.115 I abhor those who are lovers of Truth, and I make peace with those who are God’s enemies; to the naïve, I make light of transgression, that I may lead them where I crave.116 [In my haste to sin], I can race after sailboats of reed and pass them.117 I take wing after silly prattlers, and I love to stay in their abodes. I behave madly118 and smile at them;119 I adore the wage of their prattling.120 I backslide, I am dedicated to [p. 64] backwardness, I have no understanding of what shall be my end. I inseminate nothingness and bear naught.121 I plant evil and I reap nothing.122 I turn to false gods. Ardently, I seek soothsayers and I hearken to wizards.123 I arouse wrath.124 I alienate dear ones.125 The man of faith is the one I annihilate. I have acquired the ways of savage men, and I signal to

Isa. 7:13. Ezek. 21:26 (‫)אם הדרך‬. 112 “Crush”—e.g., Ps. 51:10, 44:20, 51:19. 113 Prov. 19:26. 114 Jer. 2:33. 115 Job 13:17. 116 I.e., to apostatize; cf. 1 Kings 11:4, Prov. 7:21. 117 Job 9:26. 118 Jer. 50:38, 51:7. Cf. also Nah. 2:5, Jer. 46:9. 119 Job 29:24. 120 Lit., “harlot’s pay for their foolishness.” See Hos. 2:14, Mic. 1:7, Deut. 23:19, which offer a context of idolatrous whoring, here sustaining the subtext of “Wisdom vs. Whore,” as found in Proverbs. 121 Isa. 41:24. 122 Prov. 22:8 (‫)זורע עוולה יקצור אוון‬. In the biblical context, note that the rich are exploiting and ruthlessly dominating the poor—cf. Prov. 22:7—so that the words can be taken as referring to indentured servitude. Ibn Ezra also connects the two verses, reading “plant evil” to refer to the corrupt tactics by which the rich man dominates the poor one. 123 Lev. 19:31, etc.; Isa. 19:3. 124 Perhaps playing on Prov. 29:22. 125 Prov. 16:28. Ralbag (Levi b. Gershom) understands this as sowing discord between the leader and his people, so that they become rebellious. 110 111

YEDAIAH BEDERSI’S ELEF ALAFIN

45

them and gather them in.126 I grow fat and kick and snort.127 I am forgetful of the God of my Fathers. I adorn myself in gold metal,128 I wear royal purple,129 and I place my expectations in sparkling130 gods. I blast like a trumpet and raise a shout;131 I am a backsliding man. If I raise bulwarks132 of truth, I ravage what I raise. If I turn back in repentance and leave these (ways), taking the pathway of truth, I shall turn back again and leave them behind. All this I recall, my God!133 And I admit my transgressions. I plead and seek out God. To God I call aloud. O my Lord God! I make admission in truth. My God—I shall extol Him.134 O God, my Father—I shall exalt Him. I shall spread ashes and wear dirt, I shall advance before You and bow to You, O God! I shall release the brace of transgression and take up a fardel of hyssop.135 I shall be bleached; I shall be made clean.136 I shall make ablution and I shall purify [myself]. I shall safeguard what You have spoken and I shall not turn away to evil. I shall turn back, I shall walk after You. I shall stay in the land and pasture faith. If I take flight, I shall fear Your dreadfulness.137 Gather me in, long-patient God! I pray,138 may my Lord grant me courage!139 Please, hearken to my groan! Assuredly, the groan of the miserable140 [p. 65] is in vain, if His Lord shuts his ear [to him].141 I shall continue to ask and to plead before You. I shall ask once, my God! I shall not be ashamed! Please, gather in Your captives, of whom You have said, “I shall recall their ancestors’ love on their behalf. Assuredly, I shall assemble142 and draw them in; I shall search out those who are lost and Zech. 10:8. Deut. 32:15, Prov. 26:21. 128 Isa. 13:12, 1 Kings 9:28, 2 Chron. 8:18, etc. 129 Prov. 31:22; Song 3:10, 7:6, etc. 130 Cf. 1 Kings 10:18. Another translation might be “gilded, tinsel.” 131 Isa. 42:13. 132 Lit., “foundation” or “column”—cf. Jer. 50:15. 133 Ps. 42:5. Cf. also the penitential liturgy of the same name. 134 Exod. 15:2. 135 Cf. Exod. 12:22, where the reference is to a brace/bundle of healing herbs. 136 Dan. 12:10. 137 Perhaps evoking Ps. 22:24. 138 Ps. 119:5, 2 Kings 5:3. 139 Another translation might be “strengthen me.” 140 Ps. 12:6. 141 Prov. 21:13. 142 Mic. 2:12. 126 127

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gather in their remnants.143 I shall draw them near, one by one. I shall safeguard my faithful ones, I shall save my honorable ones, and I shall put an end to their sighs. I shall grant solace to their mourning. I shall make their light shine. I shall nurture their healing. I shall redeem their captives and have compassion on them. I shall grant atonement for their transgression. Those I leave as a remnant I shall pardon and calm. I shall lead them gently, and I shall take them to the holy Tabernacle.144 O, please, my Lord, make what You have said come true! Allow me to leave now, that I may see my brothers! My brothers are the ones I am seeking!145 Accompanied by them, I shall come and learn Your truth. I shall bow toward Your Sanctuary. I shall continue to gaze on Your Tabernacle. Whether I am sated or starving, my God, I shall place my hope in You. Whether I live or die, I shall await Your truth.146 Whether I feel pain or gladness, in You I shall have trust.147

As in Deut. 33:17, Ps. 22:28, etc. Lit., “tabernacle of Ornan”; cf. 1 Chron. 21:15, 2 Chron. 3:1. 145 Gen. 37:16. 146 Lit., “have hope in Your truth”; cf. Isa. 38:18. 147 Ps. 56:4. 143 144

THE STILL, SMALL VOICE: 1 KINGS 19 AND THE ROOTS OF INTOLERANCE IN BIBLICAL RELIGION

STEPHEN A. GELLER I This essay is a literary analysis and interpretation of 1 Kings 19, the passage that contains the famous reference to the “still, small voice.”1 The underlying issue is, I shall try to show, the nature of prophetic experience. But the initial impetus for this study was my attempt to grapple with the biblical roots of religious intolerance and violence, the ultimate source of the events of 9/11. It was for this reason that 1 Kings 19 was chosen as the text for analysis, because in it Elijah defines himself as a man of such zeal (qin’a) for Yahweh that he, in effect, declared war on God’s opponents in state and church. No doubt Ahab and Jezebel viewed him as the Osama Bin Laden of their day. It seems too simple to me to maintain that fanatical people throughout the ages merely appropriate illegitimately the holy-war language of the Hebrew Bible and the later religious traditions based on it. The truth is that intolerance and even warfare are not incidental to biblical religion, despite the occasional recommendations of peace and universal love that one also finds in the canonical religious texts. Rather, the military I am delighted to present this essay to Raymond Scheindlin, my colleague and friend of more than forty years. It deals with a topic that we have had many occasions to discuss together in recent years. 1 This essay is an expansion and revision of part of my inaugural lecture for the Irma Cameron Milstein Chair of Bible at the Jewish Theological Seminary, delivered in Feb. 2004.

47

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STEPHEN A. GELLER

impulse became ever more prominent in later biblical religion, culminating in apocalyptic literature. It seems somehow embedded intrinsically in the pattern of biblical religion. I suggest that the seat of violence is not in the ancient tradition of ḥerem, holy war, itself, but in the prophetic appropriation of that tradition. It is prophecy that bears the warlike gene, as it were; and since prophecy is the true parent of biblical religion, the gene was passed down to the descendant religions, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. The path from the analysis of the biblical passage in 1 Kings 19 to the issue of the nature of the prophetic experience is relatively direct. The path leading from there to the themes of intolerance and violence in biblically rooted religious traditions is less direct; but I hope it can be traced in the conclusion to this essay. The prophet Elijah won the famous test with the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel. The losers were slaughtered at the Qishon River, but Elijah had to flee the wrath of Ahab and Jezebel into the distant desert, south of Beersheba. 1 Kings 19 recounts that after a day’s wandering, he collapsed under a tree and, in weary confusion, begged God to let him die. He views himself as a failure as a prophet. “I am no better than my fathers,” he says. He falls asleep, but an angel touches him to awaken him to a spartan breakfast of ash-baked bread and water. But then the angel returns and shakes him awake for another meal, informing him that a long journey lies ahead. Sustained by this single meal, he travels forty days into the desert to Horeb, the mountain of God. He enters a cave to sleep, but the word of God comes to him and asks why he is there. Elijah replies, “I have shown great zeal [qanno’ qinneti] for Yahweh, God of the Armies, because Israel has abandoned your covenant, torn down your altars and killed your prophets. I alone am left, and they are trying to take my life also.” God says, “Go out and stand on the mountain and Yahweh will pass by. There will be a great and powerful wind before Yahweh, shattering mountains and smashing rocks, but Yahweh will not be in the wind.2 And after the wind there will be a great earthquake, but Yahweh will not be in the earthquake; and after the earthquake, a fire, but Yahweh will not be in the fire. But after the fire, there will be a low voice (speaking) from silence” (the King James Version famously and felicitously, if inaccurately, translates the Hebrew as “still, small voice”).3 An alternative translation would be “as the wind, etc.” (beth essentiae). The phrase is often taken as “the sound of a fine whispering,” or the like. But the root dmm does not seem to have the sense of “whisper, murmur, low sound” elsewhere in biblical Hebrew. In the closest parallel to 1 Kings 19, demama clearly means “silence” (Ps. 107:29). Job 4:16, the other passage usually discussed in 2 3

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When he heard this, Elijah wrapped his face in his cloak and stood at the entrance to the cave. The voice came to him and said, “Why are you here, Elijah?” Elijah repeats the exact words of the answer he gave after the first divine question to him, about his great zeal for Yahweh, the persecution of those loyal to Yahweh and his flight to escape execution. This time, Yahweh gives him a threefold commission: he is to go to the Aramean capital Damascus and anoint one Hazael to be its king. He is also to anoint a certain army officer, Jehu son of Nimshi, to be king over Israel; and, finally, to anoint Elisha son of Shaphat to be his own prophetic successor. A great revolution is coming: these three men—Hazael, Jehu, and Elisha—will slaughter all those who bowed to Baal, leaving only seven thousand loyal Israelites alive—a radical commission, indeed! Upon his return from Horeb, Elijah comes upon Elisha plowing a field and throws his cloak over him (there is no word about anointing). Elisha immediately abandons the oxen, and asks if he may at least return to kiss and say farewell to his father and mother. Elijah replies, “Go back, for what could I do to you?” Elisha apparently takes these words as expressing permission, returns, sacrifices the plough oxen and makes a feast for his kin, then goes after Elijah as his assistant. This is 1 Kings 19. The following stories do not recount the anointing of Hazael as king of Damascus, but, after several chapters of assorted narratives, Elisha, not Elijah, sends a prophetic representative to anoint Jehu king of Israel, to overthrow the sinful house of Ahab, execute Jezebel, and slaughter the prophets of Baal. However, the population of the kingdom of Israel is not reduced by any mass extermination, as directed in the original commission to Elijah. The latter had by now been assumed alive into heaven in a fiery chariot drawn by fiery horses, leaving behind his miraculous cloak in the clutching hands of Elisha. From a literary point of view, this narrative, like all the stories about the northern prophets Elijah and Elisha, belongs to the genre of prophetic relation to 1 Kings 19, is of no help. The intertwining of the roots dmm, dmh, and dwm in biblical Hebrew is well-known but does not clarify the nuance here. In my view, daqqa modifies qol (feminine by attraction), and its sense is related to the opposition of male’, “full” and daq, “small, fine” in Gen. 41:7. In Jer. 12:6, the phrase qara’ male’ seems to mean “cry out fully, loudly” (unless one emends to kullam). The result of this chain of argument would be the translation given here, “a low voice [speaking] from the silence.” The construct relationship here is probably objective, as in debar seter, “a word/matter [to be discussed] in a private place” (Judg. 3:19). The exact nuance of the term demama, “silence” or “whisper,” is not as important in context as its contrast with the loud noise that preceded it.

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legends, traditional tales about the early prophets and their bands of followers. These stories are marked by numerous folkloristic elements, above all, by a profusion of miracles performed by Elijah and Elisha, including even the raising of the dead. The career of Jesus eight hundred years later is recounted in a similar manner in the Christian scriptures. Source critics will find numerous examples of different narrative strands that have been stitched together with what they view as the usual clumsiness of ancient editors.4 My approach is different: precisely the signs of clumsiness, the stitches and strains in the text, the peculiar repetitions and lapses of coherence, are what I view as the keys to meaning. The most striking, and problematic, formal literary feature is the prominence of repetitions in the story. First, there are three meals. Two of them, Elijah’s first feeding by the angel at the beginning and Elisha’s feast for his kin at the end, serve to form a frame around the narrative. But in 1 Kings 19, there is a second angelic meal as well, which sustains Elijah preternaturally for forty days. Bible readers immediately respond to an intertextual echo, for it was Moses who was said to have spent forty days and nights without food or drink, and on precisely the same spot, Horeb (called Sinai in other traditions), receiving the covenant revelation from God. We are immediately clued in to the implication that Elijah is a second Moses, that there is a typological relationship between them, so that the rest of the story will resonate with this message. More perplexing is the doubling of the interviews with God. Elijah is twice asked by the Deity why he has come, and twice answers, and with exactly the same words: “Israel has broken your covenant, only I am left of the prophets,” and so on. In formal terms, these questions and answers form a frame around the account of the revelation. Adding the outer frame formed by the eating events, we get the following structure: First meal Second meal First interview with God: Revelation Second interview with God: Commission Third meal (appointment of Elisha) At the heart of the frame is the revelation, the climax of which is the mysterious, quiet voice. 4

See n. 9.

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So we have two dominant formal facts: (1) the prominence of repetitions, i.e., dualities; and (2) the frame structure. I take these as pointing to two dominant meanings in the story: the dualism of the narrative points to the duality of prophecy itself; and the centrality of the element of revelation in the frame structure hints at the centrality of revelation to prophecy, and, indeed, to biblical religion as a whole.

II First, the historical context. The purported date of the text, about 850 BCE, was a time of religious turmoil in the northern kingdom of Israel. The Phoenician queen Jezebel had induced her weak husband, King Ahab, to import the worship of Baal of the Heavens, the national god of Tyre, to supplant the native deity, Yahweh. The prophets of the latter were killed, all except Elijah. On Mount Carmel, he challenged the prophets of Baal and won a great victory for Israel’s God, but then he had to flee Jezebel’s wrath, the point where our story begins. Later, after Elijah’s assumption into heaven, his disciple Elisha will inspire a military revolt against Ahab’s house, killing Jezebel and extirpating Baalism, at least for a while. The background to this struggle, which some scholars think was formative for classical biblical religion, explains several important aspects of 1 Kings 19. Two of them we will mention only briefly. They have been treated at length by many scholars who have discussed 1 Kings 19. The first aspect involves the development of the concept of faith, as the Hebrew Bible understands it. Elijah says he was full of “jealousy” for God (qanno’ qinneti). He was full of passion against a foreign deity who was trying to usurp the rights of Israel’s native God, and simultaneously the position of His prophets. Elijah’s jealousy, his zeal for God, match those of Yahweh, who is titled el qanna’, a jealous God. Here we see the beginnings of the nexus of God and prophet, their inner emotional connection, as it were, that soon would lead to the prophetic concept of faith, in which the prophet positions himself between God and the believer as the object of trust.5 This crucial development is foreshadowed in 1 Kings 19. The second aspect of the story we will mention only briefly is the anticipation of the biblical focus on the divine word as the main content of prophetic revelation, rather than the visual and nonverbal auditory phenomena. Baal was a nature god, a god of storm. He was manifested actually, not metaphorically, in lightning, thunder (called “Baal’s voice” in On this development, see my Sacred Enigmas: Literary Religion in the Hebrew Bible (Routledge: London, 1996), chap. 6. 5

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some ancient texts), and rain. But Yahweh, Israel’s own God, was often also described as accompanied by these phenomena, as all Bible readers know. Was He also therefore a nature God? Many Israelites must have been confused and thought so. From this point of view, it is clear that the specific statement that Yahweh came not in the lightning or earth-shattering thunder, but in the low voice out of the stillness that came after the storm, is an attempt to differentiate the two deities. Yahweh is manifested in the word, and, specifically, the prophetic word. In the cave, Elijah does not see anything. He only hears. This passage stands at the very beginning of a dialectic of the senses of seeing and hearing, as a result of which seeing will be demoted and hearing elevated to the highest religious sense.6 The prophetic word will be supreme in biblical religion, and later, the written text. But 1 Kings 19 is also a seminal text in understanding the nexus of faith and intolerance in biblical and later Western religions. In a general way, we can see that their intertwining in biblical religion is to some extent a fossilized result of the battle between Yahweh and Baal in the mid-ninth century BCE, a struggle that actually was military, a coup that overthrew the Baalists. But we shall have to dig deeper into 1 Kings 19 to explain the religious tensions that resulted in warlike language and emotions becoming not just a relic of a past age but a major form of religious expression in Western religion. Our starting point will be an analysis of the two themes that emerged from the formal structuring of the story: the dualism of prophecy and the centrality of revelation. The thesis presented here will be that these twin foci in the text represent inner tensions in the selfunderstanding of biblical prophecy itself. From the point of view of literary analysis, inner tensions, like ambiguities, can be good. They can deepen meaning and give a text intellectual and spiritual body—what literary critics call “density”; but not in this case. For the twin messages in 1 Kings 19 of prophetic dualism and the centrality of revelation are presented in a manner that suggests that the tension between them is not just a fruitful dynamic but also, and contradictorily, an irrepressible conflict. The first aspect of form merely shows that prophecy is complex; the second, that it is an essentially tragic institution.

III The clue to the first message in the text, of prophetic duality, is found in the doublings of themes and content that we observed in the narrative 6

Ibid., chap. 3.

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framework. The first of these to note involves the feeding of Elijah. Why the two angelic feedings, one right after the other? Has Elijah become ravenously hungry in the short interval between them? In fact, the meals have entirely different functions in terms of the narrative. The first serves to refresh him in his journey; it feeds Elijah the weak man. But the second gives him what are, in effect, supernatural powers, to travel to the mountain of God and see the divine. It feeds Elijah’s supernatural nature. In both his mortal weakness and his supermortal vigor, the text is making a link between Elijah and Israel’s greatest, and model, prophet, Moses. We do not know if, fleeing from Ahab and Jezebel, he headed south because he intended to go to the mountain of God in the distant Sinai Peninsula, site of the Mosaic revelation; nor is it stated that the angel commanded him to go there. There is talk only of a long journey. But in any case, it is to Horeb that he goes, to receive a revelation. The typological link to Moses and Israel after Egypt is clear, as is the implication, expressed through the motif of sustained vigor, that Elijah is to be identified with Moses. That is the key. Moses became more than mortal on that very mountain. His face is said to have shone, because it absorbed, or reflected, some of the tremendous radiance that is the main characteristic of the divine presence, a light so dangerous to ordinary mortals that Moses had to wear a veil to protect the Israelites from his reflection of divinity (Exod. 34:29-34). Not that Moses became a god—for he sinned and died. But Elijah was granted more. He will eventually be assumed alive into heaven in the divine chariot that is God’s own means of locomotion. The only other mortal to be raised to what in effect is an angelic status is Enoch, in the primeval period, who lived for 365 years and then “was not, because God took him” (Gen. 5:24), words that postbiblical traditions tell us mean that he entered heaven alive. So Elijah is, from this point of view, even greater than Moses. Because he never died, tradition says that he can return even before the resurrection of the dead, to announce the beginning of the messianic age. Why did Elijah receive this reward? It was presumably because of what he says at the beginning of his answer to God: I showed great zeal for Yahweh. As noted before, we know from the Ten Commandments that God also has abundant zeal; he is a zealous/jealous God. So Elijah shares a divine feature already: he and God are one in their zeal. For this, Elijah merits a special revelation now and later the reward of deification, or at least angelification. So the doubling of the meal, followed by the forty-day journey, serves to indicate that Elijah is really on a trip to the divine, to become semidivine himself. Since Elijah, like Moses, is a paradigmatic prophet, standing for

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them all as a model, the text is telling us that prophets are, from one point of view, separate from ordinary mortals—indeed, divine. 1 Kings 19 is very similar to a story about Moses in Exodus 33. There, after the apostasy of the Golden Calf, Moses asks for divine guidance in the desert and also for a revelation of the divine Glory, i.e., the person of God. God places him in a “cleft of the rock,” where he is allowed to see only the back side of God’s Glory passing by. The individual elements (desert wandering, apostasy, cave, revelation) are similar. This intertextual reference confirms the effective identity between the two figures of Moses and Elijah as models of the prophet and his role. How are prophets semidivine? Prophets were apparently believed to be members of the divine court—in effect, semi-angelic beings. This is a high status, and that people believed the prophets had a shred of divinity explains why they were rarely killed, even if their message was hated by the people. Their person was sacrosanct. Yet prophets were also human. That is the other half of the duality. It is signaled by the outer frame of the narrative, the first feeding of the famished Elijah, and even more, by the mission that he receives. For in the divine presence, prophets are not allowed to bask in glory like mystics or saints; rather, they receive a message to humanity and must return. Moreover, as individuals they remain weak mortals, for all their divine function. From this point of view, they are epitomes of humanity as a whole, which also has a dual nature: frail flesh, yet but little lower than divine, as Psalm 8 puts it. The other half of the duality of prophecy is the human-centeredness of the prophetic mission. The second theme highlighted by its literal centrality to the narrative of 1 Kings 19 is revelation, which takes the form of the strange qol demama daqqa, which is intended to contrast with the booming of thunder. The underlying point of the phrase is not just the polemic against Baalism mentioned above but also something else of seminal importance to biblical prophetic religion. Here again the clue is literary: a real ambiguity about what the voice said to Elijah. It is natural for the reader to suppose that the divine message was the words of commission about the anointing of Hazael, Jehu, and Elisha. But that commission is separated from the revelation by a word-for-word repetition of Elijah’s complaint to God from before the revelation and is marked off by a new introduction about divine speech. This is a clear example of Wiederaufnahme, a form of verbal repetition that often indicates editorial insertion of the text so bracketed. I suggest that the literary meaning of the device here is to indicate to the reader that the actual communication between God and Elijah at the mouth

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of the cave, between the faint voice and the prophet with the cloaked head, was secret and private, not to be communicated and, indeed, not communicable to others. The silence was the message. The oxymoron of qol, “voice, sound,” and demama, “silence,” is intended to puzzle readers but also, through its very absurdity, to indicate to them that something inexpressible in words is being intimated. We cannot know what God spoke to Elijah for his ears only, because we are not prophets. For there is a secret aspect to the prophetic office not capable of being shared with non-prophets. As we saw, the prophets are semidivine. But this really means that they have access to a realm of being, of knowledge and experience, that ordinary people cannot even comprehend: the world of the supernatural. Yet they are also charged to bring a communication to humanity, to people who really cannot be expected to understand it, in the deepest sense, because they do not have the experiential basis for doing so. People can only accept it as a divine word if they believe the prophet to be true. No wonder the prophets, though their persons were usually held to be sacrosanct, were rarely heeded by ordinary people. This is the tragic paradox of prophecy. Isaiah alludes to it in Isaiah 6, in which God tells him his prophetic mission is doomed to failure, unless Israel sees and hears as the prophet does, which, of course, is impossible.7 I hope it is not too bold to suggest a relationship between Elijah’s cave vision and the famous cave allegory in Plato’s Republic. Plato compared the ordinary world of human perception to no more than the shadows cast by the pure forms of the ideal world of higher reality, accessible only through the intellect, i.e., philosophy. Elijah’s cave is the ordinary world also, but he stands at its entrance. Yet he does not gaze out of the liminal world of the cave into the forms of a higher reality. His face is veiled by his cloak, which marks his prophetic office. (It is later taken by Elisha, for that purpose.) Rather, the true reality is what he hears, the word of God. As a prophet, he has access to the divine court and is, in fact, deified by his contact with it, as Moses was. Elijah and Moses are the paradigmatic prophets, but all prophets trail shreds of divinity when they return to this world. In terms of universal prophetic phenomena, the higher reality is the spirit world that shamans are said to enter in their trance journeys. It is the world to which they awaken in trance, when in this world they appear to be asleep and immobile. Later editing has downplayed this experiential aspect of prophecy, to which later biblical religion became hostile, but it still occurs in a few passages. One of Zechariah’s visions is opened by a statement that 7

Ibid., 122-27.

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the angel who revealed God’s word to him awakened him as a man is awakened from sleep, the sleep of ordinary perception to the higher realm of the awareness of divinity (Zech. 4:1). Elijah at the entrance to the cave, his face wrapped in his cloak, can also be viewed as a birth image. We may note yet another doubling in 1 Kings 19. At the beginning of the narrative, Elijah despairs and says that he is but human, no better than his fathers. At the end, Elisha asks if he can return to say good-bye to his father and mother and is answered in words that are unclear but that seem to state that if he does so he cannot become Elijah’s prophetic heir. For prophets in the early period abandoned all normal connection with society to live in their own communities, in which the chief prophet was termed “father” and the others “sons of the prophet.” The new family marked their separation from the rest of mankind in a new bond of those with access to the divine. Later, monks would also call their chief “father” (abba = abbot; cf. papa, pope). A prophet is born spiritually into the realm of the divine. So the account of the revelation of the quiet voice in 1 Kings 19 is meant to point to the exalted status of Elijah and, by extension, all prophets, as semidivine; but also to their ultimate separation from humanity through a primal experience, a new birth, which makes them incomprehensible to normal people. Yet prophets are also commissioned to bring messages demanding radical shifts in the way people lived their lives. Because others have no direct access to the confirming revelation, they must accept the word in faith as the word of God, and the prophet as a true prophet. This tension between prophets and people was to grow ever wider in later biblical religion. The message of dissonance, of essential distance between prophet and people, which I believe is the underlying message in the insertion in 1 Kings 19 that contains the reference to the “still, small voice,” interlocks with the element of tension and conflict for which the Bible uses the imagery and language of warfare.8 One may distinguish four levels of such tension in 1 8 Although it is not central to the interests of this essay, one may ask a historical and literary-critical question about who might have been the inserters of 1 Kings 19:11-13 (I take the insertion to end in 13a, the phrase wehinne elaw qol being the resumption of v. 9). I agree with those critics who maintain that the commission given to Elijah in 1 Kings 19 originally referred to Elisha. I think it possible that the insertion of vv. 11-13a is from a period considerably later than the prophetic legends that precede and follow it, coming from a time when the status of Elijah as a paradigmatic prophet had risen almost to the level of Moses. The insertion was made by those who wanted to make a paradigmatic statement about the nature of

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Kings 19, descending progressively deeper into the nature of the phenomenon of prophecy itself: historical, societal, internal, and psychological. The historical level is the ninth-century struggle between Yahweh and Baal, the competing storm gods, and their devotees, which was also a political, economic, and social struggle between Israelite state traditions and structures and Phoenician, i.e., post-Canaanite, patterns. Baalism, promulgated by Jezebel, was “modern” and “progressive,” associated with enlightened forms of absolute monarchy superior to “backward” Israelite models of kingship. So she no doubt argued to henpecked Ahab. The royal expropriation of Naboth and the persecution of Yahwists were part of a single policy of modernization of a backwoods people by a representative of the more sophisticated, international culture of Tyre. The next level is societal. Robert Wilson’s Prophecy and Society9 has taught us that practically all prophetic-like movements and individuals are in tension with their societies and that the conflict between their generally peripheral status and the centrality to which they aspire is almost a universal. Elijah is doubly peripheral, as an Israelite and even more so as a backwoodsman from Transjordan Gilead, clad in an uncouth hairy cloak. But, in general, all the classic “literary” prophets were in conflict with societies that rejected their claims of centrality, as expressed through their prophetic messages of censure of rulers and people. To be called to prophecy indeed required that one have a flinty forehead and be as strong as a brazen wall against the world. The mission itself was essentially military. The third level of battle is internally prophetic—the conflict among prophets themselves for centrality and dominance, expressed classically in the struggle between “true” and “false” prophets. This struggle is represented in Elijah’s day in the battle with the prophets of Baal on Mount revelation through the figure of this great prophet. Their viewpoint was that of the covenantal tradition in its early Deuteronomic form (formerly identified with an “E” source—note the use of “Horeb”): the essence of revelation was not storm, lightning, etc., but the word. The latest and fullest expression of this theology is Deuteronomy 4, which stresses that Israel saw no form at Horeb but only heard qol debarim, “the sound of words.” As such, 1 Kings 19:11-13a is less a polemic against ninth-century Baalism in northern Israel than against the standard view of theophany in Yahwism itself, in which Yahweh regularly appears associated with storm imagery. If this interpretation is correct, the date of the insertion would most likely be no earlier than the seventh century BCE. 9 Robert R. Wilson, Prophecy and Society in Ancient Israel (Fortress: Philadelphia, 1980).

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Carmel. Later prophets battle continuously with other prophets, who themselves were also inspired with a firm confidence in their own prophetic legitimacy. The fourth and deepest level of struggle is internal to the psyche of the prophet himself—the battle with his own doubts and despair. In 1 Kings 19, this level is represented by the statements of Elijah’s depression and desire simply to give up his mission and die. The fullest expression of this mood is found in the description of Moses’ complaints about the burden of his mission (Num. 11:11-12) and, especially, in Jeremiah’s “Confessions.” In the latter, the prophet expresses his deepest fear: that he may in fact be a false prophet, deceived by Yahweh to His own ends, his entire mission a lie (Jer. 20:7). In sum, war, in the sense of tension and struggle, is intimately linked to the basic dissonance between seer and society intrinsic to the very phenomenon of prophecy, so that conflict, and its attendant emotion of qin’a, “zeal,” are not incidental to prophecy, or merely an accident of culture or historical circumstance, but part of the essence of biblical prophecy as a religious phenomenon.

IV Later religious developments, especially the replacement of prophecy by book religion, changed but did not ameliorate the element of external and internal combat in the tradition. The dissonance between prophetic experience and mission to the people became transmuted into what has remained the essential tension in biblically rooted religions of the Book. This is the internal contradiction of a type of religion that bases its authority on a past experience of revelation, of direct contact with the Deity, but that cuts off believers from any hope of such contact, at least in this world. Text religion effectively abolished prophecy by canonizing past prophets and then sealing off contact with the holy spirit, which the Rabbis said had departed from Israel after the last of the canonical prophets—Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi. Later, Christianity and Islam allowed fresh contact with God only briefly (or mystically, in such mythic rituals as the Eucharist, or in individual raptures like those of the Sufis) but only just long enough to formulate their own sealed canonical texts. The tension of experience versus text became the prism that greatly magnified all the biblical prophetic warlike language and themes. The four levels of conflict discussed above in relation to 1 Kings 19 became transmuted outwardly into the struggle of sects and inwardly into the struggle between perfect faith and doubt. The root of the persistent potential for intolerance and violence in Western religions is not directly the use of warlike images in the Bible itself.

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Rather, the underlying cause is a religious irritant that is, in fact, the later reflection of the prophetic dissonance between visionary experience and mission to society, later to be understood as the dissonance between the living experience of original revelation and the public but closed textual record of that revelation. Throughout the ages, the frustration on the part of some believers at being cut off from direct experience of higher divine reality (possible for good Hindus or Buddhists) could lead, and has led, to extreme intolerance in doctrine and, inevitably, homicidal violence in action. Elsewhere I have explored this development in more detail10 and will briefly summarize it here. The warlike zeal of prophecy over authentic experience of God became, in later Western religions, essentially the battle of competing interpretations of the sacred text that purported to be the record of that primary experience. The object shifted, but the zeal remained the same, or was even magnified. There are two basic reactions to the dissonance described above. One views the Bible as a guide to contemporary experience through a process of interpretation and adaptation. Such adherents of interpretation generally have little use for the war themes of the sacred texts, except as poetry, unless extremely provoked. The prophets they view less as ecstatics than as preachers, interpreters like themselves.11 The classical Rabbis were interpreters par excellence, who basically accepted the dissonance between revelation and text by viewing the process of interpretation itself as guided only in a very loose and general way by the holy spirit. But there is also another religious configuration: literalist fundamentalism. Literalists reject even the possibility of interpreting and adapting the sacred text. Their underlying impulse is not so much inveterate, unbending conservatism, as a passionate longing for direct contact with God, by erasing the boundary between experience and text. Interpreters believe that the text must be adapted to life; literalists believe that life must exactly conform to the text. Any departure from the higher reality of the sacred book is rejected as corrupt and, in effect, unreal, with no right to existence. Naturally, the war imagery with which the texts are replete is taken literally, as well. In a paper given at a conference on religion and violence at Boston University and Wellesley College in Feb. 2006, to be published. 11 The view of the classical prophets as preachers is reflected in the editing of the prophetic books, which downplays the antisocial and ecstatic aspects of unruly prophecy. In editing and canonizing the prophets, the interpreters made them more like themselves. 10

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The primary expression of literalism is apocalypticism, which did not arise from some pedantic desire to see the word of God fulfilled exactly. Rather, the driving emotion was the passion for experience, that God might once again be revealed in this world, in divine holy war through intervention in history. Simultaneously, his canonical word would then be demonstrated to have been literally true, and the only ground of reality. In this way, the original dissonance in prophecy of secret experience and mission to humanity is resolved as God’s word comes to pass in the great, final battle, for which the literalists long. Let me make it clear that I am not claiming that all literalists and fundamentalists are intolerant—much less, violent—as individuals or even as groups. But I do think that the converse is true: the intolerant and religiously violent are most likely also to be literalists. The major thrust of this discussion is that they are not freaks or fools, but are responding to a very real contradiction of inner and outer, of experience and text, in biblically rooted religions going back to their roots in ancient prophecy.

ILL-STARRED CHARACTERS

ANDRÁS HÁMORI Portents and prognostications often serve in literature to blind a character. Such an outcome usually turns on a misreading—unwitting, as in Macbeth’s last hope, or malicious, as in Decius Brutus’s interpretation of Calpurnia’s dream—but a sound interpretation can lead to ironies as well. In the following, I will look at two passages from premodern Arabic literature in which the correct prediction of impending disaster does not lead the person under threat to an act of timely recognition. In each case, the suppression of true knowledge is in the focus of the story and says something memorable about the character of the person who suppresses it. Both passages come from narratives about the ruin of the Barmakīs, the family of royal ministers whom Hārūn al-Rashīd turned on and destroyed, for unexplained reasons, in 187 AH/803 CE. Ja‘far al-Barmakī, whom al-Rashīd had distinguished with his love, was killed; his father, Yaḥyā, the vizier to whom the caliph owed his throne, died in prison. AlFaḍl, Ja‘far’s half-brother, was also imprisoned for a while. Ever after, the event was remembered as the embodiment of the terrors that despotic power can let loose on its closest and most faithful servants. The first passage, simple in language and linear in form, is part of a fairly long narrative. The second is a self-contained anecdote, rhetorically and structurally sophisticated, that proceeds with a calm gravity to its wistfully ironic conclusion. It is bipartite in structure, with certain elements of the first part paralleled and others canceled out in the second. The form is reminiscent, in the looser patterning of prose, of the manipulation of similarity and divergence in successive statements in verse, a technique first

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discussed in Raymond Scheindlin’s pioneering work on structures in Arabic poetry.1

JA‘FAR’S STORY2 The first passage comes from a late premodern work of entertainment literature (“an anthology disguised as a chronicle,” as Joseph Sadan puts it), the I‘lām al-nās bi-mā waqa‘a li-l-Barāmika min Banī ‘Abbās, by Muḥammad ibn Diyāb al-Itlīdī (eleventh/seventeenth century).3 Despite the title, only a modest portion of the book is devoted to the story of the Barmakīs, but it seems to incorporate all the most lurid details that al-Itlīdī had read about their downfall. Since al-Rashīd never disclosed the reason for the purge, sensationalist fancies had free rein, and there is a sizable family of narratives that trim the story with dark details, most of them generated by, and around, the rumor, already reported by al-Ṭabarī (but dismissed by several medieval scholars, Ibn Khaldūn among them), that a love affair between Ja‘far and the caliph’s sister ‘Abbāsa had caused the catastrophe.4 In alItlīdī’s version, ‘Abbāsa is the first to die. Al-Rashīd learns of the affair from his wife Zubayda, a sworn enemy of Ja‘far’s. He orders Masrūr, the executioner, to report after nightfall with ten sturdy laborers and two eunuchs, and leads them to ‘Abbāsa’s apartment. Not a word is spoken. After killing her,5 they put her into a large box, dressed and adorned as they found her, and as al-Rashīd looks on, they dig a hole so deep that they strike water. They lower the box into the pit, and fill it in, smoothing the earth over it. As they leave, al-Rashīd locks the door and takes the key. On his command, Masrūr puts the workers and eunuchs into sacks, which are 1 Raymond P. Scheindlin, Form and Structure in the Poetry of al-Mu‘tamid ibn ‘Abbād (Leiden, 1974). See, for example, 69 and 94. 2 I would like to express my thanks to Professor George Saliba for explaining the astrological terms and their application in the passage from al-Itlīdī; and to Axel Harvey for his explanation of the pertinent aspects of the use of the astrolabe. 3 Most recently printed as Nawādir al-khulafā’ al-musammā i‘lām al-nās bi-mā waqa‘a li-l-Barāmika ma‘a Banī ‘Abbās, ed. Ayman ‘Abd al-Jābir al-Buḥayrī (Cairo, 1998). The passage is found on 249-51. On this book and others like it, see Joseph Sadan’s excellent “Death of a Princess: Episodes of the Barmakid Legend in Its Late Evolution,” in Storytelling in the Framework of Nonfictional Arabic Literature, ed. Stefan Leder (Wiesbaden, 1998), 130-57. 4 On ‘Abbāsa, see Sadan, “Death of a Princess,” and my “ ‘Abbāsa,” entry forthcoming in Encyclopedia of Islam, 3d ed. 5 Al-Itlīdī is surprisingly restrained here. In other versions, ‘Abbāsa is put into the box and buried alive.

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then weighted with rocks, sewn shut, and thrown into the Tigris.6 Such is the atmosphere as we arrive at the reading of the stars. The next day, a Thursday, al-Rashīd presides over an administrative session. Ja‘far takes his seat next to the caliph, who is attentive and friendly toward him. “Then Ja‘far asked his permission that he might leave for Khurasan on that very day. Al-Rashīd called to the astrologer who was present there, and said: ‘How many hours have gone since sunrise?’ He said: ‘Three and a half,’ and measured the elevation [of the sun] for him [waakhadha lahu al-irtifā‘].7 Al-Rashīd himself calculated the horoscope for him (= for Ja‘far) and considered his planet [wa-ḥasaba lahu al-rashīd bi-nafsihi wanaz.ara fī najmihi] and said: ‘O, my Brother, this day is inauspicious for you, and this is an hour of ill fortune in which, I cannot think otherwise, something will happen. You had better stay here through the Friday prayers and leave when the stars are more likely to favor you. You can then spend the night in al-Nahrawān,8 get on the road early on Saturday, and travel by daylight. That will be better for you than leaving today.’ Ja‘far was not persuaded by what al-Rashīd said until he had stood up and taken the astrolabe from the astrologer’s hands, and measured the ascendant and calculated the horoscope for himself [akhadha al-ṭāli‘ wa-ḥasaba al-ṭāli‘ linafsihi]. Then he said: ‘By God, Commander of the Faithful, you are right. This is an ill-omened hour. Never have I seen a star burn more fiercely, nor one with a narrower escape along the ecliptic [aḍyaq al-majrā min al-burūj].’”9 Ja‘far retires to his house, where he is duly killed. Two facts stand out about al-Rashīd’s reading of the stars. One is that he interprets them truthfully but uses that limited truth to conceal from Ja‘far the fuller one that he has resolved to kill him. There is something more sinister here than the kind of ordinary betrayal that Decius Brutus undertakes when he explains away the ominous dream and lures Caesar to Securing secrecy through the killing of the gravediggers is a widespread motif. It is told of the burial of Genghis Khan. Jordanes asserts it of the burials of Alaric as well as Attila; The Origins and Deeds of the Goths, trans. C.C. Mierow (Princeton, N.J., 1908), 30:158, 49:258. The slaves who dug Boris Karloff’s grave in ancient Egypt (according to The Mummy, 1932), did not live to tell the tale, either. 7 He measures the elevation of the sun so he can fix the exact time and, using the astrolabe, identify the ascendant rising at the precise moment. 8 Al-Nahrawān is about twenty miles from Baghdad. 9 Professor George Saliba suggests that this somewhat enigmatic expression may mean that the major planet that usually “rules” the horoscope has a narrow space on the ecliptic to escape from a forthcoming danger projected in its vicinity from other malicious planets. 6

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his death. Al-Rashīd’s knowledge plays cat and mouse with Ja‘far’s. The victim’s very knowledge becomes a blindness and a means to trap him. The other salient fact is that al-Rashīd would not embark on his computations if it occurred to him that he might draw a blank. He has not even the flutter of a doubt that his will is God’s will and that a deadly danger to Ja‘far is already reflected in the heavens. One can place this in the literary landscape, comparing it to stories of deliverance after distress in which a character threatened with seemingly certain destruction astounds an onlooker by the perfect insouciance of one assured that, in the last minute, God can intervene any number of times.10 In al-Itlīdī’s narrative, when alRashīd puts his question to the astrologer, he convicts himself of a kind of cosmic hubris. At that moment, his mind has slipped the reins of human self-knowledge. This is not political condemnation of the executions in some modern sense. Even in the later scene where al-Rashīd weeps for ‘Abbāsa’s children but orders them killed, it would be rash to see in the narrative a representation of a reasoned moral judgment. Rulers, no one doubted it, must at times be ruthless. But where there is no moral judgment of the act, there is still an appalled gaze at the manner in which it is preformed. The story is a piece of Grand Guignol entertainment, and one should not ascribe great intellectual complexity to it. But the reading of the stars is not merely a plotting device, an arbitrary trick al-Rashīd adopts to make sure Ja‘far does not leave Baghdad. If al-Rashīd just invited Ja‘far to a party the next day, the effect would hardly be the same. With his spiderknowledge, and his casual assumption that his will is written in the stars, alRashīd’s figure at that moment inspires the horror we feel before the monstrosity of power that sees itself as destined to be absolute.

See al-Tanūkhī, al-Faraj ba‘d al-shidda, ed. al-Shāljī (Beirut, 1978), 4:92-93, where the condemned man says, “In the time this straw takes to fall, deliverance can come a hundred times”; or 4:126, where the number of last chances is a hundred thousand. 10

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MANAKA’S STORY11 Translation: The following is based on what al-Faḍl b. Muḥammad b. Manṣūr told us. Nahīk also transmitted some of it. Yaḥyā b. Khālid fell ill, and sent for Manaka the Indian. He said to him: “What do you think about this illness?” Manaka said: “Your disease is grave, the remedy for it is rare [dawā’uhu yasīr], and gratitude is rarer yet.” He was a man versed in several arts. Yaḥyā said: “Sometimes it is hard on the ear when the truth comes knocking [thaqula ... khaṭrat al-ḥaqq bihi], and when that happens it is better to shun it than to enter into conversation about it” [kānat al-hijra lahu alzam min al-mufāwaḍa fīhi]. Manaka said: “You are right, but I see in the ascendant stars a trace [athar] of something about to happen. You [now] know as much as I do, having been warned [wa-anta qasīm fī l-ma‘rifa wa-qad nubbihta]. At times the star’s motion through the heavens [ṣūrat al-ḥaraka li-l-kawkab] remains barren, without consequence, but the habit of taking prudent precautions [al-akhdh bi-l-ḥazm] is the greatest benefit enjoyed by those who study [this science] (awfar ḥaz.z. al-ṭālibīn). Yaḥyā said: “Affairs move toward their outcome, and what has been decreed will not fail to happen. A [seemingly] impregnable position, made so by peaceable days, is prey [to fortune] [almana‘a bi-musālamat al-ayyām nuhza].12 Do turn to what I called you for, namely this effect of the condition of the humors” [faqṣid li-mā da‘awtuka lahu min hādhā l-athar al-mawjūd bi-l-mizāj]. Manaka said: “It’s caused by yellow bile. A phlegmatic secretion [mā’iyya min al-balgham] has mixed with it, causing the kind of blazing up that occurs when a flame comes in contact with moist matter. Take the juice of two pomegranates and pound in it

11 I use the text in Ibn Qutayba, ‘Uyūn al-akhbār (Cairo, 1963, photographic reproduction of Dār al-kutub edition), 1:24-25. There is a somewhat rough translation by Josef Horovitz in Islamic Culture 4 (1930): 341-42. The story first appears in the ‘Uyūn, where it stands by itself. Ibn ‘Abd Rabbihi inserts it into Sahl ibn Hārūn’s narrative about the Barmakīs (al-‘Iqd, ed. Aḥmad Amīn et al., 3d printing [Cairo, 1965], 5:68). I give my arguments for the view that in the ‘Iqd the anecdote is an interpolation in “Going Down in Style,” Princeton Papers in Near Eastern Studies 3 (1994): 115. 12 The citations for nuhza in the electronic concordance at al-Warrāq (www.alwaraq.net) make me confident that “prey to” is the correct sense here.

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ANDRÁS HÁMORI some black myrobalan [ihlīlaja].13 It will cause you to have one or two bowel movements and quiet this burning sensation, if God wills.” When their story unfolded in the way that we know [lammā kāna min ḥadīthihim alladhī kāna], Manaka managed14 to visit Yaḥyā in prison. He found him sitting on a piece of felt, with al-Faḍl standing in front of him and serving him. Manaka wept and said: “I called. If only I had been accorded a reply!” Yaḥyā said to him: “Do you think any of this was known to you and not me? By no means. But the hope of safety, sustained by [my consciousness of] innocence [al-rajā’ li-l-salāma bi-l-barā’a min aldhanb] was stronger than fear, and parting with high rank proved to be the kind of burden ambition can but rarely lift. Moreover, there have been favors [I enjoyed] that, as I hope, began with gratitude and will end with the divine reward [wa-ba‘du fa-qad kānat ni‘amun arjū an yakūna awwaluhā shukran wa-ākhiruhā ajran].15 What do you have to say about this illness?” Manaka said to him: “I see no better remedy for it than patient endurance. If [giving up your] wealth or losing a limb could deliver you from it, that’s what you would need to do.” Yaḥyā said: “I thank you for what you said. If you can continue to visit us [in amkanaka ta‘ahhudunā], please do.” Manaka said: “If I could leave my soul with you, I would not begrudge it, for the days were kind to me as long as you were safe and well.”

Two remarkable conversations. The first one is distinguished for its obliquity. “What is your opinion about this illness?” asks Yaḥyā, and the answer is cryptic: “Your disease is grave, the remedy for it is rare, and gratitude is rarer yet.” Manaka means that Yaḥyā’s prominent political position is as dangerous as a potentially fatal illness, that despite the evident dangers men rarely find it in their souls to give up such positions, and that the only thing that would offer security, namely, a ruler’s gratitude to his The ‘Uyūn prints fa-khudh mā’a rummānayn fa-duqqahumā bi-ihlīlaja, but the editor notes that the ‘Iqd has the rather more plausible fa-duqqa fīhi ihlīlaja. 14 Talaṭṭafa … ḥattā dakhala. He used a subtle stratagem, or ingratiated himself with the right person or persons. 15 I am not quite sure of the meaning, but I think that Yaḥyā is saying that one of God’s mercies to him has been his awareness from the first that he owes thanks to God for rank, wealth, or any other good and that he hopes he has so used the rank and wealth he has been given that he will deserve the heavenly reward. Horovitz translates: “There have been benefits the first outcome of which I hope to be gratitude and their last to be reward.” Perhaps he means the same thing. Yaḥyā can’t still hope for al-Rashīd’s gratitude. 13

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faithful servants, is something rarer still. But why so cryptic? Aside from the love in early Arabic literature of apophthegmatic utterances, two effects are pertinent. One is the implication that the two speakers belong to a select coterie of people who can communicate by hints. The fact that Yaḥyā knows perfectly well what Manaka is trying to tell him (“Do you think any of this was known to you and not me?”) is essential to the ironic unfolding of the story. But even more significant is perhaps the implication that such obscurities serve prudence in an environment of danger. In a further obliquity, Manaka’s reply “Your illness is grave” debouches into generalizations: “the remedy for it is rare, and gratitude is rarer yet.” As a matter of courtesy, Manaka refrains, as far as he can, from charging into Yaḥyā’s personal circumstances. This makes it possible for Yaḥyā to keep the issue at a distance in his reply: “Sometimes it is hard on the ear when the truth comes knocking, and when that happens it is better to shun it than to enter into conversation about it.” If the story is to make sense, this must mean something like: “The general principle is right, but it is only a general principle, so let’s not talk about it.” Now Manaka must address the specific peril. He is sober about the limits of knowledge that may be gained from the stars. The stars’ course may be “barren,” but it is best to use caution.16 But Yaḥyā rejects the suggestion that he should act on the odds. He deflects the conversation with talk of fate and the instability of human affairs at the best of times: “A [seemingly] impregnable position, made so by peaceable days, is prey [to fortune].” Then he puts a somewhat abrupt end to this discussion of political perils: “Do turn to what I called you for, namely this effect of the condition of the humors.” There is a nice verbal hinge: instead of the trace (athar) seen in the stars, he wants to hear about the effect (athar) of the humors. Astrology and medicine are, after all, both natural sciences, and diagnosing the impending catastrophe and the indisposition of the moment are just analogous acts of searching out cause and effect. As it happens, this turning to medicine means shifting the gaze from the stars to the privy. Manaka gives in. He explains how the organs of the humors 16

Not all practitioners of astrology would have agreed with Manaka. The Ikhwān al-Ṣafā’ say (Rasā’il [Beirut, 1957], 1:156): “Knowing the science of the stars offers many benefits. One of them is that if a man knows what will happen in the immediate or more distant future, he can protect himself to some degree, not by preventing or averting its occurrence, but by being on his guard against it or preparing for it just as people do when they prepare to fend off the winter cold by putting on warm overclothes [jam‘ al-dithār].” The Ikhwān also suggest, however, that knowing the future enables a person to pray or repent and so hope for divine intervention.

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interacted to cause the illness, and that the illness is of no consequence. Medieval medicine did not go very far, but the physicians knew the difference between an illness that can be cured at once and an illness that was life threatening. Yaḥyā chooses to heed the trivial diagnosis. In the second scene, Manaka, visiting Yaḥyā in prison, regretfully reproaches him for not having taken his advice. Yaḥyā replies that he knew as much about the impending danger as Manaka did,17 but “the hope of safety, sustained by [my consciousness of] innocence was stronger than fear, and parting with high rank proved to be the kind of burden ambition can but rarely lift [qallamā tanhaḍu bihi l-himma].” Where in the first scene he expressed, with stoical calm, the familiar knowledge that human affairs are ruled by mutability (al-man‘a bi-musālamat al-ayyām nuhza), he now sees that he was beguiled by the hope of safety, al-rajā’ li-l-salāma, and seduced by ambition. Himma is a noble ambition, the great-souled man’s desire to rise and accomplish great things. But, it is now clear, himma is also a weakness. Listening to reason is a burden it cannot lift. The remedy for Yaḥyā’s disease is indeed rare. In the second scene the idea of fate no longer appears. A panoramic look at the results of actions over a lifetime and after takes its place: “there have been favors [I enjoyed] that, as I hope, began with gratitude and will end with the divine reward.” This is true pious hope. It is evidently not the case that Yaḥyā no longer believes in fate, but the perspective has changed. He now recognizes that the crucial opposition, the opposition that could, or should, have been acted on, was not between fate and human will, but between reason and passion. Speaking of fate just masked enticement by ambition. In this way, the two scenes in the story of Manaka and Yaḥyā highlight the move from a kind of self-distraction to the birth of selfknowledge. It is not so much the content of the self-knowledge that makes the text interesting, as the compact dramatic presentation, through a tight structure, of its emergence after the fall.

I think the implication is that Yaḥyā, like Ja‘far in al-Itlīdī, was also an expert at reading the stars. 17

ANDALUSIAN RESPONSES TO PTOLEMY IN HEBREW

ROBERT MORRISON During the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries in the Islamic world and its periphery, Ptolemy’s (fl. 125-50 CE) astronomy remained relevant; astronomers occupied themselves with addressing its physical inconsistencies. One of the most notable of these inconsistencies was that, according to Ptolemy, certain orbs rotated uniformly in place about a point other than their center. In fact, an orb’s uniform motion must take place about the orb’s center. In the Mashriq (the Islamic East), astronomers devised models that removed that inconsistency but retained the ability of Ptolemy’s models to account for observations.1 The problem for those astronomers of the Mashriq was that Ptolemy’s models did not work as advertised; how could a sphere rotate in place about a point other than its center? The models that those astronomers produced have been frequently cited as an example of Islamic science’s originality.2 Although Andalusian astronomers drew on the astronomy of the Mashriq, there was a distinct

For information about the achievements of the astronomers associated with the Marāgha Observatory, see George Saliba, “The Astronomical Tradition of Marāgha: A Historical Survey and Prospects for Future Research,” Arabic Sciences and Philosophy 1 (1991): 67-99, and idem, “Arabic Planetary Theories after the Eleventh Century AD,” in Roshdi Rashed, ed. (with Regis Morelon), Encyclopedia of the History of Arabic Science (London: Routledge, 1996), 58-127. See also F. Jamil Ragep, ed. and trans., Naṣīr al-Dīn al-Ṭūsī’s Memoir on Astronomy, 2 vols. (New York and Berlin: Springer, 1993). 2 George Saliba, “The Role of Marāgha in the Development of Islamic Astronomy: A Scientific Revolution before the Renaissance,” Révue de Synthèse 108 (1987): 361-73. 1

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trend of criticism of Ptolemy in Andalusia.3 This article will use an unstudied Hebrew translation of a Judeo-Arabic astronomy text by Joseph ibn Joseph Ibn Naḥmias (fl. c. 1400) to characterize further the Andalusian response to Ptolemy.4

1. THE PHILOSOPHIC UNDERPINNINGS OF THE ANDALUSIAN RESPONSE In a famous article from 1984, A.I. Sabra identified the “Andalusian revolt against Ptolemaic astronomy.”5 The revolt had its beginnings in how twelfth-century philosophers such as Ibn Rushd, Ibn Ṭufayl (d. 1185), and Maimonides (d. 1204) objected to Ptolemy’s theories on philosophic grounds.6 These philosophers interpreted Aristotle’s statements in Metaphysics XII.8 to mean that the motions of the heavens had to be composed of uniformly rotating orbs and that the earth had to be at the center of all of the orbs.7 For reasons of predictive accuracy, Ptolemy had 3 Ahmad Dallal, “Science, Medicine, and Technology,” in The Oxford History of Islam, ed. John Esposito (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 176. Dallal wrote: “The significance of the difference between the eastern and western reform traditions cannot be overemphasized.” 4 For more information about Ibn Naḥmias, see Gad Freudenthal, “Toward a Distinction Between the Two Rabbis Joseph ibn Joseph Ibn Naḥmias” (Hebrew), Qiryat Sefer 62 (1988-89): 917-19. 5 A.I. Sabra, “The Andalusian Revolt against Ptolemaic Astronomy: Averroes and al-Biṭrūjī,” in Transformation and Tradition in the Sciences, ed. Everett Mendelsohn (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), 133. “The episode referred to in the title of this chapter as ‘the Andalusian revolt’ is the well-known anti-Ptolemaic program of research that was conceived and defended by twelfth-century scholars in Muslim Spain.” 6 The astronomer Jābir ibn Aflaḥ (c. 1120) criticized Ptolemy as well. See Richard P. Lorch, “The Astronomy of Jābir ibn Aflaḥ,” Centaurus 19 (1975): 85-107, esp. 86. 7 See, for example, Ibn Rushd, Maurice Bouyges, ed., Tafsīr mā ba‘d al-ṭabī‘a (Beirut: Imprimerie Catholique, 1948), 1661-62. My translation: “And the doctrine of the eccentric sphere or the epicyclic orb is unnatural. As for the epicyclic orb, it is essentially impossible and that is because a body that moves in circular motion indeed rotates about the center of the universe, not [a point] external to it, since it is the thing rotating that makes the center. So if there were a circular motion external to this center, then there would have to be another center external to this center…. And it resembles the case of the eccentric sphere which Ptolemy imposes, and that is if there were many centers then there would have to be heavy bodies outside the place of the earth.”

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posited orbs that were not concentric with the earth. These Andalusian philosophers, then, believed that Ptolemy had made an unacceptable departure from Aristotelian principles when he posited orbs not concentric with the earth. To understand better the issues involved, let us consider the case of the sun. Premodern astronomers believed that the sun rotated about the earth, and not the opposite; nevertheless, the sun’s motions should sound familiar. Ptolemy had found that the sun rotated once around the earth approximately every 365¼ days8 and that its path, known as the ecliptic, against the background of the zodiac was inclined to the earth’s equator by about 24°.9 He calculated the sun’s average daily velocity about the earth to be about 59/60 of a degree (0; 59°).10 Observations led Ptolemy to posit that the heavens were spherical.11 If the sun’s actual daily velocity through the zodiac were always equal to its average daily velocity, Ptolemy would have been able to hypothesize that the earth was at the precise center of its orb. In fact, though, the observed motion of the sun through the zodiac is slower than the average daily motion at the summer and winter solstices and faster than the average daily motion at the autumnal and vernal equinoxes. That is, the seasons are not all the same length. Something would have to give. As I have said, Ptolemy, for his part, compromised on the principle of homocentricity. If one removed the earth from the precise center of the sun’s orb, then the uniform motion of the sun in its orb could produce motions that appeared, from the perspective of an earthbound observer, to move with varying velocities. That orb whose center was eccentric to the earth’s was known as an eccentric orb.12 The second compromise that Ptolemy introduced involved embedding a small orb in the wall of a larger On the first page (51r) of Nūr al-‘ālam, Ibn Naḥmias wrote: “Our intention on this subject is to show that what they said about the impossibility of the eccentric and the epicycle is true since it does not require another proof. Then we will give certain principles from which will appear all that appears in the heavens from those two principles.” 8 The Almagest III.1 (see Gerald Toomer, Ptolemy’s Almagest [London: Duckworth, 1984], 140) gives 365; 14, 48° days for the length of a year. 9 Ibid., I.12 (Toomer, 63) gives 23; 51, 20° for the obliquity of the ecliptic. Ibn Naḥmias’s solar model employed approximate values only. 10 Ibid., III.1 (Toomer, 140). 11 Ibid., I.3 (Toomer, 38-40); see Aristotle’s Metaphysics, bk. 12, chap. 8. 12 Modern astronomy concludes that the planets’ orbits are nearly circular ellipses with the sun at one focus.

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orb. The earth would be at the center of the large orb, and the sun would move on the small orb with the same speed as the large orb, but in the opposite direction. This second option was the epicycle; it was mathematically equivalent to the eccentric. The Andalusian philosophers whom I cited at the beginning of this article found these compromises of Ptolemy unacceptable because they removed the earth from the center of the sun’s orb or orbs. Nor would the sun be at the center of the orbs for any other planet, as the eccentric and epicyclic orbs appeared in the models for other planets. The problem that Andalusian astronomers faced, then, was to devise models that eliminated the epicycle and eccentric but that did their best to retain some predictive accuracy.

2. DO ATTEMPTS TO REPLACE THE ECCENTRIC AND EPICYCLE REPRESENT A DISTINCT ANDALUSIAN RESPONSE? In 1971, Bernard Goldstein published the Kitāb fī al-hay’a of al-Biṭrūjī (fl. c. 1200), which contained models composed entirely of combinations of uniformly rotating homocentric spheres.13 Sabra, in his article, showed how the models of al-Biṭrūjī (fl. c. 1200) reflected the philosophic concerns of the above-mentioned philosophers from Andalusia.14 Goldstein, in his book, explained how al-Biṭrūjī’s models, though of immense historical importance, were a step backward in terms of predictive accuracy. Eventually, this shortcoming of al-Biṭrūjī’s models did not go unnoticed by other scientists in Andalusia. In 2005, I published an article on the solar model of Joseph ibn Joseph Ibn Naḥmias (fl. c. 1400).15 Ibn Naḥmias’s solar model, found in his text The Light of the World (Nūr al-‘ālam), was an attempt to improve on the predictive accuracy of al-Biṭrūjī’s solar model.16 Ibn Naḥmias cited Ibn Ṭufayl and Maimonides approvingly, and Ibn Naḥmias’s model for the sun’s motions placed the earth at the center of at least most of the sun’s orbs. Ibn Naḥmias wrote in Judeo-Arabic and was, I

13 Goldstein translated the title as On the Principles of Astronomy. See al-Biṭrūjī, On the Principles of Astronomy, ed. and trans. Bernard R. Goldstein, 2 vols. (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1971), which includes the Hebrew translation of Kitāb fī al-hay’a. Francis Carmody, De Motibus Celorum: Critical Edition of the Latin Translation of Michael Scot (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1952), edited the Latin translation. 14 Sabra, “The Andalusian Revolt,” 134. 15 Robert Morrison, “The Solar Model in Joseph ibn Joseph Ibn Naḥmias’s Light of the World,” Arabic Sciences and Philosophy 15 (2005): 57-108. 16 Ibid., 92.

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think, the only Jew17 in premodern times to write on theoretical astronomy in any type of Arabic. Ibn Naḥmias’s work might, then, represent another voice in the Andalusian response to Ptolemaic astronomy. My article on him posed the question of how Nūr al-‘ālam fit within the Andalusian trend of critique. This article will use the Hebrew translation of the Judeo-Arabic text to show that the Hebrew translation serves to situate Ibn Naḥmias more decisively within the Andalusian trend. The Hebrew text exists in a single MS, on folios 127r-101r (the MS is numbered backward) of Bodleian MS Canon. Misc. 334.18 Steinschneider wrote that the Hebrew was a translation of the original Judeo-Arabic.19 Although Steinschneider posited that the Hebrew was a translation, the Hebrew MS has at least several pages not reflected in the Judeo-Arabic MS. For that reason, I call the Hebrew a redaction rather than a translation. It is possible that the Hebrew reflects a lost Judeo-Arabic version, or that the producer of the Hebrew MS expanded on the original Judeo-Arabic. Gad Freudenthal has suggested that the Hebrew MS could be the work of Ibn Naḥmias himself.20 This Hebrew redaction expands our understanding of what the Andalusian trend of response to Ptolemy was; we have 2.5 (if not three) texts where we used to have only one (al-Biṭrūjī’s Kitāb fī al-hay’a)! I want to take a specific case in which the Hebrew redaction attempted to improve on the solar model from the Judeo-Arabic text.

3. A SUMMARY OF IBN NAH. MIAS’S SOLAR MODEL FROM THE JUDEO-ARABIC TEXT In order to gain a context for the improvements that the Hebrew redaction makes on the Judeo-Arabic, we need to summarize the solar model from Nūr al-‘ālam. In the diagram, the sun is moving on a small circle, LTNM. The center of that small circle, E (moving

17 For biographical information about Ibn Naḥmias, including his religion, see Freudenthal, “Toward a Distinction between the Two Rabbis.” 18 The Judeo-Arabic text exists in Vatican MS Ebr. 392, fols. 51r-88r. 19 Moritz Steinschneider, Der Mathematik bei den Juden (Berlin: 1893-99; repr., Hildesheim: Olms, 1964), 114. For an explanation of why Nūr al-‘ālam was a JudeoArabic text and not an Arabic text in Hebrew characters, see Morrison, “The Solar Model,” 60-61. 20 Freudenthal, “Toward a Distinction between the Two Rabbis,” 917.

74

ROBERT MORRISON

to Z), is moved by the motion of point H (moving to K) 90° away. The center moves with twice the sun’s average motion to point S, and then ratchets back to point Z. Ibn Naḥmias presented a lengthy argument for why that ratcheting motion was not a problem. His argument hinged on the definitions of opposite motion. If the equator of one orb was perpendicular to the equator of another orb, it would be impossible to say that the orbs were ever rotating in opposite directions. More about this philosophical debate comes in §3a. Then the sun rotates on the small circle LTNM, from T to N, which will both account for the variations in the sun’s velocity and keep the sun close to the ecliptic. Ibn Naḥmias’s model certainly did a better job of keeping the sun in the ecliptic; it improved on the predictive accuracy of al-Biṭrūjī’s model.21 3a. The Philosophic Background of Ibn Naḥmias’s Models Al-Biṭrūjī’s models had the orbs moving in the same direction, lagging behind the motion of the uppermost orb. Ibn Naḥmias himself spoke 21 Morrison, “The Solar Model,” 92. Cf. Alexander Jones, “An ‘Almagest’ Before Ptolemy’s?” in Studies in the History of the Exact Sciences in Honour of David Pingree, ed. Charles Burnett et al. (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 134. Jones discussed a solar model, from a half-century before Ptolemy’s Almagest, in which the sun moves in latitude from the ecliptic.

ANDALUSIAN RESPONSES TO PTOLEMY IN HEBREW

75

generally of the orbs lagging behind the motion of the uppermost orb but was able to incorporate the ratcheting from S to Z because he argued that the motions of two orbs, or two motions of a single orb, could never be in opposite directions. While the scholarship about Andalusian planetary theory has focused on its connection to the philosophers’ debate over the existence of epicycles and eccentrics, this debate about opposing motions may also be relevant. Aristotle had intimated in De Caelo 270a that “up and down” were inapplicable to the rotational motion of the celestial orbs.22 “Up and down” were categories perhaps determined by the sublunar elements’ natural places with respect to the celestial orbs. There was an ensuing debate over that passage between Ibn Rushd, Gersonides (1288-1344), and Gersonides’ contemporaries. Ibn Rushd defined “up and down” with respect to the orbs, a definition that would seem to preclude applying these opposites to celestial motions.23 Gersonides did not agree with Ibn Rushd that these directions (“up and down”) were opposites.24 One of Gersonides’ contemporaries, Yedaiah HaPenini, took the firm position that “up and down” are opposites inapplicable to the celestial bodies.25 Ibn Naḥmias mentioned Ibn Rushd but neither Gersonides nor this debate in particular; I have not found any reference to HaPenini in Nūr al‘ālam or Or ha-‘olam. Although I hope to continue to explore connections between Ibn Naḥmias and Jewish philosophy in the fourteenth century, two preliminary conclusions are in order. First, the existence of the debate reflects a renewed interest in Ibn Rushd among Jews in fourteenth-century Provence.26 That in itself would be a reason for the Hebrew redaction of Nūr al-‘ālam. Second, the existence of the debate about opposite motion in 22 “Opposites have opposite motions. There cannot be an opposite to the body under discussion, because there cannot be an opposite motion to the circular.” The ambiguities in this statement fueled the ensuing debate. 23 Ruth Glasner, A Fourteenth-Century Scientific-Philosophic Controversy: Yedaiah HaPenini’s Treatise on Opposite Motions and Book of Confutation (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: World Union of Jewish Studies, 1998), 38. In addition, directions were defined with respect to the natural places of the sublunar elements. Thus, see Arthur Hyman, Averroes’ De Substantia Orbis: Critical Edition of the Hebrew Text with English Translation and Commentary (Cambridge: Medieval Academy of America and Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1986), 79. “This being so, the celestial body possesses no other nature except the nature of the soul that imparts locomotion.” 24 Glasner, A Fourteenth-Century Scientific-Philosophic Controversy, 41. 25 Ibid., 92. 26 Idem, “Levi Ben Gershom and the Study of Ibn Rushd in the Fourteenth Century,” Jewish Quarterly Review 86 (1995): 51-90.

76

ROBERT MORRISON

the heavens means that it is conceivable that Ibn Naḥmias devised his solar model with an eye to a faithful interpretation of Aristotle’s writings. Thus Ibn Naḥmias could be part of the Andalusian revolt that Sabra described, though Ibn Naḥmias’s astronomy had some resemblances to the astronomy of the Mashriq.27 3b. The Modified Solar Model in Nūr al-‘Ālam This article focuses on developments, in Or ha-‘olam, of a final modification of the solar model from Nūr al-‘ālam. I will first summarize this final modification from Nūr al-‘ālam before analyzing the contributions of the Hebrew redaction. After the motion of the sun on the circle of its path, the sun was still displaced from the ecliptic.28 In order to eliminate this displacement, Ibn Naḥmias proposed that the center of the sun was carried on two additional circles. Assume a mean motion of 45° for the sun. A, coincident with the sun at point K, has rotated 45° clockwise. A is also the pole of circle HBC and rotates, in that capacity, 45° counterclockwise. A, when it rotates that way, carries B, the pole of circle SRK, from H to point B. Dashed lines indicate the old position of small circle SRK, and a thick line indicates the new position. Finally, point K would rotate 90° about pole B to X, which was supposedly the intersection of LMNT with the zodiac.29 Nūr al-‘ālam did not answer the question of how these circles moved or what the size of the circles needed to be. There is a possibility that theories for trepidation influenced this and other components of Ibn Naḥmias’s astronomy.30 Morrison, “The Solar Model,” 92. I calculate the displacement from the zodiac in “The Solar Model,” 87-92. Ibn Naḥmias’s own discussion of his model acknowledged that there was a displacement. 29 Morrison, “The Solar Model,” 92-103. 30 See ibid., 82-83, and Julio Samsó, “Trepidation in al-Andalus in the 11th Century,” in idem, Islamic Astronomy and Medieval Spain (Aldershot, U.K.: Variorum, 1994), viii. See also Bernard Goldstein, “On the Theory of Trepidation according to Thābit b. Qurra and al-Zarqāllu and Its Implications for Homocentric Planetary Theory,” Centaurus 10 (1964): 232-47. See F. Jamil Ragep, “Al-Battānī, Cosmology, and the History of Trepidation in Islam,” in From Baghdad to Barcelona: Studies in the Islamic Exact Sciences in Honour of Prof. Juan Vernet (Barcelona, 1996), 278-88. See also Mercé Comes, “Ibn al-Hā’im’s Trepidation Model,” Suhayl 2 (2001): 329-37. On precession and trepidation in general, see R. Mercier, “Studies in the Medieval Conception of Precession,” Archives Internationales d’Histoire des Sciences 26 (1976): 197-220; and 27 (1977): 33-71. 27 28

ANDALUSIAN RESPONSES TO PTOLEMY IN HEBREW

77

Indeed, the Hebrew redaction commented that the size of the two circles would vary according to the location of the point of the greatest distance from the zodiac. For that reason, the redactor preferred the first model (i.e., the unmodified solar model from §3).31 At any rate, these models entailed a displacement of the sun from its observed position in the zodiac.

4. LEMMAS TO SUPPORT A MODIFICATION OF THE SOLAR MODEL One apparent weakness of that final version of the solar model in Nūr al‘ālam was that there were no movers for the motions of the two small circles. Another criticism that the redactor leveled against Nūr al-‘ālam was that the motion on the two small circles did not take place on great circle arcs (arcs from circles that bisect the orb). The redactor of Or ha-‘olam ultimately proposed possible configurations of physical movers that would cause the additional motion necessary to keep the sun in the plane of the zodiac. The model would do so by imparting an additional curve to the pole Or ha-‘olam reads: “It is known that the measure of the two circles changes according to the position of the point of the greatest distance on the circle of the zodiac. Indeed, when the point of the greatest distance is where its positions in the degrees of the zodiac transpose, as is the case with the moon due to how it retains a latitude, it is necessary to add other things difficult to picture, and it is not our intention to enlarge the contents of the book with this. Due to this, we have chosen the first hypothesis.” 31

‫‪78‬‬

‫‪ROBERT MORRISON‬‬

‫‪of the sun. The redactor presented three versions of a lemma that would‬‬ ‫‪become part of a hypothesis (see §5) to cause the necessary motions on‬‬ ‫‪great circle arcs. That hypothesis (see, again, §5) could be incorporated into‬‬ ‫‪the solar model. I must defer analysis of the third version. The Hebrew text‬‬ ‫‪of the first two lemmas is as follows (116b-116a):32‬‬ ‫וכבר ימצא כל זה בדרך אחר יותר קצר ויותר שלם מבלתי הנחת‬ ‫אלו השתי עגולות הקטנות ושיהיה מרכזי )מרכז?( השמש נשוא‬ ‫על עגולת המעבר עצמה ונקדים לזה זאת ההקדמה‪.‬‬ ‫נשים נקודה מה או קטב או מרכז כוכב בשטח גלגל ותהיה נקודת‬ ‫כ‪ .‬אומר כי איפשר שתעתק זאת הנקודה על קשת דכ מעגולה‬ ‫גדולה שיעורה החלקים שנרצה ותגיע מד לכ בעגולת דגכ הגדולה‬ ‫בתנועות סבוביות ותשוב מכ לד מבלתי השלמת עגולה לא עגולת‬ ‫דגכ ולא זולתה‪ .‬ולא תסור תמיד מעשות זה‪.‬‬ ‫ואם נרצה שתהיה זאת ההעתקה על עגולות קטנות כבר קדם‬ ‫ביאור זה בעקר החלוף כשנשים שתי עגולות קטנות שוות על‬ ‫קשת דכ כל אחת מהם )מהן?( בגלגל מיוחד שיעור השתי קשתות‬ ‫היוצאות מקטב כל אחת מהן למקיפה ותהיינה קשתי גה הכ‬ ‫יחד שוות לחצי קשת דכ‪ .‬וקטב האחת סובב סביב קטב האחרת‬ ‫ונשוא על מקיפה והתנועה האחת כפל האחרת כמו שנתבאר‪.‬‬ ‫ואם שמנו הנעתק על קשת כד ר''ל נקודת כ קטב עגולה אמנם‬ ‫קטרה יקרה לו עקום‪ .‬וזה כי כאשר יהיה קטב ה על ז ר''ל חצי‬ ‫הזא תהיה עגולה גחכ ממששת לקשת דכ על נקודה ג‪ .‬ויהיה‬ ‫הקטר הנזכר חותך קשת דכ על זויות נצבות על נקודת ג‪ .‬וכאשר‬ ‫נשים זה הקטר מתנועע תמיד סביב קטר )קטב?( כ לצד תנועת‬ ‫קטב ה סביב קטב ג תנועה שוה לה יהיה הקטר הנזכר אבל‬ ‫הקשת אשר עליו מדובק תמיד על קשת דכ עולה מכ לד ויורד מד‬ ‫אל כ‪.‬‬

‫ואם רצינו שתהיה זאת ההעתקה אשר לנקודת כ על קשת דכ‬ ‫בעגולות גדולות זאת ההעתקה איפשרית )אפשרית?( באחד‬ ‫משלש דרכים‪ .‬ונחתוך קשת דכ לשני חצאין על ג ונרשום על קטב‬ ‫א במרחק אג עגולת גח הגדולה ועל קטב ז במרחק זכ עגולת כח‬ ‫הגדולה ועל קטב א במרחק אז עגולת בהז הקטנה‪ .‬ונחשוב קטב‬ ‫עגולת כח ר''ל ז במרחק סביב קטב א על עגולת בהז‪.‬‬ ‫הראשון מהשלושה דרכים שתהיה נקודת כ מהגלגל אשר קטבו ז‬ ‫והמקבלת לה תקועות בגלגל שלישי בענין שלא תוכל לצאת‬ ‫מעגולת דגכ לצד מהצדדים‪ .‬ויתחדש בזאת ההעתקה לכל נקודה‬ ‫שתורשם בגלגל אשר בו נקודת כ עיקום זולתי נקודת כ‬ ‫‪remarked above, the Hebrew MS is numbered backward.‬‬

‫‪32 As‬‬

‫‪79‬‬

‫‪ANDALUSIAN RESPONSES TO PTOLEMY IN HEBREW‬‬ ‫והמקבלת לה ואין בו נקודה תרשום עגולת )עגולה?( שלימת‬ ‫הסבוב‪ .‬וכאשר יגיע קטב ז אל ב תגיע נקודת כ אל ד וישתנה‬ ‫הנחת הגלגל ימין ושמאל לפי שהנחת קטביו משתנות בהעתקתם‬ ‫על עגולת מעברם זולתי נקודת כ והמקבלת לה לפי שהן תקועות‬ ‫כמו שאמרנו ואין לה העתקה אלא על קשת דגכ‪.‬‬ ‫והדררך השני שיהיו קטבי עגולת דגכ תקועים בגלגל עליון ממנו‬ ‫או מתחת לו בענין שיוכל להתנועע עליהם ונקודת כ מהגלגל אשר‬ ‫בו דגכ והמקבלת לה תקועות בגלגל שלישי קטבו ז הסובב סביב‬ ‫קטב א מגלגל רביעי‪ .‬והגלגל אשר בו נקודת כ הוא האמצעי מן‬ ‫השלשה הראשונים יתדבק באחד מהם בקטבי עגולת דגכ לא‬ ‫בזולתם ובאחר בשתי נקודות כ והמקבלת לה לא בזולתם‪.‬‬ ‫וכאשר יתנועע קטב ז על עגולת בהז סביב קטב א תעתק נקודת‬ ‫כ מהגלגל אשר קטבו ז על קשת דגכ לא תעבור ממנה‪ .‬ושאר‬ ‫נקודות זה הגלגל ישתנה הנחתם כמו שנתבאר בדרך הראשון‪.‬‬ ‫וכאשר נשים נקודה בגלגל האמצעי הנזכר אשר קטביו תקועים‬ ‫נכח נקודת כ כאלו היא תקועה בה תהיה מתנועעת על קשת‬ ‫בגלגל דומה לקשת דגכ ויתנועע הגלגל כלו זאת התנועה בעצמה‬ ‫כמו לו היתה זאת ההעתקה על קטבי עגולת דגכ לפי שנקודה כ‬ ‫אשר בגלגל אשר קטבו ז תשא אותה עמה וישאר הנחת הגלגל‬ ‫כלו על עניינו לפי שקטביו תקועים בענין שלא ישתנה הנחתן ימין‬ ‫ושמאל‪.‬‬ ‫‪Here is the English translation:‬‬ ‫‪Thus all of this results through another method shorter and‬‬ ‫‪more complete without positing these two small circles, and so‬‬ ‫‪that the center33 of the sun is carried on the circle of the path‬‬ ‫‪itself. And for this we present this lemma:‬‬ ‫‪We place some point or a pole or the center of a planet on the‬‬ ‫‪surface of a sphere, and it is point K. I say that it is possible that‬‬ ‫‪this point moves on great circle arc DK whose measure is the‬‬ ‫‪portions34 that we desire. It reaches K from D on great circle‬‬ ‫‪DGK through rotational motion and returns from K to D‬‬ ‫‪without completing any circle, neither circle DGK, nor another.‬‬ ‫‪And it never turns away from doing this.‬‬ ‫‪And if we want this motion to be on small circles, then the‬‬ ‫‪explanation of this has come with the hypothesis of the anomaly‬‬ ‫‪when we place two equal small circles on arc DK, with each one‬‬ ‫‪of them being in a particular orb. The measure of the two arcs‬‬ ‫”‪Lit., “centers.‬‬ ‫‪I.e., the portions necessary to keep the sun in the zodiac.‬‬

‫‪33‬‬ ‫‪34‬‬

80

ROBERT MORRISON going out from the poles of each of them to its circumference, and let each be GE EK, together is equal to half of arc DK. And the pole of one rotates around the pole of the other and is carried on its circumference; the one movement is twice the other as has become clear. And if we have placed the mobile on arc KD, that is to say that point K is the pole of a circle, then its diameter becomes curved. And this is because when pole E is on Z, that is to say half of EZA, circle GHK is tangent to arc DK at point G. The abovementioned diameter [GEK] intersects arc DK at right angles on point G. And when we propose that this diameter is moving always about pole35 K, in the direction of the motion of pole E about pole G, through a motion equal to it,36 the abovementioned diameter [GEK], rather the arc upon which is always attached, is ascending from K to D on DK and descending from D to K.

And if we wanted this motion of point K upon arc DK [see figure on p. 91] to be through great circles, then it is possible that it be through one of three ways. We cut arc DK into two halves at G and we trace about pole A at distance AG the great circle GH, and on pole Z at distance ZK the great circle KH, and upon pole A at distance AZ, the small circle BEZ. And we 35 Lit.,

“diameter.” Once E is at point Z, K will have moved 90° in the same direction, too. Though the text has said that diameter GEK rotates about pole K the same amount as pole E did about pole G, the previous paragraph said that diameter GEK would rotate twice the measure of the first motion (which is what the text means). 36

ANDALUSIAN RESPONSES TO PTOLEMY IN HEBREW intend the pole of circle KH, that is to say Z, to be at a distance about point A on circle BEZ. The first of the three ways is that point K from the orb whose pole is Z and the point opposite it are fixed in a third orb so that it cannot depart from circle DGK in any direction. A curve appears through this motion for each point that is traced on the orb with point K, except for point K and the point opposite it, and there is no point that traces a circle of full rotation. And when pole Z gets to B, point K gets to D, and the position of the orb to the right and left varies according to how the position of its poles varies through their motion on the circle of their path, excluding point K and the point opposite it, since they are fixed as we said, and it [the point] has no motion except on arc DGK. And the second way is that the poles of circle DGK are fixed in an orb above it or below it so that the orb can move on them. And point K, and the point opposite, from the orb which has in it DGK are fixed in a third orb whose pole is Z which rotates about pole A from a

81

82

ROBERT MORRISON fourth orb. And the sphere that has point K in it is the middle of the first three, connected to one of them by the poles of circle DGK, and none other, and to the other by the two points K and the point opposite it [K], and none other than them. And when pole Z rotates on circle BEZ about pole A, point K from the orb whose pole is Z moves on arc DGK not departing from it. And the positions of the rest of the points of this sphere vary as became clear in the first way. And when we place a point in the above-mentioned middle orb, whose poles are fixed opposite point K as if it is fixed in it, moving on an arc in its orb resembling arc DGK, with the entire orb moving through this motion itself as if this motion were about the poles of circle DGK, so that point K, which is in the sphere whose pole is Z, carries it with it, then the position of the orb remains as it is [‘al ‘inyano] since its poles are fixed in such a way [‘inyan] so that their position does not vary to the right or the left.

The goal of this lemma is to have a point on the circle of the sun’s path trace an additional great circle arc in order to compensate for the displacement from the zodiac in Ibn Naḥmias’s unmodified solar model. The first two versions do this by fixing a) pole K or b) the poles of great circle arc DGK. Then, as the motion of pole Z would normally force point K off of great circle arc DGK, DGK will rotate to maintain a 90° distance between the pole (Z) and point K. Thus, point K will begin to move on DGK, and this motion could be added to the unmodified solar model to eliminate that final displacement. One conceivable objection to this lemma is that the orb with poles T and H does not complete 360° of rotation. Instead, as soon as point K reaches D, the orb with poles T and H will need to rotate in the other direction for K to remain on great circle arc DGK.37 I would speculate that the mover of that orb was the motion of K on arc DGK. Another objection is that the oscillation of point K will not be uniform. At any rate, the redactor incorporated this lemma (as well as the third version, which I have not covered here) into three possible hypotheses that would replace the two small circles from the modified solar model in Nūr al-‘ālam. 37 Thus, the connection of theories of homocentric astronomy to models for precession and trepidation has been strengthened. See also F. Jamil Ragep, “Ibn alHaytham and Eudoxus: The Revival of Homocentric Modelling in Islam,” in Studies in the History of the Exact Sciences in Honour of David Pingree, ed. Charles Burnett et al. (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 786-809.

‫‪83‬‬

‫‪ANDALUSIAN RESPONSES TO PTOLEMY IN HEBREW‬‬

‫‪5. MODIFICATIONS OF THE SOLAR MODEL IN OR HA-‘OLAM:‬‬ ‫‪THE HYPOTHESIS OF THE CURVE‬‬ ‫‪The redactor hoped to modify the solar model in order to eliminate the‬‬ ‫‪displacement of the sun from the zodiac after its motion on the circle of its‬‬ ‫‪path, all the while avoiding the weaknesses of the solar model in Nūr al‬‬‫‪‘ālam. The redactor proposed three modifications of the solar model‬‬ ‫‪incorporating the lemmas from §4. Due to limitations of space, I will defer‬‬ ‫‪analysis of the first and third modifications and confine myself to the‬‬ ‫‪second, concise proposed modification. The Hebrew text reads (114b‬‬‫‪114a):‬‬

‫והצד השני שנשים קטב עגולת המעבר ר''ל ה יעתק על קשת הק‬

‫ויתהפך עליו כמו שקדם‪ .‬וכבר בארנו כי כזה יקרה לנקודה אשר‬ ‫היתה בכח קטב זאת הקשת ותהיה ח על קשת אב ושיתעקם‬ ‫קטר עגולת המעבר על המשל הנזכר‪ .‬המשל בשני גלגלים‬ ‫התחתיים בזמן הרביע תעתק נקודת ח מח אל ב וקטב ה מה אל‬ ‫פ ותתעקם נקודת ט מט לז‪ .‬ובשני גלגלים העליונים תעתק‬ ‫נקודת ח מח לב גם כן בתנועת הקטב להפך תנועת הקטב‬ ‫הפנימי‪.‬‬

‫ובעגולה האחרת כמו שקדם ובכמו זאת הקשת תעתק נקודת ח‬ ‫מן התחתיים אשר היתה על ב לצד זה ויעתק קטב ה להפך מה‬ ‫לש כמו ההעתקה הראשונה‪ .‬וקשת אב העליונה נוטה על קשת‬ ‫אב התחתונה ומתחתכת עמה על נקודת ח‪ .‬אם כן ההעתקות‬ ‫לקטב ה הפכיות ושוות וההסרות נמי הנזכרות הפכיות‪ .‬א''כ‬ ‫ישאר במקומה עם השארות העקום בעניינו אבל יהיה כפלו ר''ל‬ ‫כפל קשת טז‪.‬‬

‫וברביע השני ישוב בשני הגלגלים הראשונים קטב ח אל ב ויעתק‬ ‫קטב ה מפ לק קשת פק שוה לפה ויסור העקום‪ .‬ובשני הגלגלים‬ ‫השניים יעתק קטב ח מב גם כן וקטבה ה מש לת קשת שת שוה‬ ‫להש‪ .‬וישאר קטב ה במקומו ויסור העקום‪.‬‬

‫וברביע השלישי יעתק קטב ח בשני הגלגלים הראשונים מח לא‬ ‫ונתחדש העקום מן הצד האחר ויעתק קטב ה מק לפ ובשניים‬ ‫תעתק נקודת ח מח לא‪ .‬וכמו זה יעתק קטב ח מן התחתיים‬ ‫שהיה על א לצד זה וקטב ה מת לש ונעדר הרוחב וישאר הקטב‬ ‫במקומו תמיד מצד הפכיות ההעתקות וישאר העקום בצד האחר‬ ‫אבל כפל מה שהיה ראשונה‪.‬‬ ‫וברביע הרביעי ישוב קטב ח בשניהם מא לח וישוב קטב ה מפ‬ ‫לה ומש לה ויסור העקום ויסתלק ובכל אלו השני צדדים‪.‬‬ ‫‪The English translation reads:‬‬

84

ROBERT MORRISON And the second way is that we propose the pole of the circle of the path, that is E, to move on arc EQ, and rotate upon it, as has preceded. And we have already demonstrated that the same occurs for the point that is potentially the pole of this arc, and it is H on arc AB; and [we propose] that the diameter of the circle of the path is curved according to the above-mentioned example. For example, through the two lower orbs in the time of the [first] quadrant, point H moves from H to B, pole E from E to P, and point T curves from T to Z. And through the two upper orbs point H moves from H to B as well through the movement of the pole in the opposite [direction] of the motion of the internal pole. And through the other circle it is as preceded, and through the same arc, point H of the lower [orbs], that was upon B, moves in this direction. And pole E moves in reverse from E to X like the first motion. And upper arc AB is inclined to lower arc AB, intersecting it upon point H. If so, then the movements for pole E are opposite and equal and the displacements, also the abovementioned ones, are opposite. Afterward it remains in its place with the curve remaining as it was, but it will be double, that is to say twice arc TZ. And in the second quadrant, pole H returns, through the first two orbs, to B and pole E moves from P to Q through arc PQ equal to PE, and the curve goes away. And through the second two orbs, pole H moves from B as well and its [the circle of the path’s] pole E moves from X to V through arc XV equal to EX. And pole E remains in its place and the curve goes away. In the third quadrant, pole H moves through the first two orbs from H to A and the curve appears from the other side, and pole E moves from Q to P, and through the second two [orbs] point H moves from H to A. And like this pole H from the lower orbs, that was on A, moves in this direction, and pole E from V to X, and the latitude is absent, and the pole remains always in its place with regard to the opposition of the motions. The curve remains on the other side, but twice what it was at first.

ANDALUSIAN RESPONSES TO PTOLEMY IN HEBREW

85

And in the fourth quadrant, pole H returns through both of them [both orbs] from A to H and pole E returns from P to E and from X to E and the curve goes away and disappears, and on each of these two sides.

This modification of the solar model has replaced two small circles with the motions of couples of poles moving in circles. Both versions of the lemma described in §4 use combinations of motions of poles to produce an oscillation on a great circle arc. They appeared in this hypothesis, which the redactor named ‘iqar he-‘aqom (the hypothesis of the curve), in the following way. At poles G and D, there are two couples of orbs. (I have shown only the paths of the poles.) The two couples rotate in opposite directions moving a pole along great circle arc HAB at the top and bottom of the drawn orb.38 The combined motions of the couples cause both the oscillation of the pole of the circle of the path from Q to V and the curve, 38

Or, they could both be on the top as poles of nesting orbs.

86

ROBERT MORRISON

as much as twice arc TZ. The curve, again, accounts for the additional displacement of the sun from the zodiac that the solar model in Nūr al-‘ālam could not explain. Note, too, that the lower orbs cause the pole of the circle of the path to oscillate from E to Q and back, while the upper orbs are responsible for the oscillation from E to V and back. Thus, the purpose of the two sets of orbs is to double the curve while eliminating the displacement in longitude. Upper and lower arcs HAB cross each other so that, while the HE distance is 90°, the BE distance is not. According to the text, upper point B should be closer to E than point H, and vice versa for lower point B. The redactor expected the reader to superimpose this hypothesis of the curve back onto the solar model. There is no evidence of quantitative error analysis in Or ha-‘olam.39 I have not determined what suddenly makes point H start to oscillate to A in the third and fourth quadrants. Note that at the beginning of the motion, T, E, and M are in a line; when E moves to P, T curves to Z. But then one would have to imagine that P resets to E without Z moving back to T. If you grant that, this model works for the quadrants.

6. CONCLUSION On a qualitative level, these passages are of immense historical significance for three reasons. First, the redactor has provided a model that includes a physical mover in a case where the Judeo-Arabic text did not do so. Thus the fourteenth-century improvements on al-Biṭrūjī remained concerned with philosophy. In fact, the ratcheting motion, Ibn Naḥmias’s greatest departure from al-Biṭrūjī, reflects a debate in fourteenth-century Jewish philosophy. Second, the Hebrew redaction has the motion occurring on great circle arcs that would facilitate calculation of the sun’s position, though the redactor did not do so. In that sense, these texts inclined toward natural philosophy and not mathematical astronomy. Third, and most generally, the existence of the redaction, with these changes, shows that the intended Hebrew readership would have been savvy enough to appreciate it. Indeed, Profiat Duran’s (c. 1350-c. 1415) response to the Hebrew redaction, found in a different hand at the end of the Bodleian MS, indicates such a level of technical competence.

39

text.

I am completing a quantitative analysis as part of my translation of the entire

THE HUMAN DIMENSION OF WISSENSCHAFT DES JUDENTUMS: LETTERS FROM THE RAWIDOWICZ ARCHIVES

BENJAMIN RAVID Simon Rawidowicz was born in Grayevo, what was then Russia and is today Poland, on October 11, 1896. After receiving a traditional Jewish education, in 1919 he departed for Berlin, where he obtained his Ph.D. in philosophy in 1926. In 1933, he left Berlin with his wife, Esther Eugenie Klee Rawidowicz (1900-1980), daughter of the Berlin lawyer and Zionist leader Alfred Klee (1875-1943),1 for London, and in 1941 was appointed to the newly created position of lecturer in medieval and modern Hebrew at Leeds University.2 Subsequently, in 1948, he moved to the College of Jewish Studies in Chicago, and in 1951 was brought by Abram L. Sachar to Brandeis University, where he became the first Philip W. Lown Professor of Jewish Philosophy and Hebrew Literature and first chair of the Department of Near Eastern and Judaic Studies, until his death at the age of sixty on July 20, 1957.

For Ray, a fellow lover of the Hebrew language, in recollection of our first meeting almost half a century ago, as we both were taking our early steps in Wissenschaft des Judentums. 1 On Alfred Klee, see Benjamin Ravid, “Alfred Klee and Hans Goslar: From Amsterdam to Westerbork to Bergen Belsen,” to appear in the Proceedings of the Tenth International Symposium on the History of the Jews in the Netherlands, Jerusalem 2004 (Jerusalem, 2007). 2 For further details, see below, sec. VI.

87

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BENJAMIN RAVID

Rawidowicz can be characterized as a student of Jewish philosophy who chose to investigate leading figures such as Saadia, Maimonides, Mendelssohn, and Krochmal; an innovative thinker who formulated a comprehensive philosophy of the Jewish experience; an original culturalpolitical theoretician; a deeply committed Hebraist; a prolific essayist and editor; the founder of two publishing houses; and the organizer of an international cultural movement.3 As a result of these most variegated activities, Rawidowicz became a voluminous correspondent who was in contact with the leading figures in the areas of Jewish scholarship and of Hebrew and Yiddish literature and culture and apparently kept virtually all personal correspondence that he received, starting with the time he arrived in Berlin in 1919. Most of this correspondence was conducted in Hebrew and, to a much lesser extent, in Yiddish. After Rawidowicz left Germany for London, English understandably came to take the place of German. The following represents a selection of more significant and interesting letters that he received in English—with the exception of the first and third sections which were in German and Hebrew and one excerpt in the second section originally in Hebrew—as well as a little material from his out-going letters, of which he generally did not make copies, all containing insights into what can loosely be termed the “human dimension of Wissenschaft des Judentums,” the science of Judaism, or, as it is more generally known today, modern Jewish scholarship.4 3 For an introduction to the life and thought of Rawidowicz, see Simon Rawidowicz, Israel: The Ever-Dying People and Other Essays, ed. Benjamin Ravid (Rutherford, N.J., 1986), 13-50, republished in paperback with a slightly expanded version of one additional essay that had appeared in the interim (“The World of Ararat and Its Fortress: From the Letters of Simon Rawidowicz to Alexander Margulies”) under the title State of Israel, Diaspora, and Jewish Continuity (Hanover, N.H., 1998). For a more detailed Hebrew version and a bibliography of Rawidowicz’s major writings, see Simon Rawidowicz, Iyyunim Bemaḥshevet Yisrael: Hebrew Studies in Jewish Thought, 2 vols., ed. Benjamin Ravid (Jerusalem, 1969-71), 1:17-92 (Hebrew pagination). See also the entry “Simon Rawidowicz,” in Metzler Lexikon jüdischer Philosophien, ed. Andreas B. Kilcher and Otfried Fraisse (Stuttgart, 2003), 389-91, and Benjamin Ravid, “Zion Lishma, Yisrael Ehad, and Pitahon: The Legacy of Simon Rawidowicz,” to appear in the Proceedings of the International Symposium on Babylon and Jerusalem, held at Brandeis University in Mar. 2005, ed. David N. Myers and Eugene Sheppard. 4 I would like to thank Howard Adelman, Michael A. Meyer, Antony Polonsky, and Jonathan Sarna for reading drafts of this article; Robert Bonfil, Awi Blumenfeld, Menachem Butler, and Benjamin Richler for responding to my question posted on H-Judaica with regard to the identification of the individuals

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I. IN SEARCH OF THE ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT OF NACHMAN KROCHMAL’S MORE NEBUKHE HAZEMAN Nachman Krochmal (1785-1840), one of the founders of modern Jewish scholarship, died before he could complete his classic More Nebukhe Hazeman (Guide for the Perplexed of the Time), the first modern work on the philosophy of Jewish history. Eventually, it was published by his friend Leopold Zunz in 1851, and republished in 1863 and 1894. When Rawidowicz was planning to publish a critical edition of More Nebukhe Hazeman, he sought Krochmal’s original manuscript to use as the basis for his text, but, as the correspondence below reveals, he was ultimately unsuccessful. Eventually, Rawidowicz published More Nebukhe Hazeman, together with some short scattered items by Krochmal, under the title Kitve Ranak (The Writings of Nachman Krochmal) in 1924. It was reprinted in a slightly expanded edition in 1961, and to this day remains the standard edition of the writings of Krochmal.5 1. Typed signed German letter, Käthi Hirschfeld, Zionistische Vereinigung für Deutschland, Ortsgrupp Hannover, to Esther Eugenie Klee, Berlin, January 30, 1924 Dear Fräulein Klee,6 On behalf of Frau Dr. Katz I am answering your letter from December. Frau Katz very much apologizes that it was impossible for her to look into the matter, because until 1 January she was very involved with the setting up of her home, and when she finally had been successful in discovering the address, she was confined to bed and was not at all able to concern herself with the matter. As you have probably heard, Frau Dr. Katz had a baby girl.

mentioned in nn. 33, 34, 65, and 66; and Karen Adler Abramson, Assistant Director for Special Collections and University Archives at Brandeis University, for kindly furnishing me with the dates in n. 90 and some of those in n. 92. 5 For further details, see the introduction to Kitve Ranak, ed. Simon Rawidowicz, 2d ed. (New York, 1961), and Rawidowicz, Iyyunim, 2:11-12, 15 (Hebrew pagination). 6 Esther Eugenie Klee, whom Rawidowicz was to marry in 1926. For further details, see Ravid, “Alfred Klee and Hans Goslar.” The text of the eulogy for Esther Eugenie Klee Rawidowicz delivered by Alexander Altmann was published in Hebrew translation in Thought and Action: Essays in Memory of Simon Rawidowicz on the Twenty-Fifth Anniversary of His Death, ed. Alfred A. Greenbaum and Alfred L. Ivry (Tel Aviv, 1983), 15-16.

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BENJAMIN RAVID

Now to the main thing. I visited Fräulein Krochmal, a very nice elderly lady. At first she was rather reserved, but became very kind when I told her that someone was publishing the work of her grandfather. She possesses nothing at all from her grandfather; she does not know at all where books or other things of his are to be found. She does have a picture of her father, also a philosopher, and his works were published around [18]70 in Vienna. He wrote in Hebrew and German, his last work was called “Die Theologie der Zukunft.”7 Are you interested in these things? By the way, she also told me that some time ago, she gave away the last item of her grandfather’s, an old Bible bound in pigskin. Fräulein Krochmal herself is 68 years old, but not very interested and is glad that her grandfather, who had always lived unassumingly and withdrawn, would not be forgotten. She especially wanted me to tell you that she was never baptized, and to whichever religion she should have converted, it certainly would not have been one with the Trinity. She is not observant, but was brought up entirely Jewish and even though she is a complete freethinker, she would never give up her Jewish religion. She has never been active in the Social-Democratic party nor ever been active in or belonged to any party. She stands above all parties and rather observes from afar. Fräulein Krochmal considered it very important that these two points be set straight. I am sorry that I cannot report anything positive, but gladly am at your further disposal if you wish to know anything else. With best Zionist greetings [Zionsgruss] Käthi Hirschfeld8 [signed] 2. Typed unsigned German carbon copy, Simon Rawidowicz, Berlin, to Anna Krochmal, Hannover, February 29, 1924 Very dear Fräulein Krochmal, I am very glad to have found out your address. Since I am now engaged in editing the works of your revered grandfather, I would like to ask you whether you can provide me with any material (recollections, stories and sayings of your late father’s about your grandfather, and the like) for the bibliography of your grandfather, for which I would be very indebted and with which you would enrich the scholarship on your grandfather. 7 Abraham Krochmal (c. 1823-95). His last book, Die Theologie der Zukunft, appeared in Lemberg in 1872. 8 Käthi Hirschfeld was apparently an acquaintance of Esther Klee from the Zionist youth movement Blau-Weiss, but I cannot identify Frau Dr. Katz.

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Supposedly you were in possession of a Bible of your grandfather that you gave away. In this connection, I would like to find out from you whether there were any marginal notes or inscriptions (perhaps even the signature of your grandfather) in this Bible. Perhaps you would be so kind as to inform me as to whom you have given the Bible. Apart from this, I am informing you that after the editing of the works of your grandfather, I will turn to the editing of the collected works of your father,9 which, as I believe, will very much interest and please you and I would like to ask you the following: 1) That you give me a note about the life of your father, his activities, residences, tastes, habits, relation to religion, family and so forth, in which you compile everything down to the smallest details. 2) That you place at my disposal a picture of your father, so that I can use it in the edition. 3) That you kindly tell me whether you have any books or other personal effects of your late father. 4) That you give me detailed information about those members of the Krochmal family whom you know. I assure you, most dear Fräulein Krochmal that by this, you will do something very important for the revival of the thought of your grandfather and father. I ask you please immediately to inform me regarding everything, for which I express in advance my sincerest thanks. Very respectfully 3. Handwritten German letter, Anna Krochmal, Hannover, to Simon Rawidowicz, Berlin, July 30, 1924 Dear Herr Rawidowicz, Since I was away for some time, your letter only came in my hands today. I inform you most courteously that your visit will be very pleasant for me, only I would like to ask you to call on me in the morning. Yours faithfully Anna Krochmal

9 Preserved in Rawidowicz’s Nachlass is a contract, signed by Bialik, according to which Dvir Publishing Co. undertook to publish the writings of Abraham Krochmal edited by Rawidowicz.

92

BENJAMIN RAVID

4. Excerpt from a handwritten Hebrew letter, Simon Rawidowicz, Berlin, to his brother, Abraham Ravid, Zwickau, Germany, August 9, 192410 …I visited the granddaughter of Krochmal in Hannover. Esther returned to Berlin via Hannover. We spent a few days in Hannover. I will tell you in person about our visit with the granddaughter of Krochmal. She would not have told me anything; only because of Esther who found favor in her eyes did she invite us for a meal and tea and told a little. She is ready to return and become Jewish (even though she does not admit to her “apostasy”) for the sake of Esther. An interesting case.

II. THE REFORM SEMINARY PRESIDENT AND THE YOUNG SCHOLAR Julian Morgenstern (1881-1976) was an American-born Bible scholar and president of the Hebrew Union College, the Reform rabbinical school in Cincinnati, from 1922 to 1947. After the death of David Neumark11 in 1924, the position of professor of Jewish philosophy at the Hebrew Union College was not immediately filled. Morgenstern visited Berlin in 1926 and met with Rawidowicz, who was then completing his dissertation on the German philosopher Ludwig Feuerbach. Morgenstern strongly encouraged Rawidowicz to perfect his Arabic and to learn to speak fluent English with a view toward his filling the vacant position in Jewish philosophy at Hebrew Union College. However, the position in Jewish philosophy remained unfilled, although Rawidowicz remained a serious candidate, until eventually in 1930 Tzvi Diesendruck (1890-1940) was selected to fill it.12

10 Published in Genazim, ed. Getzel Kressel (Tel Aviv, 1961), 1:291, along with other selected letters written by Rawidowicz during his Berlin period. 11 See Encyclopaedia Judaica, 12:1014-15. 12 On Morgenstern, see Encyclopaedia Judaica, 12:317-19, and Michael A. Meyer, Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of Religion: A Centennial History, 1875-1975 (Cincinnati, 1992), especially 85-136. According to Meyer, “Morgenstern’s first choice for the position had been Julius Guttman of the Hochschule in Berlin. But during a semester’s teaching at the College in the spring of 1930, Guttmann indicated that he preferred not to remain” (110).

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1. Excerpt from a handwritten Hebrew letter, Simon Rawidowicz, Berlin, to his father Chaim Isaac Ravid, moshav Merhavia, Palestine, June 22, 1926 Prof. Morgenstern (from Cincinnati) arrived here. He invited me to an “interview” at the Hotel Esplanade, one of the best in our capital. We spoke for an hour and a half about this and that. He did not offer me an official invitation to come to Cincinnati as Neumark’s successor. From the start, I knew that. The matter has not yet been decided. Dr. Klatzkin13 is also among the candidates. And I do not yet have my doctorate and have not yet sufficiently mastered English. Still, it is not impossible. Is anything impossible for the Prime Mover? The decision will be made in October or November. In any case, Morgenstern hinted to me that I will certainly come to America, and he is one of the decision makers. Well, if it will work out, so be it. And if not, I will wait a while longer in Berlin. 2. Typed signed letter, Julian Morgenstern, Cincinnati, to Simon Rawidowicz, Berlin, October 27, 1926 My dear Dr. Rawidowicz, I was happy indeed, to receive your kind letter of the 8th inst., together with the announcement of your marriage two days later. It was a pleasure to hear from you and to learn of the work which you are doing now, and also of the remarkably creditable manner with which you received your Doctor’s Degree,14 and also to note the excellent English in which the first paragraph of your letter was written. But, most of all, I rejoiced in the news of your marriage, for I know full well the happiness it must bring to you and your bride.15 I congratulate you both and also your parents upon your marriage16 and I trust sincerely that the happiness which has come to you may continue unbroken and steadily increasing through all the years to come. May all of God’s choicest blessings rest upon you and bring you the fulfillment of your dearest hopes and wishes! I was particularly pleased, too, to learn that you are making such excellent progress both in English and Arabic. Both languages are difficult, Jacob Klatzkin (1882-1948) was a Russian-born Jewish philosopher, Zionist, Hebrew essayist, publisher, and editor, and, at that time, editor of the German Encyclopaedia Judaica; see Encyclopaedia Judaica, 10:1088-90. 14 Rawidowicz was awarded the Ph.D. magna cum laude. 15 Rawidowicz married Esther Eugenie Klee on Oct. 10, 1926, in Berlin. 16 Rawidowicz’s mother had died in Bialystock in 1920. His father lived in moshav Merhavia in Israel from 1922 until his death in 1936. 13

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BENJAMIN RAVID

especially the Arabic. It will be fine, indeed, if, within a reasonable time, you can make sufficient progress in the Arabic in order to make constructive use of the related literature in your Jewish Philosophical studies. I shall be happy, indeed, to hear from you from time to time and to know of the progress which you are making in this. I also want to thank you very heartily for your great kindness and courtesy in sending me your very imposing and valuable work upon KROCHMAL.17 I cannot promise to read it soon, for a number of reasons, particularly because I am head over heels in work at the present moment and have little time for any reading or systematic study. But, also because Jewish Philosophy, I must confess, is outside my particular sphere of study and interest and, even under the most favorable conditions, I find it extremely burdensome; and, finally, I do not read modern Hebrew with sufficient ease and fluency to permit me to do more than skim over the surface of your book.18 But at least this much I am promising myself at the earliest possible opportunity and I am confident that I shall find both pleasure and profit therein…. Very sincerely yours Julian Morgenstern [signed] PRESIDENT

For details, see above. Cf. Morgenstern’s account of his childhood in Louis Finkelstein, Thirteen Americans: Their Spiritual Autobiographies (New York, 1953), 254-55: “But I do remember that already then Vincennes [Illinois] had a small Jewish congregation, ministered to by a rabbi, and that one of these rabbis … must have taken a fancy to me, for, when I was four years old, he undertook to teach me to read both English and Hebrew…. And I never forgot how to read Hebrew…. And in our home, outside of fasting on the Day of Atonement, eating Matzot during the week of Passover, and kindling the Hanukkah lights at that festival (upon which occasion it was always my privilege to recite the blessings because of my ability to read Hebrew), we observed no religious ceremonies whatsoever.” 17 18

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3. Typed unsigned excerpt from a letter of William Rosenau, Baltimore,19 to Ismar Elbogen, Berlin,20 attached to a letter of William Rosenau to Simon Rawidowicz, January 17, 1927 I trust that Rawidowicz will be notified at the end of the year by Morgenstern that the Board of Governors wants him at the Hebrew Union College. I expect to make no further suggestions to Morgenstern on the subject. I believe that Morgenstern wants no one to express an opinion unless that opinion is in total agreement with his own views. Life is too precious and too short to get into arguments with people. 4. Excerpt from a typed signed letter, William Rosenau, Baltimore, to Simon Rawidowicz, Berlin, April 5, 1927 Dear Dr. Rawidowicz, …I would suggest that you continue intense work in English, so that by the fall you will have a speaking command of the same. I still feel that the call to fill the professorship in Jewish Philosophy will come to you from the Hebrew Union College. I am going to Cincinnati Passover Week in order to attend meetings of the American Oriental Society, where I shall read a paper on “Shafel Formations in Hebrew.” I will then have the opportunity of talking at length with Morgenstern and will get some definite information as to how soon the prospects will materialize…. Yours sincerely William Rosenau [signed] WILLIAM ROSENAU 5. Excerpt from a typed signed letter, William Rosenau, Baltimore, to Simon Rawidowicz, Berlin, May 28, 1928 Dear Dr. Rawidowicz, …I note what you say about the appointment offered you in Warsaw.21 My advice is that you ask for time to be given you until September. Dr. Morgenstern is coming to the meeting of the World Conference of William Rosenau (1865-1943), successor of Benjamin Szold as rabbi of the Reform congregation Oheb Shalom in Baltimore from 1892 until he retired in 1940, was a civic leader and scholar of Semitic studies who in 1900 joined the faculty of Johns Hopkins University, where he taught until his retirement in 1932. 20 On Ismar Elbogen, see below, sec. V. 21 See following note. 19

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Progressive Judaism, to be held in Berlin during August. In the spirit of a resolution by the Board of Governors of the Hebrew Union College, anent the filling of the Chair of Philosophy at that institution, he, upon his own suggestion, is to interview you and one or two other candidates, in order to note the progress you have made in your command of English, and also to find out what you have done in the further mastery of Arabic. He will then return to America and is expected to make his definite recommendation with regard to an appointment. With this mail I am dropping him a line to tell him of the offer that has come to you from Warsaw. Personally, I feel that you thus far stand the best chance among the candidates under consideration for appointment at the Hebrew Union College. With cordial greetings to you and Mrs. Rawidowicz, and hoping to see you when I pass through Berlin this summer on my return to America, I am, Sincerely yours, William Rosenau [signed] WILLIAM ROSENAU

6. Typed signed letter, Julian Morgenstern, Cincinnati, to Simon Rawidowicz, Berlin, June 4, 1928 My dear Dr. Rawidowicz: I have just been informed by Dr. William Rosenau that he has received a letter from you in which you tell him that you have received from Prof. M. Schorr, President of the Hochschule in Warsaw,22 a call to the Chair of Jewish Philosophy in his institution, but that you would prefer to come to America, to the Hebrew Union College, if there is any chance for this. You may be sure that I have this matter under careful consideration. I am Moses Schorr (1874-1941) was a rabbi and scholar, initially a historian of Polish Jewry, who later devoted himself to Semitic studies, especially ancient Babylonian and Assyrian law. He was one of the founders of the Hochshule, also known as the Institute for Jewish Studies, in Warsaw, where he taught Bible and Hebrew linguistics and served as its first rector, from 1928 to 1930. For further details on Schorr’s offer to Rawidowicz, see the next section, below. Active in the communal leadership of the Polish Jewish community as the official representative of the Jews of Poland and preacher in the Great Synagogue, Schorr was a member of the Polish Academy of Arts and Sciences and of the Polish Senate from 1935 to 1938. After the German invasion of Poland in 1939, he moved eastward and was arrested by the Russians and sent in chains to Uzbekistan, where he died in 1941; see Encyclopaedia Judaica, 14:997-98. 22

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planning to be in Berlin from about August 12th or 13th to the 21st, attending the Convention of the World Conference for Progressive Judaism, and I hope that I may have the pleasure of meeting you again while there. I must tell you very frankly that I have under consideration the names of four men, all of whom have been recommended to me very highly as candidates for our vacant Chair of Jewish Philosophy. You are, of course, one of these four and you may rely upon it that you will receive careful and sympathetic consideration along with the other three gentlemen. Beyond this, I can give you no assurance whatsoever. I am not yet in a position to make [a] final decision and recommendation to the authorities of the College in this matter, but I hope to be able to do so some time next fall after my return from Europe. You will understand, therefore, that, at the present moment, I cannot say to you definitely that you will receive a call from the Hebrew Union College. It is not at all unlikely, but, at the same time, it is not at all certain. You will have to decide for yourself, therefore, whether to accept the call from the Hochschule in Warsaw, which Professor Schorr has extended to you and which is of course a certainty, or whether to take your chance until next fall, and await final decision with regard to the Hebrew Union College. Perhaps it may be possible for you to postpone your decision with regard to the call to Warsaw until after we have had the opportunity to discover matters in person when I come to Berlin in August. That would, of course, be a most satisfactory procedure. I shall not leave here for Europe until about July 18th, so that should you wish to reply to this letter and let me know your decision in the matter, you will still have ample time to reach me before my departure from here. With cordial greetings and looking forward to meeting you again in Berlin, I am Very sincerely yours, Julian Morgenstern [signed] PRESIDENT

III. JEWISH PHILOSOPHY, MEDIEVAL HEBREW POETRY AND THE INSTITUTE FOR JEWISH STUDIES IN WARSAW As noted in the above letter of Julian Morgenstern to Simon Rawidowicz of June 4, 1928, Rawidowicz had received an invitation from Professor Moses Schorr, rector of the Institute for Jewish Studies in Warsaw, to join its faculty. Fortunately, both the invitation of Schorr and the reply of Rawidowicz, as well as the letters of Meir Balaban, who was to succeed

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Schorr as rector in 1930, to Rawidowicz, have been preserved among Rawidowicz’s papers.23 1. Handwritten Hebrew letter, Moses Schorr, Warsaw, to Simon Rawidowicz, Berlin, May 10, 1928 My most esteemed sir! In my capacity of Director of the Institute for Jewish Studies in Warsaw, I am hereby honored to inquire whether you are ready to accept the position of a permanent teacher of the history of Jewish philosophy and also medieval poetic literature at our Institute. Two years ago, when we became acquainted in Berlin, we already talked about this matter, but now the time has come and you are among the leading candidates for this position. Of course, you will have to deliver your lectures in Hebrew. If my offer is attractive, I ask you to inform me of your requirement regarding the material terms and the supervisory committee will then decide whether our financial condition will permit us to meet them. I also want to point out to you that the library of the Great Synagogue is rich in all kinds of scientific books that are necessary for you in the area of your important research. I await your response and I With esteem, wish you well Prof. Moses Schorr This letter is not to be revealed. 2. Handwritten Hebrew letter, Simon Rawidowicz, Berlin, to Moses Schorr, Warsaw, May 14, 192824 My most esteemed sir, 23

On Schorr, see the previous note. On Meir [Majer] Balaban (1877-1942), who is “justly considered the founder of the historiography of Polish Jewry, especially of its communal life,” see Encyclopaedia Judaica, 8:125-26. For further details on the Institute, see Marian Fuks, “The Institute for Judaic Studies in Warsaw (19281939),” in Jewish Historical Institute: The First Fifty Years, 1947-1997, ed. Eleonora Bergman (Warsaw, 1996), 29-41. 24 Presumably, either the original letter was returned to Rawidowicz or, more likely, he made a copy for his records. It was written in a formal Hebrew style with Schorr addressed in the third person, and I have not attempted to reproduce that style because of its stilted nature in English translation.

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Yesterday, your letter of the tenth of this month reached me and I am hastening to answer you regarding the serious matters in your letter. I was very happy that you were able to realize your important program, which I was privileged to learn about two years ago in Berlin. I thank you for your honorable offer that I should come and serve as a permanent teacher of the history of Jewish philosophy at the Institute for Jewish Studies in Warsaw. In principle, I am ready to accept this significant position. But in my humble opinion, it is necessary to differentiate between the history of Jewish philosophy and medieval poetical literature. Jewish philosophy constitutes a link in the chain of general philosophical thought. The teacher of Jewish philosophy must be rooted in general philosophy (ancient and medieval) on the one hand, and on the other, he has to seek its roots in Jewish thought itself. A great part of medieval poetical literature does indeed have much value for—and even much relationship to—Jewish philosophy. But this literature as a field in itself (for example, the measure of its meter, its style, poetics, etc.) is much more in the area of the history of Hebrew language and literature than in that of straight Jewish philosophy. Therefore, I did not fully understand the import of your words, from which I learned that the two above-mentioned fields are to be assigned to one teacher. I would very much thank you if you could kindly explain the reasoning of the administration of the Institute in this matter. Since living conditions in Warsaw are not at all known to me, I am not able to make you any suggestions regarding the material terms, and I await the suggestion of the supervising committee. I congratulate you on your great success in this important undertaking. With esteem and respect Simon Rawidowicz P.S. I was glad to read your words about the library of the Great Synagogue. Please excuse me for asking you to let me know whether one can find in Warsaw (in the Royal or University Library) general literature in the area of philosophy (sources in ancient and medieval philosophy, and the like). I will be indebted to you if you could send me some information about the Institute for Jewish Studies in general.

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3. Excerpt from typed signed German letter, Meir Balaban, Warsaw, to Simon Rawidowicz, Berlin, June 18, 1928 Most esteemed doctor, I answer your letter immediately…. Second, Prof. Schorr could not answer your letter, because the issue was not dealt with. The matter of the new Lecturers to be appointed in the faculty will first be discussed on Saturday but it must first be dealt with by the Board of Trustees, and who knows when they will meet. By the way, our financial situation is still under serious consideration. I hope that Prof. Schorr will give you information regarding everything. Meanwhile, I ask you to treat the contents of my letter confidentially…. With best greetings Dr. Meir Balaban [signed] 4. Excerpt from typed signed German letter, Meir Balaban, Warsaw, to Simon Rawidowicz, Berlin, November 29, 1928 Most esteemed doctor, …And now to “our” question. After receiving your very belated answer, I have passed the matter on to Dr. Braude and telephoned Dr. Schorr. Regretfully, Frau Dr. Braude was—and still is—very ill—today she is somewhat better—and when two weeks ago Braude convened a meeting of the Board of Directors, the matter could not be considered since there was not a quorum.25 By the way, at the same meeting the financial situation of the Institute was considered and those present made such sour faces that it is perhaps better that your—our—matter was not discussed. And really we are not lying in a bed of roses, the budget cannot be prepared even theoretically, and we have no people on the Board of Trustees who can raise the missing 20,000-30,000 zloty that are now needed, although this sum could be raised without that great an effort.26

25

On Markus (Mordechai Ze’ev) Braude (1869-1949), rabbi, educator, Zionist leader, member of the Polish senate between 1920 and 1926, and apparently chair of the board of trustees of the Institute for Jewish Studies, see Encyclopaedia Judaica, 4:1314-15, and Fuks, “The Institute for Judaic Studies,” 31. 26 The financial difficulties of the institute are discussed in Fuks, “The Institute for Judaic Studies,” 31-33, 34.

THE HUMAN DIMENSION OF WISSENSCHAFT DES JUDENTUMS 101 I hope that a meeting of the Board of Trustees will take place at the beginning of December and the matter will be settled. Now you understand why I hesitated so long with the answer and apologize for this delay. With high esteem, Devotedly yours Dr. Meir Balaban [signed] 5. Excerpt from handwritten Hebrew letter, Meir Balaban, Warsaw, to Simon Rawidowicz, Berlin, December 31, 1928 Dear Dr. Rawidowicz, …In your personal matter, no change has yet taken place because Mrs. Braude is still ill and it is impossible to settle the matter in the absence of Mr. Braude from Warsaw. Prof. Schorr in the capacity of deputy-head of the Board of Trustees cannot arrange the matter on his own.27

27

It is not known how negotiations with Rawidowicz proceeded, but according to an undated list of the staff of the institute, Samuel Atlas (1899-1977) was lecturer in philosophy and Jewish ethics. He later went to England (in 1934?), and in 1942 to the United States, where he was professor of philosophy and Talmud at the Hebrew Union College in Cincinnati, and from 1951 taught at its New York campus; see Encyclopaedia Judaica, 3:829-30, and Michael A. Meyer, “The Refugee Scholars Project and the Hebrew Union College,” in A Bicentennial Festschrift for Jacob Rader Marcus, ed. Bertram W. Korn (Cincinnati, 1976), 359-75; repr. in Michael A. Meyer, Judaism Within Modernity: Essays on Jewish History and Religion (Detroit, 2001), 345-61, esp. 357. Jacob Kahan (1881-1960), a prolific and versatile Hebrew poet and author of short stories and plays, as well as a translator and editor who settled in Tel Aviv in 1934 (see Encyclopaedia Hebraica [Hebrew] [Tel Aviv, 1949-1980/81], 20:607-9), served as lecturer in medieval and modern Hebrew literature. In a letter of Dec. 25, 1948, Rawidowicz related, in connection with Kahan’s best-known line: “As I said the other day, at a Chicago reception for the Hebrew poet Jak. Kahan, who wrote thirty years ago: bedam vaesh yehudah nafla, bedam vaesh yehudah takum [in blood and fire Judah fell, in blood and fire Judah will arise], one may establish a State with blood and fire, but to keep it alive, to stabilize it, one needs something else, and much more than dam vaesh. Have we enough of this ‘something else’? We have to make the greatest efforts possible to discover it in us, to revive it, to keep it alive.” See Rawidowicz, State of Israel, Diaspora, and Jewish Continuity, 263. Additionally, Jeremiaz Frenkiel was listed as lecturer in the history of modern Hebrew literature, as well as Matatiahu Szocham-Polakiewicz (Mattityahu Moshe

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BENJAMIN RAVID With great respect and best wishes, Dr. Meir Balaban

IV. JEWISH STUDIES AT THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD, 1937 A Regius Professorship of Hebrew, along with four other professorships in medicine, civil law, Greek, and theology, was established at the University of Oxford in 1540 by Henry VIII, and, in 1936, Herbert Danby was appointed to that position.28 Around that time, the idea of adding offerings in Judaica to the curriculum was being discussed. The developments related in the following letter are alluded to in a letter of April 22, 1937, written by Rawidowicz to his brother Abraham Ravid, in which he briefly mentioned the possibility of a small position at Oxford—at the most, for three years. Eventually, in 1939, Jewish studies came to Oxford as Cecil Roth became reader in postbiblical Jewish studies there.29 Typed signed letter, Abraham Herman,30 Oxford, to Simon Rawidowicz, London, July 11, 1937 Dear Dr. Rawidowicz, I have been able to get some further information about the matter which we discussed last week. It seems that over a year ago, the Liberal Synagogue was anxious to subsidize the establishment here of a chair in Rabbinics, in order that they might be able to train their ministers here, instead of sending them to America. The proposal was however not realized since they were unable to raise the necessary money. Since then it appears that Messrs Marks and Spenser’s offered to put up 10,000 pounds for the Shoham) (1893-1937)—see Encyclopaedia Judaica, 14:1449-52—as lecturer in Hebrew literature. 28 Herbert Danby (1889-1953) was an English Christian Hebraist, remembered for his English translation of the Mishnah. He also translated, among other works, two books of the Mishneh Torah of Maimonides and Joseph Klausner’s Jesus of Nazareth; see Encyclopaedia Judaica, 5:1261-62. 29 On Cecil Roth, see below, sec. IX. 30 Abraham Herman (1914-92), whose name was later Hebraized as Avraham Harman, was born in London, studied law at Oxford University, and immigrated to Palestine in 1938. He served as Israeli ambassador to the United States from 1959 to 1968, and as president of the Hebrew University from 1968 to 1983, and afterward as chancellor; see Encyclopaedia Judaica, 7:1344-46. In a letter of May 4, 1955, to his brother Abraham Ravid, Rawidowicz referred to “the [Israeli] consul in New York, Avraham Harman, my former secretary in London, Tarbut.”

THE HUMAN DIMENSION OF WISSENSCHAFT DES JUDENTUMS 103 founding of a Chair of Jewish Studies, but that this scheme was not implemented. The exact reason for this I have not been able to discover, though I have been told that partly it was because the University was unwilling to discuss the appointment to the Chair before it was actually set up. I was also told that partly it may have been that the University was interested more in having a chair of Rabbinics. My informant seems to have got his information from Professor Driver,31 but I must tell you that on some points he was very vague. He even suggested that the reception to Danby was arranged in order that Danby and yourself might have an opportunity of meeting each other. This may be possible, since the reception was organized by Mrs. Sieff and Simon.32 Perhaps it might be possible to get some further information from

Godfrey Rolles Driver (1892-1975) was appointed lecturer in comparative Semitic philology in 1927 and reader in 1928, and professor of Semitic philology in 1938. “Since the Regius professorship of Hebrew was attached to a canonry, Driver, who remained a layman of the Church of England, was not eligible for appointment, but he served as deputy professor during a vacancy in 1934, and again 1959”; see The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford, 2004), 16:932-33. 32 Rebecca Sieff (1890-1966) was the wife of Israel Sieff and first president of WIZO; see Encyclopaedia Judaica, 14:1511. Israel Moses Sieff (1889-1972), created Baron in 1966, was a Zionist leader and close friend and collaborator of Chaim Weizmann. In 1915, he extended a substantial loan to his brother-in-law Simon Marks to enable Marks to ward off a takeover bid for his family business, Marks and Spencer. Sieff eventually became vice-chairman and joint managing director of Marks and Spencer and guided the company through its successful expansion and assured good working conditions for all employees. Among other philanthropic activities, together with other members of his family, he founded the Daniel Sieff Institute in Rehovot, which developed into the Weizmann Institute. On letterhead stationery of the B’rit Ibrit [sic] Olamit, which listed as its Executive, Acting Chairman, Leon Simon, Honorary Director, S. Rawidowicz, and Honorary Treasurer, I.M. Sief, Rawidowicz wrote on Apr. 21, 1934, to his sister Shifra and brother-in-law Yeruham in Afula: “My greatest joy is that I was able to reestablish the center of the Brit in the Diaspora…. The above-mentioned treasurer contributed 300 pounds sterling for this purpose” [my translation from the Hebrew original]. On Israel Sieff, see The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, 50:578-80, and Encyclopaedia Judaica, 14:1510-11. On the Brit Ivrit Olamit, see Benjamin Ravid, “Simon Rawidowicz and the Brit Ivrit Olamit: A Study in the Relationship between Hebrew Culture in the Diaspora and Zionist Ideology” (Hebrew), in Studies and Essays in Hebrew Language and Literature: Berlin Congress: Proceedings of the 16th Hebrew Scientific European Congress (Jerusalem, 2004), 119-54. 31

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Simon, though I should be very grateful if you could keep my name out of it. The man who gave me all this information is Mr. N. Saunders, of 89 Stamford Hill, N. 16,33 and if you desire to get in touch with him, the best way I think would be through Mr. W. N. Williams34 who knows him very well. Perhaps, too, Mr. Lutski35 might be a possible source of information. He strikes me as being a man who would be certain to know of anything good coming off. I also understand, by the way, that Dr. Celina Sokolow36 was here the other day for the purpose off selling some of her father’s works to the local bookstores. It does not appear that she had much luck. I hope you will forgive me for not having been able to collect any really certain information, but you must put that down to my inexperience at this sort of work. Or perhaps it is that in more senses than one it is work of “intelligence.” Yours sincerely, Abe Herman [signed]

Simon may either refer to Leon Simon (1881-1965), Hebraist, prolific author, Zionist leader, and director of the British Postal Savings Bank from 1935 to 1944, knighted in 1944 (see Encyclopaedia Judaica, 14:1581-82), or possibly to his wife. 33 M. Sanders, of 89 Stamford Hill, N. 16, is mentioned in The Jewish Chronicle, 24 September 1937, 17 and 19 November, 1937, 14. A letter to the editor of The Jewish Chronicle, signed “M. Sanders, St. Catharines College, Oxford,” presumably the same person, was published in the issue of June 22, 1934, 26-27. Numerous additional references to M. Sanders are encountered and, more specifically, to a Maurice Sanders, who died on Aug. 14, 1991, at the age of eighty; see The Jewish Chronicle, Aug. 23, 1991, 20. 34 Walter Nathan Williams (died in 1971 at the age of eighty-four) was a prominent property developer, an active Zionist and Mizrahi leader, and a significant philanthropist who settled in Jerusalem in 1952; see his obituary in The Jewish Chronicle, Nov. 5, 1971, 39, and also Nov. 12, 1971, 71. A memorial service for him was held in London on Dec. 6, 1971, with the chief rabbi Dr. Immanuel Jakobovits and the emeritus chief rabbi Dr. Sir Israel Brody among the officiating clergy; see The Jewish Chronicle, Nov. 26, 1971, 33, and Dec. 3, 1971, 45. 35 Presumably Moses Lutski, then assistant in the Oriental department of the Bodleian Library; see The Jewish Year Book (1937), 469. 36 Celina Sokolow was the daughter of the prolific Hebrew author and journalist Nahum Sokolow (1859-1935), who served as president of the World Zionist Organization from 1931 to 1935; see Encyclopaedia Judaica, 15:85-90. After Sokolow died, Rawidowicz edited Sefer Sokolow (Jerusalem, 1942-43), a selection of Sokolow’s writings and letters that also contains articles and memoirs about Sokolow.

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V. ONE ADVANTAGE OF ENGLAND OVER THE USA Ismar Elbogen (1874-1943) joined the faculty of the Hochschule für die Wissenschaft des Judentums in Berlin in 1903 and came to serve as its unofficial director. He published widely in Jewish history and the history of Jewish liturgy. Among other undertakings, he served as one of the general editors of the Jubilee Edition of the collected writings of Moses Mendelssohn, for which Rawidowicz was appointed editor of Mendelssohn’s Jewish writings, only one volume of which appeared before publication was suspended until well after the death of Rawidowicz. In 1938, Elbogen left for New York, where he held simultaneous research professorships at four leading American centers of Jewish learning.37 His major work on the history of the Jewish liturgy appeared in English translation by Raymond Scheindlin under the title of Jewish Liturgy: A Comprehensive History (Philadelphia, 1993). Typed signed letter, Ismar Elbogen, New York, to Simon Rawidowicz, London, no date, presumably summer 1941 Dear Dr. Rawidowicz, I never answered your kind letter of nearly a year ago, because I always expected to welcome you here.38 Last week, I heard that you were appointed full professor39 at Leeds University and I congratulate you most heartily to the appointment. As far as I know the conditions here, I think you are far better off there than in this country. There are a very few positions here and an overwhelming number of candidates. The Hebrew writers and educators here are very exclusive and admit nobody who has not extremely strong protection. They give nice receptions to newcomers but are inaccessible about parnosso [source of livelihood]! That’s why I think that you have chosen the better part. My wife and myself wish to you and Mrs. Rawidowicz good luck for your new position and the New Year! Cordially yours I. Elbogen [signed]

See Encyclopaedia Judaica, 6:573-74. Rawidowicz had been issued a visa for himself and his family to go to the United States but was unable to obtain passage across the Atlantic because of the wartime limitations on civilian passenger sailings. 39 Actually, the position was a lectureship; see the next section. 37 38

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Did you see Guttmann’s article about Krochmal? He agrees with your theory.40

VI. AN EDUCATED MAECENAS WRITES TO THE HOLDER OF A POSITION THAT HE ENDOWED Montague Burton (1885-1952), knighted in 1931, was born in Russia, where he received a traditional Jewish education. He immigrated to England in 1910 and soon began selling ready-made men’s clothing. He acquired a clothing factory, which he expanded into the largest in Europe, with retail stores all over Great Britain and Ireland. Burton’s factories were known for their working conditions of the highest standards and generous welfare provisions. He endowed chairs in industrial and international relations at several universities in England as well as at the Hebrew University, and he supported numerous Jewish educational and charitable institutions. Burton was also a keen follower of Hebrew culture, and his personal stationery contained on its upper left-hand side the picture of a dove with an olive branch in its beak and the Hebrew verse Bakesh shalom verodfehu (Seek peace and pursue it; Ps. 34:14). Burton established for Rawidowicz a lectureship in medieval and modern Hebrew at Leeds University in 1941, and corresponded with Rawidowicz on literary matters as well as the more mundane matter of university endowments.41 1. Typed signed letter, Montague Burton, Harrogate, to Simon Rawidowicz, Leeds, June 18, 1944 Dear Dr. Rawidowicz, I am obliged by your letter of the 13th inst., along with a copy of “Bitzaron,”42 which is returned herewith. Prof. Chaim Tchernowitz’ letter to Dr. Weizmann is unfair.43 Dr. Magnes,44 like George Lansbury,45 is a saintly person and believes that

See the introduction to Kitve Ranak, 2d ed., ‫ה‬6-‫י‬6. On Burton, see The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, 9:29-31; Encyclopaedia Judaica, 4:1533; and the biography by Eric M. Sigsworth, Montague Burton: The Tailor of Taste (Manchester, U.K., 1990). 42 A Hebrew periodical, then a monthly, established in New York in 1939 under the editorship of Chaim Tchernowitz (see the following note). 43 Chaim Tchernowitz, often referred to by his pseudonym Rav Tzair (18701949), was a Russian-born Talmudic scholar, Zionist, and Hebraist who settled in the United States in 1923 and served as professor of Talmud at the Jewish Institute 40 41

THE HUMAN DIMENSION OF WISSENSCHAFT DES JUDENTUMS 107 everyone else is a saint, which probably accounts for Lansbury’s faith in Hitler, and Magnes’ faith in the Arab leaders. The fact that Magnes abandoned the fleshpots of New York to spend his life in a hostile camp is proof of his devotion to Mount Scopus and Hebrew culture. I am sorry that it was not possible for you to come over last Saturday, as a friend was dining here who would have been pleased to meet you. I appreciate that the notice was very short. While reading Glickssohn’s valuable study of Ahad Ha’am,46 I felt that the reader is entitled to a more adequate and comprehensive “Life” of one whose contribution was so vast and far-reaching. Glickssohn’s monograph only gives the effect, not the cause; it has no space in which to tell us what the subject did while in Odessa, apart from forming B’nai Moshe, attending one or two meetings, and writing a few articles: it does not tell us about the family he raised; it remains silent about his relations with Wisotsky which had such a profound influence on his own development and that of Hebrew literature generally. The reader of biography, like the reader of of Religion in New York City; see Encyclopaedia Judaica, 15:883-84. He was also the founder and editor of Bitzaron (see previous note). Chaim Weizmann (1874-1952), scientist and Zionist statesman, was at that time president of the World Zionist Organization and subsequently first president of the State of Israel (1948-52); see The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, 57:959-63; Encyclopaedia Judaica, 16:423-38; Jehuda Reinharz, Chaim Weizmann: The Making of a Zionist Leader (New York, 1985), and idem, Chaim Weizmann: The Making of a Statesman (New York, 1999). The open letter referred to was published in Bitzaron 9 (1944): 449-50. 44 Judah Magnes (1877-1948) was an American rabbi, Zionist, and communal leader, and, at the time, first president of the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. A pacifist by nature, Magnes advocated a binational state in British Mandatory Palestine, in which Jews and Arabs would live together in peace and cooperation; see Encyclopaedia Judaica, 11:716-17. 45 George Lansbury (1859-1940) was a longtime Christian socialist, member of Parliament from 1922 until his death, and leader of the Labour Party from 1931 to 1935. Like Magnes a pacifist, he went to talk to Hitler, Mussolini, and other European leaders in an effort “to win support for the proposed new world conference to deal with the economic, territorial, and financial causes of war; and to urge all Governments to accept the pacifist creed”; see George Lansbury, My Quest for Peace (London, 1938), 130, and The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, 32:540-42. 46 Moshe Glickson, Ahad Haam: His Life and Activities (Hebrew) (Jerusalem, 1926-27).

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history, is entitled to all the material facts, where favorable or not; otherwise the picture presented is distorted and incomplete. That field of Hebrew literature has always been meager and skimpy. Brainin’s, Mapu’s and Smolenskin’s are probably the best things done in that sphere.47 With kindest regards, Yours very truly M. Burton [signed] MONTAGUE BURTON 2. Typed signed letter, Montague Burton, Harrogate, to Simon Rawidowicz, Leeds, October 6, 1944 Dear Dr. Rawidowicz, I deeply appreciate your kind and thoughtful letter of the 4th inst. I consider it a privilege to have been the means of providing a little more scope for one who deserves well from lovers of modern Hebrew literature. Those who appreciate your passionate devotion to Hebrew culture are satisfied that the most will be made of the opportunity. May you be spared in good health to occupy the position until the Lectureship blossoms into a Chair, which is the underlying idea of the Endowment, and may it be possible for you to grace the Chair when available. Yours truly M. Burton [signed] MONTAGUE BURTON 3. Typed signed letter, Montague Burton, Harrogate, to Simon Rawidowicz, Leeds, February 4, 1946 Dear Dr. Rawidowicz,

47 Burton appears to be referring to both biographies and Hebrew literature in general. While the writings of Reuven Brainin (1862-1939) included biographies of Abraham Mapu and Peretz Smolenskin and of the first part of the life of Theodor Herzl, Abraham Mapu (1808-67) and Peretz Smolenskin (1842-85) did not write any biographies.

THE HUMAN DIMENSION OF WISSENSCHAFT DES JUDENTUMS 109 It is pleasing to learn from your letter of the 29th ult. that you enjoyed the United Nations Association luncheon-hour meeting. The day when the Leeds University Hebrew Lectureship may blossom into a Chair would not have been so far away but for the ultra-cautious attitude of some of the “Powers-that-Be,” who prefer Trustee Securities to a commercial investment.48 The yield of the latter would have been equivalent to parallel endowments. However, one must respect the caution of those responsible for the finances of an important public Institution, as they themselves are exposed to criticism. The Committee of an important public Body is justified in insisting that its endowments should be of the “gilt-edged” variety. My impressions of the recent volume of “Metsuda”49 are that it deserves a wider circle of readers, but a scholarly publication cannot expect to have a “best-seller” circulation, and has to be satisfied with “one in a City, two in a Country.”50 I am interested to learn that there is actually in existence a young Scotsman who contributes in Hebrew.51 This is all the more surprising In a letter of Jan. 5, 1944, to his brother Jacob in New York, written in English so that his sister-in-law, Rose, could read it, Rawidowicz related that “One man tried seriously—without my knowledge—to establish here a chair for me. (Here it is unlike in your country, a subject has only one chair, two cannot hold one chair, which means a full Professorship). But for ‘silly’ technical reasons, it could not be done so far; so it may be a permanent lectureship which will ‘grow’ into a Readership or perhaps in a Professorship, circumstances permitting. But, who knows. Even this lectureship as it is is at present unique in this country, or in the whole of the British Empire. It is for the first time that such a thing has been established. If I were not here, it would not have been established.” 49 Metsudah was the Hebrew miscellany edited by Rawidowicz and published by the Ararat Publishing Co., which he established with the financial backing of the brothers Alexander and Ben-Zion Margulies, and initially also Oscar Philipp, in order to continue the tradition of Hebrew publishing in the only European country in which it was still possible; see Rawidowicz, Iyyunim, 1:53-57 (Hebrew pagination); Rawidowicz, State of Israel, Diaspora, and Jewish Continuity, 31-35, 248-74; and Alfred A. Greenbaum, History of the Ararat Publishing Society (Jerusalem, 1998). 50 Presumably an adaptation of Jer. 3:14: “one from a town and two from a family.” 51 Frederic F. Bruce (1910-90) at the time was an advanced lecturer in the Department of Greek Language and Literature at Leeds University, which he left in 1947 to become head of the newly created Department of Biblical Studies at Sheffield University. In 1959, he was appointed the Rylands Professor of Biblical 48

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bearing in mind that, until your advent on the British scene, I believe Sir Leon Simon was the only British-born Jew who could express himself adequately in the tongue of the Prophets.52 The British-born Jews who could, and did intelligently follow modern Hebrew could be counted on the fingers of one hand. It will not be the fault of your collaborators and yourself if this position is not remedied. But for the Palestine experiment, Hebrew culture might have foundered on the Hitlerite rocks. With kindest regards, Yours very truly M. Burton [signed] MONTAGUE BURTON 4. Typed signed letter, Montague Burton, Harrogate, to Simon Rawidowicz, Leeds, February 13, 1946 Dear Dr. Rawidowicz, I thank you for your letter of the 7th instant. I am interested to learn that there are several M.A. and Ph.D. students who are interested in modern Hebrew Literature. I am also pleased to learn that there is a likelihood of Prof. Buchler’s53 Library coming to Leeds University. Let us hope that you will be spared to see the day when learning goes forth from Leeds and the word of God from the West Riding.54 Criticism and Exegesis at the University of Manchester; see The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, 8:294-95. Bruce published a survey of biblical scholarship under the title “Let Us Return to Moses” (Hebrew), Metsudah 1 (1943): 251-53. He subsequently published “On Tchernichowsky’s Illiad Translation” (Hebrew), Metsudah 3-4 (1945): 285-87, and a Hebrew review of two translations of Josephus into Hebrew, Metsudah 5-6 (1948): 583. 52 Of course, Rawidowicz was not a British-born Jew, and there had been nonBritish-born Jews who could express themselves adequately in the tongue of the prophets before Rawidowicz arrived in 1933. 53 Adolf Büchler (1867-1939) was a European-born and -educated Jewish historian of the Second Temple period, who from 1907 until his death served as the principal of Jews’ College in London; see Encyclopaedia Judaica, 4:1458-59. 54 A paraphrase of the biblical verse “For out of Zion shall go forth the Torah and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem” (Isa. 2:3 and Mic. 4:2), which was often paraphrased to indicate that a certain location was a center of Jewish life and

THE HUMAN DIMENSION OF WISSENSCHAFT DES JUDENTUMS 111 With kind regards, Yours very truly, M. Burton [signed] MONTAGUE BURTON

VII. AN ACADEMIC INVITES HIS COLLEAGUE OVER FOR TEA Selig Brodetsky (1888-1954), a Ukrainian-born mathematician, joined the faculty of Leeds University in 1920. He was a very active Zionist leader and speaker and supporter of Chaim Weizmann. He served on the executive committee of the Zionist Organization of England, as head of the political department of the Jewish Agency in London and as president of the board of deputies of British Jews from 1939 to 1949. Eventually, he succeeded Judah Magnes as President of the Hebrew University but resigned and returned to England in 1952.55 Typed signed letter, Selig Brodetsky, Leeds, to Simon Rawidowicz, Leeds, November 6, 1942 Dear Rawidowicz, I wonder whether you and Mrs. Rawidowicz would come round and have tea with us (which means of course actually a chat because you eat so little), on Sunday afternoon, November 15th after your lecture at the University. I want very badly to have a talk. With kind regards, Yours sincerely, S. Brodetsky [signed] (S. Brodetsky) learning, e.g.: “For out of Babylonia shall go forth the Torah and the word of the Lord from the Pekod River” (Palestinian Talmud Sanhedrin 1:2). The West Riding, in which Leeds was located, was one of the administrative divisions of the English county of Yorkshire, and was abolished when the area was reorganized in 1974. In 1946, Rawidowicz was appointed head of the Department of Hebrew Language and Literature, and in Oct. 1947 an assistant lectureship in Hebrew was added. Its first incumbent was John Bowman (1916-2006), who became head of the department in 1948, when Rawidowicz left for Chicago. Bowman eventually left Leeds in 1959 to assume the chair of Semitic studies at the University of Melbourne. 55 On Brodetsky, see The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, 7:770-71, and Encyclopaedia Judaica, 4:1392-93.

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VIII. A CHRISTIAN SCHOLAR-MINISTER UNDERTAKES TO WRITE AN ARTICLE IN HEBREW James Parkes (1896-1981) was an ordained Anglican clergyman who possessed a deep appreciation for Judaism and a strong sympathy for the Jewish people. He wrote pioneering books dealing with anti-Semitism and the history of Jewish-Christian relations as well as on Jewish history and Palestine, and served as president of the Jewish Historical Society of England from 1949 to 1951. He donated his library, which developed into an international research center on anti-Semitism and the history of JewishChristian relations, to the University of Southampton, which undertook to maintain it and to establish a fellowship in Christian-Jewish relations in his name.56 1. Typed signed letter, James Parkes, Royston, Herts., to Simon Rawidowicz, Leeds, June 5, 1943 Dear Dr. Rawidowicz, I am very sorry not to have answered your letter of 10th May earlier, but I have been away. I am glad to hear that you have been able to launch your Publication Society57 and I wish it every success. The first four books which you indicate sound to me very interesting. I certainly hope to be able to do you a short book on The Medieval Jew,58 but frankly I cannot tell you when it will be possible to do so. I do not know whether it is my Christian background which is causing me to lead the life of a complete trinity in myself! I could give my whole time to my Jewish work; I could equally give my whole time to writing and lecturing as John Hadham;59 and finally, there is the Vice President of Common Wealth!60 At present, I feel it is the third which is the most important, On Parkes, see The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, 42:776-77; Encyclopaedia Judaica, 13:121-22; and the biography by Colin Richmond, Campaigner Against Antisemitism: The Reverend James Parkes, 1896-1981 (London, 2005). 57 See n. 49. 58 Quite probably, Parkes had in mind a shorter, more popular version of his The Jew in the Medieval Community (London, 1938). 59 The reference is to the pseudonym under which Parkes published theological writings and gave radio talks. 60 A socialist party formed in 1941, primarily by those members of the Labour Party who disapproved of the wartime electoral truce between the major parties. Its three main principles were: “Common Ownership” of all industrial resources and land; “Vital Democracy,” including proportional representation and regional 56

THE HUMAN DIMENSION OF WISSENSCHAFT DES JUDENTUMS 113 because unless we take a serious step forward nationally in the immediate future the prospects for every kind of work are extremely dark. I will however try and do your essay on the Jewish problem in this country, but you do not indicate how many words you would like it to be. With luck, I can do this in the next couple of months.61 With kind regards Yours sincerely J. Parkes [signed] 2. Typed unsigned carbon copy, Simon Rawidowicz, Leeds, to James Parkes, Royston, June 11, 1943 Dear Dr. Parkes, Many thanks for your kind letter of 5th inst. I am glad you hope to be able to write for us the book on the “Medieval Jew” and I trust you will be able to “sandwich” it in between your manifold activities. I can fully appreciate the strain which your life of a complete trinity imposes on you. Though I am bound by my Judaism to a strict “Monism,” I cannot unfortunately confine myself either to the “One.” I know what it means to serve more than one master. I shall pray for the speedy triumph of John Hadham and the VicePresident of the Common-Wealth, the progress of which I follow with great interest and pleasure, so that the Jewish scholar James Parkes shall be able to devote all [of] himself to this so neglected field of research and shall thus succeed in establishing a new school of “Jewish Scholarship” in the Non-Jewish World of the English-speaking countries. I shall be very glad to receive your essay on the “Jewish Problem in this Country” which may consist of approximately 4500 words. I did not indicate the number of the words, because I did not want to impose on you a definite limit. Actually you may trespass the limit set here. I shall forgive parliaments in Scotland and Wales; and “Morality in Politics.” The party disbanded after its unsuccessful showing in the general election of 1945; see Angus Calder, The People’s War: Britain, 1939-1945 (New York, 1969), 546-50. Parkes served as chairman of the National Committee of Common Wealth in 1942-43, and as vice president in 1943. 61 Parkes did contribute an article, “The Jew in England” (Hebrew), Metsudah 2 (1943): 64-75, and subsequently a second article, “A Christian Looks at the Christian Missions to the Jews” (Hebrew), Metsudah 3 (1943): 104-9, both translated from Parkes’s original English manuscript.

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you with pleasure your trespass and I hope you will forgive me mine, should the occasion arise. The sooner you let me have the essay, the greater will be my joy to “convert” you into a “Hebrew author” and to introduce you to the circle of the devoted though not over-abundant readers of Hebrew. With kind regards, Yours sincerely

IX. A NATIVE ENGLISH JEWISH SCHOLAR ON HIS WORK Cecil Roth (1899-1970) was a most erudite, prolific and lucid English-born author of scholarly and popular books and articles in Jewish history, who basically created the fields of both English and Italian Jewish history. He also possessed a great interest in Jewish art, ritual objects, Passover Haggadot, and rare books and manuscripts. He supported himself by freelance writing until 1939, when he was appointed reader in postbiblical Jewish studies at the University of Oxford, a position that he held until his retirement in 1964. He subsequently served as editor in chief of the first edition of the Encyclopaedia Judaica.62 1. Typed signed letter, Cecil Roth, Oxford, to Simon Rawidowicz, Leeds, June 1, 1943 Dear Rawidowicz, Thanks for your letter. The scope of your Ararat Company63 was not made clear from the published details. I wish that I could get Oscar Philipp to offer the Jewish Historical Society [of England] x pounds to help in the Sepher haShoham providing that the rest were raised elsewhere. We wouldn’t get it, but it would be a gesture. I am making an appeal for renewed interest in this aspect of our work at the JHS Jubilee next week. But really we’re quite dead, like everyone else; the only sentiment alive in Anglo-Jewry is Rachmonus, tempered with self-commiseration. About the article, I feel very guilty. Really, I haven’t time; things that I can’t get out of take up more leisure than I have, and I’m a long way behind-hand with my commitments. I feel all the more guilty because I did

62 On Roth, see The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, 47:886-87; Encyclopaedia Judaica, 14:326-28; and Irene Roth, Cecil Roth: Historian Without Tears: A Memoir (New York, 1982). 63 See n. 49.

THE HUMAN DIMENSION OF WISSENSCHAFT DES JUDENTUMS 115 send Wallenstein64 an inconsiderable trifle for his Annual; after all, I could not face omission from an academic publication (‘Academic’ in two senses). There’s a possibility though that by the beginning of July I may have received from Palestine the transcript of an unknown elegy on the English martyrs of 1189-1190. If I do, I will rush it to you, as here we would have common ground as well as something of specific appeal. Kind regards, Yours sincerely, Cecil Roth [signed] (Cecil Roth) P.S. It might be interesting some time to have a formal meeting, here or in London, of us University teachers who deal with J. studies—our two selves, Wartski,65 Stein,66 Wallenstein, possibly Birnbaum67 and…? If you want me to do so, I would take the necessary steps say for the end of August. But really it would hardly be worth the travelling expenses, unless we could combine it with one of the London education conferences.

64 Meir Wallenstein (1903-96) was at the time reader in medieval and modern Hebrew at the University of Manchester and editor of the five volumes of Melilah (1944-55). Roth published a Hebrew article, “The Testament of a Simple Jew,” Melilah 1 (1944): 192-96, and also contributed to the other volumes of Melilah; see Encyclopaedia Judaica, 16:256. 65 Isidore Wartski (died in 1965, at the age of seventy-five) was a Polish-born Jewish scholar, Hebraist, and Hebrew poet who held the Achad Haam Lectureship in Modern Hebrew at the School of Oriental and African Studies at the University of London from 1925 until his retirement in 1958; see his obituary in The Jewish Chronicle, Mar. 13, 1965, 34; also Mar. 25, 1965, 39: “He savoured Hebrew as others savour wine.” 66 Siegfried Stein (1909-95), German-born scholar in many areas of Judaica, appointed full-time lecturer in Hebrew and north Semitic epigraphy at University College, London, in 1954, reader in 1955, and professor of Hebrew and Jewish studies from 1963 to 1974, when he retired and moved to Jerusalem; see The Jewish Chronicle, June 9, 1995, 21, and “Corrections,” July 7, 1995, 23. 67 Solomon A. Birnbaum (1890-1989), Austrian-born Hebrew paleographer and Yiddish philologist, taught Yiddish and Hebrew paleography at the London School of Oriental Studies from 1936 to 1957 and at the School of Slavonic and East European Studies from 1939 to 1958; see Encyclopaedia Judaica, 4:1042-43.

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2. Handwritten letter, Simon Rawidowicz, Leeds, to Cecil Roth, Oxford, August 22, 194368 Dear Roth, Many thanks for your kind letter and for your kind words on the permanency of my lectureship. When we meet, I shall tell you of my hard and “quiet” struggle in the last 2 years. As the historian of this Jewry, you should be informed about it. Well, till then. This is the first permanent postbiblical lectureship in this country, is it not? Or am I mistaken? I have felt since I came here that I was preparing something for my successors, not for myself—and I am glad, they will be spared all that I had to undergo. (By the way, the permanency is not yet arranged “officially,” if I am not mistaken. I have not seen Sir Montague or anybody else in connection with it. When it “has to come,” it comes.) As to your article—no, I thank you. Most of the articles of the Metsudah written by “Hebraists”, old and young… [second page apparently not preserved or photocopied] 2) I have added the ‫ ניקוד‬of a few words in the Notes. 3) Haberman points ‫כּאלפים ָהאַ ְל ַפּים‬. I would suggest ‫כא ָלפים ָהאַ ֻלּ ִפים‬ ֲ : “Oxen” (Ps. 8, 8), “the ‘Dukes’, heads of community” (Gen. 36, 15). This makes “good sense”. If you agree, it could be added in the second proof. Please return me kindly the enclosed and mark “the unliterary end of the prefatory note,” and let me know about ‫ כאלפים‬etc. With kindest regards Yours S. Rawidowicz P.S. I have just had a glance at the Zionist Review. So many “letters” about Mr. Rawson’s remarks. I would not have replied to that letter—but my Ararat-friends thought otherwise. It is really useless. The trouble is: there are so few Jewish scholars in this country who can produce some “nice” piece of work. Will you reply again? I liked your letter on the lecturing. You are absolutely right.

68 I wish to thank David Katz of Tel Aviv University for kindly sending me a photocopy of this letter, which he came across in the Roth Collection at the University Library, Leeds.

THE HUMAN DIMENSION OF WISSENSCHAFT DES JUDENTUMS 117 I know Mr. Habermann, he is fortunately not a Dr.—unless he has become Dr. honoris causa. 3. Typed signed letter, Cecil Roth, Oxford, to Simon Rawidowicz, Leeds, Wednesday (presumably written some time between the previous and the following letters) My dear Rawidowicz, The story is of the East-end boy who was sent to Eton to improve his English. When asked after a month how he was getting on, the High Master began: “Vell….” In other words, the only contribution I can make to Jewish letters is a little shapeliness, but in the process of translinguation this disappears. My method is to have the hard pills and references in the middle of an article, and to end (at least) with something on a more literary plane; you have concluded with the elevating words “as in the present MS.” As I said, if the ultimate and penultimate paragraphs of the Preface are transposed, and the last four words of the former omitted (as indicated) this will be avoided.69 I accept your de-doctorisation of Haberman;70 anyhow, as you know, I don’t like Doctorates. I wish you could suggest a reasonable emendation for the line just before the end of the first galley, so as to restore the rhyme (or some approach to it). I don’t envy the printer71 these proofs. It’s largely his own fault, indeed, but we should try to introduce a more exacting standard in this respect in Hebrew material set up in this country, thus incidentally saving a good deal of unnecessary monetary waste. I didn’t deal with your proofs to 69 Roth is referring to his Hebrew article “An Elegy on the York Martyrs of 1190,” Metsudah 2 (1943): 116-21. 70 Abraham Meir Haberman (1901-80) was a bibliographer and scholar of medieval Hebrew literature. He directed the Schocken Library in Jerusalem from 1934 to 1967 and taught medieval Hebrew literature at Tel Aviv University from 1957; see Encyclopaedia Judaica, 7:1023. 71 Israel Narodiczky (1874-1943) established a print shop in Whitechapel, London, which, in addition to many titles in Latin typeface, printed extensively in Hebrew and Yiddish. After his death, his print shop continued to be operated by his sons, Bar-Kokhba and Carmel, under the names “Israel Narodiczky,” “I. Narodiczky and Sons,” and “The Narod Press.” For further details and a bibliography of the titles printed, see Jewish Books in Whitechapel: A Bibliography of Narodiczky’s Press, compiled by M. Sanders and edited by Marion Aptroot (London, 1991).

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the Hertz volume,72 but I heard searing remarks made about them. My own proofs are generally notorious for meticulous neatness and economy—but I was driven to it by a bitter experience. I hope you’ll insist with Narod73 in the matter of the offprints. If he won’t, I’d like you to send me a few spare copies of the publication. I did reply to the correspondence in the Zionist Review. The sting, like all stings, is in the tail; and how right I am! Yours Cecil Roth [signed] P.S. I have just heard, with great sorrow, of the death of Ismar Elbogen. 4. Typed signed letter, Cecil Roth, Oxford, to Simon Rawidowicz, Leeds, February 13, 1944 Dear Rawidowicz: I have been considering the suggestion that you were good enough to make to me last Thursday regarding the preparation of a volume of essays to be published by “Arrarat.”74 It was very flattering to me, but I would like to prefix this point. I am fortunately in a position where I do not have much difficulty in placing what I write, and where the production of one volume more or less does not affect me vitally. Others—especially of the younger generation—are not so happily placed. If therefore, in view of limitation of your resources or possibilities, the publication of a book by me would mean that the publication of one by some other person who needs it more would be prevented, I would ask you to permit me to forego the privilege, greatly though I esteem it. Should you desire to continue with the idea, in spite of what I have said here, I would suggest a volume to be entitled The People and the Book, the title-essay being one of my best illustrating the attitude of the Jewish people to literature throughout the ages.75 I would suggest including a selection of 72 Simon Rawidowicz, “On Maimonides’ ‘Sepher Ha-Mada,’ ” in Essays in Honor of the Very Reverend Dr. J. H. Hertz, ed. Isidore Epstein, Ephraim Levine, and Cecil Roth (London, 1944), 331-39; repr. in Rawidowicz, Studies in Jewish Thought, 317-21. 73 See n. 71. 74 See n. 49. 75 For a bibliography of the writings of Cecil Roth, see Oscar K. Rabinowicz, “A Bibliography of the Writings of Cecil Roth,” in Remember the Days: Essays on Anglo-Jewish History Presented to Cecil Roth, ed. John M. Shaftesley (London, 1966). Several volumes containing his collected essays have appeared.

THE HUMAN DIMENSION OF WISSENSCHAFT DES JUDENTUMS 119 papers on the philosophy (kevaiakhol) of Jewish history—‘Parallel and Paradox in Jewish History’, ‘The Medieval Concept of the Jew’, ‘Persecution or Economics?’ and so on; and some of a more particular nature, such as ‘Columbus the Marrano’, ‘When We Remembered Zion’, and so on; and I think too a paper on ‘Proselytes of Righteousness’. I would not suggest (unless you wished it) the inclusion of any papers on Anglo Jewish History, though as a matter of fact this might help the local sales: this might conceivably be left for a second selection, if the first were to warrant it. It remains to decide, first, the principle; and secondly, the length suggested. When you have made up your mind on these two points, I will get together the material which you could then look at more critically; but I don’t want to waste my time. If you wanted to have a talk on the subject, I am in Town76 every Thursday and available 10:30-11:30, 1:30-2:30 and reluctantly 3:30 onwards (This won’t apply to Purim); and I will be up also on March 1. Yours sincerely C. Roth [signed] (Cecil Roth) P.S. I’m sorry that I had to rush away from the very pleasant function last Thursday. I hope that I dealt with the Knight satisfactorily in your opinion; he struck, I thought, an unfortunate note, and it would have been regrettable to allow it to develop into a polemic.77 5. Typed signed letter, Cecil Roth, Oxford, to Simon Rawidowicz, Leeds, February 25, 1944 My dear Rawidowicz, Many thanks for your letter. I would be very glad for Arrarat to publish a volume of my Essays. Terms: a royalty (what are you paying—12½%?) and, in the circumstances, a purely nominal advance of any sum you like to mention. The essays I would recommend for inclusion are part popularscientific, part scientific-popular, approaching therefore much the same standard: I enclose a small selection, of either type, as a sample. Presumably Leeds. “The Knight” refers to Sir Leon Simon; see n. 32. For further details, see Rawidowicz, State of Israel, Diaspora, and Jewish Continuity, 252-53, letter of Feb. 20, 1944. 76 77

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[Handwritten in margin: (not that I insist on the inclusion of every individual specimen)] I think that a few of my Italian, and a few of my Marrano, articles should be included. This would make up, from a rough computation, a volume of about 300 pages of normal format. My AngloJudaica would double the bulk, I think. I would be perfectly willing, and indeed very glad, for these to be included—but not for the inclusion of a small selection which would take the cream from, and perhaps prevent, a subsequent volume devoted entirely to this subject, which I have long contemplated. My nearest approach to a consistent treatment of Hebrew literature in England is the enclosed [handwritten in margin: sorry: can’t find it] on Hebrew typography in this country, which covers one-twentieth of the ground. I’m a pure antiquarian, of course. I would like to contribute to the next Mezudah. But I can’t promise. A Hebrew essay takes up the same amount of my time as an entire chapter of my History of the Jews of Italy, which must have precedence.78 I confess frankly, though that on the other hand, it is not possible for me to take up quite the same attitude when Wallenstein asks me for an article for his ‘scientific’ publication, though I wish I could! Will you serve as my post-box for Brodetsky? Yours sincerely, C. Roth [signed] Cecil Roth 6. Typed signed letter, Cecil Roth, Oxford, to Simon Rawidowicz, Leeds, no date (presumably written some time between the previous and the following letters) My dear Rawidowicz: Here I am months behind with my Italian book and you come (like everyone else) trailing red herrings across my path. All I can promise you is that I will do what I can when I can, without fixing a date: perhaps an imminent railway journey will provide a spot of leisure, if I keep awake. If there is an article, it will be on The Use of Hebrew in England in the 18th Century.

The History of the Jews of Italy was published by the Jewish Publication Society of America (Philadelphia, 1946). 78

THE HUMAN DIMENSION OF WISSENSCHAFT DES JUDENTUMS 121 Have you seen Ibn Zahav’s Shylock—a creditable piece of work, which might be mentioned in conjunction with Wilensky.79 I am just back from a most interesting American lecture-tour—round the airfields in East Anglia. Oxford is the only place where I am muzzled. Yours sincerely, C. Roth [signed] (Cecil Roth) 7. Handwritten letter, Cecil Roth, Oxford, to Simon Rawidowicz, Leeds, November 5, 1944 Dear Rawidowicz: Here you are. Finished and despatched darned Italian book at the end of last week, and I have tried to keep my promise on my first free half-day. I hope it’s not too late, too slight, or too ungrammatical. You know I can’t write Hebrew or anything else but my [word illegible] native lingo. Cut it, check it, or chuck it—I’m content to have kept my word.80 I’ll be up in Leeds in December. And you? Little news. But I’m expecting a [word illegible] from Palestine this week. I will be beginning my life of Joseph Nasi next.81 All good wishes, CR

X. THE WIDOW OF A CHRISTIAN ZIONIST ON THE EDUCATION OF THEIR SON Orde Wingate (1903-44) graduated from the British Royal Military Academy at Woolwich and was commissioned in the Royal Artillery in 1923. In 1936, he applied for an intelligence position in Palestine and, with the support of the British commander there, Major-General Archibald Wavell, who 79 Ari Ibn Zahav, Shylock: The Jew from Venice (Hebrew) (Tel Aviv, 1943), and Mordechai Wilensky, The Return of the Jews to England in the Seventeenth Century (Hebrew) (Jerusalem, 1943). 80 Presumably, Roth is referring to his review of Wilensky, The Return of the Jews to England in the Seventeenth Century (Hebrew), which appeared in Metsudah 3-4 (1945): 377. 81 Actually, Roth’s The House of Nasi: Doña Gracia was published first, in 1947, while the companion volume on Joseph Nasi, The House of Nasi: The Duke of Naxos, appeared in the following year, 1948.

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became his patron, and of the Jewish Agency and of the Haganah, he organized the Special Night Squads to combat Arab terror and guerilla groups and protect the Mosul-Haifa oil pipeline. Because of his opposition to plans to partition Palestine, he was transferred back to London, but Wavell, by then commander of British forces in the Middle East, sent him to train and lead the Ethiopian forces revolting against the Italians, and he restored the Emperor Haile Selassie to the throne. Subsequently Wavell, now British commander-in-chief in India and soon to be appointed viceroy of India, summoned Wingate to India to organize long-range penetration incursions to sever Japanese communication and supply lines in occupied Burma. After mixed results, Wingate was killed in the crash of a U.S. Army Air Corps transport plane in a storm in March 1944. His activities on behalf of the Yishuv earned him the Hebrew nickname Hayedid (The Friend), and he is credited with having had a great influence on the military strategy and tactics of the Haganah. David Ben-Gurion wrote that had Wingate lived, he would have been Israel’s first military chief of staff. Today, he is buried in Arlington National Cemetery, and the Wingate Institute, Israel’s National Center for Physical Education and Sports, bears his name.82 Lorna Elizabeth Patterson, daughter of Walter and Alice Ivy Patterson, married Wingate in 1935. She was loyal to the Zionist cause and organized the Youth Aliya in Britain. Typed signed letter, Lorna Wingate, Aberdeen, to Simon Rawidowicz, Leeds, September 21, 1945 Dear Dr. Rawidowicz, Thank you very much for your letter of 17th September, and Professor Bentwich’s83 article about Orde. My Hebrew is not equal to the business of translation, but Major Malcolm Hay of Seaton, the well-known Catholic and Historian of the later Stuarts, who has become an enthusiastic Hebrew scholar and Zionist,84 is translating it as part of his studies. 82 See The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, 59:722-25, and Encyclopaedia Judaica, 16:547-48. Several English and Hebrew biographies of the individualistic and militarily unconventional Wingate have appeared. 83 Presumably, Norman Bentwich (1883-1971), professor of international relations at the Hebrew University from 1932 to 1951 and prolific author; see The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, 5:310-12, and Encyclopaedia Judaica, 4:556-57. 84 Malcolm V. Hay (1881-1962) wrote, among other books, The Foot of Pride: The Pressure of Christendom on the People of Israel for 1900 Years (Boston, 1950), subsequently republished twice in paperback under the titles: Europe and the Jews: The Pressure of

THE HUMAN DIMENSION OF WISSENSCHAFT DES JUDENTUMS 123 Anything written by Professor Bentwich will, I am sure, be excellent, and I am looking forward to reading Major Hay’s translation. The study of Hebrew was one of Orde’s most personal pleasures, and one that gave him the greatest satisfaction. It is my fixed intention that his son, Orde Jonathan,85 shall be given the opportunity of becoming bilingual in Hebrew and English. I am sure that he will want to speak to his father’s friends in the magnificent language his father loved so well. Yours sincerely, Lorna Wingate [signed]

XI. THE PROBLEMS OF A COMMUNAL CHIEF RABBI WHO WISHES ALSO TO PARTAKE OF THE ACADEMIC LIFE Alexander Altmann (1906-87) was a Hungarian-born rabbi and scholar of Jewish philosophy and mysticism. After leaving Berlin in 1938, he received an appointment as communal rabbi of Manchester. In the letters appearing below, Altmann explains why regretfully he was unable to take Rawidowicz’s place for a semester at Leeds University while Rawidowicz went to the United States as a visiting professor at the College of Jewish Studies in Chicago for the spring semester of 1948. After Rawidowicz’s death in the summer of 1957, Altmann left Manchester in the following year to succeed Rawidowicz as the Philip W. Lown Professor of Jewish Philosophy at Brandeis University.86

Christendom on the People of Israel for 1900 Years (Boston, 1960); and Thy Brother’s Blood: The Roots of Christian Anti-Semitism (New York, 1975). His first wife, Florence, died in 1943, and eventually in 1956 he married their old friend Alice Ivy Patterson (whose only child, Lorna, had married Wingate in 1935) after Alice’s husband died in 1955. Alice eventually wrote a biography of her second husband, Valiant for Truth: Malcolm Hay of Seaton (London, 1971). 85 Orde Jonathan Wingate (1944-2000) was born six weeks after his father’s death; see The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, 59:725. His maternal grandmother, Alice Ivy Patterson (see previous note), wrote There Was a Man of Genius: Letters to My Grandson Orde Jonathan Wingate (London, 1963), which was subsequently translated into Hebrew (Tel Aviv, 1967). The title was taken from Winston Churchill’s categorization of Wingate: “There was a man of genius who might well have become also a man of destiny.” 86 On Alexander Altmann, see Encyclopaedia Judaica, 2:779.

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1. Signed typed letter, Alexander Altmann, Manchester, to Simon Rawidowicz, Leeds, November 17, 1947 My dear Dr. Rawidowicz, Thank you very much for your kind letter of the 12th instant in which you agree to the suggestion I made in regard to the time of the Seminar to be held in your absence. Unfortunately, the whole project seems to be in jeopardy because there exists a strong trend of opinion in the Communal Rabbinate Committee of Manchester, at least, at the moment, that I should cut down to a minimum out-of-town engagements. It is felt that in view of the acute shortage of Rabbis and Ministers in Manchester I should leave the town as little as possible, and I am afraid the prospects of my coming to Leeds regularly once a fortnight for some considerable period will not meet with much sympathy on the part of my Committee. You will appreciate that I shall have to consult with the Committee in regard to this matter, and shall, naturally, endeavour to convince them of the importance of this invitation which Leeds University, through you, has extended to me. But as the matter stands at the moment I really do see little prospect of obtaining the consent of the Communal Rabbinate Committee. While my lectures to Jews’ College are considered more in line with my Rabbinic duties—seeing that Jews’ College is a school for the training of rabbis—the same does not fully apply to the Semitics Department of Leeds University. I must, therefore, ask you kindly to bear with me if I cannot enter into any final arrangements at this juncture. It is only recently that objection has been raised to my practice of accepting out-of-town engagements in some larger measure, and, naturally, I do not wish to act against the opinion of the committee. I hope to let you know fairly soon what the final decision in this matter is, and hope it will not cause you too much inconvenience. I am happy to learn that your edition of ‫ סה''מ‬has appeared, and I heartily congratulate you on this achievement.87—I can understand that you 87 Rawidowicz had for years been planning a critical and extensively annotated edition of the Sepher Ha-Mada‘, the opening book of the Mishneh Torah of Maimonides, dedicated to the memory of his father, who had introduced him to that work. Rawidowicz had sent the text to his old friend Rubin Mass, founder and head of the publishing company bearing his name in Jerusalem, at the beginning of World War II. Rawidowicz was unable to complete his notes during the war, and Rubin Mass could not keep the material set in type any longer and published the book in 1947—in a slightly abridged form—but the text was proofread according to one of the printed editions. Rawidowicz never completed the second part,

THE HUMAN DIMENSION OF WISSENSCHAFT DES JUDENTUMS 125 are not too enthusiastic at the prospect of having to undertake shortly such a great journey, but I know from experience that once one is on his way one becomes caught in the excitement of such an adventure and is amply compensated for the loss of comfort one enjoys at home. I am perfectly certain that this trip to the U.S.A. will afford you great pleasure and satisfaction. With kindest regards from house to house, ‫בידידות נאמנה‬ Yours sincerely, A. Altmann [signed] (Communal Rabbi) 2. Signed typed letter, Alexander Altmann, Manchester, to Simon Rawidowicz, Leeds, December 3, 1947 Dear Dr. Rawidowicz, I tried to ’phone you this morning, but, unfortunately, nobody answered the telephone. I was going to tell you, to my very sincere regret, that the Communal Rabbinate Committee, with whom I discussed last night the matter under consideration, did not feel that I was justified in accepting the invitation to lecture at Leeds University. They very strongly feel that to absent myself from Manchester regularly once a fortnight for some considerable period will result in damage to my work here, especially since the lectures which I have to give to Jews’ College will already take a heavy toll of my time. I need not assure you how much, personally, I would have liked to be of help to your department during the time of your prolonged stay in America, but I have to act in accordance with the clearly expressed views of the Committee, and hope you will be able to make satisfactory arrangements in some other way. I really hope that we shall see each other before you set out on your journey, and I shall thus be able to give you, personally, my warmest good wishes for the success of your work in the U.S.A. With kindest regards ‫בברכת שלום רב‬ ‫בידידות‬ containing his introduction and notes, which remains in his Nachlass, filling over 1,500 half-pages of handwriting in more than one draft.

126

BENJAMIN RAVID Yours sincerely, A. Altmann [signed] (Communal Rabbi)

XII. A COLLEGE PRESIDENT AND HIS FACULTY Abram L. Sachar (1899-1993) was a historian who taught at the University of Illinois and, after being one of organizers of the Bnai Brith Hillel Foundations, served as the national director of the Hillel Foundations from 1933 to 1948. Author, among many other works, of the very popular History of the Jews (1930, and many subsequent editions), he also presented the wellreceived lecture series in modern history called The Course of Our Times, on the Public Broadcasting Service. In 1948, Sachar became the first president of Brandeis University in Waltham, Massachusetts, where he was a very “hands on” president for twenty years as he enabled Brandeis to join the ranks of leading American universities. He was appointed chancellor in 1968 and chancellor emeritus in 1981, and retained an office on campus to the end of his days, at which point he was revising his history of Brandeis University, initially published as A Host at Last (1976), which appeared posthumously under the title Brandeis University: A Host at Last (1995). In 1951, Sachar brought Rawidowicz to Brandeis University, where he became the first Philip W. Lown Professor of Jewish Philosophy and Hebrew Literature and first chair of the Department of Near Eastern and Judaic Studies, until his death in 1957.88 1. Typed unsigned carbon copy, Abram L. Sachar, Waltham, to Joseph Linsey, Boston, December 5, 1955 Dear Joe:89 On Abram Sachar, see Encyclopaedia Judaica, 14:590-91, and on Rawidowicz at Brandeis, see Rawidowicz, State of Israel, Diaspora, and Jewish Continuity, 35-45, 24047. 89 According to Abram Sachar, Brandeis University: A Host at Last (Hanover, N.H., 1995), 293-94: “The major sports patron of Brandeis was the highly popular liquor magnate and race track proprietor Joseph Linsey, who had come up the hard way to become one of the major philanthropic leaders of Greater Boston. He led two of the campaigns for the Combined Jewish Philanthropies in one of the blackest and most dangerous periods of the Israeli struggle for survival…. His dog track interests brought him into advantageous personal relations with leading figures in the sports world, and they readily consented, when he asked for their cooperation, to approach donors, and to place stories in the press and other 88

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It is only when I saw Saul’s90 carbon of the letter to you that I learned of your kindness in offering to supply beverage refreshment for the Faculty Forums.91 The faculty are a brilliant group; God knows what dazzling performances will result when they get some of your quality liquor in them. Here is still another manifestation of your endless thoughtfulness. Cordially yours A.L. Sachar 2. Typed signed memorandum, Abram L. Sachar, June 7, 1956 [To] Messrs. Berger, Cohen, Gilbert, Manuel & Rawidowicz92 [From] A.L. Sachar I had a long distance call Wednesday night from Philip Sang of Chicago who supplements a brilliant legal career with an interest in original documentation. He and his brother are planning to give the University an

media…. At the liquor [industry fund-raising] dinners, usually held in New York, Linsey could produce the most sought-after public figures to serve as guests of honor. Senator John Kennedy, in the year before he won the presidency, greeted the huge audience as old family friends. After all, he bantered, his father belonged to this group, and he was glad to be welcomed back into its fold.” 90 Presumably, Saul Elgart (1914-75), then director of university resources. 91 “[Rawidowicz’s] main contribution, however, was as the founder and moving force behind the Faculty Forum. Rawidowicz conceived of this forum as an academic organization of great potential significance. Intended to bring the faculty closer together, it met in monthly symposia devoted to the discussion of individual research, with the focus on problems of methodology and interdisciplinary approaches. This forum was disbanded shortly after his passing, when the guiding and unifying force that had held its members together was removed”; see Rawidowicz, State of Israel, Diaspora, and Jewish Continuity, 37. 92 Clarence Q. Berger (1911-85), then dean of university administration; Saul Cohen (b. 1927), then chairman of the School of Science and Rita H. Aronstam Professor of Chemistry; Emanuel M. Gilbert (1920-84), then director of public affairs; Frank E. Manuel (1910-2003), then chairman of the graduate committee in the History of Ideas and Mack Kahn Professor of Modern History, who dedicated his book The Eighteenth Century Confronts the Gods (Cambridge, Mass., 1959) to the memory of Rawidowicz.

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important gift in excess of $100,000 towards our new classroom concept which will combine teaching facilities with archival inspiration.93 He called to alert me that a document has suddenly become available for purchase in London. It is the original written by Pope Gregory to the King of France to congratulate him for carrying through the St. Bartholomew’s Massacre.94 The translation of the letter was read to me and it leaves one with mixed emotions. It points up the terrifying intolerance of the Christendom of the period and of its symbolic spokesman. It gives one a sense of gratitude to live in a different world and to note how much progress has been made among the better representatives of Christianity. The question that I am posing to a group of you is whether this is a document that Brandeis ought to own. Can it be displayed without an aspersion upon the Catholic church? On the other hand, is it not a constant reminder of our own good fortune? I am interested also in a reaction because we are only just now beginning to think in terms of the acquisition of documents of this kind. Is the principle of selectivity to be primarily rarity, historical significance, special Jewish interest or a combination of all these factors? After the Commencement pressure is over and you have had a chance to think through some of the implications of these questions and you have a little time, I hope that we can get together for a discussion. A.L. Sachar [signed]

93 Presumably, the reference is to the building on the Brandeis University campus referred to as Olin-Sang; see Sachar, Brandeis University: A Host at Last, 114. 94 The reference is to the major massacre of Huguenots in Paris and elsewhere in France in 1574.

WHAT DOES A FATHER WANT?: AN UNPUBLISHED POEM AND ITS INTERTEXTS

TOVA ROSEN AND URIAH KFIR The following hitherto unpublished poem, Bitti, bitti, features an outstanding dialogue between a father and a daughter following the daughter’s marriage to a sexually inept man. Intriguing here is the issue of gendered voices. Whose interests does the poem serve: the daughter’s or the father(s)’s? Whose intertexts does the poem use? Is it a hegemonic text, or does it ultimately undermine hegemony? Reading the poem as a juncture of various intertexts (literary, legal, and medical), we will relate to the poem’s genre, language, and social meaning.1

1. BITTI, BITTI [Father:] “O daughter, my daughter, what have you done? Having betrothed you to a potent man, Handsome and tall, why have my eyes not seen 5 The honor of your blood on your skirt, nor have you pleased me with [the breaking of] your hymen. I am indeed afraid that you went astray; if so you did—you have dishonored me. Your sentence is death by fire 10 for putting shame on me inside my house.”

1

For identification of author and provenance, see Appendix 2.

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[Daughter:] “My father, my foe, my father, my woe, you have cursed me for no fault. You handed me over to a eunuch; put me in bed with a man of maimed sex. 15 He stripped me off, beheld my splendor, put his hand upon my treasure. He turned pale as he failed to erect in front of my belly. [Then] he fell asleep on one side; 20 all night long on his right [side]. Like the long nun in mishpataN it appeared to me, [like] the rod of a chestnut tree.2 I lost my sleep, then, my heart and mind turned black. 25 I recalled all those who loved me, all lads who fell for me. I had had no pity or mercy on them when I dealt them this physical punishment. I did it for my father’s honor; 30 [for him] I curbed my thirst, Restrained my nature, guarded myself from disgrace. And, lo, how has God rewarded my modesty and self-starving?— 35 To fall into the trap of the one, and say that another one had ravished me? What is it with this ignoble scrawny one? Why doesn’t he rest his head upon my garden? Has he been bewitched? 40 Castrated? Drunk? A castrate has no beard— this one does have some thin facial hair; Drunkards get red— he turned greenish-white. 45 He must have surely been bewitched by folks who envied me and Translation is ours—T.R. and U.K. In translating ‘armon as “chestnut tree,” we followed the King James Bible. The New English Bible has it as “plane tree.” 2

WHAT DOES A FATHER WANT? Hindered him from rejoicing in my great beauty or drinking from my well. I returned to my heart, then, saying: 50 ‘Indeed, there is hope that in due time I may again witness delivery when witchcraft expires and misery. If I stretch my hand now to his signs, I may perhaps find a leading sign.’ 55 I stretched my hand to see— my right hand touched a bulge; I found an earless pocket, like a peddler’s-pocket. I was devastated and depressed; 60 disaster has indeed seized me. I said then: My hope and expectation have vanished with my beauty.” [Father:] “O daughter, my daughter, be consoled! Let the memory of those who duped me be wiped out! 65 I wish to see you avenged upon him. Woe to him [if he’s] caught in my rage! I will bully him like a villain, rather than crown him as my prince. I will discard him, shame him. 70 Will I let this most-contemptible-among-families terrify me? [To husband:] You villain, castrate, impotent, miserable one, Who talked you into taking my daughter? Why did you cheat me? 75 Do not dare look again at my daughter’s face [to unveil] my hidden secrets. [To daughter:] And to you, my daughter, I will give a man, a strong man, a man like me!” [Daughter:] “O my father, I must have found favor 80 in your sight for you have comforted me.”

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2. HISTORICAL AND HALAKHIC CONTEXT The daughter is found in an extremely vulnerable position. For her father, the lack of hymen blood on the skirt means only one thing: that she fornicated before marriage. She has offended his honor and that of the family, and thus she is threatened with execution by fire.3 How will she save herself against all odds? Her credibility might be doubted; her husband will most probably deny her charges. How will she assure her father that she has not been deflowered before marriage? How will she prove to him that she is still a virgin, even after marriage, and that her present state of virginity is due to her husband’s impotence? How can she convince him that she is not a rebellious wife refusing sex to her husband? As we shall see, what will save her in this precarious situation is her excellent rhetorical skill. In a wellcalculated speech, manifesting legal expertise (while also touching sensitive emotional chords), she will brilliantly prove her point. The poem will end with the father promising to cancel the marriage and to take revenge upon the bridegroom and his clan for their deceit. Studied by physicians and lawmakers, handled by magicians, satirized by poets, and ridiculed in charivaries, impotence was a phenomenon widely discussed in premodern times. Medieval Hebrew literature does offer a few examples (see below) of daughters’ complaints to mothers (or fathers) over ill-fated marriages. But none of them treats these legal/sexual issues as literally and as graphically as does Bitti, bitti. These issues were, however, very much present in the discursive, nonliterary world of our poem. The place to look for precedents and parallels is in rabbinic literature. Talmudic discussions about impotence and its repercussions on marriage and divorce are relatively scanty and, to a great extent, irresolute.4 The Mishnah (Nedarim 11:12) recalls that in ancient times, rabbis used to believe a wife’s claim of a husband’s impotence. They not only forced divorce but also gave the wife her ketubah money. Later, however, rabbis ruled that the wife was not credible. The Talmud continues to be ambiguous on this point. Rav Himnona accepts the wife’s claim since, he says, “a wife will never lie in front of her husband.” Rava is of the opinion 3 According to Deut. 22:23, a girl who lost her virginity by rape and failed to scream for help is to be stoned. The father’s threat to punish the daughter by fire does not derive from any halakhic source. To the best of our knowledge, medieval Jewish courts did not pass death sentences for adultery. The father is perhaps hinting at patriarchal customs of murdering adulterous women for the sake of the “honor of the family.” 4 The only two relevant Talmudic references are Nedarim 90-91 and Yevamot 64-65.

WHAT DOES A FATHER WANT?

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that “a wife is capable of lying at times when she cannot bear anymore the suffering dealt to her by her husband.” This irresoluteness of the Talmud explains the abundance of discussions about impotence and divorce in medieval (and later) rabbinical literature. Legal difficulties arose in cases where the husband was denying his wife’s charge. Over the generations, rabbis oscillated between the total discrediting of the wives’ evidence, through expressions (albeit mild and rare) of empathy to the poor wives, up to ruling for an immediate divorce. Frequent questions asked were: Is the state of impotence partial or total? Is the husband a saris (castrate)? Is he a saris by nature or by men’s hands? Is his problem one of erection or one of ejaculation?5 Is there hope for future pregnancy? How long should a couple wait to see if the marriage is fertile?6 Is the husband allowed to marry a second wife to prove his fertility? Can divorce be imposed on a reluctant husband? And, in case the court did eventually rule divorce, is the wife entitled to her ketubah money? Certain marriage contracts did contain a legal commitment of the husband to divorce his wife in case he proved impotent.7 However, even in such cases, rabbis did not hasten to impose divorce. The question of the wife’s credibility continued to feature as pivotal. Whose word should the court take as true—the husband’s or the wife’s? Are her motives in claiming divorce pure? Could she be lying about her husband’s defect? Has she “put her eye on another”? Would she be ready to repeat the charge that she has made in her husband’s absence also (and more credibly so) in his presence? Would any wife be so brazen as to lie to her husband’s face about his alleged condition? From the end of the twelfth century, Ashkenazic rabbis, and later also Spanish ones, ruled to accept the wife’s evidence and force the inept Failure of erection was commonly referred to by the biblical verse “He leans against his house, but it does not stand” (Job 8:15), while failure in ejaculation was referred to by the expression “he does not shoot like an arrow.” 6 The Talmud gives periods from two and a half to ten years (Yevamot 64a). In the responsa, the usual figure is ten years. Some sixteenth-century rabbis ruled less than that. See R. Weinstein, “Impotence and the Preservation of the Family in the Jewish Community of Italy in the Early Modern Period” (Hebrew), in Sexuality and the Family in History, ed. I. Bartal and I. Gafni (Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center for Jewish History, 1988), 163 n. 30. 7 This is the commitment that Efer makes to Dinah’s father in a fourteenthcentury rhymed story; see M. Huss, ed., Don Vidal Benveniste’s Melitsat Efer ve-Dinah: Studies and Critical Edition (Jerusalem: Magnes, 2003), lines 195-99. The story is discussed below. 5

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TOVA ROSEN AND URIAH KFIR

husband to divorce her.8 To prove her word, the suing wife had to be ready to lose her ketubah money. Although seemingly a development in favor of women, this ruling posed a grave dilemma to the claimant wife: Should she give up her ketubah money and end up as a destitute divorcee, or should she go on with her safe, though unconsummated, marriage? Should she be penniless or childless? And there was a further catch: a woman who insisted on getting her ketubah money was suspected of being an adulteress, hence not credible and therefore not entitled to a divorce. Staying married to a castrate could be, then, the lesser of two evils.9 As shown by Roni Weinstein in his study on impotence and the Jewish family, these were issues hotly debated by rabbinical authorities in sixteenth-century Italy.10 The case of the daughter in our poem resonates against similar cases in the responsa literature, some of them quite tragic: Reuben was married to Dinah, and she wanted to demand a divorce from him for not having “men’s strength” and for having the “signs” of a castrate. And when Reuben realized that she was putting him to shame with these complaints, he got angry at her and accused her in front of witnesses that she committed adultery under [i.e., while she was married to] him.11

The resemblance is outstanding. In both cases, the wife testifies about the husband’s emasculation and “signs,” and in both she is being accused of adultery. Although the narrator of the responsum gives equal representation to “Reuben” and “Dinah,”12 he seems slightly inclined toward Dinah, apparently accepting her explanation that it was Reuben’s shame and anger that caused him to accuse her of adultery. The bridegroom in the poem is totally absent and silent. However, it is possible to conjecture his probable line of defense from the father’s speech, For a historical survey of the issue, see A. Grossman, Pious and Rebellious: Jewish Women in Medieval Europe (Waltham, Mass.: Brandeis University Press, 2004), 23638. 9 See Weinstein, “Impotence,” 164 n. 32. 10 Ibid. 11 Responsa of Rabbi Asher ben Yeḥiel (haRosh), klal 32, siman 10. HaRosh was born in Ashkenaz and served as a rabbi in Spain at the end of the thirteenth century. Responsa and poetry cited throughout the article were translated by the authors of this article, unless otherwise specified. 12 It is customary in Jewish law to use the names of Jacob’s children as generic names in legal cases. Dinah is commonly used in cases related to sexual matters. We assume that this association stems from the Sages’ opinion of her as a “whore” (midrash Tanḥuma, Vayishlaḥ 7:5). 8

WHAT DOES A FATHER WANT?

135

and even more so from the daughter’s. He could maintain, like the father had already done, that the lack of hymen blood proves the girl’s loose ways before marriage (line 4).13 Or else, that his erectile problem was due to too much drinking during the wedding (lines 43-44), or that he was bewitched (lines 45-46). The excuse of bewitchment was commonly used by husbands to explain their impotence, and to convince the court that their difficulties were temporary. As stated by Weinstein, in the sixteenth century witchcraft was perceived as something quite natural.14 The young woman in the poem is willing to delude herself, at least for a while, with the witchcraft option (lines 49-52). But she also seems to know that in cases where witchcraft was believed to be involved, the rabbis deferred the resolution of the case and recommended that the couple wait for a period of time and then try copulating again.15 Hence, as soon as her bridegroom falls asleep, she stretches her hand to his genitals, determined to find right away the reason for his failure. The urgency with which the girl performs the physical examination could also be explained by her awareness that in court the husband could defend himself by blaming the problem on her anatomy. Such was the case of “Reuben who married Dinah and could not have normal intercourse with her. And he used to say that she is hermetically closed and should be opened with a chisel.”16

13 We have not come across responsa where an impotent husband accuses a wife of premarital adultery. The usual charge is that she is lying about his impotence. 14 See Weinstein, “Impotence,” 168-69. See also the Responsa of Binyamin Zeev, siman 126; Responsa of Rabbi Moshe di Trani (haMabit), sec. 1, siman 287. 15 In a case from sixteenth-century Italy, the bride’s relatives suggest waiting for the magic to expire, or else, in order to make sure that the woman gets her divorce plus ketubah money, they appoint female relatives to watch the couple closely. See Weinstein, “Impotence,” 168-69. For additional information about witchcraft among Jews, see Grossman, Pious and Rebellious, 237-38. In a most popular “scientific” book about witchcraft written in 1486 in Latin, a Dominican priest reported about “witches who … collect male organs in great numbers … and put them in a nest, where they move themselves like living members, and eat oats and corn.… A certain man … approached a certain witch to ask her to restore his health [i.e., member]. She told the afflicted man to … take whichever member he liked out of the nest.” See H. Kramer and J. Sprenger, Malleus Malificarum, trans. M. Summers (1928; republished, R.A. Kessinger, 2003), 121. 16 Responsa of Rabbi Bezalel Ben Abraham Ashkenazi, siman 15. In Melitsat Efer ve-Dinah, Efer blames his failure on Dinah’s narrow anatomy (“sogeret umesuggeret,” line 353).

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Our girl is lucky to have her father believe her and promise her to struggle for her divorce. She is certainly luckier than the following girl, whose parents only added to her suffering: A young man married a twelve-year-old virgin. And since he was dysfunctional on the wedding night, they suspected that witchcraft was involved. For a month and a half, they spent a whole lot of money on it [i.e., on trying to remove the spell]. In the morning, they spread the skirt to the elders to show them her hymen [blood.] … [However, the blood displayed] was caused by his [attempted] act by which he bruised her vagina badly, from within and without…. Following this, she had to be taken care of by women for several days. Afterward, whenever the man wanted to have sex with her, she used to scream loudly. This was repeated each time during intercourse. And he was cruelly beating her as if she was his war captive. As was later proved, she preferred to be brutally beaten by him to the sorrow and torture of having sex with him. She endured this suffering for six months, while her father and mother went on believing that she was indeed refusing to have sex with her husband, and they were castigating her and beating her evermore. This went on until it was made clear by conclusive evidence, as well as by her own testimony, that she was screaming because her husband, failing to erect, approached her violently in order to fulfill his desire and tortured her in abnormal ways—by rubbing, squeezing, and crushing. But all was in vain, since he did not have men’s strength: “He leans against his house, but it does not stand” (Job 8:15). And the girl, being so humble and ignorant, stayed at the beginning in the corner of the house, but now after pious women have spoken to her to find out what her problem was, they found that it is actually that he does not have the strength of men.17

The task of testifying about who was the sexually defective or dysfunctional partner was in the hands of “pious women” (nashim raḥmaniyot or yekarot) whose authority was accepted by the halakhic establishment.18 In our poem, it is the girl who takes upon herself not only the role of selfadvocacy but also the testifying role of those knowledgeable and credible women. Responsa of Rabbi Moshe di Trani. See n. 14. See also Weinstein, “Impotence,” 170-71, and n. 14 above. In Melitsat Efer veDinah, the bride’s parents present the skirt to the eyes of women, “since this is a women’s task” (lines 309-10). 17 18

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Her urgency could yet be caused by the fear that the court would not only reject her divorce claim but would, moreover, allow the husband to take a second wife, as in the case of Reuben, who married a virgin and gave her a vow according to the custom [i.e., Rabenu Gershom’s ban on bigamy]. She stayed with him three years, and he still had difficulties in having normal intercourse with her. He claims that the difficulty is hers … while she says that she does not want him since he does not have the strength of men, and she wants a divorce.

Rabbi David ben Zimrah, the greatest halakhic arbiter in sixteenth-century Egypt, discredited this woman’s evidence and allowed the husband, despite his vow, to marry a second wife if the first one still refused intercourse.19 Clearer was the case based on doctors’ (not a wife’s) evidence of a husband who was forced to divorce due to his paraplegia. A recommendation was added, though, that divorce be forced on him gently.20 His case was also more unambiguous than that of the “potent man, handsome and tall” in our poem (lines 2-3), whose outer appearance was so deceiving. The divorce in our poem will not, however, be nice and gentle, as the father has threatened to bully the swindler and his family and put them to shame (lines 65-74). Historical evidence shows that forcing a divorce by terrorizing the husband, and even by using the help of gentile authorities (or gangs), was not so rare.21 The ease with which this family crisis is solved in the poem is surprising, especially when seen against the background of the halakhic Responsa of Rabbi David ben Zimrah (haRadbaz), sec. 1, siman 260. G. Duby, Love and Marriage in the Middle Ages (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994), 26, mentions the case of an inexperienced youth who, after damaging his young wife irreparably through his rough treatment, was allowed by the pope to marry a second wife. 20 Responsa of Rabbi Isaac Adarbi (Divrei Rivot), siman 402. 21 Yom Tov Assis points out that “wives’ families sometimes resorted to unconventional means in obtaining the husbands’ ‘consent’ to divorce. In one case, two gentile gangs were hired to terrorize the husband, who was beaten and attacked with a knife.” See Y.T. Assis, “Sexual Behavior in Mediaeval Hispano-Jewish Society,” in Jewish History: Essays in Honour of Chimen Abramsky, ed. A. RapoportAlbert and S.J. Zipperstein (London: Peter Halban, 1988), 36 n. 71. In the Responsa of Betzalel Ashkenazi, siman 15, the wife’s family blackmailed the husband and took him to a Muslim court. See also Weinstein, “Impotence,” 165. In Mishneh Torah, Issurei Bi’a 15:1, Maimonides ruled that a man who at marriage hid the fact of his mutilated genitals should be flagellated. 19

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literature and its obstacles on a wife’s path to divorce. How are we to explain the unreserved credit that the father gives to the daughter’s version of what happened in the wedding chamber? And why does he hasten to claim divorce without waiting for witnesses other than his daughter to testify to the alleged impotence? From whence did the daughter gain her medical and legal expertise? How is she so conversant in Talmudic terminology and halakhic sophistication? Why is the husband not allowed to defend himself? How can we explain this intimacy between father and daughter over sexual matters? And where is the mother?

3. FEMALE VOICE, MALE INTERTEXTS The impressive competence in self-advocacy shown by the fictional daughter presupposes some degree of learning, or at least of what Susan Schibanoff calls “aural reading.”22 Medieval and premodern women, claims Schibanoff, were readers, but of the ear, not of the eye. They listened to (or overheard) lessons and sermons of fathers, husbands, and rabbis. Scattered evidence to such half-literate women can be found in medieval male Hebrew literature.23 The daughter in our poem seems to be such an “aural reader,” surprisingly familiar with Talmud, midrash, and later arbiters of law. Aware of the legal difficulties that she has to overcome, especially of the obstacle of her credibility, and aware also of the threat to her life, this young woman has to use all her best persuasive skills to both prove her point and save her life. Her literacy will help her in this task. In suspecting her husband to be a castrate, she seems to be familiar with the Talmudic discussion of whether a castrate is capable of reproduction or not,24 as well as with the Talmudic list of the “signs” of the castrate, one of which is the lack of a beard.25 Being confused by her husband’s thin facial hair, though, she stretches her hand to his genitals only to find there other suspicious signs: a “bulge” and an empty scrotum. By using nefaḥ for “bulge,” the daughter discloses erudition in yet another field, that of medicine, for this rare word points to Ibn Sina’s Medical Canon in its

S. Schibanoff, “Taking the Gold Out of Egypt: The Art of Reading as a Woman,” in Gender and Reading: Essays on Readers, Texts, and Contexts, ed. E.A. Flynn and P.P. Schweickart (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986), 83-106. 23 See T. Rosen, Unveiling Eve: Reading Gender in Medieval Hebrew Literature (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003), 139-40, 180-83. 24 Yevamot 65a. 25 Yevamot 80b; and see also Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot ’Ishut 2:15. 22

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Hebrew translation.26 If indeed this is the young woman’s first encounter with male genitals, then this graphic description, using these technical terms, must have come from prior knowledge. Her description of the scrotum as being bulgy on its one side while empty on the other suggests that she is familiar with halakhic descriptions of anatomical deformities. Among a list of defects that disqualify a man for priesthood, we find also “he who has two pockets but only one testicle, or he whose testicles are both found in one pocket.”27 Even more peculiar is her use of the expression “an earless pocket” (lines 57-58), which refers in Maimonides’ Hilkhot Sheḥitah to a part of the animal’s lungs.28 Her use of biblical and midrashic allusions is no less sophisticated, especially where she gets to describe her husband’s organ. In line 22, she compares it to a “rod of a chestnut tree,” evoking the story of Jacob’s miraculous method of breeding. His flocks become sexually excited and then pregnant by being shown “rods of green poplar, and of the hazel and chestnut tree” (Gen. 30:37). Does the daughter insinuate that her husband’s organ is just a “rod,” incapable of impregnating, unless by miracle? Even more bizarre is the simile in line 21 where that “rod” appears to her “like the long nun in mishpataN.” That the word mishpataN (“their trial”) occurs precisely in the story of the daughters of Zelophehad (Num. 27:112), where women succeed in litigating their own case (and thus inheriting their father’s estate), seems quite pertinent to our poem. Strangely enough, this word ends in the Bible with an exceptionally obscure orthographic sign—an overly long final nun (that points downward)—to which the daughter compares her husband’s limb. This possessive nun is meant to emphasize that this trial was their (i.e., the daughters’) trial, and not Moses’. According to the midrash, God said to Moses that the women had obtained a unique knowledge: “I am hiding from you a thing that the[se] women know.”29 Their winning the trial proved that their command of the law was superior even to that of Moses. Additionally, the Talmud praises these five

The Canon was translated into Hebrew in thirteenth-century Italy by Nathan haMe’ati. See also Appendix 1, note to line 28. 27 Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Bi’at haMiqdash 7:9-10. 28 “And on the right side [of the lung] there is something like a small ear … and it has something like an independent pocket and it is found within this pocket” (Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Sheḥitah 8:1). 29 J.D. Eisenstein, Ozar Midrashim (New York: Reznic, Menschel, 1928), 433. 26

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assertive and resourceful women who were blessed with intelligence, rhetorical skills (darshaniyot), and piety.30 Does this sophisticated allusion to the daughters of Zelophehad hint at the superior knowledge of the daughter in the poem? Does it suggest that she knows something that her father does not know? Does it imply that she is as determined and as confident of her rhetoric as were the biblical daughters? Are they her “feminist” models?

4. THE WORLD OF THE POEM / THE POEM IN THE WORLD The evocation of the biblical trial (together with the halakhic intertexts) suggests a reading of this poem as a simulation of a trial. The father and the daughter are actually rehearsing here the daughter’s anticipated line of argumentation at court.31 The assumption is that if the daughter convinces her father privately, she will be able to do the same in court. In this makeshift trial, the daughter performs a multiple role: she is the accused wife, an eyewitness (like the “pious women” mentioned above), and an ingenious rabbinical claimant, acting both as her own advocate and as the husband’s prosecutor. The father’s affirmative response represents the wished-for verdict. Against the general atmosphere of ignoring or suspecting women’s complaints, here, in the alternative court imagined in the poem, a woman is being listened to and her word is being trusted. The poem reads thus as a woman’s wish coming true. In the imagined world of the poem, the daughter wins the heart of the father by manifesting a keen knowledge of the Law of the Father(s). With her “aural scholarship,” she seems to undermine the walls of male learning from which her kind was normally excluded. But is such a feminist reading not just wishful thinking for the contemporary feminist reader? And what of the world, that is, the “real” world, in which this poem was imagined? The Talmudic and midrashic sources put in the mouth of this fictional woman are primarily male. The intertextual web suggests a community of male scholars for whom this unique poem was produced and by whom it was enjoyed. The author, not necessarily a professional poet (more likely, a student weary of arduous 30 Baba Batra 119b. Their piety is said to be proved by their postponing marriage until they should find men as pious as they are. 31 Did women testify in court? According to Weinstein, “Impotence,” 171-72, based on an Italian responsum, the rabbi himself went to the woman’s kitchen to take her testimony.

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study of divorce cases), had probably tried his hand at a rhymed version of a “dry” legal case. If this conjecture is sound, the composition and recitation of such a poem amid sessions of serious learning could serve as a kind of intellectual diversion and perhaps of comic relief. Moreover, putting halakhic arguments in the mouth of an otherwise artless female could also be intended and understood as parody.32 The nexus between laughter and aggression (famously discussed in Freud’s “Jokes and Their Relation to the Unconscious”) comes to mind both in the daughter’s graphic description of her bridegroom’s genitalia and in the father’s threat to publicly humiliate him. This discloses a more general sentiment felt in medieval and premodern societies: the ridicule of the impotent and the hostility directed at him. One’s impotence was a trigger for castration anxiety in others. It caused shame to the individual and to his clan. Ridicule was its antidote. And since the first night was a semipublic event, ridicule, too, had to be expressed openly and loudly. A poem like ours gave vent to such negative male emotions. Similar sentiments must have underlain the ceremonies of the notorious charivaries in Western Europe.33 Other Hebrew texts in which impotents are derided and satirized come to mind. In Immanuel of Rome, a wife’s description of her husband’s destitution (“He has dissolved into the darkness he emerged from. His limbs are all shadowy, fleeting like rafts”) culminates in accusing her parents of positioning her as “a target to a squishy-squashy broken arrow.”34 In Don Vidal Benveniste’s Melitsat Efer ve-Dinah (discussed below), the impotent husband is described by his wife in most grotesque terms.35 Don Vidal is also the author of a rhymed epistle called Halatsa (“joke”),36 addressed to a friend who could not perform sexually on his wedding night. 32 For Talmudic language in the mouths of women as a humoristic ruse, see Rosen, Unveiling Eve, 138-39. For an understanding of the poem as a satire on impotence, see below. 33 Charivari ceremonies were practiced in Europe for centuries. They were usually directed at marriages unbalanced age-wise, as in the case of old men and young girls. Old men were thought to be either oversexed or impotent, or both. In order to ridicule a widow or widower who intended to marry, a gang of young men would scream and yell, or play cacophonic music under their windows. See also T. Pettit, “Protesting Inversions: Charivary as Folk Pageantry and Folk-Law,” Medieval English Theater 21 (1999): 21-25. 34 D. Jarden, ed., The Cantos of Immanuel of Rome (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1957), maḥberet 16, line 195; and maḥberet 17, lines 290-93. 35 Melitsat Efer ve-Dinah (see n. 7), lines 81-90, 138-47, 325-33, etc. 36 Printed by Huss as an appendix to Melitsat Efer ve-Dinah, 212-24.

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Cowritten by Vidal and two friends of his, the epistle scorns Avraham (probably a real person in their milieu), who “was as weak as a female” that night and “whose sword turned into wax.” They insist that their friend’s poor performance cast shame on them (lines 33-37, 46-48, 86), as if his condition were contagious, thus disclosing their own performance anxieties. Ridicule of impotence was a common entertainment in Jewish weddings and on the festival of Purim. In a Hebrew wedding song from sixteenth-century Italy, the bridegroom “could not thrust the wedge in the right place” and offered to write a divorce bill right away. The poet volunteers to call a potent man to replace him.37 In a poem written in Jewish Catalan-Provençal (interspersed with Hebrew words), the girl threatens to tear up her ketubah, and it is her old inept husband himself who promises to bring her “a good potent guy who will hold a big hosha‘na raba in his hand.”38

5. FATHERS, DAUGHTERS, AND THE ERASED MOTHER Melitsat Efer ve-Dinah, a rhymed narrative by Don Vidal Benveniste (Spain, fourteenth century),39 seems to be the closest thematic parallel to Bitti, bitti. Similarities to our poem abound, including the intertexts that both works seem to evoke. Most of the narrative of the Melitsah consists of dialogues between the father and the daughter, some of which are over matters of sexuality. The mother is entirely absent, except for a short mention of the “parents” who came to review the bloodstained sheet. Young Dinah is about to be given in marriage to a wicked old man. Foreseeing his impotence, she pleads with her father so as to dissuade him from his idea. Much like the daughter in our poem, Dinah exhausts all her erudition and rhetorical arsenal in her pleas to her father. She ridicules the old man’s physique and yearns for a husband her own age. Her main concern is her poor prospects for childbearing (lines 155-58). But her pleas are to no avail. The deal is sealed with Efer’s commitment to divorce and compensate her in case he proves impotent.40 On the wedding night (very much like the bridegroom in our poem), Efer “pulled his legs together on Weinstein, “Impotence,” 174-76. Published by M. Lazar, “Catalan-Provençal Wedding Songs (14th-15th Century)” (Hebrew), in Ḥayyim Schirmann Jubilee Volume (Jerusalem: Schocken Institute, 1970), 164-66. 39 Published by Huss (n. 7). See also T. Rosen, “Dinah as a Metaphor: A Story of Flesh and Blood or an Ethical Parable” (review of Huss’s edition; Hebrew), Pe’amim 104 (2005): 125-34. 40 See the discussion of the halakhic context above. 37 38

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the bed, and a great slumber fell upon him. Tired and weary he lay down all night.” But unlike the inquisitive and active daughter in our poem, “Dinah lay sadly at the corner of the bed” (lines 298-300). In the morning, her parents, accompanied by a group of women, failed to find the hymen blood on the sheet. Efer blames the failure on Dinah’s shyness (and on his own tender manner with her). The same occurs the next night, when Efer attributes his failure to Dinah’s narrow anatomy (“sogeret u-mesuggeret,” line 353).41 Realizing that Efer has cheated on him, the father now demands divorce.42 Another Dinah features in a medieval Hebrew treatise on obstetrics called Sefer hatoledet. This text, intended in all likelihood for the enlightenment and praxis of Jewish midwives, dates from the end of the twelfth century.43 The anatomical and obstetrical material is cast into a dialogue between a father, an expert gynecologist, and his daughter. The father assumes the name of the patriarch Jacob, while his daughter is called Dinah. That this sexually ignorant daughter would be named after Dinah, the biblical rape victim, is quite ironic. As noted above, “Dinah” recurs as a generic name in quite a number of responsa and legal texts, especially where sexual questions are involved.44 The wish of Jewish women to learn about their own anatomy is dramatically represented in the introduction to the Hebrew version: “And Dinah went out and approached her father and fell before his feet and wept and pleaded and said: My father, behold and see, my body is lowly and imperfect and weary and is controlled by the cold and moist phlegms.” A divine voice intervenes then, urging Jacob to redeem Dinah from her ignorance. Father and daughter are also encouraged to overcome embarrassment by “taking off the veil of shame that covers her face” (lines 16-18). Both this medical treatise and Bitti, bitti feature an unusual intimacy between father and daughter, an intimacy that, surprisingly or not, does not leave room for the mother. The absence of the mother (or of another female agency), in a situation where one would expect a motherly Cf. n. 16. Divorce, however, will never take place, since Efer poisons himself by taking an overdose of an aphrodisiac. 43 It is based on a sixth-century Latin translation/elaboration of a secondcentury Greek text by Suranus. See R. Barkaï, Les Infortunés de Dinah: Ou la gynécologie juive au Moyen Age (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1991), and idem, “A Medieval Hebrew Treatise on Obstetrics,” Medical History 33 (1989): 107-8. 44 See above and n. 12. 41 42

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involvement, is quite telling. On the social plane, it both reflects and reproduces the idea that the education of women and the policing of women’s sexuality are men’s business.

6. WHAT DOES A FATHER WANT? From another angle, the father-daughter dyad—and the erasure of the mother—lends itself readily to a Freudian reading. The Oedipal shift— from the phallic mother as the girl’s first love-object to the father—occurs, according to Freud, when the girl realizes her mother’s castration. It is this horror of castration, shared in our poem by father and daughter, which underlies their intimacy. “The wish with which the girl turns to her father is no doubt originally the wish for the penis that her mother has refused her and that she now expects from her father.”45 And it is her repudiation of the mother, her rival for the father’s love, that will pave her way to femininity. “Full femininity will be established when the wish for a penis is replaced by one for a baby, and quite especially so if the baby is male.” The resolution in the poem lies in an economy of substitutive penises/phalluses. The father promises to be the daughter’s provisional phallus, her protector and provider, until the effete husband is substituted with a proper male, identical to the father (“And to you, my daughter, I will give a man, a strong man, a man like me!”), one that will in turn provide her with her own wished-for penis, her baby. So much for the daughter’s psychology, but what does a father want?46 How are we to read his interests and desires? The father’s violent response, his readiness to be convinced by the daughter, his silencing of the husband, his promise to keep the daughter in his power until another man, “a man like him,” is found (if “a man like him” is ever found)—all these prove that not only is the Oedipal father a love-object for the daughter but that she, too, is an object of desire for him. The text may insinuate the unspoken reluctance of fathers to hand their daughters over to other men (contrary to their patriarchal task of ensuring that they wed). The daughter’s unwillingness to stay married plays thus into the hands of the father who is unwilling to give her in marriage. Or, otherwise put, the daughter’s desire

45 S. Freud, “Femininity,” in New Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis, trans. and ed. J. Strachy (New York: W. W. Norton, 1965 [1933]), 159. 46 Following Freud’s question: “The great question that has never been answered … is ‘What does a woman want?’ ”—quoted in E. Jones, The Life and Work of Sigmund Freud (New York: Basic Books, 1955), 2:421.

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meets that of the father. The expulsion of the husband restores the fatherdaughter dyad. The daughter’s last words in the poem (“O my father, I must have found favor in your sight for you have comforted me”) echo Ruth’s words to Boaz (Ruth 2:13). Does the daughter allude to Boaz’s function as redeemer (go’el) to Ruth? Is she “comforted” because she deems the father to be her redeemer? In its technical sense, the biblical verb ga’al has to do with property being returned to the hands of its original owner (Leviticus 25, 27) or with women being redeemed by their being married to a potent relative (Ruth)—a relative who was close enough, but not so close as to risk incestuous relations. The same verb occurs in Sefer hatoledet, the gynecological composition mentioned above. There, a divine voice urges the father Jacob to be attentive “to the daughter’s plight” and to redeem Dinah from her ignorance in sexual matters. The argument used by the voice is that “the daughter has no redeemer [go’el] closer than her father.” Both the scene in Sefer hatoledet and in our poem, of father and daughter conversing on matters sexual (and especially about male genitalia) and the father’s becoming a voyeur to his daughter’s first sexual experience, have more than a bit of an incestuous air around them.

7. THE WIFE’S LAMENT Relating to the poem as just “a versified legal case” ignores the emotional dimension of the young woman’s monologue, her account of the events, her most intimate thoughts at the wedding night, her expressions of disappointment and despair, her nostalgic recollections of past suitors, and her hopes for future happiness. To these we may also add the relative intricacy of the girl’s speech. Within the dramatic monologue, reporting to her father in the past tense about the previous night’s events, she interweaves her apostrophes to her heart (lines 36-48, 50-54, 61-62), in direct speech and in the present tense, revealing her innermost feelings in real time. These quite lyrical features suggest intertexts other than halakhic literature. What, then, could be the literary models for the young woman’s speech? One place to look for possible parallels is the Spanish school of medieval Hebrew poetry, which, at the time and place when this poem was written, was still the ideal poetic system. Needless to say, this was an exclusively male system, written by men for men and from an androcentric perspective. This fact notwithstanding, medieval Hebrew poetry allowed for some enclaves of female speech. In Arabic and Mozarabic kharjas, passionate (or desperate) maidens often confessed to their mothers (not

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fathers!) about love affairs, consummated and unconsummated. Another female voice arrested in male texts is the bride’s speech in classical Hebrew wedding songs. Using the metaphor of Canticles, the bride daringly invites her bridegroom to enter her “enclosed garden” and enjoy its “fruit” (cf. line 38 in our poem and line 4 in Immanuel’s poem below).47 In some balladlike laments, dead daughters bemoan their dying before marrying, accusing their mothers for betrothing them to the Angel of Death. Despite certain similarities, it is hard to see in any of these classical subgenres the literary model for the daughter’s monologue. Closer to the theme of Bitti, bitti are two works of Hebrew rhymed prose where young women lament their unfortunate marriages to impotent husbands. Like the female speaker in Bitti, bitti, they nostalgically recall past forlorn loves, and, like her, they grieve over their prospective childlessness. One is Melitsat Efer ve-Dinah, discussed above; the other is by Immanuel of Rome (1261[?]1328[?]). In Immanuel’s sixteenth maḥberet, a female protagonist, a paragon of beauty and wisdom, is married to an impotent. When she was eighteen, her parents forced her to marry this vile person, “reek and stench among people,” and she, afraid of dying a virgin, agreed. The following is a lamentpoem that she improvises in the ears of two suitors who come to “comfort” her: Evil Time has wronged me, abandoned me, deserted me … / Has given me to a worthless, bald-headed man. / Woe to me, it is [only] to my own self that I should turn my complaints…. / When lovers entreated me to enjoy my Garden of Eden / I detested and despised them, refused them even as guards for my herd, / I killed them with words … and now Time avenges their blood…. / [Time] handed me to this miserable man of maimed sex, this dried-up tree…. / Heaven, earth, and dwellers, listen to me! … / And if you find me guilty— kill me…. / To you father, I cry for justice, and [you] mother [I curse] for giving birth to me.… / Was I not pretty? Was I not called the World’s Joy? / How could you make me a target to a squishy-squashy broken arrow? / From now on … do not blame me if my heart turns to lovemaking.… / Do not wonder … at my words and thoughts / Which were forced upon me by my grief and groaning.… / [Nevertheless,] and despite my heavy complaints and insults, / I 47 For a short discussion of wedding poems, laments, and the kharjas, see Rosen, Unveiling Eve, 8-9, 16-17, and notes. For questioning the “femininity” of the kharjas, see Mary Jane Kelley, “Virgins Misconceived: Poetic Voice in the Mozarabic Kharjas,” La Coronica 19 (1990-91): 1-23.

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still hope and expect that [my husband] again lays his hands upon me. / If so he does—no evil hand will ever turn me away from him. / I’ll rejoice in him then and all eyes will witness this.48

Her lament shares many motifs with our poem: the ridicule of the husband’s deformity, the plea to her parents, the lament over her vanished beauty, and the regret over the suffering that she had caused to her past suitors. While the daughter in our poem still entertains the hope of divorce, and possibly of a second marriage, Immanuel’s more pessimistic but still joyful wife seeks happiness in extramarital flirtations. World literature and folk traditions are replete with similar examples.49 Immanuel’s “wife lament” seems to draw upon the treasures of international folk song. An Italian poem by the anonymous woman poet nicknamed Compiuta Donzella (“The Accomplished Young Lady,” born c. 1240, Florence) seems to echo similar sounds. Despairing over her imminent marriage to a man she has no passion for, the girl contrasts the joys of spring with her own present sorrow: All gentlefolk are in love… But as for me, I’m full of sadness and weeping. For my father has put me in distress And keeps me constantly in great misery. He wants to give me to a husband against my will… And I live in great torment all the time. That’s why I find no joy in flower and leaf.50

8. THE SPEECH WORLDS OF WOMEN AND MEN The issue of female voices in male texts has engaged much of feministmedievalist criticism. The questions often asked are: To what extent are these arrested (and, at times, arresting!) female voices truly “authentic” and unmediated? Are they not muffled by male transmission? Do they derive directly from women’s lived experience? Do they echo women’s folk culture? Alternatively, are they entirely counterfeited by male poets? Why would a male author volunteer to become a mouthpiece for women? Why would he act as ventriloquist for female outbursts of joy or misery? Whose interest do such poetic female voices ultimately serve— women’s or men’s? The Cantos of Immanuel of Rome, maḥberet 16, 160-211. See “mother” in the index of A.L. Klinck, ed., Anthology of Ancient and Medieval Woman’s Songs (New York: Palgrave McMillan, 2004). 50 Ibid., 113. 48 49

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Feminist critics are divided. Some dismiss such female voices as collaborating with the dominant system. Others suggest considering them as seeds of “otherness,” as sites of embedded resistance. Inscribed into male-authored texts, they are said to undermine the androcentric logic that has produced them.51 That the daughter in our poem serves as a medium through which patriarchal messages are communicated needs no further proof. However, the space allocated here to the female speech, the nature of her speech, and the intertexts that it evokes, suggest reading it alternatively as an expression of something other than only the hegemonic discourse. Rather than dismissing female voices in male-authored texts as collaborating with the system, it is suggested here, and in other cases, to consider them as seeds of “otherness” that defy the male texts’ self-proclaimed assumptions. Beyond the exchange of male and female voices in this poem, there is an encounter here of male and female intertexts. The daughter’s monologue—which, on the one hand, is saturated in male learning, and, on the other hand, resonates with female voices—forms a hybrid between the legal discourse and certain poetic forms of female expression. It brings together the speech worlds of women and men, worlds that, in Jewish societies in premodern times, were symbolically and ideally separated.

APPENDIX 1: HEBREW POEM AND NOTES We have followed the spelling of the manuscript, including the irregular use of the vowels ‫אהו"י‬. The poem is written in the mishqal ha-tenu‘ot meter— sixteen vowels in each line. Deviating lines are: 5, 9, 13, 22, 32, 34, 35, 39. For more on the metrical system, see n. 53. – – – – / – – – – // – – – – / – – – – ‫ ִאישׁ ֶבּן אוֹנִ י‬/ ‫יך ִעם‬ ְ ‫ ֵא ַר ְס ִתּ‬/ ‫ ֶמה ָע ִשׂית? ִכּי‬/ ,‫ ִבּ ִתּי‬,‫ִבּ ִתּי‬ ‫ ָר ֲא ָתה ֵעינִ י‬/ ‫ ַמה ֶזּה ִכּי לֹא‬/ !‫ ַבּ ַעל קוֹ ָמה‬/ ,‫ַגּם הוּא ָי ֶפה‬ ?‫ ִשׂ ַמּ ְח ִתּנִ י‬/ ‫ גַּם ִבּ ְבתוּ ֵל ְך‬/ ,‫ ַעל ִשׂ ְמ ָל ֵת ְך‬/ ‫ִבּ ְכבוֹד ָדּ ֵמ ְך‬ .‫ ִח ַלּ ְל ִתּנִ י‬/ – ‫ ִאם כֹּה ָע ִשׂית‬/ ?‫ אוּ ַלי ָשׂ ִטית‬/ ,‫אָ ֵכן ֶא ְפ ַחד‬ 5 !‫יתנִ י‬ ִ ‫ ְבּ ִזּ‬/ ‫יתי‬ ִ ‫ ִאם תּוֹ ְך ֵבּ‬/ ,‫ ִל ְשׂרֹוף אוֹ ָת ְך‬/ ‫ִדּי ֵנ ְך ָבּ ֵאשׁ‬ .‫ ִק ַלּ ְל ָתּנִ י‬/ ‫ ַעל לֹא ָח ָמס‬/ ,‫ אָ ִבי אוֹי ִבי‬/ ,‫אָ ִבי אוֹיְ ִבי‬ .‫ ִה ְשׁ ַכּ ְב ָתּנִ י‬/ ‫ וּ ְכרוּת ָשׁ ְפ ָכה‬/ ‫ ֶאל ִאישׁ ָס ִריס‬/ ‫אתנִ י‬ ָ ‫ִה ְמ ֵצ‬ ,‫ ַעל ַמ ְטמוֹנִ י‬/ ‫ ֵהנִ יף ָידוֹ‬/ ,‫ָופיִ י‬ ְ ‫ ָראָה י‬/ ,‫יטנִ י‬ ָ ‫ִה ְפ ִשׁ‬ .‫ ִבּ ְפ ֵני ִב ְטנִ י‬/ ‫ ָיכוֹל ָלקוּם‬/ ‫ ָפּ ָניו ִכּי לֹא‬/ ‫ִה ְת ַל ְבּנוּ‬ ,‫ ַעל ַהיְ ִמינִ י‬/ ‫ ָכּל ַה ַלּיְ ָלה‬/ ,‫ דּוֹ ָה ֶא ָחד‬/ -‫ נִ ְר ַדּם ַעל ִצ‬10 51 See T. Rosen, “On Tongues Being Bound and Let Loose: Women in Medieval Hebrew Literature,” Prooftexts 8 (1988): 67-87; and idem, Unveiling Eve, chap. 1.

‫‪149‬‬

‫‪15‬‬

‫‪20‬‬

‫‪25‬‬

‫‪30‬‬

‫‪35‬‬

‫‪40‬‬

‫?‪WHAT DOES A FATHER WANT‬‬ ‫וּ ְכמוֹ נוּ"ן ִמ ְשׁ‪ָ / -‬פּ ָטן אָרוֹ ְך‪ / ,‬נִ ְד ֶמה ִלי ַמ‪ֵ / -‬קּל ַע ְרמוֹנִ י‪.‬‬ ‫אָז ִא ַבּ ְד ִתּי ‪ֶ /‬את ַה ֵשּׁי ָנה‪ / ,‬נִ ְשׁ ַחר ִל ִבּי ‪ִ /‬עם ַר ְעיוֹנִ י‪.‬‬ ‫ֹה ַבי‪ָ / ,‬כּל ַבּחוּ ִרים ‪ֶ /‬שׁ ֲא ֵהבוּנִ י‪.‬‬ ‫ָז ַכ ְר ִתּי ֶאת ‪ָ /‬כּל א ֲ‬ ‫לֹא ָח ַמ ְל ִתּי‪ / ,‬לֹא ִר ַח ְמ ִתּי‪ַ / ,‬על ָענְ ָשׁם עֹו‪ֶ / -‬נש גּוּ ָפנִ י‪,‬‬ ‫אתי ‪ִ /‬ל ְכבֹד אָ ִבי‪ָ / ,‬גּם ָגּ ַד ְר ִתּי ‪ֶ /‬אל ִצ ְמאוֹנִ י‪.‬‬ ‫ִכּי ָי ֵר ִ‬ ‫ָע ַב ְר ִתּי ַעל ‪ָ /‬כּל ִמדּוֹ ַתי‪ / ,‬נִ ְשׁ ַמ ְר ִתּי ִל ְר‪ / -‬אוֹת ִבּ ְקלוֹנִ י‪.‬‬ ‫וּל ַר ֲעבֹנִ י –‬ ‫ַע ָתּה ַמה ֶזּה ‪ָ /‬גּ ַמל ָה ֵאל ‪ִ /‬ל ְצנִ יעוּ ִתי ‪ְ /‬‬ ‫ילנִ י?‬ ‫ִלנְ פּוֹל תּוֹ ְך ֶר‪ֶ / -‬שׁת ָה] ֶא[ ָחד‪ / ,‬לוֹ ַמר אַ ֵחר ‪ִ /‬ה ְשׁ ִגּ ָ‬ ‫ַמה ֶזּה ִכּי ֶזה ‪ /‬נִ ְב ֶזה ָר ֶזה ‪ /‬לֹא ָשׂם רֹאשׁוֹ ‪ֶ /‬אל תּוֹ ְך גַּנִּ י?‬ ‫ִאם ִכּשּׁוּ ִפים ‪ֶ /‬שׁ ַנּ ֲעשׂוּ לוֹ‪ / ,‬אוֹ נִ ְס ָתּ ֵרס‪ / ,‬אוֹ ַשׁ ְכ ָרנִ י?‬ ‫ַל ָסּ ִריס ֵאין ‪ /‬לוֹ ַה ָזּ ָקן – ‪ /‬וּ ְל ֶזה ֵפּאוֹת ‪ָ /‬ז ָקן ָענִ י‪,‬‬ ‫ַה ִשּׁכּוֹ ִרים ‪ִ /‬מ ְתאַ ְדּ ִמים – ‪ֶ /‬זה ֶנ ֱה ַפ ְך ַי ְר‪ִ / -‬קי ְל ָבנִ י‪,‬‬ ‫ַדּאי ִכּשּׁוּ‪ִ / -‬פים ַנ ֲעשׂוּ לוֹ‪ֵ / ,‬מרוֹב ִקנְ אָה ‪ֶ /‬שׁ ִקּנְּ אוּנִ י‪,‬‬ ‫וַ‬ ‫ופיִ י‪ַ / ,‬גּם לֹא יִ ְשׁ ֶתּה ‪ִ /‬מ ַמּ ְע ָיינִ י‪.‬‬ ‫ֶשׁלֹּא יִ ְשׂ ַמח ‪ִ /‬עם רוֹב ָי ְ‬ ‫אָז ַשׁ ְב ִתּי ֶאל ‪ִ /‬ל ִבּי לוֹ ַמר‪" / :‬אָ ֵכן ֵישׁ ִתּ ְק‪ָ / -‬וה ִבּ ְז ַמנִּ י‪,‬‬ ‫ימי עֹונִ י‪.‬‬ ‫ִה ֵנּה אָשׁוּב ‪ִ /‬ל ְראוֹת ֶי ַשׁע ‪ִ /‬בּ ְמלֹאת ִכּישּׁוּף ‪ /‬וִ ֵ‬ ‫ימן ‪ֶ /‬שׁ ַינְ ֵחנִ י"‪.‬‬ ‫ֶא ְשׁ ַלח ָי ִדי ‪ֶ /‬אל ִס ָמּ ָניו‪ֶ / ,‬א ְר ֶאה ִס ָ‬ ‫ימינִ י‪,‬‬ ‫ָשׁ ַל ְח ִתּי ֶאת ‪ָ /‬י ִדי ִל ְראוֹת‪ִ / ,‬מ ַשּׁ ְשׁ ִתּי ֶנ‪ַ / -‬פח ִבּ ִ‬ ‫אתי ִכּיס ‪ִ /‬בּ ְב ִלי אֹו ֶזן‪ִ / ,‬בּ ְדמוּת ִכּיסוֹ ‪ֶ /‬שׁל ַס ְח ָרנִ י‪.‬‬ ‫ָמ ָצ ִ‬ ‫אָז ָה ְשׁ ַבּ ְר ִתּי ‪ָ /‬גּם ָק ַד ְר ִתּי‪ / ,‬אָ ֵכן ַשׁ ָמּה ‪ֶ /‬ה ֱח ִז ָק ְתנִ י‪.‬‬ ‫אָ ַמ ְר ִתּי אָז‪" / :‬אָ ַבד נִ ְצ ִחי‪ַ / ,‬גּם תּוֹ ַח ְל ִתּי ‪ִ /‬עם ִצ ְביוֹנִ י!"‪.‬‬ ‫ִבּ ִתּי‪ִ ,‬בּ ִתּי‪ִ / ,‬ה ְת ַנ ֲח ִמי‪ / ,‬יִ ַמּח ִז ְכ ָרם ‪ֶ /‬שׁ ִרמּוּנִ י‪,‬‬ ‫ֶא ְר ֶאה נִ ְק ָמ‪ֵ / -‬ת ְך ִמ ֶמּנּוּ‪ / ,‬אוֹי לוֹ ִכּי ָנ‪ַ / -‬פל ַבּ ֲחרוֹנִ י‪.‬‬ ‫ְכּמוֹ ָנ ָבל ‪ /‬אַ ְפ ִחי] ֶד[נּוּ‪ִ / ,‬בּ ְמקוֹם שׂוּמוֹ ‪ /‬רֹאשׁ ַגּם רוֹ ְזנִ י‪.‬‬ ‫יתּנִ י?‬ ‫ימהוּ‪ / ,‬בּוּז ִמ ְשׁ ָפּחוֹת ‪ /‬יְ ִח ֵ‬ ‫יכהוּ‪ / ,‬אַ ְכ ִל ֵ‬ ‫אַ ְשׁ ִל ֵ‬ ‫ישׁים ‪ַ /‬גּם ִמ ְס ֵכּנִ י‪:‬‬ ‫ָנ ָבל‪ָ ,‬ס ִריס ‪ /‬וּ ְכרוּת ָשׁ ְפ ָכה‪ַ / ,‬ו ֲח ַדל ִא ִ‬ ‫יתנִ י?‬ ‫יא ָך ‪ַ /‬ק ַחת ִבּ ִתּי? ‪ַ /‬על ַמה ֶזּה ִכּי ‪ִ /‬ר ִמּ ָ‬ ‫ִמי ִה ִשּׁ ֲ‬ ‫וסף עוֹד ‪ִ /‬ל ְראוֹת ִבּ ְפ ֵני ‪ִ /‬בּ ִתּי ִמ ְסתּוֹ‪ִ / -‬רי וּ ְצפוּנִ י!‬ ‫אַל תֹּ ֶ‬ ‫וְ ָל ְך ִבּ ִתּי ‪ֶ /‬א ֵתּן ֶגּ ֶבר‪ִ / ,‬גּבּוֹר ַחיִ ל‪ִ / ,‬אישׁ ָכּמוֹנִ י!‬ ‫אתי ֵחן ‪ /‬תּוֹ ְך ֵעינְ ָך ִכּי ‪ /‬נִ ַח ְמ ָתּנִ י‪.‬‬ ‫אָ ִבי‪ִ ,‬ל ִבּי‪ָ / ,‬מ ָצ ִ‬

‫‪ 5-1‬דברי האב‪ 1 .‬בן אוני‪ :‬גבר בעל אונים‪ ,‬על‪-‬פי בר' לה‪:‬יח‪ 3 / .‬שמחתני‪ :‬רוצה‬ ‫לומר "לא שמחתני"‪ 5 / .‬דינך באש‪ :‬במקרא דין הנערה שלא נמצאו לה בתולים‬ ‫הוא סקילה )דב' כב‪:‬כ‪-‬כא(‪ 31-6 / .‬דברי הבת‪ 6 .‬על לא חמס‪ :‬יש' נג‪:‬ט‪ 7 / .‬וכרות‬ ‫שפכה‪ :‬דב' כג‪:‬ב‪ ,‬ורש"י מפרש‪" :‬שנכרת הגיד )אבר המין( ושוב אינו יורה קילוח‬ ‫זרע אלא שופך ושותת ואינו מוליד"‪ 9 / .‬לא יכול לקום‪ :‬על‪-‬פי "ישען על ביתו ולא‬ ‫יעמד‪ ,‬יחזיק בו ולא יקום" )איוב ח‪:‬טו(‪ .‬בספרות השו"ת משמש הפסוק לתיאור‬ ‫אימפוטנציה‪ .‬ואולי יש כאן משום לעג לחתן ש"תש כוחו כנקבה" על דרך הכתוב‪:‬‬ ‫"ותאמר אל אביה‪...‬לוא אוכל לקום מפניך כי דרך נשים היא לי" )בר' לא‪:‬לה(‪11 / .‬‬ ‫וכמו‪...‬ארוך‪ :‬וכמו הנו"ן הסופית במלה "משפטן" )במ' כז‪:‬ה( הארוכה מן הרגיל‪,‬‬ ‫שעליה נדרש‪" :‬ויקרב משה את משפטן )של בנות צלפחד( – ן' גדולה‪ ,‬לפי שאמר‬ ‫משה‪ :‬והדבר אשר יקשה מכם תקריבון אלי ושמעתיו )דב' א‪:‬יז(‪ .‬אמר הקב"ה‪:‬‬ ‫אליך ולא אלי‪ ,‬בתמיה! חייך אני מעלים ממך דבר שהנשים יודעות כן‪ ,‬שנאמר‪ :‬כן‬ ‫בנות צלפחד דוברות )במ' כז(" )אייזנשטיין‪ ,‬אוצר מדרשים‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ .(433‬והכוונה‬ ‫לדמות אבר מינו‪ .‬נדמה‪...‬ערמוני‪ :‬על‪-‬פי "ויקח לו יעקב מקל לבנה‪...‬וערמון‪...‬ויחמו‬ ‫הצאן אל המקלות" )בר' ל‪:‬לז‪-‬לט(‪ 12 / .‬נשחר‪ :‬על‪-‬פי "עורי שחר" )איוב ל‪:‬ל(‪16 / .‬‬

‫‪TOVA ROSEN AND URIAH KFIR‬‬

‫‪150‬‬

‫עברתי על כל מדותי‪ :‬התאפקתי בניגוד לטבעי‪ ,‬על דרך "מעביר על מידותיו" )בבלי‬ ‫תענית כה ע"ב(‪ 18 / .‬ה]א[חד‪ :‬ההשלמה על‪-‬פי המשקל וההקשר‪ ,‬ושיעור הדברים‪:‬‬ ‫שתי מכות ניחתו עלי – לא די בזה שנפלתי ברשתו של סריס ונשארתי בבתולי‪ ,‬עתה‬ ‫נאמר עלי ששכבתי עם אחר ואינני בתולה‪ .‬שתי המכות הן גמול מ ֻעוות לשתי‬ ‫הצדקות מן הטור הקודם – צניעותי ורעבוני‪ .‬ואולי יש להשלים – הח]ש[ד‪20 / .‬‬ ‫שכרני‪ :‬שיכור‪ 21 / .‬לסריס אין לו הזקן‪ :‬כלשון התלמוד‪" :‬הרי הוא כסריס‪...‬ואלו‬ ‫הן סימניו‪ ,‬כל שאין לו זקן" )בבלי יבמות פ ע''ב(‪ .‬זקן עני‪ :‬כנראה‪ :‬מדולדל‪22 / .‬‬ ‫ירקי לבני‪ :‬בגוונים חולניים; כמו צבעי הנגעים )ויקרא יג‪-‬יד(‪ 25 / .‬בזמני‪ :‬בחיי‪ ,‬או‬ ‫כשיעבור זמן הכישוף‪ 26 / .‬וימי עוני‪ :‬ימי פורענות‪ ,‬על‪-‬פי איוב ל‪:‬טז‪ ,‬כז‪27 / .‬‬ ‫לסמניו‪ :‬מלשון דברי הרמב"ם‪" :‬ובית הערווה כולו מקום סימנין" )משנה תורה‪,‬‬ ‫נשים‪ ,‬הלכות אישות ב‪:‬יז(‪ .‬שינחני‪ :‬שידריכני; אולי שימוש היתולי ב"גם שם ידך‬ ‫תנחני" )תה' קלט‪:‬י(‪ 28 / .‬נפח‪ :‬נפיחות‪ .‬אצל רש"י )לבבלי כתובות ו ע"ב( משמשת‬ ‫המונח לתיאור מורסה‪ .‬אבן סינא מדבר על "נפח" באבר המין הזכרי‪" :‬ולפעמים‬ ‫ינפח עמו האבר ותחדש נפח הכיס ועור הביצים" )הקאנון לאבן סינא‪ ,‬בתרגום נתן‬ ‫המאתי‪ ,‬נאפולי רנ"ב‪ ,‬ספר ג‪ ,‬אופן יד‪ ,‬מאמר רביעי‪ ,‬פרק ח(‪ .‬אבן זבארה שהיה אף‬ ‫הוא רופא מזכיר "נפח" בהקשר של שלפוחית השתן )ספר השעשועים‪ ,‬פרק ט‪ ,‬יב;‬ ‫בתי הנפש‪ ,‬טור ‪ 29 / .(38‬כיס‪ :‬שק אשכים אחד )ולא שניים(‪ ,‬כלשון ר' ישמעאל‪:‬‬ ‫"אם יש לו שני כיסין‪ ,‬יש לו שתי ביצים; אין לו אלא כיס אחד‪ ,‬אין לו אלא ביצה‬ ‫אחת" )משנה בכורות ו‪:‬ו(‪ .‬וכן בדברי הרמב"ם‪" :‬המומין הפוסלים באדם )מעבודת‬ ‫המקדש(‪...‬מי ששתי ביציו בכיס אחד" )משנה תורה‪ ,‬עבודה‪ ,‬הלכות ביאת המקדש‬ ‫ח‪:‬א‪ ,‬ח(‪ .‬בבלי אוזן‪ :‬שק אשכים‪ ,‬כנראה‪ ,‬ריק‪ .‬המונחים האנטומיים "כיס" ו"אוזן"‬ ‫הריאָה[ כמו אוזן‬ ‫מופיעים בהלכות שחיטה ח‪:‬א לרמב"ם‪" :‬ובצד ימין ממנה ]מן ֵ‬ ‫קטנה‪...‬ויש לה כמו כיס בפני עצמה והיא בתוך הכיס"‪ .‬כיסו של סחרני‪ :‬ארנקו של‬ ‫רוכל‪ .‬סחרני‪ :‬סוחר‪ ,‬מלשון "לא בסחרנים ולא בתגרים" )בבלי ערובין נה ע"א(‪.‬‬ ‫ופירש שם רש"י‪" :‬סחרנין‪ :‬מחזרים בעיירות"‪ 30 / .‬השברתי‪...‬החזקתני‪ :‬על‪-‬פי יר'‬ ‫ח‪:‬כא‪ .‬שמה‪ :‬שיממון ותימהון‪ 31 / .‬אבד‪...‬תוחלתי‪ :‬על‪-‬פי איכה ג‪:‬יח‪ .‬צביוני‪ :‬צבי‬ ‫במובן יופי‪ ,‬כמו למשל ביח' ז‪:‬כ‪ 39-32 / .‬דברי האב‪ 34 .‬אפחי]ד[נו‪ :‬ההשלמה על‪-‬פי‬ ‫המשקל וההקשר‪ 35 / .‬בוז משפחות יחיתני‪ :‬איוב לא‪:‬לד‪ ,‬ופירש ראב"ע‪" :‬והנבזה‬ ‫במשפחות האדמה יחתני ויפחידני"‪ ,‬וכאן מופיע כשאלה‪ ,‬דהיינו‪ ,‬הנבזה כמוהו‬ ‫יפחידני? ‪ 37 /‬השיאך‪ :‬פיתה אותך‪ 38-36 / .‬האב לחתן‪ 38 .‬אל תוסף עוד לראות‬ ‫בפני בתי‪ :‬על דרך דברי פרעה למשה )שמ' י‪:‬כח(‪ 39 / .‬איש כמוני‪ :‬איוב ט‪:‬לב‪40 / .‬‬ ‫דברי הבת ‪ 40‬מצאתי‪...‬נחמתני‪ :‬על דרך דברי רות לבועז )רות ב‪:‬יג(‪.‬‬

‫‪APPENDIX 2: THE MANUSCRIPT AND THE AUTHOR‬‬ ‫‪Bitti, bitti is the first in a collection of twenty-one poems copied in the‬‬ ‫‪Hebrew MS Guenzburg 228 preserved in the Russian State Library in‬‬ ‫‪Moscow. We are grateful to the Institute of Microfilmed Hebrew‬‬ ‫‪Manuscripts at the National Library in Jerusalem for providing us with a‬‬ ‫‪microfilm of the manuscript. According to the catalog of the institute, the‬‬ ‫‪manuscript was copied by several hands over a long span of time (the‬‬ ‫‪sixteenth through the eighteenth centuries). Its contents are diverse: letters,‬‬ ‫‪midrashic material, liturgical poetry, and prayers for special occasions. The‬‬ ‫‪pieces follow one another in changing hands and apparently with no‬‬

WHAT DOES A FATHER WANT?

151

specific order. A few other items in this manuscript are of a mystical nature: one is known to be by Hayyim Vital, disciple of Rabbi Isaac Luria Ashkenazi, another is an exegesis of the Zohar. Amid this diverse material, copied in Sephardi cursive handwriting, is a section of poetry (fols. 222a238a) that includes, among other lesser-known pieces, poems by the famous poets Samuel Hanagid and Judah Halevi. Our attention was drawn to a group of twenty-one poems (fols. 222a224a) by an unidentified poet. Except for Bitti, bitti, most of the other poems in this collection are quite short and on miscellaneous topics. Alongside a rhymed version of Maimonides’ thirteen principles and a poem for Purim, we find witty epigrams and a number of brief rhymed depictions of various objects (e.g., sword, wine cup, chandelier, apples). Of special interest to us are three epigrams dealing with marriage. The epigram immediately following our poem is titled “Consolation to a lad who married a widow.” The second, “Song to a bridegroom,” recommends copulation with (“tilling of”) one’s wife as a form of worshiping God. The third, “On the intention of marriage,” offers advice not to marry a rich man’s daughter just for her father’s money. While these epigrams are quite economical in formulating their marital wisdom, Bitti, bitti does it in a lengthier and more detailed manner. The majority of poems in this collection are monorhymed and written in quantitative meter (in the classical Andalusian tradition).52 Bitti, bitti seems to generally follow the mishqal ha-tenu‘ot.53 In terms of vocabulary, the poem mixes biblical Hebrew with Talmudic and midrashic idioms. With the exception of the poem for Purim, which has four couplets, each having a different rhyme. 53 In its ideal Andalusian form, mishqal ha-tenu‘ot (“the vowel meter”) consisted of sixteen long vowels (without any mobile shevas or ḥatafs). A number of lines in our poem (specified at the beginning of Appendix 1) reach the count of sixteen only when we scan a sheva or a ḥataf as a long vowel. These metrical irregularities might be due, of course, to copyist errors or the ineptitude of the poet himself. On the other hand, our poet might be employing (whether sporadically or intentionally) the new phonetic-syllabic meter (known as the Italian meter) in which short vowels are scanned as long. Tova Be’eri is of the opinion that the use of this meter among poets (some of them amateurish) in the East and in North Africa from the beginning of the sixteenth century was not an Italian influence, but a phonetic adjustment to the Spanish syllabic meter, usually employed in (semi-)liturgical poems. Its use in the sixteenth century was boosted by the popularity of Israel Najara (b. 1555), who employed it liberally; see T. Be’eri, “The Phonetical-Syllabic Meter in Medieval Hebrew Poetry” (Hebrew), Jerusalem Studies in Hebrew Literature 8 (1985): 56 n. 30. Although some other items in this manuscript are by Italian 52

152

TOVA ROSEN AND URIAH KFIR

Who was, or could be, the author of this poem? The inscription that follows the last poem in this collection reads: “Here end the poems of…” The name itself is, unfortunately, badly blurred. The first name might be deciphered, with some effort, as Iṣḥaq. Of the surname, only one letter (yod) can be identified. The catalog of the Institute of Microfilmed Hebrew Manuscripts suggests the reading Iṣḥaq Qimḥi, a name shared by several wellknown medieval Jewish personages.54 However, a close look at the blurred letters in the microfilmed copy discounts this conjecture. (It is still possible that an examination of the original manuscript in Moscow will yield a more accurate identification). Some clues can be gained from the epigrams themselves. Two consecutive epigrams (fol. 223a) refer to a congregation by the name of Gerush, and speak of donations of art objects made to a synagogue. One poem speaks of a donation of tappuḥim (“apples,” an ornament for the Torah scroll) made to Qehal Gerush; another is about an ‘ashashit (lamp or chandelier) brought from Castile and donated by a certain Joseph to Keneset le-Gerush. The latter poem reads: Behold the beauty of a red chandelier, dedicated to the living God, in the synagogue of Gerush. Joseph has donated to the living God this Castilian-made chandelier out of his kind and pure heart 55

Whether Joseph, the donor, was also the poet himself is hard to tell. However, it is likely that the epigram of dedication was inscribed on the

authors (or copied by Italian hands), it is of little probability that our poem is from Italy. Its meter does not seem to belong to the Italian type but rather to the Eastern one. On the provenance of our poet, see below. 54 The Jewish Encyclopedia (New York, 1904), 7:495, lists no fewer than five different persons named Isaac Kimḥi. One poem from this collection (Enosh nivra, fol. 224b) was mistakenly and anachronistically attributed to the twelfth-century Joseph Kimḥi and was included in a later manuscript of his Shekel haKodesh, as well as in Hermann Gollancz’s edition of Shekel haKodesh (London, 1939), 87. According to the editor’s evidence, he found it, alongside other poems, “on the fly-leaf of a ms. copy of the More nebuchim” that was in his possession. Another poem from this collection (Halo tov, fol. 224b) was anonymously published in the Literaturblatt des Orient; see Israel Davidson, Thesaurus of Medieval Hebrew Poetry (New York: Ktav, 1970), 2:143. 55 The last word, rhyming with Gerush, is blurred.

WHAT DOES A FATHER WANT?

153

chandelier itself. The same goes for the epigram dedicating the Torah “apples” (which was also, most likely, inscribed on their surface).56 The term Gerush that appears in the poem was commonly included in names of synagogues established by communities of expelled Jews, some of which we were able to locate. An elegant Gerush Synagogue founded at the beginning of the sixteenth century is still active in Bursa, Turkey. Two other congregations named Gerush existed in Izmir and in Constantinople. Qehal Gerush used to be an important congregation in Salonika.57 Which Qehal Gerush is then the one referred to in our poems? Since the manuscript attributes the shorter poems to the same poet who wrote Bitti, bitti, an additional geographical detail might be of interest. An inscription heading one of the shorter poems mentions the poet’s trip to “Constantina.” If this refers to Constantinople (as the capital of the Ottoman empire was called by the Jews), then the author’s provenance is most probably Turkey (or Greece). However, there is also the possibility that the reference is to Constantine, a town in north Algiers not far from the city of Tunis, in which another Qehal Gerush had been founded before the end of the sixteenth century.58

56 The Israel Museum in Jerusalem exhibits tappuḥim (known also as rimmonim) from Baghdad, with a dedication inscribed on them. See www.imj.org.il/ heb/exhibitions/2005/40/yudaica/index.html. 57 On these communities, see the following sites: www.daat.ac.il/ daat/toshba/shut/7.htm; http://www.jewishencyclopedia.com/view.jsp? artid= 361&letter=T; http://www.jewishencyclopedia.com/view.jsp? artid=746&letter= C&search=CONSTANTINOPLE. 58 On the geographical proximity and the close relations between Constantine and Tunis see Edwin Seroussi at www.piyut.org.il/articles/ 270.html.

SOME MINUTIAE OF RAYMOND SCHEINDLIN’S JOB TRANSLATION IN LIGHT OF MEDIEVAL HEBREW EXEGESIS, PHILOLOGY, AND POETRY

ANGEL SÁENZ-BADILLOS When, a few years ago, I received a very special present from Ray Scheindlin—his English translation of the Book of Job1—I asked myself why one of the best experts of our time in medieval Hebrew poetry was suddenly deeply interested in this difficult and dramatic biblical book. The answer was easy: among the many beautiful poetical pieces in the Bible, he saw the Book of Job as “a work of unsurpassed poetic power and beauty” dealing with “the most disturbing themes in the Western tradition.” It was a true challenge for a brilliant scholar like Ray Scheindlin. To translate the Book of Job is not an easy task. There are many obscure passages and intricate philological problems that have to be solved before trying to find the right poetic language that respects the original character of such a suggestive text. The translator has to make many complex decisions, interpreting or even correcting the text where he sees a problem of transmission or a textual error. He has to consider in these difficult passages the diverse ways of understanding proposed by philologists and exegetes, and make his own selections. In this essay, I do not intend to discuss these kinds of decisions. I have always shared with Ray Scheindlin a deep interest in observing the way in which medieval poets, philologists, and exegetes read the Bible. From this perspective, I have chosen a few passages of his translation of the The Book of Job, translation, introduction, and notes by Raymond P. Scheindlin (New York and London: W.W. Norton, 1998). 1

155

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ANGEL SÁENZ-BADILLOS

Book of Job, trying to detect how some of these medieval Jewish intellectuals understood the same passages: all the terms under discussion were employed in specific ways in poems by the Andalusian Hebrew poet Samuel Hanagid and were the object of discussion among various Jewish medieval Bible interpreters, translators, and lexicographers. These different opinions provide us with a useful context in which to read the translation of Ray Scheindlin. Job 3:5; 10:21 ṣalmawet S 59, 76: “deathgloom.” Scheindlin explains in his notes: “or ‘deathdark,’ as this more picturesque meaning is enshrined in the Masoretic vocalization and is a natural association for ears accustomed to Hebrew” (164). This translation can be seen as a very delicate compromise between the two main tendencies represented in the works of medieval authors. Considered today a “popular folk etymology” (B, s.v.), “shadow of death” is found in the oldest biblical translations—Septuagint, Targum, Peshitta, and Vulgate (to 3:5)2— and some scholars see it in the Tiberian vocalization of the word. Some of the best-known medieval philologists, such as Ibn Janāḥ,3 David Qimḥi,4 and Shelomo ibn Parḥon,5 exegetes such as Rashi6 and Levi ben Gershom,7 and biblical translators such as E4, BNM, and Arragel,8 understood this term as a composite word. In the tenth century, the philological discussion about ṣalmawet focused on the character of the two last consonants, -wt: Dunash and his disciple Sept.: Job 3:5: skià thanátou, “shadow of death”; Job 10:21: gnoferán, “gloominess.” Tg. Job 3:5, 20*: wĕ-ṭule mota’; Job 10:21, 73*: wĕ-ṭula’ dĕ-mota’, “shadow of death” (TJ 28, 40). Pesh.: “the shadows of [the] death” (24, 77). Vg.: Job 3:5: umbra mortis; Job 10:21: et opertam mortis caligine. 3 Shorashim 431: It is not like ṣelem (as Dunash said). After refuting some arguments, he maintains that ṣalmawet is a “composite word” from ṣel and mawet. 4 D. Qimḥi, s.v.: it is not from the root ṣlm. It is a composite word, as Saadia said. 5 Ibn Parḥon, s.v. ṣlm: bĕ-ṣelem (Ps. 39:7), “in darkness” is not like ṣalmawet, as some people say; ṣalmawet is a “composite word” from ṣel and mawet (even if “shadow of death” is “darkness”); ṣalmawet is a kinuy, an expression for a shadow that is similar to death. 6 Rashi: “shadow of death, darkness that never will be clear” (17); Job 10:21: bĕ-ṣel mawet = bĕ-qeber, “in the tomb, where they don’t know when it is day, and when it is night” (69). Talmid Rashi: ṣel šel šedim, “shadow of demons” (17). 7 Job 10:21: “the shadow of death [i.e., the Lower World]” (70); Job 3:5: “deep darkness” (16). 8 E4: “sombra de muerte” (204). BNM: “sombra de muerte” (252). Arr.: “sombra de muerte” (690, 695). 2

RAYMOND SCHEINDLIN’S JOB TRANSLATION

157

Yehudi ben Sheshet maintained that they are a suffix, while for Menaḥem and his disciples, they are part of the base.9 Samuel Hanagid used this word in not a few instances; he seems to understand it as “gloom,” in parallel with “darkness,” without allusions to the popular etymology of the word.10 This line of interpretation as a single word, supported by today’s dictionaries, is found in later lexicographers, such as Se‘adya ibn Danān,11 and in the most significant Romance Bible translations.12 Job 9:30 šeleg S 74: “in liquid snow.” Scheindlin adds in the notes that, according to modern commentators, it is “soapwort” (173).13 In this case, the divergences do not derive from the basic meaning of the word but from the translation or interpretation of the preceding word, which is bĕmo (“with”) in the kĕtib or written text but bĕ-me (“with water of”) according to the qere, the Masoretic reading of the text. Scheindlin has chosen the latter one, giving a very appropriate and “modern” explanation of its meaning. Targum, Peshitta, and Vulgate have a similar interpretation,14 while Septuagint seems to have followed the written text.15 On the meaning of the M 314* has ṣlmwt in the list of “roots” of the section of the ṣade (some MSS omit it), after ṣlm, but it is not explained in the text itself. D 109*, 119: the base of ṣalmawet is ṣelem, “obscurity,” as in Ps. 39:7, since waw-taw is an affix. TTM 51*, 8182: against Dunash, -wt should be a part of the “root.” TYS 19*, 40 (80) defends the opinion of Dunash, without adding new arguments. 10 BT 6, 23: bĕ-ṣalmawet u-ba-ḥšekah, “He went to see his face in gloom and darkness.” BT 6, 33: wĕ-hakkehu bĕ-ṣalmawet, “Reside together, hit him in gloom and let him hit you.” BT 27, 83: bĕ-ṣalmawet ’ăšer ’en lah sĕdarot, “You saw me, reeds around my head, in gloom without stars.” BT 51, 21: u-mistatter bĕ-ṣalmawet nĕkonah, “he hides himself in deep gloom.” BT 90, 34: wĕ-ṣalmawet wĕ-guš ‘afar, “I have changed the refuge of his room in gloom and earth clods.” BQ 183, 5: u-mitḥabbe’ bĕṣalmawet, “Time discovers like the sun the one who hides in gloom.” BQ 368, 1: šĕlaḥ ’adon la-‘am yošeb ba-ḥošek wĕ-horidum lĕ-ṣalmawet ḥăšukim, “Send a Lord to the people that dwell in darkness, to those who were brought in obscurity to gloom.” 11 Shorashim 356: bĕ-ṣelem (Ps. 39:7), “darkness is the same as ṣlmwt.” 12 E3: “tiniebla” (636, 639) in both cases. E4: in Job 10:21: “tenebrosa” (206). BNM: in Job 10:21: “tenebrosa” (255). F: “tiniebla” (1050, 1056); C: “tiniebla” (1840, 1851) in both cases. 13 See, for instance, Tur-Sinai 171, where it is explained as “soap plant,” an alkaline plant used in laundering. 14 Tg. Job 68*: bĕ-me talga’, “with waters of snow” (TJ 39). Pesh.: “snow water” (66). Vg.: quasi aquis nivis. 9

158

ANGEL SÁENZ-BADILLOS

word šeleg itself, there was no serious controversy among philologists and exegetes. The use of the term by Samuel Hanagid, in a rather generic sense, does not support one possibility over the other.16 And the Romance Bibles that we have included in our study are clearly divided.17 Job 13:15 ’ak dĕrakai ’el-panaw ’okiaḥ S 82: “but will protest His conduct to His face.” Scheindlin has introduced a small emendation in the text, referring it to God’s conduct rather than to Job’s, and avoiding the frequent translation “to defend.” For him, it is clear that Job’s intention is to attack God for His ways, which makes his speech particularly bold (179). This understanding of the passage has the support of most of the old translations18 and of many other medieval interpreters. The idea of a confrontation of man with God, not just defending his own behavior, but censuring and protesting against the ways of the Almighty, is present among many authors.19 Of course, there are different degrees of intensity in the interpretation of Job’s altercation with God. These are well represented by the different versions of the Romance Bibles: “razonaré” (E3, F, C), “disputare” (Arr.), or “rredarguyre” (E4, BNM).20 The meaning of “confrontation” is clear, for

Sept.: chioni, “with snow.” BT 37, 2: wĕ-ṣafar kĕ-šeleg bar, “and made him white like pure snow.” BT 171, 2: mĕborak ’ăšer śam libbĕka qar kĕ-šeleg, “Blessed be he who gave you a heart cold like snow.” 17 E3: “agua de nieve” (639). E4: “como la nieve” (206). BNM: “fasta ser torrnado como la nieue” (254). Arr.: “en agua de nieve.” F: “con aguas de nieve” (1055). C: “en aguas de nieve” (1848). 18 Sept.: kai elégxo epantíon autoû, “and I will plead before Him.” Tg. Job 89*: ’aksan, “I will argue” (TJ 44). Vg.: in conspectu eius arguam. Pesh. does not translate the verb. 19 See, for instance, Rashi: “for knowing which is the accusation against them” (84). Talmid Rashi: “I will go by the way of my justice and I’ll say that I am virtuous and that He brought me punishments without any reason.” Rashbam 373: “I was perfect and right before Him and served him with full heart as I should do it.” D. Qimḥi, s.v. yiṭ‘an, “will argue.” Ger: “to dispute” (99). 20 E3: “rrazonare” (640). E4: “le rredarguyre” (207). BNM: “rredarguyre” (256). Arr.: “disputare.” F: “razonaré” (1058). C: “razonare” (1855). 15 16

RAYMOND SCHEINDLIN’S JOB TRANSLATION

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example, in Saadia.21 Samuel Hanagid uses this verb many times with the meaning “to censure.”22 There is, however, another tendency among some medieval philologists (probably initiated by Saadia): to interpret the hif‘il of the root ykḥ like the nif‘al nokaḥ, “to be present,” “to stand before Him” (as proposed by Ibn Janāḥ, etc.).23 Job 13:27 ‘al šarše-raglay titḥaqqeh S 83: “mark the roots of my feet.” Scheindlin considers that the text is “quite obscure” and that “no satisfactory interpretation has been proposed” (179). This statement is in consonance with the completely different explanations offered by the ancient translations24 and the medieval commentators.25 The main difficulty felt in this case by the interpreters was whether the basic meanings of ḥqh or ḥqq, “to decide, decree,” and “to carve, engrave” (or “to mark, write”) correspond to only one root, related to ḥoq, “law,” or to two different, perhaps homophonic, roots. In rabbinic Hebrew, a third meaning was probably added: “to survey.”26 The trend of the majority is to separate the two basic meanings. This is very clear, for instance in Ḥayyūj27 and Yosef Qimḥi,28 who, like most of the

21 Theodicy, 251: “‘Confront’ … relying on the basic sense of nokaḥ, which is that of facing directly or confronting.” 22 BT 53, 4: wĕ-’okiḥo bĕ-šubo, “When he comes back, I’ll censure him.” BT 82, 7: wĕ-‘alay lĕ-hokiḥak wĕ-la-hbi’ak bĕ-middah, “I have to censure you and to correct you.” BT 216, 3: u-mokiḥo ‘ăle-dim‘o, “And if you censure his tears,” etc. 23 Shorashim 194 cites Job 13:15 at the very end, in the last group of quotations, with wĕ-nokaḥat (Gen. 20:16), with the meaning ha-hazmanah wĕ-ha-hăkanah. Ibn Parḥon, s.v. ykḥ: “I will stand before him [nokaḥo].” 24 Sept.: aphíkou, “has penetrated [to my heels].” Tg. Job 91*: tiršom, “you mark” (TJ 44). Pesh.: “and look at the strength of my feet” (101), and Vg.: vestigia pedum meorum considerasti could translate a different Hebrew text with the verb ḥqr. 25 See the modern interpretation of Tur-Sinai (230), thinking of the following of the traces of the fugitive slave: “Thou settest thy print upon the soles of my feet.” 26 Thus according to Jastrow, s.v. It is also possible that the considerasti of the Vulgate reflects this mishnaic usage. 27 Ḥayyūj 152 cites it along with Ezek. 8:10 (“engrave”), not like “law.” 28 Y. Qimḥi, s.v. ḥaq discusses the meaning of the four sections that Menaḥem includes in his Dictionary, defending the notion that they all refer to ḥoq “law,” and explains that mĕḥuqqeh (Ezek. 8:10) and titḥaqqeh (Job 13:27) are not from the same root.

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remaining interpreters and philologists, including Samuel Hanagid,29 prefer “to mark, engrave, write,” even if the nuances of the interpretation of the passage change in a notable way from one author to the other.30 This is also the general interpretation of most Romance Bibles.31 Abraham ibn Ezra understands the verb in a particular way: “on the traces of my feet put a boundary [ḥoq] and a limit.”32 The meaning “to see, consider,” is found, among others, in Shelomo ibn Parḥon and in Arragel.33 There are also some divergences in the analysis of the form as masculine (as most scholars do) or feminine,34 and in the interpretation of the hitpa‘el.35 Job 15:24 kĕ-melek ‘atid la-kidor S 87: “like a king for an army’s assault.” Scheindlin comments: “There is no consensus among scholars as to the exact meaning of the Hebrew word thus translated” (183). As we are before a hapax legomenon, it is no wonder that there is no accord on its meaning among medieval philologists. But the explanations are so diverse that the case is remarkable. The ancient translations have

29

soul.”

BT 22, 20: wĕ-ḥaqqeh kol-’ăšer ‘aśah lĕ-nafši, “Engrave [write] all he did for my

30 Ibn Nuḥ, 370-71: “the form titḥaqqeh is feminine and refers to the ‘path’ that is mentioned.… It is shown that the situation is like that of somebody who walks along a road on which there is moist plaster and the imprint of his foot is left wherever he treads. Whoever looks at this place sees the footprints of this person and the place where he walked is clearly marked. So he says ‘O Lord of the Universe, you guard me as a man follows the footsteps of his friend when he does not want him to go away from him.’ … It refers to ‘the road,’ which, when it contains plaster, ‘is marked’ just as somebody impresses a seal in wax or in clay.” Rashi: ’fyqs (“affiches, marks”) in French (86). Rabbenu Tam: “you write” or “write,” write on the roots of my feet so that I don’t go astray. Ger: titḥaqqeh “refers to the word sad meaning that the carving out of the instrument with which the feet of the prisoner were bound is done in a manner to fit exactly the molding of his feet, so that he can rise only with difficulty” (90). Ibn Danān, 165: “To engrave is the same as ḥqq.” 31 E3: “escribes” (640). E4: “Te rrepresentas” (207). BNM: “te rrepresentas” (256). F: “es cavado” (1059). C: “asinyalas” (1855). 32 AiE 31*, 110. 33 Ibn Parḥon, s.v. ḥqh: “See [tistakkel] the place where I go.” Arr.: “consideraste.” 34 See n. 30, on Ibn Nuḥ. 35 “Write your own mark…,” like Rabbenu Tam.

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understood it in very different ways,36 and the medieval interpretations of the passage are far from being uniform. The debate that started in the tenth century focused on two questions: a) Is kidor similar to other biblical words, such as kaddur, “ball,” or kidode-’eš, “fire sparks” (Job 41:11)? and b) does ki belong to the base, or is it a particle? To the first question, Saadia gives a positive answer: kidor and kaddur mean the same thing, “globe” or “ball.” His translation is almost metaphoric: “a king” is “an appellation of the sphere.”37 Ibn Janāḥ mentions a similar point of view—“They interpreted it as a wheel prepared for turning”—without giving his own opinion.38 There is a certain agreement about kidor having five radicals,39 while opinions diverge for kaddur (with additional kaf according to TS), and kidode-’eš (with a particle at the beginning according to TTM).40 About the concrete meaning of kidor, there are many different opinions. TS states clearly that it means maḥăneh, “camp” or “army”; this Sept.: prôtostátês, “in the first rank.” Tg. Job 106*: liglugdaqa’, “[ready] for the bier,” or “for death” (TJ 47); in other MSS: blgiwnin, “by legions.” Pesh.: “ready for battle” (114). Vg.: qui praeparatur ad proelium. 37 Kafaḥ, 101-2; Theodicy, 265: “as the sphere of aether doth surround the globe,” i.e., kidor and kaddur both mean “globe” or “ball” (the globe of the earth). Modern lexicography (see B, s.v. kdr) suggests that effectively kidor and kaddur are derived from the same root, but there are not enough common Semitic parallels. 38 Shorashim 212 and 108: Saadia puts together kidor and kaddur, considering that the kaf of kaddur is part of the root, as the authors of the Mishnah thought. It is possible that kidor is like kaddur, and the meaning is “like a wheel ready to turn the kaddur,” “those anguishes will surround him when the wheel will turn the kaddur.” In the root dwr, he includes kaddur, saying that in the Mishnah the ka is part of the root, but in the Bible it is additional, i.e., comparative. 39 Although this opinion is not shared by Abraham Ibn Ezra, who, answering Adonim’s criticisms against Saadia says that the kaf of kidor is the comparative particle. See HS 88: According to the Gaon, kaddur and la-kidor have the same root and meaning (“globe” or “ball”); for Adonim, kaddur has three radicals and kidor, five. For Ibn Ezra, the kaf is in both cases additional; the number of radicals is two and three, respectively. 40 M 209*: It is not included either in the index or in the Dictionary. See M 225* (addition). D 26*, 32: Dunash censures some words of M that have not been preserved. For him, kaf and yod are part of the basis of la-kidor, the same as of kidode-’eš. TTM 49*, 79: They are different cases, since ki in ki-dode is the comparative particle. TYS 15*, 29 (71): against TTM, in the same vein as Dunash, without new arguments. TS 101: kaddur and kidor cannot be the same; kidor is a word of five radicals, while kaddur has only three, its kaf being additional (confirmed by the mishnaic usage). 36

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view is shared by Rashi’s Talmid.41 Rashi himself and Rabbenu Tam follow midrashic interpretations lacking philological foundation.42 Abraham ibn Ezra43 and Se‘adya ibn Danān understand it as “battle,”44 while several Romance Bibles translate “torneo.”45 Shelomo ibn Parḥon mentions a completely different interpretation: “compass.”46 Samuel Hanagid seems to use the word with the meaning “battle” or “assault,” although he may be alluding to the explanation of the Targum: “bier, death.”47 Job 16:8 wa-tiqmĕṭeni and 22:16 ’ăšer qummĕṭu S 89: Job 16:8, “[you] crumpled me” (explaining: “suggested by the sound of the Hebrew word” [184]); 105: Job 22:16, “men destroyed…” Scheindlin

41 Talmid Rashi: like a king that stands in the middle of his army; kidor means “army” (95). 42 Rashi: “I have not found anything similar to it, but it may be interpreted by means of the interchangeable letters, resh with dalet like “Ashkenaz and Riphath” (Gen. 10:3) in the Torah, and in Chronicles “Ashkenaz and Diphath” (1 Chron. 1:6), and similarly, “Kittim and Dodanim” (Gen. 10:4). Here, too, la-kidor is equivalent to la-kidod, to the king who is destined to burn (lyqod) in the fire of Gehinnom, i.e., Sennacherib, about whom the prophet prophesied: “For Tophteh has been set up from yesterday, that, too, has been prepared for the king” (Isa. 30:33), to burn his legions, “a burning shall burn” (Isa. 10:16). Similar to this (Job 41:11), “sparks of [kidode] fire go forth,” either brands or flames” (95). Rabbenu Tam: the “king” is Satan, ready for the ruin and the wreck—la-kidor is like ha-kyd, “ruin” in Job 21:20 (95). 43 AiE 34*, 122: “Like a king ready to come to the battle. There are no similar cases. Some commentators say that the troubles surrounded him, in the way the sphere turns around the globe (kaddur), i.e., the earth; and that it would be like kaddur in Isa. 22:18, and that the kaf of kaddur may disappear, while the kaf of kydor is part of the root; but all this is far from truth.” 44 Ibn Danān, 210: “Like a king ready for the events of the battle” (kaddur, “ball” is a separate section). 45 E3: “para tornear” (641). E4: “al torrneo” (208). BNM: “al torneo” (257). Arr.: “para la batalla.” F: “al torneo” (1060). C: “para la pelota” (1858-59). Ger 105 glosses “the tournament,” but as an alternative translation, he mentions “the punishment known as Kidor,” a mode of execution in which the man looks like a ball. 46 Ibn Parḥon, s.v. kdr: kidor has been interpreted as “compass,” the instrument (of wood or metal) used for drawing circles. The place of the first head is called “king,” and that of the second, “it will turn.” 47 BT 48, 16: wĕ-ḥalaq la-ḥăberay kur wĕ-kidor, “And he assigned to my friends the furnace and the battle (assault),” or “the bier, death.”

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recognizes that the exact meaning is unknown and that his translation depends on the context in both places (195). These are the only two cases of this root in the Bible, in qal and pu‘al, respectively. Its interpretation is therefore particularly difficult. In this case, the discrepancies among the interpreters involve the precise lexical contents of the root only, ranging from “to seize” (for instance, in the Septuagint version of Job 22:16,48 in agreement with modern lexicographers like B) to other meanings such as “to cut, destroy, make perish” (Saadia,49 Rashi, Rabbenu Tam, Rashbam, etc.,50 and also the Romance Bibles)51, and “to crumple, make wrinkles” (such as Se‘adya ibn Danān52 in Job 16:8). Other authors (like Ibn Janāḥ,53 Ibn Ezra,54 and Ibn Parḥon55) prefer the meaning “to bind, put in jail,” inspired by the mishnaic usage and the Arabic. The two passages are translated in a different way by some authors, such as

48 The ancient translations have very different explanations of the root: Sept.: kaì epelábou, “he has made me weary;” oi synelêmphthêsan, “who were seized.” Tg. Job 112*: u-nĕqaftany, “you have wounded me” (TJ 48); 152*: dĕ-’itbĕṭilu, “were lashed in the deep” (TJ 57). Pesh.: “he raises me up” (124); without an exact translation of Job 22:16. Vg.: rugae meae; qui sublati sunt. 49 Kafaḥ, 104; Theodicy, 273, 310 n. 7. According to Goodman, “Saadia chooses an Arabic word that means ‘overwhelmed, trodden down and broken’ to render the Hebrew kumṭu. He renders identically in 16:8, taking the expression in a metaphorical sense.” 50 Rashi: “you made me sad” (100); “were cut” (135). Rabbenu Tam: Job 22:16: “they will perish” (135). Talmid Rashi: “you cut me” (100); “they were cut” (135). Rashbam 381: “He destroyed me through Satan.” 51 E3: “E cortasme” (641); “que se cortaron” (644). E4: “& corto” (208); “que fueron cortados (syn sazon)” (210). BNM: “e corto/me” (257); “fueron cortados” (260). Arr.: “E las mis rugas;” “los que fueron taiados.” F: “Y fezísteme arrugar” (1061); “que fueron tajados” (1066). C: “y arrojasteme” (1858); “que fueron arrojados” (1868). 52 Ibn Danān, 373: Two sections—Job 16:8: “to crumple, make wrinkles”; Job 22:16: “they were cut. In the words of our masters … it appears with inversion ‘the end was cut (nqṭm)’ (Mishnah Sukkah 3:1, 2).” 53 Shorashim, 449: “It is possible that it is close to the Arabic language, where the meaning of qmṭ is to bind the hands and feet, to put them in jail, and it is also similar to the words of our Rabbis.” 54 AiE 35*, 130: wa-tiqmĕṭeni means “to bind,” from the language of the Sages, or it is like ’ăšer qummĕṭu. In 44*, 171: qummĕṭu, “they were cut before their time.” Ibn Ezra therefore expresses some doubts. 55 Ibn Parḥon, s.v. qmṭ: “to bind, put in jail.”

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David Qimḥi,56 Levi ben Gershom,57 Arragel, or the Ferrara Bible. Samuel Hanagid uses this verb for describing the state of the earth after an earthquake.58 Job 16:15 śaq tafarti ‘ăle gildi S 90: “I have sewn a hemp shirt to my skin.” Almost all medieval authors and ancient translations agree on the basic meaning of the word, a kind of sackcloth, differing only in small nuances, preferring a realistic sense or a more metaphorical one.59 Menaḥem ben Saruq treated the usages of the term in Genesis and in Job in two different sections of his dictionary. His explanations include “a kind of fabric or dress,” and “a bag or receptacle for food, etc.” Dunash ben Labraṭ thought that the various usages all belonged within the same section.60 The fact that Dunash censured Menaḥem over such a minor point reflects the atmosphere of the tenth century. Samuel Hanagid uses the word with the usual meaning of “sackcloth.”61 Later lexicographers choose one of these possibilities: Ibn Janāḥ and Shelomo ibn Parḥon have all the passages in one section,62 while Se‘adya ibn Danān distinguishes two sections.63 s.v. qmṭ. In Job 16:8, he sees a mishnaic sense, ronza in Spanish. The meaning of Job 22:16 is for him metaphoric: nikrĕtu, “they were cut,” or like qaṭum in the Mishnah, with metathesis. 57 Ger: Job 16:8: “And Thou has filled me with wrinkles … because of the leanness and thinness of my body” (111); Job 22:16: “snatched away from the world” (141). 58 BT 110, 43: After all these things God made rest the earth ’aḥar ki qummaṭah, “after it had been trodden down.” 59 Sept.: sákkon, “sackcloth.” Tg. Job 114*: saqa’, “sackcloth” (TJ 48). Pesh.: “sackcloth” (124). Vg.: saccum (16:16). E3: “xerga” (641). E4: “xerga” (208). BNM: “xerga” (257). Arr.: “Saco (çiliçio).” F: “Saco” (1061). C: “Saco” (1858). 60 M 368*: Job 16:15 (śaq as fabric) is in a different section from Gen. 42:27, etc. (śaq as a recipient for animal food). D 119*, 136 criticizes Menaḥem’s separation of Job 16:15 and Gen. 42:35 in two different (semantic) sections. 61 BQ 274,1: wĕ-tir’eh śaq ‘ăle lobeš lĕbuše šeš, “after a while, you’ll see sack on the man dressed with linen clothes.” 62 Shorashim 530 offers the two different possibilities in the same section: “dress of thick wool,” or “bag.” Ibn Parḥon, s.v. śq, employs only one section for all the quotations. It means “a thick dress of wool, with which one can make a bag, and he who is in deep pain makes with it a dress and puts it on.” 63 Ibn Danān, 438: two sections of śqq—Gen. 42:27: “sack, bag”; and Gen. 37:34, etc.: “Sackcloth, a dress of thick wool…. For our Rabbis … śq is a dress of goat hair or wool, etc.” 56

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Job 23:13 wĕ-hu’ bĕ-‚eḥad S 108: “But He is single-minded.” Scheindlin is correct in his comment that the traditional Jewish explanation of the verse as reproduced in the liturgy of Rosh Hashanah, “that God acts as a single judge and does not share this function with or need the advice of anyone” does not fit this context. And he gives his own interpretation of the passage: “when God focuses on a single desire, He pursues it unswervingly” (198). These biblical words have been the object of many different interpretations through the centuries. The oldest translations underline the uniqueness of God,64 and most medieval exegetes65 and translators66 share this opinion. Sometimes, the passage was seen as a possible allusion to divine arbitrariness.67 It was also interpreted in a philosophical-theological way by Samuel b. Nissim from Aleppo: “accident does not attain Him in a single point,”68 in agreement with Maimonides.69 To take bĕ-’eḥad as referring to an external object, different from God Himself (as Scheindlin does) is found only in some particular commentators, such as the Karaite Ibn Nuḥ70 and Rashi’s Talmid.71 From a more philological point of view, it was discussed whether the initial bet is additional (a particle) or not. Ibn Ŷanāḥ answered positively,72 Sept.: kaì autòs ékrinen oútôs, “and if too he has thus judged.” Tg. Job 159*: yĕḥidda’y, “unique,” “he is one” (TJ 59). Vg.: ipse enim solus est. Pesh.: “for one of these” (185) understands it in a very different way. 65 Saadia, Theodicy 313: “unique.” Rashi: “He is unique [yaḥid] in the world” (143). Rabbenu Tam: “He is one” (143). Rashbam 397: “Since He is unique in his World, and there is nobody like Him and no creature can answer to Him, He makes what His soul desires His will.” Ger 149: “He is determined on one thing.” His interpretation is therefore different. 66 E3: “E el es vno” (644). E4: “E el es en vnidad” (211). BNM: “E el es en vnidad” (260). Arr.: “E el solo vno es.” F: “Y él en uno” (1067). C: “Y él en uno” (1868). 67 S. Schechter, Aspects of Rabbinic Theology (Woodstock, Vt.: Jewish Lights, 1993), 305 alludes to a rabbinic polemic: “And when Pappos, on the authority of Job 23:13, expressed views implying a certain arbitrariness on the part of God because of his being one (alone), he was rebuked by R. Akiba.” 68 Bĕ-‘inyan ’eḥad lo’ yeśigehu miqreh. See W. Bacher, “Le Commentaire sur Job de Samuel b. Nissim d’Alep,” REJ 21 (1890): 120. 69 Guide of the Perplexed I, 57. 70 Ibn Nuḥ, 386-87: “The meaning is said to be ‘When He attacks somebody, who can turn Him back?’ ” 71 Talmid Rashi: God turns to one man in his anger (143). 72 Riqmah 86: The bet is additional, and the meaning is wĕ-hu’ ’eḥad, “He is one.” 64

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while Abraham ibn Ezra denied it, giving his peculiar interpretation: “and I cannot explain it, since it is a big mystery.”73 The expression bĕ-’eḥad is found once in Samuel Hanagid without any of these technical connotations.74 Scheindlin’s translation is close to the interpretation of Levi ben Gershom. Job 24:20 yiškaḥehu reḥem S 110: “His lovers forget him.” In his commentary, Scheindlin underlines the obscurity of the whole passage (Job 24:18-24) and the difficult position of the translator. He has decided “to translate this passage in accordance with the imaginative interpretation of a medieval Provençal commentator, Rabbi Levi ben Gerson (1288-1344)” (200). Gersonides translates: “The womb forgets him,” but explains: “a lover, from the Aramaic.”75 In other verses of Job where the same word appears—3:11; 10:18; 31:15; 38:8— Scheindlin translates “womb.” On the original meaning of the word, there is no possible debate: it is one of the oldest common Semitic nouns (B, s.v.) and refers to the mother’s womb. The immediate relation with “mercy, compassion, love” and related notions is also very old and widespread in the Semitic area. Where any of the translations or interpreters has chosen a different word, it is usually a question of a free, more-or-less metaphorical, translation (like Saadia’s “kinswomen”),76 or of a different basic text (like Septuagint).77 Samuel Hanagid uses the word in its basic, original sense, too.78 Scheindlin has preferred one of the possible free interpretations here. There are justified doubts about the nature of the sentence: Must it be taken as an indicative statement (as Scheindlin interprets), or as a curse, as

73 AiE 46*, 179: “Some persons say that the bet is additional, but the truth is that it is not additional, and I cannot explain it, since it is a big mystery.” 74 BT 39, 34: ’ak me-hem bĕ-’eḥad ’ăbod ribboh mĕruddefet, “with only one (of our soldiers) ten thousands of the persecuted ones were killed.” 75 Ger 151. 76 Theodicy, 316. Rashi explains as “the womb of his mother” (152), along with Talmid Rashi (152-53) and AiE 48*, 187. Rashbam 399: “His mother forgets him.” 77 All the other translations contain the variants mentioned above: Tg. Job 168*: lĕ-raḥama’, “mercy” (TJ 61). Pesh.: “by the womb” (190). Vg.: eius misericordia. E3: “la madre” (645). E4: “el vientre” (211). BNM: “el vientre” (261). Arr.: “la misericordia.” F: (Olvidarlo) “a amigo” (1068). C: “bulva” (1870). 78 BQ 364,1: šĕkinat ’iš bĕ-reḥem ’em šekinah bĕ-maqom ṣar, “The stay of man in the mother’s womb is a stay in a narrow place.”

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Dunash says?79 In the tenth century, there was another debate that seems to us today rather superfluous: Dunash criticizes Menaḥem for placing the substantive reḥem in the same section as the absolute infinitive raḥem (Jer. 31:19).80 Job 37:11 yafiṣ ‘anan ‚oro S 141: “the puff-cloud scatters light.” Medieval exegesis and philology are divided in the selection of one of the two basic meanings of ’or, “light” or “rain.” The division started in the oldest translations: Septuagint, Peshitta, and Vulgate prefer “light,” while the Targum translates “rain.”81 It is probably the context and the general influence of the Targum that make its interpretation the more common one among Jewish commentators: Saadia, Ibn Qoreish, Ibn Janāḥ, Ibn Bal‘am, Rashi, Rabbenu Tam, Talmid Rashi, David Qimḥi, Abraham ibn Ezra, Rashbam, Levi ben Gershom, Se‘adya ibn Danān, and the Constantinople Bible translate “rain.”82 Samuel Hanagid, who usually employs ’or with the meaning “light,” quotes the verse of Job understanding it as “rain.”83

D 53*, 63. M 351*: Job 24:20 is in the second section with Hab. 3:2 and Isa. 49:15. D 53*, 63: Although this is only the variant reading of one manuscript, Dunash explains that it is similar to reḥem ’immo of Num. 12:12 (that M puts in the first section). In the twelfth century, Y. Qimḥi, Sefer ha-galuy, 47, accepts Dunash’s and Rabbenu Tam’s interpretation, “his mother’s womb,” and maintains that Menaḥem, in putting it in one section with the verb of Jer. 31:20, “to have mercy,” misinterpreted it. 81 Sept.: phôs autoû, “his light.” Tg. Job 259*: miṭreh, “his rain” (TJ 81). Pesh.: “his light” (310). Vg.: lumen suum. 82 Saadia, Theodicy, 377: “And the thunderheads scatter His cistern.” Ibn Qoreish, 168-69: “rain.” Ibn Janāḥ, Shorashim, 17-18: Job 37:11 and Isa. 18:4: “the rain.” Ibn Bal‘am, HaṢimmud 19, s.v. ’or: Job 37:11 and Isa. 18:4: “rain.” Rashi: “rain” (232). Rabbenu Tam: “rain” (233). Talmid Rashi: “rain” (233). D Qimḥi, s.v. ’or: in the fifth section, “rain.” AiE 73*, 277: “that sometimes it rains and the sun appears.” HS 51: Against the opinion of Adonim, the similarity with Isa. 18:4 proves that ’oro (Job 37:11) means “rain.” Ibn Parḥon, s.v. ’wr: in Isa. 18:4, and in Job 37:11 “fine rain”; in Job 36:30 “cloud.” Rashbam 428: “rain.” Ger 226: “At times clouds cover the sky over places usually dry, and rain descends in abundance.” Se‘adya ibn Danān, Shorashim 42: Sec. 13 of ’wr : “Its rain, it is like Jer. 4:24.” C: “lluvia” (1888). 83 BT 36, 4: wĕ-’aḥar ‘ăṣor šahaq ‘ănan ’or ‘ălumay, “after heaven having stopped the rain-cloud of my youth.” 79 80

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Menaḥem, the author of the Tĕšubot ‘al Sĕ‘adyah,84 and most Romance Bibles85 prefer “light,” with some nuances. Scheindlin’s translation follows in this passage the tendency of the minority. Job 40:2 hă-rob ‘im-šadday yissor S 149: “One who brings Shaddai to court should fight!” Scheindlin does not explain his reasons for this choice. There are many interpretations of this verse, none of which seems entirely convincing. Most of the commentators maintain the interrogative character of the passage (hă-). The morphological analysis is far from being uniform. It has been understood as a pi‘el infinitive (Ibn Janāḥ, David Qimḥi), or as a substantive (Ibn Nuḥ, Yosef Qimḥi, etc.)86 from the root ysr, “to chastise, rebuke, etc.” (most interpreters), or as being derived from srr “to be stubborn, rebel”/śrr “to rule” (Rashi and Talmid Rashi). This discrepancy in interpretation is already found in the oldest translations: “to avoid” (Septuagint), “to be corrected” (Targum), “to relax” (Vulgate).87 The most accepted meaning of yissor puts it in relation to “moral correction, ethics”—“Is it correct to contend with God?” This is, with small nuances, the interpretation of Saadia,88 Ibn Janāḥ,89 Abraham ibn Ezra,90 M 58*: Job 37:11 in the sixth section of ’r, with Exod. 14:20 and Ps. 139:11, with the meaning of “darkness” and “obscurity” (i.e., light that illuminates the darkness). Isa. 18:4 is in the second section, with 2 Kings 4:39, with the meaning of “plants.” TS 52: Against Saadia, who considers Job 37:11 a hapax, he thinks that this ’or derives from ’orim (Ps. 136:7), and refers to the moon. See B, s.v. ’or: “flash of lightning.” 85 E3: “luz” (650). E4: “su luz” (216). BNM: “su luz” (266). Arr.: “la su lux.” F: “su luz” (1078). 86 Some interpretations are above all interested in this aspect. Ḥayyūj 73 includes it as a “heavy form,” in one section with Ps. 118:18, Lev. 26:28, Deut. 8:5, Lev. 26:18 (“correct”). D Qimḥi, s.v. ysr: infinitive (perhaps like musar). 87 Sept.: mê krísin meta ikanoû ekklineî, “to turn away, avoid.” Tg. Job 287*: yitrĕde, “It is possible that he who quarrels with the Almighty be corrected?” (TJ 86). Pesh.: “Many are the counsels of God” (338). Vg: numquid qui contendit cum Deo tam facile conquiescit (39:32), “to rest, relax.” 88 Kafaḥ, 198; Theodicy, 402: “Is it proper to contend with the All-sufficing?” In n. 404, Goodman notes that Saadia uses the Arabic adab, “culture, breeding, propriety” to render the Hebrew yissor (related to musar, “culture”). “Both the Hebrew and the Arabic roots, as used elsewhere in Saadia’s translation and commentary, have connotations of suffering.” 89 Shorashim, 198: He has explained in other places (Risalat al-taqrīb, Opuscules, 311) that yissor is an infinitive of the “heavy” form, and its meaning is “is it moral to 84

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Rashbam,91 Shelomo ibn Parḥon,92 and perhaps Yosef Qimḥi.93 Although Samuel Hanagid94 modifies the text slightly, he understands it in the same sense. Taking yissor as a substantive, Ibn Nuḥ translates: “Is contention with the Lord of the Universe an activity of the polite?”95 Other interpreters think that the text says that the person who contends with God should be punished. This seems to be the assumption of Menaḥem,96 Rabbenu Tam,97 and most Romance Bibles.98 Rashi and Talmid Rashi follow their own linguistic analysis: to contend with God is a rebellion.99 In this case, Scheindlin’s translation differs from most medieval proposals. Job 41:12 kĕ-dud nafuaḥ wĕ-‚agmon S 153: “like a pot that seethes over reeds.” To choose one meaning for this word that appears five times in the biblical text is again difficult. The traditional interpretation recognizes, as dispute with God?” In Al-taqrīb, he explains that it should have pataḥ under the yod, like yassor, but is has become similar to yissod (2 Chron. 31:7), also an infinitive of the “heavy” form. Riqmah 116: it is an infinitive, and the meaning is “Is it ethical to dispute with God?” Riqmah182: infinitive with the scheme pi‘ol. 90 AiE 83*, 311: “Is it ethically correct to dispute with God?” 91 Rashbam 436: “Is it correct to quarrel and to dispute against the Almighty?” 92 Ibn Parḥon, s.v. ysr: It is related to musar; it is a future. 93 Y. Qimḥi, s.v.: Menaḥem put it in the fifth section, without explaining it. It means, “It is correct to dispute with God”; yissor is an object with the same scheme of kinnor. 94 BT 106, 25: wĕ-lo’ yissor lĕ-harib ‘im ’Ĕlohim, “it is not correct to dispute with God,” modifying the verse in Job slightly. 95 Ibn Nuḥ, 412-13: “As to the word yissor, it is said that it means ‘diciplined, polite’.” B, s.v. yissor, indicates doubt: “reprover, fault-finder(?).” 96 M 272*: Job 40:2 is in the fifth section of sr, with Prov. 19:18, Ps. 118:18, Isa. 8:11, 1 Chron. 15:22. He glosses ‘inyan tokaḥat hemah, i.e., “reprimand, reproach, punishment.” 97 Rabbenu Tam: like Ps. 118:18 (“to punish”) (256). 98 E3: “Si pelear con el Abastado es castigo?” (651). E4: “Sy el que baraja contra el por sy Bastante dotrinara? (217). BNM: “Si el que baraja contra el por sy bastante doctrinara? (267). Arr.: “El que conquiere con el Señor, en razon esta que castigado sea.” F: “¿Si barajar con el abastado es castiguerio?” (1081). C: “Si barajar con el Abastado castigares?” 99 Rashi: “May a man make himself master to contend with the Almighty?” I.e., as though it were from śrr or srr “to rebel” (256). Talmid Rashi: “He will have a lot of obstinacy (rebellion).” I.e., yissor is related to sĕrarah (256).

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Ibn Janāḥ100 and David Qimḥi101 say, three basic possibilities: “reeds,” “pot,” or “lake” (a fourth one could be added: “hook”), and the interpreters are divided. The context has probably suggested the relation of wĕ-’agmon with “pot” or “fire” (or its effects), as it is reflected in the ancient translations.102 The word has been understood in this way by Saadia,103 Rashi and Talmid Rashi,104 Rabbenu Tam,105 Ibn Bal‘am (in part),106 Rashbam,107 Shelomo ibn Parḥon,108 Levi ben Gershom,109 Se‘adyah ibn Danān,110 and most of the Romance Bibles.111 During the tenth century, Dunash defended the meaning “lake, lagoon” (accepted in the twelfth century by Abraham ibn Ezra112 and Yosef Qimḥi113), against Menaḥem and his disciples, who understood it as

Shorashim, 12. D. Qimḥi, s.v. 102 Sept.: pyrì anthrákôn, “fire of coals.” Tg. Job 298*: dĕ-‘abed kefa’, “(like a blowing cauldron) which makes froth” (TJ 88). Pesh.: “which is seething” (348). Vg: (sicut ollae…) atque ferventis (41:11). 103 Kafaḥ, 203; Theodicy, 407: “cauldron or kettle.” He says that it is a hapax legomenon. 104 Rashi: “An earthenware vessel, like a bubbling pot. Its interpretation follows its context. The expression refers to an earthenware vessel like a bubbling pot, according to the matter that is stated: ‘I see a bubbling pot’ (Jer. 1:13).” Talmid Rashi: “like a pot of iron” (367). 105 “In Canaanite language, they call a receptacle ’agmon” (368). 106 Ibn Bal‘am, HaṢimmud 22-23, s.v. ’agmon: “two different words—the first is like gome’ “reeds” (with metathesis); the second means “a hollow cauldron.” 107 Rashbam 441: “an earthenware vessel, like sir nafuaḥ (Jer. 1:13).” 108 Ibn Parḥon, s.v. ’gm: “It has been interpreted as qamqamos ‘pot’. Another interpretation is the steam that goes up from the pot.” 109 Ger 236: “This is a large kettle.” 110 Ibn Danān, 38: Sec. 4 (of 6) of ’gm: “pot, a receptacle with some sinuosities.” 111 E3: “e puchero” (652). E4: “como tizon ençendido & tronco.” BNM: “como tizon ençendido e tronco” (268). Arr.: “como de vna olla firbiendo.” F: “como de olla ferviente y caldera.” 112 AiE 87*, 326: “lagoon of water when the air becomes hot.” Cf. also C: “y pilago” (1896). 113 Y. Qimḥi, 31, 64, against Menaḥem: Job 41:12 means “lake,” Isa. 58:5 means “hook.” 100 101

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“reeds.”114 This last interpretation was shared also by Samuel Hanagid in his poems,115 and is the one chosen by Scheindlin. Bibliographic References AiE = El Comentario de Abraham ibn Ezra al Libro de Job, ed. M. Gómez Aranda (Madrid: CSIC, 2004) Arr. = Biblia (Antiguo Testamento), trans. Mose Arragel de Guadalfajara and published by the Duke of Berwick and of Alba, 2 vols. (Madrid: Imprenta Artística, 1920-22) B = W. Baumgartner and J.J. Stamm, The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament (rev. ed.; Leiden: Brill, 2001) BNM = Biblia Romanceada. Biblioteca Nacional de Madrid Ms. 10.288, ed. F.J. Pueyo Mena (Madison, Wisc.: Hispanic Seminary of Medieval Studies, 1996) BQ = Shemu’el ha-Nagid. Ben Qohelet, ed. Dov Yarden (Jerusalem, 1992) BT = Šĕmu’el ha-Nagid. Poemas. I, Desde el campo de batalla (Granada 10381056), ed. and trans. A. Sáenz-Badillos and J. Targarona (Córdoba: Ediciones el Almendro, 1990). Šĕmu’el ha-Nagid. Poemas. II, En la corte de Granada, ed. and trans. A. Sáenz-Badillos and J. Targarona (Córdoba: Ediciones el Almendro, 1998) C = The Ladino Scriptures: Constantinople-Salonica (1540-1572), ed. Moshe Lazar and Francisco J. Pueyo Mena (Lancaster, Calif.: Labyrinthos, 2000) D = Tĕšubot de Dunaš ben Labraṭ, ed. and trans. A. Sáenz-Badillos (Granada: Universidad de Granada, 1980) D. Qimḥi = David Qimḥi, Sefer ha-Shorashim (Jerusalem, 1967) E3 = Biblia ladinada: Escorial I.J.3, ed. Moshe Lazar (Madison, Wisc.: Hispanic Seminary of Medieval Studies, 1995) E4 = Escorial Bible I.J.4, ed. Oliver H. Hauptmann and Mark G. Littlefield (Madison, Wisc.: Hispanic Seminary of Medieval Studies, 1987) F = Biblia de Ferrara, ed. Moshe Lazar (Madrid: Biblioteca Castro, 1996) Ger = The Commentary of Levi ben Gerson (Gersonides) on the Book of Job, trans. Abraham L. Lassen (New York: Bloch, 1946) Ḥayyūj = El libro de Ḥayyūŷ, ed. José Martínez Delgado (Granada: Universidad de Granada, 2004) 114 M 24*: Job 41:12 with Isa. 58:5; 9:13 and Job 40:16, kullam kĕfufe qaṣeh hemah, i.e., “reeds(?) with a bent end.” D 70*, 78: “lake, lagoon.” TTM 51*, 83: ’agmon cannot derive from’agam “lake.” 115 BT 38, 22: wĕ-’aqum kĕfuf qomah kĕ-’agmon bĕ-tok memaw, “I stand up bowed like a reed inside the water.”

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HS = I. Oshri, The Book in Defense of Rabbi Saadia Gaon (Sefat-Yeter) (Hebrew) (Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University, 1988) Ibn Bal‘am = Sheloshah sefarim shel Rav Yehudah ben Bal‘am, ed. Shraga Abramson (Jerusalem: Qiryat Sefer, 1976) Ibn Danān = Sĕ‘adiah ibn Danān. Libro de las raíces. Diccionario de Hebreo Bíblico, trans. M. Jiménez Sánchez (Granada: Universidad de Granada, 2004) Ibn Nūḥ = G. Khan, The Early Karaite Tradition of Hebrew Grammatical Thought, including a Critical Edition, Translation, and Analysis of the Diqduq of ’Abū Ya‘qūb Yūsuf ibn Nūḥ on the Hagiographa (Leiden: Brill, 2000) Ibn Parḥon = Solomon ben Abraham Ibn Parḥon, Maḥberet ha-’arukh, ed. Shelomo Gottlieb Stern (Pressburg, 1844; repr., Jerusalem: Maqor, 1970) Ibn Qoreish = The Risāla of Judah ben Quraysh, ed. Dan Becker (Hebrew) (Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, 1984) Jastrow = M. Jastrow, A Dictionary of the Targumim, the Talmud Bavli and Yerushalmi, and the Midrashic Literature (repr.; New York: The Judaica Press, 1992) Kafaḥ = Iyov ‘im tirgum u-ferush ha-ga’on Rabbenu Se‘adya ben Yosef Fayumi, ed. and trans. Yosef Kafaḥ (Jerusalem, 1973) M = Mĕnaḥem ben Saruq. Maḥberet, ed. A. Sáenz-Badillos (Granada: Universidad de Granada, 1986) Opuscules = Opuscules et traités d’Abou’l-Walid Merwan Ibn Djanah de Cordoue, trans. Joseph Derenbourg and Hartwig Derenbourg (Paris: Imp. Nationale, 1880) Pesh. = The Peshitta to the Book of Job, trans. Gösta Rignell, ed. Karl-Eric Rignell (Kristianstad, Sweden: Monitor, 1994) Rabenu Tam: see Rashi Rashbam = Perush R. Shemu’el ben Me’ir (Rashbam) le-Sefer Iyov, ed. Sarah Yafet (Jerusalem: Magnes, 2000) Rashi = Iyov mi-bet midrasho shel Rashi, ed. Avraham Shoshanah (Jerusalem: Ofeq Institute, 1999) S = The Book of Job, trans. Raymond P. Scheindlin (New York & London: W.W. Norton, 1998) Sept. = Vetus Testamentum Graecum auctoritate Academiae Scientiarum Gottingensis editum, Iob, ed. J. Ziegler (vol. 11, 4; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1982) Talmid Rashi: see Rashi Tg. Job = The Text of Targum of Job, ed. David M. Stec (Leiden: Brill, 1994)

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Theodicy = The Book of Theodicy: Translation and Commentary on the Book of Job by Saadia ben Joseph al-Fayyūmī, trans. L.E. Goodman (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988) TJ = The Targum of Job, trans. C. Mangan (Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical Press, 1991) TTM = Tĕšubot de los discípulos de Mĕnaḥem contra Dunaš ben Labraṭ, ed. and trans. Santiaga Benavente Robles; rev. A. Sáenz-Badillos (Granada: Universidad de Granada, 1986) TS = Teshuvot Dunash ha-Levi ben Labraṭ ‘al Rabbi Se‘adyah Ga’on, ed. Robert Schröter (Breslau, 1866) Tur-Sinai = N.H. Tur-Sinai (H. Torczyner), The Book of Job: A New Commentary (rev. ed.; Jerusalem: Kiryat Sefer, 1967) TYS = Tĕšubot de Yĕhudi ben Šešet, ed. and trans. Mª Encarnación Varela Moreno (Granada: Universidad de Granada, 1981) Vg.= Biblia sacra iuxta vulgatam versionem, ed. Robertus Weber et al., (4th ed.; Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft. 1994) Shorashim = Yonah ibn Janāḥ, Sefer ha-shorashim: Ve-hu ha-ḥeleq ha-sheni mimaḥberet ha-diqduq, ed. W. Bacher (Jerusalem, 1966) Riqmah = Yonah ibn Janāḥ, Sefer ha-riqmah, ed. M. Wilensky and D. Tene, (2d ed.; Jerusalem: Aqademyah la-lashon ha-‘Ivrit, 1964) Y. Qimḥi = Sepher ha-galuj von R. Joseph Kimchi nach der einzigen Handschrift in der vatikanischen Bibliothek zum ersten Male herausgegeben, ed. H.J. Mathews (Berlin: M’kize nirdamim, 1887)

“YOU’D HAVE SEEN WHAT MELTS THE MIND” – IBN AL-‘ARABĪ’S POEM NO. 20 FROM THE

TURJUMĀN AL-ASHWĀQ

MICHAEL SELLS I’m in a bad way, lost in the languor of her eyes. Call her to mind and heal me, memory of her’s my only cure. The poem translated below opens with these verses concerning the paradox of lovesickness. The lover persona is stricken with the beloved. She is his illness, but at the same time she is his only cure. In this poem, specifically, her languorous eyes have laid the lover low; remembering her heals him, but—as anyone familiar with the tradition will know—the remembrance, though it might offer temporary relief, will ultimately make the lovesickness more acute. The poem draws on the tradition of early Arabic ghazal and the development of that ghazal tradition in Islamic Andalus to evoke the lover’s two riding companions and to ask them to share his grief at the loss of the beloved. Lovesickness wastes the poem away, and in the depiction of that physical decline, the eroticism of the verses takes on special intensity. The author of the poem, Muḥyiddīn ibn al-‘Arabī (d. 638/1240), received a courtly education in the cities of Granada, Cordoba, and Seville before finding the Sufi path, severing his ties with Andalus, and setting off for a life of wandering across North Africa, Egypt, and the eastern Arab lands. His collection of love poems, Turjumān al-Ashwāq (the translator, translation, or biography of longings), contains sixty-one nasīb-style love lyrics ranging in length from three to thirty-eight verses. In a reversal of his 175

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urbanite Andalusian upbringing, Ibn al-‘Arabī in the Turjumān adopts a bedouinizing stance grounded in the ghazal tradition of early Islamic Arabia. The poet suffers and wastes away not in the refined gardens of Murcia, the city near which Ibn al-‘Arabī was born, but in the Arabian deserts as depicted by the early Arabic poets. Thus the poem presented below, after conjuring the lover’s illness, moves on quickly to depict the beloved surrounded by Bedouin women and howdahs (the canopied camel litters in which the women traveled)—always an intimation, in the early Arabic poem, of the fated departure of the beloved. In the poems of the Turjumān, Ibn al-‘Arabī combines the stations of the beloved’s journey away from the poet with the stations of the pilgrim on the Hajj and other sites famous from early Islamic tradition. One such site is Ḥājir (also known as Madā’in Ṣāliḥ), the city destroyed by God after its people refused to heed the prophet Saleh’s demand to respect God’s nāqa, or she-camel. He also weaves into one movement two distinct journeys from the classical qaṣīda: the journey (z.a‘n) of the howdahsheltered beloved away from the poet and the poet-hero’s solitary, camelborne journey (raḥīl) through the desert. Thus the raḥīl section of the qaṣīda is folded within the amatory nasīb and the main poetic movement is that of the poet-lover persona wandering after, tracking after, and occasionally (but only ephemerally) catching up to the beloved.1 Ibn al-‘Arabī dedicated the poems of the Turjumān to a young woman by the name of Niz.ām from a scholarly family of Isfahan that had settled in Mecca. Ibn al-‘Arabī met Niz.ām during his stay in Mecca around the year For more on the Turjumān, see Ibn al-‘Arabī, L’Interprète des désires: Turjumān alAshwāq, trans. Maurice Gloton (Albin Michel, 1997), which includes a full translation of both the poems and the commentary; Reynold Nicholson, The Turjumán al-Ashwáq: A Collection of Mystical Odes by Muḥyiddīn Ibn al-‘Arabī (Royal Asiatic Society, Oriental Translation Series, n.s. 20; repr., Wheaton, Ill.: Theosophical Publishing, 1981), 24-25, which includes a historical introduction, translations of the poems, and an abridged translation of the commentary; and Michael Sells, Stations of Desire: Love Elegies from Ibn al-‘Arabī and New Poems (Jerusalem: Ibis, 2001), a volume that contains translations of twenty-four of the poems in the Turjumān, along with an introduction focusing upon the poetics of the material and a discussion of the theory and practice of translation; Ibn al-‘Arabī, Dhakhā’ir al-A‘lāq: Sharḥ Turjumān al-Ashwāq, ed. Muḥammad Abd al-Raḥmān alKurdī (Cairo, 1968), which includes the full commentary with the full text of poems interspliced within the commentary; and Ibn al-‘Arabī, Turjumān al-Ashwāq (Beirut: Dār Ṣādir, 1966), which presents the text of the poems with Ibn al-‘Arabi’s commentary placed as footnotes. 1

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1200 CE. The young age of the beloved and the passionate yet also philosophical character of Ibn al-‘Arabī’s attachment to her earned Niz.ām the epithet “Ibn al-‘Arabī’s Beatrice” among some modern writers, after the beloved who inspired Dante’s divine comedy. Below I present a new translation of the twentieth poem from the Turjumān, a poem that evokes Niz.ām in a sustained way.2 The poem refers to Niz.ām as the daughter of the poet-persona’s Shaykh and plays upon the root nz.m, a term used to depict harmonious literary or artistic construction, especially that of the Qur’an. I have tried to bring out the play through the use of the term “harmony” in a manner that, like niz.ām, can be either a personal name or a general attribute. The poem ends with references to Niz.ām’s Persian origins. She is called the descendant of Persian shahs, and her homeland is referred to as the “city of cities, Isfahan” and Iraq. (In medieval geography, “Iraq” included areas of present-day eastern Iran.) Ibn al-‘Arabī concludes the poem with a critique of the idea that East and West will never meet and an affirmation that such a meeting is possible for a lover from Yemen and a beloved from Isfahan. (Ibn al-‘Arabī traced his ancestry back to the Yemenite family of Ḥātim al-Ṭā’ī, the companion of the prophet Muḥammad.) The lover-beloved relationship here also reflects upon the relationship of Arab to Persian (‘arab to ‘ajam), a consistent theme in Ibn al‘Arabī’s poetry, suggesting an underlying civilizational affair between the Arab and Persian worlds. The poem counterbalances its eroticism through the portrayal of Niz.ām not only as an object of romantic attachment but as a model of wisdom. At one point, Niz.ām receives the epithet dhāt minbar (“accomplished at the pulpit”). In this poem, as in other poems within the Turjumān, the poetpersona claims for himself a power of sublimation; in his passion, the light (nūr) overcomes fire (nār). At the same time, however, the poetry intensifies its sensuality even as it withdraws the corporeal basis for the sensation; through evocations of rhapsody songs without tongue, the wine cups of passion exchanged without hands, and the arrows of love launched toward their target without a bow. These metaphors of rarification reflect not only upon the erotic withering away of the lover, but also upon a convention concerning sensual beauty: the greater its power, the less is needed to overcome the poet; just I base the translation upon the Arabic texts found in the Dār Ṣādir edition, 7889, and the Nicholson edition, 24. 2

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as the more potent the wine is, the less of it is needed to intoxicate. Poets rival one another through expressions of rarified sublimity: the slightest scent of the beloved on the eastern breeze is enough to conjure up the beloved, transform the lover, and move the poem into a more intense oscillation of lament and reverie. Through such hyperbole, the intensity of the longing or shawq seems to expand as the boundaries between spirit and body are transgressed. At the same time, reason itself (‘aql) is melted by the intensity of longing. The passing of the wine cup of passion, without hands, fulfills a double purpose within the Turjumān. We can read it as implying that the love is not physically consummated, even as it intensifies the sensuality of the eroticism through the poetic alchemy of rarification, sending it to a realm where literalist questions of physical consummation are burned away. This twenty-five-verse poem is in the khafīf meter. Its matla‘, or first verse, is as follows: maraḍī min marīḍati l-ajfanī ‘allillānī bi dhikrihā ‘allilānī ˘˘¯¯/˘¯˘¯/¯¯¯ ¯ ˘ ¯ ¯ / ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ /¯ ˘ ¯ ¯ Ibn al-‘Arabī follows the standard convention in not giving titles to his poems. As part of the translation process, I have provided a title.3 In a Bad Way I’m in a bad way, lost in the languor of her eyes. Call her to mind and heal me, Memory of her’s my only cure. Doves rustled in the green and cooed sad the same sadness as I. After the publication of the Turjumān, Ibn al-‘Arabī received criticism for writing allegedly inappropriate lyrics celebrating illicit love and sensuality—see Nicholson, Gloton, and Sells, n. 1. Ibn al-‘Arabī then composed a commentary explaining that all the beloveds in the Turjumān are names for Niz.ām, who herself symbolizes the divine beloved. The commentary offers an abstruse reading of the poems as allegory for the psychological states of the mystic within a Sufi cosmological topography. Although the commentary deserves attention in its own right, reading the poems through the lens of commentary has tended to obscure the quality of the poems as Arabic nasīb ghazals and to distract attention from their quality as poetry and their placement within the Arabic poetic tradition. 3

“YOU’D HAVE SEEN WHAT MELTS THE MIND” By my father’s life! she’s a girl who knows to play, to walk proud among the jeweled belles of the howdah, proud among the ladies unadorned. In my eyes like the sun she rose then set aglow in the horizons of my heart. Ruins in Rāma, faded now, what beauties and what curves of the breasts you’ve seen! By the life of my father, by my own, a gazelle grazes inviolate within the curve of my ribs. What burns for her there is light and light extinguishes the burning fire. Draw in the reins, two friends, turn aside, that I may see the trace of her encampment, see it with my own two eyes. When you arrive where she rested, friends, climb down from your camels and grieve for me there. Let me stay awhile before the ruins, Let us begin to grieve, then let me grieve for what broke me down. Without arrow, love struck me down, Without bow, she put me away. Tell me, friends, will you help me, help me, help me grieve? Recall for me, friends, Hind and Lūbna, Sulāyma, Zāynab, and Inān Then tell of Hājir and Zarūd, cities fated to ruin. Bring word from the meadows of gazelles grazing. Sing my loss with verse of Qays and Lāyla Māyya and her madman lover poet Ghaylān. Long my longing for a girl well-composed, Harmony in prose, verse, sermon and explanation, for the daughter of kings, of Persian shahs, of the city of cities, Isfahān, For a daughter of Iraq, my master’s child,

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and I, a son of Yemen, her contrary. Did you know, gentlemen, have you heard that two contraries could ever join? Had you only seen us in Rāma! exchanging, without hands, wine cups of passion, As love sang, without tongue, a rapture song of love between us. You’d have seen what melts reason, Iraq and Yemen intertwined. The poet, who long before me coined these verses, lied, bashing me with the stones of his mind: You who’d match Suhāyl with the Pleiades Tell me, God grant you long life, how can they conjoin? She is in the Syrian East as she rises while he, Suhāyl, is rising south southwest in Yemen!

THE URGE TO BE IMMORTALIZED: ZECHARIAH ALD. ĀHIRĪ’S POETIC EPITAPHS FOR HIMSELF

ADENA TANENBAUM In the forty-fifth and final chapter of Zechariah Alḍāhirī’s maqāma collection titled Sefer hamusar (Yemen, c. 1580), the much-traveled narrator, Mordecai the Sidonian, is overcome with anguish and an unappeasable sense of despair at the realization that his days are numbered and that there will be no one to lament him when he is gone.1 Terrifying thoughts of Judgment Day cause his heart to melt and his bones to tremble and quake, while the numbing dread of being forgotten nearly paralyzes him. Borrowing a line from Shem Tov Ardutiel’s fourteenth-century viddui, or poetic confession for the Day of Atonement, he bemoans his hopeless ambivalence: “If I speak, my guilt will be revealed, but if I keep silent, my bones will waste away.”2 In other words, touting his own accomplishments For Ray, yibbadel le-ḥayyim arukim. 1 Sefer hamusar: Maḥberot rabbi zekhariah al-ḍāhirī, ed. Yehuda Ratzaby (Jerusalem: Ben-Zvi Institute, 1965), 459-70. 2 Alḍāhirī cites this line more than once; cf. Sefer hamusar, 418, lines 23-24 (no. 39). The fourteenth-century Castilian author and translator Shem Tov Ardutiel was proficient in Hebrew, Arabic, and Castilian, and is probably best known for his Proverbios Morales. His viddui, which opens with the words Ribbono shel ‘olam, bir’oti baḥurotai, is preserved in Sephardi maḥzorim for Yom Kippur; see Israel Davidson, Thesaurus of Mediaeval Hebrew Poetry, 4 vols. (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1924-33), 3:375, no. 479. For a brief description, see Yehuda Nini and Maya Fruchtman, eds., Rabbi Shem Tov Ben Izḥak Ardutiel or Don Santo De-Carrion, Ma‘ase-Harav (The Debate Between the Pen and the Scissors) (Ramat Gan: Tel Aviv University, 1980), 17-18.

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smacks of hubris, and may—however unintentionally—expose his worst defects. But if there is no one else to celebrate his achievements, excessive modesty will almost certainly ensure his irreversible descent into oblivion. Mordecai retreats to the outskirts of the city to find some relief from his inner turmoil. Sitting under a bush, he espies a man roaming aimlessly in the distance.3 He is bowed with age, and leans on a staff. While walking, he peruses a missive, which he shields with his cloak, and then wearily sits down on the path. Mordecai runs to him, driven by his self-proclaimed love for his fellow man, and upon reaching him, discovers that he is none other than Abner ben Helek the Yemenite, the generally roguish antihero of Sefer hamusar, whose exploits are almost always related on Mordecai’s authority. The narrator asks his beloved friend “how it [is] that Time [has] so altered him”4 and inquires “where he [has] come from, and where he [is] going.”5 By way of response, Abner gives a brief and curious account of an epistolary exchange with a young man of noble lineage named Abraham ben Zechariah Halevi, who had sent him “wise questions and puzzling problems,” to which Abner has replied with “myriad instructive responses.” There is a subtle suggestion of something disquieting in the letter of inquiry from Abraham ben Zechariah Halevi. Abner asserts that, rather than avoiding his correspondent, he has written him a solicitous response, in which he sings his praises, and which he is sending via a Muslim caravan whose arrival he is now awaiting. Mordecai begs to see the clear and elegant language (ṣahut leshono) of Abner’s epistle, even though he does not know the sage in whose honor it is written, and his friend complies, conceding that its “language is eloquent, even though I am a broken man.”6 The text The allusion to the story of Hagar and Ishmael (Gen. 21:15) is perhaps not without significance, insofar as the narrator or hero of the classical Arabic maqāma often bears the status of an outcast. On the role of stock characters drawn from the margins of society in classical Arabic literature, see Abdelfattah Kilito, Les Séances: Récits et codes culturels chez Hamadhānī et Harīrī (Paris: Sindbad, 1983), 55-70 (“Le centre et la périphérie”). 4 Eikh shinnah zeman et ta‘amo. Cf. Ps. 34:1, where the phrase be-shannoto et ta‘amo means “to feign madness.” 5 Cf. 2 Sam. 3:25. On the significance of this allusion, see below. 6 The ideal of elegant and lucid style is conveyed by the Hebrew ṣaḥut. As Bernard Septimus has so masterfully shown, the history of this term is bound up with the revival of the Hebrew language in Islamic lands, which was pioneered by Saadia Gaon (882-942) and which reached full maturity during the Golden Age of Spanish Jewry; see B. Septimus, “Maimonides on Language,” in The Culture of Spanish Jewry, ed. A. Doron (n.p.: Levinsky College of Education, 1994), 35-54. The attested biblical vocalization is ṣaḥot; cf. Isa. 32:4, “the tongue of stammerers 3

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of the letter is indeed lavishly laudatory, interweaving fragments of biblical verses to yield an extended metaphor of an intellectual vineyard that Halevi has cultivated with care to produce a choice vintage. But several of its scriptural phrases are drawn from prophetic allegories of chastisement, notably Isaiah 5, Ezekiel 31, and Isaiah 63, intimating, perhaps, a certain disapproval of the young scholar’s brazen self-assuredness.7 Somewhat abruptly, the account of this correspondence is then dropped, not to be resumed. The story seems to serve largely as evidence of Abner’s ability to praise a contemporary with supreme eloquence. Convinced of his companion’s generous capacity to eulogize, Mordecai conveys his preoccupation with his own posthumous reputation, and requests that Abner compose his epitaph, though not necessarily in the strict sense of a tombstone inscription. Abner protests that it is inappropriate to lament his friend while he is still alive, but Mordecai counters that it would be an even greater disgrace to allow him to pass away unremarked, “like a useless vessel.” He begs Abner to produce an elegy, or qinah, that would speak in the name of his sons, “so that through it they might be honored and befriended by my people and so that ‘all who see them shall recognize them.’”8 Despite his misgivings, Abner consents, reciting a rhymed prose lament whose rueful introductory section teems with biblical images of woe and whose main portion traces the departed’s

[‘illegim] shall speak with fluent eloquence [ṣaḥot].” But I have cited the term as it appears in Sefer hamusar according to Ratzaby’s pointing, ṣaḥut. There seems to have been a tradition of pointing the word this way, although most medieval manuscripts are not pointed at all, and an author committed to biblical classicism might be expected to adhere to the biblical vocalization. On the variant form, see E. Ben-Yehuda, A Complete Dictionary of Ancient and Modern Hebrew (Thesaurus Totius Hebraitat et Veteris et Recentioris), 16 vols. in 8 (New York: Thomas Yoseloff, 1959), 6:5447 n. 1, and A. Even Shoshan, Ha-millon he-ḥadash, 7 vols. (Jerusalem: Qiryat Sefer, 1981), 5:2216. On Ratzaby’s method of pointing the work, see his introduction, Sefer hamusar, 24-25. 7 There is a previous reference to this correspondence in the thirty-fourth maqāma, in which Mordecai comes upon a letter that praises Abraham ben Zechariah Halevi from the city of Jibla for his profound knowledge of kabbalah despite his relative youth. Based on these two references, Ratzaby infers that Abraham ben Zechariah Halevi was a younger contemporary of Alḍāhirī and the author of a kabbalistic work in the form of questions and answers. See Sefer hamusar, 45, 379-82, and 460-61, and Ratzaby, Toratan shelivnei teiman (Qiryat Ono: Makhon Moshe, 1995), 234. 8 Cf. Isa. 61:9.

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life journey, specifying the rich array of disciplines in which he excelled and naming the enduring works he composed in these fields. The opening apostrophe, “O hills of Yemen, let there be no dew or rain on you,” draws on David’s dirge for Saul and Jonathan (2 Sam. 1:21) and leads into metaphors of cosmic mourning (“the lights of our heavens have darkened,” etc.) and universal grief at “the passing of our father, our chariot and horseman, Mordecai the Sidonian, before his friend, Abner ben Helek the Yemenite.”9 The particulars of Mordecai’s far-flung travels and wide-ranging intellectual accomplishments are then reviewed in detail: He made the circuit of all the provinces of India, Hormuz, and Basra…. He passed through the lands of Babylonia, Aleppo, Damascus, and on his way his learning did not cease. He reached upper Galilee, the cities of Safed and Tiberias, all of the Land of Israel, the city of Zion, and Jerusalem rebuilt. He saw her sages, the heads of the yeshivot and the graves of the patriarchs. He did not cease trying to learn each one’s wisdom. He went to sea, crossed wildernesses, moved about among wild animals, all in order to restore righteousness, uprightness, and purity…. He reached Egypt and Ethiopia with acquisitions and wealth, and concluded [his journey] in his land, the land of Yemen, as a worker and an artisan.10 He settled among a people not bereft [of their God] and disseminated Torah according to his ability…. He gave others to drink of his spiced wine: with words of kabbalah his way was paved.11 He dwelled there many years with friends who listened, full of sap and freshness, until the day they were banished to the towers by the decree of the one by Whom actions are measured. Close to forty years he dwelled there, gathering various kinds of wisdom, a little here, a little there, and several delightful treasures from the lairs of leopards and the dens of lions. He clearly explained several opaque aggadot; he Cf. 2 Kings 2:12, where Elisha witnesses Elijah’s ascent to heaven and cries out, “Oh, father, father! Israel’s chariot and horsemen!” The allusion suggests an implicit comparison between Mordecai and the biblical prophet who does not die an ordinary mortal’s death. 10 Ve-ḥatam be-arṣo ereṣ ha-teiman/ke-fo‘el ve-uman. Ratzaby, assuming that the elegy is really for the author, wonders whether one should infer from this that Alḍāhirī was an artisan in Yemen. But it is conceivable that the second phrase may simply have been supplied for rhyming purposes. 11 Ratzaby remarks that Alḍāhirī’s knowledge of kabbalah came from his firsthand encounters with the mystics of Safed. On the question of whether he was familiar with Lurianic kabbalah or only with the kabbalistic doctrines that antedated it, see n. 88. See also Ratzaby’s introduction, 43-44. 9

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was renowned in scriptural study; he understood every instance of legal reasoning; he diligently composed works.12 He wrote Sefer ṣeidah la-derekh on the Torah; he was accomplished and resourceful in the composition of splendid poems of different forms, which were recited by everyone….13 How many eulogies did he compose for every perfect and upright man according to what his honor dictated!14 For he accomplished plenty. His Sefer ha‘anaq, full of homonymic rhymes, is sweeter than honeycomb.15 He is the author of Sefer hamusar ve-haḥokhmah which offers the young knowledge and foresight.16 He made time for regular Torah study by night as well as by day, and comported himself correctly; not a night passed without study; he went wherever the spirit of Torah impelled him.17 He was raised on the fear of God; humility was his constant companion; he was crowned with piety.18

Ratzaby notes that there is no extant work of aggadic exegesis by Alḍāhirī; see Sefer hamusar, 464 n. 88. For an enumeration of Alḍāhirī’s works, both extant and those known only by mention, see Ratzaby’s introduction, 44-45. The phrase “he diligently composed works” literally reads, “he diligently bent his knee.” Ratzaby explains that this reflects a bit of Yemenite Jewish realia: scribes copied books while seated on one knee on the ground, with the other knee tucked underneath them; see Sefer hamusar, 464 n. 88. 13 Sefer ṣeidah la-derekh is, in fact, Alḍāhirī’s own esoteric Bible commentary; see Ratzaby’s introduction, 44, and M. Ṣadoq, “Ṣeidah la-derekh, midrash filosofi qabbali,” HaSofeh, Aug. 27, 1965. For the text, see Taj ḥamishah ḥumshei torah ‘im peirushim ve-sefer avqat rokhel, 2 vols. (Jerusalem: Y. Hasid, 1991). 14 Ratzaby observes that there are no eulogies for the dead preserved in Alḍāhirī’s poetic corpus; see Sefer hamusar, 464 n. 90. 15 On Alḍāhirī’s Sefer ha‘anaq, see Ratzaby’s introduction, 45, and Ḥayyim Schirmann, “Shtei maḥbarot mi-sefer ha-musar le-zekhariah al-dahiri,” in Yedi‘ot hamakhon le-ḥeqer ha-shirah ha‘ivrit 3 (1936): 188-89. 16 Cf. Prov. 1:2-4. The allusion draws an implicit parallel between Alḍāhirī’s Sefer hamusar and the biblical book of Proverbs, perhaps with the intention of legitimizing what is actually a rather unorthodox book of moral instruction. On the dual sense of musar in Alḍāhirī’s title, see below. 17 The phrase “by night as well as by day” could also be understood as “in the dark as well as the light.” Ratzaby notes that in the sixteenth century, oil for lamps was costly, so that most Torah study was undertaken from memory at night, in the dark. See Sefer hamusar, 464 n. 93. 18 Sefer hamusar, 463, line 76, to 464, line 95. Since, as we shall see, the epitaph is ultimately the author’s own, it is noteworthy that he feels the need to emphasize his humility while celebrating his accomplishments. 12

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Having impressed the reader with the plenitude of Mordecai’s achievement in the realms of kabbalah, biblical and aggadic exegesis, oral law, poetry, and belles lettres, Abner then accedes to his friend’s request for a threnody that his sons might recite, and concludes with brave words of consolation: He bequeathed a blessing in connection with his work: ten sons who lament him bitterly, saying, Woe is us, for the ark of the covenant has been taken from us without leaving us a remnant; he dwells in tranquil repose, but has left us to suffer; he sits among the myrtles while we are in flames; he went to his rest but left us to grieve. Woe is us on his departure. Who will feed us from the fruit of his pen? Over him we will growl like bears morning and evening; we will recite lament after lament as sadly as the jackals and mourn like the ostrich. And now, all you who knew him, eulogize him! You who fear the Lord, praise him!19 All descendants of Jacob, honor him!… Summon the dirge singers, let them come; send for the skilled women, let them come.20… Would that he would pour out on us a spirit from on high to console us. As a mother comforts her son, so will we be comforted if you deal kindly with us…. Just as he dealt kindly with every man, so shall it be done to him. He treated every man as though he were a scholar…. Let him be rewarded with your praise and prayer; may you have a full recompense from heaven. May his death atone for his iniquities, may his trials and tribulations expiate his sins. Let us bear in mind, with our slumbering hearts, that “this is all of man.” The same fate awaits the former and the latter [generations]. In the end it will occur to us, according to our limited knowledge, to leave aside our trouble and sorrow, for who has taken him if not his Creator, who has sheltered him in paradise, and installed him in His courtyard, and has given him an inheritance among the righteous? Why should terrors assail us when a delightful place has fallen to his lot? No eye has seen, O God, but You, who act for those who trust in You;21 to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord, to frequent His temple.22 Cf. Ps. 22:24. In its original context, the verse urges praise of God, but note that Alḍāhirī’s allusion playfully (perhaps somewhat scandalously?) demands a new reading in which the author himself is the object of praise. 20 Cf. Jer. 9:16. 21 Cf. Isa. 64:3. 22 Cf. Ps. 27:4. This section corresponds to Sefer hamusar, 464, line 95, to 465, line 112. 19

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After hearing Abner’s superlative elegy, Mordecai decides that he can now face his death with equanimity. Full of admiration for his friend’s mastery of language and lapidary style, he suggests that Abner compose an epitaph for himself as well, lest he, too, be forgotten. Abner replies with a Talmudic maxim, “‘The pit cannot be filled up with its own earth.’23 If you want to compose a lament for me … gird your loins like a man … and recompense me as I have you.” Mordecai demurs, arguing that he cannot remotely approach Abner’s crystalline, elegant, and dignified command of language, but Abner persuades him to proceed. The resulting piece, likewise in rhymed prose, strikes a suitably elegiac note, mourning the loss of “the diadem of poets, the crown of friends, the master of the Law, who understood every proverb and epigram and riddle … [who] was summoned to the heavenly council and left us in the dark hours of the night.” The departed’s inventive, aesthetically pleasing, and graceful way with words is a recurrent motif: “Sorrow is bound up in every corner … and rage reaches to the heart of the heavens because the golden tongue is no more.” Adapting a line from Eleh Ezkerah (a poetic lament over ten sages from the rabbinic period who were martyred by the Romans), Mordecai deplores the irretrievable loss of Abner’s gifts: “the tongue that embellished every fine phrase [le-khol meliṣah yishpor] now licks the dust.”24 But Abner is not solely remembered for his literary and linguistic skills; a series of rhetorical questions celebrates (in a general way) his prowess in the fields of biblical exegesis, oral law, and esoteric study as well: Who will illuminate the Torah for us? Who will know how to draw legal conclusions through reasoning? Who will bring us out from darkness to light…? Who will reveal to us all that is obscure? Who will explain to us all that is impenetrable? Who will resolve every difficult question for us?… Who will reconcile the scriptural verses for us?… Who will issue a responsum to everyone who inquires?

The epitaph concludes with words of comfort similar to those at the end of the previous eulogy:

BT Berakhot 3b. Eleh ezkerah is recited in many rites on Yom Kippur and is included in the Yemenite Tikhlāl; see Sefer hamusar, 467 n. 146, and Davidson, Thesaurus, 1:196, no. 4,273. On the poem’s martyrology, see Susan L. Einbinder, Beautiful Death: Jewish Poetry and Martyrdom in Medieval France (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2002), 167. 23 24

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At this point, the author of Sefer hamusar steps in, offers Abner a message of consolation, and asks him if he would recite a poem as recompense for “my kindness, in view of the work I have ahead of me, and for the sake of the children.”26 Abner complies with the final poem of the book—a rather pedestrian affair of twenty-seven verses informed by a pensive, pious mood and fairly conventional themes pertaining to man’s ultimate purpose in life: God created us to serve Him and to observe His Law during our lifetimes; every man will be called to account for his deeds, and will either merit paradise or purgatory; let us set times for Torah study, let us be humble and God-fearing. Following this peculiar coda, the narrator reappears for the two concluding lines of the work, exulting in Abner’s sublime words and bestowing blessings upon him.

THE STRUCTURAL FUNCTION OF THE EPITAPHS From a structural point of view, a final chapter contemplating the death of the work’s two protagonists provides closure to a richly variegated, kaleidoscopic, and otherwise open-ended belletristic work such as Sefer hamusar. As in the classical Arabic and Hebrew maqāma, each chapter of Sefer hamusar is an independent episode unconnected to what has preceded or what follows by any continuous plotline or narrative development.27 Cf. Dan. 12:13. On the integration of real protagonists—usually the author and his patron— into the fictional plots of Hebrew rhymed prose narratives, see Rina Drory, “The Maqama,” in The Literature of al-Andalus, ed. Maria Rosa Menocal, Raymond P. Scheindlin, and Michael Sells (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 190210, esp. 196-97 and 202. Drory notes that this device offered patrons a chance to be immortalized through fiction, which could be more effective than a panegyric. But, unlike many other authors of Arabic and Hebrew maqāmāt, Alḍāhirī was not a courtier and, as far as we know, did not compose Sefer hamusar with a benefactor in mind. 27 For the distinction between Hebrew rhymed prose narratives that adhere to the classical maqāma model of al-Ḥarīrī and those that do not, see Dan Pagis, “Variety in Medieval Rhymed Narratives,” Scripta Hierosolymitana 27 (1978): 79-98, esp. 86-91. Rina Drory cautions that the medievals themselves often did not 25 26

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Folktales, animal fables, riddles, poems, epistles, and travel accounts rub shoulders with pious admonitions, religious polemics, messianic speculations, and philosophical disquisitions in what Abdelfattah Kilito has termed the maqāma’s characteristic pluralité or mélange, observing that the complex maqāma incorporates a number of simpler, smaller, preexisting genres.28 Like the classical maqāma, what lends Sefer hamusar unity is the consistent presence of its ubiquitous narrator and hero. That Abner takes center stage in almost every adventure and that the events of each encounter are related on Mordecai’s authority enables one to go beyond an atomistic view of the book’s component tales and consider the work as a larger whole. How fitting, then, to conclude the narrative with epitaphs for these two fictional characters, and how striking that neither of the works that Alḍāhirī names as his models—the Arabic Maqāmāt of Abū ’l-Ḥasan alḤarīrī (1054-1122) and the Hebrew Taḥkemoni of Judah al-Ḥarīzī (c. 11651225)—ends so neatly.29 Al-Ḥarīzī’s Taḥkemoni concludes with a catchall chapter of poems on various topics. But even if one discounts this anthology as an appendix, there is nothing comparable to Alḍāhirī’s final maqāma. Al-Ḥarīrī’s Maqāmāt close with the work’s roguish protagonist preaching in the Grand Mosque of Basra, having seemingly repented of his sins but actually fleecing his audience before devoting himself to a life of piety. If his “questionable conversion,” as James Monroe terms it, is taken seriously, it provides a sort of closure to the work, but, again, there is very little similarity between this maqāma and Alḍāhirī’s forty-fifth chapter.30 The same could be said of al-Ḥarīrī’s penultimate maqāma, even though it distinguish between proper maqāmāt and other rhymed narratives; see “The Maqama,” 199. 28 See Abdelfattah Kilito, “Le Genre séance: Une introduction,” Studia Islamica 43 (1976): 51. See also Drory, “The Maqama,” 190, and A.F.L. Beeston, “AlHamadhānī, al-Ḥarīrī, and the Maqāmāt Genre,” in The Cambridge History of Arabic Literature: ‘Abbasid Belles Lettres, ed. J. Ashtiany et al. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 125-35, esp. 128-29, citing Kilito, Les Séances, 13 and 33. Rina Drory makes a similar observation with regard to adab literature as a whole: “Of all the other classical Arabic disciplines, adab is mostly characterized by its reliance upon the other genres in the literary system as a reservoir of materials.” See Drory, Models and Contacts: Arabic Literature and its Impact on Medieval Jewish Culture (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 11. 29 For the author’s identification of these two models, see Sefer hamusar, 52-53. 30 See James T. Monroe, The Art of Badī‘ az-Zamān al-Hamadhānī as Picaresque Narrative (Beirut: American University of Beirut, 1983), 81-83.

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parodies a father’s ethical will to his son (the aging protagonist exhorts his son to make a living from mendicancy).31 An Arabic literary antecedent to Alḍāhirī’s epitaphs can perhaps be found in al-Maqāmāt al-luzūmiyya of the twelfth-century Andalusian author al-Saraqusṭī (d. 1143), whose fiftieth and final maqāma records the protagonist’s death and thus furnishes an ending of sorts. The narrator inscribes on his tomb some verses of poetry that the protagonist had once entrusted to him. The speaker in the poem is the deceased, and the themes are penitential and contemplative, evoking the finality of death. But Monroe says that this story, too, “has the stamp of inauthenticity about it” and that the repentance of both protagonist and narrator seems to be false.32 In fact, the most immediate literary antecedent to Alḍāhirī’s final chapter is found in an unacknowledged Hebrew source of inspiration: the Maḥbarot of Immanuel of Rome (c. 1261-1335). But even the poetic tombstone inscriptions and rhymed prose elegy that Immanuel composes for himself do not serve a comparable structural function, as they come seven chapters before the end of his spirited and piquant work.33 Indeed, if we can take Immanuel’s preface at face value, the Maḥbarot were not conceived as a selfcontained book at all but were rather pieced together from preexisting poems and stories written over an extended period.34 While Sefer hamusar also appears to have been composed in separate installments between 1568 and 1580,35 Alḍāhirī (c. 1519-c. 1585) clearly envisaged the work as an integral whole and organized it himself, deliberately placing his characters’ epitaphs at the very end.36 See Kilito, Les Séances, 62. See James T. Monroe, ed. and trans., Al-maqāmāt al-Luzūmiyya by Abū l-Ṭāhir Muḥammad ibn Yūsuf al-Tamīmī al-Saraqusṭī ibn al-Ashtarkūwī (d. 538/1143) (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 96-100 and 499-500. 33 For a comparison of Alḍāhirī’s epitaphs with Immanuel’s auto-elegy, see below. The final chapter of Maḥberot Immanuel is “Maḥberet ha-tofet ve-ha-‘eden” (Inferno and Paradise), whose indebtedness to Dante has been discussed by scholars; see, e.g., David Fishelov, “From Dante’s Inferno to Immanuel’s ‘Inferno’ ” (Hebrew), Biqqoret u-farshanut 27 (1991): 19-42. 34 See Maḥberot Immanuel HaRomi, ed. Dov Jarden, 2d ed. (Jerusalem: By the Author, n.d.), 5, lines 40-45. 35 Alḍāhirī’s fictional characters furnish various seemingly conflicting dates for their adventures. Ratzaby reconciles the discrepancies by positing that the work was composed in installments between 1568 and 1580; see his introduction to Sefer hamusar, 12-13. 36 See the author’s introduction, Sefer hamusar, 52: ve-ḥilaqti ha-sefer ha-hu lemaḥbarot/be-‘inyanim shonim medaberot. Apparently, each of al-Hamadhānī’s discrete 31 32

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THE BLURRING OF FICTION AND REALITY Quite apart from the finality it furnishes, the concluding chapter of Sefer hamusar goads the reader to reexamine Alḍāhirī’s studiously ambiguous relationship with his invented characters and, by extension, to contemplate the tenuous boundaries he sets between the fictional and the real. Admittedly, by his time there was a well-established convention in Hebrew rhymed prose works of blurring the actual with the imagined, and in particular of the author interposing himself toward the end of the narrative.37 Ross Brann has argued that these literary devices were designed to subject the reader “to the text’s thematic, stylistic, and narrative trickery just as the characters … fall prey to dissimulation, disguises, substitutions, illusions, and self-deception” and thus to engage the reader in a process of distinguishing illusion from reality.38 In a similar vein, Abdelfattah Kilito has explored the dissimulation, falsehood, and fiction that figure in al-Ḥarīrī’s Maqāmāt as both elements of the plot and complex literary devices.39 He notes that the work’s inherent ambiguity and imposture result in part from the author’s “dissimulating his voice by transferring it to his characters who acquire, through this trickery, an autonomy and a presence that are not different from those of real beings.”40 Rina Drory has written that “Jewish authors understood the idea of the fictional hero as a disguised appearance of themselves in the text, not of some plausibly existing person, as was the episodes originated as an oral improvisation, and he “did not trouble to arrange for an authorized collection,” whereas al-Ḥarīrī produced his entire collection of fifty maqāmāt in an authorized version; see Drory, “The Maqama,” 191. 37 Pagis observes that in the case of al-Ḥarīzī’s Taḥkemoni, the author appears in the very first chapter, and “thus the fiction is disrupted even before it begins.” See Pagis, “Variety in Medieval Rhymed Narratives,” 96. 38 Ross Brann, The Compunctious Poet: Cultural Ambiguity and Hebrew Poetry in Muslim Spain (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991), 138-40. Brann notes that the narrative device “of a persona identified with the author who intervenes or participates in the tale as a protagonist” is also found in European literature. He observes that Judah ibn Shabbetai’s (1168-1225) Minḥat yehudah sone’ ha-nashim—a Hebrew rhymed prose narrative contemporaneous with al-Ḥarīzī’s Taḥkemoni—“ruptures the literary framework separating fiction from reality … by injecting the author’s persona into the story at a critical moment,” ibid., 139. In this instance, the author interrupts the trial at which the protagonist has just been condemned to death and tells the judge that his characters are entirely invented. See also Pagis, “Variety in Medieval Rhymed Narratives,” 95-98. 39 Kilito, Les Séances, 248-59 (“Le menteur professionel”). 40 Ibid., 251.

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case in the Arabic maqāmāt.”41 While Alḍāhirī is clearly working within this narrative tradition, he conflates his authorial identity with the personae of his characters to such a degree in his closing chapter that he raises questions about his conception of Sefer hamusar as a whole, as well as about his selfperceptions as a sixteenth-century Yemenite Torah scholar who, alone among the members of his learned circle, penned a lighthearted, at times subversive, belletristic work that blends didacticism with witty entertainment, and moral and intellectual edification with tales of knavery and deceit. Even the most cursory glance at Abner’s appreciation of Mordecai suggests that the elegy is intended as much—if not more—for the author himself. (The modern editor of Sefer hamusar assumes that this is so.) The conflation of narrator and author soon becomes clear, for the titles ascribed here to Mordecai are most emphatically the work of Zechariah Alḍāhirī: Sefer ṣeidah la-derekh, his esoteric Bible commentary informed by his knowledge of philosophy and kabbalah; Sefer ha‘anaq, his book of homonymic (tajnīs) rhymes, which bears the same name as similar works by Moses Ibn Ezra and Judah al-Ḥarīzī; and Sefer hamusar, the present rhymed prose narrative.42 Mordecai’s putative expertise in halakhah and poetic composition also dovetails with Alḍāhirī’s curriculum vitae, and scholars have generally presumed that the author himself visited many of the places mentioned in his protagonists’ itinerary.43 There would certainly seem to be

See Drory, “The Maqama,” 201. On Sefer ṣeidah la-derekh, see n. 13. On Sefer ha’anaq, see n. 15. 43 On Alḍāhirī’s oeuvre, see nn. 12 and 14. For a prime example of a scholar who does not question the historicity of the travels described in Sefer hamusar, see the various works of Abraham Yaari, and in particular Masa’ot ereṣ yisra’el (Tel Aviv: HaHistadrut haṢiyonit, 1946). While Ratzaby assumes that the author in fact visited many of the places mentioned in the work, he does caution that the protagonists’ travels, which frame almost every maqāma, are most profitably viewed as a literary device rather than as a record of historical fact, even though there is, without a doubt, historically accurate material embedded in these accounts. See his introduction, Sefer hamusar, 26-27. On the danger inherent in reading such belletristic works purely as travelogues, see Ross Brann, Power in the Portrayal: Representations of Jews and Muslims in Eleventh- and Twelfth-Century Islamic Spain (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2002), 140 n. 3. Ophir Muenz-Manor has kindly shared with me the typescript of a forthcoming article entitled “Imagined Journeys: Literature, History, and the Production of Travel Narratives in the Sixteenth-Century Yemenite Book of Ethics,” which insightfully contrasts the roles played by the travel narratives in the Taḥkemoni and Sefer hamusar. 41 42

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an autobiographical impetus for Mordecai’s return to his native land of Yemen at the end of his travels. Identities are notoriously fluid throughout this maqāma—as they are in Sefer hamusar as a whole and, indeed, throughout the genre of maqāma literature.44 In most chapters, the mischief-making Abner—who is a wandering bard, adventurer, and downright imposter—turns up in a given location in one of many disguises in order to exploit the generosity of trusting strangers, who unfailingly succumb to his trickery. When he appears, he is frequently watched but not recognized by his friend Mordecai, who has come upon him fortuitously. The reader is never quite sure whether Abner has one real identity and several disguises, or whether, in his serpentine fashion, he simply dons and sheds various personae like a series of skins. As a rule, Abner reveals himself to Mordecai only toward the end of each escapade. Thus the denouement of virtually every chapter involves a recognition scene or anagnorisis. The final maqāma departs from this formula insofar as the narrator discerns early on that he has stumbled on his old crony. Paradoxically, this discovery does not resolve the vexing question of who is who, as the boundaries between the author and his protagonists become ever less distinct. Like the antiheroes of the classical maqāma, Abner is, for much of the work, portrayed as a cunning scoundrel or charlatan who swindles his way through life by means of his dazzling, smooth speech. Even in those chapters where he presents philosophical or ethical material in an ostensibly straightforward vein without overtly duping anyone, our awareness of his cynical disregard for ethical niceties and general lack of moral substance undermines the seeming sobriety and probity of his remarks.45 In the final maqāma, Abner is something of a world-weary penitent; an elderly poet chastened by the ravages of Time who does not revert to any of his more irrepressible and irresponsible personae. His restraint may well be due to an authorial desire to end the work on a pious note. But even so, Alḍāhirī cannot resist inserting a subtle reminder of Abner’s perfidy by means of an allusion to his biblical namesake. In inquiring “where he had come from 44 See, e.g., Adena Tanenbaum, “Of a Pietist Gone Bad and Des(s)erts Not Had: The Fourteenth Chapter of Zechariah Alḍāhirī’s Sefer hamusar,” Prooftexts 23, no. 3 (autumn 2003): 297-319. 45 See Adena Tanenbaum, “Didacticism or Literary Legerdemain? Philosophical and Ethical Themes in Zechariah Aldahiri’s Sefer Hamusar,” in Adaptations and Innovations: Studies on the Interaction between Jewish and Islamic Thought and Literature from the Early Middle Ages to the Late Twentieth Century, Dedicated to Professor Joel L. Kraemer, ed. Y. Tzvi Langermann, Josef Stern, and Ilai Alon (Leuven: Peeters, forthcoming).

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and where he was going,” Mordecai incorporates a fragment of 2 Sam. 3:25, where Joab chides King David, “Don’t you know that Abner son of Ner came only to deceive you, to learn your comings and goings and to find out all that you are planning?”46 Abner is, moreover, not exempt from Alḍāhirī’s playful overlapping of identities: as though in anticipation of the ambiguity of the epitaphs, the elegant letter to Abraham ben Zechariah Halevi bears not Abner’s, but Alḍāhirī’s signature (“Zechariah ben Se‘adya ben Jacob”),47 while the two main characters are implicitly conflated when a phrase used in the eulogy to trace Mordecai’s travels (“He made the circuit of all the provinces of India, Hormuz, and Basra”) is applied verbatim elsewhere to Abner’s journeys.48 In his preface to Sefer hamusar, Alḍāhirī invokes what was by his time a literary topos, telling us that his narrative is conveyed through two decidedly imaginary figures, Mordecai the Sidonian and Abner ben Helek the Yemenite, who are not to be facilely identified with him, although he confesses to an affinity between his authorial voice and theirs.49 In the final chapter of the work, he still maintains the fiction of two characters who are distinct from each other as well as from him, even though it is clear that he Sefer hamusar, 460, line 23. Another instance in which Alḍāhirī subtly teases and engages the reader by signing a poem of Abner’s with an acrostic containing his own name can be found in chap. 14; see Tanenbaum, “Of a Pietist Gone Bad,” 307. It could, perhaps, be argued that in such instances Alḍāhirī simply inserted one of his preexisting poems into his rhymed prose, constructing Abner’s exploits around it, as elsewhere in the work Alḍāhirī actually signs his poems with Abner’s name, perpetuating the illusion that his imaginary character is an accomplished littérateur. On poems that seem to antedate the chapters in which they are embedded, see Ratzaby’s introduction, Sefer hamusar, 12-13. Dan Pagis has noted that the poems sometimes inspire the surrounding narrative in the maqāma literature, particularly in the more rhetorical episodes; see his Change and Tradition in the Secular Poetry: Spain and Italy (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Keter, 1976), 204-12. 48 See Sefer hamusar, ch. 39, 417, line 12. 49 As Rina Drory notes, Arabic maqāma authors regularly stated in their prefaces that their protagonists were invented, and the authors of Hebrew maqāma collections took this declaration of fictionality as “an indispensable part of the maqāma model,” even though the two groups had different intentions in making these declarations that were related to their respective “attitudes towards representing reality in written texts.” According to Drory, the authors of Hebrew maqāmāt were “asserting not only that the stories are false, but that they are not even plausible.” See Drory, “The Maqama,” 200-202, and idem, Models and Contacts, 11-33. 46 47

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has placed his own epitaph in their mouths. Should the two eulogies be read as one composite whole? Or are their differing emphases and degrees of detail meant to suggest disparities not only in the achievements of their fictitious subjects but also in the compositional skills of their fictional authors? (After all, Mordecai protests that he is not as gifted a stylist as Abner.) Has Alḍāhirī chosen to highlight different aspects of himself in each of the two pieces, viewing his narrator and hero as distinct projections of his personality and abilities? Is Abner, in fact, his alter ego? A comparison of the two elegies reveals that Abner paints a comprehensive portrait of Mordecai’s travels and intellectual accomplishments, while Mordecai celebrates Abner’s gift for eloquence, but refers to his expertise in other fields of endeavor only in the most general way, without suggesting that he composed any works worthy of mention. Yet Abner is the one who corresponds with sages from elsewhere in Yemen whose specialties range from kabbalah to astronomy to Maimonides’ legal code.50 On occasion, and despite his loyal friend’s uncritical acclaim, he also writes indifferent poetry. Alḍāhirī’s auto-epitaphs display a great degree of verisimilitude, yet by putting them into the mouths of his fictional surrogates, he challenges the reader to sort out the real from the imaginary and to make sense of the distance that he has intentionally placed between himself and the tribute that he has written for himself.

LITERARY ANTECEDENTS: PARALLELS, DIVERGENCES The editor of Sefer hamusar, Yehuda Ratzaby, remarks in a footnote that Abner’s eulogy for Mordecai is deliberately modeled on Immanuel’s lament for himself, which is found in the twenty-first chapter of his Maḥbarot.51 While Immanuel’s extravagantly laudatory auto-elegy is likely the most immediate literary antecedent to Alḍāhirī’s epitaph, a close comparison reveals some not insignificant dissimilarities that may be due as much to the very distinct cultural contexts of the two works as to differences in the 50 Sefer hamusar names eight scholars who exchanged letters with him. Ratzaby is convinced that these epistolary exchanges reflect the author’s actual correspondences with sages from all over Yemen (“from Jibla in the south to Sa‘adah in the north”), who regularly turned to him with questions pertaining to religious affairs, as he was an eminent Torah scholar. See Ratzaby’s introduction, Sefer hamusar, 45-46. 51 See Sefer hamusar, 461 n. 52. Elsewhere Ratzaby notes that Immanuel furnishes a precedent for Alḍāhirī’s adaptation of 2 Sam. 1:21 (“O hills of Yemen, let there be no dew or rain on you”) in an elegy in his twenty-fourth maḥberet (“O Apennines … let there be no dew or rain on you”); see Sefer hamusar, 16 n. 8.

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temperaments of the two authors. Immanuel, whose narratives are tinged with irony, relates that he—which is to say, his fictitious namesake— together with his patron and partner in crime, visited a church where they discovered gravestone inscriptions so morally edifying and aesthetically pleasing that they momentarily forgot their lust for young women and thought of becoming saints in the afterlife. The prince marvels that the Jewish community could be so remiss in not similarly inscribing laments and moral reproofs in their houses of worship and cemeteries. Immanuel replies that in his far-flung travels, he has indeed found splendid and moving eulogies on the gravestones of rabbis and communal officials. In fact, about twenty years earlier, he had composed two epitaphs for his own tombstone that would “speak when I became mute; chastise those who take no heed; and … shame the proud out of their arrogance.”52 The prince is miffed that his boon companion has kept these gems from him and insists that Immanuel recite them. What follows are two formal poems, in both of which the deceased addresses the living from the grave, stressing the finality of death, and urging them to pray on his behalf now that he has descended from tranquillity and comfort to the depths of sepulchral darkness and extinction. With graphically macabre imagery reminiscent of Samuel Hanagid’s memento mori poems, Immanuel conveys the inescapable decay of the grave.53 The prince is duly impressed with Immanuel’s rhetorical gifts and swears that they will not return home until his protégé composes a poetic epitaph for his tombstone as well. Immanuel fulfills this request, after which the prince chides him for neglecting to compose a lament for himself while assiduously eulogizing every eminence who has passed away. He urges Immanuel to write a tribute to himself while still alive, for after he is gone, there will be no one talented enough to do so. This exchange and the ensuing rhymed prose elegy were clearly the inspiration for Alḍāhirī’s final maqāma. It is worth noting that Immanuel, too, confounds the boundaries between historical reality and fiction. As Matti Huss notes, Immanuel’s preface contains deliberately contradictory statements about the authorship of the Maḥbarot. In one version of the preface, a seemingly historical prince with no aptitude for poetry advises Immanuel to create an imaginary companion for his own persona, modeled on the prince himself. In the alternate version of the preface, Immanuel identifies his anonymous patron as an outstanding poet and the true inspiration for the Maḥbarot. Huss cites See Maḥberot Immanuel HaRomi, ed. Jarden, 384, lines 20-22. See Dvora Bregman, “The Realistic and the Macabre in the Poetry of Samuel Hanagid” (Hebrew), Jerusalem Studies in Hebrew Literature 15 (1995): 75-82. 52 53

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this contradiction as evidence that Immanuel did not adopt wholesale the Western European literary convention according to which fictional events were depicted as historical realities, but rather tempered it with the Hispano-Hebrew view of fiction as embodied in the maqāma tradition, which represented possible realities rather than historically valid ones.54 How, then, does Alḍāhirī’s auto-eulogy compare with Immanuel’s? Overall, its self-praise is more subtle, in part because it is put into the mouth of a character who does not overtly share the author’s name and it celebrates the accomplishments of another fictitious individual who does not share the author’s name.55 The lament composed by Immanuel’s eponymous hero is blatantly self-referential, even though it is ostensibly written to be recited by someone else after his death, and thus refers to its subject in the third person or addresses him in the second. In keeping with the bold, insolent, impertinent, and provocative tone of his Maḥbarot, Immanuel displays little restraint in his self-glorification, happily penning such lines of biblical pastiche as, “Alas, our prince, Immanuel/ sweet singer of Israel/the breath of our life and our anointed one/frontlet for the holy diadem on our foreheads/the life of our flesh and spirit/… you were our chief joy/through you we forgot all our sighing/and said: ‘This one will provide us relief from our work and from the toil of our hands’/all our honor depended on you.”56 Admittedly, Alḍāhirī’s auto-eulogy also opens with larger-than-life expressions of universal grief, but it leaves a less patently immodest impression, since it is presented as Abner’s lament for Mordecai. In a similar vein, Immanuel’s hunger for recognition is ever so

54 See Matti Huss, “The Status of Fiction in the Hebrew Maqāma: Judah alḤarīzī and Immanuel of Rome” (Hebrew), Tarbiz 67 (1998): 351-78. The contrast that Huss draws between the status of fiction in the Western European and Hispano-Hebrew literary traditions might be profitably juxtaposed with the comparison that Rina Drory makes between the Arabic maqāma authors’ view of fiction as a plausible representation of reality and the Jewish maqāma authors’ assertion that their stories are not only false but completely implausible. 55 In his introduction, Alḍāhirī writes that he has narrated the work through two individuals who are “strangers” to him but whose names have the same numerological value as his own. See Sefer hamusar, 52-53, lines 28-36. On the numerological calculations, see Ratzaby’s introduction, ibid., 10 n. 6. 56 See Maḥberot Immanuel, 390, lines 167-71. The citation “This one will provide us relief from our work and from the toil of our hands” is from Gen. 5:29, where it is pronounced upon the birth of Noah; for the original context of the phrase, “all our honor depended on you,” see Isa. 22:24.

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thinly veiled, while Alḍāhirī’s preoccupation with his posthumous reputation is somewhat more delicately disguised as Mordecai’s.57 Immanuel’s self-appreciation dances precariously on the edge of egotism. Not only does he address himself with honorifics (ha-sar, nesi’einu), but he enumerates his accomplishments in biblical exegesis, communal affairs, grammatical (and even musical) study in a way that suggests that he considered himself to be quite irreplaceable: Now, who will console us … when our trembling has become violent and there is no room for consolation? Were it not for your blessing, O Prince, which you reserved for us, laying bare the books of prophecy according to the gift of your intellect … the breath of our life would no longer have been left, and our twilight stars would have remained dark.… Alas, community of Rome! Who will illuminate your twilight stars? Alas, world of the intellect! Who will penetrate the mystery of your angels and seraphim?… Alas, the scroll of the Lord’s Torah! Who will expose the silver filigree-work (maskiot kesef; lit: settings of silver) around your golden apples?58… Alas, science of melody! Who will prepare the work of your sockets and drums?59… Alas, Book of Chronicles! Who will explain your opaque words? Alas, Book of Proverbs! Who will tie together your pleasant verses? Alas, Book of Job! Who will illuminate your sealed mysteries? Alas, Book of Psalms!… Alas, Daniel! Who will reveal the mystery of the end of days?… Lament like a maiden, science of grammar, for the man who made you his wife is dead.60 Alḍāhirī indulges in a few fairly direct borrowings from Immanuel on the level of individual phrases; compare, e.g., Sefer hamusar, 465, line 109, with Maḥberot Immanuel, 394, line 256, and Sefer hamusar, 466, line 136, with Maḥberot Immanuel, 391, line 184. 58 Cf. Prov. 25:11. Exposing the silver filigree work around the Torah’s golden apples is a metaphor for uncovering the esoteric meanings of Scripture that goes back to Maimonides; see Moses Maimonides, The Guide of the Perplexed, introduction to part 1, trans. Shlomo Pines (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1963), 1:1112. See also Frank Talmage, “Apples of Gold: The Inner Meaning of Sacred Texts in Medieval Judaism,” in Jewish Spirituality, ed. A. Green (New York: Crossroad, 1986), 1:313-55, esp. 315. 59 See Maḥberot Immanuel, 391, lines 193-94, and note the play on the phrase melekhet tupekha u-nqavekha in Ezek. 28:13, which occurs in the context of a dirge over the king of Tyre. 60 Maḥberot Immanuel, 390, line 179, to 391, line 203. Immanuel was a respected and prolific biblical exegete; his commentary on Proverbs was printed in Naples in 1486/87, and portions of his commentary on the Song of Songs, as well as his 57

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Though obviously not troubled by the unseemliness of such vaunts, he realizes at some level that they might be considered in poor taste and so issues a disclaimer, acknowledging that he has exaggerated his virtues, for such is the way of poets of all faiths to inflate praise and derision. Therefore the sage [Aristotle] said … “the best part of the poem is the most false” [meitav ha-shir kezavo]. I wrote them as though one of my relatives or intimates had recited them about me in an overstated fashion after my death.

In other words, Immanuel claims license to exaggerate by invoking the Aristotelian view that falsehood is integral to poetry. The aphorism that he cites was understood to refer to the figurative language at the heart of poetry, which is not literally true, as well as to the poetic tendency to distort the truth in panegyrics and invective verse.61 He also disingenuously suggests that the relatives who would likely recite his lament would want to lavish praises on him. His qinah is followed by an amusing concatenation of philosophers, scientists, and biblical figures and the works or qualities that they left behind when they departed this world, which appears to be arranged helter-skelter according to the exigencies of rhyme alone: “One need not wonder that Immanuel left behind the flock in his care … or the gems of his books and poems, for … Aristotle left behind his philosophy, and Tamar the sister of Absalom—her beauty, and Solomon—the throne of the Lord and Bitya, and Naomi—Ruth the Moabite.… Ptolemy left behind the science of astronomy … and the science of optics, and Jacob— the twelve tribes.” Taken together with this comical litany, Immanuel’s commentaries on Psalms, Ruth, Micah, and Esther have all been printed; see Dvora Bregman, A Bundle of Gold: Hebrew Sonnets from the Renaissance and the Baroque (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Ben-Zvi Institute, 1997), 29. Bregman notes that Immanuel’s book of Hebrew grammar, Even boḥan, is still in MS. 61 On meitav ha-shir kezavo, see, e.g., Brann, The Compunctious Poet, 72-75, and Dan Pagis, Secular Poetry and Poetic Theory: Moses Ibn Ezra and His Contemporaries (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1970), 46-50. Medieval Aristotelians scorned poetry’s metaphorical language as the product of man’s imaginative faculty, which is inferior to the rational faculty; for the inroads that these ideas made into various genres of literature see, e.g., Moses b. Jacob Ibn Ezra, Kitāb al-Muḥāḍara wa’l-Mudhākara (sefer ha-‘iyyunim ve-ha-diyyunim), ed. and trans. A.S. Halkin (Jerusalem: Mekize Nirdamim, 1975), 62a [116]; Shem Ṭov Falaquera, Sefer ha-mevaqqesh, extracts in Ḥayyim Schirmann, Ha-shirah ha-‘ivrit bi-sefarad u-ve-provans (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 195456; 2d ed., 1960-61), 2:334-42; and Meshullam da Piera, “She’eluni ḥakham levav,” in Schirmann, Ha-shirah ha-‘ivrit, 2:303. See also Maḥberot Immanuel, 149, lines 22429.

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disavowal of his auto-eulogy seems designed not only to deflect potential criticism but also to undercut the seriousness of his intent. One wonders whether Alḍāhirī read his jocular and cynical predecessor with the requisite sense of humor and skepticism. Alḍāhirī’s borrowings from Immanuel’s Maḥbarot are noteworthy in light of the cultural synthesis that such appropriation theoretically entails. As scholars such as Dan Pagis, Dvora Bregman, and Matti Huss have observed, Maḥberot Immanuel itself fuses elements of the medieval Iberian Jewish literary tradition with poetic forms, stylistic conventions, and cultural allusions drawn from the world of Renaissance Italy.62 Like Maḥberot Immanuel, Sefer hamusar is a Hebrew rhymed prose narrative modeled on the classical maqāma, which is at base an Eastern Arabic literary genre. But in Hebrew letters from the thirteenth century on, and especially for Hebrew authors in Christian Europe, familiarity with the maqāma was largely mediated by al-Ḥarīzī’s Taḥkemoni, which, in many respects, Hebraicized the Arabic prototype of the genre, the Maqāmāt of al-Ḥarīrī.63 Alḍāhirī, on the other hand, had direct access to al-Ḥarīrī’s Maqāmāt, in addition to alḤarīzī’s Hispano-Hebrew opus and Immanuel’s Italianate Maḥbarot, when he wrote what was one of the last in a series of medieval Hebrew rhymed prose narratives composed over a period of four hundred years.64 The

62 See Pagis, Change and Tradition, 257-73; Dvora Bregman, “The Metrical System of Immanuel of Rome” (Hebrew), Tarbiz 58 (1989): 413-52; idem, A Bundle of Gold, 29-30; and Huss, “The Status of Fiction in the Hebrew Maqāma.” 63 See Abraham Lavi, “The Rationale of al-Ḥarīzī in Biblicizing the Maqāmāt of al-Ḥarīrī,” JQR n.s. 74 (1984): 280-93, and Yosef Sadan, “Judah al-Ḥarīzī as a Cultural Junction: An Arabic Biography of a Jewish Writer as Perceived by an Orientalist” (Hebrew), Pe‘amim 68 (1996): 16-67. Rina Drory has argued that it is inadequate to view al-Ḥarīzī’s Taḥkemoni exclusively as a Hebrew version of an Arabic literary model, composed during his journey to the East. One should also take into account the impact of the changing cultural ideals that al-Ḥarīzī had internalized in northern Spain before his departure, during a period in which Hebrew had begun to assume many of the literary functions previously fulfilled by Arabic; see Drory, Models and Contacts, 215-32, originally published as “The Hidden Context: On Literary Products of Tri-Cultural Contacts in the Middle Ages” (Hebrew), Pe‘amim 46-47 (1991): 9-28. Immanuel explicitly mentions al-Ḥarīzī’s Taḥkemoni as a valuable, if not precise, model for his Maḥbarot; see his introduction, 4-5, lines 32-45. In addition, he praises al-Ḥarīzī’s incomparable poetry and rhymed prose at the beginning of his ninth maḥberet; see 167, lines 1-8. 64 For a comprehensive list, see J. Schirmann, Die hebräische Übersetzung der Maqamen des Hariri (Frankfurt am Main: J. Kauffmann, 1930), 111-32. On Alḍāhirī’s

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question is whether by drawing on Immanuel, he indirectly produced a blend of Western European and Eastern influences, or whether he borrowed selectively only those elements that resonated with him as a Yemenite Jewish author. Alḍāhirī was far from insular, having traveled extensively in the Middle East and even to India, but he had no firsthand experience of Jewish life in a western Mediterranean or European cultural context. Immanuel’s frame story of wandering among the tombstones in a Christian cemetery in awe of their admonitory epitaphs calls to mind the Renaissance humanist passion for collecting inscriptions from classical funeral monuments and ruins as both rhetorical models and tangible ties to Roman antiquity.65 Perhaps this fascination did not speak to Alḍāhirī, as he supplies his own pretext for composing his elegies. Moreover, while neither author’s rhymed prose auto-eulogy is intended for inscription on his gravestone, Immanuel does compose formal poems for this purpose. These literary artifacts reflect an actual Italian Jewish tradition, judging from David Malkiel’s recent articles on Hebrew epitaph poetry from sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Italy.66 Immanuel’s epitaph poems brood darkly on death and, like many of Samuel Hanagid’s meditations on mortality, do not imagine the end as a quietus or welcome release from life, but rather as a horrifying dissolution into dust and worms. Dvora Bregman’s remarks regarding the realistic and the macabre in the Nagid’s poems on death could borrowings from, or parallels to, the works of his Jewish predecessors, see Ratzaby’s introduction to Sefer hamusar, 15-18. 65 See Karl S. Guthke, Epitaph Culture in the West: Variations on a Theme in Cultural History (Lewiston, N.Y.: Edwin Mellen, 2003), 37-55. 66 See David Malkiel, “Poems on Tombstone Inscriptions in Northern Italy in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries” (Hebrew), Pe‘amim 98-99 (2004): 121-54, and idem, “Christian Hebraism in a Contemporary Key: The Search for Hebrew Epitaph Poetry in Seventeenth-Century Italy,” JQR 96, no. 1 (2006): 123-46. The composition of epitaphs by gifted literary figures became a sort of profession in Italy: Leon Modena (1571-1648) wrote almost 150 for others, as well as two for himself—the first, as a literary exercise when he was fifteen years old, and the second when he was an adult. The later epitaph was engraved on his tombstone and is still extant. I am grateful to Dvora Bregman and Michela Andreatta for calling this to my attention. See The Divan of Leo de Modena, ed. Simon Bernstein (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1932), English introduction, xviii, and 225-58. Modena’s brief auto-epitaph from his mature years, Arba‘ amot qarqa‘, is on 231, no. 225. See also The Autobiography of a Seventeenth-Century Rabbi: Leon Modena’s Life of Judah, trans. and ed. Mark Cohen (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1988), 177-80.

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equally be applied to Immanuel’s auto-epitaphs, insofar as they, too, identify the deceased with his interred body, rather than with an immortal soul, and portray death less as a divine decree than as the wanton act of an alien, capricious force that the poet is powerless to subdue or appease.67 By contrast, Alḍāhirī’s final chapter contains no such poems, and nowhere conveys a comparably gruesome, grim picture of death. Indeed, the imprint of Samuel Hanagid is singularly absent from Sefer hamusar, despite Alḍāhirī’s intimate familiarity with the corpus of Andalusian Hebrew verse.68 While he, too, is horrified by the thought of passing into oblivion, his fears center on his posthumous reputation. More than a dread of worms and physical decay, Alḍāhirī’s personae live in terror of their accomplishments going unrecorded for posterity. Of the other possible literary antecedents, none is quite as close in conception and execution as Immanuel’s. The composition of elegies and epitaph poems was, of course, integral to the Andalusian Hebrew poetic tradition that Alḍāhirī knew well. Laments for illustrious religious scholars include Solomon Ibn Gabirol’s elegies for Hai Gaon and Moses Ibn Ezra’s tombstone inscription for Isaac Alfasi.69 Among Judah Halevi’s many moving elegies is one mourning the loss of his beloved friend and fellow

67 See Bregman, “The Realistic and the Macabre in the Poetry of Samuel Hanagid.” Immanuel’s pessimism and fatalism may well have been shaped by the tragedies that befell him: in 1321, his son-in-law was murdered in Rome. Around the same time, he lost his parents, wife, and eldest son; see Bregman, A Bundle of Gold, 29. Immanuel’s twenty-first maḥberet concludes with two brief qinot for his son Moshe; see Maḥberot Immanuel, 394-95, lines 266-86. In a personal communication (Aug. 29, 2006), Dvora Bregman observed that an obsession with the theme of death is characteristic of Baroque poetry, and that, as the roots of the Baroque reach far back, Samuel Hanagid and Immanuel each in his own way may have drawn on a related tradition and aesthetic. See J.M. Cohen, The Baroque Lyric (London: Hutchinson, 1963), esp. 30-51. I am indebted to Professor Bregman for this reference. 68 See, once again, the list of Alḍāhirī’s borrowings from his predecessors in Ratzaby’s introduction to Sefer hamusar, 15-18. 69 See Solomon Ibn Gabirol, Nigde‘ah qeren ‘adinah and Bekhu, ‘ammi, in Schirmann, Ha-shirah ha-‘ivrit bi-sefarad u-ve-provans, 1:203, and Moses Ibn Ezra, Kitvu be-‘et barzel ‘alei shamir, in Moses Ibn Ezra: Secular Poems (Hebrew), ed. H. Brody and D. Pagis, 3 vols. (Jerusalem: Schocken Institute, 1935-77), 2:212-13. Ibn Ezra’s poem is cited in the seventeenth-century chronicle of Joseph Sambari; see Sefer divrei yosef, ed. Shimon Shtober (Jerusalem: Ben-Zvi Institute, 1994), 189.

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poet Moses Ibn Ezra.70 The most common kind of Andalusian qinah is a formal poem of lamentation over the dead with a highly stylized structure and repertoire of motifs. Typically, it consists of an introduction complaining of the malign machinations of fate, a transitional verse linking these plaints to the death of the individual being mourned, and a eulogy in the body of the poem that invokes stock motifs and gnomic dicta about the ineluctable nature of death. It concludes with a brief, often formulaic, prayer that the deceased’s grave be watered with the dew of resurrection, or that the departed’s good deeds intercede on his behalf, so that he receive his just reward in the world to come. This genre, with its conventional form, themes, and imagery, was modeled on an Arabic prototype that ultimately went back to the heroic dirge of the pre-Islamic period. Arabic literary theorists classified the elegy as a type of qaṣīda, or long monorhymed ode in quantitative meter. The Arabic antecedents to the Andalusian qinah have been carefully analyzed by Israel Levin in his monograph ‘Al mot.71 Some qaṣīda-type elegies were written for the poets’ close relatives or friends, but often they were commissioned pieces or official eulogies for public figures such as Solomon Ibn Gabirol’s patron, Yequtiel Ibn Hassān. But the conventional qaṣīda model could prove inadequate for venting heartfelt sorrow or personal reflections on death.72 Samuel Hanagid, the first to exploit fully the potential of the Arabicizing qinah, preferred a more intimate poetic mode to mourn the loss of his elder brother, Isaac, for

See ‘Ali kha-zot tivkenah, in Judah Halevi: The Liturgical Poetry (Hebrew), ed. Dov Jarden, 4 vols. (Jerusalem: By the Author, 1979-86), 4:1110-12. Most fittingly, a brief elegy by Halevi (Ha-yed‘u ha-dema‘ot mi shefakham) was read at Ezra Fleischer’s funeral; see the obituary by Yehoshua Granat in Ha’aretz, Aug. 4, 2006. For the text, see The Liturgical Poetry, ed. Jarden, 4:1119. 71 Israel Levin, The Lamentation over the Dead: A Comparative Study of a Genre in Spanish-Hebrew and Arabic Poetry (Hebrew) (Ramat Gan: Tel Aviv University, 1973). See also the updated, abridged version of this monograph in idem, The Embroidered Coat: The Genres of Hebrew Secular Poetry in Spain (Hebrew), 3 vols. (Ramat Gan: Tel Aviv University, 1995), 2:7-145. 72 Levin has argued that impassioned outbursts of deep-seated pain can be detected among the 102 verses of Bi-mei yequtiel asher nigmaru, but Ibn Gabirol’s exquisite miniature nature poem “Re’eh shemesh le-‘et ‘erev” is far more moving, as Raymond Scheindlin has observed; see his Wine, Women, and Death: Medieval Hebrew Poems on the Good Life (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1986), 15253, and Levin, The Lamentation over the Dead, 9-10 and 112-14. For the text of Bi-mei yequtiel, see Schirmann, Ha-shirah ha-‘ivrit bi-sefarad u-ve-provans, 1:196-201. 70

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whom he composed a cycle of nineteen laments.73 While he wrote aphoristic poems on mortality, he also penned more extensive and less conventional meditations on old age and death, some of which are quite ghastly in their realism. In one particularly lyrical complaint, the speaker mourns himself, lamenting the passing of his youth and bodily vigor, and imagining his death with horror.74 The auto-elegy—in which the deceased speaks as a skeptical or sardonic witness to his own burial and its attendant rituals, describing his grave and its inscription, and musing on the vanity of life—was considered a subgenre of the lamentation by classical Arabic literary critics. Although quite rare in Andalusian Hebrew poetry, there are notable auto-elegies by Samuel Hanagid and Moses Ibn Ezra.75 Abraham Ibn Ezra is alleged by later sources to have recited a brief auto-epitaph on the day of his death.76 But in terms of both form and content, only Immanuel’s extravagant selfappreciation seems to have served as a direct model for Alḍāhirī’s rhymed prose eulogy for himself.

THE EPITAPH: APOLOGY OR SWAN SONG? What attitudes and, perhaps, ambivalences toward the work as a whole can we glean from the final chapter of Sefer hamusar? Can Alḍāhirī’s attribution of his own exemplary biography to his fictional characters be seen in part as 73 See Dīwān Shemuel Hanagid, vol. 1: Ben Tehilim, ed. Dov Jarden (Jerusalem: Hebrew Union College Press, 1966), 236-50, and Levin, The Lamentation over the Dead, 95-106. 74 See Ha-nimṣa be-re‘ay, in Dīwān Shemuel Hanagid, 1:121-24, and the discussion in Dan Pagis, Hebrew Poetry of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), 16-18. The aphoristic poems are collected in Dīwān Shemuel Hanagid, vol. 3: Ben Qohelet, ed. Dov Jarden (Jerusalem: Hebrew Union College Press, 1992). These pieces draw on the sober themes of the book of Ecclesiastes (hence the title of the anthology) but also reflect the pessimism of Arabic gnomic poetry. 75 See Levin, The Lamentation over the Dead, 81-94, and Varda Padva, “The Voice of the Dead in the Elegy” (Hebrew), Jerusalem Studies in Hebrew Literature 10-11 (part 2) (1987-88): 629-59. 76 See the account in Sambari’s Sefer divrei yosef, ed. Shtober, 215-17, and Encyclopaedia Judaica, 8:1164. For the text of his poem, Kevodi sas be-ṣur ‘uzzi, see Reime und Gedichte des Abraham Ibn Esra, ed. and trans. David Rosin (Breslau, 188794), 226, and Rabbi Avraham Ibn Ezra: Qoveṣ ḥokhmat ha-ra’ba‘, ed. David Kahana (Warsaw, 1894), no. 24. My warm thanks to Raphael Loewe for calling Ibn Ezra’s poem and the Sambari account (reproduced in Neubauer’s Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles [Oxford, 1887]) to my attention.

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an apology for the reprobate behavior of his protagonist in most other chapters? If so, does it reflect his awareness of, or deference to, his coreligionists’ uneasiness with the belletristic genre in which he chose to write? While Alḍāhirī was a respected religious scholar whose opinions were cited by later generations, his Sefer hamusar was poorly received by his contemporaries in Yemen, who considered it to be overly secular and frivolous.77 Yehuda Ratzaby observes that there is very little belletristic prose in Yemenite Jewish literature altogether, due to the community’s low regard for such irreligious and lighthearted writing. This explains the anomalous fate of al-Ḥarīzī’s Taḥkemoni and Immanuel’s Maḥbarot, which were virtually unknown in Yemen while Andalusian Hebrew poetry had been eagerly embraced, copied, and collected by local Jewish devotees, and numerous Golden Age synagogue poems had made their way into Yemenite prayer books. That Alḍāhirī did not openly acknowledge his debt to Immanuel was almost certainly deliberate, for the Maḥbarot had been condemned for their eroticism and banned by no less a halakhic authority than Joseph Karo in his Shulkhan ‘arukh, published in 1565-66.78 Despite its ebullient creativity and rich biblical idiom, Sefer hamusar never really gained admission to the Yemenite Jewish literary canon, and in the following century was completely eclipsed by the celebrated kabbalistic verse of Shalem Shabazī and his circle.79 Alḍāhirī’s sensitivity to the conservative religious and social mores of Yemenite Jewish society is also evident in his attempt to frame Sefer hamusar as a salutary and morally instructive book. In much the same way that alḤarīrī had issued a prefatory apology for his Maqāmāt, defensively insisting that the work did not contravene the Law or mislead, and comparing its didactic potential to that of exempla or fables, Alḍāhirī explicitly interpreted 77 A work by Alḍāhirī on hilkhot sheḥiṭah (no longer extant) is cited repeatedly by Yiḥye Ṣaliḥ, one of the most eminent halakhic authorities in eighteenth-century Sana‘a, and various contemporaries turned to Alḍāhirī for halakhic guidance; see Ratzaby’s introduction to Sefer hamusar, 44-47. 78 See Oraḥ ḥayyim 307:16. On the impact of Karo’s works on Yemenite Jewry, see Aharon Gaimani, “The Penetration of Rabbi Yosef Karo’s Literary-Halakhic Work to Yemen” (Hebrew), Pe‘amim 49 (1991): 120-34, and Yehuda Ratzaby, “Rabbi yosef karo v-ihudei teiman,” Oṣar yehudei sefarad 2 (1959): 84-88. There is evidence that the Shulkhan ‘arukh reached Yemen already in the sixteenth century and some speculation that Alḍāhirī himself may have been instrumental in transmitting the text to his native land following a visit to Karo’s yeshiva in Safed; see Gaimani, ibid., 120-24. 79 On the book’s reception among Yemenite Jews, see Ratzaby’s introduction to Sefer hamusar, 21-23.

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the title of his maqāma collection in an ethical and didactic vein.80 In his introduction, he relates how, along with the rest of the Sana‘a Jewish community, he was imprisoned in 1568 by the Muslim authorities, who suspected the Jews of sympathizing with the forces of the Ottoman occupation. In the summer of 1569, they were dispatched to fortified towers where, naked and starving, they were subjected to hard labor. Moved to recount the persecutions suffered by his people at the hands of the Imām al-Muṭahhar, Alḍāhirī composed his rhymed prose narrative during his incarceration.81 He hoped that the lesson (musar) of these afflictions “that befell us on account of our many sins” would spur the reader to humility and piety.82 In naming his book Sefer hamusar, Alḍāhirī clearly intended to call to mind what was, by his time, a venerable tradition of medieval Jewish ethical works by that title. At the same time, however, he must have expected his more worldly readers to recognize that the designation Sefer hamusar promised a belletristic narrative pulsating with entertaining energy and occasionally transgressive content as well as a staid, morally edifying book, for the medieval Hebrew term musar not only retained its biblical sense of discipline and moral instruction but also rendered the Arabic adab, acquiring the latter’s extensive semantic range that encompassed literary creativity, eloquence, and urbanity. (Saadia Gaon regularly translated biblical Hebrew musar as adab,83 and the medieval translators from Judeo-Arabic into Hebrew also adopted the adab-musar equivalence.)84 In light of the tension between Alḍāhirī’s sober stated goals On al-Ḥarīrī’s prefatory apology and its shortcomings, see Kilito, Les Séances, 248-59 (“Le menteur professionel”). 81 Alḍāhirī describes the community’s ordeal in his introduction, and in several chapters has his protagonist, Abner ben Helek, imprisoned in Sana‘a under similar conditions; see Sefer hamusar, 51-52, 64-76, 161-63, and 183-89. The tempestuous period of Ottoman occupation was marked by local revolts and internecine wars; see ibid., 33-37, and Reuben Ahroni, Yemenite Jewry: Origins, Culture, and Literature (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986), 82-86. 82 Sefer hamusar, 52. 83 See, e.g., his Tafsīr to Prov. 1:8 and 5:12 in Mishlei ‘im tirgum u-feirush haga’on rabbeinu se‘adyah ben yosef fayyumi, ed. and trans. J. Qafiḥ (Jerusalem, 1976), 26, 56, where the term still has the respective senses of moral instruction and rebuke. 84 See, e.g., Baḥya ben Joseph Ibn Paqūda, Kitāb al-hidāya ilā farā’iḍ al-qulūb (Torat ḥovot ha-levavot), ed. and trans. J. Qafiḥ (Jerusalem: By the Author, 1973), 171, 395, and Judah Ibn Tibbon’s translation, Sefer ḥovot halevavot, ed. A. Zifroni (Tel Aviv: Mossad Harav Kook, 1949; repr., Tel Aviv: HaMenora, 1984), 217, 493. Here the term has acquired the sense of proper upbringing, refinement, and courteous manners; see Bezalel Safran, “Baḥya ibn Paquda’s Attitude toward the Courtier 80

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and the at-times immoderate, impulsive content of the work, it is perhaps not coincidental that the book ends with the author eliciting a pious poem from his protagonist. These solemn, if somewhat unimaginative, reflections on death and ultimate reward are, after all, Alḍāhirī’s last words, intended, one would assume, to sit well with a less than favorably disposed readership.85 If placing his own epitaph in the final chapter furthered an apologetic end, and if the literary stimulus to write such a maqāma came from Immanuel’s Maḥbarot, it is still not unreasonable to assume that Alḍāhirī’s tribute to himself was also motivated by a very real and human desire to preserve his memory from oblivion. Despite his not inconsiderable talents in a broad range of disciplines and the acclaim accorded his poetry during his lifetime, Alḍāhirī’s fear of slipping into obscurity was perhaps not completely unfounded, in light of the lukewarm reception that his belletristic opus was to receive.86 The unbearably oppressive circumstances of the work’s composition would presumably have made its perpetuation all the more precious to him. As fate would have it, Alḍāhirī died roughly five years after completing Sefer hamusar, making the work his literary swan song. The urge to be immortalized is, of course, universal, and countless individuals throughout history have written their own epitaphs, often in Class,” in Studies in Medieval Jewish History and Literature, ed. I. Twersky (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1979), 1:154-96, esp. 185 n. 12. On the various uses of the term adab in the Middle Ages, see S.A. Bonebakker, “Adab and the Concept of Belles-Lettres,” in The Cambridge History of Arabic Literature: ‘Abbasid Belles Lettres, 16-30; Gustave von Grunebaum, Medieval Islam: A Study in Cultural Orientation, 2d ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1961), 250-57; and Joel L. Kraemer, Humanism in the Renaissance of Islam: The Cultural Revival During the Buyid Age, 2d rev. ed. (Leiden: Brill, 1992), 10-11. On the generic classification of adab by medieval Arabic literary critics, see Albert Arazi, “L’adab: Les critiques et les genres littéraires dans la culture arabe médiévale,” Israel Oriental Studies 19 (1999): 221-38. For a more theoretical treatment of adab, see Kilito, Les Séances, 71-74. 85 In a similar vein, the author steps in at the end of the very first maqāma of the book and promises that his next chapter will focus on galut teiman. Ratzaby argues, quite plausibly, that this is an expression of unease or remorse over the “foreign” content of the opening chapter, which is, in fact, a translation and adaptation of alḤarīrī’s fifteenth maqāma; see Yehuda Ratzaby, “The Influence of al-Ḥarīrī upon Alḍāhiri” (Hebrew), Biqqoret u-farshanut 11-12 (1978): 63. 86 Ratzaby infers from comments put into the mouths of other characters in Sefer hamusar that Alḍāhirī’s poetry received recognition during his lifetime, though the narrator also reports criticism of Abner’s poetry; see Sefer hamusar, 46-47 and nn. 1-6.

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verse.87 What is so intriguing about Alḍāhirī’s attempt to secure his reputation for posterity is that, apart from Immanuel’s auto-eulogy, it had no precedents in the long tradition of Hebrew rhymed prose narratives. As one of the few sixteenth-century Yemenite Jewish intellectuals who had traveled extensively outside of his native land, and who had witnessed firsthand the spiritual revival in the Land of Israel, Alḍāhirī may have sensed that he represented the end of an era in Yemenite Hebrew literature. According to several scholars, Alḍāhirī visited Safed prior to Isaac Luria’s arrival in 1570, and therefore was not exposed to Lurianic kabbalah. Nevertheless, his encounter with kabbalah and with eminent kabbalists such as Moses Cordovero (d. 1570) made a lasting impression, and he helped to promote the Zohar and other mystical works in Yemen upon his return. Ironically, it was the kabbalistic content of Shalem Shabazī’s poetry that made his verse so much more appealing and acceptable to Yemenite Jews in the following century than Alḍāhirī’s lone exemplar of the maqāma genre.88 Alḍāhirī was recognized posthumously within his community, though primarily for his halakhic works.89 There is, however, a curious appreciation of his accomplishments in a nineteenth-century Hebrew rhymed prose work by the Yemenite scholar Saadia Manṣura (d. c. 1880). Entitled Sefer hamaḥshavah, the work is concerned with the sufferings of the Yemenite Jews during their long and oppressive exile, and offers promises of future redemption (hence the modern editors’ title, Sefer hagalut ve-hage’ulah). In the final chapter, which is modeled on Alḍāhirī’s forty-fifth maqāma, Manṣura

87 Western European epitaph practices are particularly well documented, especially as anthologies of epitaphs have been collected since antiquity. See Guthke, Epitaph Culture in the West, esp. 143-89 (“Do-It-Yourself Immortality: Writing One’s Own Epitaph”). 88 Whether Alḍāhirī gained familiarity with Lurianic kabbalah or only with the kabbalistic doctrines that antedated it is still unresolved. For varying scholarly points of view, see, e.g., Yosef Tobi, “Seder qiddush leilei shabbat le-rabi zekharyah alḍāhiri,” Afiqim 68 (Oct. 1978): 10-11; idem, The Jews of Yemen: Studies in their History and Culture (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 54 and n. 24; Sefer hamusar, 30-32; Ahroni, Yemenite Jewry, 86, and Mark S. Wagner, “Arabic Influence on Shabazian Poetry in Yemen,” Journal of Semitic Studies 51, no. 1 (2006): 117-36. See above, n. 11. Ratzaby notes that Alḍāhirī composed a poem in praise of the Zohar; see “Yedidi im tivḥar le-havin sod zohar,” in Davidson, Thesaurus, 2:280, no. 481. 89 See n. 77.

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eulogizes not only himself but also various Yemenite Jewish luminaries, starting with Zechariah Alḍāhirī:90 The great rabbi, our revered teacher, Yiḥye Ḍāhirī, whose influential wisdom and commanding reputation were known throughout Yemen, and whose deeds were renowned throughout the land, was a master of Scripture, Mishnah, Talmud, Aggadah, Sifra and Sifre, epigrams and riddles, animal fables, washermen’s tales [mishlot kovsim], demons’ speech [siḥat shedim], the speech of palm trees [siḥat deqalim], and the speech of the ministering angels [siḥat mal’akhei ha-sharet]. He was an expert in the sciences of astronomy, mathematics, geometry, and politics, as well as in natural science, grammar, and music (which is the science of playing songs), and above all, in metaphysics, which enables one to know the divine stature [shi‘ur qomah].91

This memorial draws on, and derives some of its more colorful components from, two Talmudic passages detailing the studies of Rabbi Joḥanan Ben Zakkai.92 But with its mélange of classical Jewish disciplines, quadrivium, trivium, mysticism, and occult sciences, Manṣura’s biographical note pays a peculiar sort of homage to his illustrious predecessor. Particularly glaring is the absence of any mention of Alḍāhirī’s accomplishments as a littérateur and poet. Nor is his kabbalistic expertise explicitly acknowledged, though it is alluded to with phrases whose mystical overtones presumably would not have gone unremarked (ve‘al kullam ḥokhmah ha-elohit leida‘ shi‘ur qomah).93 Alḍāhirī’s forty-fifth maqāma gained a In the unique MS in which the work is preserved, Manṣura also copied out Alḍāhirī’s forty-fifth maqāma in its entirety. See the following note for bibliographic information. 91 Saadia ben Yehudah Manṣura, Sefer hagalut ve-hage’ulah, ed. A. Yaari and Y. Ratzaby (Tel Aviv, 1955), 129. See also Sefer hamusar, 47. On the interchangeability of the Judeo-Arabic name Yiḥye with the Hebrew names Zechariah and Ḥayyim among Yemenite Jews, see Yehuda Ratzaby, Bema‘gloth Temān (Tel Aviv: n.p., 1987), 6-9. 92 See BT Sukkah 28a and BT Baba Batra 134a. 93 Manṣura was himself sympathetic to things mystical: he wrote a preface to Shabazī’s dīwān, in which he criticizes performers and audiences who misinterpret or make light of Shabazī’s profoundly spiritual poems; see the editors’ introduction to Sefer hagalut ve-hage’ulah, 9-11, and Mark S. Wagner, “The Poetics of Ḥumaynī Verse: Language and Meaning in the Arab and Jewish Vernacular Poetry of Yemen” (Ph.D. diss., New York University, 2004), 386-88. Elsewhere, Wagner notes that during the early-twentieth-century debate among Yemenite Jews over the legitimacy of kabbalah, the anti-kabbalistic dor de‘ah movement charged Alḍāhirī 90

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kind of afterlife in Manṣura’s final chapter, but if this was to be the final word on his achievements, the reputation about which he was so concerned would have come to something of a bittersweet end. Laudatory, admiring, and even hagiographical, Manṣura’s tribute is, paradoxically, also a misrepresentation by, and for, posterity. Though Manṣura intended no harm, and undoubtedly regarded the implicit comparison with Joḥanan Ben Zakkai as a compliment, he might have done better to heed the impassioned plea voiced in Alḍāhirī’s valediction: “Lament him with the eulogy he composed for himself!”94 In closing, perhaps we may be allowed to borrow from Andrew Marvell’s epitaph, which seems eminently suited to our subject, even though it comes from a time and a world he would never know: …a man so endowed by nature, so improved by education, study, and travel, so consummated by practice and experience; that joining the most peculiar graces of wit and learning with singular penetration and strength of judgment and exercising all these in the whole course of his life, with an unalterable steadiness in the ways of virtue, he became the ornament and example of his age.95

with having introduced the pernicious doctrine of kabbalah to Yemen. See Wagner, “Arabic Influence,” 129 n. 65. 94 The Hebrew reads u-teqonenu ‘alav me-asher yissad; see Sefer hamusar, 465, lines 103-4 and n. 104. 95 See Miscellanea Genealogica et Heraldica, ed. W. Bruce Bannerman, 3rd ser. (London: Mitchell Hughes & Clarke, 1904; repr., Adamant Media, 2005), 5:134.

THE DIRGES OF DON BENVENIST AND DOÑA TOLOSANA DE LA CAVALLERIA FOR THE DEATH OF THEIR SON SOLOMON

JUDIT TARGARONA BORRÁS A) PRESENTATION Folios 134v-137r of MS 1984 of the Bodleian Library (B)1 contain a number of poems sent by Vidal Abenvenist, the great Aragonese poet and author of ‘Efer ve-Dinah,2 to Vidal Abenlabi.3 The heading, written in the first person by Vidal Abenvenist, reads: ‫שלחתי לידיד דון וידאל בן לביא‬, “I sent to my friend Don Vidal Abenlabi.”

See the references at the end of this paper. For a critical edition of this text and biographical data concerning this poet, see M. Huss, Don Vidal Benvenist’s Melitsat Efer ve-Dinah: Studies and Critical Edition (Jerusalem: Magnes, 2003). 3 About Vidal Abenvenist and Vidal Abenlabi, their names, and their relationship, see J. Targarona Borrás, “Vidal Abenvenist and Vidal Abenlabi,” La Poésie hébraïque médiévale (in press), and J. Targarona Borrás and T. Vardi, “Correspondence between Vidal Abenvenist and Solomon de Piera,” REJ (in press). For the poetic work of Vidal Abenvenist, see T. Vardi, “Šire Don Vidal Benvenist,” 4 vols. (M.A. diss., Hebrew University, 1984), and idem, “The Group of Poets in Saragossa: Secular Poetry” (Hebrew, 2 vols.) (Ph.D. diss., Hebrew University, 1996). For the poems of Vidal Abenlabi, see S. Bernstein, “Šire Don Vidal Yosef ibn Labi,” Tarbiz 8 (1937): 345–66; Vardi, “Group of Poets”; and J. Targarona Borrás and R. Scheindlin, “Literary Correspondence between Vidal Benvenist ben Labi and Solomon ben Meshulam de Piera,” REJ 160 (2001): 61–133. 1 2

211

212

JUDIT TARGARONA BORRÁS

Some poems and texts in prose follow this heading.4 Immediately after, in folio 137r, a new section begins with this impersonal superscription of an editor or a copyist: ‫על פטירת אחי דון יוסף אשר ימיו קמטו בלא עת‬, “For the premature death of the brother of Don Yosef.” There are four dirges after this second heading, all of which have been published by T. Vardi, who points out that the length of the poems is not equal but that all of them are poems of mourning for the death of Solomon, a brother of Vidal Abenlabi.5 MS Schocken 37, fol. 121v (Sh) contains only the first two dirges, each with its own heading. The superscription on the first poem was written by Vidal Abenlabi. It says: ‫על פטירת אחי שלמה ויבך אותו אביו‬, “For the death of my brother Solomon. And his father cried for him.” This was the original heading, modified by the editor or copyist of B, which is frequent in that manuscript.6 The heading of the second dirge is: ‫ואמו עליו באבל‬, “and his mother [said] concerning him in sorrow.” They are two brief laments from the mouths of Solomon’s father and mother, Don Benvenist and Doña Tolosana de la Cavalleria. These short poems had only been preserved in manuscripts Sh and B, and in both cases appear in the section in which Vidal Abenvenist—who is usually called Don Vidal—exchanges poems with his brother-in-law Vidal Abenlabi. This was not, however, their original place. The headings are written in the first person by Vidal Abenlabi and suggest that they have been edited by him. Later a copyist included them in the collection of Vidal Abenvenist’s poems of mourning over Solomon’s death, simply changing “my brother Solomon,” said by Vidal Abenlabi (or Don Yosef, since this was his Hebrew name), to “Don Yosef’s brother.” The heading of the poem of Doña Tolosana was also lost.

B) DON BENVENIST AND DOÑA TOLOSANA DE LA CAVALLERIA a) The Genealogical Tree of Don Benvenist and Doña Tolosana de la Cavalleria

Vardi, “Šire Don Vidal Benvenist,” 3:33-39, poems 61-69. Ibid., 3:39-41, poems 70 (seven verses), 71 (three verses), 72 (thirty two verses plus a siman of four verses), and 73 (two verses). See the commentary in 4:74-79. 6 J. Targarona Borrás, “El Dīwān de Šelomoh ben Mešullam de Piera: Estado de la Cuestión,” in Biblical, Rabbinical, and Medieval Studies: Jewish Studies at the Turn of the 20th Century, ed. J. Targarona Borrás and A. Sáenz-Badillos (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 547-49. 4 5

THE DIRGES OF DON BENVENIST AND DOÑA TOLOSANA

213

Abraham ben Yehuda Abenlabi (1231) Solomon Abenlaui Jahuda Abenlabi Already dead in 1298 Already dead in 1298 Secrino Abraim de la Cavalleria + Bonosa Solomon de la Caballería Vidal de la Cavalleria + Orovida (alias cognominatum Abenlavi) (dead in 1375) Tolosana de la Caballería Benvenist Abenlabi or de la Cavalleria (dead in 1422) and (dead in 1411) Bonafos (=Fernando)-Jafuda-Bonafilla

The genealogy of Don Benvenist Abenlabi (or de la Cavalleria)7 and Doña Tolosana goes back in the Hispanic sources to two siblings who were descendants of Abraham ben Yehuda Abenlabi:8 Solomon and Jahuda. F. Vendrell Gallostra published a document from January 10, 1298, in which Salomonis Abenlaui and Yahudano Abenlabi9 are expressly mentioned as already deceased.10 “Abenlabi” was the original last name of this family. It was changed to “de la Cavalleria”11 when they became vassals of the Order of the Temple. In the Hebrew texts, even after their conversion, they are known by the last name ‫בן לביא‬.12

F.Y. Baer, Toledot ha-yehudim bi-sefarad ha-notsrit (Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1965), 326. For their houses, etc., see A. Blasco Martínez, La judería de Zaragoza en el siglo XIV (Zaragoza: Institución Fernando el Católico, 1988), index. 8 He is the oldest predecessor known in this family, but it is not certain that he is the father of Solomon and Jahuda. See F.Y. Baer, Die Juden im christlichen Spanien (Berlin: Akademie, 1929), 1:116, doc. 104. 9 In medieval Spanish documentation, it is normal for first and last names to be written in different ways, even within the same manuscripts. This was done so that, in a multilingual society in which spelling was not standardized, it would be clear that the identities of individuals did not depend on the various spellings of their names. In this paper, I follow the spellings found in the manuscripts. 10 F. Vendrell Gallostra, “Aportaciones documentales para el estudio de la familia Caballería,” Sefarad (1943): 142, doc. 1. 11 Ibid., 117–19. 12 Solomon Bonafed, for example, dedicates to ‫ גונזלו בן לביא‬the poem Li-ṭmon be-ḥubbi; see J.H. Schirmann, “Ha-pulmus shel shelomo bonafed be-nikhbede saragossa,” Kovez al-yad 4 (1946): 3ff., no. 4. The only Hebrew document known to me in which he is called “de la Cavalleria” is the heading of the derashah published by D. Schwartz, “Derasha be-‘inyan yetsi’at mitsrayim le-rabi Vidal Yosef de la Cavalleria,” Asufot 7 (1993): 261. In De Piera’s dīwān, only Vidal’s father, Don Benvenist, is called once “de la Cavalleria.” Cf. S. Bernstein, The Dīwān of Salomo b. Meshullam Dapiera, part 1 (New York: Alim, 1942), 10, heading to poem ‫ב‬. 7

214

JUDIT TARGARONA BORRÁS

In 1361, Jahuda Abenlabi’s grandson confirms that he and those of his lineage had “una taula, o tienda de carnicería, en la judaria [sic] de Zaragoza,” thanks to a privilege granted by Jaime I in a document of July 7, 1253.13 In 1263, the same king authorizes Don Jahuda “to hire a hunter, Christian or Hebrew, that gives him turtledoves, quails, partridges … as long as [the cost] does not exceed thirty daily pieces.”14 That does not mean that Don Jahuda was a vulgar butcher but just the opposite: he was one of the most remarkable men in Saragossa’s aljama.15 We know that he was baile16 of Jaime I, which means that in the king’s absence, he represented him in this city. Don Benvenist and Doña Tolosana were born, therefore, in the bosom of an important and wealthy family, well established in Saragossa for over a century.17 Until 1414 as Jews, and after that as converts, many of the members of this family maintained a privileged relationship with the kings of the crown of Aragon. The genealogical tree of Don Benvenist is well-known. Secrino was the son of Solomon: Secrino filio Salomonis Abenlaui.18 He had a son named Solomon: Salomoni Abinlevi, filio Crecrini de milicia quondam judeo.19 This last Solomon Abenlabi or de la Cavalleria was the father of Don Benvenist.20 It has been much more difficult to trace the genealogical line of Doña Tolosana. Don Jehuda Abenlabi had four children: Salamoni Abrahim Azdai et Astrucho fillis quondam dicti Jahudani Abinlaui.21 13 Vendrell Gallostra, “Aportaciones documentales,” 117, and M. Serrano y Sanz, Los amigos y protectores de aragoneses de Cristobal Colón, rev. ed. of Orígenes de la dominación española en América (Madrid, 1918; Barcelona: Riopiedras, 1991), 259, doc. 33. 14 Serrano y Sanz, Los amigos y protectores, 178 n. 62. 15 Ibid., 178. 16 “Jahudano de la Cavalleria, baiulo domini Regis in Cesaraugusta”; see Serrano y Sanz, Los amigos y protectores, 254, doc. 4, dated in Zaragoza, May 27, 1265. Also “cum assensu et voluntate Jahudani de Cavalleria baiuli nostri Cesarauguste.” Vendrell Gallostra, “Aportaciones documentales,” 117 and n. 5. 17 Baer, Toledot, 261. 18 Vendrell Gallostra, “Aportaciones documentales,” 142, doc. 1, Jan. 10, 1298. 19 Baer, Die Juden im christlichen Spanien, 116, doc. 104, note. 20 Among others, there is a document of Juan I directed to Don Benvenist in which he mentions “solidos jacquesos qui vobis et Salomono de la Cavalleria, judeo Cesarauguste, patri vestro, debebantur.” Vendrell Gallostra, “Aportaciones documentales,” 123. 21 Vendrell Gallostra, “Aportaciones documentales,” 142, doc. 1.

THE DIRGES OF DON BENVENIST AND DOÑA TOLOSANA

215

Abraham (or Abrahim) de la Cavalleria, who was already deceased before June 1390, was married to Doña Bonosa.22 Apparently, they had four sons: Solomon the young, Vidal, Jahuda, and Bonafos, although this is not clearly documented.23 M. Serrano y Sanz describes the second son, Don Vidal, as an “opulent banker who monopolized the lease of taxes in the second half of the fourteenth century.” We also know that in 1372, while associated with Perpinyan Blan, he took charge of coining the gold florins of Aragon and the currency of Castile.24 Don Vidal de la Cavalleria died young. His wife, Doña Orovida,25 who survived him by over forty years, appears as a widow in a document of December 7, 1375, in which she confirms that the last will of her husband was from October 14, 1370.26 Don Vidal and Doña Orovida had two sons, Jafuda and Bonafos, as indicated in a document that was granted in June 22, 1374, and names “Jafuda e Bonafos de la Caballeria juheus de Çaragoça fills e hereus universals del dit Vidal.”27 They also had two daughters: Bonafilla28 and Tolosana. F. Vendrell Gallostra believed that she found proof that Tolosana was the granddaughter, not the daughter, of Don Vidal de la Cavalleria.29 However, another document, published by A. Blasco Martínez, from June 14, 1415, 22 A document of Mar. 2, 1340, mentions don Abraym de la Cavallaria and his wife, Bonosa; see Serrano y Sanz, Los amigos y protectores, 255, doc. 18. 23 See Vendrell Gallostra, “Aportaciones documentales,” 120, 121, and 122. 24 See E. Sarasa Sanchez, Aragón en el reinado de Fernando I (1412–1416) (Zaragoza: Institución Fernando el Católico, 1986), 179. 25 Doña Orovida appears as “muller de don Vidal” in several documents; see ibid., 259, doc. 35, 46, etc. 26 Ibid., 262, doc. 48. 27 Vendrell Gallostra, “Aportaciones documentales,” 125. 28 “Bonafilla judia, filla que fue de Vidal dela Cavalleria judio qui fue de Çaragoça.” Baer, Die juden im christlichen Spanien, 485, doc. 329; Vendrell Gallostra, “Aportaciones documentales,” 125. 29 Vendrell Gallostra, “Aportaciones documentales,” 128 and 142, appendixes, published with no. 11 the document of the A.C.A. Reg. 2381, fols. 78r78v, July 1414, in which the king worries about the conversion of Oria, neta (granddaughter) of nostre Tresorer, and daughter of “Tholosana.” She said that Doña Tolosana was the daughter, not the sister, of Don Fernanado de la Cavalleria (the former don Bonafos), the treasurer of the king. We know that Oria was neboda (niece) of the king’s current treasurer, and neta of the old Don Vidal de la Cavalleria, who was also the treasurer of the king in 1374-75.

216

JUDIT TARGARONA BORRÁS

eliminates any doubts. In it, Tolosana herself claims to be the daughter of Doña Orovida when receiving money that her nephew Loys had to pay her “cadaun anyo en dos tandas et terminos durant la vida de Doña Orovida de la Cavalleria, madre mia.”30 b) The Family of Don Benvenist and Doña Tolosana de la Cavalleria Benvenist Abenlabi or de la Cavalleria + Tolosana de la Cavalleria Vidal = Gonzalo + Beatriz Bonafos

Bonafos = Juan + Oro

Solomo n

Tolosana = Beatriz

Oria = Johan a

??? = Bbrianda

Puria + Vidal Abenvenist

Reyna + Vidal Abenlabi

Yehuda

Yosef

Thanks to Doña Tolosana’s will, written in 1418 (rather than 1143, apud M. Serrano y Sanz),31 we know of the children of Don Benvenist and Doña Tolosana who were still alive in the second decade of the fifteenth century: Lexo a los ditos Gonçalvo e Johan de la Caualleria fillos mios e a Beatriz Johana e Brianda de la Caualleria fillas mias e a Puria e Reyna jodias filllas mias.

She names two Christian sons: Gonçalvo and Johan,32 known when they were Jews as Vidal and Bonafos Abenlabi. Vidal Abenlabi was the poet and favorite pupil of Solomon de Piera. She also mentions five daughters, of which three were Christians—Beatriz, Juana, and Brianda; and two Jews— Puria, the wife of the poet Vidal Abenvenist, and Reyna. It seems that Beatriz’s Hebrew name was Tolosana, and that another of the daughters was named Oria (Oro or Orico); we don’t know the Hebrew name of the other sister or whether Oria was Juana or Brianda. Doña Tolosana also appoints the husband of Reyna, her son-in-law, named Vidal Abenlabi or de la Cavalleria akin to her son, as executor of her will:33

30 A. Blasco Martínez, “Mujeres judías zaragozanas ante la muerte,” in Aragón en la Edad Media: Estudios de Economía y Sociedad (Zaragoza, 1991), 88 n. 55. 31 Ibid., 117, documental appendix, 9. See also Serrano y Sanz, Los amigos y protectores, 181ff., and Vendrell Gallostra, “Aportaciones documentales,” 130. 32 In several documents, it appears that Juan de la Cavalleria, “comprador mayor del Señor Rey,” is a brother of Gonzalo de la Cavallería. See, for example, the document of May 16, 1414, in Serrano y Sanz, Los amigos y protectores, 293, doc. 130. 33 Blasco Martínez, “Mujeres judías zaragozanas,” 118.

THE DIRGES OF DON BENVENIST AND DOÑA TOLOSANA

217

Item leso exsecutor del present mi ultimo testament a Vidal de la Cavalleria, yerno mio [my son-in-law], al qual do poder de exsecutar et complir todas las cosas sobreditas tocantes a el et a mi anima, etc.

Doña Tolosana survived her husband by about eleven years. The last document that mentions her alive dates to July 12, 1422.34 Her death most likely occurred between that date and November 5 of that year, since in another document, her son, Juan de la Cavalleria, refers to “la herencia de la dita Tholosana, madre mia, quondam.”35 As consequence of the disputation of Tortosa, the great majority of the family de la Cavalleria became Christian. It has been written that on February 2, 1414, seventeen males of this family, their wives, and domestics received baptism.36 By that time, Don Benvenist had already died,37 but Doña Tolosana lived to witness the painful experience of the conversion to Christianity of most of her children. In addition, his brother Bonafos received the baptism by changing his name to Fernando,38 in honor of King Fernando I, for whom he was councillor and treasurer as of February 27, 1414.39

34 Ibid.,

93. Ibid., 93 n. 79. 36 “Tunc divina gracia inspirante, iudei notabiliores … de genere de la ‘cavellaria’ [sic] vulgariter nuncupati, civitatis Cesarauguste, numero decem et septem personarum, in civitate Dertuse secunda die februarii, uxoribus ac domesticis eourumdem minime computatis, qui in quantitate fuerunt, sanctum baptisma receperunt.” See A. Pacios López, La Disputa de Tortosa, 2 vols. (Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Cientificas, 1957), 2:557. 37 Don Benvenist Abenlabi died in Alcañiz the 13 of Kislev of the year 5172. See M. Steinschneider, “Poeten und Polemiker in Nordspanien um 1400,” HaMazkir: Hebräische Bibliographie 15 (1875): 56; and 17 (1877): 129-31. Also, see S. Halberstamm, “Hebräische Beilage,” Jeschurun 9 (1878): 8. He died on Nov. 30, 1411, and not in 1410 (apud S. Bernstein—see The Dīwān of Salomo b. Meshullam Dapiera, vii n. 14, 13 poem ‫ב‬A). He was still alive on Dec. 27, 1410. See Serrano y Sanz, Los amigos y protectores, 280, doc. 115. 38 In a document of May 30, 1414, Fernando de la Cavalleria, treasurer of the king, names a procurator who charges a debt “a nombre de Bonaffos de la Cavallería, como primo que fuese reducido a la fe católica claramente solía.” See Serrano y Sanz, Los amigos y protectores, 282, doc. 131. Another document of the same year makes clear that Ferrando de la Cavallería was called “Bonafós antes de abjurar de la ley mosaica.” See ibid., Los amigos y protectores, 283, doc. 135. 39 Vendrell Gallostra, “Aportaciones documentales,” 128. 35

218

JUDIT TARGARONA BORRÁS

The king worried personally about the conversion of Oria. In a document of July 31, 1414, he orders his son, the prince heir, to bring Oria to Gonzalo’s house so that, far from her mother and sister’s influence, she could follow her inclination to venir a la Sancta fe Catholica:40 Lo Rey: Princep molt car τ molt amat primogenit: Com nos siam informat que una donzella appellada oria germana de Gonsaluo τ Johan dela caualleria, comprador maior nostre ... haia sana τ bona intencio τ inclinacio venir ala Sancta fe Catholica, empero endurehida τ instigada per la primacia de na Tholosan mara τ poria germana dela dita donzella iuyas en poder dela qual mara la dita donzella esta es lunyada τ retreta de no poder metre en obra la dita sua sancta τ bona intencio con stant en poder de la dita sa mara no sia en sa plena libertat per elegir τ seguir la carrera dela veritat τ venir al sant babtisme, per que nos desijants la conuersio dela dita donzella τ volents aquella deduhir en sa mera libertat per tal que puxa elegir τ pendre la via catholica ala cual som obligats obrir la porta tant com en nos sia atota anima aberrada τ deuia vos pregam τ encarregam que de coutinet façats pendre la dita donzella τ traure de la casa dela dita sa mare o altre τ menar a casa del dit Gonsalbo son frare τ aqui arrestets τ menets ab bones penes star aquella per alcun temps dins lo qual haia plenament deliberat τ liberament exprimit son proposit τ intencio prohibint ale dites mare τ germana τ altres no conuersen ab la dita donzella per ço que ab maxinoses induccions τ persuasions no la retraguen de be τ catholicament obrar.

In another document with the same date, the king prohibits Tolosana and her daughters, Puria and Orico, to go out of the city “under penalty of losing their goods and being arrested.”41 This threat did not scare these courageous women, as on August 1, 1414, Fernando I ordered royal officers to arrest Tolosana and her daughters for “leaving the city without license” and trying to obstruct the conversion of Orico.42 In spite of that great pressure, Tolosana, her other two daughters, Puria and Reyna, and their husbands, the poet Vidal Abenvenist and Vidal Abenlabi son of Jehuda, a cousin of doña Tolosana, remained faithful to the religion of their ancestors. Ibid., 138; 147, doc. 11, and G. Escribà, The Tortosa Disputation: Register of Documents from the Archivo de la Corona de Aragón. Fernando I, 1412-1416, Sources for the History of the Jews in Spain 6, ed. Y.T. Assis (Jerusalem: Ginze am Olam, Hispania Judaica, 1998), 87, doc. 301. 41 Ibid., 148, doc. 12 and Escribà, The Tortosa Disputation, 87, doc. 301 and 302. 42 Escribà, The Tortosa Disputation, 89, doc. 303. 40

THE DIRGES OF DON BENVENIST AND DOÑA TOLOSANA

219

C) SOLOMON, THE YOUNGEST SON OF DON BENVENIST AND DOÑA TOLOSANA Solomon was the name of Don Benvenist’s father. However, he named his first son, who was born at the end of the 1370’s,43 Vidal, after his recently deceased maternal grandfather. Bonafos was his second son and Solomon the third. Solomon was probably born at the beginning of the nineties, after the death of his paternal grandfather. In the dīwān of Solomon de Piera, there are three different headings and poems about the deaths of young people from this family that seem to contradict one another. They have created a distinct confusion. They are as follows: a) First Heading ‫וזה אשר שלחתי אל השלם המעלה דון וידאל בנבנשת ביום חתנתו ורמזתי בדברי‬ ‫אל העדר השוע הנכבד אחיו הגדול ז''ל אשר הלך לבית עולמו ימים מספר טרם‬ ‫ימות החתנה‬ I sent this letter to the distinguished Don Vidal Abenvenist the day of his wedding. In my words, I mention his noble and distinguished older brother, who died a few days before the wedding.44

Based in the heading of MS ENA 1381 (A), which omits “older brother,” S. Bernstein affirms that Solomon died a few days before the wedding of his brother Vidal Abenlabi.45 However, this is not the case, since the one who died before the wedding was the “older brother”46 of Vidal Abenvenist.47 The name of this deceased brother is unknown.

Bernstein, The Dīwān of Salomo b. Meshullam Dapiera, 7 n. 13, says that he was born in 1380, but it was most likely a bit earlier because in 1413, his firstborn son, Bonafos, was already an adult. See n. 52. 44 J. Targarona Borrás and A. Sáenz-Badillos, “Poemas inéditos de Šelomoh de Piera a las bodas de Vidal Ben Benvenist y Vidal Benvenist Ben Labi,” Estudis Hebreus y Arameus. Homenatje a la Dra. Teresa Martínez Sáiz, Anuari de Filología 21 (1998-99): sec. E, num. 8, 173–205. 45 See Bernstein, The Dīwān of Salomo b. Meshullam Dapiera, vii n. 13. 46 All members of this family are well documented in the Hispanic sources, and there is no mention of an older brother of Vidal Abenlabi. 47 For the edition and Spanish translation of the poem, see Targarona Borrás and Sáenz-Badillos, “Poemas inéditos,” 178–86, 194–200. 43

220

JUDIT TARGARONA BORRÁS

b) Second Heading ‫על פטירת הבחור בן לאדני הגדול כתבתי במר רוחי וכה אמרתי‬ I wrote with great bitterness of spirit about the death of the eldest son of my master. This is what I said.48

According to M. Steinschneider,49 “the eldest son of my master” had to be Solomon because de Piera always refers to Don Benvenist with the expression “my master.”50 That was true when Don Benvenist was alive, but since his death, his son Vidal Abenlabi took his place and received the same treatment.51 In this case, the young man who died was not Solomon, but Bonafos, the firstborn son of Vidal Abenlabi and the grandson of don Benvenist, who we know was an adult and still alive in April 1413.52 c) Third Heading ‫על פטירת הבחור שלמה בן לאדני החכם נ''ר הקטן בביתו ובחומתו לקשה יומו‬ ‫ויומי וכה אמרתי‬ Concerning the death of the young Solomon, the youngest son of the house and hedge of my wise master, (May God take care of him!), for his tragedy and my tragedy. This is what I said.53

This is the only reference to Solomon Abenlabi in the dīwān of de Piera. Thanks to this text, we know that Solomon was the youngest son of Don Benvenist and Doña Tolosana. He must have died while still a boy; in any case, he died before his father,54 which is to say before November 30, 1411.55

MSS A (fol. 26r), BG (fol. 145r), G (fol. 179). Steinschneider, “Poeten und Polemiker in Nordspanien,” 83. 50 See also Bernstein, “Šire Don Vidal Yosef ibn Labi,” 357, note to poems 7-8. 51 See the heading of the poem re’u zimrah, MSS A (fol. 169v), BG (fol. 130v), G (fol. 129), and E (fol. 175v), or in this case. 52 “Bonafos de la Caballería, fillo de don Vidal de la Cavalleria, fillo de Bienvenist, enajena un crédito de 31.500 sueldos.” See Serrano y Sanz, Los amigos y protectores, 281, doc. 123. 53 The poem mah we-’or is unpublished; see MSS A (fol. 111v), BG (fol. 178r), G (fol. 91), and E (fol. 242v). 54 See J.H. Schirmann, The History of Hebrew Poetry in Christian Spain and Southern France, ed. Fleischer (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1997), 602 n. 6. 55 See n. 37. 48 49

‫‪221‬‬

‫‪THE DIRGES OF DON BENVENIST AND DOÑA TOLOSANA‬‬

‫‪D) THE DIRGES OF DON BENVENIST AND DOÑA TOLOSANA‬‬ ‫‪a) Critical Hebrew Text‬‬ ‫]א[‬ ‫ירת אָ ִחי ְשׁלֹמֹה ַו ֵיּ ְב ְךּ אוֹתוֹ אָ ִביו‬ ‫ַעל ְפּ ִט ַ‬ ‫יח‬ ‫אַצ ִר ַ‬ ‫וּמר ְ‬ ‫ָרים קוֹל נְ ִהי ‪ַ /‬על ַמ ֲח ַמד ֵעינַי ַ‬ ‫עוֹרר ִהי וְ י ִ‬ ‫ִל ִבּי יְ ֵ‬ ‫יח‬ ‫אַשׁ ִכּ ַ‬ ‫ֶא ַהב וְ ִגיל ְ‬ ‫ֶא ְדאַב וְ ֶא ְת ַע ֵצּב ְבּ ֵלב נִ ְכאָב ְכּאָב ‪ַ /‬על ֵבּן ֲא ֶשׁר י ֱ‬ ‫יח‬ ‫ֶא ְב ֶכּה ְב ֵלב נִ ְד ֶכּה וְ ַכף אַ ֶכּה וּ ִבי ‪ִ /‬ל ִבּי ְשׁאוֹן ַע ְצ ִבּי ְכ ִסיר ַי ְר ִתּ ַ‬ ‫יח‬ ‫ֶא ְל ַבּשׁ ְבּצוֹ ִקי ַשׂק ְמקוֹם ַבּ ַהט וְ ַדר ‪ַ /‬דּ ְר ַדּר ְבּ ַגנִּ י ָדּר וְ קוֹץ ִה ְצ ִמ ַ‬ ‫יח‬ ‫וּב ִר ַ‬ ‫ָא ְתּנָה ‪ַ /‬על ַדּל ְשׂ ָפ ַתי ַמ ְחסוֹם ְ‬ ‫נִ ְכ ָלם וְ ֶנ ְא ָלם ֶא ְשׁ ְכּנָה ו ֶ‬ ‫יח‬ ‫אַב ִר ַ‬ ‫אָה ִלי ְ‬ ‫ַמר ֶא ְצ ְר ָחה רֹאשׁ ֶא ְק ְר ָחה גַם ֶא ְשׁ ְכּ ָחה ‪ִ /‬שׂ ְמ ָחה וְ ִגיל ֵמ ֳ‬ ‫יח‬ ‫ַט ִר ַ‬ ‫אוֹתי ְבּרֹגֶז אַף ְבּ ִכי י ְ‬ ‫ַחת וְ לֹא ֵא ַחת ְבּ ֵעת ‪ִ /‬‬ ‫יך ֶא ְמ ְצאָה נ ַ‬ ‫ֵא ְ‬ ‫]ב[‬ ‫וְ ִאמּוֹ ָע ָליו ְבּ ֵא ֶבל‬ ‫יך‬ ‫ְבּנִ י ֶט ֶרם יְ ָל ָד ְך צוּר ‪ְ /‬בּ ָכל ִל ִבּי ְד ַר ְשׁ ִתּ ָ‬ ‫יך‬ ‫וּ ִב ְת ִפי ָלּה וּ ִב ְת ִח ָנּה ‪ְ /‬ל ֵאל ָשׁ ַדי ְשׁ ִא ְל ִתּ ָ‬ ‫יך‬ ‫וְ ַע ָתּה ֶא ְב ֲח ָרה ָמ ֶות ‪ֲ /‬אנִ י ַהיּוֹם יְ ִל ְד ִתּ ָ‬ ‫]א[ כ''י‪ :‬ב‪).‬אב‪ ;(13‬ש‪).‬ב‪ // (121‬מהדורת ורדי‪ ,39 :‬שיר מס' ע ‪ //‬ש''נ שלמה ש‪ [.‬דון‬ ‫יוסף ב‪ 2 // .‬אדאב ב‪ [.‬אכאב ש‪ // .‬נכאב ב‪ [.‬דוה ש‪ // .‬יאהב ב‪ [.‬אוהב ש‪ 3 // .‬ובי ב‪[.‬‬ ‫וכי ש‪ 4 // .‬הצמיח ב‪ [.‬תצמיח ש‪ 5 // .‬ואתנה ב‪ [.‬גם אתנה ש‪ 6 // .‬ראש ב‪ [.‬אש ש‪.‬‬ ‫קינה )שבעה בתים(‪ .‬השלם ‪ //‬ביאור‪ 1 :‬קול נהי‪ :‬יר' ט‪ ,‬יח ‪ /‬מחמד עיני‪ :‬ע''פ מל''א‬ ‫כ‪ ,‬ו וכו' ‪ 2 /‬אשר יאהב‪ :‬מש' ג‪ ,‬יב ‪ 3 /‬בלב נדכה‪ :‬ע''פ תה' נא‪ ,‬יט ‪ /‬וכף אכה‪ :‬ע''פ‬ ‫יחז' כא‪ ,‬כב ‪ /‬כסיר ירתיח‪ :‬ע''פ איוב מא‪ ,‬כג ‪ 4 /‬בצוקי‪ :‬ע''פ דנ' ט‪ ,‬כה ‪ /‬בהט ודר‪:‬‬ ‫ע''פ אס' א‪ ,‬ו ‪ /‬דרדר‪...‬וקוץ הצמיח‪ :‬ע''פ בר' ג‪ ,‬יח ‪ 5 /‬על דל שפתי‪ :‬תה' קמא‪ ,‬ג‬ ‫]ב[ כ''י‪ :‬ב‪).‬ב‪ ;(137‬ש‪).‬ב‪ // (121‬מהדורת ורדי‪ ,39 :‬שיר מס' עא ‪ //‬ש''נ חסר ואמו‬ ‫עליו באבל ב‪.‬‬ ‫קינה )שלושה בתים(‪ .‬המרנין ‪ //‬ביאור‪ 1 :‬ילדך צור‪ :‬ע''פ דב' לב‪ ,‬יח ‪ /‬בכל לבי‬ ‫דרשתיך‪ :‬תה' קיט‪ ,‬י ‪ 2 /‬לאל שדי‪ :‬ע''פ בר' יז‪ ,‬א ‪ 3 /‬אבחרה מות‪ :‬ע''פ יר' ח‪ ,‬ג ‪/‬‬ ‫אני היום ילדתיך‪ :‬תה' ב‪ ,‬ז‬ ‫‪b) English Translation‬‬ ‫]‪[A‬‬ ‫‪Concerning the death of my brother Solomon—his father cried for him.‬‬ ‫‪Oh! clamors my heart, raising a mournful voice,‬‬ ‫‪And I, I wail with bitterness for the delight of my eyes.‬‬ ‫‪I ache and suffer with heart wounded, like a father‬‬ ‫‪for his beloved son I neglect joy.‬‬ ‫‪I cry with heart dejected, I clap and inside me‬‬ ‫‪My sorrowful heart boils like a pot.‬‬ ‫‪In my distress, I wear sackcloth and not pearls or alabaster,‬‬

222

JUDIT TARGARONA BORRÁS

Thistles infest my garden and thorns grow. I live perplexed, in silence. I have closed and locked the doors of my lips. I wail bitterly, I have shaved my head, I have forgotten pleasure, happiness has been banished from my tent. How can I be calm and not lose heart when Crying saddles me with anger? [B] And his mother [said] concerning him in mourning. My son, before the Rock engendered you I wished for you with all my heart. In all my prayers I implored God for you. Today I would rather die, It is today when I gave birth to you!56 Don Benvenist and Doña Tolosana recited these poems in front of their son’s grave, and according to the heading of manuscript Sh, they also composed them. Don Benvenist de la Cavalleria was not a poet, but he was an erudite man. His dirge follows the formal patterns of the “circle of poets,”57 but it is brief and simple. It could very well be the work of a beginner poet. Don Benvenist uses biblical Hebrew with alliteration and paronomasia to convey to us the sound as well as the feeling of his grief. The rhyme in -iaḥ reproduces the writhing of his entrails. In the first hemistich of the second verse, all the words conclude with the letter bet. He repeats hard sounds such as: ’evkeh - nidkeh -’akeh; we-dar - dardar - dar; ’eṣreḥa – ’eqreḥa – ’eshkeḥa in the third, fourth, and sixth verse, etc.58 The three verses of Doña Tolosana are written in the simplest meter (ha-marnin). It is a thoughtful and easy poem, much more characteristic of a learned woman like her than of the great and sophisticated poets of her family. Doña Tolosana chooses entire biblical quotations, such as: ‫בכל לבי‬ ‫( דרשתיך‬Ps. 119:10) or ‫( אני היום ילדתיך‬Ps. 2:7). She changes the order of words of ‫( צור ילדך‬Deut. 32:18) to fit the biblical expression with the meter. My understanding is that Tolosana has in mind the topos of ‫חבלי יולדה‬. For her, living in a time in which women were afraid to die in childbirth, the pains of Solomon’s birth had been nothing. It is now, the day of her son’s death, that she endures the true pains of childbirth to the point of preferring death. 57 See Vardi, “Group of Poets,” 1ff. 58 This has already been pointed out by idem, “Šire Don Vidal Benvenist,” 4:75. 56

THE DIRGES OF DON BENVENIST AND DOÑA TOLOSANA

223

She adds a particle to ‫( אל שדי‬Gen. 17:1), and she transforms the plural form of ‫( נבחר מות‬Jer. 8:3) into a cohortative singular. With only these quotations and five more words, she makes us feel the yearning for life and the reality of death. In her verses, she is the mother who wanted this son and prayed to God for him. She gave birth to him but has suffered the true pains of her childbirth on the day of his death.

MANUSCRIPTS .‫ א‬A .‫ אב‬AB .‫ ב‬B .‫ בג‬BG .‫ ג‬G .‫ ד‬D .‫ ה‬E .‫ מ‬M .‫ ש‬Sh

New York, JTSA, ENA 1381 (Mic. 1488) New York, JTSA (Mic. 8553) Oxford, Bodleian Library 1984, Mich. 155 Oxford, Bodleian Library 2769, MS Heb. f. 11 Berlin, Staatsbibliothek 114 (Fischl. 51), MS Or. fol. 1959 Paris, Mosseri III, 256 ff. 1-36 Cambridge, University Library, Add. 1016/7 London, British Museum Add. 27, 168 Jerusalem, Schocken 37

MAJOR THEMES IN THE POETRY OF RABBI SĀLIM AL-SHABAZĪ

MARK S. WAGNER The Hebrew travelogue of the Lithuanian-Jerusalemite R. Ya‘aqov Even Sapir (1866/74) directed the attention of European Jewry to the Jews of Yemen. In his book, R. Sapir described hearing the performance of the poetry of the great Yemenite kabbalist, geomancer, and poet R. Sālim (Shalem) al-Shabazī (d. c. 1679) and seeing manuscripts containing his poetry while traveling in Yemen in 1858. In 1897, David Yellin (d. 1941), later appointed professor of medieval Hebrew poetry of the Spanish period at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, made an impassioned plea for the study of the poetry of the Yemeni Jews: Is Israel aware that there exists, outside of Spain that bore the poets and the eloquent men who adhered to the ways of Arabic poetry, another land that bore a band of great poets—men of keen mind and spirit—who walked in the footsteps of the Spanish [poets] with melodies on their lips? This land is forgotten Yemen.1

The Hungarian Orientalist and Talmudist Wilhelm Bacher (d. 1913) answered Yellin’s question in the affirmative in his 1910 Die hebräische und arabische Poesie der Juden Jemens, the first comprehensive study of Jewish Yemenite poetry. In 1919-20, the musicologist Abraham Z. Idelsohn published a long article on the poetry of al-Shabazī, and in 1930 he D. Yellin, “Ginze teman,” HaShiloaḥ 2 (1897): 147-61; Y. Tobi, The Jews of Yemen: Studies in Their History and Culture (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 272. 1

225

226

MARK S. WAGNER

published an anthology of Yemenite poems, Shire Teman, jointly authored with Naphtali Tur-Sinai.2 Despite this early flurry of interest, Yosef Tobi, one of the leading scholars of al-Shabazī’s poetic work, pointed out in 1975 that Shabazī scholarship was still in its infancy, lacking even a reliable critical edition of the poet’s dīwān.3 Tobi is certainly correct in his diagnosis of a pressing need for scholarly work on the vast corpus of manuscripts of poetry by alShabazī and his many imitators. Nevertheless, scholars interested in this major figure in medieval Jewish literature who are unwilling to wait for a critical edition of al-Shabazī’s dīwān have a few ways to introduce themselves to the literary aspects of his poetry. Several factors complicate the appreciation of al-Shabazī’s poetry. The provenance of its form—whether it is based on the Hebrew muwashshaḥāt of Spain or upon Yemeni Arabic models—is a controversial matter.4 This form also presents problems in scansion.5 Al-Shabazī composed the majority of his poems in alternating strophes of Hebrew and Yemeni Arabic (rendered in Hebrew characters), or wholly in Yemeni Arabic. Nevertheless, most scholarly treatments of al-Shabazī have focused exclusively on his Hebrew poetry. Readers interested in this larger linguistic picture must still turn to Bacher’s Die hebräische und arabische Poesie der Juden Jemens. What follows is a guide to three shirot6 by R. Sālim al-Shabazī, selected from a very early manuscript of his work published in facsimile edition by Yosef Tobi and Shalom Serri in 1975 as Shirim ḥadashim le-rabi shalem shabazi (designated “Serri-Tobi” in this article).7 The distinguishing characteristics 2 A.Z. Idelsohn, “Ha-meshorer ha-temani r. shalom shabazi ve-shirato ha‘ivrit,” Mizraḥ u-ma‘arav 1 (1919-20): 8-16, 128-40. 3 S. Serri and Y. Tobi, eds., Shirim ḥadashim le-rabi shalem shabazi (Jerusalem: Ben Tsvi Institute, 1975), 6. 4 See my “Arabic Influence on Šabazian Poetry in Yemen,” JSS 51 (2006): 11736. 5 Sh. Morag, Mesorot ha-leshon ha-‘ivrit ve-ha-leshon ha-aramit she-be-fi yehude teman, ed. Y. Tobi (Tel Aviv: Afiqim, 2001), 267-88. 6 Shirot are strophic poems (muwashshaḥāt). Most of al-Shabazī’s poems use this form. 7 Shalom Serri discovered two late-seventeenth-century dīwān MSS in books belonging to a man from Petaḥ Tiqvah, R. Ḥayim Sulaymān Ta‘izzī. These MSS, along with a short collection of poems from a different source, contain about 150 poems by al-Shabazī and are the oldest such MSS. They were published in a facsimile edition by Shalom Serri and Yosef Tobi in 1975. Tobi argued that al-

MAJOR THEMES IN THE POETRY OF RABBI SĀLIM AL-SHABAZĪ

227

of Shabazian poetry will be developed in the discussion that follows. These poems will be followed by excurses on topics of central importance to the understanding of the themes of Shabazian poetry, utilizing other poems in Serri-Tobi.8 Al-Shabazī’s poetry will be shown to revolve around theophanic and oneiromantic visions, apocalypticism, and anti-Muslim polemic. His poetic diction will be shown to draw from both kabbalistic symbolism and the eroticism of Arabic ghazal. In addition, the manner in which al-Shabazī’s poetry shows a consciousness of its own esotericism will be discussed. The Little Lightning Bolt (Serri-Tobi, fols. 99b-100b) 1 The little lightning bolt of Yemen flashed, despite the overwhelming darkness, 2 Spurring on sheets of dewy rain to the joy of mankind, 3 The rivers of paradise are streams, watering the roses and the flowers,9 4 It emanates the first light and illuminates the east and the north. 5 It ripens crops, 6 And the rivers and the seas, 7 And the herbs and the flowers. 8 9

When the storm clouds rise the waves churn, And the noble ocean is loaded with excellent things to eat.

10

Isn’t it wonderful when the wind strikes, ripening the crops in their furrows? Give praise to God, who is the opener of breasts, [The opener] of flowers so that they spread their perfume when Virgo is ascendant. Exalt Him who is the most virtuous, Who spreads out his emanation as wine.10

11 12 13

Shabazī himself wrote the two poetic MSS discovered by Serri as well as a short collection of poems that he had found. 8 In transliterating Hebrew and Arabic quotations from this work, I have only “corrected” the language where its idiosyncrasies interfere with comprehension. Therefore, the reader will find that these quotations diverge substantially from classical Arabic and, in some cases, from the norms of biblical Hebrew. 9 This word, mashām, may mean “flowers” in the sense of the sh.m.m. root connoting something that smells good. Ratson Halevi glosses this word and a variant, mashmūm, as “incense” (bosem); cf. Shirat Yisra’el be-teman (Qiryat Ono: Makhon mishnat ha-rambam, 1998), 1:156, 190.

228

MARK S. WAGNER

14 15 16

He perfected the creation of Man, He is eloquent, making man’s tongue speak, Making good deeds abundant.11

17

His Intellect is perfect and he determines that which is licit and that which is forbidden, But when a miserable man sins He still loves him.

18 19 20 21 22

He created the angels and the spheres on the day of His fashioning, He gave them perception so that they would praise His name, They circle Him, obeying His command, And the lunar sphere shines for a set number of days.

23 24 25

He overpowers the Sun, Cloaked in the light of paradise, [Emanating] from the Holy Shrine.

26 27

He beautifies forms—in His gathering them they reach perfection, In the past and in the future He is the king who governs all affairs.12

28 29 30 31

My troubled mind wanders off and my nature is disturbed, I have always remained smitten, longing for drunkenness. My lover is still asleep—he left me, spurned,13 But the generous nobles sent me a cup of wine.

32 33 34

Choice (wines) are selected for me, Shining from a blue cup, Balm for burning thoughts.

35

[The mind of] him who tastes an ancient honeyed wine that grants rest wanders off, His thoughts are upset until he gets drunk and falls asleep.

36 37 38 39 40

My love, with a drink of wine you would comfort my thoughts, For I have a heart that is desirous and perplexed by everything, Lover, get up and return—appear at my door! I do not think that you are stingy, however, toward the Muse of poetry. 10

here.

“Continually” (mā dām)—rather than “wine” (mudām)—would also fit well

Or “my tongue” and “my deeds.” Lit., “He holds the reins” (mustaḥīṭ zimām). 13 Taraknī bi-wuḥshatī could also mean “He left me to my desolation.” 11 12

MAJOR THEMES IN THE POETRY OF RABBI SĀLIM AL-SHABAZĪ

229

41 42 43

For your hand is generous, And you call for assistance in support of us in our state, Would that [you] would open your hand.

44

He who looks for sustenance behaves admirably and should not pay heed to [idle] talk, [He] is gold without blemish [rest of line obscure].

45 46 47 48 49

He who invites guests and honors them has a pure soul, He is stalwart among learned men and every visitor makes him their boon companion. Verses of poetry require the appropriate motifs, And the soul will not tarry when the good times have come.

50 51 52

He praises his Creator, Who provides him with sustenance, And gives him many good things to taste.

53

He contemplates—he is not ignorant—his mind becomes light when he stands up, He inquires about the secret of the sciences that the average man never sips.14

54 55

Run of the mill people require laws (which are relaxed among the learned) Their Intellect is preserved, And they exalt their guests, They obey the Holy One and fear Him in their actions, He encompasses them and apportions beneficence to them out of His goodness, Love him who loves the Lord, So that your heart will exult And your sins will be forgiven.

56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64

He who is surrounded by grievous sin becomes weary and achieves only enmity, His soul shakes violently with lust and vanity.

65 66 67

My speech is finished and it has served its purpose well, Exalted be the King on high, the ruler and the lord, Praise be to Him who forgives an errant slave,

14

Lā yahsif al-‘awāmm could also mean “He is not disgraced by average men.”

230

MARK S. WAGNER

68

Who pardons the sin of the man who has gone astray, both the repentant and the bewildered.

69 70 71

Having finished my speech, I praise God, For His grace that waters us.

72 73

I trust in His Name, for He never sleeps, Noblest peace be upon Him who shows patience for the lowly.15

First, a few linguistic, orthographic, and structural observations are necessary. The preceding poem was composed entirely in Arabic (in Hebrew characters). It uses a variety of language registers. The poem’s language alternates between lyricism (the opening storm tableau, wine), the language of Arabic Neoplatonism (Soul, Intellect, emanation, light imagery), and pious homiletic language. The poem uses the “compound muwashshaḥ” form that is characteristic of Yemeni strophic poetry. This poem, like several of the poems in MS Serri-Tobi, begins with the evocation of lightning. The larger Shabazian corpus includes many such poems, grouped together by anthologizers for their characteristic beginning baraq burayq (“a little lightning bolt flashed”). The extended image of a rainstorm is already found in pre-Islamic poetry. The image of the lightning bolt finds ample precedent in a more localized source, the semi-colloquial strophic poetry (called ḥumaynī poetry) of Yemeni Sufis. A celebrated Sufi poet of Ḥaḍramawt, ‘Umar b. ‘Abdallah Bā Makhramah (d. 1546/47), used the image very often in his poems, referring to barq al-najd and barq al-ḥimā. In his poetry, the poetic speaker occasionally addressed the lightning. In Bā Makhramah’s poems, as in al-Shabazī’s poem, the description of the lightning and the storm, rain clouds and roiling seas often precedes metaphysical discussions. The apparently deliberate blurring between paradise and the rainy terraces of Yemen found in al-Shabazī’s poem also finds precedent in Bā Makhramah. Al-Shabazī’s agricultural references (cisterns, irrigation channels, Virgo ascendant) to the flora of paradise show a heightened awareness of this technique. A vision of paradise constitutes one of the central constituent themes of al-Shabazī’s poetry. In his poems, the soul, freed from the body by means of sleep or by means of supererogatory nighttime prayer vigils, beholds various aspects of the divine realm, portrayed in conventional images. One of these is a vision of paradise. Some examples follow. “[The Other versions of this poem exist. See Y. Ratzhaby, “Shire R. Shalem Shabazi,” Qiryat Sefer 43 (1967): 148. 15

MAJOR THEMES IN THE POETRY OF RABBI SĀLIM AL-SHABAZĪ

231

soul] loves the bounty of paradise, where roses and sweet basil are planted.… [R]ivers continually emanate from and encircle it.”16 “I want to reach the Abode of Life where the souls are hurled [after] the bodies vanish and they remain among all manner of roses, apple trees, and jasmine.”17 “Four rivers flow in the Garden of Eden—you behold angels in each river, as well as many roses, apple trees, and the finest flowers.”18 “Behold the Immortal Garden on the day the Soul courts her mate. Pick roses in the lofty reaches of paradise.”19 The prominent theme of wine and drunkenness in the preceding poem is found in many other poems of al-Shabazī. For example: “Temper the wine of plucked grapes with water and be generous—let us enjoy the wine of the cups”20; “Friend, send my message. We will relax and let our souls rejoice, among noble rabbis, we will drink from flagons and salute each other.”21 The wine theme has strong parallels in Yemeni Sufi poetry as a whole and in Bā Makhramah in particular, where the cup, passed around, mimics the movement of the spheres and drunkenness the mystic’s ecstasy. In lines 28-37 of al-Shabazī’s poem, wine offers the speaker reprieve from his passion for his sleeping lover, and it soothes his “burning thoughts.” The poem’s description (line 11) of God as “the Opener of Breasts” (mushriḥ alṣudūr), an image of Qur’ānic provenance, is paralleled in many Yemeni Sufi poems.22 Serri-Tobi, fol. 49b: wa-tahwī ṭībat al-fardūs wa-buh maghrūs / zuhūr al-ward wa lrayḥān ... wa-fihi fayḍ al-nuhūr dāyir. 17 Ibid., fol. 72a: shawqanā yaḥṣul li-dār al-ḥayāh / ḥayth mā al-arwāḥ mutahāwiyāt / al-jusūm tafnā wa-hun bāqiyāt / bayn ward afnān wa-tufāḥ wa-full. 18 Ibid., fol. 77a: bi l-jīnān arba‘ anhār tajrī / min ‘adnān / tanzur amlāk fī kull nahrī . / ma‘a afnān ward wa-tufāḥ wa-aṭyāb zahri. 19 Ibid., fol. 4b: wa-anzur jannat al-khuldi / bi-yawm al-nafs tatawaddi / wa-tajni . zahrat al-wardi / bi-fardūs al-‘ulā. 20 Ibid., fol. 48a: wa-imzuj min qaṭīf al-rāḥ wa-kun samāḥ / naṭīb fī khumrat al-adnān (understanding al-adnān as an unusual plural for of dann; cf. ‘Abdallāh b. Muḥammad al-Ḥibshī, al-Adab al-yamanī fī ‘aṣr khurūj al-atrāk al-awwal min al-yaman, 1045-1289 AH, 1635-1879 [Beirut: al-Dār al-Yamaniyah; Tawzī‘ Dār al-Manāhil, 1986], 215). Alternatively, the writer may have intended khamrat ‘adnān, a heavenly wine. 21 Serri-Tobi, fol. 79a: yā ṣāḥ balligh niyyatī / shāna‘qid al-rāḥah taṭīb al-arwāḥ / mā bayn aḥbār sādati / nashrab wa-nathayyā bi-shurb al-aqdāḥ. 22 Several terms and images of Muslim provenance appear in al-Shabazī’s poetry. These include: the imagery of paradise (more on this below); the word qur’ān (Serri-Tobi, fols. 54b, 61a); and the terms lawḥ maḥfūz. (Serri-Tobi, fol. 17a) 16

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A number of clues as to the circumstances surrounding the poem’s composition and recitation emerge from the text. Line 4, where the lightning’s flash “emanates the first light” and line 36 “… his thoughts are upset until he gets drunk and falls asleep” may point to the poem’s composition as part of a mystical dawn vigil. A great number of the poems in Serri-Tobi refer, usually in the beginning of the poem, to the medium of sleep. The dreaming soul, according to these poems, leaves the body, enabling it to witness the workings of the divine world. For example: “The soul pays no heed [to the body] during sleep—it ascends to the Chair of the Shrine”;23 “In a dream my soul follows and benefits from the souls of my lords.… [S]ouls converse while the bodies are far away.”24 One poem is preceded with this disclaimer: “I went to sleep hungry and I was awakened by this poem.”25 Other poems make reference to waking in the middle of the night (possibly the Tiqun ḥaṣot ritual or a local variant): “If you arise at midnight your intellect will be revealed”;26 “Awake in the middle of the night and let my lord awaken my vision.”27 Poetic accounts of dream visions do not seem to have been a subgenre of al-Shabazī’s poetry. Rather, they are a major component of poems clearly intended for varying audiences: the addressees of friendship poems, those attending kabbalistic symposia, nocturnal vigils, Sabbath festivities,28 or guests at weddings. The many references to the groom (‘arūs) in al-Shabazī’s poetry, as well as the symbolic Hebrew vocabulary of ṣevi and ṣeviyah (male and female gazelle), make clear that a good number of his poems were composed for weddings.29 One poem contains the line: “Abū Shimcon30 said: my speech

and laylat al-qadr. See Y. Ratzhaby, “Rabi Shalem Shabazī ve-shirato,” Sefunot 9 (1965): 139. 23 Serri-Tobi, fol. 92a: al-nafs waqt al-nawm tuwallī / ta‘al le-kis’e hekhali. 24 Ibid., fols. 22a-22b: wa-rūḥī bi-ḥulm al-layl tastaqīd / tuhāwī li-rūḥ sādatī tastafīd / al-anfus tanādim wa l-ajsām (22b) ba‘īd. 25 Ibid., fol. 53b: yashanti ra‘ev nin‘arti be-shir zeh. 26 Ibid., fol. 56a: ve-taqum be-ḥatsot laylah / ve-sikhlekh negdekha niglah. 27 Ibid., fol. 167a: be-ḥaṣot layil ‘ūri ve-‘ōrari ba‘le ḥazyōn. One poem in Serri-Tobi is expressly devoted to Shabbat (fol. 157a). 28 Shabbat is also mentioned as the occasion for the protagonist’s mystical journey in fol. 22b. “Three meals” (shalosh se‘udot) are mentioned in fol. 157b, v. 14, and se‘udot appears in fol. 89b. 29 al-‘arūs (Serri-Tobi fol. 49b), al-a‘rās (fols. 70a, 71b, 75b, 99a, 100b), ‘arā’is (fol. 89a).

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has come to a close with the (word unclear) of my Lord so I invite the couple to relax, enjoying food and drink—I repose among Sages.”31 That alShabazī’s poetry plays a prominent role in Yemenite Jewish weddings (until today) is well known, but the many references to the ‘arūs and the a’rās show that it was the case in the poet’s own lifetime and not a later tradition. The lover who, in line 40 of the poem, is not “stingy toward the Muse of poetry” (hātif al-niz.ām) is probably God or the Messiah. This offers insight into al-Shabazī’s concept of poetic inspiration. The figure of the Muse (the hājis,32 or hātif),33 a stock character in Yemeni Arabic poetry, here becomes a divine intermediary.34 Lines like 31 (“… the generous nobles sent me a cup of wine”) and 46-47 (“He who invites guests and honors them has a pure soul, He is stalwart among learned men and every visitor makes him their boon companion”) suggest that the poet addressed a gathering of scholars. The speaker’s praises of their generosity and none-too-subtle reminders of his own need for food and drink probably show that the poet was rewarded in some fashion for his product. The poem blurs the distinction between personal, collective, and metaphysical realities. The “lowly” one of the final verse could refer to a variety of protagonists in widening circles: the poet, wandering between Jewish communities in search of sustenance; the Jews of Yemen or Diaspora Jewry as a whole; or the human soul, barred from its point of origin by its material body or by the flawed world of corporeal existence. Other verses of al-Shabazī’s support this interpretation. “I cry out from poverty and misery because I have been cast out, humiliated, in Yemen.”35 The following represents a wider scope: “repent and you will find respite— you are prostrate, your body wounded—your soul flits away, [you are] Sālim al-Shabazī had a son named Shim‘on. See Y. Tobi, “Piyuṭ ḥadash lerabi shim‘on shabazi,” Afiqim 50 (1977): 15, 28; E. Brauer, Ethnologie der jemenitischen Juden (Heidelberg: Carl Winters Universitätsbuchandlung, 1934), 383. 31 Serri-Tobi, fol. 84b: qāl abū sham‘ūn khatamnā / qawlanā fī [?] rabbī / dā‘ī ilā la‘rās ‘azamnā / nastarīḥ fī ‘aysh wa-shurbī / bayn al-aḥbār istaraḥnā. 32 Ibid., fols. 40a, 55a, 84a, 128a. 33 Ibid., fols. 47b, 61a, 100a. 34 J.A. Dafari, “Ḥumaini Poetry in South Arabia” (diss., School of Oriental and African Studies, 1966), 273, 298 n. 26; R.B. Serjeant, South Arabian Poetry: Prose and Poetry from Ḥaḍramawt (London: Taylor’s Foreign Press, 1983), 14 n. 12, Arabic sec., 10; C. Landberg, Glossaire Datinois (Leiden: Brill, 1942), 2851. 35 Serri-Tobi, fol. 57a: eṣ‘aq me-‘ōni ve-dalūt / ki ani gōlah ū-mishlakh bi-gvūle teman be-shiflūt. 30

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thrown down like a drunk.”36 Similarly, the Holy Shrine (al-haykal al-qudsī) of verse 25 may signify contemporary Jerusalem, the Temple in Jerusalem as it was before it was destroyed, or the inner sanctum in the presence of God. The next poem is composed in alternating strophes of Hebrew and Arabic, the most common form of al-Shabazī’s poetry. In this poem, as in most other poems taking this form, the initial strophe is most often composed in Hebrew. Its taqfīls (the third element of each strophe in the “compound muwashshaḥ”) differ from the standard pattern in that they include three hemistichs rather than the customary couplet. The first strophe is missing a line of the tawshīḥ (the second part of the strophe) and the entire taqfīl. Love for an honored woman (Serri-Tobi, fols. 77b-79a) 1 Love for an honored woman illuminates my mind’s eye and my imagination, 2 While I praise her beauty, for she comforts me in my exile. 3 My soul is like a lone bird and each night she greets the face of my Lord, 4 5 6

For she is accompanied by the Commander of the Army, Ascending to the Houses of Love. She stands among cherubs.

7

My joy and great exultation are renewed, parted from my bodily form, She raises me up at dawn. The soul perceives its aim—she is smitten, in love with the Intellect, She travels among brightly shining stars, ascending to the Throne to gain satisfaction, Holding fast to piety and faith despite being afflicted by the body by means of the Left line, It continually corrupts [corporeal] life—men’s desires are for ignorance and lowliness.

8 9 10 11 12 13 14

The soul wants to know her, To act piously and to worship her Lord, It longs for her orchard.

15

She is saved from sins and trials. She returns to the Abode of Initiation.

Ibid., fol. 103b: tub tastarīḥ / annak jarīḥ / jismak ṭarīḥ / wa l-nafs rīḥ / hāwī ma‘ā l-sakrah. 36

MAJOR THEMES IN THE POETRY OF RABBI SĀLIM AL-SHABAZĪ In the Garden she clothes herself in the light of Intellect. 16 17 18 19

[This is] the request of my awe-inspiring woman to her lover, [a man] who wants the exiles to be a treasure, He stands among myrtles, asking for our return to the way we were in the beginning, Return from your wandering, precious one, arise at dawn and pray, Leave the cast-off handmaiden, wake my multitudes with a call for repentance.

20 21 22

Hurry to do good for my God, Recite a new song, Magnify God’s salvation.

23

Perhaps in a time of His choosing He will exalt me, I remember His name and declare His unity, He will refresh my strength and my song.

24

O Creator, make Your will clear, grant us Your favor that we may be illuminated by your grace, Free the sick prisoner, and return us in goodness lest we be destroyed, The souls ascend, going upward, seeking faith in Your shadow, They yearn for the Abode of Guidance that was created at the beginning of Time.

25 26 27 28 29 30

Remember our fathers’ covenant, Fulfill Your promise to us, That we may return to our Holy House.

31

We will listen to the melodies and themes of poetry, put an end to the envious Left, make all of us stronger than our passions.

32

Remembering the miserable wretch, [You] send nourishment when it is needed, You are lord of all, a father, my eyes are those of a slave [looking at] his master’s hand, Remove the weight of the handmaid’s son’s yoke from a wounded heart, Rescue a trembling soul—let me escape from those who oppress me.

33 34 35

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36 37 38

Strengthen miserable people with downcast eyes, Who rejoice in your abundant glory, Calling out at your gate continually.

39

Rise to my assistance and strengthen me, Your people are diligent in their love, let my refuge be under your wings.

40

43

Friend, deliver my message! We shall achieve respite and our souls will repose, Among my lords, learned Jews, let us drink and hail each other with the drink of flagons, Praise Him who preserves my life, forgives the sins of the repentant, and shows forbearance, The eternal king, generous, there is no second to Him.

44 45 46

His grace is always upon us, He rules everything in His dominion, He spread out the earth and heaven.

47

My eye cannot see him but he sees me. Proclaim his unity, prostrating yourself, and drink the pure earthly cup.

41 42

Line 31, “we will listen to the melodies and the themes of poetry,” contains the Hebrew word shir in an otherwise wholly Arabic strophe. The interweaving of Arabic and Hebrew within individual lines sometimes occurs in al-Shabazī’s poetry.37 As in the previous poem, this poem emphasizes the speaker’s need (lines 25, 29, 32), and, due to the blurring of the personal, the communal and the metaphysical, the needy state of the Jews and of the human soul. This theme’s placement near the end of the poem, along with the wine theme and praise for “my lords, learned Jews” (line 41), suggests as well that the speaker expected some form of payment. Lines 28-30, “remember our fathers’ covenant, fulfill your promise to us, That we may return to our Holy House,” provide an example of a very common thematic building block in Shabazian poetry, which I call “Zionistic-apocalyptic.” Such statements are Zionistic in that they suggest that the speaker and his people could rectify their plight by returning to their true homeland, which is Zion. Sometimes this wish for restitution is expressed in personal terms: “I left Zion, my home”;38 “Have mercy on a

37 See W. Bacher, Die hebräische und arabische Poesie der Juden Jemens (Budapest: Adolf Alkalay, 1910), 67-68. 38 Serri-Tobi, fol. 104a: fāraqt ṣiyōn mawṭinī.

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miserable wretch, whom You exiled to Yemen”;39 “I will behold Mount Zion and my palace on the day that my labors succeed.”40 More often, it is communal in nature: “We will return to our land in glory”;41 “We will ascend to Zion and rejoice, beholding beauty in my dwelling places.”42 It often takes the form of a plea for deliverance: “Lady, remember our love— gather the banished tribes … and tell a disgraced people ‘Arise and gather!’ Their sojourn in Yemen is painful”;43 “Awaken your chosen people and let us ascend to Zion joyfully … O Builder of Zion and the Holy Mountain!”;44 “Gather the scattered [Jews] of Yemen”;45 “You who gathers [word unclear], gather our tribes—we will be restored in Jerusalem”;46 “He shall assemble his scattered people”;47 “Ascend to a pure land!”;48 “One day we will ascend to the Land of the Gazelle.”49 According to al-Shabazī’s poems, the situation in which a return to Zion could be effected is most often the apocalyptic upheaval generated by the Messiah in which the temporal (Muslim) powers would be overturned: “Revel in your Lord, who knows the state of the stranger. He may intercede soon on your behalf with a bounteous rain and return your ruined people”; “You who gives in abundance,50 release the confused—reach Jerusalem and send the Messiah, the prince of the prophets”;51 “He will assemble us on the day that the son of David comes … and every exiled prisoner will

Ibid., fol. 93b: raḥem ‘onī dalah be-teman galatah. Ibid., fol. 122b: ar’eh le-har ṣiyōn ve-armōni / yōm haṣleḥ ‘amali. 41 Ibid., fol. 135a: ve-nashūv le-arṣenū be-hadrah. 42 Ibid., fol. 126a: na‘aleh le-ṣiyōn ve-nismeḥah / ū-bi-mishkenōtay ar’eh segullat ne’ōtay. 43 Ibid., fol. 104b: zikhri geveret ahavah / nidḥe shevaṭim qabeṣi … vāmōr le-ūmmah ne‘lavah / qūmi be-ḥen hiqqaveṣi … mahlakh be-teman kō’avah. 44 Ibid., fol. 107b: ‘ōrarah ‘am naḥalotekh / na‘aleh ṣiyōn be-ḥedvah, yah bne ṣiyōn vehar’el. 45 Ibid., fol. 136a: ve-qabeṣ pezūri mi-teman. 46 Ibid., fol. 159b: yā jāmi‘ al-shaml al-badīd / ijma‘ li-shaml asbāṭinā [word unclear] / bi l-quds jam‘ih nasta‘īd. 47 Ibid., fol. 134a: yeqabeṣ pezūre ‘amō. 48 Ibid., fol. 108a: ta‘ali ereṣ ṭehōrah. 49 Ibid., fol. 92a: yōm na‘aleh ereṣ ṣevi. 50 M. Piamenta, Dictionary of Post-Classical Yemeni Arabic (Leiden: Brill, 1990-91), 516: Muhaymil derives from h.m.l.’s meaning of “to rain.” 51 Serri-Tobi, fol. 71b: ludhdh bi-rabbik khuṣṣ ḥāl al-gharīb / rūbbamā tashfa‘ bighawthin qarīb / wa-tu‘īd qawmak li-annuh harīb … yā muhaymal fakk li l-ḥāyirī / ḥad arḍ al-quds aṣal zāyirī / ib‘ath al-mahdī amīr al-rusūl. 39 40

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return.”52 In al-Shabazī’s poetry, the return to Zion often accompanies the rebuilding of the Temple in Jerusalem and the restitution of its sacrificial cult: “Bring us together as of old and rebuild the ruined Temple!”;53 “My goal is to ascend to Zion, just as our fathers were redeemed in the past. I would confess to God by means of a sacrifice.”54 As has been mentioned, the chorus of Temple singers provides the apocalyptic template for the singing of Shabazian poetry itself: “We will sing in the city of Zion. The Holy [Temple] radiates light and the Shrine contains a secret.”55 The “handmaiden” (shifḥah) of line 19 and the “handmaid’s son” (yillod ammah) of line 34 refer to Hagar and Ishmael, identified in rabbinic sources as representatives of Islam. Polemical statements based on this symbolism are quite widespread in Shabazian poetry. When the Messiah comes, “Edom’s minister [will have] fallen from his throne and the false son of a handmaiden will fall.”56 One poem’s protagonist describes himself as “a wretch, oppressed by the son of a stinking handmaiden.”57 The identification of Ishmael as “a wild ass of a man” (Gen. 16:12) also served as a springboard for polemic: “the stinking and proud wild ass”;58 “He will overthrow and discomfit the wild ass”;59 “A wild ass, like a dashing horse, humiliates me with his decree”;60 “A bull did violence to me, a wild ass scattered me and seized that which is precious to me”;61 “Overthrow the haughty wild ass.… [W]e are surrounded by strangers, the marauding soldiers of cruel kings.”62 Al-Shabazī seems to have used the Hebrew word zedim, “insolent men,” to pun on “Zaydīs”: “Insolent men ... ruled over the humble sons of simplicity.”63 Ibid., fol. 164a: wa-yijma‘ shamlanā al-mafrūd / bi-yawm ya’tī walad dāwud; ve-yashūv khol asir gōlah. 53 Ibid., fol. 111a: yajma‘ li-shamlī ka l-qadīm / ya‘mur li-qudsuh al-hadīm. 54 Ibid., fol. 29a: murādī yā widdī bi-ṣayūn a‘alah / bi-ḥayth kānū l-abā muqīmīn fī kumlā / wa-atwaddā li-lāh bi-qurbān maqbūlā. 55 Ibid., fol. 32a: natrannan fī ḥuṣn ṣayūn / wa l-muqaddas fī al-nūr maḍiyūn / wa lhaykal fīh sirr maknūn. 56 Ibid., fol. 141a: ve-sar edōm mi-kis’ō nafal / ū-ven amah sheqer topal. 57 Ibid., fol. 142a: ve-dal nidḥaq mi-ben amah ha-be’ūshah. 58 Ibid., fol. 129b: ū-fere mav’ish be-ga’avah. 59 Ibid., fol. 131a: ve-yashpīl pere vīyhōmem. 60 Ibid., fol. 130a: ū-fere ka-sūs dōher be-datō yakhlimeni. 61 Ibid., fol. 122a: shor bi ḥamas pere hafiṣani / laqaḥ maḥmadi. 62 Ibid., fol. 136a: ve-hashpel pere mityaher; sovevū ‘alenū zarīm / gedūde malakhim akhzarim. 63 Y. Ratzhaby, “Le-toldot ha-maḥloqet ‘al ha-qabalah bi-qhilat tsan‘a bi-shnot 1913-14,” Pe‘amim 88 (2001): 104 n. 55; Serri-Tobi, fol. 148a: shaleṭū zedim va-zalzalīm 52

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The following poem illustrates several central themes in al-Shabazī’s poetry. Awe-inspiring woman (Serri-Tobi fols. 120b-121b)64 1 In her grace, an awe-inspiring woman musters a holy and treasured people, 2 Each dawn and each evening she gives me recompense, 3 She is my bow and she is my sword and in her my heart is redeemed. 4 She is my cherished and choice one—she leads them to rest throughout their lives. 5 6 7

I saw her at Mount Sinai, She increased the light of my eyes, I delighted in my contemplation.

8

I arrived at the limit.

9

12

I met the dark-skinned gazelle with the long neck, the prince of those who seek esoteric knowledge, He dazzled the assembled people while the angels stood by in their ranks, The letters were assembled there to be seen, sending forth light, one after the other, Moses was watching carefully and the nobles were standing by.

13 14 15

He was engulfed in a spiritual light, He left every corporeal thing, He spoke clearly to me about the Torah.

16

On all of its principles.

17 18

You inspired me to speak, my love, though my body is wasting away, Our separation has grown long—How I miss you!—My grief will not cease, When will we reach Jerusalem65 and leave our land, To gaze upon the Immortal Garden and every inaccessible place?66

10 11

19 20

bivne tōm ve-‘anvah. On polemical themes in Yemenite Jewish literature, see R. Aharoni, “From Bustan al-‘Uqul to Qisat al-Batul,” Hebrew Union College Annual 52 (1981): 311-60. 64 Yosef Tobi has drawn attention to parallels in earlier Jewish poetry to the structure of this poem in Avraham ben Ḥalfon, Shirim, ed. Y. Tobi (Tel Aviv: Afiqim, 1991), 71-72. 65 This word is unclear in the MS. It looks like al-qanadī or al-hindi. The translation assumes that al-qanadī is a mistake for al-qudsī.

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21 22 23

We will visit the Holy Shrine, And the King, elevated upon His Throne, His light brighter than the sun’s,

24

In the days of rejoicing.

25 26 27 28

O Rose, with your living soul gather my scattered ones, Run like a gazelle and bless my might, In your love, seek a holy people that has suffered. My soul, having been exiled, will live again, and my Intellect will advise me.

29 30 31

He calls out to my lover’s tribes, They ascend together to the End of Days, I believe in his words.

32

I will not sit in mockery.

33 34 35 36

My time in Yemen passes slowly without you, lover. We had a written marriage contract, borne by Moses’ hand, Doesn’t every sinner repent—Mustn’t He forgive them? He who revels in the Eternal will be given freely when he asks.

37 38 39

This is the thing I seek, To be a servant to my beloved, That would sweeten my bread and my drink.

40

Obeying His every command.

41 42 43 44

The eloquent Mashta’ite67 says—I have become a stranger, I conclude my speech and my melodic patterning in a frightened state, From illnesses and trials, alone, without a lover. O one exalted God, grant us a speedy victory.68

45 46 47

He controls the gates of joy, He grants whatever He wishes to whomever He chooses, He looks down upon His slave.

48

Let us realize our wishes.

66 Wa-kull mā nastaḥil might also mean something along the lines of “every time we change [incarnation].” 67 Al-Shabazī belonged to the Mashta clan. 68 This phrase, fatḥun qarīb, is of Qur’ānic provenance (61:13, 48:18, 27).

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Lines 5-16 treat the Sinaitic theophany, a central tableau in many of alShabazī’s poems. Wilhelm Bacher noticed the importance of the revelation at Sinai and Shavuot, the festival that commemorates it, in al-Shabazī’s corpus of poems.69 Al-Shabazī uses the Qur’ānic term “Night of Power” (laylat al-qadr) (97:1-3) to describe this holiday.70 For example, he wrote: “On the Night of Power He made himself manifest. I spent the night in His shadow.”71 The Sinaitic tableau recurs with such frequency that it seems quite unlikely that all poems containing it were composed for the festival of Shavuot. These vignettes sometimes describe Moses: “O you who speaks [with God], the son of ‘Amrān, the king of the age.”72 In one poem, the speaker compares good poetic composition to one of the miracles God wrought for Moses: “[A skillful poet] provides the befuddled with a proof, just as Moses struck the rocks and water flowed.”73 Al-Shabazī describes revelation in visual terms: “On the day that Moses went up to the mountain my soul was disturbed, and all of the people were there, gazing toward the voices, luminescent jeweled letters, alif, bā and jīm, were seen—transparent, lofty, and shining”;74 “The divine messenger delivered an oration at the mountain. Ten commandments were revealed, inscribed precisely upon two tablets. At the mountain flames engulfed the clouds and light encircled the host.”75 The preceding poem also contains a thread of lyricism and eroticism, both male and female. This is also a general characteristic of al-Shabazī’s poetry. Several of the poem’s Hebrew lines describe an enigmatic female figure (or figures), the “awe-inspiring woman” (ayumah) from Song of Songs 6:4 in lines 1-6,76 and the “rose” (ḥavaṣelet) of line 25. In addition to “aweinspiring woman,” the other allusive feminine Hebrew epithets al-Shabazī

Bacher, Die hebräische und arabische Poesie der Juden Jemens, 95. Ibid., 88. 71 Serri-Tobi, fol. 90a: fī laylat al-qadrī tijallā [90b] amsayt bi-zilluh sākinī. . 72 Ibid., fol. 3b: yā mukallim walad ‘imrān ant sulṭān al-zamān. 73 Ibid., fol. 76a: wa-yujawwib li-man kān ḥāyir / fī burhān / kayf mūsā ḍarab al-ṣawānī / wājrī al-mā. 74 Ibid., fol. 89b: fī yawm ṭala‘ mūsā ilā l-ṭūr / thumm kān rūḥī ḥāyirī / wa l-qawm jam‘ah ḥāḍirīn / min tilka l-aṣwāt nāz.irīn / aḥruf tunīr mutajawhirīn / min nūr alif bā jīm mashhūr / shafāf ‘ālī bāhirī. 75 Ibid., fol. 166b: wa l-nabī al-mursal / khāṭabuh fī l-ṭūr / ‘ashar kalimāt anzal / khaṭṭ bi-lawḥayn maḥkūr / wa l-jabal nār yash‘al wa l-ghamāyim wa l-nūr / fī ḥiwāliy al‘askar. 76 This epithet also appears in Serri-Tobi, fols. 90b, 164b, and 167a. 69 70

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used in his poetry are: “Bat Galim”;77 “Rose of Sharon” (ḥavaṣelet sharonim)78 and “Rose of the Valleys” (shoshanat ‘amaqim);79 “myrtle” (hadasah);80 “doe” (‘oferah);81 “the doe called Bat Sheva” (‘ofrah niqra bat sheva);82 “she-gazelle” (ṣeviyah);83 “graceful she-gazelle” (ṣeviyat ḥen);84 “daughter of a nobleman” (bat nadiv);85 “beloved bride” (ra‘yah);86 and “young woman” (‘almah).87 Broadly speaking, the erotic lexicon of al-Shabazī’s poetry tends to describe the female beloved in Hebrew and the male beloved in Arabic. Nevertheless, since a number of al-Shabazī’s poems were likely recited or sung at weddings, Hebrew terms signify the groom as well: “he-gazelle” (ṣevi);88 “graceful he-gazelle” (ṣevi ha-ḥen);89 or “hart” (‘ofer).90 The poem quoted above in extenso describes the “dark-skinned gazelle with the long neck” (al-‘awhajī al-akhḍar) (line 9). The Arabic epithets that alShabazī employed to designate the male beloved are: “having a long neck” (‘aṭyalī);91 “long-necked gazelle” (‘awhajī);92 “gazelle” (ghazāl); “lover” (khill);93 “branch of the bān tree” (ghuṣn al-bān);94 “a doe-eyed gazelle” (‘awhajī min alḥūr);95 or “the prince of the doe-eyed” (amīr al-ḥūr).96 77 Serri-Tobi, fols. 44b, 110a. R. Huna explains (BT Sanhedrin 94b) that this phrase, “the daughter of waves [galim]” refers to the people of Israel (kneset yisra’el), whose good deeds are as numerous as waves in the sea. A similar interpretation can be found in the Zohar (Noah 63a). 78 Serri-Tobi, fol. 90a. 79 Ibid., fol. 141a. 80 Ibid., fol. 135a. 81 Ibid., fol. 135b. 82 Ibid., fol. 166b. 83 Ibid., fol. 166a. 84 Ibid., fols. 93a, 111a. 85 Ibid., fols. 89b, 93a, 129a, 167a. 86 Ibid., fol. 164b. 87 Ibid., fol. 102b. 88 Ibid., fols. 90a, 110a, 135b, 166a. 89 Ibid., fol. 148b. 90 Ibid., fols. 90a, 93a. 91 Ibid., fols. 44a, 92b, 108a. 92 Ibid., fol. 44b. 93 Ibid., fols. 92a, 98a. 94 Ibid., fols. 50a, 70a. 95 Ibid., fol. 55b. 96 Ibid., fols. 50b, 83b. Ḥūr al-‘īn is an image used in the Qur’ān to describe the eyes of the beautiful maidens in paradise, which literally means, “displaying a sharp contrast between the white of the eye and the dark iris.” I translate it throughout as “doe-eyed.”

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Unlike the terse Hebrew epithets used to describe mysterious female figures, al-Shabazī describes the male beloved’s body in detail. One remarkable poem in Serri-Tobi provides a full catalog of the attributes of “the prince of the doe-eyed” whom the speaker visits in a paradisial garden: The light of his face outstrips that of the crescent moon, affixed in the heavens, All of the young gazelles are enamored of him, His nose is as delicate as a sword’s cutting edge, He is a skilled youth—I am astounded by his attributes, His eyes are a cup of wine that wash over me, And mesmerize my recalcitrant heart, His lips are like rubies chiseled with the letters alif, bā and jīm, His mouth tastes sweet like pomegranates and basil—a cure for every ill,97 His teeth are as lustrous as pearls98 [text damaged] His neck is that of a gazelle who has wandered off, alone, a fugitive, who disturbs all of the gazelles [with his beauty]. He has amazed all of my brothers and has given me drink, I spent the night with him, drunk, And he said: “O poet from among the forgetful [i.e., mankind], Wake up! Morning has risen! Speak precisely about my religion, And stir the best of minds from their slumber, Do not pay attention to the other gazelles, who censure me for my Joseph-like beauty.”99

In his poetic translation of Shabazian poetry, R. Halevi translates this word, āfāt, variously as “pain,” “plague,” or “death”; cf. Shirat Yisra’el be-teman, 1:143, 154, 160, 290. 98 Cf. Serri-Tobi, fol. 98a: “His lips [word unclear] like rubies and his teeth surpass pearls in luster,” shifāt [?] kamā al-yāqūt / wa-asnānuh tafūq al-durr. 99 Ibid., fols. 50b-51a: shāhadt sīd al-ḥūr bi-rūs al-dūr taqūl subḥān khalāquh / jabīnuh nūrahū ghālib hilāl thāqib / sabī al-ghizlān ‘ushshāquh / raqīq al-mar‘af al-bātir / fatā sātir / balash ‘aqlī bi-akhlāqih / wa l-a‘yān khamr fī l-ṣīnī / tulāhīnī / wa-tuftin khāṭirī al-‘adhlān / shifātuh tushbih al-yāqūt / bihā manḥūt / alif bā jīm mathlūthāt / wa-thaghruh ‘adhb rumānī wa-rayḥānī / diwā yushfī min al-āfāt / thanāyah ṣāfiyah ka l-lūl / … [51a] … / wa-‘unquh ‘awhajī shārid harab fārid / wa-hayyam jam‘at al-ghizlān / balash kul jam‘at ikhwānī waarwānī / wa-amsayt ‘indahu sākir / wa-qāl yā shā‘ir al-abyāt min al-ghaflāt / tinabbah ṭal‘at 97

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Several other poems portray the beloved’s luminescence. He is “a gazelle from among the doe-eyed who radiates light in all directions”100 or a “pretty one with eyebrows like the letter nūn … who looks like the crescent moon, affixed [in the heavens].”101 His forehead is especially noteworthy in terms of light imagery: “his forehead is like pearls”;102 “A hidden secret is written on his forehead.”103 The speaker in poem 3, like the paradigmatic lover of Arabic lyric poetry, wastes away with longing for his remote beloved (lines 17-18). Conventional expressions of the emotions of the spurned lover form yet another building block of al-Shabazī’s poetry. For example: “The beloved left me and turned away”;104 “I have a lover but he is gone and separation from him pains me”;105 “My love, do not forget me. You have oppressed me and your absence has grown long”;106 “Remember your promise”;107 “Time ensnared me with its stratagems and I remained a slave to it, but I have a lover in the Upper World from whom I have been separated due to my troubles and my bad inclinations.”108 Al-Shabazī only rarely describes the lovers’ successful rendezvous: “I lay among tender branches [i.e., young men], astonished, embracing the gazelle who is as slender as a young shoot.”109 Often the poem’s speaker complains of sleeplessness. Given that many, if not most, of al-Shabazī’s poems relate the nighttime journey of the soul, freed from the body by sleep to roam the supernal regions, this theme acquires an additional shade of meaning: though freed from the body, the soul still has a long way to go in its quest for perfection. “A doe-eyed gazelle left me insomniac, sleep did not touch my eyes during the night”;110 “O distant gazelle, being apart from you weighs heavily upon me, my al-bākir / wa-ḥarrik qawlak aftīnī ‘alā dīnī / wa-nabbih ṭībat al-khāṭir / wa-lā tuftin lighizlānī bi-‘udhlānī / bi-ḥusn al-yūsufi al-fattān. 100 Ibid., fol. 55b: ‘awhajī min al-ḥūr / bi-ḥawṭah mutawājah nūr. 101 Ibid., fol. 70a: yā zayn nūnī l-ḥājib … shibah al-hilāl al-thāqib. 102 Ibid., fol. 50a: ja‘īduh ka l-luyūl. 103 Ibid., fol. 54b: wa-fī jabīnih maktūb sirr maḥjūb. 104 Ibid., fol. 92a: al-khill hājarnī wa-wallā. 105 Ibid., fol. 40a: lī khill thumma mafqūdā / awḥash ‘alayyā al-tafrīd. 106 Ibid., fol. 98b: ḥabībī lā takūn ghāfil / jafayt ḥālī wa-ṭāl hajrak. 107 Ibid., fols. 98b-99a: wa-yudhkar dhālika l-‘ahd. 108 Ibid., fol. 12a: shaghalnī al-waqt fī makruh / baqayt mamlūk fī ‘aṣruh /wa-lī khill mu‘talī qaṣruh / hajartuh min humūm baṭshī. 109 Ibid., fol. 101b: asraf bi l-aghṣān [?] ‘ānaq al-‘awhajī al-ghuṣn al-ahyaf. 110 Ibid., fol. 89b: sharrad manāmī ‘awhajī al-ḥūr / bi l-layl ashar nāzirī. .

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imagination spends the night exhausted, bearing its shame”;111 “Lover, you left me abandoned and sleepless, you turned me over to the mob”;112 “My eyes stayed open with sleeplessness on the night I spent in your house, among your blooming roses”;113 “Friend, deliver a message on my behalf, send my greetings to my love, so that he will remember his promise to me. His having left me is a constant affliction, But he still rules over my dreams and distresses my eyes [with insomnia], O my love, I cannot sleep because of you.”114 In al-Shabazī’s poetry, the theme of the sleepless night is linked to the lyrical imagery of birds. “O owl, sing.… [Y]our voice drives sleep from me”;115 “I cannot sleep, O turtledove”;116 “A turtledove kept me awake in the Upper Garden, so I spent the night singing my own songs.”117 Sometimes the bird, chirping plaintively, represents an analogue to the distressed human lover, as in the verse “O Yemeni turtledove, why did you leave your lover?”118 In other poems, birds are associated with God. For example: “Doves prostrate themselves and sing for him”;119 “Tell me, O dove of the king, where was your ancient nest?”120 A type of bird called ‘ayṭamūs is described in a highly allusive manner.121 As the preceding examples show, al-Shabazī’s poetry is full of indications that it possesses esoteric significations. As if this were not enough, his poems frequently make explicit statements that they use esoteric language. For example: “I have written allegories”;122 “Hear my 111 Ibid., fol. 13a: yā dhā al-ghazāl al-ghāyib / hajrak ‘alayyā thaqal / wāmsī khayālī lāghib / fī ‘aybahu yatanaqal. 112 Ibid., fol. 90b: fāraqtanī yā khill mahjūr / bi l-layl amsī sāhirī / aslamtanī fī yad jumhūr. 113 Ibid., fol. 70a: sharradt ṭarfī mushar / amsayt dākhil dārak / mā bayn ward azhārak. 114 Ibid., fol. 84b: yā nadīm balligh li-qaṣdī / bi l-salām qum khuṣṣ widdī / rūbbamā yadhkur li-‘ahdī / hajrahu dāyim balānī / wā-‘adū bi l-sū timalak bi l-manām ṭarfī shajānī / yā muḥibb sāhir min ajlak. 115 Ibid., fol. 66b: yā ṭāyir al-būm gharrad … nawmī bi-ṣawtik tashrad. Owls also appear in ibid. fols. 70a, 145a. 116 Ibid., fol. 148a: asharat ‘annī al-nawm yā ra’būb. 117 Ibid., fol. 121b: ṭayr al-ḥamām sharrad li-a‘yānī fī bustān a‘lī / wāmsayt atarannan bi-alḥānī. 118 Ibid., fol. 83b: ayyahu al-qumrī al-yamānī kayf dhī fāraqt khillak. 119 Ibid., fol. 102b: luh tugharrid ṭuyūr al-ḥamāyim fī sajdah. 120 Ibid., fol. 104a: yā ṭāyir al-mulk aftanī / ayn kān wikrak min qadīm. 121 Ibid., fols. 70a, 90b, 128a. 122 Ibid., fol. 17a: bi l-ramz qad ṣanaft qawlī.

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allegories”;123 “Blessed is He who grants me allegorical poetry.”124 Some verses in this vein make clear that interpreting allegorical language was an activity in which groups of Jewish scholars, presumably at semiformal gatherings or even weddings, engaged. The speaker of one poem adjures a friend to drink wine with him “so that we will understand every secret and allegorical interpretation.”125 “The learned man knows the essence of poetry’s allegorical messages, one who has such a secret should bring it forward for us to unravel, to let the mind have free rein, he [should] ponder the words which I have set forth if he is wise”;126 “God remembers him who is knowledgeable in allegories. He emanates his knowledge, illuminating the stations of the Zodiac, on him who is successful in this regard. All of the learned Jews seek his company and engage in this pursuit.”127 On the simplest level of its symbolic language, framing the encounter with the beloved in a dream vision of paradise shows that the beloved is an otherworldly being. Also, the poems indicate that the earthly bride and groom possess metaphysical analogues in God and Israel, the Soul and the Intellect. Who is the beloved? Who are the women referred to by the allusive Hebrew epithets? Marginal comments written on this early manuscript already indicate that one reader (or perhaps the poet himself) decoded some of the poems’ symbols. For most Yemenite Jews before the twentieth century, the rich symbolic vocabulary of kabbalah was the hermeneutic key to Shabazian poetry. This was apparently the poet’s intention. In one poem, the speaker advises a companion to consult the Zohar and the mystical Torah commentary of Baḥya b. Asher.128 Uncovering the referents for al-Shabazī’s poetic symbolism was likely the purview of the people al-Shabazī called the “rabbis from among the lovers” (aḥbār al-aḥbāb),129 those well versed in kabbalistic thinking and perhaps familiar also with aspects of Sufism. One Ibid., fol. 84a: isma‘ armāzī. Ibid., fol. 151b: subḥāna munṭiq lisānī fī ramz naz.m al-ma‘ānī. 125 Ibid., fol. 21b: ve-naskil be-khol sod ve-ṭa‘am ramūz. 126 Ibid., fols. 45a-45b: ya‘rif rumūz abyātī fī al-dhātī man kān ‘ālmā / man kān luh sirr ya’tī natafātī / fī ‘aql ḥākimā / yakhtaṣṣ fī kilmātī / bi-ithbātī / in kān fāhimā. 127 Ibid., fol. 76b: dhakar allāh man kān ‘ālim bi l-armāz fayḍ ‘ilmuh yunīr al-ma‘ālam / dhī bih fāz / jam‘ al-aḥbār ‘induh tanādam fī ibrāz. 128 Ibid., fol. 111a. Bacher also found numerous examples of poems by alShabazī that reference the Zohar and Baḥya; cf. Die hebräische und arabische Poesie der Juden Jemens, 17, 84 n. 5, 85 n. 2, 139. 129 Serri-Tobi, fol. 90a. 123 124

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might venture to add that such members of the community, whether prominent individuals interested in poetic material for their kabbalistic symposia or male guests at a wedding, may have been the people responsible for remunerating the poet. Shabazian poetry must have also held an appeal for less academic tastes. As has been mentioned, the very allusiveness of al-Shabazī’s poetry gives the impression of profundity and some plausible allegorical readings emerge from the poems, even to readers not grounded in kabbalistic theosophy. The lyrical Arabic strophes were presumably intellectually accessible to the vast majority of listeners. To conclude, in al-Shabazī’s compositions, a number of themes recur time and again. These include: the dream vision of paradise and the theophany at Sinai, the Zionistic-apocalyptic theme, and anti-Muslim polemic. Bacchism, lyricism, and eroticism play major roles as well. The theme of esotericism makes clear that al-Shabazī believed his poetry to possess an additional level (or levels) of signification.

THE DRAMA OF JOSEPH AND HIS BROTHERS IN PIYYUT LITERATURE

YOSEF YAHALOM The confrontation between Joseph and his brothers is infused with great dramatic power, and poets and paytanim across the generations took advantage of its drama in their synagogue compositions. The story worked so great an effect upon the liturgy that even communities unaccustomed to incorporating piyyutim into the Shabbat service would make an exception for Shabbat Vayigash and ornament the service with the appropriate piyyutim. Thus the piyyutim of this Shabbat were better preserved than those of the other Shabbatot of the regular cycle. Dating from before the Arabic conquest of Israel (in the seventh century), a unique composition is known to us from the hand of a paytan who was accustomed to sign his compositions with the name Shimon HaKohen Berabi Megas. A paytan of great stature, he was active during the period in which the three-year reading cycle still prevailed in the Land of Israel. The weekly readings in Israel (sedarim, sing. seder) were naturally short, approximately one-third the length of the widespread Babylonian readings (parashot, sing. parashah). This permitted congregants to enjoy the paytanic expansions that ornamented the short weekly reading. The section of Vayigash (Gen. 44:18) served, to our fortune, as the beginning not only of a parashah but also of a seder. At the center of the large composition that Shimon bar Megas wrote for the seder of Vayigash occurs a poetic exposition on the dramatic debate between Joseph and his brothers that ensued after the goblet was discovered in Benjamin’s sack. According to Megas’s poetic reworking, Joseph takes advantage of the brothers’ confusion to implicate them in a new test involving selling—this time, the sale of Benjamin. Already the Hellenistic authors Philo and Josephus understood the concealment of the 249

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goblet as a means of tempting the brothers to sell Benjamin.1 The dynamic force in Megas’s drama is centered on Joseph and on the stern accusations through which he hopes to entrap the brothers and elicit their guilt. Especially forceful is the dramatic opening in which Joseph flings the terrible accusation at his brothers: “Spies you are!” (Gen. 42:9, 16). In the next stanza he adds, through alliteration of velar stops (approximately preserved in translation): You gleefully stole the silver goblet! The paytan adds from his omniscient perspective: Spies you are. They heard and feared Tough things as they listened to, their hips trembled. And likewise further: Spoke to them strongly, did Joseph You gleefully stole the silver goblet! This stage of the drama ends with the firm assurance of the brothers: Anyone who stole it, a slave shall he be. The brothers say this because they are sure that none of them is the thief. Here, too, the omniscient paytan heightens the power of their words with the far-seeing parenthetical observation that what they have said will later intensify their distressful situation: They answered together (their troubles to increase) Anyone who stole it, a slave shall he be. Joseph’s accusation has its desired effect. In response to it, they confess to one another concerning the sale of Joseph (Gen. 42:21). According to the paytan, at this stage the brothers recognize that these things have come upon them on account of the sin of selling Joseph, and they even recall to one another his absence and shed tears. The drama intensifies when, after the accusation concerning the theft of the goblet and after the thorough search of the sacks, the brothers are shocked to discover that the goblet lay in the sack of Benjamin—the youngest son and the very one whom Jacob Philo of Alexandria, On Joseph, line 232; English trans., Philo Judaeus, trans. F.H. Colson, 9 vols. (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1935), 6:253. Josephus Flavius, Antiquities of the Jews, 2:6:7; English trans., Josephus, trans. H.St.J. Thackeray and R. Marcus, 9 vols. (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1958), 4:220-25. 1

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loves best, and, by chance, the other son of Rachel, who stole the teraphim from her father’s home. The looks that they exchange (“They looked at one another”) convey their thoughts: they believe that Benjamin is, in the end, a thief born of a thief. After a short silence, they even break out with the rhetorical question: This did father guard like the apple of his eye? As if to say: Why should we bother to guard the life of a thief? But here, they quickly reach a crossroads: Can it be that here again they will render up a son of Rachel? In the blink of an eye, they determine that it is inconceivable that also in the case of Benjamin, they should act as they did in the case of Joseph, his brother. Upon further consideration, they realize that his guilt also implicates them, for the first money was found in their sacks when Benjamin was still with his father in Canaan. They therefore plead: How shall mercy be found? Bar Megas conveys Joseph’s response as concisely as possible: And their words he pressed. The midrash (Tanḥuma Miketz 10) is naturally more expansive. According to the midrash, Joseph attempts to manipulate his brothers rhetorically, in order to trip them up and thus subject them to punishment: “The first brother did not steal and caused you no trouble, and yet you told his father, ‘He was torn by a beast.’ This one has stolen and caused you trouble; go, then, and tell his father, ‘He was torn by a beast.’ The rope has followed after the pail.” By this he means that Benjamin, in stealing the goblet, followed in the footsteps of his mother, Rachel, who stole the teraphim. The brothers, for whatever reason, are not convinced this time. In contrast with the biblical story, which resolves the dramatic tension with Joseph’s emotional outburst, “And Joseph could not hold back” (Gen. 45:1), in Shimon bar Megas’s reworking, the piyyut ends precisely with the words: And afterward he held back and toward them was appeased. According to the paytanic reworking, the drama ends at the point that Joseph, holding back, abandons the attempt to trip them up and shows favor toward them. The dramatic topic of Joseph and his brothers continued to preoccupy authors in the Land of Israel after the days of Shimon bar Megas. One of

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the most famous of the paytanim who attempted the subject was Pinḥas HaKohen, who lived in Tiberias at the beginning of the Abbasid period, over a hundred years after the Islamic conquest. Significantly, according to his version of the story, Joseph was sold to the Ishmaelites (Muslims, in the medievals’ view). His piyyut, “A brother for your shoes you sold,” served as the model for a series of imitators who opened in similar fashion: “A brother you sold for shoes” (Shlomo Sulaiman Alsinjari), “Brothers, sellers of a brother for shoes” (Yosef Albardani), and others. M. Zulay published all these piyyutim over fifty years ago in a groundbreaking article.2 The opening of these piyyutim relies on the exegesis of the verse, “So says the Lord: For three sins of Israel, and for four I shall not revoke it, for selling a righteous man for money, and a poor man for the sake of shoes” (Amos 2:6). Various sources conclude that the brothers used the profit from the sale of Joseph to purchase shoes (Test. of Zeb. 3:1-2, Pirke de-rabbi Eliezer 38, and others). The detailed similarities in the openings of the various piyyutim may reflect not only their mutual dependence but also a certain liturgical connection between the chapter in Amos and the pericope about the sale of Joseph. The parashah of Vayeshev is linked until today to the haftarah of “for selling a righteous man for money,” and paytanim were accustomed to weave the haftarah into the piyyutim accompanying the Yotzer section. This was done, not coincidentally, in piyyutim of the Zulat category, to which the “brother” piyyutim belong. Pinḥas’s piyyut is composed of alternating stanzas of debate. The debate has four exchanges, and the entire piyyut contains eight stanzas, two for each exchange. The first stanza of each pair is spoken by Joseph; in the second, Judah responds. Joseph lays the most severe accusations against his brothers in the beginning of the drama. These include the sale into slavery for the price of shoes, the brothers’ bloody hatred of Joseph, the deception that they wrought upon their elderly father by dipping Joseph’s coat in blood, and the worry that they caused their father by concealing from him their dark secret. The force of the accusations decreases in the continuation, but the psychological intensity increases as Judah becomes ever more enmeshed in the web of lies that he spins in response to Joseph’s accusations. Between each stanza, Pinḥas inserts a short intermediate stanza in which the ruler reveals to the brothers the source of his incriminatory information. “Woe to you on account of the judgment of the exposer,” he tells them. The brothers are sure that the reference is to God, who reveals 2

M. Zulay, “Origin and Imitation in Piyyut” (Hebrew), Sinai 25 (1949): 32-52.

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all hidden things (Jer. 49:10), but Joseph, of course, means to refer to himself. In accordance with the theatrical tendencies of the drama, the line “Woe to you on account of the judgment of the exposer” might have been spoken by a chorus of basses that stood next to the cantor, who would have recited the body of the stanza, and the entire congregation could have joined in and identified the “exposer” by proclaiming the second line of the intermediate stanza, which balances out the refrain: “said to them Joseph.” The congregation, which knows the identity of the “exposer,” trembles at the dramatic irony, and can, at the end, wholeheartedly declare, “Who is like You among the gods, Lord?,” the liturgical statement into which the Zulat leads. Judah’s ignorance complicates the drama. His words in the response stanzas have two meanings, though Judah does not know this. In truth, Judah implicates himself further and further because he mistakenly thinks that he is not speaking to Joseph. Only Joseph and the congregation perceive the words’ deeper meaning. Thus, for example, Judah repeatedly urges his interlocutor not to reveal his personal secret in public and to accept upon himself the judgment of heaven, as though he himself had acted in God-fearing fashion and as though the secret did not, in fact, concern his interlocutor (second stanza). In his second response, Judah even presses his interlocutor not to dwell on the blood, “for blood from its shedder is sought” (cf. Gen. 9:5; fourth stanza). Only one who spilled blood is responsible for it. This at the very time that he and his brothers threw Joseph into the pit, and Reuben alone saved him with the suggestion “Do not spill blood” (Gen. 37:22). Only in the third exchange does Judah humble himself, as it were, saying, “We cannot answer” (sixth stanza), but even at this stage, he requests of his interlocutor: “Contend with us reasonably,” that is, this is not your quarrel, and reason suggests that Joseph ought to let it lie. The last exchange works the most interesting developments in the drama. The first speaker begins by announcing the brothers’ verdict: “You have incurred an unusual [i.e., cruel] death.” The death penalty falls upon the brothers also for having slain Jacob’s holy spirit by swearing to one another not to reveal what had happened to their brother (Tanḥuma Vayeshev 2). Because he has mentioned the holy spirit, Joseph now turns to God and unexpectedly asks of Him pardon his sinning brothers, and commands them, “All of you come to me to Goshen” (seventh stanza). At this point, the refrain also changes, and instead of “Woe to you on account of the judgment of the exposer,” Joseph reveals himself, and movingly says: For the sake of sustenance sent me the exposer

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Thus the brothers, too, finally realize the identity of the “exposer” in the previous stanzas and are struck dumb with emotion. License to speak transfers now to the omniscient narrator, who indicates that the brothers cannot yet respond, and the only sound that escapes their mouths is that of crying. Their tears unite them with the tearful Joseph. The drama ends with a comforting and hopeful announcement: “And afterward they spoke with him” (Gen. 45:16). What precisely did they say? This is the matter of another story. In any case, by the laws of the genre, a bridge to the fixed liturgy enters here, for example: “With great joy they all said: Who is like You among the gods, Lord?” (Exod. 15:11). Shlomo Sulaiman Alsinjari lived under Muslim rule approximately a hundred years after Pinḥas. He, too, builds his Zulat out of four debate cycles totaling eight stanzas. Likewise the lines “said to them Joseph/said to him Judah” serve as alternating refrains at the end of his short stanzas (three lines per stanza). He opens his Zulat in the footsteps of the prophet Amos (2:6), “a brother you stole for shoes,” and certainly also in the footsteps of his great predecessor Pinḥas. Alsinjari offers a different and original device through which Joseph can, without revealing himself, frighten his brothers and convince them that he knows the truth about them. The Egyptian ruler’s source of knowledge is not, as in Pinḥas’s case, the divine “exposer” but the silver goblet with which “a man such as I shall surely practice divination” (Gen. 44:15). Joseph’s claims rely from the first on techniques of witchcraft, and the entire drama builds from less to more weighty. The claim of witchcraft is mentioned explicitly in the body of the first stanza: A brother you sold for shoes By the hand of Ishmaelite men My goblet tells me things Said to them Joseph. It is interesting to note that Judah, in his response, addresses the authenticity of this source of knowledge and challenges his interlocutor to explain why he was not successful in using the goblet to determine the identity of the thief (second stanza). In his response, Joseph proclaims the goblet’s clairvoyant power. For the goblet revealed to him, according to Joseph, that the brothers had hoped that their brother would die in the pit (third stanza). To this, Judah responds with the words of Proverbs (25:9): “Have your quarrel with your fellow, but do not reveal another’s secret.” Judah is insisting that one ought not reveal another’s secret involving a third

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person and to contend with him about that (fourth stanza). But we, the listeners, know that there never was any third person. In the third and fourth cycles, Joseph’s increasing aggressiveness is expressed in the rhyming of the third-person suffixes -tem and -khem, through which he directly confronts the accused. At this stage, Shlomo Sulaiman returns to Pinḥas’s powerful opening stanza and employs, with him, the sharp rhymed couplet, “you slaughtered/you plotted.” The word “blood” sharply contrasts with the beautiful coat: “The beauty of his coat in blood you dipped” (fifth stanza). One can compare Alsinjari’s words with those of his great predecessor, who began with these more forceful words and proceeded toward less forceful ones: Pinḥas (first stanza) A brother for shoes you sold Hatefully against his blood you stood up A kid deceitfully you slaughtered You worried your father’s heart and plotted Woe to you on account of the judgment of the exposer Said to them Joseph. Alsinjari (fifth stanza) From the flock a goat you slaughtered The beauty of his coat in blood you dipped Before your father you plotted Said to them Joseph. In his response, Judah insists: “Do not stand on our blood,” alluding to a biblical phrase that is connected, in context, with the revealing of plots: “Do not go as talebearer among your people, do not stand on your fellow’s blood, I am the Lord” (Lev. 19:16). Judah is claiming that their plot is so old that it is no longer subject to prosecution (sixth stanza). But Joseph does not let up, and in the final exchange he returns to the same topic of blood and “standing” on blood, but here he transforms the standing into standing up (i.e., against), and charges the brothers: “you stood up against his blood [i.e., attempted to kill him] in your hatred” (seventh stanza). And thus, Shlomo Sulaiman returns to the sharp opening stanza of Pinḥas: “In your hatred against his blood you stood up.” But here, in Joseph’s final statement, Shlomo omits Pinḥas’s long final refrain, “For the sake of sustenance sent me the exposer/He said I am your brother Joseph,” and the progression of Shlomo’s poem does not allow for such an ending. He

256

YOSEF YAHALOM

rather takes pains to incorporate Joseph’s confession into the body of Joseph’s last stanza: You stood up against his blood in your hatred Deception you worked with your father Hear, for I am Joseph your brother Said to them Joseph. At the end of the drama, the paytan finally provides the congregation an opportunity to participate in the back-and-forth, and they, identifying with Judah, cry out to God: Pass over our sins Forgive our wickedness Speed our salvation As from Egypt save us. And we shall sing a song as our fathers sang on the shore, with joy and gladness and great happiness. In the second half of the tenth century, a paytan of Baghdad by the name of Yosef Albardani produced another reworking of the confrontation between Joseph and his brothers.3 Yosef returns to Pinḥas’s stanza structure, supplementing each quatrain, alternately, with “Woe to you on account of the judgment of the exposer/Said to them Joseph” and “Please, my lord, your words make us shudder/Said to them Judah.” He makes Joseph’s self-revelation (“I am Joseph your brother”) the end of Joseph’s final stanza, but proceeds to append, rather illogically, the fixed refrain, “Woe to you on account of the judgment of the exposer/Said to them Joseph.” Yosef’s piyyut also reduces the drama of the dialogue by shifting from direct to indirect discourse. Thus he destroys, for example, Joseph’s second-person rhyme, “You slaughtered/You dipped,” and opens the drama instead with his own description: Brothers, sellers of a brother for shoes In dipping his coat in blood In slaughtering a kid when he brought against them Their evil speech to their father Woe to you on account of the judgment of the exposer Said to them Joseph. T. Be’eri, ed., The Great Cantor of Baghdad: The Piyyutim of Yosef Albardani (Jerusalem, 2003), 248-50. 3

THE DRAMA OF JOSEPH AND HIS BROTHERS

257

Yosef’s change is, it would seem, all for the worse. For the ending, “Said to them Joseph,” does not logically follow after the stanza’s indirect discourse, and Joseph, in the end, says nothing at all to his brothers. What, then, is Yosef’s magic? R. Hai Gaon, in a letter sent to Kairouan approximately a thousand years ago (1006), calls Yosef Albardani “the great cantor whose rest is Eden.” The acrostic ‫“( חזן‬cantor”) also adorns the final stanza of this piyyut. It appears that this Yosef was loved by the congregation for his virtuosity and for the techniques of emphasis and enjambment that characterize his work. To this he adds, in each of the first two stanzas, nuanced internal rhyme (not reproducible in English). These four piyyutim, written in the second half of the first millennium on the topic of Joseph and his brothers, can serve as markers in the historical development of liturgical poetry. They reflect the shift of importance from the Land of Israel to Babylon and from Qerovah piyyutim (designated for the Amidah) to Yotzer piyyutim (designated for the blessings surrounding the Shema). They attest likewise to the transition from free dramatic presentation to dramatic presentation organized and restricted by fixed stanzas, and from simple to complex stanzas. In the end, because piyyut was the property of the cantors, the emphasis shifted from development of the drama to aural effects accompanied by vocal nuances and enjambment. We ought to recall, too, that even in Shlomo Sulaiman’s reworking of Pinḥas HaKohen’s piyyut, one can discern creative development, and an attempt to shift the center of weight from the impressive opening toward the liturgical ending, and toward participation by the congregation in the catharsis of the great drama. But in the reworking of Yosef Albardani at the end of the tenth century, it seems difficult to identify creative development in the ancient drama.

SHIMON BERABI MEGAS4 Spies you are. They heard and feared Tough things as they listened to, their hips trembled They said one to another all they had sinned A beloved brother is missing. They dripped tears. Spoke to them strongly, did Joseph You gleefully stole the silver goblet! They answered together (their troubles to increase) Hebrew text: Joseph Yahalom, ed., Liturgical Poems of Simon Bar Megas: Critical Edition with Commentary and Introduction (Jerusalem, 1984), 141-43. 4

258

YOSEF YAHALOM

Anyone who stole it, a slave shall he be. They rummaged through their bags, left and right And the goblet was found in the sack of Benjamin They looked at each other, wrongly believing As his mother stole, so stole Benjamin. They rose in confusion and dumb tongues And said: This did father guard like the apple of his eye? They mouthed: What can we say about the first money And what can we speak about the second money—in whispers. They all said: How shall mercy be found And can we be innocent of the goblet found? The lord of the land confused them and their words he pressed And afterward he held back and toward them was appeased.

PINH. AS HAKOHEN5 A brother for shoes you sold Hatefully against his blood you rose up A kid deceitfully you slaughtered You worried your father’s heart and plotted Woe to you on account of the judgment of the exposer Said to them Joseph. O far be it from you to do this And we wonder to hear from you this Lift your eyes to heaven and don’t reveal secrets Our guilt’s the cause. Hence came this trouble on us Please, my lord, your words make us shudder Said to him Judah. You burdened him at the hands of ropers You plotted to put his feet in fetters Cruelly you sold him to violent men To Ishmaelites for the sake of shoes Woe to you on account of the judgment [of the exposer Said to them Joseph.] We spoke to you as paupers and poor Hebrew text: Sh. Elizur, ed., Piyyutim of Rabbi Pinḥas HaKohen (Jerusalem, 2004), 545-47. 5

THE DRAMA OF JOSEPH AND HIS BROTHERS We shook at the finding of the goblet sought Don’t reveal our secret. Keep your quarrel separate. Don’t stand on our blood because blood from its shedder is sought Please, my lord, your words make us shudder Said to him Judah. He interpreted to you his dream You waited, jealous, to destroy him You rose, resolved, to spill his blood You tricked your father with “This we found” and rose to comfort him Woe to you on account of the judgment of the exposer Said to them Joseph. You sharpened your tongue like arrows to kill We are confused at your words and cannot answer Turn to your Creator and don’t monger among us tales O Please, my lord, contend with us reasonably Please, my lord, your words made us shudder Said to him Judah. You have incurred an unusual death Old man, you blocked his path to the Presence God will forgive you from his heavenly home All of you come to me to Goshen For the sake of sustenance sent me the exposer He said I am your brother Joseph. They trembled at hearing his speech They shook, frightened, and couldn’t answer him He gave voice to weeping and they wept with him And afterward they spoke with him. And let us sing for you a song as sang to you our fathers.

SHLOMO SULAIMAN ALSINJARI6 A brother you sold for shoes By the hands of Ishmaelite men My goblet tells me things Said to them Joseph.

6

Unpublished Hebrew text.

259

260

YOSEF YAHALOM

Search, examine and know How can you tell me truth When you don’t know who stole it Said to him Judah. You threw a brother into the pit And waited: perhaps he’ll die in the pit Where he’s sunk, there he’ll be buried Said to them Joseph. If you are practiced in the ways of the wise Like the wise of heart reveal your quarrel Let your tongue not reveal another’s secret Said to him Judah. From the flock a goat you slaughtered The beauty of his coat in blood you dipped Before your father you plotted Said to them Joseph. On our blood do not stand in anger Let not your mouth reveal a bygone secret See that a faithful person conceals things Said to him Judah. You stood up against his blood in your hatred Trickery you worked with your father Hear, for I am Joseph your brother Said to them Joseph. Pass over our sins Forgive our wickedness Speed our salvation As from Egypt save us. And we shall sing a song as our fathers sang on the shore, with joy and gladness and great happiness.

‫יוסף טובי‬

‫מד‬

‫סינוט ‪Alice Mary Sinnott, The Personification of Wisdom. Alder-shot, = 2005‬‬ ‫‪England‬‬ ‫סטרומזה ‪Sarah Stroumsa, ‘True Felicity’: Paradise in the Thought of = 1998‬‬ ‫‪Avicenna and Maimonides. Medieval Encounters 4, pp. 51–77‬‬ ‫ערן ‪ = 1982‬עמירה ערן‪ ,‬השוואה בין "נאוה" ל"איומה"; השוואה בין אהבת אשה‬ ‫לאהבת אלהים עפ"י קריאה בשירי אהבה לריה"ל ולרשב"ג‪ .‬עלי שיח ‪,14–12‬‬ ‫עמ' ‪172–165‬‬ ‫ערן ‪Amira Eran, “Al-Ghazali and Maimonides on the World to = 2002‬‬ ‫‪Come and Spiritual Pleasures”. Jewish Studies Quarterly 8, pp. 137-166‬‬ ‫צמח תשל"ג = עדי צמח‪ ,‬כשורש עץ‪ :‬קריאה חדשה בי"ד שירי חול של שלמה בן‬ ‫גבירול‪ .‬תל אביב‬ ‫רוזן תשס"ו = טובה רוזן‪ ,‬ציד הצבייה‪ :‬קריאה מיגדרית בספרות העברית מימי‬ ‫הביניים‪ .‬תל אביב‬ ‫רויכמן תשנ"ה = טובית רויכמן‪" ,‬היי לי אם ואחות" או "אחותי כלה"‪ :‬עיון בשירי‬ ‫האהבה של ביאליק‪ .‬עלי שיח ‪ ,35‬עמ' ‪76–67‬‬ ‫רצהבי תשס"ו = יהודה רצהבי‪ ,‬מוטיבים שאולים בספרות ישראל‪ .‬רמת גן‬ ‫שטיין תרצ"ז = מנחם שטיין‪ ,‬פילון האלכסנדרוני – הסופר וספריו ומשנתו‬ ‫הפילוסופית‪ .‬ורשה‬ ‫שיינדלין ‪Raymond P. Scheindlin, Wine, Women and Death: Medieval = 1986‬‬ ‫‪Hebrew Poetry of the Good Life. Philadelphia‬‬ ‫שיינדלין ‪Idem, The Redemption of the Soul in Golden Age Religious = 1990‬‬ ‫‪Poetry. Prooftexts 10, pp. 49–67‬‬ ‫שיינדלין ‪Idem, The Gazelle: Medieval Hebrew Poems on God, Israel and the = 1991‬‬ ‫‪Soul. Philadelphia‬‬ ‫שיינדלין ‪Idem, Ibn Gabirol's Religious Poetry and Sufi Poetry. = 1994‬‬ ‫‪Sefarad 54, pp. 109–142‬‬ ‫שיינדלין ‪Idem, The Song of the Distant Dove: Pilgrimage Poems by Judah = 2007‬‬ ‫)‪Halevi. Oxford (in print‬‬ ‫שיפרס ‪Arie Schippers, The Hebrew Poetry and the Arabic Literary = 1994‬‬ ‫‪Tradition: Arabic Themes in Hebrew Andalusian Poetry. Leiden‬‬ ‫שירמן‪-‬פליישר תשנ"ו = חיים שירמן‪ ,‬תולדות השירה העברית בספרד המוסלמית‪.‬‬ ‫ערך והשלים וליווה בהערות עזרא פליישר‪ .‬ירושלים‬ ‫שירמן‪-‬פליישר תשנ"ז = חיים שירמן‪ ,‬תולדות השירה העברית בספרד הנוצרית‬ ‫ובדרום צרפת‪ .‬ערך והשלים וליווה בהערות עזרא פליישר‪ .‬ירושלים‬ ‫שמחוני תרפ"א‪/‬ג = י"נ שמחוני‪ ,‬רבי שלמה בן‪-‬גבירול‪ .‬התקופה י )תרפ"א(‪ ,‬עמ'‬ ‫‪ ;223–143‬יב )תרפ"א(‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ;188–149‬יז )תרפ"ג(‪ ,‬עמ' ‪294–248‬‬ ‫שמיר תש"ס = זיוה שמיר‪ ,‬לנתיבה הנעלם‪ :‬עקבות פרשת אירה יאן ביצירת‬ ‫ביאליק‪ .‬תל אביב‬

‫מג‬

‫החשוקה כמשל לחכמה האלוהית בשירי אבן גבירול‬

‫‪Ancient Israel to Modern Judaism: Essays in Honor of Marvin Fox, vol. 2, pp.‬‬ ‫‪271–302. Atlanta‬‬ ‫חלמי ‪ = 1971‬מחמד מצטפא חלמי‪ ,‬אבן אלפארץ' ואלחב אלאלאהי‪ .‬קאהיר‬ ‫טובי תש"ן = יוסף טובי‪ ,‬שלמה אבן גבירול – הבוחר בתבונה מנעוריו‪ .‬בתוך‪ :‬סגולה‬ ‫לאריאלה‪ :‬מאסף דברי מחקר וספרות לזכרה של אראלה דים‪-‬גולדברג‪ ,‬עמ'‬ ‫‪ .196–173‬ירושלים‬ ‫טובי תש"ס = יוסף טובי‪ ,‬קירוב ודחייה‪ :‬יחסי השירה העברית והשירה הערבית‬ ‫בימי הביניים‪ .‬חיפה‬ ‫טובי תשס"ו = הנ''ל‪ ,‬האהבה בשירת החול העברית על רקע השירה הערבית בימי‬ ‫הביניים‪ .‬בתוך‪ :‬אפרים חזן ויוסף יהלום )עורכים(‪' ,‬לאות זיכרון' – מחקרים‬ ‫בשירה העברית ובמורשת ישראל‪ ,‬ספר זיכרון לאהרן מירסקי‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.225–199‬‬ ‫רמת גן‬ ‫טובי תשס"ו‪-‬א = הנ''ל‪ ,‬השירה‪ ,‬הספרות הערבית‪-‬היהודית והגניזה‪ .‬תל אביב‬ ‫טובי ‪Yosef Tobi, The Humaynī Poetry of the Yemeni-Jewish Poet = 2006‬‬ ‫‪Shalom Shabazī. In: Youri E. Berezkin et al. (eds.), Arabian Culture in‬‬ ‫‪Asian Context (Mikhail Rodinov Festschrift), pp. 168–182. St. Petersburg‬‬ ‫טובי‪-‬סרי ‪ = 1988‬יוסף טובי ושלום סרי‪ ,‬אמלל שיר‪ :‬דיואן‪ ,‬מבחר שירי תימן‪ .‬תל‬ ‫אביב‬ ‫טננבאום ‪Adena Tanenbaum, The Contemplative Soul: Hebrew Poetry and = 1992‬‬ ‫‪Philosophical Theory in Medieval Spain. Leiden‬‬ ‫יהלום תשנ"ז = יוסף יהלום‪' ,‬נאום טוביה בן צדקיה'‪ :‬המחברת של יוסף בן שמעון‬ ‫לכבד הרמב"ם‪ .‬תרביץ סו‪ ,‬עמ' ‪577–543‬‬ ‫יודר ‪Christine Elizabeth Yoder, Wisdom as a Woman of Substance: A = 2001‬‬ ‫‪Socioeconomic Reading of Proverbs 1–9 and 31:10–31. New York‬‬ ‫ילין ת"ש = דוד ילין‪ ,‬תורת השירה הספרדית‪ .‬ירושלים‬ ‫כ"ץ תשנ"ב = שרה כ"ץ‪ ,‬פיתוחים פתוחים ואטורים‪ :‬עיוני מחקר ביצירת ר' שלמה‬ ‫אבן גבירול‪ .‬ירושלים‬ ‫כ"ץ תשנ"ז = הנ''ל‪ ,‬בנות־השיר הנאוֹות‪ :‬היבטים פואטיים חברתיים והיסטוריים‬ ‫ביצירתם של משוררי־ספרד‪ .‬ירושלים‬ ‫כרמי ‪T. Carmi (ed. & tr.), The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse. London = 1981‬‬ ‫לוין תשל"א = ישראל לוין‪ ,‬ביקשתי את שאהבה נפשי – לחקר ההשפעה של שירת‬ ‫החשק החילונית על השירה הדתית העברית בספרד מימי הביניים‪ .‬הספרות ג‪,‬‬ ‫עמ' ‪149–116‬‬ ‫לוין תשנ"ה = הנ''ל‪ ,‬מעיל תשבץ‪ :‬הסוגים השונים של שירת החול העברית בספרד‪.‬‬ ‫תל אביב‬ ‫לוריא תשמ"ה = שלום לוריא‪ ,‬שירי אהבה בין חול לקודש‪ :‬עיון בשני שירי‪-‬אהבה‬ ‫של רשב"ג‪ .‬בתוך‪ :‬צבי מלאכי )עורך(‪ ,‬מחקרים ביצירת שלמה אבן גבירול‪ ,‬עמ'‬ ‫‪ .126–113‬תל אביב‬ ‫מירסקי תש"ן = אהרן מירסקי‪ ,‬הפיוט‪ :‬התפתחותו בארץ‪-‬ישראל ובגולה‪ .‬ירושלים‬ ‫מירסקי תשנ"ב = הנ''ל‪ ,‬מחובות הלבבות לשירת הלבבות‪ .‬ירושלים‬ ‫מסורי‪-‬כספי תשל"ח = מישאל כספי‪-‬מסורי‪ ,‬נהר דינור‪ :‬שירת הנפש בשירה‬ ‫העברית בתימן לאור מקורות יניקתה בהגות ובשירה‪ .‬תל אביב‬ ‫משה בן מימון תשכ"ה = משה בן מימון‪ ,‬משנה עם פירוש‪ ,‬מקור ותרגום‪ ,‬סדר‬ ‫נזיקין‪ .‬מהדורת יוסף קאפח‪ .‬ירושלים‬

‫יוסף טובי‬

‫מב‬

‫ביבליוגרפיה‬ ‫אבו דאוד ‪ = 2003‬שלאש אבו דאוד‪ ,‬המסע של הנפש הגבירולית אל החוכמה‪.‬‬ ‫עבודת סמינריונית בחוג לספרות עברית‪ ,‬אוניברסיטת תל אביב‪ .‬תל אביב‬ ‫אבן גבירול תרפ"ד = שירי שלמה בן יהודה אבן גבירול‪ ,‬מהדורת ח"נ ביאליק וי"ח‬ ‫רבניצקי‪ ,‬כרך ראשון‪ :‬שירי חול‪ .‬ברלין‬ ‫אבן גבירול תשל"ה = שלמה אבן גבירול‪ ,‬שירי החול‪ .‬מהדורת חיים בראדי וחיים‬ ‫שירמן‪ .‬ירושלים‬ ‫אבן גבירול תשמ"ה = שלמה אבן גבירול‪ ,‬שירי החֹל‪ ,‬כרכים א–ב‪ .‬מהדורת דב ירדן‪.‬‬ ‫‪2‬‬ ‫ירושלים‬ ‫אבן עזרא תרפ"ד = משה אבן עזרא‪ ,‬ספר שירת ישראל )כתאב אלמחאצ'רה‬ ‫ואלמד'אכרה(‬ ‫אבן עזרא תשל"ה = משה אבן עזרא‪ ,‬כתאב אלמחאצ'רה ואלמד'אכרה ]ספר העיונים‬ ‫והדיונים[‪ .‬מהדורת א"ש הלקין‪ .‬ירושלים‬ ‫אור תשנ"ט = שרה אור‪ ,‬שירה אישית ופריצת מוסכמות בשירת החול של שלמה‬ ‫אבן גבירול‪ .‬עבודת דוקטור‪ .‬אוניברסיטת בר‪-‬אילן‪ ,‬רמת גן‬ ‫באכר תרצ"ב = בנימין זאב באכר‪ ,‬הרמב"ם פרשן המקרא‪ .‬תרגם מגרמנית‪ :‬א"ז‬ ‫רבינוביץ‪ .‬תל אביב‬ ‫בארי תשס"ו = טובה בארי‪ ,‬בין בבל לספרד – יחזקאל בן ֵעלי ושירתו‪ .‬פעמים ‪,108‬‬ ‫עמ' ‪18–5‬‬ ‫בן אלעזר תשנ"ג = יעקב בן אלעזר‪ ,‬סיפורי אהבה‪ .‬מהדיר‪ :‬יונה דוד‪ .‬תל אביב‬ ‫בראן ‪Ross Brann, The Compunctious Poet – Cultural Ambiguity and = 1991‬‬ ‫‪Hebrew Poetry in Muslim Spain. Baltimore‬‬ ‫ֵפת חוּר‪ :‬מוטיב בשירי החול של שלמה אבן‬ ‫ברגמן תשמ"ז‪/‬ח = דבורה ברגמן‪ְ ,‬צנ ַ‬ ‫גבירול‪ .‬מחקרי ירושלים בספרות עברית י–יא )אסופת מאמרים לזכר דן‬ ‫פגיס(‪ ,‬עמ' ‪467–445‬‬ ‫גיל‪-‬פליישר תשס"א = משה גיל ועזרא פליישר‪ ,‬יהודה הלוי ובני חוגו – ‪ 55‬תעודות‬ ‫מן הגניזה‪ .‬ירושלים‬ ‫גלוזמן תשל"ח = שרה גלוזמן‪ ,‬המשורר מסרגוסה‪ :‬סיפור חייו של המשורר שלמה‬ ‫בן יהודה אבן גבירול‪ .‬ירושלים‬ ‫הומרין ‪Theodor Emil Homerin, From Arab Poet to Muslim Saint: Ibn = 1994‬‬ ‫‪al-Fārid, His Verse, and His Shrine. Columbia, South Carolina‬‬ ‫הומרין ‪Idem, The Wine of Love and Life: Ibn al-Fāriḍ’s al-Khamrīyah and = 2005‬‬ ‫‪al-Qayṣarī’s Quest for Meaning. Edited, Translated and Introduced.‬‬ ‫‪Chicago‬‬ ‫הוס תשס"ב = מתי הוס‪ ,‬ייצוגים שליליים על נשים ונשיות בשירת האסכולה‬ ‫האנדלוסית‪ .‬בתוך‪ :‬טובה רוזן ואבנר הולצמן )עורכים(‪ ,‬מחקרים בספרות‬ ‫העברית בימי הביניים ובתקופת הרנסנס – ספר יונה דוד‪) ,‬תעודה יט(‪ ,‬עמ'‬ ‫‪ .53–27‬תל אביב‬ ‫הלמן ‪W.E. Helleman, Penelope as Lady Philosophy. Phoenix 49, pp. = 1995‬‬ ‫‪283–302‬‬ ‫וולפסון ‪Elliott Wolfson, Female Imaging of the Torah: From Literary = 1989‬‬ ‫‪Metaphor to Religious Symbol. In: Jacob Neusner et al. (eds.), From‬‬

‫מא‬

‫החשוקה כמשל לחכמה האלוהית בשירי אבן גבירול‬

‫וִ ְהיִ י ִלי ֵאם וְ אָחוֹת‬ ‫ֹאשׁי‬ ‫יק ְך ִמ ְק ַלט ר ִ‬ ‫יהי ֵח ֵ‬ ‫וִ ִ‬ ‫לּוֹתי ַהנִ ָדּחוֹת‬ ‫ַקן ְתּ ִפ ַ‬ ‫כידוע‪ ,‬הוציא ביאליק לאור – יחד עם י"ח רבניצקי – את שירי החול ושירי הקודש‬ ‫של אבן גבירול‪ ,‬מלאכה שהשקיע בה שנים רבות מחייו‪ .‬והנה אי אפשר להתעלם מן‬ ‫הדמיון באינטימיות של אם ואחות שבה מתייחס ביאליק בשירו לדמות הנקבה‪ ,‬לזו‬ ‫ָפ ְך' מצאנו כדוגמתו‬ ‫יסינִ י ַתּ ַחת ְכּנ ֵ‬ ‫שבה מתייחס אבן גבירול לחכמה‪ .‬אף הטור ' ַה ְכנִ ִ‬ ‫ָפ ְך' של אבן גבירול )קלז; עא(‪:‬‬ ‫בשיר ' ַתּ ַחת ְכּנ ָ‬ ‫ַתּ ַחת ְכּנ ָ‬ ‫ֶח ֶסה‬ ‫ָפ ְך ַע ְב ְדּ ָך י ְ‬ ‫ָד ְך ֵהם‬ ‫וּמ ְצ ָע ַדי ְבּי ָ‬ ‫ָדי ִ‬ ‫יַ‬

‫ַע ֶשׂה‬ ‫וּמה יּ ְ‬ ‫אָדם ַ‬ ‫ַחשֹׁב ָ‬ ‫ַמה יּ ֲ‬ ‫ַאנִ י ַכ ֶשּׂה‬ ‫אַתּה ְכר ֶֹעה ו ֲ‬ ‫ָ‬

‫החוקרים הרבים שעסקו בפרשנות ביאליק הציעו אפשרויות שונות לזיהוי דמות‬ ‫הנקבה בשיר זה‪ :‬אשתו ַמניה‪ ,‬אהובתו הציירת אירה יאן‪ ,‬האהבה בכלל ועוד‪ 70.‬על‬ ‫סמך זיקת ביאליק לשירת אבן גבירול דומני שיש להעדיף את הפרשנות הרואה‬ ‫בדמות הנקבה אלגוריה לעניין מופשט ולא לדמות בשר ודם‪ .‬אך אין זו החכמה‪,‬‬ ‫אלא השירה‪ ,‬שבה מצא ביאליק לא רק ביטוי לרעיונותיו אלא אף מנוח לנפשו‬ ‫הסוערת‪.‬‬ ‫בהקשר זה ראוי לציין‪ ,‬כי במקומות רבים בשיריו מקשר אבן גבירול את‬ ‫החכמה עם השירה ורואה בשירתו ביטוי לחכמה שהוא עוסק בה‪ .‬להלן כמה בתי‬ ‫שיר בעניין זה‪:‬‬ ‫שׁוֹח ֵרי ַד ַעת ְפּנוּ נָא‬ ‫ירי ֲ‬ ‫ְל ִשׁ ַ‬ ‫יְ ַל ֶמּ ְד ֶכם ְצפוּנֵי ַה ְתּבוּנוֹת‬ ‫וְ אַל ִתּ ְפנוּ ְל ִד ְב ֵרי ִריק וְ ֶה ֶבל‬

‫ֲרים ָבּ ָעם ְתּבוּנָה‬ ‫וּבינוּ בוֹע ִ‬ ‫ִ‬ ‫יוֹר ֶכם ַעל ָכּל ְטמוּנָה‬ ‫וְ גַם הוּא ְ‬ ‫ירי וְ ֵת ְדעוּ ָה ֱאמוּנָה‬ ‫ְדּעוּ ִשׁ ִ‬

‫ידי ָצ ְמקוּ ַד ֵדּי ְתבוּנָה‬ ‫יְ ִד ִ‬

‫וְ ָספוּ יוֹנְ ֵקי ַה ִשּׁיר וְ ָכלוּ‬

‫יצה‬ ‫ֲאנִ י ֶא ְחקֹר ְצפוּנֵי ַה ְמּ ִל ָ‬ ‫רוּזים‬ ‫יה ֲח ִ‬ ‫פוּצ ָ‬ ‫וְ ֶא ְקבֹּץ ִמנְּ ֶ‬

‫וּבינִ ים‬ ‫ֲרי ַד ַעת ִ‬ ‫וְ ֶא ְפ ַתּח ַשׁע ֵ‬ ‫יה ְפּנִ ינִ ים‬ ‫זוּר ָ‬ ‫וְ ֶא ְלקֹט ִמ ְפּ ֶ‬

‫פוֹצץ צוּר ְבּעֻזּוֹ‬ ‫וְ ִלי ִשׁיר ֶשׁיְּ ֵ‬ ‫וְ ַד ְל ֵתי ַה ְתּבוּנָה נִ ְפ ְתּחוּ ִלי‬

‫יוֹציא ִמ ְסּ ָל ִעים ַהנְּ ָהרוֹת‬ ‫וְ ִ‬ ‫וְ ֵהם ֶאל ָכּל ְבּנֵי ַע ִמּי ְסגוּרוֹת‬

‫לשירי שוחרי בעת פנו נא‪) 3–1/‬קט; קח(‬

‫ידידי צמקו דדי תבונה‪) 1/‬פא;קכא(‬

‫עטה הוד ועדה ולבש גאונים‪) 43–42/‬קלב; נג(‬

‫התלעג לאנוש יחיד בדורות‪) 14–13/‬ר; נד(‬

‫אף בשגרת יומו מקדיש אבן גבירול‪ ,‬כהצהרתו‪ ,‬זמן שווה לעסק בשירה ובחכמה‪:‬‬ ‫אַר ַבּע ָשׁעוֹת‬ ‫ֶע ְשׂ ִרים וְ ְ‬ ‫ֵמ ֶהם ְשׁמוֹנֶה ָירֹן‬ ‫ֵיעוֹר ְשׁמוֹ ֶנה ָבּ ֶהם‬ ‫אָכן ְשׁמוֹנֶה ָב ֶהם‬ ‫ֵ‬

‫מוֹצא‬ ‫ָליְ ָלה ֵ‬ ‫יוֹמם ו ַ‬ ‫ָ‬ ‫ָבּ ֶהם‪ ,‬וְ ִשׁירוֹת יִ ְפ ֶצה‬ ‫ַדּ ֵדּי ְתבוּנוֹת יִ ְמ ֶצה‬ ‫ַע ֶצה‬ ‫ישׁן וְ ֵעינוֹ י ְ‬ ‫יִ ָ‬

‫עבד זמנו יחצה‪) 4–1/‬קעד; רעב(‬

‫‪ 70‬משפע המחקרים בעניין זה נציין את המאוחרים שבהם בלבד‪ :‬רויכמן תשנ"ה; שמיר‬ ‫תש"ס‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.89–85‬‬

‫יוסף טובי‬

‫מ‬

‫האם היו לו לאבן גבירול חוויות אהבה אמיתיות שאותן שיקף‬ ‫ביצירותיו? זוהי שאלה שקשה להשיב עליה לגבי רוב משוררי התקופה‬ ‫הקלאסית בספרד‪ ,‬ולא כל שכן לגביו‪ [...] .‬לא רחוק הוא לומר‬ ‫שהמשורר השתעשע בחרוזים קלילים על ההנאה והייסורים שבאהבה‬ ‫כפיצוי לחוויות שעליהן ויתר בחיי המציאות‪.‬‬

‫נספח‪ :‬החכמה כאם וכאחות‬ ‫ראינו לעיל‪ ,‬כי אבן גבירול מדמה על דרך האלגוריה את החכמה לחשוקתו‪ ,‬דימוי‬ ‫ֻך ְב ָכל ֵעת‬ ‫יה יְ ַרוּ ָ‬ ‫ֲלת ֵחן ַדּ ֶדּ ָ‬ ‫ֶלת ֲא ָה ִבים וְ ַיע ַ‬ ‫ארוטי שמקורו בספר משלי ה‪ ,‬יט‪ :‬אַיּ ֶ‬ ‫אַה ָב ָתהּ ִתּ ְשׁגֶּה ָת ִמיד‪ .‬בדומה הוא מדמה את החכמה לאשתו‪ ,‬דימוי אינטימי שאין‬ ‫ְבּ ֲ‬ ‫הקרבה הגדולה והשייכות ההדוקה בינו לבין‬ ‫למעלה הימנו‪ ,‬שכמובן נועד להביע את ִ‬ ‫תּוֹרה ִצוָּה ָלנוּ‬ ‫החכמה‪ .‬דימוי זה מקורו במדרש‪ ,‬כגון מה שדרשו חז"ל על הפסוק ' ָ‬ ‫מוֹר ָשׁה ְק ִה ַלּת ַי ֲעקֹב' )דברים לג‪ ,‬ד(‪' :‬אל תהי קורא מורשה אלא מאורסה‪,‬‬ ‫מ ֶֹשׁה ָ‬ ‫מלמד שהתורה ארוסה לישראל שנאמר )הושע ב‪ ,‬כא( וארשתיך לי לעולם' )שמות‬ ‫רבה לג‪ ,‬ז(‪ .‬עוד מצייר המדרש )שמות רבה מא‪ ,‬ה( על הפסוק ' ַויִּ ֵתּן ֶאל מֹ ֶשׁה ְכּ ַכלֹּתוֹ‬ ‫ְל ַד ֵבּר ִאתּוֹ' )שמות לא‪,‬יח( את מעמד מתן תורה בהר סיני כאירוע נישואין בין משה‪-‬‬ ‫החתן לבין התורה‪-‬הכלה‪ ,‬על סמך הכתיב החסר ' ְכּ ַכלֹּתוֹ' שאפשר לקוראו ' ְכּ ַכ ָלּתוֹ'‬ ‫)רש"י על אתר‪' :‬ככלתו כתיב‪ ,‬חסר‪ .‬שנמסרה לו תורה במתנה ככלה לחתן'(‪ .‬יחסים‬ ‫אחרים בתוך המשפחה אף הם משמשים את אבן גבירול כדי להביע את יחסו‬ ‫הקרוב לחכמה‪ ,‬על פי דימויים הלקוחים מן הפרקים הראשונים בספר משלי‪,‬‬ ‫קוֹל ָך )ב‪ ,‬ג(‪:‬‬ ‫שבהם מדומה החכמה לאם ולאחות‪ִ :‬כּי ִאם ַל ִבּינָה ִת ְק ָרא ַל ְתּבוּנָה ִתּ ֵתּן ֶ‬ ‫אָתּ וּמ ָֹדע ַל ִבּינָה ִת ְק ָרא )ז‪ ,‬ד(‪ .‬להלן כמה בתים משירי אבן‬ ‫ֱאמֹר ַל ָח ְכ ָמה ֲאח ִֹתי ְ‬ ‫גבירול בעניין זה‪:‬‬ ‫ַפ ִשׁי‬ ‫וְ ִהנֵּה ַה ְתּבוּנָה ֵאם ְלנ ְ‬

‫חוֹתי‬ ‫וְ ַה ָח ְכ ָמה וְ ַה ַדּ ַעת ֲא ִ‬

‫יך ֶא ֱעזֹב ָח ְכ ָמה? – וְ רוּ ַח ֵאל‬ ‫ֵא ְ‬ ‫אוֹתי? – וְ ִהיא ָכ ֵאם‬ ‫אוֹ ַת ֲעזֹב ִ‬

‫ֶיה‬ ‫וּבינ ָ‬ ‫ָכּ ַרת ְבּ ִרית ֵבּינִ י ֵ‬ ‫ֶיה‬ ‫ֶלד ְזקוּנ ָ‬ ‫ַאנִ י י ֶ‬ ‫ִלי‪ ,‬ו ֲ‬

‫ַהל ְֹך ַעל ָה ֲא ָד ָמה‬ ‫וְ גֵוִ י י ֲ‬ ‫ֶתר ַמעֲלוֹת ָח ְכ ָמה ְת ַב ֵקּש‬ ‫וְ י ֶ‬ ‫עוּרי‬ ‫ַע ִתּי ְב ָד ְר ָשׁהּ ִמנְּ ָ‬ ‫וְ ָיג ְ‬ ‫וְ ִהיא ָהיְ ָתה ֲא ִ‬ ‫עוּרי‬ ‫חוֹתי ִמנְּ ָ‬

‫ַפ ִשׁי ִת ֲה ַל ְך ַעל ָה ֲענָנִ ים‬ ‫וְ נ ְ‬ ‫וּמ ֶֹא ֶסת ְבּ ָרב ע ֶֹשׁר וְ הוֹנִ ים‬ ‫ֲדנִּ ים‬ ‫יתהּ ַמע ַ‬ ‫אַח ִר ָ‬ ‫ְל ַמ ַען ֲ‬ ‫אַתנִ י ְבּ ָבנִ ים‬ ‫וּמוֹד ָעהּ ְק ָר ְ‬ ‫ָ‬

‫בפי חרבי ובלשוני חניתי‪) 5/‬רלד; קז(‬

‫נפש אשר עלו שאוניה‪) 25–24/‬קכב; ק(‬

‫עטה הוד ועדה ולבש גאונים‪) 15–12/‬קלב; נג(‬

‫כאנלוגיה לדימוי החכמה לאם ולאחות אבן גבירול מדמה אותה גם לאב ולאח‪:‬‬ ‫עוּרי‬ ‫וְ ַה ִשּׁיר ִגּ ְדּ ַלנִ י ִמנְּ ַ‬

‫כוֹרים‬ ‫ַאנִ י לוֹ ֵבּן ְבּ ִ‬ ‫ְכּמוֹ אָב ו ֲ‬ ‫יגון חשק ואהבת הנעורים‪) 32/‬רו; מז(‬

‫וּמ ִז ָמּה‬ ‫וְ אָנִ יף יָד ָר ָמה ‪ְ /‬בּ ַד ַעת ְ‬ ‫יה ֶא ְשׁאָב‬ ‫ימ ָ‬ ‫וּמ ֶ‬ ‫יה ֶא ְתאָב ‪ֵ /‬‬ ‫וְ ֵא ֶל ָ‬

‫וְ ִציץ ֵנזֶר ָח ְכ ָמה ‪ֲ /‬א ַשׁוֶּה ַעל ִמ ְצ ִחי‬ ‫אָחי‬ ‫מּוּסר – ִ‬ ‫וְ ַל ִבּין ֶא ְק ָרא אָב ‪ /‬וְ ַל ָ‬ ‫אפלס מעגלי‪) 41–40/‬נו; קיג(‬

‫ָפ ְך' של ח"נ‬ ‫יסינִ י ַתּ ַחת ְכּנ ֵ‬ ‫בשולי דברים אלו נתייחס לדמות הנקבה בשיר ' ַה ְכנִ ִ‬ ‫ביאליק‪ .‬וזה לשון הבית הראשון החשוב לענייננו‪ ,‬החוזר באותה לשון גם בסוף‬ ‫השיר‪:‬‬ ‫ָפ ְך‬ ‫יסינִ י ַתּ ַחת ְכּנ ֵ‬ ‫ַה ְכנִ ִ‬

‫לט‬

‫החשוקה כמשל לחכמה האלוהית בשירי אבן גבירול‬

‫כמובן‪ ,‬כל העניינים הללו כבר נדונו לעצמם במחקרים הנ"ל ובמאמרים שונים‪ .‬כל‬ ‫אלו נלקחו בחשבון בעת הדיון במאמר זה‪ ,‬אבל לא מתוך השתעבדות למתחייב‬ ‫לכאורה מכלליה של הסוגה הספרותית או הקונבנציה של החשוקה כדמות‬ ‫המרכזית בשירי האהבה‪ .‬על חוקר השירה העברית בימי הביניים להיות מודע היטב‬ ‫לכך‪ ,‬שהמשורר‪ ,‬ובייחוד המשורר המעולה‪ ,‬לא ראה עצמו משועבד לכללי הסוגות‬ ‫הספרותיות‪ ,‬שלמעשה נוסחו על ידי הרטוריקנים מבקרי השירה בימי הביניים‬ ‫ונתפשו בעיניהם ככלי מידה לדון בהם את השירה ולקבוע את ערכה‪ .‬אף עורכי‬ ‫הדיואנים‪ ,‬שערכו את השירים על פי סוגותיהם‪ ,‬תרמו במידה מסוימת – בוודאי‬ ‫בלוא כוונה ובלוא ידיעה – לסיבוך שנוצר בהערכת שירים על סוגות אלו‪.‬‬ ‫כללו של דבר‪ ,‬הרעיון המרכזי המוצג בזה הוא כי החשוקה או החשוק בשירי‬ ‫האהבה של אבן גבירול‪ ,‬השירים הקצרים או הבאים כפתיחות לקצידות‪ ,‬מסמלים‬ ‫לעתים קרובות את החכמה שעמדה בראש מעייניו של המשורר‪ .‬פרשנות אלגורית זו‬ ‫ִ‬ ‫אין בה כדי להפתיע‪ ,‬כפי שאפשר להיווכח מן המובא לעיל‪ .‬עם זאת‪ ,‬אין בכוונתי‬ ‫ירנִ י וְ ָל ַעד יְ ַע ְר ֵער'‬ ‫ֶצח יְ ִע ֵ‬ ‫לטעון כי כך הוא בכל שירי האהבה של אבן גבירול‪ ,‬כגון ' ֲה ָלנ ַ‬ ‫וּמ ְצ ָהב'‬ ‫ימה ְר ִבידוֹ' )קי; רה(‪ ,‬ו' ְשׂ ָער ָשׁחוֹר וְ הוּא אָדוֹם ֻ‬ ‫)מז; רצב(‪ְ ' ,‬מ ָח ַצנִ י ֲא ֶשׁר ִכּ ָ‬ ‫)מא; ריד(‪ .‬אך אלה ואחרים‪ ,‬שבעיון ראשון נראים שירי אהבה הכתובים בשגרה‬ ‫המקובלת של סוגת שירי האהבה‪ ,‬ראויים לחקירה גם – וליתר דיוק‪ :‬בעיקר –‬ ‫מתוך זיקה ליוצרם‪ ,‬שמסתמא ביקש לבטא בהם את סגור נפשו ולבו‪.‬‬ ‫בסיום דברינו נביא את משפטו של שמחוני באשר לכמה משירי האהבה של‬ ‫אבן גבירול‪ ,‬שהוא מכנה אותם 'אפיגרמות'‪ ,‬הכתובים בסגנון שירי האהבה הערביים‬ ‫‪67‬‬ ‫ולכאורה יש להבינם כפשוטם‪:‬‬ ‫אם גם ניַחס את כל האפיגרמות האלה לבן‪-‬גבירול‪ ,‬לא ישתנה המשפט‬ ‫המוּצא עליו‪ ,‬שלא היה משורר‪-‬אהבה וכמעט שלא נמצא כלום מן הרגש‬ ‫האמתי בשיריו אלה‪ ,‬ונראה לנו‪ ,‬שלא נכתבו על‪-‬ידו אלא להראות את‬ ‫המשכילים‪ ,‬כי הוא יכול לצאת ידי חובתו גם בשירת האהבה‪ ,‬בתור‬ ‫האפּיגרמות של רבי‬ ‫משורר שיצא מבית‪-‬המדרש הערבי‪ .‬על‪-‬כל‪-‬פנים ֶ‬ ‫בחנן‬ ‫יהודה הלוי – ואין צריך לאמר‪ :‬שירי‪-‬האהבה הגדולים – עולות ִ‬ ‫וביָפיָן‪ ,‬ועל הכל – ברגש שבהן‪ ,‬על שירי בן‪-‬גבירול‪ .‬ועל כן יש לתמוה‪,‬‬ ‫מה ראה רבי משה בן עזרה ַ‬ ‫להלל את שירי‪-‬האהבה של בן‪-‬גבירול‪– 68‬‬ ‫אלא אם כן ידע שירים אחרים ממנו‪ ,‬שלא נגלו לנו עד היום‪ ,‬או כוֵּן‬ ‫לשירי אהבת‪-‬השכינה‪.‬‬

‫מן הראוי לציין‪ ,‬כי שירמן‪ ,‬התוהה גם הוא על שירי האהבה של אבן גבירול‪ ,‬מעלה‬ ‫‪69‬‬ ‫הסבר אחר לכתיבתם‪:‬‬ ‫‪ 67‬שמחוני תרפ"א‪/‬ג‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ;261–260‬ראו גם עמ' ‪ .273‬גם זו דעת שירמן תשנ"ו‪ ,‬עמ' ‪–297‬‬ ‫‪" :298‬בתחום מיוחד זה ]שירי אהבה‪ ,‬יין וטבע[ לא חיבר אבן גבירול את יצירותיו המעולות‬ ‫והאישיות ביותר‪ ,‬ואין ספק שהנגיד הצליח בדרך כלל יותר ממנו בסוגי שירה אלה"‪.‬‬ ‫ק' שאמר אבן עזרא )תשל"ה‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ,70‬שורה‬ ‫‪ 68‬המכוון לצמד המלים הערביות ' ַפ ַת ַג ַזّל ַפ ַר ַّ‬ ‫‪ (53‬על אבן גבירול‪ .‬הלקין )שם‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ (71‬תרגמן שלא כעניינן‪" ,‬ואהב אולם השתעבד"‪ ,‬לפי‬ ‫שנשתבש במשמעות שתי המלים בהקשרן כאן‪ַ .‬ת ַג ַזّל פירושה‪ :‬כתב גזל‪ ,‬שירי אהבה; ַר ַקّ‬ ‫פירושה‪ :‬היה עדין‪ .‬וכבר עמד על כך לוין תשנ"ה‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ;329–328‬אך לא הבנתי מדוע תעתק‬ ‫ַל' )שם‪ ,‬הערה ‪ .(95‬הלפר )אבן עזרא‬ ‫ַתּ ַרזּ ַ‬ ‫ַת ַג ַזّ ַל' ב‪-‬ר עברית‪' ,‬ו ַ‬ ‫את ה‪-‬غ הערבית במלה 'ו ַ‬ ‫תרפ"ד‪ ,‬עמ' עא( קלע יותר למשמעות המכוונת‪ ,‬אך צירף מלים אחרות בטקסט הערבי‬ ‫ותרגמן בהעלם אחד‪" :‬הוא ִח ֵבּר גם שירי התפארות ואהבים נעימים ושירי מוסר שהצטיֵּן‬ ‫בהם"‬ ‫‪ 69‬שירמן תשנ"ו‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.297‬‬

‫יוסף טובי‬

‫לח‬

‫החכמה‪ 64.‬את עצמת אהבתו לחכמה מביע אבן גבירול בשיר זה באמצעות המעשה‬ ‫שכבר נזכר בשיר הקודם‪ ,‬האנשים ששלח דוד את אביגיל לבקש את ידה‪ ,‬אך על‬ ‫יתהּ וְ לֹא ֶא ְשׁ ָל ָחה'‪ .‬דמותה‬ ‫ַאנִ י ‪ֵ /‬א ֵל ְך ֱא ֵלי ֵב ָ‬ ‫יתהּ – ו ֲ‬ ‫דרך ההפלגה‪ָ ' :‬שׁ ַלח ְבּנוֹ יִ ַשׁי ְל ֵב ָ‬ ‫קוֹמ ֵת ְך'‬ ‫אַתּ ְבּ ָ‬ ‫של אביגיל כישות חיובית‪ ,‬ככל הנראה החכמה‪ ,‬עולה גם בשיר ' ְכּ ָת ָמר ְ‬ ‫ֲלת ֶצ ֶדק ‪ֲ /‬א ִביגַיִ ל ְבּ ִצ ְד ָק ֵת ְך‪.‬‬ ‫יך ַבּע ַ‬ ‫)רמג; ריב(‪ֲ :‬ח ַשׁ ְב ִתּ ְ‬

‫ה‪ .‬סיכום‬ ‫מבואות רבים בחקר השירה העברית בימי הביניים‪ ,‬מהם פתוחים ומהם סתומים‬ ‫שאינם מובילים אל מחוזות רחבי אופק‪ .‬מחד גיסא‪ ,‬גילויי הגניזה מוכיחים שעדיין‬ ‫לא מוצה כל שגנוז בה וכיווני המחקר המסורתיים של פרסום טקסטים חדשים‪,‬‬ ‫בעיקר מאוצרות סט' פטרבורג‪ ,‬עדיין לא פס כוחם‪ .‬מאידך‪ ,‬מעט נעשה בחקירת‬ ‫הטקסטים הידועים מאז ואלו החדשים כיצירות אמנות‪ ,‬כתעודות ספרותיות שיש‬ ‫בהן ללמד על עולמה התרבותי והרעיוני של החברה שבה נכתבו ועוד פחות מכך על‬ ‫עולמו התרבותי והרעיוני האישי והייחודי של המשורר הפרט‪ ,‬יהא זה שמואל‬ ‫הנגיד‪ ,‬שלמה אבן גבירול או כל משורר אחר שהותיר לנו שפע של יצירות שחצב‬ ‫מעמקי נשמתו ושיקע בהן את רגשי לבו והגיגי רוחו‪ .‬במעגל הכללי החיצוני יש‬ ‫כמובן למקם את המשורר היהודי כגיבור תרבות ואת שירתו העברית במסגרת‬ ‫הרב‪-‬תרבותית הרחבה‪ ,‬העשירה והמגוונת של החברה היהודית שחיה בעולם‬ ‫הערבי‪-‬המוסלמי בימי הביניים האמצעיים;‪ 65‬ואלו במעגלים הפנימיים‪ ,‬שכל אחד‬ ‫מהם ייחודי ובלעדי‪ ,‬יש להציב את המשורר הפרט בפני עצמו‪ ,‬שעולמו הוא רשות‬ ‫לאחר הימנו‪.‬‬ ‫היחיד שלו והווייתו ממלאת אותה עד תום ואין בה מקום ֵ‬ ‫מעבר לתחומי המחקר המסורתיים‪ ,‬כלומר גילוי היצירות השיריות‪ ,‬פרסומם‬ ‫ופירושם וכתיבת תולדות המשוררים‪ ,‬נתפרסמו מחקרים חשובים רבים בתחומים‬ ‫אחרים‪ ,‬כגון ספרו של דוד ילין על הרטוריקה‪ ,‬ספריהם של ארי שיפרס וישראל לוין‬ ‫על הסוגות הספרותיות ולאחרונה ספרו של יהודה רצהבי על המוטיבים‪ .‬כל‬ ‫המחקרים הללו נעשו‪ ,‬כדין‪ ,‬מתוך בדיקת הזיקה לשירה הערבית‪ ,‬נושא העומד‬ ‫במרכז ספרו של כותב טורים אלו‪ .‬אף נתפרסמו מחקרים כוללים על נושאים‬ ‫מרכזיים בשירה‪ ,‬כגון ספרו של ריימונד שיינדלין על הצבי‪ ,‬ספרו של רוס בראן על‬ ‫'המשורר המתחרט' וספרה של טובה רוזן על דמות האשה‪ .‬מתוך כך נתעמקה‬ ‫הבנתנו בעולמו של המשורר העברי בימי הביניים‪ .‬אך דא עקא‪ ,‬כל זאת ביחס‬ ‫למשורר העברי כגיבור תרבות ולא כפרט בעל קלסתר פנים ייחודי משלו;‪ 66‬כך‪ ,‬לא‬ ‫רק ניטשטשה דמות המשורר אלא אף נתעוותה‪ ,‬מחמת מסקנות נחפזות ובלתי‬ ‫אחראיות מן הכלל אל הפרט‪.‬‬ ‫במאמר המתפרסם בזה ביקשתי אפוא לדון בסוגיה אחת בשירת ימי הביניים‬ ‫בנסיון להיכנס אל עולמו הפנימי המסובך והמורכב של שלמה אבן גבירול‪ ,‬המשורר‬ ‫העברי המעניין ביותר בימי הביניים‪ .‬נושא המאמר משיק לכמה עניינים שנידונו‬ ‫במחקר‪) :‬א( סוגת שירי האהבה; )ב( דמות החשוקה; )ג( החכמה בשירי אבן גבירול‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 64‬שירמן תשנ"ו‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ,299‬מפרשו כפשוטו‪ .‬לוין תשנ"ה‪ ,‬ב‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ,330–329‬אינו מתלבט‬ ‫כלל בהבנת השיר‪" :‬האשה והדובר בו דומים מאוד לדמויות החשוקה והחושק בשירת ימי‬ ‫הביניים מן האסכולה הערבית‪ ,‬כדרך עיצובם הקונבנציונאלי בדורות הרבה"‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 65‬לזיקה שבין השירה העברית בימי הביניים לבין הספרות הערבית־היהודית כשני‬ ‫גילויים של התרבות הערבית־היהודית בימי הביניים ראו טובי תשס"ו‪-‬א‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.48–41‬‬ ‫‪ 66‬ראו‪ :‬ילין ת"ש; לוין תשנ"ה; רצהבי תשס"ו; טובי תש"ס; שיינדלין ‪ ;1991‬בראן‬ ‫‪ ;1991‬רוזן תשס"ו‪.‬‬

‫לז‬

‫החשוקה כמשל לחכמה האלוהית בשירי אבן גבירול‬

‫ידי יִ ְגּ ַענִ י' )כא; ריא(‪ .‬אף הוא שיר אהבה‪ ,‬שאי אפשר להבינו אלו‬ ‫ֶא ַהב יְ ִד ִ‬ ‫‪ֲ ' .2‬חקֹר ו ְ‬ ‫הוא מוסב על אשה בשר ודם ויש אפוא לפצח את משמעותו האלגורית‪ 61.‬נביא אף‬ ‫כאן את השיר הקצר במלואו‪ ,‬על מנת שנוכל להבינו אל נכון‪:‬‬ ‫ידי יִ ְגּ ַענִ י‬ ‫יטב' יְ ִד ִ‬ ‫' ֲחקֹר ֵה ֵ‬ ‫ֲדי ַשׂ ְר ִתּי ְב ִח ְק ֵרי ָה ֲא ָה ִבים‬ ‫עֵ‬ ‫אַה ַב ְת ֶכם‬ ‫אוֹמ ֶרת‪' :‬וְ ַעד אָן ֲ‬ ‫וְ ֶ‬ ‫וְ ַה ָקּ ִציר ְכּ ָב ַשׁל יִ ְק ְצרוּהוּ‬ ‫אַה ָבתוֹ‪,‬‬ ‫וּבן יִ ַשׁי‪ְ ,‬בּע ֶֹצם ֲ‬ ‫ֶ‬

‫וּמ ְעגָּל‬ ‫אַה ָב ָת ְך‪ַ ,‬‬ ‫ְמצֹא ֶפ ֶלס ְל ְ‬ ‫ָשׁ ָבה ֶא ְצ ִלי ְכ ֵשׁגָל‬ ‫ֲדינָה י ְ‬ ‫עִ‬ ‫ְמ ֻס ֶתּ ֶרת‪ ,‬וְ לֹא ֵת ֶרא וְ ִתגָּל‬ ‫וּמגָּל‬ ‫ֲלי ָק ָמה‪ַ ,‬‬ ‫וְ ִשׁית ֶח ְר ֵמשׁ ע ֵ‬ ‫ֲהלֹא ָשׁ ַלח וְ ָק ָרא ַל ֲא ִביגָל'‬

‫וזה סיפור המעשה העולה מן השיר‪ :‬ידיד המשורר מטריח על המשורר ודוחק בו‬ ‫למצוא דרך מתאימה להשיג את אהבתו )‪ .(1‬אכן המשורר מקבל עצתו והוא‬ ‫משתלט )' ַשׂ ְר ִתּי'(‪ 62‬על עניין האהבה עד כדי כך שחשוקתו )'עדינה'( נמצאת עמו‬ ‫‪63‬‬ ‫בתוך ביתו‪ ,‬לא כפילגש אלא כמלכה היושבת ליד המלך וכאשתו החוקית )'שגל'(‪.‬‬ ‫אך מסתבר שמצב זה אינו לרוחה של החשוקה והיא מבקשת שאהבת המשורר‬ ‫אליה תמומש‪ ,‬כפי שמקובל לקצור את הפרות משעה שהבשילו )‪ .(4‬אף היא מביאה‬ ‫ראיה לבקשתה מכך שדוד המלך )'בן ישי'( לא יכול בסופו של דבר לכלוא ולהסתיר‬ ‫את אהבתו לאביגיל אשת נבל הכרמלי ולאחר מות בעלה שלח אליה שליחים לבקש‬ ‫את ידה ולהביאה אליו )שמואל א כה‪ ,‬לט(‪.‬‬ ‫מובן שאין כל דרך להבין את השיר כסיפור מעשה ריאלי ביחס לאבן גבירול‬ ‫ואף אין הוא מתאים לדגם כלשהו מן הדגמים המקובלים הידועים לנו בכל שירת‬ ‫החשק העברית בספרד‪ .‬פרשנות אלגורית היא אפוא מחויבת המציאות ונראה‬ ‫שממגוון האפשרויות ביחס לזיהוי החשוקה‪ ,‬אחת בלבד תעלה בקנה אחד עם‬ ‫הטקסט‪ :‬החכמה‪ .‬פרשנות זו מתאששת מן השימוש בשורש חק"ר ביחס לרדיפה‬ ‫אחר האהבה )‪ (2 ,1‬ומן הכינויים 'עדינה' ו'אביגיל' לחשוקה‪ .‬בכינוי הראשון‬ ‫השתמש אבן גבירול בשיר שנידון לעיל בסמוך‪ ,‬ואלו הכינוי השני מבוסס על דמותה‬ ‫של אביגיל המקראית שהצטיינה לא רק ביופיה אלא גם בחכמתה‪ :‬וְ ֵשׁם ִא ְשׁתּוֹ‬ ‫יפת תֹּאַר )שמואל א כה‪ ,‬ג(‪ .‬וזו המשמעות האמיתית של‬ ‫טוֹבת ֶשׂ ֶכל וִ ַ‬ ‫ֲא ִבגָיִ ל וְ ָה ִא ָשּׁה ַ‬ ‫השיר‪ :‬ידיד המשורר‪ ,‬קרוב לוודאי נפשו המדברת אליו‪ ,‬פונה אליו להרבות את‬ ‫ֲסק בחכמה‪ ,‬ואמנם כך נהג המשורר עד שעלה בידו להשיגה והיא נעשתה חלק‬ ‫הע ָ‬ ‫בלתי נפרדת ממנו‪ .‬אלא שהמשורר חש כי עליו לפרסם ברבים את דבר חכמתו‪ ,‬ככל‬ ‫הנראה בדמות חיבור‪ ,‬אך על דרך ההתנצלות הוא מביע תחושתו זו בדברים שהוא‬ ‫משים בפי חשוקתו‪-‬חכמתו‪.‬‬ ‫כינוי החשוקה בשם 'אביגיל' ידוע גם משיר אהבה מפורסם אחר של אבן‬ ‫ֶיה' )נא; ריג( ונראה שאף חשוקה זו היא‬ ‫ַפ ִשׁי ְבּ ֵעינ ָ‬ ‫גבירול‪ַ ' :‬מה ַלּ ֲא ִביגַיִ ל ֲא ֶשׁר ָל ְק ָחה נ ְ‬ ‫‪ 61‬ירדן )אבן גבירול תשמ"ה‪ ,‬א‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ (366‬פירש את השיר כשיר אהבה רגיל‪ .‬לוריא‬ ‫תשמ"ה‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ,119–114‬מתלבט אף הוא בהבנת השיר וקובע כי אין זה שיר אהבה 'אופייני'‪,‬‬ ‫שהמשורר אינו מכחיש בו‪" ,‬כמובן‪ ,‬את הט בע י ו ת או את ה ח וק י ו ת שבאהבה‪ ,‬אלא‬ ‫מבקש להצביע על הצד השני של המטבע – על ה מק ר י ו ת ועל ה מס תו ר י ן שבה" )עמ'‬ ‫‪.(119‬‬ ‫‪ 62‬ירדן )שם( מנקד ַשׁ ְר ִתּי‪ ,‬ופירש‪' :‬בעוד אני מתבונן בגבולות האהבה'‪ ,‬אך אין דבריו‬ ‫מתיישבים על הלב‪.‬‬ ‫יך‬ ‫רוֹת ָ‬ ‫יקּ ֶ‬ ‫‪ 63‬כך בשתי היקרויותיה של מלה זו במקרא – תהלים מה‪ ,‬י‪ְ :‬בּנוֹת ְמ ָל ִכים ִבּ ְ‬ ‫יוֹשׁ ֶבת ֶא ְצלוֹ‪ .‬וראו‬ ‫ֹאמר ִלי ַה ֶמּ ֶל ְך וְ ַה ֵשּׁגַל ֶ‬ ‫אוֹפיר; נחמיה ב‪ ,‬ו‪ַ :‬ויּ ֶ‬ ‫ימינְ ָך ְבּ ֶכ ֶתם ִ‬ ‫נִ ְצּ ָבה ֵשׁגַל ִל ִ‬ ‫להלן‪ ,‬נספח‪ ,‬על השימוש בזיקות המשפחתיות לתאר את היחסים שבין אבן גבירול לחכמה‪.‬‬

‫יוסף טובי‬

‫לו‬

‫ֲליָּה זו המציינת את מקום משכנה של החכמה‪ ,‬שהמשורר עלה ובא אליה‪,‬‬ ‫הלבנה‪ .‬ע ִ‬ ‫יתי ‪/‬‬ ‫ֶיה ‪ֲ //‬אזַי ַח ְשׁ ִתּי וְ ָע ִל ִ‬ ‫ֲליָּה ִכּי ‪ְ /‬מאֹד ָשׂ ְגבוּ ְמעוֹנ ָ‬ ‫שׁוּרי ָהע ִ‬ ‫כבר פגשנוה לעיל בשיר ' ְבּ ִ‬ ‫ֶיה'‪ .‬אף נראה שבהשפעת שירי אבן גבירול כתב המשורר התימני‬ ‫אתי ַעד ְתּכוּנ ָ‬ ‫וּב ִ‬ ‫ָ‬ ‫סעדיה בן עמרם‪ ,‬שזמנו לא יאוחר למאה הט"ז‪ ,‬את שירו המפורסם 'ספרי תמה‬ ‫ֲליָּה כמקום משכנה של ישות חכמה‪ ,‬היא הנפש‪ .‬וזה‬ ‫תמימה' ואף בו מצוינת הע ִ‬ ‫‪57‬‬ ‫לשון שתי החרוזות הראשונות‪:‬‬ ‫ימה‬ ‫ַס ְפּ ִרי ַת ָמּה ְת ִמ ָ‬ ‫ימא‬ ‫ַס ְפּ ִרי ָנ ִגיל ְבּ ֵת ָ‬ ‫ַבּת ְמ ָל ִכים ַה ֲח ָכ ָמה‬ ‫אָן ְמקוֹ ֵמ ְך ַס ְפּ ִרי ִלי‪:‬‬ ‫ָענְ ָתה יוֹ ָנה‪ְ :‬ס ַע ְד ָיה‪,‬‬ ‫ִלי ְבּ ַפ ְל ֵט ִרין ֲע ִל ָיּה‬ ‫ַו ֲאנִ י תּוֹ ְך ֵלב ֳאנִ ָיּה‬ ‫ילי‪:‬‬ ‫ַבּיְּ ִפי עוֹ ָטה ְמ ִע ִ‬ ‫ראוי לציין‪ ,‬כי בשירים רבים מדבר אבן אבן גבירול על מעלות החכמה ועל ההעפלה‬ ‫אל הר התבונה‪ 58.‬על כל פנים‪ ,‬דומה שציון משכנה של החשוקה במרומים‪ ,‬מוטיב‬ ‫שאינו ידוע משירת החול הפשוטה‪ ,‬יש בו כדי להוות מפתח לזיהוי החשוקה‪-‬‬ ‫החכמה בשירי האהבה של אבן גבירול‪ .‬מחמת קוצר היריעה לא נוכל אלא לציין שני‬ ‫שירים בלבד ובלא לדון בהם בארוכה‪:‬‬ ‫ָב ְתנִ י וְ ָע ְל ָתה ַל ְשּׁ ָח ִקים' )קפג; לד(‪ ,‬קצידה שפתיחתה היא שיר על פרידת‬ ‫)א( ' ֲעז ַ‬ ‫החשוקה האכזרית המתעללת בחושקיה ואלו גוף השיר הוא תלונה על פרידת ידידי‬ ‫ָר ְך' )ריא; קמט( שכתב אבן‬ ‫המשורר‪ 59.‬מעניין שבקינה ' ֲה ִת ְל ֶאה ִמנְּ שֹׁא אוֹ ִמי ֲעז ָ‬ ‫גבירול על מות אביו פונה אליו החכמה כדמות מואנשת הקרובה אליו אינטימית‪,‬‬ ‫בתלונה על שעזבה והתעלם ממנה‪ ,‬אף שהיא נתנה לו תבונה לנחם את נפשו )‪:(10–7‬‬ ‫יחנִ י ְב ֶא ְב ִלי‪:‬‬ ‫וְ ַה ָח ְכ ָמה ְת ִשׂ ֵ‬ ‫ֱאמֹר‪ָ :‬ל ָמּה ְת ַה ֵלּ ְך אַט ְכּ ִאלּוּ‬ ‫וְ ָל ָמּה ַת ֲעבֹר ָע ַלי וְ ִת ְפנֶה‬ ‫ַחם‬ ‫ֲהלֹא ַשׂ ְמ ִתּי ְל ָך ַב ִבּין ְמנ ֵ‬

‫גוֹר ְך‬ ‫וּפ ַתּ ְח ָתּ ֲח ָ‬ ‫ַב ַתּנִ י ִ‬ ‫ֲעז ְ‬ ‫דוֹר ְך‬ ‫ַבּי ְבּנֵי ַעיִ שׁ ְמ ָ‬ ‫ֲלי ג ֵ‬ ‫עֵ‬ ‫יר ְך‬ ‫ֶיך וְ ֵאין ָשׁלוֹם ְבּ ִע ָ‬ ‫ְבּ ָפנ ָ‬ ‫וְ ָהעֹזֵב ְתּבוּנָה לֹא יְ ב ָֹר ְך‬

‫ירה' )קצא; צח(‪ 60,‬קצידה שבפתיחתה מדבר המשורר‬ ‫אַתּ ְגּ ִב ָ‬ ‫רוֹמים ֲה ִכי ְ‬ ‫)ב( ' ְכּ ֶשׁ ֶמש ְמ ִ‬ ‫על החשוקה‪-‬החכמה ובגופה הוא מגנה את הכסילים חסרי החכמה‪.‬‬ ‫מכל האמור לעיל יחוור פירושו הנכון של השיר‪ :‬אבן גבירול תוהה‪ ,‬מדוע‬ ‫דווקא אנשים חכמים ומלומדים )'גאונים'‪ ,‬קצינים'( משמיצים אותו מתוך שטנה‪.‬‬ ‫אך אין הוא מסתפק בתהייה זו אלא מקללם שהאל ישימם לשנינה )לבוז( בתבל‪,‬‬ ‫ואף משיב מלחמה שערה בחרבו‪-‬שירו השנונים‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 57‬לנוסח המלא של השיר ולפירושו ראה טובי־סרי ‪ ,1988‬עמ' ‪ ;225–224‬לתרגומו‬ ‫לאנגלית ראה כרמי ‪ ,1981‬עמ' ‪.484‬‬ ‫‪ 58‬ראו המובאות לעיל‪ ,‬סעיף ג‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 59‬לניתוח מפורט של פתיחת השיר כשיר חשק ראו צמח תשל"ג‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ;178–170‬אף‬ ‫שירמן תשנ"ו‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ,296‬הערה ‪ ,237‬מבין שיר זה כפשוטו‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 60‬ירדן )אבן גבירול תשמ"ה‪ ,‬א‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ (195‬פירש את הפתיחה כתהילה ליפה‪ ,‬ושרה אור‬ ‫)תשנ"ט‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ (108‬על השמש ממש; ושניהם טועים ואינם מסבירים את הקשר בין הפתיחה‬ ‫לגוף השיר‪.‬‬

‫לה‬

‫החשוקה כמשל לחכמה האלוהית בשירי אבן גבירול‬

‫ֱרב ֶשׁ ֶמש' )‪ ,(9‬כלומר קודם שתיעלם‬ ‫חכמתו‪ ,‬והוא ממהר לבוא אליו ' ְבּ ֶט ֶרם ֶיע ַ‬ ‫החכמה מן הארץ‪ .‬דימויים אלו לחכמה ולחשש מסילוקה פגשנו כבר לעיל בשיר‬ ‫עוֹלה וְ נִ ְשׁ ָק ָפה' שכתב אבן גבירול לכבוד שמואל הנגיד‪ .‬אף‬ ‫השבח ' ִמי זֹאת ְכּמוֹ ַשׁ ַחר ָ‬ ‫בשיר זה מביע אבן גבירול את הערכתו העצומה לידידו עד כי הוא מוכן להיות לו‬ ‫לעבד )‪ .(5‬להלן כמה מבתי השיר )‪:(10–8 ,6–3 ,1‬‬ ‫ְצ ִבי ָחשׁוּק ֲא ֶשׁר ַר ִבּים ֲח ָל ָליו‬ ‫אַה ָבתוֹ‬ ‫ֱה ִביאַנִ י ְל ַח ְד ֵרי ֲ‬ ‫ֲא ֶשׁר ָשׁ ַלח ְכּ ָתב ָר ַקם ְבּיָדוֹ‬ ‫ְל ִמי ֵא ֶלּה וְ ֶא ְהיֶה לוֹ ְל ֶע ֶבד‬ ‫וּמי יִ ְשׁ ַלח ְכּ ֵא ֶלּה ַה ְפּנִ ינִ ים‬ ‫ִ‬ ‫וְ ֵא ֵל ְך ֶאל ְמאוֹר ֵתּ ֵבל וְ נ ְָג ָההּ‬ ‫ֱרב ֶשׁ ֶמש‪ ,‬וְ ַהיּוֹם‬ ‫ְבּ ֶט ֶרם ֶיע ַ‬ ‫ַחד ַבּ ֲא ָה ִבים‬ ‫וְ נִ ְת ַע ֵלּס ְבּי ַ‬

‫וְ ִלבּוֹת ָכּל ְמ ֵתי ָ‬ ‫מוּסר ְשׁ ָל ָליו ]‪[...‬‬ ‫וְ ָט ַב ְע ִתּי ְבּ ַמ ְע ַמ ֵקּי ְצ ָל ָליו‬ ‫יליו‬ ‫כוֹכ ָביו וְ ֵח ָ‬ ‫יע ְבּ ָ‬ ‫ְכּ ָר ִק ַ‬ ‫וְ ֶכ ָע ָפר ְל ִמ ַתּ ַחת ְל ַר ְג ָליו‬ ‫יליו ]‪[...‬‬ ‫ַא ַב ֵקּש ֶאת ְשׁ ִב ָ‬ ‫וְ ֵא ֵל ְך ו ֲ‬ ‫וְ ֶא ָמּ ֵשׁ ְך וְ א ַֹחז ַבּ ֲח ָב ָליו‬ ‫ֲהלֹא יִ ְפנֶה וְ יִ נָּטוּ ְצ ָל ָליו‬ ‫אוּלי ַה ְזּ ָמן יִ טֹּשׁ ֲא ֵמ ָליו‬ ‫וְ ַ‬

‫ה‪ .‬שירי אהבה כאלגוריה לחכמה‬ ‫באחד משיריו הקצרים ובפתיחה לאחת הקצידות שלו‪ ,‬מדבר אבן גבירול על‬ ‫אהובתו השוכנת במרומים‪ .‬הפרשנות הרגילה היא שזו האהובה הידועה משירת‬ ‫החשק העברית בימי הביניים‪ .‬ברם‪ ,‬ועל אף העובדה הברורה כי המלים 'תבונה' או‬ ‫'חכמה' אינן משולבות בשירים‪ ,‬נראה לי שאהובה זו אינה אלגוריה לחכמה‪.‬‬ ‫ֲדינָה' )קיג; קכד(‪ .‬להלן השיר במלואו‪:‬‬ ‫‪ְ ' .1‬שׁ ֵא ָלה ֶא ְשׁ ֲא ָלה ִמ ֵמּ ְך ע ִ‬ ‫ֲדינָה‪,‬‬ ‫ְשׁ ֵא ָלה ֶא ְשׁ ֲא ָלה ִמ ֵמּ ְך‪ ,‬ע ִ‬ ‫ֲליָּה ַהנְּ כוֹ ָנה‬ ‫וְ ִת ְר ִאי ָהע ִ‬ ‫ֲא ֶשׁר ַעל ָכּל ְגּאוֹנִ ים ִהיא ְגּאוֹנָה‬ ‫צוּה ֵהם ְבּ ִשׂ ְט ָנם‬ ‫וְ ָל ָמּה ִשׁ ְמּ ָ‬ ‫וְ ִאם ָשׂגוּ – וְ ִאם ֵהם ָשׂ ְגבוּ – עוֹד‬

‫חוֹת ְך ַה ְלּ ָבנָה‬ ‫ְבּ ֶל ְכ ֵתּ ְך ַל ֲא ֵ‬ ‫ֲלת ֶשׁ ֶמש ְשׁ ֵכנָה‬ ‫ֲא ֶשׁר ִהיא ַמע ַ‬ ‫וְ ַעל ָכּל ַה ְקּ ִצינִ ים ִהיא ְק ִצינָה‪:‬‬ ‫ֲלי ֵת ֵבל ְשׁנִ ינָה‬ ‫ימם ֵאל ע ֵ‬ ‫יְ ִשׂ ֵ‬ ‫ֲה ִר ִ‬ ‫יקוֹתי ֲאנִ י ֶח ֶרב ְשׁנוּנָה‬

‫כבר שמחוני הבין כי אין להבין את השיר כשיר אהבה רגיל‪" :‬בהתחלתו דומה השיר‬ ‫קצת לשיר הקודם‪ ,‬אולם מלבד הפתיחה אין בו שום זכר לאהבה"‪ 53.‬ירדן חש שאין‬ ‫זה שיר אהבה רגיל וסיכם את 'ענין השיר' בלשון זו‪" :‬המשורר רב את ריב אחד‬ ‫הגדולים‪ ,‬ואולי את ריב עצמו‪ ,‬שמתנגדיו הוציאו את דבתו רעה"‪ 54.‬בפירושו לשיר‬ ‫קבע ירדן‪ ,‬כי השמש הנזכרת בבתים ‪ ,4–2‬והיא הדמות שעליה נסב השיר כולו‪ ,‬הוא‬ ‫האדם הגדול‪ .‬מסתמא‪ ,‬מתכוון אבן גבירול לעצמו ולא לאדם אחר‪ ,‬שכן ברבים‬ ‫משיריו הוא נלחם על מעמדו בחברה כנגד משמיציו ומתחריו‪ .‬על כל פנים‪ ,‬ברור כי‬ ‫ה'עדינה' אינה אהובה בשר ודם ונראה פשוט לומר כי כוונתו כאן לחכמה‪ ,‬משלושה‬ ‫טעמים‪) :‬א( השוואתה ללבנה ולשמש‪ ,‬סמלי החכמה המובהקים בשירת אבן‬ ‫גבירול;‪) 55‬ב( תכונתה המופלגת של השמש בגאונות‪ ,‬כלומר בחכמה;‪) 56‬ג( המלה‬ ‫ֲליָּה' כציון למקום משכנה של השמש ש'עדינה' עתידה לראות בלכתה של אחותה‬ ‫'ע ִ‬ ‫‪ 53‬שמחוני תרפ"א‪/‬ג‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ .260‬שמחוני מציין‪ ,‬כי ליאופולד דוקס רשם מעל לשיר‪:‬‬ ‫"לחשוקתו"‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 54‬אבן גבירול תשמ"ה‪ ,‬א‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.262‬‬ ‫‪ 55‬ראו לעיל‪ ,‬הערה ‪.44‬‬ ‫‪ 56‬נראה לי כי גם את המלים 'קצינים' ו'קצינה' יש לפרש במשמעות של חכמה‪ ,‬על פי‬ ‫המקבילה האטימולוגית של שם עצם זה בערבית‪' ,‬קאצ'י'‪ ,‬שפירושו שופט‪.‬‬

‫יוסף טובי‬

‫לד‬

‫הנוקשים של הקצידה‪ ,‬כלומר חוליית המעבר מן הפתיחה לגוף‪ .‬בסוף הפתיחה‬ ‫מקונן המשורר על שלא עלה בידו – בשל חטאיו! – לשכון דרך קבע בבית החשוקה‪-‬‬ ‫החכמה‪ .‬קינה זו נמשכת אל גוף השיר‪ ,‬אך כאן היא נאמרת על פטירת החכמים ועל‬ ‫אבדן החכמה‪ ,‬עד כדי כך שהמשורר תוהה אם חייו כדאיים הם בלעדי החכמה‪.‬‬ ‫להלן כמה מבתי השיר )‪:(21–18 ,16 ,14–13 ,11–9 ,4 ,2–1‬‬ ‫שׁוּרי ָהע ִ‬ ‫ְבּ ִ‬ ‫ֲליָּה‪ִ 52‬כּי‬ ‫יתי‬ ‫ֲאזַי ַח ְשׁ ִתּי וְ ָע ִל ִ‬ ‫יאנִ י‬ ‫ֹאמר ַל ֲה ִב ֵ‬ ‫וְ ת ַ‬ ‫אַה ָב ָתהּ‬ ‫ְמ ָשׁ ַכ ְתנִ י ְבּ ְ‬ ‫וְ ֶה ְע ַל ְתנִ י ֱא ֵלי ַפ ְר ֵדּס‬ ‫ַפ ִשׁי ָח ְשׁ ָבה ִל ְהיוֹת‬ ‫וְ נ ְ‬ ‫ַפ ִשׁי‬ ‫ֲא ָבל ִל ִבּי – יְ גוֹן נ ְ‬ ‫יה‬ ‫פוֹקד ֲח ָט ֶא ָ‬ ‫וְ הוּא ֵ‬ ‫וְ ֵת ֵשׁב ַליְ ָלה ִל ְבכּוֹת‬ ‫הוֹמיָּה‬ ‫אוֹמ ִרים‪ַ :‬מה ְל ִ‬ ‫וְ ְ‬ ‫אַשׁמוּרוֹת‬ ‫ֲא ֶשׁר ִתּ ְב ֶכּה ְבּ ְ‬ ‫וּמה ִלּי עוֹד‬ ‫יתימוֹ‪ַ :‬‬ ‫עֲנִ ִ‬ ‫ֶיה‬ ‫יה ְס ָגנ ָ‬ ‫יא ָ‬ ‫נְ ִשׂ ֶ‬

‫ֶיה‬ ‫ְמאֹד ָשׂ ְגבוּ ְמעוֹנ ָ‬ ‫ֶיה ]‪[...‬‬ ‫אתי ַעד ְתּכוּנ ָ‬ ‫וּב ִ‬ ‫ָ‬ ‫ֶיה ]‪[...‬‬ ‫וּמי ַעל ְמכוֹנ ָ‬ ‫ְלשׂ ִ‬ ‫ֶיה ]‪[...‬‬ ‫ֲדנ ָ‬ ‫ַחל ע ָ‬ ‫ֱא ֵלי נ ַ‬ ‫ֶיה‬ ‫ֲח ַב ֶצּ ֶלת ְשׁרוֹנ ֵ‬ ‫ֶיה ]‪[...‬‬ ‫ְבּ ַמנְ ַע ֵמּי ְמלוֹנ ָ‬ ‫ֶיה‬ ‫ֲא ֶשׁר יִ ְזכֹּר עֲווֹנ ָ‬ ‫ֶיה ]‪[...‬‬ ‫וְ הוּא ַמ ְע ֶלה ְשׁאוֹנ ָ‬ ‫ֶיה ]‪[...‬‬ ‫ָעיר יְ ֵשׁנ ָ‬ ‫ְבּקוֹל י ִ‬ ‫ֶיה‬ ‫ֲא ֶשׁר ַתּ ְח ִריד ְשׁ ֵכנ ָ‬ ‫ֶיה?‬ ‫ְבּ ִכי ִציּוֹן ְל ָבנ ָ‬ ‫ֶיה‬ ‫ֲחיוֹת ַ‬ ‫אַחר ֱאמוּנ ָ‬ ‫ֶיה ]‪[...‬‬ ‫יה נְ בוֹנ ָ‬ ‫ֲח ָכ ֶמ ָ‬

‫‪ .4‬הזיהוי בין החכמה לבין האהבה עולה גם משיר קצר של אבן גבירול שכתב על‬ ‫ידידו‪ְ ' ,‬בּ ֵעת לֹא ֶא ֱחזֶה דּוֹד ָה ֲא ָה ִבים' )כו; עה(‪ .‬אולם למעט מאזכור האהבה בדלת‬ ‫של הבית הראשון‪ ,‬הרי בכל שלושת הבתים האחרים חוזרת ונזכרת תכונת החכמה‬ ‫והתבונה שלו בהדגשה מרובה‪:‬‬ ‫ְבּ ֵעת לֹא ֶא ֱחזֶה דּוֹד ָה ֲא ָה ִבים‬ ‫וְ ִאם ִלבּוֹ ְכּמוֹ ִמ ְז ַבּח ְתּבוּנוֹת‬ ‫יהם‬ ‫ְצ ָבא רוֹם ָק ְראוּ אוֹתוֹ ֲא ִח ֶ‬ ‫ַא ִמינוּ בוֹ ְמ ַקנְ אָיו‬ ‫יך לֹא י ֲ‬ ‫וְ ֵא ְ‬

‫קוֹמי ֶשׁם ְכּבוֹדוֹ‬ ‫ֲא ָב ֵר ְך ִמ ְמּ ִ‬ ‫ְל ָב ִבי ֶא ְתּנָה ִל ְהיוֹת ְתּ ִמידוֹ‬ ‫ָתנוּ ַמ ְפ ְתּחוֹת ָח ְכ ָמה ְבּיָדוֹ‬ ‫וְ נ ְ‬ ‫וְ ִהנֵּה ַעל יְ ִמין ָח ְכ ָמה ְצ ִמידוֹ‬

‫יש לציין‪ ,‬כי גם ֶ‬ ‫הצ ֶרף ' ְצ ָבא רוֹם' מסמל את החכמה‪ ,‬שכן כל גרמי השמים מסמלים‬ ‫אותה‪ ,‬ועל דרך ההגזמה אומר המשורר כי ישויות חכמות אלו לא רק רואות בידיד‬ ‫את אחיהם אלא אף מפקידים בידו את המפתחות לחכמה‪ ,‬כלומר‪ ,‬הוא היחיד‬ ‫המסוגל לפתוח את שערי החכמה; וכבר ראינו בשירי השבח לעיל שהמשורר אומר‬ ‫על המהולל החכם כי הוא שפתח את שעריה הסגורים של החכמה וכינס את‬ ‫אוצרותיה‪ .‬מתברר אפוא‪ ,‬שאהבת המשורר לידידו מבוססת על חכמתו של זה וכי‬ ‫הערכתו אליו גדולה כל כך בשל חכמתו הרבה עד כי הוא מוכן להקריב עצמו בעבורו‬ ‫)בית ‪.(2‬‬ ‫‪ .5‬דימוי הידיד לאהוב חוזר בשיר הקצר ' ְצ ִבי ָחשׁוּק ֲא ֶשׁר ַר ִבּים ֲח ָל ָליו' )צא; רמב(‪.‬‬ ‫הכתוב במיטב המוטיבים של שירי החשק‪ .‬אמנם דברי ההלל על הידיד מתייחסים‬ ‫לכשרונותיו כמשורר‪ ,‬ושיר יפה שהידיד שלח למשורר הוא שהיווה העילה לכתיבת‬ ‫השיר‪ ,‬בוודאי כתשובה חוזרת‪ ,‬אך יש לזכור כי אבן גבירול מזהה את חכמת השיר‬ ‫לחכמה בכלל )להלן‪ ,‬נספח(‪ .‬ועוד‪ ,‬שהוא מכנה אותו ' ְמאוֹר ֵתּ ֵבל וְ נ ְָג ָההּ' )‪ ,(8‬על שם‬ ‫‪ 52‬ירדן פירש מלה זו 'השמים‪ ,‬משכן החכמה'‪ ,‬אך לענ"ד יש לראות בה אליפסיס של ' ַבּת‬ ‫ֲליָּה'‪ ,‬כלומר נכבדה וחשובה‪ ,‬על דרך דברי ר' שמעון בר יוחאי בסוכה דף מה‪,‬ב‪ :‬ראיתי בני‬ ‫עִ‬ ‫ֲליָּה'‬ ‫עליה והם מועטים; והמכוון לחשוקה־החכמה‪ .‬וראה עוד להלן לעניין ה'ע ִ‬

‫לג‬

‫החשוקה כמשל לחכמה האלוהית בשירי אבן גבירול‬

‫אחרים מתייחס המשורר לתכונת העקיצה של הדבורה‪ .‬כך בשיר ' ָה ֵסר ְל ָב ִבי‬ ‫בוֹרה יִ ְסּ ָר ָת ְך; ואלו בבית‬ ‫ָת ְך' )רמב; רסג( )‪ַ :(18‬ה ֵאם ְלמוֹ ֵא ִלי ֲח ָמ‪ָ / -‬ת ְך אוֹ ְד ָ‬ ‫ַתּ ֲאו ָ‬ ‫ירה' )קצא; צח( מתייחס המשורר לא‬ ‫אַתּ ְגּ ִב ָ‬ ‫רוֹמים ֲה ִכי ְ‬ ‫האחרון )‪ (36‬בשיר ' ְכּ ֶשׁ ֶמש ְמ ִ‬ ‫ָשׁ ָכה‬ ‫רק לעוקצנות הדבורה אלא אף לכך שבכך היא גוזרת על עצמה כליה‪ :‬וְ ִאם נ ְ‬ ‫בוֹרה‪ .‬על פי שיטת ההתכללות שאנו‬ ‫יתהּ ְדּ ָ‬ ‫אַח ִר ָ‬ ‫ָד ָעה ֲ‬ ‫בוֹרה ְבּ ַשׂר ִאישׁ ‪ /‬וְ לֹא י ְ‬ ‫ַה ְדּ ָ‬ ‫נוקטים בה‪ ,‬המכוון לכאורה למהולל‪ ,‬שהוא ככל הנראה שמואל הנגיד‪ 46,‬שהדבורה‪-‬‬ ‫החשוקה מושווה אליו )‪ .(7–6‬אבן גבירול כותב אמנם שיר שבח לכבוד שמואל‬ ‫הנגיד‪ ,‬אבל אינו יכול להסתיר את כעסו עליו שכן לדעתו התעלם ממנו בשלב‬ ‫מסוים‪ 47.‬וכבר ראינו שאבן גבירול הבליע עקיצות דקות כלפי שמואל הנגיד בשניים‬ ‫מוּאל‪ֵ ,‬מת ְבּנוֹ ַל ְבּ ָרט' )קטו; ה( ו' ְשׂ ַפת ִמ ְז ָרק ְמ ַנ ֶשּׁ ֶקת ְשׂ ָפ ִתי' )רלט;‬ ‫משיריו‪ְ ' :‬שׁ ֵ‬ ‫קצה(‪ 48.‬אבל דברי המשורר על הדבורה‪-‬החשוקה בפתיחת השיר )‪ֲ ' ,(3‬א ֶשׁר ָמ ְשׁ ָכה‬ ‫אַה ָבה‪ ,‬וְ ַע ָתּה – ַבּעֲבוֹתוֹת'‪ ,‬שכמותם אמר המשורר פעמים רבות‬ ‫עוּרי ‪ְ /‬בּחוּט ְ‬ ‫ְל ָב ִבי ִמנְּ ַ‬ ‫עוּריו' בשיר ' ֲאנִ י ָה ִאישׁ ֲא ֶשׁר ִשׁנֵּס‬ ‫וּב ַחר ַבּ ְתּבוּנָה ִמנְּ ָ‬ ‫בשיריו על החכמה‪ ,‬כגון ' ָ‬ ‫ֲאזוֹרוֹ'‪ 49,‬מקרבים אל האפשרות שבדבורה‪-‬החשוקה התכוון לחכמה‪ .‬בהצגתה‬ ‫בדמות קונבנציונלית של חשוקה בוגדנית מביע אבן גבירול את אי‪-‬הנחת שלו מכך‬ ‫שאינו מצליח להשיגה‪ ,‬והוא פונה בעניין זה דווקא אל האל‪ ,‬שבו תלוי הדבר‪ ,‬כבר‬ ‫בוֹרה‪ֵ ,‬אל ֲא ִמתּוֹת‪ֲ / ,‬א ֶשׁר לֹא ָשׁ ְמ ָרה ַעל ַה ְבּ ִריתוֹת'‪.‬‬ ‫בבית הראשון‪ֱ ' :‬ה ֵיה ֵעד ַעל ְדּ ָ‬ ‫וכדרכו המתוחכמת‪ ,‬מקשר אבן גבירול את החכמה לשמו של נדיבו שמואל הנגיד‪,‬‬ ‫עוּדת ֵאל ְסגוּרוֹת ‪ /‬וְ ָר ָמה יִ ְר ְמיָהוּ‬ ‫וּפ ַתח ִמ ְתּ ַ‬ ‫מתייחס לחכמתו בגוף השיר )‪ָ ' :10‬‬ ‫ֵמ ֲענָתוֹת'( אך מוצא דרך להבליע ביקורת על כך שהוא מתעלם ממנו‪ ,‬בדומה לדבורה‬ ‫שהיתה בעבר חשוקת המשורר ובגדה בו בשלב מסוים‪.‬‬ ‫‪ .3‬מבנה דומה של קצידה על דרך ההתכללות גם בשיר מפורסם אחר של אבן‬ ‫ֲליָּה' )קכא; קסז(‪ .‬הפתיחה היא שיר חשק על חשוקה המפתה את‬ ‫שׁוּרי ָהע ִ‬ ‫גבירול‪ְ ' ,‬בּ ִ‬ ‫החושק לבוא לביתה ולהתענג על מנעמיה‪ ,‬אך גוף השיר אינו שבח לאדם חי אלא‬ ‫קינה על מות חכמים‪ 50.‬זיקת הפתיחה לגוף השיר ברורה אפוא היטב – עניין‬ ‫החכמה‪ ,‬במיוחד שבשניהם היא אינה מושגת‪ :‬בפתיחה – משום שנמנע מן המשורר‬ ‫ללון עמה דרך קבע‪ ,‬למרות שבא לביתה ונהנה ממנעמיה‪ ,‬ובגוף – בשל פטירת‬ ‫החכמים‪ .‬כידוע‪ ,‬מוטיב זה של השגת החכמה לזמן קצר בלבד וחוסר היכולת של‬ ‫האדם להשיגה דרך קבע מדומה בכמה משירי אבן גבירול להברקתו הפתאומית‬ ‫והקצרה של הברק בחשכת הלילה‪ ,‬דימוי שגם הרמב"ם השתמש בו בפתיחת 'מורה‬ ‫נבוכים' כדי לתאר גם את הרגע הקצר של ההשראה הנבואית‪ 51.‬העדר החכמה או‬ ‫אי‪-‬השגתה ממלאים גם את הפונקציה הטכנית המתחייבים מכללי הרטוריקה‬ ‫דּוֹדי ְשׁהוּא רֹאש ַה ְלּוִ יִּ ים ]‪ [...‬וְ הוּא‬ ‫‪ 46‬כך משער ירדן על פי הנאמר בשיר )‪ְ :(8–7‬כּרֹאש ַ‬ ‫ֵלוִ י ְכּכ ֵֹהן ָרב ְבּ ֶא ָחיו‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 47‬מסגרת יחסים מסובכת ומתוחה זו בין אבן גבירול לבין שמואל עוברת כחוט השני‬ ‫ברומן של שרה גלוזמן על אבן גבירול )גלוזמן תשל"ח(‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 48‬ירדן )אבן גבירול תשמ"ה‪ ,‬א‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ;354‬ב‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ (592–591‬מסתייג מן המסקנות בדבר‬ ‫ביקורתו של אבן גבירול על שירת הנגיד; לענ"ד‪ ,‬אין הצדק עמו‪ ,‬ואכמ"ל‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 49‬ראו טובי תש"ן; לעיל‪ ,‬סעיף ג; ולהלן‪ ,‬נספח‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 50‬ירדן )אבן גבירול תשמ"ה‪ ,‬א‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ (324‬חילק את השיר לשניים‪ :‬המשורר והחכמה‪,‬‬ ‫קינה על מות חכמים‪ .‬אין מקום לפרשנותה של שרה אור )תשנ"ט‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ,(26–25‬הדוחה את‬ ‫דברי ירדן ביחס לגוף השיר‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 51‬טובי תש"ן‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ .185–183‬על פי האמור כאן יש לעיין במשמעות הופעת הברק בשירי‬ ‫הטבע של אבן גבירול‪ ,‬כגון ' ָבּ ָרק ֲא ֶשׁר ֵעינוֹ ְכּ ֵעין ָבּ ֶר ֶקת' )קפח; קפ( ו' ָפּ ַקד ָבּ ָרק ַשׁ ַחק ְבּ ֵאשׁ‬ ‫יוֹק ֶדת' )מ; רנו(‪.‬‬ ‫ֶ‬

‫יוסף טובי‬

‫לב‬

‫עוֹלה וְ נִ ְשׁ ָק ָפה' )קנט; ד(‬ ‫‪ .1‬השיר המפורסם ביותר בעניין זה הוא ' ִמי זֹאת ְכּמוֹ ַשׁ ַחר ָ‬ ‫קצידה שפתיחתה היא שיר אהבה אלגורי לחכמה‪ ,‬וגופה – שיר תהילה לשמואל‬ ‫הנגיד‪ ,‬כאשר נושא השבח היחיד הוא חכמת שמואל‪ 43.‬להלן כמה מבתי השיר של‬ ‫הפתיחה ובתי השבח בגוף )‪:(15–13 ,5–4 ,2–1‬‬ ‫עוֹלה וְ נִ ְשׁ ָק ָפה‬ ‫ִמי זֹאת ְכּמוֹ ַשׁ ַחר ָ‬ ‫ֲדינָה ְמ ֻע ָנּגָה‬ ‫בוּדּה ְכּ ַבת ֶמ ֶל ְך ע ִ‬ ‫ְכּ ָ‬ ‫וּמינֵי ְבד ָֹל ִחים‬ ‫ָהב ִ‬ ‫ֲדי ז ָ‬ ‫ַתּ ְע ֶדּה ע ִ‬ ‫ֹאשׁהּ‬ ‫ֲלי ר ָ‬ ‫מוֹלדוֹ ִכּ ְת ָרהּ ע ֵ‬ ‫ְכּ ַס ַהר ְבּ ָ‬ ‫יה‬ ‫ית ָ‬ ‫ַר ְצ ִתּי ְל ִק ְר ָב ָתהּ ֵעת ֶשׁ ְר ִא ִ‬ ‫נוֹת ְך‪ ,‬אָן? וְ ַהיּוֹם ְמאֹד ָפנָה‬ ‫אָנָה ְפ ֵ‬ ‫אַר ֵצנוּ‬ ‫מוּאל ֶשׁ ָע ָלה ְב ְ‬ ‫ְל ִכי ֶאל ְשׁ ֵ‬ ‫ָח ַקר ְתּבוּנָה‪ָ ,‬שׂ ַכל סוֹד ְס ָת ֶרי ָה‬ ‫רוֹתיו‬ ‫אוֹצ ָ‬ ‫יה וְ ָכ ַמס ְבּ ְ‬ ‫ָשׁ ַלל ְשׁ ָל ֶל ָ‬

‫ָפה‬ ‫ָתּ ִאיר ְכּמוֹ ַח ָמּה ָבּ ָרה‪ְ ,‬מאֹד י ָ‬ ‫ֵר ָ‬ ‫יח מֹר ֻמ ְק ָטר וְ ִכ ְשׂ ֵר ָפה ]‪[...‬‬ ‫יחהּ ְכּ ֵר ַ‬ ‫ֻלּ ָפה‬ ‫וּב ָכל יְ ָקר ֶא ֶבן ַס ִפּיר ְמע ָ‬ ‫ְ‬ ‫ֻשּׁ ָפה ]‪[...‬‬ ‫ֻלּהּ‪ְ ,‬מי ָ‬ ‫ֶשׁ ִהיא ְמשׁ ֶֹה ֶמת כּ ָ‬ ‫אַפּה‬ ‫אוֹתי אָז ִכּ ְסּ ָתה ָ‬ ‫ֵעת ָר ֲא ָתה ִ‬ ‫יפה ]‪[...‬‬ ‫אוֹר ְך‪ְ ,‬כּמוֹ ֵע ָ‬ ‫לוּלי ֵ‬ ‫וְ ֵת ֵבל‪ְ ,‬ר ִאי‪ֵ ,‬‬ ‫וּב ִמּ ְצ ָפּה‬ ‫מוּאל ָבּ ָר ָמה ַ‬ ‫ַכּעֲלוֹת ְשׁ ֵ‬ ‫ֶרת ָשׂ ָמהּ ְמ ֻא ָסּ ָפה‬ ‫גּוֹלה וְ נִ ְפז ֶ‬ ‫ָ‬ ‫ָ‬ ‫וּב ַטח ְבּ ַמ ְח ַמ ֵדּי ְז ָה ָבהּ וְ גַם ַכּ ְס ָפּהּ‬

‫זיהוי החשוקה עם החכמה מתחזק כמובן מדימויהּ לחמה ולסהר‪ ,‬שברבים משירי‬ ‫אבן גבירול הם סמלים מובהקים לחכמה‪ 44.‬זיהוי החשוקה עם החכמה מתאשש גם‬ ‫מן השימוש בדימויים מתחום המתכות והאבנים היקרות הן ביחס לחשוקה והן‬ ‫ביחס לתבונת הנגיד‪ .‬בניגוד לשירי האהבה הרגילים‪ ,‬שבהם החושק מבקש את‬ ‫החשוקה‪ ,‬הרי החשוקה‪-‬החכמה בשירנו היא המחפשת את אהוב לבה‪ ,‬והמשורר‬ ‫מפנה אותה אל שמואל הנגיד‪ ,‬שחקר את התבונה‪ ,‬השיגהּ וכינס פזוריה‪ .‬יש כמובן‬ ‫לתת את הדעת לדברי המשורר לחשוקה‪-‬החכמה‪ ,‬כי השעה – שעת ערב מאוחרת –‬ ‫דחוקה וכי אם לא תגיע ליעדה ירד החושך )'עיפה'( על הארץ )'תבל'(‪ .‬החושך מסמל‬ ‫בוודאי את העדר החכמה‪.‬‬ ‫‪ .2‬שיר שבח אחר של אבן גבירול‪ ,‬כנראה אף הוא לכבוד הנגיד‪ ,‬הוא ' ֱהיֵה ֵעד ַעל‬ ‫בוֹרה ֵאל ֲא ִמתּוֹת' )רלב; רמ(‪ .‬כדברי ירדן‪ ,‬הפתיחה היא שיר על האהובה הבוגדנית‬ ‫ְדּ ָ‬ ‫שאינה שומרת את הבריתות ואת השבועות שבינה ובין אוהבה‪ ,‬הוא המשורר‪ 45.‬אין‬ ‫כל דבר מפתיע באשר לתיאור קונבנציונלי זה של החשוקה‪ .‬אולם שני עניינים יש‬ ‫לתת עליהם את הדעת בשיר הפתיחה‪ .‬האחד‪ ,‬הכינוי 'דבורה' שניתן לאהובה‪ ,‬שלפי‬ ‫מיטב ידיעתי‪ ,‬הוא יחיד במינו בשירת החול העברית בימי הביניים‪ .‬בזוכרנו כי‬ ‫המקרא אינו מדבר על יופיין של הנשים שנקראו בשם דבורה‪ ,‬לא דבורה הנביאה‬ ‫)שופטים ד‪-‬ה( ולא דבורת מינקת רבקה )בראשית לה‪ ,‬ח(‪ ,‬ניתן להניח שאבן גבירול‬ ‫אינו רומז לאחת מהן אלא לחרק הידוע בשם דבורה‪ .‬בשירו על הדבורה‪ְ ' ,‬ל ִא ֵטּ ְך‬ ‫בוֹרה' )רעג; קפד(‪ ,‬מתייחס אבן גבירול בהערכה רבה אל הדבורה )‪:(4‬‬ ‫יר ְך ְדּ ָ‬ ‫ַדּ ְבּ ִרי ִשׁ ֵ‬ ‫כוֹרה‪ .‬אבל בשני אזכורים‬ ‫אַתּ וְ ָל ְך ִמ ְשׁ ַפּט ְבּ ָ‬ ‫בוּדה ְ‬ ‫אַתּ ְבּ ֵעינַיִ ְך ְק ַטנָּה ‪ְ /‬כּ ָ‬ ‫ֲהלֹא ִאם ְ‬ ‫‪ 43‬שמחוני תרפ"א‪/‬ג‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ,254‬פירש את הפתיחה על בת‪-‬השיר; כ"ץ תשנ"ז‪ ,‬עמ' ‪–153‬‬ ‫‪ ,159‬מפרשת אותה על כנסת ישראל‪ .‬ירדן )אבן גבירול תשמ"ה‪ ,‬א‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ (195‬הגדיר את‬ ‫הפתיחה 'תאור היפהפיה' ולא עמד על האלגוריה ועל הקשר בין הפתיחה לגוף השיר;‬ ‫ובדומה לו מירסקי תש"ן‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.442–440‬‬ ‫‪ 44‬ראו ברגמן תשמ"ז‪/‬ח; טובי תש"ן‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ .183–182‬מן הראוי לחקור באופן מפורט את‬ ‫היקרותם של שמות המאורות וגרמי השמים בשירי אבן גבירול ולעמוד על תפקידם‬ ‫הסימבולי‪ .‬עזר רב למחקר זה רשימת האזכורים של עננים‪ ,‬ברק ורעם‪ ,‬שמים‪ ,‬שמש וירח‬ ‫וכוכבים ומזלות‪ ,‬במפתח לשירי החול שערך ירדן )אבן גבירול תשמ"ה‪ ,‬ב‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.(546–544‬‬ ‫במפתח זה נעזרנו גם באיתור האזכורים של 'דבורה' בשירי אבן גבירול )שם‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.(540‬‬ ‫‪ 45‬לדיון של ירדן בשיר ראו אבן גבירול תשמ"ה‪ ,‬ב‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.596–595‬‬

‫לא‬

‫החשוקה כמשל לחכמה האלוהית בשירי אבן גבירול‬

‫)ב( ביחסיו עם ה'זמן' המנסה להכשילו ולמנוע ממנו להשיג את החכמה‪ .‬אף על פי‬ ‫ַכ ִשׁיל‬ ‫כן‪ ,‬אין הוא נרתע מפגעי הזמן ברדיפתו אחר החכמה‪ֲ ' :‬הלֹא ִת ְר ִאי ְז ָמן י ְ‬ ‫וּל ַבשׁ‬ ‫ֲדה ְ‬ ‫ֲטה הוֹד ַוע ֵ‬ ‫בוּכים' )ע; נה(; 'ע ֵ‬ ‫ֱאמוּנָיו' )קפט; רכז(; ' ְז ָמ ִמי ָההּ ְבּ ַהר ֶכּ ֶסל נְ ִ‬ ‫ְגּאוֹנִ ים' )קלב; נג(‪ .‬להלן כמה בתי שיר בעניין זה‪:‬‬ ‫וְ ִה ָמּ ֵשׁ ְך ְבּ ַח ְב ֵלי ַה ְתּבוּנוֹת‬

‫צוּרה‬ ‫חוֹמה ְב ָ‬ ‫יך ְת ִהי ָ‬ ‫וְ ָע ֶל ָ‬ ‫הלא תראי זמן יכשיל אמוניו‪) 11/‬קפט; רכז(‬

‫ַע ִפּיל ַל ֲעלוֹת ֶאל ַהר ְתּבוּנָה‬ ‫וְ י ְ‬

‫וְ ַר ְג ָליו ִמנְּ טוֹת ֵא ָליו ֲחשׂוּ ִכים‬

‫ַהל ְֹך ַעל ָה ֲא ָד ָמה‬ ‫וְ גֵוִ י י ֲ‬ ‫ֶתר ַמעֲלוֹת ָח ְכ ָמה ְת ַב ֵקּשׁ‬ ‫וְ י ֶ‬

‫ַפ ִשׁי ִת ֲה ַל ְך ַעל ָה ֲענָנִ ים‬ ‫וְ נ ְ‬ ‫וּמוֹא ֶסת ְבּ ָרב ע ֶֹשׁר וְ הוֹנִ ים‬ ‫ֶ‬

‫זממי הה בהר כסל נבוכים‪) 12/‬ע; נה(‬

‫עטה הוד ועדה ולבש גאונים‪) 13–12/‬קלב; נג(‬

‫)ג( ביחסיו עם האל המונע ממנו להשיג את החכמה‪ .‬אבן גבירול מסביר את פעולת‬ ‫האל בקנאה באדם יצור כפיו ומתארהּ כהחשכת אור הירח על ידי עננים‪ 42.‬לכאורה‪,‬‬ ‫תגובתו בעניין זה כתגובתו לפגעי ה'זמן'‪ :‬הוא אינו נרתע ואינו חדל מן הרדיפה אחר‬ ‫החכמה‪ .‬אך בניגוד לרוח הלחימה ביחס ל'זמן' והביטחון כי יעלה בידו לנצחו‪ ,‬הרי‬ ‫תגובתו ביחס לאל מתונה מאוד‪ :‬ברי לו שהוא תלוי באל והוא מצפה שימשוך חסדו‬ ‫יך‬ ‫עליו‪ .‬עניין זה עולה בשניים משיריו‪ֲ ' :‬אנִ י ָה ִאישׁ ֲא ֶשׁר ִשׁנֵּס ֲאזוֹרוֹ' )קצג; קב(; ' ֵא ְ‬ ‫תּוֹמם' )קה; רנז(‪.‬‬ ‫לֹא ֶא ְדאַג וְ ֶא ְשׁ ֵ‬ ‫בוֹתי ֵאל‪ ,‬וְ ֵח ֶפץ‬ ‫וְ ָסגַר ַמ ְח ְשׁ ַ‬ ‫ַפ ִשׁי‬ ‫ְכּ ִאלּוּ ִקנְּ אוּ ָע ִבים ְלנ ְ‬ ‫אָגיל‬ ‫אַשׁ ִקיף ֵעת יְ גַל ָפּנָיו‪ ,‬וְ ִ‬ ‫וְ ְ‬

‫ְל ָב ִבי ִמ ְשּׁנֵי ָפנָיו ֲא ָסרוֹ ]‪[...‬‬ ‫וְ ַעל ֵכּן ָמנְ עוּ ֶמנִּ י ְמאוֹרוֹ‬ ‫ְכּ ִגיל ֶע ֶבד ֲא ֶשׁר אָדוֹן ְז ָכרוֹ‬

‫ָר ַח ַכּ ֲח ִצי ָס ָמ ְך‬ ‫יֵ‬ ‫שׁוֹך ָע ַלי ְזנַב ִקנְ אָה‬ ‫יִ ְמ ְ‬ ‫ֶיך‬ ‫וּזכֹר ֶח ֶסד וְ ֵעינ ָ‬ ‫ְ‬

‫צוּרת ֵמם ]‪[...‬‬ ‫ָע ָליו ָענָן ְבּ ַ‬ ‫ַעד לֹא ָיכֹל – וְ יִ ַתּ ֵמּם ]‪[...‬‬ ‫ימם‬ ‫ַעל ָשׂם ַעיִ ן ְבּ ָך – ִשׂ ֵ‬

‫אני האיש אשר שנס אזורו‪) 25–24 ,22/‬קצג; קב(‬

‫איך לא אדאג ואשתומם‪) 14 ,10 ,5/‬קה; רנז(‬

‫נמיכות הרוח של המשורר וצניעותו‪ ,‬המביעות תלות באל באשר להשגת החכמה‪,‬‬ ‫עולה גם ב'נִ ַחר ְבּ ָק ְר ִאי ְגּרוֹנִ י' )קכ; קיא(‪ ,‬שירו הפולמוסי והמריר ביותר של אבן‬ ‫גבירול העוסק במסכת יחסיו הגרועה עם בני אדם )בתים ‪:(54–52‬‬ ‫עוֹדי‪ֲ ,‬א ַח ֵפּשׂ‬ ‫ֶא ְדרֹשׁ ְבּ ִ‬ ‫ֲמקוֹת‬ ‫ַלּה ע ֻ‬ ‫אוּלי ְמג ֶ‬ ‫ַ‬ ‫ָתי ְל ַב ָדּהּ‬ ‫ִכּי ִהיא ְמנ ִ‬

‫ְכּ ִמ ְצוַת ְשׁלֹמֹה ְז ֵקנִ י‬ ‫ַלּה ְתבוּנָה ְל ֵעינִ י‬ ‫יְ ג ֶ‬ ‫ֲמ ִלי וְ הוֹנִ י‬ ‫ִמ ָכּל ע ָ‬

‫ד‪ .‬החשוקה כאלגוריה למהולל בשירי שבח ולנפטר בקינה‬ ‫דיברנו לעיל על ההתכללות‪ ,‬לפיה פתיחת הקצידה מהווה בשורה מקדימה לגופהּ‪.‬‬ ‫מבנה זה מתגלה בשני שירי שבח ובקינה של אבן גבירול‪ ,‬שבהן דמות החשוקה‬ ‫בפתיחת מכוונת למעשה למהולל או לנפטר‪ ,‬שדברי השבח הנאמרים עליו‬ ‫מתייחסים לחכמתו ולתבונתו‪.‬‬

‫‪ 42‬על קנאת האל באדם ועל דימוי המניעה להחשכת אור הירח על ידי העננים ראו טובי‬ ‫תש"ן‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ;190–182‬על אור הירח והחשכתו על ידי העננים ראו גם ברגמן תשמ"ז‪/‬ח‪.‬‬

‫ל‬

‫יוסף טובי‬

‫לפי ששירי הקודש נתחברו מעמדה רגשית ומחויבות חברתית ודתית שונה לחלוטין‬ ‫מאלו של שירי החול והדיון בהם מחייב עיון נפרד‪ 38.‬זיקה זו היתה מסובכת‬ ‫ומורכבת ביותר וכרוכה בתסכולים קשים הן ביחסיו עם סביבתו האנושית והן‬ ‫ביחסיו עם האל‪ .‬ביחסיו עם בני אנוש באים הדברים לידי ביטוי בשני פנים‪:‬‬ ‫)א( בויכוח עם ידידיו המוכיחים אותו על שהוא מקדיש כל מעייניו ללימוד החכמה‬ ‫ומונע עצמו מתענוגות החיים ומנעמיהם‪ ,‬ובכלל כך אהבת נשים‪ .‬לא מעט שירים‬ ‫הקדיש אבן גבירול למשא ומתן עם ידידיו בעניין זה‪ ,‬בדומה לשירי הויכוח בין‬ ‫יהודה הלוי לבין ידידיו שביקשו להניאו מכוונתו הנועזת והמסוכנת לעלות לארץ‬ ‫ישראל‪ 39.‬ואלו הם שירי אבן גבירול שבהם הנציח את הויכוח עם ידידיו‪ֱ ' :‬אמֹר‬ ‫ֲלוּמיו' )קג; קה(; ' ְבּ ַחר ֵמ ַה ֲח ִלי ִמ ְב ַחר ְשׁ ִביסוֹ' )קלט; כ(; ' ְכּשֹׁ ֶרשׁ ֵעץ‬ ‫ָלאוֹ ְמ ִרים ָכּלוּ ע ָ‬ ‫ֶע ְצ ָרה אוֹ‬ ‫שׁוֹא ֶלת' )צו; קד(; 'לוּ נ ְ‬ ‫ַפ ִשׁי ְמ ַעט ֶ‬ ‫יריו' )רג; צה(;‪' 40‬לוּ ָהיְ ָתה נ ְ‬ ‫יְ ִהי א ֶֹר ְך ֲא ִמ ָ‬ ‫ֶפשׁ ֲא ֶשׁר ָעלוּ‬ ‫דוּפה' )קס; קטז(; 'נ ֶ‬ ‫ָתי ֲה ָ‬ ‫יצ ִתי ְב ַד ְאג ִ‬ ‫ָתי' )רלז; רס(; ' ְמ ִל ָ‬ ‫נִ ְב ְצ ָרה ַת ֲאו ִ‬ ‫ַפ ִשׁי ָתּ ִסיר ֶא ְל ָצהּ' )קעו; רמז(‪ .‬בשירים אלו‪ ,‬וכן בשירי‬ ‫ֶיה' )קכב; ק(; ' ַשׁ ְאלוּ נ ְ‬ ‫ְשׁאוֹנ ָ‬ ‫הפולמוס שלו עם יריביו המשוררים ואחרים – מפגין המשורר ביטחון מוחלט בכך‬ ‫שאמנם עלה בידו להשיג את החכמה‪ .‬להלן כמה בתי שיר בעניין זה‪:‬‬ ‫וְ ַד ְל ֵתי ַה ְתּבוּנָה נִ ְפ ְתּחוּ ִלי‬

‫וְ ֵהם ֶאל ָכּל ְבּנֵי ַע ִמּי ְסגוּרוֹת‬ ‫התלעג לאנוש יחיד בדורות‪) 14/‬ר; נד(‬

‫ֲא ֶשׁר ָצ ַפן ְפּנִ ינֵי ַה ְתּבוּנָה‬

‫רוֹתיו‬ ‫וֹצ ָ‬ ‫וּמ ֵלּא ִמ ְכּ ָת ִמים א ְ‬ ‫ִ‬

‫וּמוּסר‬ ‫ָ‬ ‫וְ ָל ַב ְשׁ ִתּי ְלבוּשׁ ָח ְכ ָמה‬

‫ָרנִ י ְר ִבידוֹ‬ ‫וְ ַה ַדּ ַעת ֲאז ַ‬

‫יך אָבוֹא ְבּ ַל ְה ַקת ַה ְפּ ָת ִאים‬ ‫וְ ֵא ְ‬

‫וְ ַה ֵשּׂ ֶכל ֱה ִביאַנִ י ֲח ָד ָריו‬

‫‪41‬‬

‫עמקים מעברותיו‪) 4/‬רמא; רמח(‬ ‫תנסו ים ֻ‬ ‫זמן בוגד אסרני בפידו‪) 13/‬כח; כו(‬ ‫כשורש עץ יהי אורך אמיריו‪) 55/‬רג; צה(‬

‫וּמ ִז ָמּה‬ ‫וְ אָנִ יף יָד ָר ָמה ‪ְ /‬בּ ַד ַעת ְ‬ ‫וּב ֵשּׁ ֶכל ֶא ְעצֹר‬ ‫וְ ַד ְר ֵכי ִבין ֶאצֹּר ‪ַ /‬‬

‫וְ ִציץ ֵנזֶר ָח ְכ ָמה ‪ֲ /‬א ַשׁוֶּה ַעל ִמ ְצ ִחי ]‪[...‬‬ ‫יחי‬ ‫וּס ִפ ִ‬ ‫יסי ְ‬ ‫וּמ ֶמּנּוּ ֶא ְקצֹר ‪ְ /‬שׁ ִח ִ‬ ‫ִ‬ ‫אפלס מעגלי‪) 42 ,40/‬נו; קיג(‬

‫וְ אַל ִתּ ְת ַמהּ ְבּ ִאישׁ ָכּ ַמהּ ְבּ ָשׂרוֹ‬

‫ְל ַה ִשּׂיג ַמעֲלוֹת ָח ְכ ָמה וְ ָיכֹל‬

‫אָחי‪ַ ,‬על רֹאשׁ ָח ְכ ָמה‬ ‫אַתּ‪ִ ,‬‬ ‫ִאם ְ‬

‫יצהּ‬ ‫ַאנִ י ִצ ָ‬ ‫ֶפת – ו ֲ‬ ‫ַכּ ִמּ ְצנ ֶ‬

‫בוֹהים‬ ‫כּוֹכ ֵבי רוֹם ַה ְגּ ִ‬ ‫אוֹמר‪ְ :‬‬ ‫וְ ֵ‬

‫יך ְתּ ֵמ ִהים‬ ‫ֲלי ג ַֹבהּ ְדּ ָר ֶכ ָ‬ ‫עֵ‬

‫ואל תתמה באיש כמה בשרו‪) 1/‬עב; קי(‬ ‫שאלו נפשי תסיר אלצה‪) 5/‬קעו; רמז(‬

‫ואומר כוכבי רום‪) 1/‬מג; רסא(‬

‫בעצמה )עמ' ‪ .(124‬ועוד נשוב להלן לעניין המיון המקובל של השירים העבריים בימי‬ ‫הביניים‪ .‬עוד נראה להלן‪ ,‬כי ברשימת שירי החול של 'בקשת החכמה' יש להוסיף עוד כמה‬ ‫שירים שלא נכללו בה‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 38‬נושא החכמה בשירת הקודש של אבן גבירול עדיין לא זכה לדיון מקיף במחקר‪ .‬על כל‬ ‫פנים‪ ,‬על הניגוד בין אבן גבירול המשורר‪ ,‬הספקן והמאוכזב‪ ,‬כפי שהוא מתגלה בשירי החול‬ ‫שלו לעומת אבן גבירול הפילוסוף והפייטן ראו טובי תש"ן‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.196–190‬‬ ‫‪ 39‬על פרשה זו ראו שירמן‪-‬פליישר תשנ"ו‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ;466–457‬גיל‪-‬פליישר תשס"א‪ ,‬עמ' ‪–184‬‬ ‫‪ ;199‬שיינדלין ‪.2007‬‬ ‫‪ 40‬תחת הכותרת 'בקשת החכמה בשירים האישיים' מבחינה שרה אור בין 'שירים‬ ‫מונולוגיים' ל'שירים דיאלוגיים' ומגדירה שיר זה כמונולוגי )אור תשנ"ט‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ,(133‬אף על‬ ‫פי שכלולים לו בתי שיר הנאמרים מפי ידידי המשורר מוכיחיו‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 41‬המספר לאחר תחילת השיר מציין את מספר הבית‪.‬‬

‫כט‬

‫החשוקה כמשל לחכמה האלוהית בשירי אבן גבירול‬

‫ולבסוף נציין כי העיצוב האלגורי המפותח ביותר לדמות הנקבה בשירת‬ ‫ישראל בא בשירי שלום שבזי‪ ,‬המשורר התימני בן המאה הי"ז‪ .‬רבים משיריו‪,‬‬ ‫שכרוב שירי תימן אינם ליטורגיים אך חדורים רוח דתית לאומית עזה‪ ,‬נכתבו‬ ‫לצורך מסיבות החתונה והדמות הנקבית לכאורה של הכלה בשר ודם מקבלת‬ ‫משמעויות אלגוריות שונות‪ ,‬ואפילו באותו שיר‪ :‬הנפש‪ ,‬התורה‪ ,‬החכמה וארץ‬ ‫ישראל‪ .‬אלא שעל שבזי נמשכה לא רק השפעת שירת הקודש ושירת החול העברית‬ ‫הספרדית אלא גם זו של אסכולת השירה הערבית התימנית המקומית – ה' ֻח ָמיני'‪,‬‬ ‫בעיקר ביצירת המשוררים הצוּפים בתימן‪ 34.‬סוגה זו של שירי אהבה ערביים‬ ‫ַליּאת( שבהם דמות החשוקה המופיעה בפתיחותיהם מסמלת את האלוהות‬ ‫) ַגז ִ‬ ‫אלאלאהיה( ידועה כבר מן השירה הצוּפית בימי הביניים‪ ,‬כגון שירי עֻמר‬ ‫ִ‬ ‫)אלד'את‬ ‫אלפארץ' שחי במצרים בין השנים ‪ .1235–1181‬אבן אלפארץ' נודע במיוחד‬ ‫ִ‬ ‫אבן‬ ‫ֻברא'( שבו תיאר‬ ‫אאיּה אלכּ ַ‬ ‫אלט ִ‬ ‫בשירו הקונטרוברסלי הארוך על 'הדרך הצוּפית' )' ַ‬ ‫ילה המשופע בביטויים ארוטיים‪ ,‬ובשיר‬ ‫את אהבת האל כשיר אהבה לאשה בשם ַל ָ‬ ‫מריַּה'( שבו שר על 'היין' האלהי הגורם לאושר‪ 35.‬כפי שהראה‬ ‫אלכ' ִ‬ ‫היין שלו )' ַ‬ ‫שיינדלין‪ ,‬השפעה השירה הצופית‪ ,‬כמובן זו הקודמת לאבן אלפארץ'‪ ,‬ניכרת גם על‬ ‫‪36‬‬ ‫שירי הקודש של אבן גבירול שחי באנדלוסיה במחצית הראשונה במאה הי"א‪.‬‬

‫ג‪ .‬החכמה בשירי אבן גבירול‬ ‫כל גיווני הסמליות הנ"ל של הנקבה מצויים בשירת אבן גבירול‪ ,‬שירי החול ושירי‬ ‫הקודש‪ .‬אולם‪ ,‬כאמור‪ ,‬ענייננו כאן בדמות הנקבה בשיריו שבהם היא משמשת‬ ‫כאלגוריה לחכמה‪ ,‬הן פתיחות האהבה בקצידות‪ ,‬והן שירי אהבה קצרים‬ ‫ועצמאיים‪ ,‬לכאורה מעין שירי האהבה האלגוריים של שמואל הנגיד – כהצהרתו‬ ‫וכהצהרת בנו יהוסף – שבהם הנערה מסמלת את החכמה‪ .‬למעשה‪ ,‬האהבה לחכמה‬ ‫מילאה באישיותו של אבן גבירול את מקומה של אהבת הבשרים‪ ,‬כהכרזתו בשיר‬ ‫שׁוֹא ֶלת' )צו; קד(‪:‬‬ ‫'לוּ ָהיְ ָתה ַנ ְפ ִשׁי ְמ ַעט ֶ‬ ‫ֶא ָכל‬ ‫ֵהן ִמ ְדּרֹשׁ ָח ְכ ָמה ְב ָשׂ ִרי נ ֱ‬

‫אוֹכ ֶלת‬ ‫אַה ָבה ֶ‬ ‫וּב ַשׂר ֲא ֵח ִרים ֲ‬ ‫ְ‬

‫כידוע‪ ,‬זיקת אבן גבירול – המשורר הפילוסוף – לחכמה משמשת נושא מרכזי‬ ‫בשירתו‪ ,‬שירי החול ושירי הקודש כאחת‪ 37.‬דיוננו בזה יסוב על שירי החול בלבד‪,‬‬ ‫‪ 34‬טובי ‪.2006‬‬ ‫‪ 35‬על אהבת האל בשירי אבן אלפארץ' ראו חלמי ‪ 1971‬ועל שיר היין הומרין ‪ ;2005‬עוד‬ ‫ראו הומרין ‪ ,1994‬על פי המפתח‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ,158‬ערך‪.Ibn al-Fāri‘ :‬‬ ‫‪ 36‬שיינדלין ‪.1994‬‬ ‫‪ 37‬ברגמן תשמ"ז‪/‬ח; טובי תש"ן; כ"ץ תשנ"ב‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ;82–73‬אבו דאוד ‪ ;2003‬אור תשנ"ט‪,‬‬ ‫עמ' ‪ ,133–18‬ובייחוד עמ' ‪ ,133‬שבו מובאת תחת הכותרת 'בקשת החכמה' רשימת עשרים‬ ‫ותשעה משירי החול של אבן גבירול‪ ,‬ממוינים בעיקר על פי סוגות השיר המוסכמות בשירת‬ ‫ימי הביניים‪ .‬אף בדיונה בגוף העבודה מנסה אור באופן מאולץ ביותר לשייך כל שיר לאחת‬ ‫הסוגות המוסכמות‪ ,‬אך אין כל מקום לכך‪ .‬אף ספק בעיניי אם יש לכלול את כל שירי‬ ‫ההתפארות בכלל שירי 'בקשת החכמה'‪ ,‬שכן ברובם פולמוס חריף עם מי שהמשורר חש כי‬ ‫אינם מכבדים אותו כראוי לו ואין בהם תמיד התייחסות לרדיפתו אחר החכמה‪ .‬לצד שירי‬ ‫החול הנ"ל מנתה אור ארבעה עשר שירים המוגדרים 'שירי קודש אישיים'‪ .‬בגוף עבודתה‬ ‫הקרבה לאל בשירי תפילה אישיים' )עמ' ‪–122‬‬ ‫דנה אור בשירים אלה תחת הכותרת 'בקשת ִ‬ ‫‪ (131‬ומתלבטת בהמשך דבריה )עמ' ‪ (124–123‬בעצם הגדרתם כשירי קודש‪ .‬אכן‪ ,‬ההגדרה‬ ‫'שירי תפילה אישיים' יפה לשירים אלו ובודאי אין לראות בהם שירי קודש שייעודם‬ ‫ליטורגי‪ .‬דבר זה מקבל אישורו מכך שהם נכללו בדיואן שירי החול כפי שאור מציינת‬

‫יוסף טובי‬

‫כח‬

‫ואולם קודם שנבוא לדון בשירי אבן גבירול‪ ,‬נציין כי גם בתקופת הביניים‬ ‫הארוכה שבין המקרא לשירה העברית החדשה שימשה דמות הנקבה אלגוריה‬ ‫לעניינים הרחוקים מן החומר‪ .‬כמובן‪ ,‬השימוש הנפוץ ביותר בדמות זו היה בהקשר‬ ‫הלאומי‪ ,‬כלומר עם ישראל ביחס לאלוהיו‪ ,‬שימוש שביטויו בספרות חז"ל ב ֶצ ֶרף‬ ‫'כנסת ישראל'‪ .‬שימוש אלגורי זה‪ ,‬המבוסס על דימוי יחסי עם ישראל ואלוהיו‬ ‫ליחסי אשה ובעלה כבר במקרא ואחר כך על הפרשנות האלגורית של חז"ל לשיר‬ ‫השירים‪ ,‬קנה לו שביתה נרחבת בספרות המדרש ועוד יותר בפיוט המזרחי הקדום‬ ‫בכל תולדותיו ואחר כך גם בשירת הקודש הספרדית ובשלוחותיה הרבות‪ .‬בצד‬ ‫שימוש זה התפתח שימוש אלגורי אחר‪ ,‬הנקבה כסמל לנפש האדם‪ ,‬שמקורו‬ ‫בפילוסופיה האפלטונית ונכנס לספרות ישראל לראשונה על ידי פילון מאלכסנדריה‬ ‫ומן המאה הי"א ואילך באמצעות הספרות הנאופלטונית ובעיקר כתבי אכ'ואן‬ ‫אלצפא‪ .‬מפורסמים בעניין זה הם שירי הנפש‪ ,‬שרובם ככולם היוו חלק בלתי נפרד‬ ‫משירת הקודש הליטורגית‪ ,‬ויסודם כבר בפיוטי רב סעדיה גאון‪ 29.‬יש לציין‬ ‫שהפיתוח האלגורי של דמות הנקבה בשירי הנפש דל למדיי‪ ,‬בעיקר בהשוואה‬ ‫לשירים על כנסת ישראל‪ ,‬שכן אלו עוצבו בשירת הקודש העברית בספרד לא רק על‬ ‫פי המקורות המקראיים והמדרשיים אלא גם תוך כדי שימוש במוטיבים הארוטיים‬ ‫הלקוחים משירת האהבה הערבית שכל כולה חול‪ 30.‬מן הראשונים שנקטו שיטה זו‬ ‫בשלהי המאה‬ ‫היה דווקא פייטן מזרחי‪ ,‬יחזקאל בן ֵעלי שככל הנראה חי בבבל ִ‬ ‫‪31‬‬ ‫העשירית ובעשורים הראשונים במאה הי"א‪.‬‬ ‫השימוש האלגורי בדמות הנקבה היה מצוי גם בשירת החול העברית בימי‬ ‫ַסיבּ או ַת ְשׁ ִבּיבּ‪ ,‬שעל‬ ‫הביניים‪ ,‬בפתיחת הקצידה הקלסית‪ ,‬פתיחה המכונה בערבית נ ִ‬ ‫אהליה עולה בה דמות האהובה שתקוַת‬ ‫פי מסורת השירה הערבית עוד מימי הג' ִ‬ ‫המשורר לפוגשה נכזבת‪ ,‬לפי שהשבט שהאהובה נמנית עמו כבר העתיק מחנהו‬ ‫למקום אחר‪ .‬כחלק מאי‪-‬הנחת של המשוררים הערבים בתקופה העבאסית‬ ‫אהלית של החברה המדברית‪ ,‬נתערער מעמד הפתיחה‬ ‫ממוסכמות השירה הג' ִ‬ ‫בקצידה‪ .‬אחד הביטויים לכך בשירה העברית‪ ,‬כבר משירי האהבה של יצחק אבן מר‬ ‫שאול ויצחק אבן כ'לפון‪ ,‬שהחשוק‪/‬ה בפתיחת הקצידה אינה בשר ודם אלא דמות‬ ‫אלגורית המייצגת את המהולל שלשבחו נכתב השיר‪ 32.‬בפתיחות שירים מעין אלו‬ ‫מעוצבת דמות החשוק‪/‬ה על פי מיטב המוטיבים והאמצעים הרטוריים של שירת‬ ‫האהבה החילונית מבית מדרשם של המשוררים הערבים‪ ,‬ורק עקרון ההתכללות‬ ‫מעמידנו על המשמעות האמיתית של הפתיחות‪ .‬לעומת כן‪ ,‬עומדים אנו בפני קושי‬ ‫חמור בהרבה ביחס לשירי האהבה הקצרים והעצמאיים של שמואל הנגיד –‬ ‫המקטועאת – שאינם משמשים פתיחות לקצידות ארוכות‪ ,‬ושהוא ובנו יהוסף‬ ‫מצהירים במפורש שהם אלגוריים וכי דמות החשוק‪/‬ה בהם אינה בשר ודם אלא‬ ‫‪33‬‬ ‫דימוי לכנסת ישראל‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 29‬ראו טובי תש"ס‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ .88–85‬על שירי הנפש בספרד ראו שיינדלין ‪ ;1990‬טננבאום‬ ‫‪ .1992‬על זיקתם לחיבור 'חובות הלבבות' לרב בחיי בן פקודה ראו מירסקי תשנ"ב‪ .‬על שירי‬ ‫הנפש בתימן המעוצבים כשירים לחשוקה ראו מסורי‪-‬כספי תשל"ח‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 30‬ראו‪ ,‬דרך משל‪ ,‬לוין תשל"א‪ .‬על דמות החשוקה בשירת הקודש העברית בספרד‬ ‫כאלגוריה לאל‪ ,‬לנפש ולישראל ראה שיינדלין ‪ ;1991‬רוזן תשס"ו‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.149–116‬‬ ‫‪ 31‬בארי תשס"ו‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.13–9‬‬ ‫‪ 32‬ראו טובי תשס"ו‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ 212–207‬והמחקרים הקודמים הנזכרים שם בהערות‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 33‬עניין זה דנו בו רבים מחוקרי השירה העברית בימי הביניים ולא עלה בידי אחד מהם‬ ‫להוכיח מתוך השירים עצמם את משמעותם האלגורית‪ .‬ראו טובי תשס"ו‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.214–212‬‬

‫כז‬

‫החשוקה כמשל לחכמה האלוהית בשירי אבן גבירול‬

‫במרום הפעילות הדתית‪-‬הרוחנית‪ .‬עם אלה נמנו יוסף בן שמעון ב'מחברת ימימה'‪,‬‬ ‫יעקב בן אלעזר במחברת הראשונה ב'ספר המשלים' שלו ואברהם אבן חסדאי‬ ‫שההתר שנטלו מחברים אלה לעצמם לצייר את‬ ‫ֶ‬ ‫ב'מחברת תמימה'‪ 23.‬אין ספק‬ ‫הפילוסופיה‪-‬האשה בלשונות נועזים יסודו בכך שהרמב"ם עצמו‪ ,‬שהיה כל כך נערץ‬ ‫עליהם‪ ,‬המשיל את אהבת האל לאהבת אשה ואף קבע כי כל עת שהנשמה נמצאה‬ ‫בתוך הגוף אין היא יכולה לשער מהו התענוג הרוחני שנגרם לה כאשר היא‬ ‫מתדבקה בשכל הפועל‪ ,‬כפי שסריס אינו יכול להבין מה ההנאה הנגרמת מיחסי‬ ‫מין‪ 24.‬לדברי הרמב"ם‪ ,‬כל ספר שיר השירים הוא אלגוריה לאהבת ה'‪ ,‬שהיא שולטת‬ ‫באדם יותר מאהבת אשה‪ 25.‬הדיבור על אהבת האל בלשונות של אהבת גבר לאשה‬ ‫בא לו להרמב"ם בהשפעת הפילוסופים המוסלמים אבן סינא ואלגזאלי‪ 26,‬אך‬ ‫הארוֹס הפילוסופי של אפלטון‬ ‫הרעיון היה מצוי כבר בכתבי פילון; ובלשון אחר ' ֶ‬ ‫לארוֹס רליגיוזי'‪ 27.‬יש כמובן להדגיש‪ ,‬כי אהבת האל בתפישה הפילוסופית של‬ ‫נהפך ֶ‬ ‫הרמב"ם אינה אהבה מיסטית אלא דרישת החכמה‪ ,‬שהיא ידיעת המטפיזיקה‪,‬‬ ‫כלומר ידיעת האל‪ ,‬שהיא המצוה הראשונה שבה פותח הרמב"ם את ספר המדע )א‪,‬‬ ‫א(‪ ,‬הספר הפילוסופי העומד בראש הקודקס ההלכתי 'היד החזקה'‪" :‬יסוד היסודות‬ ‫ועמוד כל החכמות לידע שיש שם מצוי ראשון"‪ .‬רק לאחר מכן באה באותו ספר )ב‪,‬‬ ‫א( המצוה הרביעית של אהבת האל‪" :‬האל הנכבד והנורא הזה מצוה לאהבו"‪.‬‬ ‫ובסוף חיבורו הפילוסופי 'מורה נבוכים' טורח הרמב"ם לבאר בארוכה מדוע‬ ‫ההשגה הפילוסופית הגבוהה ביותר‪ ,‬היא דרגת הנבואה האולטימטיבית‪ ,‬שהגיעו‬ ‫אליה משה‪ ,‬אהרן ומרים‪ ,‬מתוארת על ידי חז"ל כ'מיתה בנשיקה'‪ ,‬שכן לשון זה‬ ‫מבטאת באופן הטוב ביותר על דרך 'מליצת השיר' את ההנאה הגדולה של ההשגה‬ ‫‪28‬‬ ‫שקם באל‪.‬‬ ‫הרוחנית שהשיגו שלושתם מעצמת ִח ָ‬ ‫ואלו בקוטב השני של הספרות העברית מן הזמן החדש‪ ,‬מצינו בשירו‬ ‫האניגמטי המופלא של חיים נחמן ביאליק‪' ,‬הכניסיני תחת כנפך'‪ ,‬שהוא מבקש מן‬ ‫אשׁי ‪ַ /‬קן ְתּ ִפלּוֹ ַתי‬ ‫יק ְך ִמ ְק ָלט רֹ ִ‬ ‫יהי ֵח ֵ‬ ‫הדמות הנקבית להיות לו ' ֵאם וְ אָחוֹת ‪ /‬וִ ִ‬ ‫ַהנִּ ָדּחוֹת'‪ .‬חוקרי ביאליק ושירתו נתלבטו הרבה בזיהוי דמות האשה בשיר וכתבו‬ ‫פירושים מפירושים שונים‪ ,‬מהם מי שהבנתו והצעתו שרירה ומוצקה בעיניו ומהם‬ ‫מי שמעלה דברים על דרך ההשערה וליבם חצוי ביחס לדברי עצמם‪ .‬ועוד נשוב לשיר‬ ‫זה בהמשך דברינו ונציע בו פירוש מתוך הזקקתו לשירי אבן גבירול‪ ,‬תכלית‬ ‫חקירתנו בזה )להלן‪ ,‬נספח(‪.‬‬

‫‪ 23‬ל'מחברת ימימה' ראו פליישר בשירמן‪-‬פליישר תשנ"ז‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ;278–273‬יהלום תשנ"ז;‬ ‫למחברת הראשונה של יעקב בן אלעזר ראו בן אלעזר תשנ"ג‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ;22–15‬רוזן תשס"ו‪ ,‬עמ'‬ ‫‪ ;149–133‬ל'מחברת תמימה' ראו שירמן‪-‬פליישר תשנ"ז‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.259–256‬‬ ‫‪ 24‬ראו רמב"ם‪ ,‬היד החזקה‪ ,‬הלכות תשובה י‪ ,‬ג‪" :‬וכיצד היא האהבה הראויה? הוא‬ ‫שיאהב את ה' אהבה גדולה יתירה עזה מאוד עד שתהא נפשו קשורה באהבת ה' ונמצא‬ ‫שוגה בה תמיד כאלו חולה חולי האהבה שאין דעתו פנויה מאהבה אותה אשה והוא שוגה‬ ‫בה תמיד"; משה בן מימון תשכ"ה‪ ,‬סדר נזיקין‪ ,‬הקדמה לפרק חלק‪ ,‬עמ' רג‪" :‬כשם שלא‬ ‫ישיג הסומא את הצבעים‪ ,‬ולא ישיג החרש את הקולות ולא הסריס תא ַות המשגל‪ ,‬כך לא‬ ‫ישיגו הגופות התענוגות הנפשיים‪ [...] .‬כך לא יודע בעולם הזה הגשמי תענוגי העולם‬ ‫הרוחני"‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 25‬ראו באכר תרצ"ב‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.24–23‬‬ ‫‪ 26‬ערן ‪ ;2002‬סטרומזה ‪.1998‬‬ ‫‪ 27‬שטיין תרצ"ז‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.235‬‬ ‫‪ 28‬מורה נבוכים ג‪ ,‬נא )בחלקו האחרון של הפרק(‪.‬‬

‫יוסף טובי‬

‫כו‬

‫האם גם זאת אינה אלא יונת האהבים של הערבים? נדמה כי לא כן‬ ‫הדבר! כמו בפתיחה הראשונה‪ 18,‬ככה גם בזו המשורר פונה אל שכינת‬ ‫שירתו‪ ,‬זו ה"מוסה" שלו‪ .‬כמה שירים נכתבו על‪-‬ידי משוררים רבים‬ ‫ושונים למן התקופה הקלסית העתיקה עד הדורות האחרונים לכבוד‬ ‫המתולוגיה‬ ‫"בת‪-‬שיר" או ה"מוסה"‪ ,‬אולם ֻכּלם לא יצאו מחוץ לתחום ִ‬ ‫הי ָונית הקדומה עם כל המניעים שנמצאו בה‪ .‬מה שאין כן ביונה‪,‬‬ ‫חבצלת‪-‬השרון הזאת‪ .‬כאן בריאה חדשה לפנינו‪ ,‬שכינת‪-‬שירה עברית‬ ‫בצורתה ובכל סֻגלותיה‪ .‬לא משירת הומירוס הסיודוס‪ ,‬אלקיאוס‬ ‫ופנדרוס והורטיוס וסיעתם קבלה שכינה זו את תכנה ואת צביונה –‬ ‫אפילו אם נאמר‪ ,‬כי דרך כמה צנורות נתגלגלה בת‪-‬קול של המוסה‬ ‫היונית העתיקה אל משוררנו – כי‪-‬אם מגנזי המסרת העברית חשף לו‬ ‫המשורר חוטי‪-‬אור מיֻחדים ורקם אותם לתמונה מאירה של שכינת‬ ‫שירתו‪.‬‬

‫במאמר זה המוקדש לפרופ' ראובן )ריימונד( שיינדלין‪ ,‬שחקר הרבה את שירת אבן‬ ‫גבירול‪ ,‬בכוונתי לדון במהות אחת – אפשר החשובה והמשמעותית ביותר – מבין‬ ‫מגוון המהויות המופשטות בשירי האהבה של המשורר‪ ,‬ר"ל החשוקה כסמל לחכמה‬ ‫האלוהית‪.‬‬

‫ב‪ .‬דמותה הסמלית של הנקבה בספרות העברית ובספרות העמים‬ ‫מאז המקרא ועד ימינו משמשת דמות הנקבה בספרות העברית כסמל וכאלגוריה‬ ‫לעניינים נשגבים שברוח‪ 19,‬תוך כדי התעלמות מוחלטת מן היחס הבסיסי השלילי‬ ‫כלפי האשה‪ .‬כך‪ ,‬בתוך תיאור פיתוייה של האשה הזונה‪ ,‬והיא אשה בשר ודם‪,‬‬ ‫המדיחה את הנער הצעיר אל 'דרכי שאול' ו'חדרי מות' בפרקים ו‪-‬ז ובסוף פרק ט‬ ‫בספר משלי‪ ,‬מוצגת החכמה על דרך הניגוד בפרקים ח‪-‬ט בספר זה כדמות אשה‬ ‫אלגורית הניצבת 'בראש מרֹמים עלי דרך' וקוראת לפתאים חסרי הלב‪' :‬לכו לחמו‬ ‫בלחמי ושתו ביין מסכתי' )משלי ט‪ ,‬ה(‪ .‬אף היא שהיתה עם האל בעת שברא את‬ ‫עולמו‪' :‬ואהיה אצלו אמון ואהיה שעשועים יום יום משחקת לפניו בכל עת' )שם ח‪,‬‬ ‫ל(‪ 20.‬כך גם ביוון הקדומה‪ ,‬שבה לא רק אלת הגורל )‪ (Tyche‬ובנותיה )‪ (Moira‬ורוח‬ ‫היצירה )‪ (Muse‬יוצגו בדמויות נשיות אלא גם החכמה )סוֹפיה( יוצגה בדמויות‬ ‫נשיות שונות‪ ,‬כגון פנלופה )‪ ,(Penelope‬אשתו הנאמנה של יוליסס‪ 21.‬בהשפעת‬ ‫המקרא וחכמת יוון‪ ,‬גם חז"ל‪ ,‬במדרשיהם ובפיוטיהם סימלו את התורה בדמות‬ ‫אשה ואף תיארו את מעמד מתן תורה בהר סיני כמעמד של חתונה בין משה רבנו או‬ ‫‪22‬‬ ‫בין עם ישראל כחתן לבין התורה ככלה‪.‬‬ ‫האנשת החכמה בדמות אשה חשוקה וחושקת המצוירת במוטיבים ארוטיים‬ ‫שופעים ועסיסיים הגיעה לשיאה בסוגת המקאמה העברית בימי הביניים‪ ,‬על ידי‬ ‫מחברים בספרד ובמזרח שהיו מחסידי הרמב"ם שהעמידו את העיסוק בפילוסופיה‬ ‫עוֹלה וְ נִ ְשׁ ָק ָפה' )קנט; ד(‪ ,‬שלהצעתי כוונתה לחכמה;‬ ‫‪ 18‬פתיחת השיר ' ִמי זֹאת ְכּמוֹ ַשׁ ַחר ָ‬ ‫ראה להלן‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 19‬דמות הנקבה המסמלת את התבל המתאכזרת לבני אדם אינה מעניין מאמר זה‪ ,‬לפי‬ ‫שמקור הדימוי בתרבות האלילית ועומד בסתירה לתפישה הדתית שבבסיס יחסי האל הטוב‬ ‫והחכם עם האדם‪ .‬על דמות התבל והגזרה הקדומה ראו טובי תש"ס‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ;218–195‬הוס‬ ‫תשס"ב; רוזן תשס"ו‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.30–27‬‬ ‫‪ 20‬יודר ‪ ;2001‬סינוט ‪.2005‬‬ ‫‪ 21‬הלמן ‪.1995‬‬ ‫‪ 22‬וולפסון ‪.1989‬‬

‫כה‬

‫החשוקה כמשל לחכמה האלוהית בשירי אבן גבירול‬ ‫כי לאהבת האשה לא היה ערך גדול בנשמת בן‪-‬גבירול‪ .‬על‪-‬כל‪-‬פנים‪ ,‬לא‬ ‫נמצא בשירתו הד מתאים לאהבה הזאת‪ ,‬כפי שאנו רואים אותו‪ ,‬למשל‪,‬‬ ‫בשירת רבי משה בן‪-‬עזרה ורבי יהודה הלוי‪ .‬אבל אין להוציא מזה‪ ,‬כי‬ ‫היה המשורר חפשי לגמרי מרגש האהבה‪ ,‬ולבקש איזה יסודות‬ ‫פיסיולוגיים ַל ָדּבר‪ .‬בפתיחת שירים אחדים‪ ,‬שבהם המשורר פונה אל‬ ‫בת‪-‬שירתו בדברי אהבה ומתאר את ה"יונה" שלו‪ ,‬נמצאה בת‪-‬קול‬ ‫ָב ְתנִ י‬ ‫חלושה של הרגש הזה‪ .‬ביותר חזק ציור האהובה בשיר אחד‪ֲ :‬עז ַ‬ ‫וְ ָע ְל ָתה ַל ְשּׁ ָח ִקים ]‪ 13.[...‬נדמה‪ ,‬כי גם האהבה הזאת היא סמל בת‪-‬‬ ‫שירתו; אולם הצבעים‪ ,‬שבהם השתמש המשורר כאן‪ ,‬מלמדים אותנו‬ ‫הרבה‪.‬‬

‫שמחוני נוטה אפוא לראות באהובה שעליה מדבר אבן גבירול בשירו סמל לבת‬ ‫השיר‪ ,‬המוּזה‪ ,‬אבל עומד על כך שיש ללמוד מן השיר על רגשי האהבה שהיו נטועים‬ ‫היטב בלב המשורר‪ .‬אך מתברר ששמחוני החזיק לאו והן בידו כאחת‪ ,‬שכן במקום‬ ‫אחר באותו חיבור הוא כותב‪ ,‬כי הדעת נותנת שאבן גבירול הכיר את יצירת‬ ‫המשורר הערבי בן זמנו עלי אבן חזם‪ ,‬שחי בספרד‪" ,‬ו ִק ֵבּל ר ֶֹשׁם ידוע ממנה‪ ,‬אף כי‬ ‫‪14‬‬ ‫המניע הראשי שבה – האהבה אל האשה נשאר זר לו"‪.‬‬ ‫במאמר זה אין בכוונתי לעסוק בכל שירי האהבה של אבן גבירול; אף איני בא‬ ‫לטעון‪ ,‬כי הפרשנות האלגורית נכונה ביחס לכל הגילויים של נושא האהבה בשירי‬ ‫אבן גבירול‪ .‬אך דומה עלי כי לפחות כמה מהם‪ ,‬ובעיקר פתיחות האהבה בקצידות‪,‬‬ ‫יש אמנם להסבירם באופן אלגורי‪ .‬כלומר‪ ,‬יש שדמות החשוקה או החשוק בשירים‬ ‫אלה אינה מכוונת לנערה או לנער‪ ,‬אלא לדמות אנושית אחרת‪ ,‬דרך משל‪ ,‬המהולל‬ ‫ֲלי ָס ִעיף ְכּמוֹ ַצ ֶמּ ֶרת' )רטז; סד(‬ ‫שׁוֹשן ע ֵ‬ ‫או הידיד שלשבחו נכתב השיר‪ ,‬כגון ' ָ‬ ‫ֶח ֶשׁה' )רכא; ע(‪ .‬אך יש שאינה מכוונת לבשר ודם בכלל אלא למהות‬ ‫אַפּק וְ ִאם י ְ‬ ‫ו' ֲהיִ ְת ַ‬ ‫אַתּ יוֹנָה‬ ‫מופשטת‪ ,‬המשתנה משיר לשיר‪ ,‬כגון שירת אבן גבירול עצמו בשיר 'וְ ְ‬ ‫ֲח ַב ֶצּ ֶלת ְשׁרוֹנִ ים' )קל; יג( שנכתב לכבוד נדיבו ומיטיבו האהוב יקותיאל‪ .‬זאת אם‬ ‫הה ְת ַכּ ְלּלוּת‪ 15,‬המשעבדת את‬ ‫ננקוט לצורך ההבנה הנכונה של השיר את שיטת ִ‬ ‫הפתיחה לגוף הקצידה‪ ,‬בכך שהוא מקנה לחשוקה שבפתיחה משמעות אלגורית‪ .‬על‬ ‫פי שיטה זו‪ ,‬הנערה החשוקה בפתיחה אינה אלא אלגוריה לשירת אבן גבירול עצמו‬ ‫המהללת את יקותיאל‪ 16,‬כמוכח משני בתי המעבר‪:‬‬ ‫ירי‬ ‫ֵבל וְ ִשׁ ִ‬ ‫ְק ִחי ַהתֹּף וְ ַהנּ ֶ‬ ‫יר ְך‬ ‫דוֹד ְך ְבּ ִח ֵ‬ ‫קוּמי ַה ְל ִלי ֵ‬ ‫וְ ִ‬

‫וּמנִּ ים‬ ‫ֲלי ָעשׂוֹר ִ‬ ‫ֵך ע ֵ‬ ‫ְבּנִ גּוּנ ְ‬ ‫רוֹזנִ ים‬ ‫יאל‪ ,‬נְ ִשׂיא ָשׂ ִרים וְ ְ‬ ‫קוּת ֵ‬ ‫יְ ִ‬

‫כבר שמחוני הבין כי אין מדובר כאן בחשוקה הידועה מן הפתיחות לשירים‬ ‫‪17‬‬ ‫הערביים‪ ,‬אלא בדמות אלגורית‪ ,‬לפי הבנתו בת‪-‬השיר‪:‬‬ ‫ָב ְתנִ י וְ ָע ְל ָתה ַל ְשּׁ ָח ִקים'‪ ,‬ששמחוני מביאו במלואו‪ ,‬ראו להלן‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 13‬על השיר ' ֲעז ַ‬ ‫‪ 14‬שמחוני תרפ"א‪/‬ג‪ ,‬כרך יב‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ .166‬המניע – המוטיב‪ .‬עלי אבן חזם )‪ (1064–994‬נודע‪,‬‬ ‫בין היתר‪ ,‬בשל חיבורו 'טוק אלחמאמה'‪ ,‬מונוגרפיה על נושא האהבה‪ ,‬וכתב גם שירי אהבה‪,‬‬ ‫אף כי כוחו בשירה לא היה גדול‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 15‬על שיטת ההתכללות ראו טובי תש"ס‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ 213–208‬וכן טובי תשס"ו‪ ,‬עמ' ‪,214‬‬ ‫הערה ‪.61‬‬ ‫‪ 16‬על השירה כאשה ראו רוזן תשס"ו‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.115–88‬‬ ‫‪ 17‬שמחוני תרפ"א‪/‬ג‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ;255–254‬לדעה דומה של ביאליק‪-‬רבניצקי השוו אבן גבירול‬ ‫תרפ"ד‪ ,‬הערות וביאורים‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ;50‬שירמן תשנ"ו‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ;297–296‬כ"ץ תשנ"ז‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.153–150‬‬ ‫מירסקי תש"ן‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ,443–442‬הבין את הפתיחה כשיר אהבה רגיל‪.‬‬

‫יוסף טובי‬

‫כד‬

‫אף על פי כן‪ ,‬לא נמנע אבן גבירול מלכתוב שירי אהבה‪ .‬מכותלי דבריו של אבן עזרא‬ ‫במקום זה ומהקשם אל מה שהבאנו לעיל מדבריו על אבן גבירול כי ברח מן היצר‪,‬‬ ‫עלינו להבין‪ ,‬כי שירי אהבה שכתב משורר אינם עדות ביוגרפית לכך שאהב אשה‬ ‫והיה כרוך אחריה‪ .‬על כל פנים‪ ,‬אי אפשר להתעלם מן העובדה שמכלל ‪ 276‬שירים‬ ‫המצויים בדיואן שירי החול )מהם ‪ 26‬מסופקים( של אבן גבירול במהדורת בראדי‪-‬‬ ‫שירמן למעלה מארבעים מהם מוגדרים כשירי אהבה‪ 6.‬מה אפוא פשרם של שירי‬ ‫האהבה של אבן גבירול?‬ ‫כפי שכבר הראיתי במקום אחר‪ ,‬פעמים רבות יש להבין את שירי האהבה או‬ ‫‪7‬‬ ‫את פתיחות האהבה בקצידות בשירת ימי הביניים העברית באנדלוסיה כאלגוריה‪.‬‬ ‫אכן‪ ,‬כבר ראשוני החוקרים היו נבוכים כלשהו ביחס למציאות שירי אהבה ביצירת‬ ‫‪8‬‬ ‫אבן גבירול‪ .‬כך שניאור זקש‪ ,‬מראשוני חוקריה החשובים של שירת אבן גבירול‪,‬‬ ‫קשר לעניין זה את השיר ' ִאם ֶתּ ֱא ַהב ִל ְהיוֹת ְבּאַנְ ֵשׁי ֶח ֶלד' )עו; קעו( שבו ממליץ‬ ‫המשורר לא ללדת ילדים; ולדעתו נכתב השיר לאחר שנואש המשורר מלהוליד‬ ‫בנים‪ .‬על כל פנים‪ ,‬גם שמחוני הדוחה את דברי זקש‪ ,‬כ'השערה רפויה מאד‪ ,‬כי אין‬ ‫הדבר מוכח מפשט השיר'‪ 9,‬מקפיד לקבוע ביחס לאבן גבירול‪ ,‬כי "שירי‪-‬אהבה‬ ‫כמעט לא נמצאו ממנו‪ ,‬לעמת‪-‬זאת לא הזיר את עצמו מן היין‪ ,‬וכפעם‪-‬בפעם ִדבּר‬ ‫בשבחו"‪ 10.‬על התלבטותו בפרשנות שירי האהבה של אבן גבירול מעידים דבריו‬ ‫‪11‬‬ ‫אלה‪:‬‬ ‫שאלה חשובה היא‪ ,‬איך התיַחס המשורר ַל ָקּשה שבכל "הבלי" העולם‬ ‫הזה – לאהבת האשה‪ [...] .‬יש לשער‪ ,‬אשר נשאר המשורר ַרוָּק כל ימיו‪.‬‬ ‫יש מי שמשער עליו‪ ,‬אם נשתמש במבטא המשורר החדש‪ 12,‬כי "שיר‬ ‫אחד לא ידעה נפשו – שיר עלומים ואהבה"‪ .‬באמת יש לנו רשות לחשֹׁב‪,‬‬ ‫‪ 5‬על רדיפת החכמה של אבן גבירול ראו טובי תש"ן; ועוד להלן‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 6‬שירמן )תשנ"ו‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ,297‬הערה ‪ (242‬מציין כי מספר שירי האהבה בדיואן אבן גבירול‬ ‫הוא ארבעים ואחד ולצדם חטיבות המדברות בנושאים ארוטיים הבאות בראש שלושה‬ ‫שירים נוספים‪ .‬שרה אור )תשנ"ט‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ (342–341‬ערכה רשימה של ‪ 56‬שירי אהבה לאבן‬ ‫גבירול‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 7‬טובי תשס"ו‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 8‬ר' שלמה אבן גבירול וקצת בני דורו‪ ,‬פאריס תרכ"ו )מהדורת צילום על ידי א"מ‬ ‫הברמן‪ ,‬ירושלים תשכ"ז(; שירי השירים אשר לשלמה בן גבירול‪ ,‬פאריס תרכ"ח )מהדורת‬ ‫צילום‪ ,‬ירושלים תש"ל(; ִחדות רבי שלמה ן' גבירול ופתרוניהן‪ ,‬קראקא תרנ"ב‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 9‬לדברי שניאור זקש‪ ,‬שנדפסו תחילה ב'הצופה להמגיד' יח )‪ ,(1874‬עמ' ‪ ,313‬ותגובת‬ ‫שמחוני ראו שמחוני תרפ"א‪/‬ג‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ,216‬הערה ‪ .1‬על זה הדרך כותב שירמן )תשנ"ו‪ ,‬עמ'‬ ‫‪ ,(298‬המביא את השיר בשלמותו ומפרשו‪" :‬מובן שאסור להפריז בהערכת המכתם הקטן‬ ‫המכיל את הטור הזה; ייתכן שהמחבר הביע כאן לאו דווקא דעה אישית אלא רעיון כללי‬ ‫הבא לעתים אצל המשוררים והוגי הדעות בימי הביניים"‪ .‬ולהלן הוא מביא ראיה משמואל‬ ‫הנגיד שכתב דברים דומים‪ ,‬ובוודאי לא בעט בחיי משפחה‪ .‬יש לציין‪ ,‬כי כבר המשורר הערבי‬ ‫אבו אלעתאהיה )‪ (828–748‬שלל הולדת ילדים בכמה משיריו‪ ,‬ואפילו רב סעדיה גאון כתב‬ ‫בתוכחתו המפורסמת שלו 'אם לפי בחרך באדם' על הצרות הכרוכות בגידול ילדים‪ .‬ראו לכל‬ ‫זה טובי תשס"ו‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.75–74‬‬ ‫‪ 10‬שמחוני תרפ"א‪/‬ג‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ .217‬שמחוני‪ ,‬שעדיין לא עמדו לפניו שירי החול ושירי הקודש‬ ‫של אבן גבירול במהדורת ח"נ ביאליק וי"ח רבניצקי‪ ,‬ובוודאי לא כ"י שוקן ‪ 37‬שעל פיו‬ ‫ההדירו חיים בראדי וחיים שירמן את שירי החול של אבן גבירול‪ ,‬לא ידע להעריך נכונה את‬ ‫הקף שירי האהבה ביצירת משורר זה‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 11‬שמחוני תרפ"א‪/‬ג‪ ,‬כרך יב‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.163–162‬‬ ‫‪ 12‬ח"נ ביאליק בשירו 'ואם ישאל המלאך'‪.‬‬

‫החשוקה כמשל לחכמה האלוהית בשירי אבן גבירול‬

‫יוסף טובי‬ ‫א‪ .‬פתיחה‬ ‫בחיבורו הביוגרפי המקיף על שלמה אבן גבירול כתב י"נ שמחוני‪" :‬השערה קרובה‬ ‫היא‪ ,‬כי לא נשא אשה ונשאר ַרוָּק כל ימיו‪ .‬ובכלל נהג חיי פרישות"‪ 1.‬דברי שמחוני‬ ‫נסמכים גם על מה שכתב משה אבן עזרא על אבן גבירול‪ ,‬שהרחיק את עצמו מיצר‬ ‫המין ונמשך במודע אל החכמה‪ .‬וזו לשונו הרחבה של אבן עזרא בעניין זה‪ ,‬הרבה‬ ‫‪2‬‬ ‫מעבר למה שנהג ביחס למשוררים אחרים‪:‬‬ ‫אבו איוב סלימן בן יחיי בן גבירול ]‪ [...‬הוא ִחנך את ִמדותיו וכבש את‬ ‫טבעו )יצרו( והתרחק מן הענינים הארציים )השפלים( ונשא את נפשו‬ ‫וקבלה כל מה‬ ‫לדברים העליונים‪ ,‬אחרי אשר נִ קתה‪ 3‬מכתמי התאוות ִ‬ ‫הלמודיים‬ ‫ִ‬ ‫שעמס עליה מיקר החכמות הפילוסופיות והמדעים‬ ‫)המתימטיים(‪ .‬וכבר אמר הפילוסוף ]=אריסטו[‪ :‬המדע הוא צבע‬ ‫הנשמה‪ ,‬ואין צבע הדבר זך אם לא יטהר מכתמיו‪ .‬ואפלטון אמר‪ :‬מי‬ ‫מתקנות‪ ,‬לא יוכל להתקרב אל דבר שבמדע‪ .‬וגם‬ ‫שאין מדות נפשו ֻ‬ ‫ִהפּוקרטס אמר על הסגֻלות הטבעיות‪ :‬הגופות אשר אינם טהורים –‬ ‫במדה שתוסיף לזון אותם‪ ,‬תוסיף לגרום להם רעה‪.‬‬

‫אכן‪ ,‬דברי אבן עזרא מקבלים אישורם ממה שהעיד אבן גבירול על עצמו בכמה‬ ‫עוּריו‪.‬‬ ‫וּב ַחר ַבּ ְתּבוּנָה ִמנְּ ָ‬ ‫משיריו‪ ,‬כגון בשיר ' ֲאנִ י ָה ִאישׁ ֲא ֶשׁר ִשׁנֵּס ֲאזוֹרוֹ' )קצג; קב(‪ָ 4:‬‬

‫‪5‬‬

‫‪ 1‬שמחוני תרפ''א‪/‬ג‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ .217‬עד היום חיבורו של שמחוני שנתפרסם בשלושה פרקים‬ ‫גדולים בכתב העת 'התקופה' הוא המחקר המקיף והחשוב ביותר על אבן גבירול‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 2‬התרגום כאן על פי שמחוני תרפ"א‪/‬ג‪ ,‬כרך י‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ .152–151‬לתרגום הלפר ראו אבן‬ ‫עזרא תרפ"ד‪ ,‬עמ' סט–ע; ולתרגום הלקין – אבן עזרא תשל"ה‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.71–69‬‬ ‫‪ 3‬שמחוני )שם‪ ,‬הערה ‪ (2‬מציין שבמקור הערבי בכ"י בודליאנה‪ ,‬שבו השתמש לצורך‬ ‫תרגומו‪ ,‬כתוב 'אנתקאיהא'‪ ,‬ובנ"א 'ארתקאיהא' שתרגומה‪ :‬אחרי אשר התרוממה‪ .‬הלקין‬ ‫קרא 'נקאהא'‪ ,‬בלא ציון נוסח אחר‪ ,‬ותרגם‪ :‬נקה אותה; וכן תרגם הלפר‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 4‬הציון הראשון בתוך הסוגריים מכוון לסימן השיר במהדורת בראדי‪-‬שירמן )אבן‬ ‫גבירול תשל"ה( ואלו הציון השני לסימנו במהדורת ירדן )אבן גבירול תשמ"ה(; וכן בכל‬ ‫מקום להלן‪ .‬נוסח השירים בדרך כלל על פי מהדורת בראדי‪-‬שירמן‪ ,‬אך לעתים סטיתי מן‬ ‫הניקוד במהדורה זו‪.‬‬

‫כג‬

‫ שירי מצבה של משה זכות‬:‫הן עתה תהיה על בתי אבן‬

‫כא‬

Sárraga, M. and Sárraga, R.F. “Early Links between Amsterdam, Hamburg and Italy: Epitaphs from Hamburg’s Sephardic Century,” Studia Rosenthaliana 34 (2000) 23–55 Weinstein, R. “The Storied Stones of Altona: Biblical Imagery on Sefardic Tombstones at the Jewish Cemetery of Altona-Königstrasse, Hamburg,” in Die Sefarden in Hamburg, ed. M. Studemund-Halévy, Hamburg 1997, vol. 2, 551–66

‫דבורה ברגמן‬

‫כ‬

‫אפפלבוים אבא‪ ,‬משה זכות‪ ,‬לבוב תרפ"ו‬ ‫ברגמן דבורה )עורכת(‪ ,‬צרור זהובים‪ ,‬סונטים עבריים מתקופת הרינסאנס‬ ‫והבארוק‪ ,‬ירושלים ‪1998‬‬ ‫ברגמן דבורה‪ ,‬עמימות ובהירות בתפתה ערוך למשה זכות‪ ,‬פעמים ‪) 96‬תשס"ג( ‪–35‬‬ ‫‪52‬‬ ‫ברגמן דבורה‪ ,‬שביל הזהב‪ ,‬הסונט העברי בתקופת הרינסנס והבארוק‪ ,‬ירושלים‬ ‫‪1995‬‬ ‫ברגמן דבורה‪ ,‬שירי חתונה למשה זכות‪ ,‬תעודה ‪358–341 (2002) 19‬‬ ‫ברגמן דבורה‪ ,‬תפילה הגות ומוסר בסוניט העברי הקדום‪ ,‬אסופות ד )תש"נ( ‪–189‬‬ ‫‪201‬‬ ‫ברגמן דבורה‪ ,‬שירי חתונה למשה זכות‪ ,‬פעמים ‪) 96‬תשס"ג( ‪162–143‬‬ ‫ברגמן דבורה‪ ,‬שפע טל – עיונים במחשבת ישראל ובתרבות יהודית מוגשים לברכה‬ ‫זק‪ ,‬באר שבע ‪396–379 ,2004‬‬ ‫ברלינער אברהם‪ ,‬לוחות אבנים‪ ,‬כנסת ישראל ‪586–573 (1881) 3‬‬ ‫ברנשטיין שמעון‪ ,‬דיוואן לר' עמנואל פראנשיס‪ ,‬תל אביב תרצ"ב‬ ‫דיקמן אבינדב‪ ,‬שירת הכוכבים‪ ,‬אנתולוגיה משירת ספרת במאה הי"ז‪ ,‬ירושלים‬ ‫‪1996‬‬ ‫זכות משה‪ ,‬ספר תפתה ערוך‪ ,‬כרוך עם "עדן ערוך" לדניאל יעקב אולמו‪ ,‬ונציה ‪1742‬‬ ‫מלכיאל דוד‪ ,‬שירי מצבות מצפון איטליה במאות הט"ז והי"ז‪ ,‬פעמים ‪99–98‬‬ ‫)תשס"ד( ‪154–121‬‬ ‫סימונסון שלמה‪ ,‬תולדות היהודים בדוכסות מנטובה‪ ,‬ירושלים ‪ ,1964‬כרך ב'‬ ‫פרץ אבנר‪ ,‬ברק פז‪ 87 ,‬סונטים ספרדיים מן הברוק‪ ,‬באר שבע ‪2004‬‬ ‫רות אברהם נ"צ‪ ,‬על תוכניות העלייה של ר' משה זכות ותלמידו ר' בנימין הכהן‬ ‫בשנת ת"מ" ציון ‪149–146 (1950) 15‬‬ ‫שד''ל‪ ,‬אבני זיכרון‪ ,‬פראג ‪1841‬‬ ‫שירמן חיים‪ ,‬לתולדות השירה והדרמה העברית‪ ,‬ירושלים ‪ ,1979‬כרך ב'‬ ‫‪Berliner, A. Lukhoth Avanim: Hebräische Grabschriften in Italien, ed. J.‬‬ ‫‪Kaufmann, Frankfurt a.M. 1881‬‬ ‫‪Bernstein, S. Luhot Abanim, Part II, Hebrew Union College Annual 10‬‬ ‫‪(1935) 483–552‬‬ ‫‪Brombacher, J.A. “Poetry on Gravestones: Poetry by the 17th-Century‬‬ ‫‪Portuguese Rabbi Solomon de Oliveyra found in the Jewish Cemetery‬‬ ‫‪at Ouderkerk aan de Amstel,” Dutch Jewish History 2 (1989) 153–165‬‬ ‫‪Cohen, J.M. The Baroque Lyric, London 1963‬‬ ‫‪Enright, D.J. (ed.) The Oxford book of Death, Oxford 1983‬‬ ‫‪Guthke, K.S. “Laughter in the Cemetery, Stories Told by Epitaphs,” Fabola‬‬ ‫‪43 (2002) 196–225‬‬ ‫)‪Kaufmann, D. “Echogedichte,” Zeitschift für Hebräische Bibliographie 1 (1896‬‬ ‫‪22–25, 61–64, 114–117, 144–147‬‬ ‫‪Maraval, J.A. Culture of the Baroque, Translated by Terry Cocheran, Theory‬‬ ‫‪and History of Literature 25, Manchester 1983‬‬

‫יט‬

‫הן עתה תהיה על בתי אבן‪ :‬שירי מצבה של משה זכות‬

‫מובלעות‪ ,‬כחנוקות‪ ,‬בסופי טורים ‪ 3‬ו‪" :4‬נפשי‪ ,‬נפשי‪ ,‬הני‪-‬חה נא ‪ /‬ראש כסליו אף‬ ‫צור בי חנה"‪ .‬כך גם פעמיים רצופות בטורה אחרון‪ .‬רק בסיומו של זה מתמלט‪,‬‬ ‫לבסוף‪ ,‬שם המתה‪ ,‬חד משמעי ומפורש‪" :‬במנו‪-‬חה נ‪-‬חה נא חנה"‪ 48.‬החזרה‬ ‫מזכירה קינה קדומה‪" :‬בני אבשלום‪ ,‬בני בני אבשלום‪ ,‬מי יתן מותי אני תחתיך‪,‬‬ ‫אבשלום בני בני" )ש''ב יט‪ ,‬א(‪.‬‬

‫במרחב הבארוקי‬ ‫המספר המדהים של שירי המצבה מעיד כתשעים עדים על הלך נפשו של הרמ"ז‬ ‫כמשורר בארוקי‪ ,‬האחוז באובססיביות בתודעת המוות‪ .49‬כאילו לא הספיק לו כורח‬ ‫המציאות‪ ,‬חיבר גם כמה שירי מצבה עם ייעוד כללי "למצבת אדם גדול" וכדומה‪.‬‬ ‫אולי הכין אותם מראש למקרה הצורך ואולי מצא בז'אנר כלי יעיל להבעת‬ ‫הרהורים על המוות‪ .‬מכל מקום נראה שלא שבע מכתוב שירי מצבה‪ .‬הדבר עולה‬ ‫בקנה אחד עם הפופולאריות של הז'אנר בשירת הבארוק האירופאית‪ 50.‬התאורים‬ ‫הרבים של אימי הקבר נוסכים בשיריו אלו קדרות שהחוקרים מאפיינים בה את‬ ‫שירת הבארוק הספרדי והצרפתי‪ .‬הוא הדין למומנט הביזארי‪ ,‬המקאברי שהזכרנו‪,‬‬ ‫והוא הדין לשימוש בהדים החביב על משוררי התקופה‪ 51.‬רמ"ז הפליא לעשות‬ ‫בהדים‪ .‬הוא כתב שירי הד‪ ,‬שיבץ טורי הד בשירים שונים‪ 52,‬ובתפתה ערוך יצר‬ ‫בעזרתם נקודת מפנה מרשימה של ההתפתחות הדראמטית‪ 53.‬אבל יש גם נטיות‬ ‫בארוקיות שהרמ"ז הסתייג מהן בשיריו אלו‪ .‬משוררים בארוקיים כתבו שירי‬ ‫מצבה פיקטיביים בנימה אירונית‪ .‬באלה התפרסם אצלנו עמנואל פראנשיס‪ 54.‬לא כן‬ ‫הרמ"ז‪ .‬לא איש כמוהו יתלוצץ בנושא המוות‪ .‬שירים בארוקיים רבים‪ ,‬ושירי רמ"ז‬ ‫בכלל‪ ,‬מציירים לא פעם עולם מסובך ומגרים להתחקות על סודותיו‪ .‬נזכיר‪,‬‬ ‫לדוגמה‪ ,‬את חידותיו המפורסמות‪ .‬שירי המצבה שלו מתרחקים מכל תהיה‬ ‫ָחי‬ ‫אַך ִבּיסוֹד סוֹד צוּר ָרם ו ַ‬ ‫ָחי‪ְ / .‬‬ ‫אָדם ו ַ‬ ‫ושאלה‪" :‬שׁוּרוּ‪ ,‬שׁוּרוּ‪ ,‬אַל ִתּ ְרגָעוּ‪ִ / ,‬ל ֵתּן ֶאל ֵלב ָ‬ ‫‪55‬‬ ‫– ‪ /‬סוּרוּ‪ ,‬סוּרוּ‪ ,‬אַל ִתּגָּעוּ"‪.‬‬

‫ביבליוגראפיה‬ ‫כ"י מוסקבה‪ ,‬אוסף גינצבורג ‪1448‬‬ ‫כ"י האג )עץ חיים( ‪) 47A 32‬סרט ‪ 38538‬במכון לצילומי כתבי יד(‬ ‫כ"י פרדס משה )סרט ‪(42356‬‬ ‫כ"י קאופמן ‪) 459‬סרט ‪(12592‬‬ ‫‪ 48‬על זיקת חרוז ההד לנושא המוות ולקינה ראה קאופמן )גרמנית(‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 49‬ראה מרוואל )אנגלית(‪ ,‬בעיקר פרק ‪ ;8‬כהן )אנגלית(‪ ,‬בעיקר פרק ‪.2‬‬ ‫‪ 50‬ראו תרגומים לעברית מן השירה הצרפתית‪ :‬דיקמן‪ ,‬עמ' ‪,440 ,406 ,384 ,276 ,236‬‬ ‫‪ ;526 ,480‬מן הספרדית‪ :‬פרץ‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.125 ,29‬‬ ‫‪ 51‬חרוזי הד ושירי הד ממלאים תפקיד מעניין בשירה העברית למן המאה הי"ג ועד‬ ‫היום‪ .‬אני דנה בנושא זה במבוא לספרי אשא את לבבי – ‪ 200‬שירים מאת משה זכות‪,‬‬ ‫ירושלים )בדפוס(‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 52‬רובם ככולם עדיין בכתב יד‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 53‬ראה ברגמן‪' ,‬עמימות ובהירות'‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 54‬ראה ברנשטיין‪ ,‬דיוואן לר' עמנואל פראנשיס‪ .‬שירי מצבה שלו תורגמו לאנגלית‬ ‫ופורסמו עם שירי מצבה משפות שונות – ראה אנרייט )אנגלית(‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ 313‬והלאה‪ .‬על תת‪-‬‬ ‫ז'אנר זה ראה גוטקה )אנגלית(‪ .‬תודתי לתלמידתי יעל חזן שהפנתה אותי למקור זה‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 55‬לעיל הערה ‪.15‬‬

‫דבורה ברגמן‬

‫יח‬

‫נחלץ הצדיק‪ .‬ההפלגה בשבח המת באמצעות תאורי הקבר החיוביים והשליליים‬ ‫מצילה את השיר מרשימת שבחים שבלונית ומהלכת שיממון‪ ,‬ומוסיפה נופך של‬ ‫מקוריות אם גם ביזארית ומקאברית לאיפיונים מסורתיים של שיר המצבה‪ .‬כך‬ ‫הכינוי "איש חי" הניתן דרך קבע לצדיק המת מסתבר לאורם של תאורי הקבר‬ ‫כמעט כפשוטו‪ .‬הטעון הקונבנציונאלי "בכו לאבלים ולא לאבדה" מתאשר לא רק‬ ‫מהסתופפות הצדיק בעדן‪ ,‬אלא גם משהותו בארמון‪-‬קברו‪ ,‬וכדומה‪ .‬באופן זה‬ ‫ההזהרה שמזהיר רמ"ז את החיים‪ ,‬באמצעות אימי הקבר‪ ,‬מתבססת‪ ,‬לדידו‪ ,‬לא על‬ ‫דימיון סרק אלא על מסורת מקודשת‪ .‬והיא משכנעת‪ ,‬מפני שהיא משדרת את‬ ‫חרדתו וענוותו של המשורר הבטוח שחבריו הנספים יזכו ברוב צדקתם בשלוות‬ ‫הקבר אך מסופק אם בבוא יומו יזכה לכך בעצמו‪.‬‬

‫בגבול הז'אנר‬ ‫שירי המצבה של רמ"ז מאוחדים למדי בסגנון שנסיתי לתאר‪ .‬על הרקע הסגנוני‬ ‫האחיד בולט שיר המצבה שלו על חנה בתו בייחודו‪ .‬להבדיל מרוב השירים‪ ,‬בו‬ ‫הדובר איננו המשורר‪-‬המדווח המרוחק במדה מסויימת מן הסיטואציה‪ ,‬גם לא‬ ‫הקבר ולא המת‪ ,‬אלא האב השכול‪ ,‬הממלא את חלל השיר בצערו‪ .‬מציאות הקבר‬ ‫עם הציון המדגיש את נוכחותה "פה" נעדרים‪ .‬הטפת המוסר נעדרת גם היא‪ .‬בזה‪,‬‬ ‫כמו בגורמים אחרים‪ ,‬עומד השיר בגבול שבין שיר המצבה לקינה‪ .‬נתבונן בו מקרוב‪.‬‬ ‫‪1‬‬

‫‪5‬‬

‫מצבת בתי היקרה תנצב''ה‬ ‫ֵהן ַע ָתּה ִתּ ְהיֶה ַעל ִבּ ִתּי‬ ‫ֶא ֶבן – ִמ ִקּיר ִל ִבּי אָצוּר‪.‬‬ ‫יחה נָא!‬ ‫ַפ ִשׁי ַהנִּ ָ‬ ‫ַפ ִשׁי‪ ,‬נ ְ‬ ‫נְ‬ ‫רֹאשׁ ִכּ ְס ֵליו אַף צוּר ִבּי ָחנָה‪,‬‬ ‫יתי‪,‬‬ ‫אַחת ֵבּ ִ‬ ‫ִבּ ְשׁנַת ָח ֵסר ַ‬ ‫יתי‪.‬‬ ‫ֶח ַסר ֵבּ ִ‬ ‫אַחת י ְ‬ ‫ִכּי ָה ַ‬ ‫גּוּפהּ ָעצוּר ַתּ ַחת ַהצּוּר‪,‬‬ ‫ָ‬ ‫רוּחהּ אָצוּר ַתּ ַחת ַהצּוּר‪.‬‬ ‫ָ‬ ‫ָחה נָא ַחנָּה‪.‬‬ ‫נוּחה נ ָ‬ ‫ִבּ ְמ ָ‬

‫נוּעה‬ ‫וּצ ָ‬ ‫ידה‪ ,‬יְ ָק ָרה ְ‬ ‫ֵא ֶלּה שׁוּרוֹת ִתּ ְשׁ ָעה ְלאָב ַהנִּ ְכאָב‪ַ ,‬על ָצ ַרת ַה ַבּת ַהיְּ ִח ָ‬ ‫שיר זה בלבד‪ ,‬מכל השירים‪ ,‬נחרז בחריזה יוצאת דופן וניצוק במתכונת לא‬ ‫שגרתית בת ‪ 9‬טורים‪ .‬שורת החתימה רומזת לכפל‪-‬השתמעותה של זו האחרונה‪:‬‬ ‫תשעה לאב החודש‪ ,‬יום חורבן בית המקדש‪ ,‬וגם תשעה לאב שכול ויום חורבן ביתו‬ ‫שלו‪ .‬בית האב מופיע בגוף השיר‪ ,‬בטורים ‪ 5‬ו‪ 6‬ומצטייר בטור ‪ 1‬ברמז לבר' מא‪ ,‬א‪:‬‬ ‫"הן אתה תהיה על ֵבּיתי"‪ .‬בתים מצטיירים בשירי מצבה של רמ"ז ושל אחרים‪,‬‬ ‫ובעיקר באלו שנועדו לקברי אמהות שבתיהם שממו במותן‪ .‬כאן הבית הוא בית‬ ‫האב‪ ,‬והוא מצטרף למבנה נוסף‪ ,‬אלגורי‪ ,‬שממנו נאצרה‪ ,‬כביכול‪ ,‬אבן המצבה –‬ ‫קיר‪-‬לבו‪" :‬הן עתה תהיה על בתי אבן‪ ,‬מקיר לבי אצור"‪ .‬סמיכות מטאפורית נדירה‬ ‫זו מפקיעה לפתע את המבע מן הריאליזם הבוטה‪ ,‬השורר ברוב שירי המצבה ואף‬ ‫בשיר זה עצמו‪ .‬כל אלה ממקדים את תשומת הלב לא במוסר ההשכל ‪ ,‬לא בשבחי‬ ‫המת ולא בכל ענין אחר מלבד השכול‪ .‬לרושם זה תורמת גם החריזה‪ ,‬שלעולם‬ ‫איננה יסוד נפרד מכלל המסר של הרמ"ז‪ .‬על פיה מתחלק השיר לארבע יחידות‬ ‫המהדהדות זו אחר זו כמקוננות‪ :‬אבג גא אב בג‪ .‬ועוד הדהוד‪ :‬ההברות " ָח" ו" ָנ"‬

‫יז‬

‫הן עתה תהיה על בתי אבן‪ :‬שירי מצבה של משה זכות‬

‫ידנִ י ְל ַבד ַה ֶקּ ֶבר! ‪ֵ /‬עת ֶא ְז ְכּ ֵרהוּ ָכּל ְשׂשׂוֹנַי גָּלוּ"‪ 43.‬אכן‪,‬‬ ‫ֶבר – ‪ /‬לֹא ֶה ֱח ִר ָ‬ ‫דּוֹדים‪ֲ ,‬אנִ י ַהגּ ֶ‬ ‫ִ‬ ‫גם שם מוזרים הם ולפעמים דומה שהם סומכים על דימיון עממי המייחס למת‬ ‫המוטל בקברו תחושות ורגשות‪.‬‬ ‫התמיהות יתיישבו אם נתפוס את שירי המצבה של רמ"ז כחלק מן המבע‬ ‫הפואטי שלו על המוות‪ ,‬ונסתייע ביצירתו הגדולה תפתה ערוך‪ .‬שירה דרמאטית‬ ‫זאת שעלילתה מתרחשת כולה במחילות הקבר נפתחת בפיסקה מנחה‪" :‬יְ סוּ ָדתוֹ‬ ‫]כלומר‪ ,‬יסודו של המחזה[ בהררי קודש דרז"ל‪ ,‬הנאמרים באמת במסכת גהינום על‬ ‫עניינו‪ ,‬והם אמרו כי מיד כשמושכים האנשים ידיהם מן הקבר שכבר כיסוהו כראוי‬ ‫תכף מתחיל דין חיבוט הקבר וחוזרים ומכניסים נפשו בקרבו על דרך שאמרו חז"ל‬ ‫בפסוק יקרא אל השמים מעל וגו'‪ ,‬וכמשל החיגר והסומא אשר על כן הסברא‬ ‫מכרעת כי ברגע היכנס הנפש אל תוכו יחזרו לו חושיו‪ 44."...‬אמונת חכמים זאת‬ ‫הייתה ידועה בוודאי למחברי שירי מצבה זולת רמ"ז אך עליו עשתה רושם עז‪.‬‬ ‫דומה שרק בשיריו‪ ,‬כמו בתפתה ערוך‪ ,‬היא ממלאת תפקיד כל כך יסודי ומעצב‪.‬‬ ‫לפיה‪ ,‬יורדי הקבר אינם זוכים להפרדה מיידית של הנפש מן הגוף ברגע הקבורה‪.‬‬ ‫יך‬ ‫יך ֶתּ ֱה ֶמה‪ָ ,‬ע ָפר‪ְ ,‬בּקוֹל ֵה ֶד ָ‬ ‫לכן גם צדיקים שבהם ערים וחשים בנוכחות הקבר‪ֵ " :‬א ְ‬ ‫ידי ֵאל ֲא ֶשׁר נִ ְפ ָקדוּ?"‪ 45.‬אך טיבו של הקבר משתנה בהתאם לטיבו של‬ ‫‪ַ /‬על ִפּי ְפּ ִק ֵ‬ ‫ָשׁ ֶבר‪ / .‬פֹּה ָל ְר ָשׁ ִעים‬ ‫ֲלי ַחיִּ ים ְבּ ָבר ו ֶ‬ ‫ַח ָלה גַּם ֶח ֶבל ‪ֶ /‬אל ַבּע ֵ‬ ‫נוּחת נ ֲ‬ ‫הנפטר‪" :‬זֹאת ִהיא ְמ ַ‬ ‫נוֹח‪ֶ / ,‬את‬ ‫ימים יִ ְמ ְצאוּ ָמ ַ‬ ‫ֻמּנִ ים ְכּ ָבר ַל ֶשּׁ ֶבר‪ / .‬פֹּה ַה ְתּ ִמ ִ‬ ‫ַח ָלה גַּם ֶח ֶבל ‪ִ /‬כּי ֵהם ְמז ָ‬ ‫נֲ‬ ‫ָה ֱאל ִֹהים ִה ְת ַה ֶלּ ְך נ ַֹח" )בר ושבר – תבואה‪ ,‬שכר וגמול(‪ 46.‬בעלי החיים – אלו‬ ‫הצדיקים הקרויים חיים אפילו במותם‪ ,‬וכזה הוא האיש נוח שעבורו נועדה המצבה‬ ‫– יזכו כבר בקבר עצמו לשלווה‪ .‬ואילו הרשעים‪ ,‬הקרויים מתים עוד בחייהם‪ ,‬ידונו‬ ‫למכה ניצחת‪ ,‬לחיבוט ולהיטלטלות "פה"‪ ,‬בקברם‪ ,‬עוד לפני שיגיעו אל שערי‬ ‫התפתה הערוך‪ .‬וברוח פירוש הזוהר לבראשית כו כא‪-‬כב‪ַ " :‬ה ָמּוְ ָתה ָח ַצב וּפֹה ָבּנָה ‪/‬‬ ‫ָאישׁ ְכּ ֶע ְר ֵכּהוּ‪ַ / :‬ל ֵמּת ְבּעוֹדוֹ ַחי ְשׁמוֹ ִשׂ ְטנָה‪ַ / ,‬ל ַחי ְבּיוֹם מוֹתוֹ ְרחוֹבוֹת‬ ‫בּוֹר בּוֹר ְל ִאישׁ ו ִ‬ ‫הוּא‪ָ / .‬כּ ָכה ְלנִ ְכ ָבּד זֶה ְלהוֹד ִה ְק ָנה ‪ָ /‬נוֶה‪ֲ ,‬א ֶשׁר נָאוֶה ְל ָנוֵהוּ"‪ 47.‬לפיכך‪ ,‬לנכבד הקבור‬ ‫פה‪ ,‬הקבר הוא נוה נאוה‪ .‬כינויים מופלגים של הקבר כמקום רווחה‪ ,‬כארמון‪,‬‬ ‫כמשכן בטוח וכדומה‪ ,‬אינם אלא דברי שבח למת‪ ,‬שזכה בצדקתו להיפטר מיסורי‬ ‫הקבר‪ ,‬לנוח בו בשלווה‪ ,‬ולהשתמר בו בכפל שמירה‪ :‬הנפש כפיקדון לזמן קצר‪ ,‬עד‬ ‫שתבוא שעתה לבוא לפני אלוהיה‪ ,‬והגוף עד שיבוא יומו לקום בתחיית המתים עם‬ ‫שאר ישני עפר‪ .‬גם תאורי הקבר המאיימים רומזים לשבח‪ ,‬כאומרים‪ :‬ראו ִממה‬ ‫‪ 43‬ברגמן‪ ,‬צרור זהובים‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ .41‬וראה גם ברגמן‪' ,‬תפילה הגות ומוסר'‪ ,‬עמ' קפט–רא‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 44‬על פי תה' נ‪ ,‬ד והמשל המובא במסכת סנהדרין צא ע''א–ב )ובמקומות נוספים(‪:‬‬ ‫"אמר ליה אנטונינוס לרבי‪ ,‬גוף ונשמה יכולין לפטור עצמן מן הדין‪ .‬כיצד? גוף אומר‪ ,‬נשמה‬ ‫חטאת‪ ,‬שמיום שפירשה ממני הריני מוטל כמת בקבר‪ .‬ונשמה אומרת‪ ,‬גוף חטא‪ ,‬שמיום‬ ‫שפירשתי ממנו הריני פורחת באויר כצפור‪ .‬אמר ליה‪ ,‬אמשל לך משל‪ ,‬למה הדבר דומה‪,‬‬ ‫למלך בשר ודם שהיה לו פרדס נאה והיה בו בכורות נאות והושיב בו שני שומרים‪ ,‬אחד חיגר‬ ‫ואחד סומא‪ .‬אמר לו חיגר לסומא‪ ,‬בכורות נאות אני רואה בפרדס‪ ,‬בא והרכיבני ונביאם‬ ‫לאכלם‪ .‬רכב חיגר על גבי סומא והביאום ואכלום‪ .‬לימים בא בעל הפרדס‪ .‬אמר להן‪ ,‬בכורות‬ ‫נאות היכן הן? אמר לו חיגר‪ ,‬כלום יש לי רגלים להלך בהן? אמר לו סומא‪ ,‬כלום יש לי עינים‬ ‫לראות? מה עשה‪ ,‬הרכיב חיגר על גבי סומא ודן אותן כאחד‪ .‬אף הקדוש ברוך הוא מביא‬ ‫נשמה וזורקה בגוף ודן אותם כאחד שנאמר‪ ,‬יקרא אל השמים מעל ואל הארץ לדין עמו"‪.‬‬ ‫העניין נזכר במסכת חבוט הקבר‪ ,‬פרק ב‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 45‬לעיל הערה ‪.27‬‬ ‫‪' 46‬אבן שתיה ואחוזת חבל'‪ ,‬ק ‪ ,111‬כ"י עץ חיים ע ע"א‪ ,‬כ"י האג ללא ציון עמודים‪ ,‬כ"י‬ ‫פרדס משה דף קט ע"א‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 47‬כ"י עץ חיים עב ע"ב‪ ,‬כ"י האג ללא ציון עמודים‪ ,‬כ"י פרדס משה דף קיז ע"א‪.‬‬

‫דבורה ברגמן‬

‫טז‬

‫ַב ַלע‪ / .‬פֹּה ַל ַחיִּ ים‬ ‫דּוֹדים ָע ָפר י ְ‬ ‫חיים ומתים‪" :‬פֹּה ַמ ְע ַמ ִקּים‪ֵ ,‬ע ֶמק ֶבּ ֶתר ‪ִ /‬כּי ֵבּין ִ‬ ‫אוֹתהּ‬ ‫אוֹתם ֵמ ֵעין ָכּל ַחי יִ ְב ַלע‪ / .‬פֹּה ַמ ֶצּ ֶבת ֶק ֶבר ֶא ְס ֵתּר‪ / ,‬פֹּה ֶה ָע ָפר ָ‬ ‫ַמ ְצפּוּן‪ֶ -‬ה ְס ֵתּר‪ָ / ,‬‬ ‫ָבּ ַלע"‪ 33.‬כינויי הקבר רבים ומהם שמזכירים מחוזות שוממים ואתרי פסולת‪" :‬גיא‬ ‫צלמות"‪" ,‬בטן ארורה"‪" ,‬עפר"‪" ,‬חול"‪" ,‬גוש"‪" ,‬גל"‪" ,‬תל"‪ .‬בדרכים שונות מודגש‬ ‫עומקו‪ :‬הוא " ֵעמק"‪" ,‬מעמקים"‪" ,‬גיא" "בור"‪" ,‬באר"‪" ,‬מערה"‪" ,‬חור"‪ .‬הקבר‬ ‫יך?"‪ 34.‬הוא‬ ‫יך ֶתּ ֱה ֶמה‪ָ ,‬ע ָפר‪ְ ,‬בּקוֹל ֵה ֶד ָ‬ ‫הוא מקום של סבל וצער לבאיו‪ .‬הוא רועש‪ֵ " :‬א ְ‬ ‫וּכ ִסיל וְ ֵאין בּוֹ ֶשׁ ֶבת" )עש – ממהר‪ ,‬עש – תולע‪,‬‬ ‫מלא תולעים נחפזות‪ָ " :‬עשׁ ָעשׁ ְכּ ָעשׁ ְ‬ ‫עש וכסיל – כוכבים (‪ 35.‬נוכחותו מוגברת בהאנשה וברשות‪-‬דיבור פואטית‪ :‬יש‬ ‫שהוא דובר השיר‪ ,‬יש שהוא נמען השיר‪ 36.‬הוא מתרברב בעצמתו‪" :‬יָגוּר ְבּ ִק ְר ִבּי גּוּר‪,‬‬ ‫תּוֹכי ַשׂר ָסר‬ ‫יאל הוּא"‪ 37.‬הוא " ֵאם ָכּל ָחי" הקמאית ואין מפלט ממנו לאיש‪ִ " :‬‬ ‫ֲא ִר ֵ‬ ‫‪38‬‬ ‫ֵמ ַרע"‪.‬‬ ‫הופעה כה אינטנסיבית של תאור הקבר תמוהה למדי בשירי מצבות שנועדו‬ ‫לקהל רואיהן ולמשפחות הנפטרים הזקוקות לנחמה ולאו דווקא לתאורי זוועה‪.‬‬ ‫ובכלל‪ ,‬מה טעם להתעסק במקום קבורתו של הגוף בשעה שהנפש עולה למעלה?‬ ‫ותמיהה על תמיהה‪ :‬בכמה משירי המצבה של רמ"ז מכונה הקבר בכינויים של‬ ‫רווחה‪ ,‬הוד וקדושה דווקא‪" :‬אולם"‪" ,‬דביר"‪" ,‬אחוזה נעימה"‪" ,‬עמק ברכה"‪,‬‬ ‫"משכן מבטח"‪" ,‬חלקה טובה"‪" ,‬באר מרים"‪ .‬ולהוציא ספק מלב‪ ,‬כל אלה מתארים‬ ‫מציאות ארצית או תת‪-‬ארצית‪ ,‬אשר על כן הם מלווים בציון "פה"‪ ,‬המתאר‪ ,‬כפי‬ ‫שאמרנו‪ ,‬את הקבר והמצבה‪ ,‬להבדיל מן המחוזות השמימיים שהנפש הולכת‬ ‫אַך ְבּ ֵע ֶדן ָשׁם נְ וָתוֹ" )נותו‬ ‫ֱלם פֹּה‪ְ /‬‬ ‫אליהם‪ ,‬והנרמזים במילה "שם"‪ִ " :‬אישׁ ֱאמוּנִ ים ֶנע ָ‬ ‫– נוהו‪ ,‬ביתו(‪" 39.‬פה" – בקבר‪" ,‬שם" – בשמים‪ .‬כך הנפטר דוד דה סילוה אומר‪:‬‬ ‫יוֹתי פֹּה – ַרק ָשׁם ִט ְב ִעי ֶא ְשׁמֹר; ‪ָ /‬שׁם ִלי ַתּ ְא ִציל ַ‬ ‫" ִבּ ְה ִ‬ ‫רוּח ָדּוִ ד ִמ ְזמוֹר"‪ 40.‬המשפט‬ ‫וּדרוֹר ‪ֵ /‬כּן אוֹתוֹ ֵאל ָקנָה‪ֵ ,‬עת פֹּה ָחנָה" נפתח בגן העדן‬ ‫עוֹלם ְ‬ ‫" ָשׁ ָמּה אוֹר ָח ְפ ִשׁיּוּת ָ‬ ‫ומסיים במציאות הקבר‪ 41.‬כאמור‪ ,‬הדברים תמוהים‪ .‬כיצד יכול אדם לראות בקבר‬ ‫"אחוזה נעימה" או "עמק ברכה"? אמת‪ ,‬שירי מצבה עבריים נקטו לעתים בכינויים‬ ‫מעין אלה כדי לשדר איזושהי האצלה של תכונות המת רב המעלה על סביבתו‪ .‬אבל‬ ‫הסבר זה דחוק לגבי הרמ"ז‪ ,‬המרבה כל כך בתאורים של אימי הקבר‪ .‬למעשה‬ ‫מוזרה היא הצגת הקבר עצמה כמקום רע או טוב‪ ,‬המניחה לכאורה שהמת חש‬ ‫ומרגיש‪ .‬ואמנם לפעמים מסתיעת ההנחה הזאת במלים‪" :‬אַל ִתּ ְר ְגּ ִזי – אַף ִכּי ְכּמוֹ‬ ‫אַתּ ֵלאָה"‪ 42.‬דומה שהמשורר מיחס למת רגשות רוגז ולאות‪,‬‬ ‫ָר ֵחל נִ ְמ ַס ְר ְתּ ֱא ֵלי ֶט ַבח‪ ,‬וְ ְ‬ ‫כאילו דובר באדם שלם‪ ,‬גוף ורוח‪ .‬תאורי קבר מחרידים מצאנו בשירי הטפה‬ ‫אוֹמ ָרה‪:‬‬ ‫יל ָך‪ ,‬יִ ְשׁאָלוּ‪ָ ,‬ו ְ‬ ‫ומוסר‪ .‬כך‪ ,‬למשל‪ ,‬בסונט של עמנואל הרומי‪ִ " :‬מי ַבּ ְזּ ַמן ִה ְב ִה ְ‬

‫‪ 33‬ק ‪ .111‬לשיר הזה‪ ,‬אשר שמש לאבן מצבה בהמבורג‪ ,‬ראו סרגה )אנגלית(‪ ,‬עמ' ‪,33‬‬ ‫בעיוות התבנית וללא זהוי המחבר‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 34‬לעיל הערה ‪.27‬‬ ‫‪' 35‬הא מת ליעקב'‪ ,‬ק ‪.102‬‬ ‫‪' 36‬תוכי שר סר מרע'‪ ,‬לעיל הערה ‪' ;19‬איך תהמה עפר'‪ ,‬לעיל הערה ‪.27‬‬ ‫‪ 37‬כ"י עץ חיים דף סט ע"א‪ ,‬כ"י פרדס משה דף קו ע"א‪.‬‬ ‫‪' 38‬אל אם כל חי' ק ‪ ,110‬כ''י עץ חיים דף עא ע"ב‪ ,‬כ''י האג ללא ציון עמודים‪ ,‬כ''י פרדס‬ ‫משה דף קיד ע"א; לעיל הערה ‪.19‬‬ ‫‪ 39‬ק ‪.109‬‬ ‫‪' 40‬אף כי קרב קצי'‪ ,‬כ"י עץ חיים דף עג ע"א‪ ,‬כ"י פרדס משה דף קיח ע"ב‪.‬‬ ‫‪' 41‬מה רב ישיש הלז'‪ ,‬ק ‪.112‬‬ ‫‪ 42‬ק ‪.111‬‬

‫טו‬

‫הן עתה תהיה על בתי אבן‪ :‬שירי מצבה של משה זכות‬

‫מצוות ומעשים טובים‪ ,‬אותה צידה שהצטיידה בה הנפש להגנתה ביום הדין‪ַ " :‬רב‬ ‫ָל ְק ָטה גַּם ִכּי ְז ַמן ִמ ֵע ָטה"‪ 20.‬סיפור השבחים שיש בו מן הכללי והשבלוני מתגוון‬ ‫בעזרת פרטים ביוגראפיים קונקרטיים חד פעמיים‪ְ " :‬כּ ֶכ ֶסף ְבּ ַמ ְצ ֵרף ֲהלֹא ָהיְ ָתה ִהיא‬ ‫ֶיה";‪ְ " 22‬ל ַרב נִ ְס ָמ ְך‬ ‫רוּפה‪ְ ,‬בּחוּנָה";‪ַ " 21‬דּ'' ְך ִל ְשׁ ָבט ֵכּן ָע ְז ָבה ִשׁ ְב ַעת ָבּנ ָ‬ ‫‪ְ /‬בּ ֵאשׁ ָה ֲאנָחוֹת ְצ ָ‬ ‫ֵעת שׁוּבוֹ פֹּה"‪ ,‬כלומר‪ ,‬נסמך לרב אחרי מותו‪ 23.‬כך נוסך רמ"ז בשירי המצבה שלו‬ ‫ֶחמוֹת ִלי ‪/‬‬ ‫נוֹתן נ ָ‬ ‫יסוד אנושי חי ונוגע ללב‪ ,‬ובדובבו את המת‪ ,‬גם מקאברי‪" :‬צוּר פֹּה ֵ‬ ‫‪25‬‬ ‫ָחישׁ נ ַֹחם ֶאל ֵאם ָואָב ‪ /‬דּוֹוִ ים ִלי ִמ ֶשּׁנִּ ְכנָס אָב"‪ֶ " 24,‬בּן ְשׁמוֹנֶה פֹּה ְבּבוֹר ָשׁ ַק ְט ִתּי"‪.‬‬ ‫יִ‬ ‫כמובן‪ ,‬גן העדן מופיע בשירים ומצטייר כמקום הגמול הטוב והמנוחה הנכונה‪,‬‬ ‫ֲדי‬ ‫ֲרוּכה ‪ /‬ע ֵ‬ ‫רוּחהּ ע ָ‬ ‫ֲדנָיו ְל ָ‬ ‫אוֹרת ע ָ‬ ‫וכבית פיקדון לנפש המת‪ ,‬עד לתחיית המתים‪" :‬וְ ַ‬ ‫ֶשׁם"‪ 27.‬ובניחוח‬ ‫קוּדה"‪ 26.‬אז‪ ,‬כידוע‪" ,‬יִ ְחיוּ ְבּ ַטל אוֹרוֹת ְבּיוֹם ַהגּ ֶ‬ ‫יוֹם ְתּ ֻח ַדּשׁ ְתּ ִהי ָשׁם ְפּ ָ‬ ‫ָתן"‪ ,‬כלומר‪ ,‬המקובל הידוע ר' נתן שפירא יתקן‬ ‫תּוֹך‪ְ -‬שׂמֹאל נ ַ‬ ‫ָמיר ַה ְ‬ ‫קבלי‪" :‬וְ ַל ֵקּץ י ִ‬ ‫באחרית הימים את העולמות ויבטל את הגיהינום מעיקרו‪ 28.‬כמקובל‪ ,‬רמ"ז פונה‬ ‫אל העוברים על פני הקבר‪ ,‬ומזמין אותם להיות מודעים למוות‪ ,‬ולהסיק ממנו על‬ ‫ָחי"‪ 29.‬הוא רומז לביטוי‬ ‫אָדם ו ַ‬ ‫התנהגותם‪" :‬שׁוּרוּ‪ ,‬שׁוּרוּ‪ ,‬אַל ִתּ ְרגָּעוּ‪ִ / ,‬ל ֵתּן ֶאל ֵלב ָ‬ ‫הקונבנצינאלי של ציוני הקבר "פה נקבר" כשהוא חוזר על המלה "פה" בפתיחות‬ ‫ובתוך השירים‪ ,‬ומבליט אותה באנאפורות‪ ,‬כמו שמצאנו ב"תפתה ערוך"‪ 30,‬להגברת‬ ‫רושם נוכחות המוות‪.‬‬ ‫השירים מעוצבים בשקילה המקובלת ומאורגנים במבני חריזה מקובלים‬ ‫בשירה העברית באיטליה‪ ,‬אמנם בגיוון מיוחד במינו‪ :‬מבנים מוברחי חרוז לצד‬ ‫‪31‬‬ ‫אוקטאבות‪ ,‬ססטינות‪ ,‬קווארטינות וסונטים‪.‬‬

‫תאורי הקבר‬ ‫שירי מצבה עבריים אינם מתעלמים מן המימד הפיסי של הקבר והמצבה‪ ,‬אבל‬ ‫רמ"ז מרבה בתאוריו‪ ,‬מפרט‪ ,‬ומייחס לו חשיבות‪ .‬שירו מתיחס למיקום של הקבר‪.‬‬ ‫מוּך‬ ‫אָביו ָס ְ‬ ‫ֶטע נִ ְג ַדּע נִ ְס ַמ ְך ֶאל ִע ָקּרוֹ ‪ֶ ... /‬אל ִ‬ ‫כשבן נקבר ליד אביו הוא מציין זאת‪" :‬נ ַ‬ ‫ֻמ ְכ ָרת"‪ 32,‬רמז למונחי הדקדוק "נסמך" ו"נפרד" ולאבסורד של הקירוב והריחוק‬ ‫הטוטאלי‪ ,‬המתקיימים בו בזמן‪ ,‬בו במקום‪ .‬לעתים קרובות מתואר הקבר כמקום‬ ‫מפחיד‪ ,‬כלוע בולע ‪ ,‬כבור המצפין את באיו מעין כל חי ומפריד אותם מאהובים‪,‬‬ ‫‪' 20‬אבן יקרה זאת'‪ ,‬ברגמן‪ ,‬צרור זהובים‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.294‬‬ ‫‪' 21‬אחוזה נעימה'‪ ,‬ק ‪.110‬‬ ‫‪' 22‬אשת חיל כתר בעלה היתה'‪ ,‬לעיל הערה ‪.11‬‬ ‫‪' 23‬גבר תמים הושב עד כה'‪ ,‬ק ‪.109‬‬ ‫‪' 24‬שורו שורו אל תרגעו'‪ ,‬לעיל הערה ‪.15‬‬ ‫‪' 25‬בי שם שמואל יעקב יזריח'‪ ,‬ק ‪.111‬‬ ‫‪' 26‬בבוא ללבנה'‪ ,‬ק ‪ .112‬השיר נדפס בלוחות אבנים שערך אברהם ברלינער ופרסם‬ ‫שמעון ברנשטיין‪ .‬ברנשטיין העלה על נס שני שירי מצבה של רמ"ז שהדפיס שם‪ ,‬אך נעלם‬ ‫ממנו שגם שיר זה הוא מפרי עטו של "המשורר המפורסם"‪ .‬ראה ברנשטיין )אנגלית(‪ ,‬עמ'‬ ‫‪.538 ,485‬‬ ‫‪' 27‬איך תהמה עפר'‪ ,‬ברגמן‪ ,‬צרור זהובים‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.296‬‬ ‫‪' 28‬עלה ראש חודש זיו'‪ ,‬כ''י עץ חיים דף עג ע"א‪ ,‬כ''י פרדס משה דף קח ע"ב‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 29‬לעיל הערה ‪.15‬‬ ‫‪ 30‬ראה שם‪ ,‬סטרופות קכט–קלא‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 31‬לסונטים כשירי מצבה‪ ,‬ראה ברגמן‪ ,‬צרור זהובים‪ ,‬עמ' ‪,293 ,191 ,190 ,189 ,188 ,186‬‬ ‫‪ ;296 ,295 ,294‬שביל הזהב‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.201‬‬ ‫‪' 32‬גם כי מות יפריד'‪ ,‬כ''י עץ חיים דף עב ע''ב‪ ,‬כ''י פרדס משה דפים ע ע''ב‪ ,‬קטו ע''ב‪.‬‬

‫דבורה ברגמן‬

‫יד‬

‫שאשתו נקראה אסתר וכי "נפטרה י"ו למנחם‪ ,‬שנת קד"ש לה'"‪ ,‬כלומר בשנת ‪.1679‬‬ ‫הדברים עולים בקנה אחד עם אגרת משנת ‪ 1680‬שבה מסכם הרמ"ז את הסיבות‬ ‫שהביאו לביטול תוכניותיו לעלות לארץ ישראל‪ ,‬ומציין את חוליה של אשתו‬ ‫בתוכם‪ 5.‬בתוכן ש' סימונסון מביא עדויות המראות שבמותו הניח רמ"ז אלמנה‬ ‫‪6‬‬ ‫בשם רחל ותוהה – כנראה משום גילה הצעיר של זו – אם הייתה אשתו השנייה‪.‬‬ ‫מסתבר אפוא ללא ספק שכך הדבר‪.‬‬ ‫'הן עתה תהיה על בתי אבן'‪ 7‬המובא להלן‪ ,‬מלמד שהיתה לו בת שנקראה חנה‪,‬‬ ‫וכי נפטרה לעולמה "בשנת חסר אחת ביתי"‪ ,‬כלומר שנה אחת לפני בית"י‪ ,‬היינו‬ ‫‪ ,1661‬בעוד אמה בחיים‪ .‬מחתימת השיר מסתבר שזאת היתה בתו היחידה‪ .‬והנה‪,‬‬ ‫במסמך בכתיבת ידו‪ ,‬שצילומו הגיע זה לא כבר אל בית הספרים הלאומי בירושלים‬ ‫מן הספרייה הלאומית של מוסקבה‪ 8‬רשם המשורר‪" :‬בתי יהודית נולדה ביום שבת‬ ‫קודש ט' לניסן שנת השצ"ט‪... ,‬יגדליה השם לעבודתו ותהיה אשת חייל‪ ,‬אכי"ר"‪.‬‬ ‫נראה אפוא שיהודית היא הבת היחידה שנוסף לה השם חנה בחוליה כסגולה‬ ‫לרפואה‪ .‬אם כן‪ ,‬יהודית‪-‬חנה הייתה בת ‪ 22‬במותה‪ .‬מתאריך לידת הבת שרשם‬ ‫רמ"ז יוצא‪ ,‬כמו כן‪ ,‬שרמ"ז נולד לא בשנת ‪ ,1625‬כפי שקבעו ברלינער ואחרים‬ ‫‪9‬‬ ‫בעקבותיו‪ ,‬אלא לפני כן‪ ,‬וכנראה סמוך אחרי ‪ 1610‬כפי שטען א' אפפלפבוים‪.‬‬ ‫כמקובל‪ ,‬רמ"ז משלב את שמות הנפטרים בפסוקים מן הכתובים‪ ,‬וכך חולק‬ ‫ַתּ ָלּ ַקח ֶא ְס ֵתּר ֶאל ֵבּית ַה ֶמּ ֶל ְך"‪ 11.‬לעתים‬ ‫להם כבוד‪" .‬וַיְ ִהי ָדוִ ד ָבּא ַעד ָהרֹאשׁ"‪" 10,‬ו ִ‬ ‫קרובות הוא מביא את השם עם פסוקו בסוף השיר‪ ,‬מקום שבו נפרד הקורא מן‬ ‫אָבל מן הנפטר‪ .‬תאריך הפטירה‬ ‫הטקסט‪ ,‬עובר הדרך האקראי מאבן המצבה‪ ,‬וְ ָה ֵ‬ ‫נתון גם הוא בכסות לשונית מושאלת‪ ,‬שיש בה משום נחמה‪ ,‬והרומזת לעתים‬ ‫ֵרהּ ָכּ ָב ָתה"‪ִ " 12,‬בּ ְשׁנַת‬ ‫קרובות להשארות הנפש של הנפטר‪ִ " :‬בּ ְשׁנַת זָיִ "ת ַ‬ ‫אוֹרת נ ָ‬ ‫ְשׂחוֹ"ק ָהיְ ָתה ְפּ ִר ָ‬ ‫יד ֶת ָך"‪ִ " 13,‬בּ ְשׁנַת אוֹ"ת ֵמת – ַו ֶיּ ִחי ַי ֲעקֹב"‪ִ " 14,‬בּ ְשׁנַת ַח ַי"ת ִכּי לֹא‬ ‫מוֹת ִלי"‪ 15.‬יסודות תלמודיים שהשתגרו בקינות באיטליה ובמקומות אחרים‬ ‫ָפ ָלה ַשׁ ְל ֶה ֶבת ‪ַ /‬מה ַיּעֲשׂוּ ֵאזוֹב‬ ‫ניכרים גם הם בשירי המצבה של רמ"ז‪ִ " :‬אם ָבּ ֲא ַר ִזים נ ְ‬ ‫‪17‬‬ ‫אָב ִלים וְ לֹא ָל ֲא ֵב ָדה"‪.‬‬ ‫ַחוֹח? ‪ָ ... /‬שׁוִ ים ְבּ ִמ ְק ָרם ֵהם ְבּגֵיא ַצ ְל ָמוֶת"‪ְ " 16,‬בּכוּ ָל ֵ‬ ‫וְ קוֹץ ו ַ‬ ‫כצפוי‪ ,‬רמ"ז מתאר את אבלה של הקהילה על מנהיגיה‪ ,‬וכצפוי פחות‪ ,‬את‬ ‫האבל הציבורי " ַעל ֵא ֵשת ֵחן‪ ,‬הוֹד וְ ִהלּוּל"‪ 18.‬כמובן מאליו אין שבחי המת נעדרים‪:‬‬ ‫ָשׁרוֹ ‪... /‬עֹז ָדּת – ִק ְריַת ֵחילוֹ"‪ 19‬וכיוצא בזה‬ ‫ָתן ָל ֶא ְביוֹנִ ים‪ֵ .‬חילוֹ‪ָ ,‬ע ְשׁרוֹ – י ְ‬ ‫" ִפּזַּר נ ַ‬ ‫‪ 5‬רות‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.147‬‬ ‫‪ 6‬סימונסון‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.517‬‬ ‫‪ 7‬כ"י קאופמן‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ .109‬זהו אוטגראף של רמ"ז‪ ,‬ויסומן להלן בקיצור ק‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 8‬ראה כ"י מוסקבה‪ .‬הערת רמ"ז רשומה בשער כתב היד‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 9‬ראה אפפלבוים‪ ,‬עמ' ה–ז‪ ,‬וגם את הערך 'משה זכות' באנציקלופדיה העברית‪ ,‬למשל‪.‬‬ ‫‪' 10‬אולם ודביר אל שר וגביר'‪ ,‬כ"י עץ חיים דף עג ע''ב‪ ,‬כ"י פרדס משה דף קיט ע"א‪.‬‬ ‫‪' 11‬אשת חיל כתר בעלה היתה'‪ ,‬ק ‪.110‬‬ ‫‪' 12‬אשת חיל כתר בעלה היתה'‪ ,‬ק ‪. 110‬‬ ‫‪' 13‬אבן יקרה זאת'‪ ,‬ברגמן‪ ,‬צרור זהובים‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.294‬‬ ‫‪' 14‬איש תם יושב אהל שם'‪ ,‬ק ‪.109‬‬ ‫‪' 15‬שורו שורו אל תרגעו'‪ ,‬ק ‪.109‬‬ ‫‪ 16‬כ"י עץ חיים דף סט ע"א‪ ,‬כ"י פרדס משה דף קז ע"א‪.‬‬ ‫‪' 17‬זבול זה ואולם' ק ‪.111‬‬ ‫‪' 18‬אם מות חסידים'‪ ,‬כ"י עץ חיים דף עד ע"א‪ ,‬כ"י פרדס משה דף קכ ע"ב; 'מצבת זו‬ ‫היא לעדה' ק ‪.109‬‬ ‫‪' 19‬תוכי שר סר מרע'‪ ,‬כ"י עץ חיים דף עג ע"א‪ ,‬כ"י האג ללא ציון עמודים‪ ,‬כ"י פרדס‬ ‫משה דף כק ע"א‪.‬‬

‫הן עתה תהיה על בתי אבן‪ :‬שירי מצבה של משה זכות‬

‫ברגמן‬ ‫דבורה ֶ‬ ‫יסודות קונבנציונאליים‬ ‫נפתח בתזכורת לדברים ידועים‪ :‬ר' משה זכות‪ ,‬מחשובי המשוררים העבריים של‬ ‫המאה הי"ז באיטליה התפרסם גם כמקובל וכפוסק‪ .‬פרט לשירים כתב את יסוד‬ ‫עולם ואת תפתה ערוך – מראשוני המחזות העבריים‪ 1.‬בכמאתיים וחמישים שירים‬ ‫שהניח בעיזבונו כשמונים שירי מצבה‪ 2.‬בדיון זה ניתן דעתנו למספר תכונות של‬ ‫שיריו אלו‪ ,‬ותחילה ליסודות היותר צפויים ורווחים בשירים מן הסוג הזה‪ .‬כאן יש‬ ‫לציין שז'אנר עתיק זה במתכונתו העברית לא נחקר עדיין כמעט מצד תכונותיו‬ ‫הפואטיות‪ .‬אבל בידינו כמה אוספי שירים מספרד ומאיטליה‪ ,‬שלא לדבר על שירים‬ ‫שנדפסו בפיזור‪ ,‬פה ושם‪ 3.‬בשירי המצבה שנדפסו אפשר להבחין ביסודות חוזרים‬ ‫ונשנים‪ ,‬היינו‪ ,‬בקונבנציה הבסיסית של הסוגה‪ .‬את אלה קלט רמ"ז‪ ,‬בדרכו‪.‬‬ ‫אחד האיפיונים המרתקים של הז'אנר הוא ציונם של עובדות ביוגראפיות‪,‬‬ ‫שמות ותאריכים‪ .‬איפיון שגרתי זה נקשר אל חיי הנפטר ולכן הוא מתחדש משיר‬ ‫לשיר‪ ,‬ותמיד מאלף‪ .‬לא פלא שמדפיסי אוספים צמאי דעת הקדישו תשומת לב רבה‬ ‫לציונים אלה‪ ,‬הצליבו מידע חדש עם מה שהכירו ממקורות שונים‪ ,‬והעשירו את‬ ‫אוצר הידע שלנו‪ .‬בשירי המצבה של רמ"ז חומר רב מעניין על אישים מקהילות‬ ‫איטליה‪ ,‬מאמסטרדם‪ ,‬מהמבורג ועוד‪ .‬אך מעניינים במיוחד שניים משיריו הזורים‬ ‫אור על חייו הוא‪ ,‬שהנסתר רב בהם על הגלוי לנו‪' .‬פה תור זהב צפון בחול'‪ 4‬מלמד‬ ‫לריי ידידי‪ ,‬שליט''א‬ ‫‪ 1‬יסוד עולם נדפס פעמיים בשנת ‪ ,1874‬ע"י י"ד מרוני בליוורנו וע"י א' ברלינר‬ ‫באלטונה‪ .‬תפתה ערוך נכתב במנטובה אחרי ‪ 1673‬עבור חבורת "חדשים לבקרים" שיסד שם‬ ‫המחבר )ראו שירמן עמ' ‪ 149‬הערה ‪ ,(23‬ונדפס לראשונה בונציה‪ ,‬בשנת תע"ב ) עם עדן ערוך‬ ‫ליעקב דניאל אולמו(‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 2‬ככל שיריו רובם ככולם עדיין בכתב יד‪ .‬אני עוסקת בהכנת כל שירי רמ"ז לדפוס‪.‬‬ ‫מהדורת השירים אמורה לצאת בהוצאת יד בן צבי בירושלים‪ .‬בינתיים ראו ברגמן‪ ,‬צרור‬ ‫זהובים‪ ,‬עמ' ‪)305–242‬סונטים(; 'שירי חתונה' )תעודה ‪ ;(19‬שפע טל )ספר יובל לברכה זק(‪,‬‬ ‫עמ' ‪)379–349‬חידות(; 'שירי חתונה' )פעמים ‪.(96‬‬ ‫‪ 3‬לאוספים של שירי מצבה ראו ברשימה ביבליוגראפית‪ :‬ברלינער‪ ,‬ברנשטיין )אנגלית(‪,‬‬ ‫ברומבכר )אנגלית(‪ ,‬וינשטיין )אנגלית(‪ ,‬מלכיאל‪ ,‬סרגה )אנגלית(‪ ,‬שד"ל‪ .‬שד"ל הביא לדפוס‬ ‫העתקה שהכין יוסף אלמנצי‪ .‬נדפסו גם כתובות על מצבות בפרוזה‪ ,‬שאינם נושא הדיון שלנו‬ ‫כאן‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 4‬כ"י עץ חיים דף עג ע"ב‪ ,‬כ"י פרדס משה דף קיט ע"א‪.‬‬

‫יג‬

‫יא‬

‫שיר פרישות פייטני לדויד הנשיא‬

‫אכן‪ ,‬עניין המזג ונטיית הלב חשוב במיוחד בהקשר הזה‪ .‬כי השיר ההולך לפנינו הוא‬ ‫חיבורו של משורר בעל תעוזה ואמת פנימית‪ ,‬שאינו ממחזר את מה שלמד או שמע‬ ‫או קלט מאחרים‪ ,‬ואינו מתאים עצמו לאופנה ספרותית שיש לה מהלכים בסביבתו‪,‬‬ ‫אלא מבטא בעליל‪ ,‬בעוצמה בלתי רגילה ובלהט הנובע ממעמקי הלב‪ ,‬את תפישת‬ ‫עולמו הייחודית‪ .‬את שיש לו לומר לנמעניו הוא אומר בקולו שלו ובלשונו שלו‪ ,‬גם‬ ‫אם אינו נרתע )וגם לא מן הדין היה שיירתע( משאילת ציורי לשון מספרות‬ ‫הסביבה‪.‬‬

‫ד‬ ‫אף שדנו כאן בהרחבה בשיר אחד בלבד של דויד הנשיא‪ ,‬רוב דברינו חלים גם על‬ ‫שאר שיריו המוגדרים בכותרותיהם כזֻהדיַאת‪ ,‬שבהם לא טיפלנו כעת‪ .‬בשירי הזֻהד‬ ‫האחרים שלו‪ ,‬בשונה מן השיר הנדון כאן‪ ,‬מרבה המשורר לגנות את נפש עצמו‬ ‫ופחות מזה את העולם‪ .‬תפיסתו של דויד הנשיא את הנפש בשירים האלה שונה‬ ‫‪40‬‬ ‫באופן מהותי מן המוכר לנו אצל משוררי ספרד‪ ,‬כגון שלמה אבן גבירול ואחרים‪.‬‬ ‫גם מן הבחינות הללו קרוב דויד הנשיא אל המסורות של השירה וההגות‬ ‫המזרחיים‪ ,‬הערביים והיהודיים‪ ,‬יותר מאשר אל המסורות המקבילות בשירה‬ ‫העברית הנכתבת בזמנו בספרד‪.‬‬ ‫מקורות וחילופי הנוסח‬ ‫כ"י פריס‪ ,‬אוסף מוצרי ‪) MC IV 265.1‬נ(; כ"י קמבריג' ‪) T-S Ar. 40.125‬א(; כ"י‬ ‫קמבריג' ‪) T-S NS 205.72‬טורים ‪'] 9–1‬צליל'[‪ ,‬ב(; כ"י קמבריג' ‪–1) T-S NS 127.1‬‬ ‫‪ ,25‬לקוי‪ ,‬ג(; כ"י ורשה ‪ ,54‬יח )‪'] 12‬ותצברו'[–‪ ,25‬ד(; כ"י ניו יורק‪ENA 1324.16 ,‬‬ ‫)‪'] 4‬ובערב'[–‪'] 20‬והלכליל'[‪ ,‬ה(; כ"י קמבריג' ‪'] 17) T-S NS 126.29‬ואל'[–‪,25‬‬ ‫מנוקד‪ ,‬ו(; כ"י קמבריג' ‪'] 17) T-S NS 92.32‬עיניכם'[–‪'] 24‬יצליל'[‪ ,‬מנוקד‪ ,‬ז(;‬ ‫כ"י קמבריג' ‪'] 6) WMC II 141‬במקל'[–‪'] 17‬העולם'[‪ ,‬מנוקד‪ ,‬ח(; כ"י קמבריג' ‪T-S‬‬ ‫‪'] 23) NS 129.86‬דעוהו'[–‪ ,25‬ט(‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 2‬פושע ב רעותו א ‪ 4‬יבשו א וליערב א ‪ 5‬כבהמות ג סלת ג ‪ 6‬יקרה לכולם א‬ ‫לכל יקרה ה ‪ 7‬ויקיריו א נשתוו א כעשיר כאביון א ‪ 8‬תענוגיו א הלכו תענוגיו ח‬ ‫ס ר ה ‪ 9‬לנופת א ‪ 10‬חמד[ חומר ג ופורש א ותכלת ה ‪ 12‬זה ח ס ר א גם תצברו‬ ‫ד גם[ ח ס ר גה ‪ 14‬נהרו[ נהגו ג לעשירי[ איה ד ושרי[ וסוחרי א ‪ 15‬וינס ויצא ה‬ ‫פרוסה א פרוצה ח ‪ 17‬עולם א לפסוע א לפשוע ד ולהזליל ד ‪ 18‬ד ו ל ג ז‬ ‫וישוב‪...‬ולהשליל[ ונתיבותיכם אלי מות להסליל ד ‪ 19‬ידרוך[ יורה א משך ו קשתו‬ ‫ידרוך ויחלוש גבורים ונכבדים ויקרים יזליל ד ‪ 20‬רוצו א ‪ 22‬ולכו[ הלכו ד יושר ד‬ ‫‪ 24-23‬ד ו ל ג ד ‪ 24‬ינערם[ ינערכם א ‪ 25‬בימיכם[ בחייכם א יחפוץ א יחפוץ זבחי‬ ‫צדק[ יחפוץ מעשיכם כזבח ד ינחם ציון וישכלל כל חרבותיה ויבנה חומותיה‬ ‫ויתליל נ ו ס ף א‬

‫‪ 40‬להבחנה זו בתפיסת הנפש אצל שלמה אבן גבירול לבין תפיסתה בשירי הזהד‬ ‫הערביים ראה ר' שיינדלין‪ ,‬לעיל הערה ‪ ,28‬עמ' ‪.87‬‬

‫טובה בארי‬

‫י‬

‫היענות מינימלית של המשורר למה שמתחייב לשירו מצד ייעודו הליטורגי‪ .‬אכן‪ ,‬עד‬ ‫סיום האקרוסטיכון האלפביתי )טור ‪ (22‬יכול היה הקטע לעמוד בפני עצמו כשיר‬ ‫פרישות 'חילוני'‪ .‬תכניו זהים למוכר לנו משירי הפרישות הערביים ומן השירים‬ ‫'בגנות תבל' הידועים לנו בשפע מן השירה העברית של תקופת ספרד‪ .‬כאלה הם‬ ‫רבים משירי 'בן קהלת' לשמואל הנגיד‪ ,‬ורבים משירי משה אבן עזרא בדיואן שלו‬ ‫ובספר הענק‪ .‬זיקתם של שירים אלה אל המופתים הערביים היא מן המפורסמות‪.‬‬ ‫ברמה ה'אידאולוגית' למד דויד הנשיא בלי ספק גם מרב סעדיה גאון שענייני העולם‬ ‫הזה ויחסו הרצוי של המאמין אליהם נדונים בהרחבה בספר האמונות והדעות‬ ‫שלו‪ 33.‬עקבות השפעתו של רב סעדיה ניכרים בשיר‪ ,‬כפי שכבר צוין לעיל‪ ,‬הן בעיצובו‬ ‫הפרוזודי והן בלשונו ובסגנונו; סימני השפעות סעדיאניות ניכרות בעליל‪ ,‬במקומות‬ ‫רבים‪ ,‬גם בשאר יצירותיו של דויד הנשיא‪ .‬אבל בשיר שלנו יש טורים שניתן לקרוא‬ ‫אותם כמיני פרפרזות פיוטיות של רעיונות בנושא הפרישות המתנסחים בספר‬ ‫האמונות והדעות‪ .‬כך למשל כותב הגאון בפרק הראשון מספר הפרישות השלם‬ ‫)'כתאב זהד תאם'( שבשער העשירי של ספרו‪]...' 34:‬העולם הזה[ כליון‪ ,‬מתהפך‬ ‫באנשיו ואינו יציב לשום אדם‪ ,‬ובעוד האדם בשיא שמחתו בו ושאנן והנה נהפך‬ ‫עליו‪ ,‬והיתה שמחתו לאבל‪ ,‬ויקרו לשפל ואשרו לעמל‪ ,‬וכמו שנאמר עשיר ישכב ולא‬ ‫יאסף עיניו פקח ואיננו‪ ,‬תשיגהו כמים בלהות‪ ,‬ישאהו קדים וילך'‪ 35.‬והלא כך נאמר‬ ‫גם בשיר שלפנינו‪' :‬גילתו כרגע נהפכת ליגון' )טור ‪' ;(3‬חדלו ששוניו‪ ,‬ערבו שמחותיו'‬ ‫)‪' ;(8‬כי לאחרים יעזבום ובאחרית יהרסו' וכו' )‪' ;(11‬עשירים ישכבו ולא יאספו‬ ‫עיניהם פקחו להדליל' )‪ 36.(16‬ועוד כותב רס"ג‪' :‬ואין כל המציאות בו )בעולם הזה(‬ ‫אלא בשקר ומרמה ושוא כל חייו'‪ 37.‬והוא הנאמר גם בשיר‪' :‬בוגד בחושקיו‪ ,‬פושע‬ ‫בדבקיו‪ ,‬רעותו שקר‪ ,‬וידידותו אליל' )‪ .(2‬וממשיך שם רס"ג‪' :‬וכמה גיבורים‬ ‫הכריעם והכניעם'; והמשורר אומר‪' :‬קשתו ידרוך‪ ,‬יורה חיציו‪ ,‬ויחלש גבורים‪,‬‬ ‫ונכבדים יזליל' )‪ .(19‬וכך מסכם רב סעדיה‪' :‬לפיכך אמרו צריך למאוס את העולם‬ ‫הזה‪ ,‬ולא יבנה בו נבון‪ ,‬ולא יטע' וכו'‪ 38.‬דברי המשורר חריפים ונחרצים יותר‪:‬‬ ‫'רחקו מעליו‪ ,‬שנאוהו‪ ,‬תעבוהו' )‪.(20‬‬ ‫אין כל קושי להניח שדויד הנשיא הכיר שירי זהד ערביים‪ ,‬ולא מן הנמנע הוא‬ ‫שראה גם דוגמאות עבריות מסוג זה‪ ,‬משל שמואל הנגיד‪ 39‬ואולי אף משוררים‬ ‫אחרים‪ .‬כמו משוררי ספרד‪ ,‬אף הוא נחשף מן הסתם להלכי הרוח ולתורות‬ ‫הסגפניות המוסלמיות של זמנו‪ ,‬וספג וקלט מהם מה שקלט‪ ,‬על פי מזגו ונטיות לבו‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 33‬על תרומתו של רב סעדיה גאון לפתיחת התרבות היהודית להשפעות מצד התרבות‬ ‫הערבית עמדו חוקרים שונים‪ .‬ראה במיוחד‪ :‬ע' פליישר‪ ,‬לעיל הערה ‪ ,20‬עמ' ‪,17–4‬‬ ‫ובמקורות שם‪ .‬ראה גם י' טובי‪ ,‬לעיל הערה ‪ ,26‬עמ' ‪ .160–65‬הקשר שבין הפרק העשירי‬ ‫בספר האמונות והדעות והתוכחה הגדולה של הגאון 'אם לפי בחרך צורנו' נדון אצל טובי‪,‬‬ ‫שם‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.106–100‬‬ ‫‪ 34‬ראה‪ :‬ספר הנבחר באמונות ובדעות‪ ,‬מהד' הרב י' קאפח‪ ,‬ירושלים תש"ל‪ .‬הקטעים‬ ‫להלן על פי תרגום זה‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 35‬שם‪ ,‬עמ' רצג‪ .‬המילה 'ויקרו' מוצעת על ידי המתרגם )בהערה ‪ (58‬למילה 'ועזו' שהביא‬ ‫בפנים‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 36‬שני המקורות מביאים כאן פסוק זהה‪ :‬איוב כז‪ ,‬יט‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 37‬שם‪ ,‬עמ' רצד‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 38‬שם‪ ,‬עמ' רצד‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 39‬על קשרים בין שמואל הנגיד ודויד הנשיא ראה לעיל‪ ,‬הערות ‪ .9–7‬בימיו של דויד‬ ‫הנשיא כבר הייתה יצירתם של משוררי ספרד הראשונים ידועה במזרח‪ ,‬בין בדיואנים‬ ‫שלמים ובין בהעתקות בודדות‪ .‬מבחינה כרונולוגית אין מניעה להניח שדויד הנשיא הכיר גם‬ ‫שירים משל שלמה אבן גבירול‪.‬‬

‫ט‬

‫שיר פרישות פייטני לדויד הנשיא‬

‫לאורך עשרים מחרוזות ארוכות‪ ,‬את מר גורל האדם באשר הוא אדם ואת נלעגות‬ ‫מאווייו ותקוותיו‪ .‬וכך הוא גם ברוב המכריע של התוכחות הסטנדרטיות‪ ,‬גם‬ ‫המאוחרות יותר‪.‬‬ ‫לא כך הם הדברים בשיר שלפנינו‪ .‬הוא מדבר מתחילתו ועד סופו אל הקורא‬ ‫או המקשיב‪ ,‬ומתעלם לגמרי‪ ,‬עד סופו ממש‪ ,‬מאלוהיו‪ .‬אמנם הוא שיר 'דתי'‪ ,‬אבל‬ ‫מבחינה פונקציונלית אין הוא שיר ליטורגי כלל‪ .‬הוא בא לתת ביטוי לסלידתו של‬ ‫המשורר מן העולם הזה ומתעתועי הבליו ולשכנע את שומעיו ללכת בעקבותיו‬ ‫ולפרוש גם הם מן העולם הזה‪ .‬השיר מחולק בעליל לשלושה חלקים‪ :‬בראשון מהם‬ ‫)טורים ‪ (11–1‬מדבר המשורר כמו אל לב עצמו‪ ,‬כלומר אל נמען א‪-‬פרסונאלי‪ ,‬אל‬ ‫האדם באשר הוא אדם‪ .‬דיבור זה נע ברמה מושגית ונעימתו מיוסרת‪ ,‬חריפה‬ ‫ובוטחת‪ .‬כוונת המשורר לומר דברי בוז וגנאי על העולם מתנסחת‪ ,‬בהצהרה גלויה‪,‬‬ ‫מיד עם פתיחת השיר‪ .‬קצפו על 'העולם' יוצא על שום אופייו ההפכפך‪ ,‬על התזזית‬ ‫הבלתי ניתנת לחיזוי של התחלפות השמחות והעצב בהווייתו‪ ,‬ועל זמניותן הבלתי‬ ‫נסבלת של טובותיו‪ .‬העושר והשמחה נמוגים בן רגע‪ ,‬והאדם נשאר ערום מנכסיו‬ ‫וממעמדו‪ .‬ונורא מכול המות‪ ,‬שמכוחו משתווים עשיר ועני‪ ,‬נכבד ונקלה‪ ,‬חכם וסכל‪,‬‬ ‫מלכים ובהמות‪ :‬נוכח מוחלטותו ושלטונו האלים על כל באי עולם‪ ,‬מתגמדים עד‬ ‫כדי גיחוך גם מעט הששונות והשמחות והעינוגים‪ ,‬שבהם העולם מפתה את‬ ‫בריותיו‪ .‬בטור ‪ 12‬עובר המשורר מן הדיבור הכללי‪ ,‬המופשט‪ ,‬ופונה בדיבור ישיר אל‬ ‫מי שהוא מכנה באירוניה 'חכמים'‪ ,‬העמלים לצבור הון כאילו העושר שמור לאדם‬ ‫לטובתו‪ .‬הוא משתומם על תמימותם ומזרזם ללמוד לקח מעשירי תבל שכבר היו‬ ‫מלפנים ושעושרם 'סר וינוס' )‪ .(15‬מטור ‪ 17‬מרחיב המשורר את היקף הטפתו ופונה‬ ‫ישירות‪ ,‬בתוכחה קודרת וזועפת‪ ,‬אל 'אוהבי העולם' שעדיין עומדים באיוולתם‪.‬‬ ‫הוא משביע אותם לפקוח עיניים ולראות את הצפוי להם‪ .‬כמיני צפורים הנלכדות‬ ‫בפח‪ ,‬כך יצוד אותם 'העולם'‪ :‬הוא ישוב עליהם 'לבוז ולהשליל'‪' ,‬קשתו ידרוך ויורה‬ ‫חציו ויחלש גבורים ונכבדים יזליל' )טורים ‪ .(19–18‬רק עתה מגיעה הדרישה‬ ‫המעשית להינזרות סולדת מן ה'עולם'‪' :‬רחקו מעליו‪ ,‬שנאוהו‪ ,‬תיעבוהו' )‪ (20‬קורא‬ ‫הפייטן לשומעי לקחו‪ .‬רק באורח חיים של צדק )בין אדם לחברו(‪ ,‬ותשובה )בין‬ ‫אדם למקום(‪ 31‬יש טעם וערך )טורים ‪ (22–20‬קיימים‪ .‬דרך חיים זו היא האמיתית‪:‬‬ ‫בחבליה יש לתמוך ובנתיבותיה יש ללכת )‪ .(22‬היא גם הדרך המובילה אל‬ ‫האלוהים‪ ,‬שאותו יש לדרוש ולבקש ולדעת;‪ 32‬הוא בחסדו יגמול למאמינים בו )‪.(23‬‬ ‫גם הגמול הלאומי מובטח לחוזרים בתשובה‪ :‬האל יתעשת להגן על יראיו כמאז‬ ‫ויבנה את היכלו ויחדש בו את העבודה )טורים ‪.(25–24‬‬

‫ג‬ ‫במבט ראשון מתקבל הרושם שלפנינו שיר זֻהד ערבי בלשון העברית‪ .‬גם העובדה‬ ‫שכבר הוזכרה לעיל‪ ,‬שהשיר בנוי בטורים ארוכים ומסודר בחרוז אחיד כדרך‬ ‫הקצידות תורמת להתרשמות הזאת‪ .‬מוסיפים על כך הביטויים והציורים הלשוניים‬ ‫השאולים מספרות הזֻהד הערבית‪ ,‬והנעימה הנרגשת‪ ,‬המתוחה והמעוצמת‬ ‫המאפיינת את השיר‪ .‬דויד הנשיא 'מייהד' את שירו רק בסופו )טורים ‪ (25–23‬והוא‬ ‫עושה זאת בצמצום וכמעט בעקיפין‪ :‬גם אם אין כאן 'מס שפתיים' בעלמא‪ ,‬יש כאן‬ ‫‪ 31‬סדר הדברים מכוון מן הסתם‪ .‬הדגשת המצוות שבין אדם לחברו טיפוסית בהטפותיו‬ ‫של דויד הנשיא‪.‬‬ ‫‪' 32‬דעוהו' בטור ‪ 23‬מאייך‪ ,‬במהלך שניתן לכנותו חדשני בהקשר הזה‪ ,‬את 'דרשו ובקשו‬ ‫יוצרכם' שבראש הטור‪.‬‬

‫טובה בארי‬

‫ח‬

‫'זֻהדיה'‪' 26.‬זהדיה' הוא המונח הנקרא בשירה הערבית על סוג שירי הפרישות‪ ,‬סוג‬ ‫ספרותי שאותו ייסד וטיפח וייצג ביצירות רבות רושם המשורר הערבי אבו‬ ‫אלעתאהיה‪ ,‬בן סוף המאה השמינית וראשית התשיעית‪ 27.‬לעניין הקשרים בין‬ ‫השירה הערבית והעברית‪ ,‬ולשאלת ההשפעה האפשרית של הערבית על העברית‬ ‫בסוג הספרותי הזה הקדיש בעל היובל‪ ,‬הפרופ' שיינדלין‪ ,‬מספר מחקרים‬ ‫‪28‬‬ ‫חשובים‪.‬‬ ‫כוונת המשורר בשיר שלנו הוא להטיף לנמעניו‪ ,‬לשכנעם שאין תועלת ותקווה‬ ‫בהשענות על העושר והכבוד שהאדם צובר בחייו‪ .‬על ידי גינוי גורף של כל מנעמי‬ ‫החיים‪ ,‬הוא מבקש לזרז את שומעיו לעשות חשבון נפש ולחזור אל דרכי האל‪ .‬רק‬ ‫ברחמיו ראוי וכדאי לבטוח‪ ,‬כי רק הוא יגמול באמת לחוסים בו )‪ .(22‬ייעודו של‬ ‫השיר כתוכחה מקוים אם כן ברמה העקרונית‪ ,‬והוא גם נכלל במחזור טורין‪ ,‬כנזכר‬ ‫לעיל‪ ,‬ברפרטואר הפייטני של ימות הצום‪ ,‬שבו נוכחים ברגיל פיוטים מן הסוג הזה‪.‬‬ ‫ואולם‪ ,‬אם נשווה את השיר אל התוכחות הסטנדרטיות נמצא שהוא נבדל מהם‬ ‫הבדלה משמעותית ביותר‪ .‬התוכחה הרגילה נושאת על עצמה באופן בולט חותם‬ ‫ליטורגי‪ .‬אף על פי שהיא מדברת באדם ובגורלו היא פונה אל האל‪ ,‬נמענם הקבוע‬ ‫של קטעי הפיוט‪ .‬אמנם היא מתארת לעתים קרובות באריכות את אפסות האדם‬ ‫ואת הבלות תקוותיו‪ ,‬את לכתו בשרירות לבו ואת הסחת דעתו הקיומית מעיקר‬ ‫תפקידו בחיים‪ .‬אבל כל הדברים הללו‪ ,‬הבאים כמובן לעורר את המתפלל לחזור בו‬ ‫מדרכו הרעה‪ ,‬מסופרים באוזני האל ומכוונים לעורר את רחמיו על בריותיו‪ .‬כך‬ ‫המצב כבר בתוכחות הקדומות שהגיעו לידינו מתקופת הפיוט האנונימי‪ ,‬כגון 'אנוש‬ ‫מה יזכה וצבא דוק לא זכו בעיניך'‪ ,‬או 'אתה מבין סרעפי לב'‪ 29,‬וכך הוא גם בתוכחה‬ ‫המונומנטלית של רב סעדיה גאון 'אם לפי בחרך צורנו'‪ 30,‬המתנה באוזני האל‪,‬‬ ‫‪ 26‬במאגר שבמפעל לחקר השירה והפיוט בגניזה ע''ש עזרא פליישר‪ ,‬שעל יד האקדמיה‬ ‫הלאומית הישראלית למדעים‪ ,‬נרשמו עד עתה שמונה שירים המכונים בראשם 'זהדיה'‪:‬‬ ‫ששה מהם הם שירים של דויד הנשיא‪ .‬השיר השביעי הוא של ישועה הכהן בן יוסף איש‬ ‫אלכסנדריה‪ ,‬ככל הנראה בן זמנו של דודי הנשיא‪ .‬שיר שמיני המכונה כך הוא של אחד‬ ‫יהודה הכהן‪ ,‬שאין יודעים עליו פרטים נוספים‪ .‬שני השירים האחרונים נכתבו בהשראת‬ ‫שירו של דויד הנשיא 'אי לך נפשי כמה תתיהרי'‪ ,‬שנדפס אצל י' מרקוס‪ ,‬חורב ח )תש"ד(‪ ,‬עמ'‬ ‫‪ .58–54‬להערה על השיר הזה ראה‪ :‬י' טובי‪ ,‬קירוב ודחיה‪ ,‬חיפה תש"ס‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.107‬‬ ‫‪ 27‬לסקירה כללית על הסוג ראה‪,P.F. Kennedy, EI2, s.v. Zuhdiyya, pp. 562-564 :‬‬ ‫ובמקורות שם‪ .‬ישראל לוין הקדיש דיון מפורט לתיאור אופיים ותכניהם של שירי פרישות‬ ‫עבריים בספרד והצביע על ההשפעות שנקלטו בהן מן השירה הערבית; ראה‪ :‬י' לוין‪ ,‬מעיל‬ ‫תשבץ‪ ,‬הסוגים השונים של שירת החול העברית בספרד‪ ,‬ג‪ ,‬תל‪-‬אביב ‪ ,1995‬עמ' ‪,215–7‬‬ ‫ובעיקר עמ' ‪ 59‬ואילך‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 28‬ראה‪R.P. Scheindlin, ‘Ibn Gabirol’s Religious Poetry and Sufi Poetry’, :‬‬ ‫‪ .Sefarad, 65 (1994), pp. 109–142‬לגירסה עברית מקוצרת של מאמר זה ראה‪ :‬ר' שיינדלין‪,‬‬ ‫'הרשויות האנדלוסיות לאור השירה הערבית'‪ ,‬בתוך‪ :‬תרבות יהדות ספרד‪ ,‬ספר הקונגרס‬ ‫הבינלאומי הראשון‪ ,‬בעריכת א' דורון‪ ,‬תל‪-‬אביב תשנ"ד‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ .82–71‬וראה עוד‪R.P. :‬‬ ‫‪Scheindlin, ‘Old Age in Hebrew and Arabic Zuhd Poetry’, in: M. Fierro (ed.), Judíos‬‬ ‫‪et musulmanes en al-Andalus y el Magreb: Contactos intelectuales, Collection de la Casa de‬‬ ‫‪.Velázquez 74, Madrid 2002, pp. 85–104‬‬ ‫‪ 29‬לשירים ראה‪ :‬ח' בראדי )מהדיר(‪ ,‬מבחר השירה העברית‪ ,‬ליפסיא תרפ"ב‪ ,‬עמ' יט–כד‪.‬‬ ‫'אנוש מה יזכה' נדפס בתוספת ביאור וחילוף גרסאות על ידי ד' גולדשמידט‪ ,‬מחזור לימים‬ ‫נוראים‪ ,‬יום כפור‪ ,‬ירושלים תש"ל‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.119–117‬‬ ‫‪ 30‬מ' זולאי‪ ,‬לעיל הערה ‪ ,23‬עמ' סה–עז‪.‬‬

‫ז‬

‫שיר פרישות פייטני לדויד הנשיא‬

‫הטקסט‪ ,‬כאן הם מכוונים לגופם‪ :‬הם הם הנושאים אל הקורא את עיקר מסר‬ ‫השיר‪.‬‬ ‫לשונו של השיר הזה‪ ,‬כמו גם של שיריו האחרים של דויד הנשיא‪ ,‬מקראי‬ ‫ברובו‪ ,‬ומלבד מילות החרוז אין היא מציגה תצורות פייטניות מובהקות‪ .‬רבים‬ ‫בשיר צירופי לשון ושיבוצים מן המקרא‪ ,‬כלשונם או בשינויים קלים‪ ,‬כגון בטור ‪6‬‬ ‫'ומקרה אחד יקרה לכולם' )על פי קה' ב‪ ,‬יד(‪ ,‬או בסוף טור ‪' 12‬כסף צרוף בעליל'‬ ‫)תה' יב‪ ,‬ז(‪ ,‬או בטור ‪ ,16‬שכולו על פי איוב כז‪ ,‬יט‪ ,‬או בסוף השיר כנזכר‪ ,‬ועוד‪ .‬כדרך‬ ‫המקרא מצרף המשורר פעמים את שם הפועל אל הפועל כדי לחזקו‪' :‬סור הלא סר'‬ ‫)טור ‪ ,(15‬ו'צוד יצודכם' )טור ‪ ,(18‬וזו שיטה שנפוצה בפיוט בעיקר בהשפעת רב‬ ‫סעדיה גאון‪ 23.‬אבל דויד הנשיא עושה בה שימוש מועט יחסית‪ .‬על חשבון השפעתו‬ ‫של רב סעדיה אפשר לזקוף גם את השימוש )שוב פעמיים בלבד( בעתיד מהופך‬ ‫בשיר‪' :‬וינס' )‪ (15‬ו'ויחלש' )‪ .(19‬אף בשימוש זה נהג דויד הנשיא חסכון‪ .‬אין ספק‬ ‫שתוכנו של השיר השפיע על לשונו‪ :‬דברי מוסר וכיבושין לשון מקרא יפה להם‪.‬‬ ‫בשירים כאלה אין מקום למדרשים וגם לא לסלסולי לשון‪ ,‬לכינויים‪ ,‬ולשאר‬ ‫מאפייני הסגנון הפייטני המוכר‪ .‬גם יוצרים אחרים העדיפו לשון מקרא בסוגי‬ ‫הסליחות והתוכחות שלהם‪ .‬יחד עם זאת‪ ,‬ההעדפה הברורה בשיר הזה לצורות‬ ‫‪24‬‬ ‫המקראיות שנזכרו לעיל מזקיקה את המשורר אל בית מדרשו של רב סעדיה גאון‪.‬‬ ‫קירבה זו ניכרת‪ ,‬כפי שכבר צוין לעיל‪ ,‬גם באורכם של טורי השיר‪.‬‬ ‫אבל למרות האופי השגרתי לכאורה של לשון השיר יש בו תנופה רטורית עזה‬ ‫שרושמה אינו מוטל בספק‪ .‬אין כאן )עדיין( המטפוריקה העשירה של הפואטיקה‬ ‫הספרדית‪ ,‬אבל כבר יש כאן ניסיון בולט לבטא מושגים לא בשמם הידוע אלא‬ ‫בתמונות לשון סוגסטיביות‪ ,‬בלתי צפויות‪ .‬באופן זה 'מיתרגמת' למשל 'גילתו' )של‬ ‫עולם( ל'נגינת חליל' )בטור ‪ ;(3‬מתנות העולם נעשות 'דשאיו ונטעיו' הצצים בבוקר‬ ‫וקמלים עד ערב )‪ ;(4‬ההפך ממלכי עולם הם 'בהמותיו' )‪ ;(5‬עשירים ועניים מכונים‬ ‫'אוכלי הסולת' ו'אוכלי בליל' )‪ ,(5‬ובטור שלאחרי כן 'נהוג במקל' ו'לבושי כליל' )‪;(6‬‬ ‫ששוני תבל ושמחותיו חולפים )'הולכים'( 'כמו ספר להגליל' )‪ ,(8‬ונעימויות העולם‬ ‫החולפות נעשות 'טעם ממתקיו' ה'נחתך'‪ ,‬המשול כ'נופת על שעורת צליל' )‪;(9‬‬ ‫העשירים מכונים בתמונה רחבה 'בונה בתי חמד ופורשי בגדי חור ותכלת על גליל'‬ ‫)‪ ,(10‬וכך גם בהמשך‪ ,‬לפי הנצרך לטענות שבפי הדובר‪ .‬כמה דימויים נועזים מעידים‬ ‫במשורר שהוא בן זמנו‪ ,‬כגון מה שצוין לעיל על פי טורים ‪ 8‬ו‪ ,9‬וכגון מה שנאמר‬ ‫בטור ‪ 15‬על עושרם של העשירים שהוא 'נָס' 'כמו גפן פרושה להעליל'‪ .‬שימושים‬ ‫מסוג זה מייחדים את פיוטיו של דויד הנשיא מפיוטי קודמיו המזרחיים‪ ,‬ומקרבים‬ ‫‪25‬‬ ‫אותו אל ראשוני הפייטנים הגדולים של ספרד‪ ,‬ובראשם יוסף אבן אביתור‪.‬‬

‫ב‬ ‫כבר מעתיקים ראשונים חשו בתוכנו החריג של השיר ההולך לפנינו‪ ,‬ומפני זה‬ ‫)כנראה( גם כינוהו במונח לא עברי‪ ,‬בלתי שכיח בשירת הקודש הממוסדת‪:‬‬

‫‪ 23‬על הסגנון המקראי בשירתו של רב סעדיה גאון ראה מ' זולאי‪ ,‬האסכולה הפייטנית‬ ‫של רב סעדיה גאון‪ ,‬ירושלים תשכ"ד‪ ,‬עמ' לג‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 24‬ראה לזה מ' זולאי‪ ,‬שם‪ ,‬עמ' יט–מ‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 25‬על התופעות הרטוריות שצוינו לעיל בשירתו של יוסף אבן אביתור מעיר ע' פליישר‬ ‫במאמרו 'יוסף אבן אביתור‪ :‬קדושתא ליום ויושע'‪ ,‬העומד להופיע במחקרי ירושלים‬ ‫לספרות עברית כא )תשס''ז(‪.‬‬

‫טובה בארי‬

‫ו‬

‫הנשיא מופת למשוררי ספרד העבריים בשירי החול שלהם‪ .‬אמנם אין השיר שקול‬ ‫במשקל מדויק‪ 21,‬אבל המשורר מילא את מה שהחסיר בעניין זה בשימוש מתוחכם‬ ‫ומרשים‪ ,‬מודע בלי ספק‪ ,‬בצזורות‪ .‬הצזורה מחויבת המציאות היא בטור הארוך‪,‬‬ ‫אבל בשיר שלפנינו‪ ,‬היא נוטלת על עצמה תפקידים רטוריים בולטים‪ .‬היא מחלקת‬ ‫את הטור הארוך למקטעים תחביריים קטנים‪ ,‬בלתי קבועים לא במספרם ולא‬ ‫במקומותיהם‪ ,‬המארגנים את משפטי הטורים באיזונים ובסימטריות מפתיעות‪.‬‬ ‫השיר פותח למשל בטור בעל שלוש 'צלעיות' תחביריות‪ ,‬הטור שלאחריו נחלק‬ ‫לארבע‪ ,‬בעוד הטור השלישי נפסק באמצעו ומציג שני משפטים ארוכים‪ ,‬וכן הלאה‪.‬‬ ‫לעתים רחוקות בלבד‪ ,‬ואף זאת רק לצורך ההדגשה‪ ,‬יבואו שני טורים רצופים בעלי‬ ‫צזורות חופפות‪ ,‬כגון בטורים ‪ 9‬ו‪ 15 ;10‬ו‪ .16‬בתוך מערכת הסימטריות המתחלפות‬ ‫הללו מפזר המשורר שפע של חרוזים פנימיים ואסוננסים‪ ,‬בעלי פונקציות‬ ‫מתחלפות‪ :‬עתים כדי לחזק את הצזורות ולהבליט את גבולות הצלעיות הנוצרות‬ ‫מכוחן‪ ,‬אבל לעתים להפך‪ ,‬כדי להחליש את רושמן ולהסב את תשומת הלב למילים‬ ‫שבאמצע‪ ,‬שנושאות את עיקר המסר שבשיר‪ .‬טיפוסי לעניין זה הטור השני של השיר‬ ‫חוֹשׁ ָקיו ‪] /‬פּוֹ[ ֵשׁ ַע ִבּ ְד ֵב ָקיו ‪ֵ /‬ריעוּתוֹ ֶשׁ ֶקר ‪/‬‬ ‫שבו נאמר על 'העולם' שהוא 'בּוֹגֵד ְבּ ְ‬ ‫ידידוּתוֹ ֱא ִליל'‪ .‬החריזה הפנימית מקהה כאן את רושמן של הצזורות המחלקות‬ ‫וִ ִ‬ ‫את הטור בסימטריה סכימאטית מדי לארבע צלעיות‪ .‬בטור שלאחרי כן יוצר החרוז‬ ‫)התת תקני( 'נהפכת' ‪' /‬מתחלפת' אתנחתא באמצע שתי הצלעיות )הארוכות מדי(‬ ‫שאת גבולותיהן קבעה הצזורה‪ .‬לעתים קושר החרוז הפנימי בין שתי מילים‬ ‫נרדפות‪ ,‬או הפוכות במשמען‪ ,‬והוא מפר כך )כביכול( את חלוקת הטור לצלעות; כך‬ ‫למשל‪' :‬דשאיו ונטעיו' )טור ‪' (4‬מלכיו כבהמותיו' )‪' (5‬זולליו ויקריו' )‪ ,(7‬ואחר כך‪:‬‬ ‫' ָח ְדלוּ ְשׂשׂוֹנָיו ָע ְרבוּ ִשׂ ְמחוֹ ָתיו ָה ְלכוּ ] ַתּעֲנוּגָיו[ ְכּמוֹ ֵס ֶפר ְל ַה ְג ִליל' )‪ .(8‬וכך גם בהמשך‬ ‫השיר‪ ,‬במהלכים עדינים ומרשימים ביותר‪ 22.‬כנגד החרוזים הפורמליים‪ ,‬ותכופות‬ ‫לידם‪ ,‬מעמיד המשורר גם מיני חרוזים סמנטיים‪ ,‬עתים נרדפים ועתים הפוכים‪,‬‬ ‫התורמים אף הם להעצמת רושם הטורים הארוכים של השיר‪ .‬צמדי מילים כאלו‬ ‫מציגים בהבלטה רטורית מרשימה גם את הרעיון הבסיסי של השיר המכוון לחשוף‬ ‫את אופיים ההפכפך‪ ,‬הבלתי צפוי‪ ,‬הקפריזי‪ ,‬של ענייני העולם‪ .‬כך כבר בטור‬ ‫הראשון‪' :‬היום אשחק' כנגד 'ומחר אייליל'‪ ,‬או‪' :‬בבוקר להציץ' כנגד 'ובערב‬ ‫להמליל' )‪' ,(2‬אוכלי הסולת' כנגד 'כאוכלי בליל' )‪' ,(5‬נהוג במקל' כנגד 'כלובש כליל'‬ ‫)‪ ,(6‬או אף בהכפלה‪' :‬זולליו ויקריו במוות ישתוו ‪ /‬כאביון כעשיר כסכל כפליל' )‪,(7‬‬ ‫וכן עוד במקומות הרבה‪ .‬בשימושים הללו אפשר שמשתקפת כבר אהבתם של‬ ‫משוררי ספרד להקבלת ההפכים‪ ,‬שהיא מן הקישוטים הנפוצים מאוד בשירת‬ ‫החול; אבל בעוד אצל הספרדים ההפכים שייכים ברוב המקרים לרמה הציורית של‬

‫‪ 21‬בימיו של דויד הנשיא כבר שקלו רבים וכן טובים מפייטני המזרח את שירי הקודש‬ ‫שלהם במשקלים כמותיים על דרך משוררי ספרד‪ .‬פיוטים מזרחיים שקולים צוינו‬ ‫במורשתם של רב האיי גאון ושל סהלאן בן אברהם שפעלו בדורו‪ .‬אבל השימוש במשקל‬ ‫הכמותי היה נפוץ יותר‪ ,‬מדרך הטבע‪ ,‬בשירי השבח‪ .‬דויד הנשיא נמנע באופן עקבי מן‬ ‫השימוש בשיטות שקילה מדויקות‪ .‬עד כה לא נרשם ממנו אלא פיוט שקול אחד‪ ,‬הוא הקטע‬ ‫'אלהי אל תריביני כפשעי'‪ ,‬המועתק בכ"י פילדלפיה‪ ,‬אננבורג ‪ ,275‬והוא חיקוי גלוי של‬ ‫הבקשה )הספרדית( השקולה של יצחק אבן מר שאול 'אלהי אל תדינני כמעלי' ‪ .‬שירו השקול‬ ‫של דויד הנשיא נדפס ממקור לקוי על ידי ש"א ורטהיימר‪ ,‬גנזי ירושלים ב‪ ,‬ירושלים תרס"א‪,‬‬ ‫עמ' כב‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 22‬השווה למשל‪ ,‬בהמשך‪' :‬אוצר' ‪' /‬מסחר' )טור ‪' ;(13‬לעשירי' ‪' /‬ושרי' )‪' ;(14‬שנאוהו' ‪/‬‬ ‫'תעבוהו' )‪ ;(20‬בחבליה' ‪' /‬בנתיבותיה' )‪' ;(22‬דרשו' ‪ /‬ובקשו' )‪.(23‬‬

‫ה‬

‫שיר פרישות פייטני לדויד הנשיא‬

‫על פי יר' ו‪ ,‬ט‪' :‬עולל יעוללו כגפן שארית ישראל'‪ 16 .‬עשירים וכו'‪ :‬על פי איוב כז‪,‬‬ ‫יט‪' :‬עשיר ישכב ולא יאסף עיניו פקח ואיננו'‪ ,‬והוא מתייחס לרכושו של העשיר‬ ‫שאובד עוד בחייו‪ .‬להדליל‪ :‬להתרושש‪ 17 .‬אהבי העולם‪ :‬הנהנתנים‪ ,‬מבלי עולם‪.‬‬ ‫ואל תרחיבו וכו'‪ :‬ואל תבטחו בו; והוא מלשון 'תרחיב צעדי תחתי' בתה' יח‪ ,‬לז‪.‬‬ ‫ולהסליל‪ :‬ולכבוש דרך‪ ,‬והוא מקביל ל'לפסוע'‪ 18 .‬צוד וכו'‪ :‬על פי איכה ג‪ ,‬נב‪' :‬צוד‬ ‫צדני כצפור'‪ .‬פח‪ :‬מוקש‪ .‬וישוב‪ :‬ויחזור אליכם‪ .‬לבוז ולהשליל‪ :‬לשדוד אתכם;‬ ‫מלשון ביזה ושלל‪ 19 .‬קשתו וכו'‪ :‬על פי איכה ג‪ ,‬יב‪' :‬דרך קשתו ויציבני כמטרא‬ ‫לחץ'‪ .‬ויחלש‪ :‬וירפה‪ .‬יזליל‪ :‬ישפיל )איכה א‪ ,‬ח(‪ 20 .‬ולהכליל‪ :‬ולהשתלם‪ 21 .‬שקדו‬ ‫וכו'‪ :‬על פי מש' ח‪ ,‬לד‪ .‬להתליל‪ :‬להתרומם‪ ,‬לירום‪ .‬מלשון תל‪ .‬ושימושו שגור‬ ‫בפיוט‪ 22 .‬תמכו בחבליה‪ :‬קחו אותה לכם לחבל ונחלה‪ .‬אורב‪ :‬מתנכל‪ .‬ואליל‪:‬‬ ‫ומתעה; החרוז כבר שימש בטור ‪ 23 .2‬להטליל‪ :‬להצל עליכם‪ .‬מלשון 'הוא יבננו‬ ‫ויטללנו' בנחמיה ג‪ ,‬טו‪ 24 .‬צרי נפשכם‪ :‬את אויביכם‪ .‬ינערם‪ :‬על פי שמ' יד‪ ,‬כז‪:‬‬ ‫'וינער ה' את מצרים בתוך הים'‪ .‬כמאז‪ :‬כבימי יציאת מצרים‪ .‬כעופרת וכו'‪ :‬על פי‬ ‫שמ' טו‪ ,‬י‪' :‬צללו כעופרת במים אדירים'‪ .‬להצליל‪ :‬להטביע‪ 25 .‬בימיכם‪ :‬מעליו‬ ‫כתוב‪ :‬בחייכם‪ .‬קרית מועד‪ :‬בית המקדש )על פי יש' לג‪ ,‬כ(‪ .‬יחפץ וכו'‪ :‬על פי תה'‬ ‫נא‪ ,‬כא‪' :‬אז תחפץ זבחי צדק עולה וכליל'‪ .‬בכ"י קמבריג' ‪ T-S Ar 40.125‬נופסת‬ ‫כאן שורה‪' :‬ינחם ציון וישכלל כל חרבותיה ויבנה חומותיה ויתליל'‪ ,‬ונראה שהיא‬ ‫תוספת זרה‪ .‬גם החזרה על החרוז 'ויתליל'‪ ,‬שכבר שימש בקרבת מקום )טור ‪,(21‬‬ ‫מחזקת קביעה זו‪.‬‬ ‫השיר שלפנינו שייך למדור )המצומצם( של השירים הלא‪-‬סטרופיים של‬ ‫בח ֶרז הבלתי שגור ‪ִ -‬ליל‪.‬‬ ‫המשורר‪ .‬כ"ה הטורים שבו באים כגוש אחד וחורזים כולם ֶ‬ ‫אפשר שר' דויד התאים את החרוז הקשה הזה לפסוק שבחר לסיים בו את השיר‪,‬‬ ‫שאותו נטל מתה' נא‪ ,‬כא‪' :‬אז תחפוץ זבחי צדק עולה וכליל'‪ .‬פסוק זה חותם את‬ ‫הפרק שבו מביע דויד המלך חרטה על חטאו במעשה אוריה ובת שבע ומבקש‬ ‫מחילה וסליחה מהאל‪ ,‬עניין המתאים למה שכיוון המשורר בעיקר בסוף דבריו‪.‬‬ ‫אבל נראה שגם הרצון להפגין מיומנות לשונית מיוחדת במציאת מילים רבות‬ ‫המסתיימות בהברה נדירה זו הביאו לבחור בחרוז הקשה הזה‪ .‬גם בשיריו האחרים‬ ‫ניכרת אצל המשורר שאיפה להפגין וירטואוזיות בתחום החריזה‪ .‬אמנם כדי לעמוד‬ ‫במשימה שנטל על עצמו לאורך טורים רבים כל כך הוא נאלץ להמציא מטבעות‬ ‫לשון ייחודיים ולעתים יוצאי דופן‪ ,‬כדרך הפייטנים הקדומים‪ .‬אבל מהלך זה אינו‬ ‫מכביד על השיר‪ :‬להפך‪ ,‬הוא מאציל עליו נופך ארכאי‪ ,‬ומגביר את רושמו על הקורא‬ ‫והשומע‪.‬‬ ‫אורכם המופלג של הטורים בשיר‪ ,‬והוא כאמור טיפוסי לפיוטיו הלא‪-‬‬ ‫סטרופיים של ר' דויד הנשיא‪ ,‬ייחודי במידה רבה על רקע המסורת הפייטנית‬ ‫המזרחית‪ .‬השירה הפייטנית המסורתית מעמידה שורות קצרות יחסית‪ ,‬של שלוש‬ ‫או ארבע מלים מוטעמות בלבד‪ ,‬בעוד השיר שלפנינו מביא שבע‪-‬שמונה מלים כאלו‬ ‫בכל שורה‪ .‬אמת‪ ,‬ר' דויד למד להאריך בטורי שיריו מרב סעדיה גאון‪ ,‬מורם הגדול‬ ‫של בני דורו ושל בני הדורות שלאחריו‪ 20,‬אבל נראה שהוא בלבד הפעיל את השיטה‬ ‫הזאת בסוגי הסליחה‪ ,‬והוא בלבד נהג על פיה גם בשירים שווי חרוז‪ .‬בנקודה הזאת‬ ‫לא רחוק להניח שר' דויד למד לא רק מקודמיו הפייטנים‪ ,‬אלא גם מן השירה‬ ‫הערבית‪ .‬השיר כמות שהוא לפנינו‪ ,‬במבנהו המסיבי והמוצק ובחרוז ה'מבריח'‬ ‫החותם את טוריו‪ ,‬מזכיר את הקצידה הערבית הקלסית‪ ,‬שכבר שימשה בימי דויד‬ ‫‪ 20‬ראה לזה‪ :‬ע' פליישר‪' ,‬מקומו של רב סעדיה גאון בתולדות השירה העברית'‪ ,‬פעמים‬ ‫‪) 54‬תשנ"ג(‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ,13‬הערה ‪.33‬‬

‫טובה בארי‬ ‫‪5‬‬

‫‪10‬‬

‫‪15‬‬

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‫‪25‬‬

‫ד‬

‫אוֹכ ֵלי ְבּ ִליל‬ ‫סּוֹלת ְכּ ְ‬ ‫אוֹכ ֵלי ַה ֶ‬ ‫מוֹתיו ְ‬ ‫ֲהלֹא ָמוֶת יִ ְגזוֹל ְמ ָל ָכיו ִכּ ְב ֵה ָ‬ ‫לוֹבשׁ ְכּ ִליל‬ ‫ֻולּם יִ ְק ֶרה נָהוּג ְבּ ַמ ֵקּל ְכּ ֵ‬ ‫וּמ ְק ֶרה ֶא ָחד ְלכ ָ‬ ‫ִ‬ ‫יק ָריו ַבּ ָמּוֶת יִ ְשׁ ַתּוּוּ ָכּ ֶא ְביוֹן ֶכּ ָע ִשׁיר ַכּ ָסּ ָכל ַכּ ְפּ ִליל‬ ‫זוֹל ָליו וִ ָ‬ ‫ְ‬ ‫חוֹתיו ָה ְלכוּ ] ַתעֲנוּגָיו[ ְכּמוֹ ֵס ֶפר ְל ַה ְג ִליל‬ ‫ָח ְדלוּ ְשׂשׂוֹנָיו ָע ְרבוּ ִשׂ ְמ ָ‬ ‫עוֹרת ְצ ִליל‬ ‫וּמה יִּ ְתרוֹן נֹ ֶפת ַעל ְשׂ ַ‬ ‫אָפס ַ‬ ‫ֶח ַתּ ְך וְ ֵ‬ ‫ַט ַעם ַמ ְמ ַתּ ָקּיו נ ְ‬ ‫ָליל‬ ‫וּפוֹר ֵשׂי ִב ְג ֵדי חוּר ְתּ ֵכ ֶלת ַעל גּ ִ‬ ‫ֶה ָבּלוּ בּוֹנֵה ָבּ ֵתּי ֶח ֶמד ְ‬ ‫יִ ְתעוּ י ְ‬ ‫יע ִליל‬ ‫אַך ָשׁם ַתּ ְר ִגּ ַ‬ ‫ֵה ְרסוּ וְ ְ‬ ‫אַח ִרית י ָ‬ ‫וּב ֲ‬ ‫ַע ְזבוּם ָ‬ ‫ִכּי ַל ֲא ֵח ִרים י ַ‬ ‫ֲליל‬ ‫ָהב וְ ִת ְצ ְבּרוּ גַּם ֶכּ ֶסף ָצרוּף ַבּע ִ‬ ‫ָל ָמּה זֶה ֲח ָכ ִמים ִתּ ְקנוּ ז ָ‬ ‫ָליל‬ ‫אוֹצר וְ ָת ִביאוּ ִמ ְס ָחר ִמ ָכּל ִעיר וְ ג ִ‬ ‫ַמה ָלּ ֶכם ִכּי ְת ַמ ְלּאוּ ָ‬ ‫ָליל‬ ‫ֲרב וְ ַהגּ ִ‬ ‫ירי יְ ֵמי ֶק ֶדם וְ ָשׂ ֵרי ַה ִמּ ְז ָרח וְ ַה ַמּע ָ‬ ‫ֲשׁ ֵ‬ ‫ַהרוּ וְ ַשׁ ֲאלוּ ַלע ִ‬ ‫נֲ‬ ‫ֲליל‬ ‫רוּשׂה ְל ַהע ִ‬ ‫ֶפן ְפּ ָ‬ ‫סוֹר ֲהלֹא ָסר ָע ְשׁ ָרם ַו ָיּנֹס וַיִּ ְהיוּ ְכּמוֹ גּ ֶ‬ ‫ֵיהם ָפּ ְקחוּ ְל ַה ְד ִליל‬ ‫ֵאָספוּ ֵעינ ֶ‬ ‫ירים יִ ְשׁ ְכּבוּ וְ לֹא י ְ‬ ‫ֲשׁ ִ‬ ‫עִ‬ ‫וּל ַה ְס ִליל‬ ‫סוֹע[ ְ‬ ‫עוֹלם וְ אַל ַתּ ְר ִחיבוּ בּוֹ ִל] ְפ ַ‬ ‫ֹה ֵבי ָה ָ‬ ‫ֵיכם א ֲ‬ ‫ִפּ ְקחוּ נָא ֵעינ ֶ‬ ‫וּל ַה ְשׁ ִליל‬ ‫יכם ָלבוֹז ְ‬ ‫ֲל ֶ‬ ‫צוּד ֶכם ְכּ ִצפּוֹר ֱא ֵלי ַפח וְ יָשׁוּב ע ֵ‬ ‫צוֹד יְ ְ‬ ‫בּוֹרים וְ נִ ְכ ָבּ ִדים י ְַז ִליל‬ ‫ַחלֹשׁ ִגּ ִ‬ ‫יוֹרה ִח ָצּיו וְ י ֲ‬ ‫רוֹך וְ ֶ‬ ‫ַק ְשׁתּוֹ יִ ְד ְ‬ ‫וּל ַה ְכ ִליל‬ ‫אַח ֵרי ֶצ ֶדק ִל ְשׁמֹור ְ‬ ‫ַר ֲחקוּ ֵמ ָע ָליו ִשׂנְ אוּהוּ ִתּעֲבוּהוּ וְ רוּצוּ ֲ‬ ‫ָבוֹהּ ְל ַה ְת ִליל‬ ‫שׁוּבה ִכּי ִפּ ְת ָחהּ נִ ָשּׂא וְ ג ַ‬ ‫ִשׁ ְקדוּ יוֹם יוֹם ַעל ַדּ ְלתוֹת ַה ְתּ ָ‬ ‫ֶא ִליל‬ ‫אוֹרב ו ֱ‬ ‫ָשׁר ְבּ ִלי ֵ‬ ‫יה ִכּי ַד ְר ָכּהּ י ָ‬ ‫יבוֹת ָ‬ ‫וּלכוּ ִבּנְ ִת ֶ‬ ‫יה ְ‬ ‫ִתּ ְמכוּ ַבּ ֲח ָב ֶל ָ‬ ‫ֲכם ַח ְסדּוֹ יְ גוֹנֶנְ ֶכם ְל ַה ְט ִליל‬ ‫ַשׂ ִבּיע ֶ‬ ‫יוֹצ ְר ֶכם ְדּעוּהוּ י ְ‬ ‫וּב ְקשׁוּ ֶ‬ ‫ִדּ ְרשׁוּ ַ‬ ‫עוֹפ ֶרת ְל ַה ְצ ִליל‬ ‫ֲרם ְכּ ֵמאָז ְכּ ֶ‬ ‫ַפ ְשׁ ֶכם יְ ַנע ֵ‬ ‫יָקוּם ַל ֲהדוֹף ָצ ֵרי נ ְ‬ ‫עוֹלה וְ ָכ ִליל‬ ‫ַחפֹּץ ִז ְב ֵחי ֶצ ֶדק ָ‬ ‫מוֹעד י ֲ‬ ‫יכם ִק ְריַת ֵ‬ ‫ימ ֶ‬ ‫יְ כוֹנֵן ִבּ ֵ‬

‫ביאור‪ 1 :‬לזעום עולם‪ :‬לקלל את העולם הזה‪ .‬השימוש במילה 'עולם' הוא תרגום‬ ‫שאילה מן הערבית )'אלדֻניא'(‪ ,‬ועליו נסבים דברי המשורר עד טור ‪ .9‬אשר בו וכו'‪:‬‬ ‫ששמחה ואבל משמשים בו בערבוביה‪ 2 .‬בחושקיו‪ :‬באוהביו הנאמנים‪ .‬אליל‪ :‬הבל‪,‬‬ ‫שקר וכזב‪ .‬מלשון 'חזון שקר וקסם ואליל' ביר' יד‪ ,‬יד‪ 3 .‬גילתו‪ :‬שמחתו‪ .‬נהי‪:‬‬ ‫קינה‪ ,‬בכי‪ 4 .‬דשאיו ונטעיו‪ :‬מתנותיו‪ .‬להציץ‪ :‬לפרוח‪ .‬ובערב‪ :‬ובערוב היום‪.‬‬ ‫להמליל‪ :‬ליבול‪ .‬ובערב להמליל‪ :‬על פי תה' צ‪ ,‬ו‪' :‬לערב ימולל ויבש'‪ 5 .‬יגזול‪:‬‬ ‫יחטוף‪ .‬מלכיו כבהמותיו‪ :‬נכבדיו כבזוייו‪ .‬אוכלי הסולת וכו'‪ :‬עשיריו וענייו כאחד‪.‬‬ ‫בליל‪ :‬מספוא )איוב ו‪ ,‬ה(‪ 6 .‬ומקרה וכו'‪ :‬על פי קה' ב‪ ,‬יד‪ .‬נהוג במקל‪ :‬העבד‪.‬‬ ‫כלובש כליל‪ :‬כשר המתהדר בלבושו היפה‪ .‬והטור מקביל אל קודמו‪ 7 .‬זולליו‪:‬‬ ‫הבזויים שבהם‪ .‬ויקריו‪ :‬והמכובדים‪ .‬כפליל‪ :‬כדיין‪ ,‬כחכם; מלשון 'ונתן בפלילים'‬ ‫בשמ' כא‪ ,‬כב‪ 8 .‬ערבו‪ :‬שבתו‪ ,‬נגמרו‪ .‬חדלו‪...‬שמחותיו‪ :‬ללשון השווה יש' כד‪ ,‬יא‪:‬‬ ‫'ערבה כל שמחה גלה משוש הארץ'‪] .‬תענוגיו[‪ :‬המעתיק כתב כאן פעמיים‬ ‫'שמחותיו'‪ ,‬ותיקנתי על פי מקבילה‪ .‬כמו ספר להגליל‪ :‬כמו ספר שנסגר‪ .‬הלשון על‬ ‫פי יש' לד‪ ,‬ד‪' :‬ונגלו כספר השמים'‪ 9 .‬טעם ממתקיו‪ :‬טעמו המתוק‪ ,‬בסמיכות‬ ‫תיאור‪ .‬נחתך ואפס‪ :‬נקטע וכלה‪ .‬ומה יתרון וכו'‪ :‬ומה תועלת יש במעט נופת‬ ‫הנמרח על פת שעורים‪ .‬שעורת צליל‪ :‬עוגת שעורים קלויה; הלשון על פי שופ' ז‪ ,‬יג‪:‬‬ ‫'צליל לחם שעורים מתהפך במחנה'‪ 10 .‬יהבלו‪ :‬ישתטו )מל"ב יז‪ ,‬טו(‪ .‬בתי חמד‪:‬‬ ‫בתי פאר )יח' כו‪ ,‬יב(‪ .‬ופורשי‪ :‬והשוטחים‪ .‬בגדי וכו'‪ :‬בגדים‪ ,‬שטיחים ווילאות )אס'‬ ‫ח‪ ,‬טו(‪ .‬במקבילה‪ :‬חור ותכלת‪ ,‬והוא עדיף‪ .‬גליל‪ :‬עמוד; מלשון 'על גלילי כסף‬ ‫ועמודי שש' באס' א‪ ,‬ו‪ 11 .‬יעזבום‪ :‬את בתי החמד‪ .‬ואך שם וכו'‪ :‬ויהיו קן לעופות‬ ‫מדבר )'ליל'(‪ .‬על פי יש' לד‪ ,‬ד‪' :‬אך שם הרגיעה לילית ומצאה לה מנוח'‪ 12 .‬כסף‬ ‫צרוף בעליל‪ :‬כסף מזוקק; על פי תה' יב‪ ,‬ז‪ 13 .‬מסחר‪ :‬סחורה‪ .‬וגליל‪ :‬ופלך‪14 .‬‬ ‫נהרו‪ :‬לכו בהמוניכם‪ .‬מלשון 'ונהרו אליו כל הגוים' ביש' ד‪ ,‬ב ועוד‪ .‬והגליל‪ :‬והצפון‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 15‬סור וכו'‪ :‬הלוא נעלם עשרם בן רגע‪ .‬כמו גפן וכו'‪ :‬כמו שׂיחי גפן שנקטפו ענביהם‪.‬‬

‫ג‬

‫שיר פרישות פייטני לדויד הנשיא‬

‫מרשימות בעוצמתן‪ 15.‬ר' דויד השאיר אחריו סליחות ותוכחות בלבד‪ ,‬ועצם דבקותו‬ ‫בז'אנר פייטני יחיד )תופעה שאינה מוכרת אצל בני דורו( מצביעה על יוצר ייחודי‬ ‫ויוצא דופן‪ 16.‬שיריו של דויד הנשיא חורגים מן המקובל גם באורכם המופלג‪ .‬רבים‬ ‫משיריו מביאים לפחות עשרים ושתיים מחרוזות )אלפביתיות( בנות ארבעה טורים‪.‬‬ ‫על אלו מתוספות עוד מחרוזות הנושאות את חתימת שמו‪ :‬דויד‪ ,‬דויד הנשיא וכד'‪.‬‬ ‫היקף השירים מגיע לעתים קרובות ליותר מתשעים טורים‪ :‬כמעט שאין ידועים לנו‬ ‫שירים באורך כזה בין הסליחות הקדומות‪ .‬שירים מעטים משלו אינם סטרופיים‪:‬‬ ‫אלה מיוסדים על חרוז אחד‪ ,‬שאינו מוחלף בזולתו מתחילת השירים ועד סופם‪ .‬גם‬ ‫אלה מציגים לראווה את כוח היצירה הסוחף של מחברם‪ .‬הם מצטיינים לא רק‬ ‫בהיקפם הגדול אלא גם באורכם המופלג של טוריהם‪.‬‬ ‫השיר המובא להלן הוא דוגמה ייצוגית לחלק הזה של מורשת המשורר; הוא‬ ‫מובא על פי כ"י מוצרי ‪ MC IV 265.1‬השמור כעת בפריס‪ .‬המקור הוא של דף‬ ‫בודד‪ :‬לפני השיר מועתק שם סופו של פיוט משל יוסף אבן אביתור‪ 17.‬שירו של דויד‬ ‫מתועד בשמונה מקורות נוספים בגניזה‪ ,‬לא כולם שלמים‪ 18.‬בשלושה מהם הוא‬ ‫מובא ליד פיוטים של משוררי ספרד )יוסף אבן אביתור ]פעמיים[ ויהודה הלוי(‪,‬‬ ‫ובשניים אחרים בין פיוטים אחרים משל עצמו‪ .‬הפיוט הגיע גם למרכז אירופה‪:‬‬ ‫הוא נכלל במחזור טורין המפורסם המתעד את מנהג איטליה הקדמון בין פיוטי‬ ‫העמידה של תעניות ציבור‪ ,‬אך העתקתו לא נשתמרה‪ 19.‬נביא תחילה את השיר‬ ‫כלשונו‪ ,‬ונאמר בו דברים מעטים אחר כך‪:‬‬ ‫זהדיה לר' דויד הנשיא ז'ל'‬ ‫יליל‬ ‫וּמ ָחר ֵאיְ ִ‬ ‫עוֹלם ֲא ֶשׁר בּוֹ ַהיּוֹם ֶא ְשׂ ַחק ָ‬ ‫אָעוּרה ִל ְזעוֹם ָ‬ ‫ָ‬ ‫חוֹשׁ ָקיו ]פּוֹ[ ֵשׁ ַע ִבּ ְד ֵב ָקיו ֵריעוּתוֹ ֶשׁ ֶקר וִ ִ‬ ‫בּוֹגֵד ְבּ ְ‬ ‫ידידוּתוֹ ֱא ִליל‬ ‫ֶה ֶפּ ֶכת ְליָגוֹן וְ ִלנְ ִהי ִמ ְת ַח ֶלּ ֶפת נְ ִגינַת ָח ִליל‬ ‫ילתוֹ ְכ ֶרגַע נ ְ‬ ‫ִגּ ָ‬ ‫וּב ֶע ֶרב ְל ַה ְמ ִליל‬ ‫יבשׁוּ ַבּבּ ֶֹקר ְל ָה ִציץ ְ‬ ‫ְדּ ָשׁאָיו וּנְ ָט ָעיו ִפּ ְתאוֹם יִ ָ‬ ‫‪ 15‬כבר חכמים ראשונים ציינו בהבלטה את רמתם הגבוהה של שיריו‪ ,‬וזאת על פי שירים‬ ‫בודדים שהגיעו לידיהם‪ .‬שלושה שירים משלו רשם כבר צונץ בספרו הקלסי‬ ‫‪ ,Literaturgeschichte der synagogalen Poesie, Berlin 1865, p. 371‬אחד מהם על פי מחזור‬ ‫רומניאה ושניים על פי סידור הקראים‪ .‬וראה גם לעיל‪ ,‬הערה ‪.3‬‬ ‫‪ 16‬על צד האמת יש בעיות לא פשוטות בסיווג יצירותיו של דויד הנשיא‪ .‬רבות מפיוטיו‬ ‫אינן 'סליחות' במובן השגור של המונח‪ ,‬אם כי כולם שימשו )לפי המתועד במקורות( כמיני‬ ‫סליחות ותוכחות‪ .‬על כל פנים אין בידינו עד עכשיו שום שיר משלו שניתן לסווג אותו אחרת‪.‬‬ ‫פייטנים שהשאירו אחריהם סליחות בלבד ידועים לרוב במרכז‪-‬אירופה‪ ,‬אבל לתופעה הזאת‬ ‫יש הסבר ליטורגי פשוט‪ ,‬כמפורסם‪ .‬הפייטנות המזרחית לעומת זאת הזמינה בימיו של דויד‬ ‫הנשיא פעילות יוצרת בכל סוגי השיר‪ .‬סירובו של משורר משיעור קומתו לתרום מחילו‬ ‫לסוגי הפיוט האחרים משמעותית על כן במיוחד‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 17‬הקטע הוא גוף יוצר לסוכות; פתיחתו אינה ידועה לפי שעה‪ .‬קטע מפיוט זה )מאות ז'‬ ‫ועד הסוף( מועתק גם בכ"י קמבריג' ‪.T-S H 3.3‬‬ ‫‪ 18‬לרשימת המקורות ולחילופי הגרסאות ראה בסוף המאמר‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 19‬כתב היד של מחזור טורין )=סדר חיבור ברכות( נשרף כידוע בראשית המאה‬ ‫הקודמת‪ ,‬ולא נותרה ממנו אלא העתקה שהופקה בידי ש"ז שכטר ומעתיק נוסף; העתקה זו‬ ‫שמורה בספריית ביהמ"ל בניו יורק‪ .‬הפיוט נזכר שם בעמ' ‪ .83‬במקור היה כתוב בראשו‬ ‫'וידוי'‪ .‬הפיוט נזכר גם בספרו הגדול של צונץ על תולדות הפיוט‪ ,‬לעיל הערה ‪ ,15‬עמ' ‪.393‬‬ ‫לשון פתיחת השיר אצלו 'אעורה לזעום אשר בו היום'‪ .‬צונץ משייך את המחבר לאיטליה‬ ‫של המאה הי"ב‪ ,‬ויש להניח שראה את השיר בסדר חיבור ברכות‪ .‬מפני זה סבר שהמחבר‬ ‫איטלקי‪.‬‬

‫טובה בארי‬

‫ב‬

‫ימיו‪ 5.‬שמע גדולתו ומפעליו של חזקיהו הגיע עד ספרד‪ :‬שמואל הנגיד שלח אליו שיר‬ ‫תהילה ארוך )תחילתו 'נגלית ישרה בלי צניף ומצנפת'( שאותו חיבר בשנת ‪,1055‬‬ ‫כשנה לפני מותו‪ 6.‬גם אל דויד‪ ,‬בנו של חזקיהו ומחברו של השיר דלהלן‪ ,‬שיגר‬ ‫שמואל הנגיד שיר )תחילתו 'עליכם בני תורה ולומדיה'(‪ 7,‬ובו הוא מזרזו לא להירתע‬ ‫מלתפוש מקום בניהול ענייניה של ישיבת ארץ ישראל‪ .‬ר' אברהם אבן דאוד מספר‬ ‫בספר הקבלה שלו ששני בנים של חזקיה ראש הגולה ברחו לספרד כשאביהם ירד‬ ‫מגדולתו באחרית ימיו‪ ,‬וששניהם ישבו בצילו של יהוסף בן הנגיד עד הרצחו של זה‬ ‫ב‪ 8.1066‬גם אם אין בסיס עובדתי לסיפור הזה‪ ,‬כדעת רוב החוקרים‪ ,‬יש בו עדות‬ ‫למסורת ספרדית קדומה על קשרים הדוקים בין בית ראש הגולה ובית הנגיד‬ ‫‪9‬‬ ‫האנדלוסי‪.‬‬ ‫אין בידינו לפי שעה ידיעות מדויקות על חייו של דויד הנשיא‪ ,‬אבל יש עליו‬ ‫תיעוד מזדמן במדור הדוקומנטרי של גניזת קהיר‪ .‬הגיעו לידינו שרידי שני מכתבים‬ ‫ששיגר אליו אליהו הכהן‪ ,‬מראשי ישיבת ארץ ישראל בימיו‪ ,‬סביב שנות הארבעים‬ ‫של המאה האחת עשרה‪ 10.‬ידוע שדויד הנשיא לא ירש את כסא אביו‪ ,‬אבל בנו‪,‬‬ ‫חזקיהו )השלישי(‪ ,‬נשא במשרת ראש הגולה לקראת סוף המאה‪ 11.‬עדות עקיפה‬ ‫לזמן פעילותו של דויד הנשיא עולה משריד של שיר משלו )'אבדו ישרי חומותי'(‪,‬‬ ‫שטורים בודדים מסופו מועתקים בכתב יד מן הגניזה בכתיבת ידו של יוסף אבן‬ ‫אביתור‪ 12,‬שנפטר סביב שנת ‪ 13.1024‬העובדה שמשורר משיעור קומתו של יוסף אבן‬ ‫אביתור גילה בו עניין ואף העתיק שיר משלו מלמד שבעת ההיא כבר היה דויד‬ ‫הנשיא יוצר מוכר‪.‬‬ ‫למרות ייחוסו הרם‪ ,‬נראה שדויד לא היה מעורב בחיי הציבור בתקופתו‪ :‬הוא‬ ‫היה יותר מכול משורר אמיתי‪ ,‬משורר אמיץ‪ ,‬שלא נרתע מלהביע דעות קשות על‬ ‫מנהיגי הדור ולהוקיע את הרמה המוסרית הירודה של צאן מרעיתם‪ 14,‬ביצירות‬ ‫‪ 5‬על חזקיהו ראש הגולה ראה כעת‪ :‬מ' גיל‪ ,‬במלכות ישמעאל‪ ,‬תל אביב וירושלים ‪,1997‬‬ ‫א–ד‪ ,‬על פי המפתח‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 6‬ראה אצל ד' ירדן‪ ,‬דיואן שמואל הנגיד‪ ,‬בן תהלים‪ ,‬ירושלים תשכ"ו‪ ,‬עמ' ‪.138–134‬‬ ‫‪ 7‬ראה ד' ירדן‪ ,‬שם‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ .153–151‬זיהוי הנמען אינו בטוח לחלוטין‪ ,‬אבל הוא סביר‬ ‫ביותר‪ .‬השיר אינו מתוארך בכותרתו אבל בדיואן הנגיד כ"י ששון ‪) 589‬מהד' ד"ס ששון‪,‬‬ ‫אוקספורד תרצ"ד‪ ,‬עמ' כח( הוא מועתק אחרי חטיבת השירים שנכתבה ב‪ 1041‬ולפני השיר‬ ‫'שעה מני עמיתי וחברי' שנכתב אף הוא בשנה ההיא‪ .‬שירי הנגיד בבן תהלים מסודרים‬ ‫כידוע ברצף כרונולוגי‪ ,‬אך סדר זה לא נשמר במהדורתו של ד' ירדן‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 8‬ראה אברהם אבן דאוד הלוי‪ ,‬ספר הקבלה‪ ,‬מהד' ג' כהן‪ ,‬פילדלפיה תשכ"ז‪ ,‬עמ' ‪–44‬‬ ‫‪.45‬‬ ‫‪ 9‬ראה לזה מ' גיל‪ ,‬לעיל הערה ‪ ,5‬א‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ .113 ,110‬ספקות על מהימנות דברי הראב"ד‬ ‫העלה ארנולד פרנקלין‪ ,‬בהרצאה בשם ‪‘The Flight of Hezekiah ben David's Sons to‬‬ ‫’‪ Spain: Continuity and Subversiveness in a Literary Motif‬שנשא בכנס ה‪ AJS-‬בשנת‬ ‫‪.1999‬‬ ‫‪ 10‬ראה לזה מ' גיל‪ ,‬ארץ ישראל בתקופה המוסלמית הראשונה‪ ,‬תל‪-‬אביב תשמ"ג‪ ,‬ג‪,‬‬ ‫תעודות ‪.417 ,416‬‬ ‫‪ 11‬ראה לזה מ' גיל‪ ,‬לעיל הערה ‪ ,5‬עמ' ‪.432–431‬‬ ‫‪ 12‬כ"י קמבריג' ‪ .T-S 10 J 7.15‬השיר 'אבדו ישרי חומותי' נדפס על ידי ש' ברנשטיין‪,‬‬ ‫התקופה א )תרצ"ג(‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ .465‬השיר נדפס שם על פי כתב יד תימני וסופו חסר‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 13‬לקביעת תאריך זה‪ ,‬שהוא מאוחר בכעשר שנים ממה שהיה מקובל‪ ,‬ראה כעת‪ :‬ח'‬ ‫שירמן‪ ,‬תולדות השירה העברית בספרד המוסלמית‪ ,‬ערך‪ ,‬השלים וליווה בהערות ע' פליישר‪,‬‬ ‫ירושלים תשנ"ו‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ,155‬הערה ‪.59‬‬ ‫‪ 14‬ראה לזה‪ ,‬למשל‪ ,‬במאמרי 'תוכחה לדויד הנשיא'‪ ,(2005) 9 REEH ,‬עמ' ‪.102–89‬‬

‫שיר פרישות פייטני לדויד הנשיא‬

‫טובה בארי‬ ‫א‬ ‫מחברו של השיר המתפרסם לראשונה להלן רשם את שמו למזכרת בסוף יצירתו‪,‬‬ ‫לאחר שהציב בראש עשרים ושניים טוריה הראשונים‪ ,‬ברצף‪ ,‬את אותיות‬ ‫האלפבית‪ .‬בראשי המילים שבטור ‪ 23‬הוא העמיד בהצפנה גלויה את האותיות‬ ‫'דויד'‪ ,‬והוסיף על שמו לשון ברכה קצר‪ ,‬שגור במיוחד בחתימות פייטניות‪' :‬יחי'‪.‬‬ ‫באופן זה הנציחו את שמם‪ ,‬כמפורסם‪ ,‬מאות פייטנים קדומים ומאוחרים‪ ,‬בכל‬ ‫קהילות ישראל במזרח ובמערב‪' .‬דויד' סתם זה הוא בלי ספק דויד הנשיא‪ ,‬משורר‬ ‫עברי קדום מחונן ומעניין‪ 1,‬שעזבונו הספרותי העשיר משתחזר והולך בימינו על פי‬ ‫שרידי הדפים הבלים של גניזת קהיר וגניזות אחרות‪' 2.‬דויד' זה‪ ,‬החותם לעתים את‬ ‫שיריו 'דוד הנשיא'‪ ,‬או 'דויד בן נשיא'‪ ,‬והנזכר בכותרות יצירותיו גם בשם 'דויד בן‬ ‫ראש הגולה'‪ ,‬פעל בארצות המזרח‪ ,‬בבבל‪ ,‬בארץ ישראל ובמצרים‪ ,‬במחצית‬ ‫הראשונה של המאה האחת עשרה‪ .‬על האיש ומפעלו הספרותי ידועים היום פרטים‬ ‫רבים‪ 3.‬ר' דויד הנשיא היה בנו של חזקיהו ראש הגולה‪ 4‬שמלך בבגדאד במחצית‬ ‫הראשונה של המאה האחת עשרה ונמנה עם האישים הידועים ורבי המעש של‬

‫מחקר זה נתמך על ידי הקרן הלאומית למדע בישראל‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 1‬זיהויו הוודאי של מחבר השיר עם דויד הנשיא סומך על ייחוס מפורש בכותרת שמעל‬ ‫לשיר‪ .‬הוא מוכח גם מתוכני השיר ומלשונו‪ ,‬כפי שיפורט להלן‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 2‬למעלה מארבעים משיריו זוהו עד כה בוודאות‪ .‬את אסופת שיריו אני מקווה להוציא‬ ‫לאור בעתיד הקרוב‪.‬‬ ‫‪ 3‬לסיכום מפעלם של חוקרים ראשונים שטיפלו בשירי דוד הנשיא ראה במאמרי‪:‬‬ ‫‪‘Between Spain and the East: The Poetic Works of David ben ha-Nassi’, in: J.‬‬ ‫‪Targarona and A. Sáenz-Badillos (eds.), Jewish Studies at the Turn of the Twentieth‬‬ ‫‪.Century, Leiden-Boston-Köln 1999, pp. 379–383‬‬ ‫‪ 4‬זמן רב זיהו החוקרים את דויד הנשיא המשורר עם דויד בן דניאל בן עזריה הידוע‬ ‫לשמצה ממגילת אביתר‪ .‬על זיהויו של דויד הנשיא כבנו של חזקיהו ראש הגולה העמיד‬ ‫לראשונה עזרא פליישר‪ .‬ראה ע' פליישר‪' ,‬השלמות ליצירתו של ר' יצחק בר לוי אבן מר‬ ‫שאול'‪ ,‬תרביץ סג )תשנ"ד(‪ ,‬עמ' ‪ ,441‬הערה ‪.94‬‬

‫א‬