Here are some interesting golem related things I came across, to supplement the golem post of last week.
A hypothesis about the origin of the golem legend, from Old European Jewries by David Philipson (1894):
From a list of Yiddish proverbs and sayings collected in St. Louis (1920):
A description of the golem, in which the Maharal is named "Rabbi Bezalel [sic] Loew," the golem is a dwarf, and the magic word which automates him is G O L E M, from a book called The follies of science at the court of Rudolph II: 1576-1612 by Henry Carrington Bolton (1904). Unfortunately it can't be bothered to cite sources or give a bibliography.
Here's a great article on Artifical Life by J.D. Eisenstein in his Topics of the Day in the Talmud series, in New Era Illustrated 7 (1905)
Writing in that same magazine, is Gotthard Deutsch. He recounts what he was told about the resting place of the golem, by the shammas of the Altneu Schule, and based on personal knowledge, what the fate of the Maharal's kiddush cup would be:
What a professor of Hebrew and Oriental languages had to know to qualify for a university chair in 1839.
John Duncan (1796-1870) was Professor of Hebrew and Oriental Languages at New College, Edinburgh. In a time when loads of educated people had a smattering of Hebrew and Rabbinic knowledge, evidently he was considered to have more than the usual, for he was sometimes nicknamed 'Rabbi Duncan.' (I'm not kidding -- Google returns over 8000 results for "Rabbi Duncan.") It seems that he is known primarily for his aphorisms, but that is not what this blog is about.
Below is the letter he sent in 1839 to the university which would employ him, explaining why he is qualified for the academic post. He refers to "his friend Hoga" Evidently he wasn't a fan of Rashi or the Yalkut Shimoni:
Appended to the letter were testimonials, including one by his Hebrew teacher, who signed his name יהודה אריה בן יעקב:
It would be nice if I could establish the identity of the aforementioned Judah Aryeh ben Jacob (known as Lion), but as of yet I cannot. However, a childhood friend of Duncan's recollects the following regarding their learning the Bible's trop, and evidently this Hebrew teacher was of Spanish-Portuguese Jewish origin:
posted by Mississippi Fred MacDowell at 12:52 PM |
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
בחיי; Bachya or Bechaye? Steinschneider "defends" the traditional pronunciation.
Interestingly, Google returns only 2,200 results for "rabbeinu bechaye" vs 11,700 for "rabbeinu bachya." I tried other titles and permutations, but the results don't really change. Anyway, next time your rabbi quotes Rabbenu Bechaye, don't cringe. Think of Steinschneider.
The earliest printed reference to the Maharal's Golem appeared in B. Auerbach, Spinoza, Sttugart, 1837, vol. 2, pp. 2-3. Kieval's claim (in Pursuing the Golem of Prague," p. 7; . . . that the first such reference appeared in 1841 needs to be revised accordingly: Two printed references (and the first by a non-Jew) to the Maharal's Golem appeared in 1841. For the non-Jewish reference, see F. Klutschak's Der Golam [sic] des Rabbi Löw," Panorama des Universums 8 (1841), pp. 75ff; reprinted in Kieval, "Pursuing the Golem," pp. 21-23. For the Jewish reference, see G. Philippson, "Der Golem," Allgemeine Zeitung des Judenthums 5 (1841), number 44, pp. 629-631.
לענ"ד I have found a reference from 1836.
What you see is page 368 of the Oesterreiche Zeitschrift für Geschichts und Staatsunde, 92, 16 November 1836:
By the 1840s everyone knows about it so there's almost no point giving additional sources (unless one is striving for comprehensiveness). Nevertheless, here's an 1843 review of the Altneu Schule in Prague in the Archives israélites 4:
By 1845 you've even got a poem about it.
And in 1846 it's in a Jewish history book:
Dr. Leiman's reference to the first printed source is to the 1837 book Spinoza by Berthold Auerbach. Here is what the passage looks like in the 1854 edition:
And you can read the entire thing in English translation, from 1882:
It should be noted, by the way, that another Golem legend seems to have spread, namely that Rabbi Yudl Rosenberg more or less invented the legend. Here seems like a good place to repudiate this misconception. No one makes this impossible claim, and the articles dealing with him make it clear that the legend was not created by him, and they cite earlier sources, such as some of the ones mentioned in this post (but not my 1836 source!). Rather, the claim is that he is the first (and only) source which claimed that the legend was written many hundreds of years earlier, namely by someone he claimed was the Maharal's son-in-law, and in a manuscript from 1590 which only he had seen (and found in a library which didn't exist). The story only exploded in popularity after his book, which means that he helped to popularize it. In addition, stories in the legend come solely from his book (see, e.g., the Jewish Press's weekly cartoon about the Golem, which has looped for decades).
But it was sufficiently a part of pop culture that the following, from 1884, appears. It was part of an article called Legends of the Synagogue in the journal All the year round, founded by Charles Dickens. This piece is written by his son, Charles Dickens, Jr.:
According to this piece from a 1938 Life the statue in Prague was erected in 1905:
In any case, why is any of this on my mind at all? I happened to come across a fascinating and charming article of 90 pages written in 1896 called A Glossary of Jewish Terms by Joseph Jacobs. It was published by him in the 1899 edition of the Jewish Yearbook. This list contains a fascinating mix of folklore, history, modern scholarly conjectures (some of which are pretty wild) and also "Amhaaretsuth," to use his spelling.
Here is how the list begins (note the strange claim; either wild conjecture or Amhaaretsuth) at the very end:
Here is his entry on Golem:
This particular list is a real pleasure to read; I strongly urge everyone to print it up (here it is). In fact, I could probably do ten posts just about the list. There's an entry on "Fried Fish" (where it calls cholent "Shalet," a "favorite [Sabbath] dish of the Continental Jews), and one on "Froom," which is what "pious Jews are said to be."
To give an indication of how long ago it really was, in the entry on Court Jews ("Hofjude") it remarks that the father of the recently departed Baron de Hirsch was one. It informs us that Sir Moses Montefiore belonged to a Chevra Kadisha ("Lavadorea" in the Spanish-Sepharadic parlance) and often performed taharas on the deceased. It also includes many terms which were evidently in common parlance at the time, but not so much anymore. For example, I don't know if in a list like this today there would be an entry for "Hamechuna" or even "Hatarath Hora'ah" (given that it's vulgarly called "semicha" these days). He has an entry on "Din," which seems to have fallen by the wayside and is mostly called "halacha" these days. Actually, I should qualify that: my reading seems to indicate that British Jews preferred and perhaps still prefer the term "din." He also preserves minhagim. For example, in his entry on the priestly blessing he notes that it is not performed on the Sabbath. While there are still some places which do not do this, in my experience this is today rare. Actually, in the view of some that minhag is "Amhaaretsuth." Rabbi Rakeffet-Rothkoff tells a story about Rabbi Soloveitchik opposing this custom in his first rabbinic position in Boston, forcing his viewpoint (i.e., making the kohanim duchan against their will) and making enemies out of his congregants. He later realized that he should not have opposed this custom until he had formed alliances and taught the halacha properly to receptive ears. Only then should he have insisted that his change in their longstanding practice be instituted.
Getting back to golems, here are some 19th century Hebrew references:
Fuenn's Kiryah Ne'emanah (1860):
An 1874 edition of the Sefer Yetzirah:
An essential part of the dictionary entry for גולם, by 1880:
Here's the Maharal's headstone inscription referred to in Kiryah Ne'emanah; this is from Gal 'Ed (1856):
Putting aside the Maharal's alleged golem, what about golems in general? By the 183os it had sufficiently entered European popular culture, that a character in a German book is a golem. Here is from a review of that book, from 1836:
Here's an entry in a English-Welsh dictionary from 1756:
And in a very strange book containing much material trying to connect Hebrew with English, from 1766:
Read what Jonathan Swift had to say about this sort of philology:
All eggs under the grate!
By the way, if I'm behind the curve and this 1836 source for the golem has already been discovered, please let me know.
Years ago somehow I got signed up for a Daily Hadith email, which meant that every day a nugget of Islamic tradition arrived in my inbox. I would notice this or that thing which I knew of as a ma'amar Chazal. This was hardly my discovery. Abraham Geiger wrote a whole book about it, his doctoral dissertation Was hat Mohammed aus dem Judenthume aufgenommen? (1833)
The expression חמור נושא ספרים is found in many Jewish sources, and is used colloquially as a dismissive insult. There are some who would say, not entirely without justice, that I am a חמור נושא ספרים; or if they are feeling particularly witty, not even that. It is also found in Sura 62.15 of the Quran (below is a translation from 1821):
As you can see, in its original context the phrase refers to the Jews. They are like an ass laden with books, because while they carry the law, they did not observe it, in the opinion of Muhammad.
Here is Geiger:
It seems to appear in Jewish sources for the first time in Chovos Ha-levavos, 3.4:
Below is Menahem Mansoor's translation: An early list mention other, later sources, but surprisingly doesn't mention the Quran:
The above is from Otzar Nechmad vol. 2, in a letter by Leopold Dukes. Any חמור נושא ספרים (technically anyone who can cut + paste and press enter) can find numerous later sources using this aphorism (Chavos Yair, etc).
Here's an illustration of how it had entered popular Jewish culture, from Israel Zangwill's Dreamers of the Ghetto (1898):
As an aphorism it is found constantly in 19th century literature, seemingly having been adopted from Montaigne, who used in a 16th century essay on education, or from Swift (who probably got it from Montaigne).
Although I am not from those who automatically see a similarity and then give priority to the non-Jewish source (see the first paragraph of this post) it is exceedingly difficult to maintain that the author of חובת הלבבות (which was originally written in Arabic) did not adopt the expression from the Quranic source, although it is possible that in his time it was already a popular Arabic saying, and that was more directly his source (see a related post; see below for the saying:
In any case, it certainly is ironic that in the original meaning it is exceedingly derisive of the Jews, yet Rabbi Bahya took it like an אדמו"ר takes a tune.
Here's the complete passage from a 1764 edition:
Incidentally, I searched in vain for an edition of the Chovos ha-Levavos written in its original Arabic, but in Hebrew letters. I'm embarrassed to say that I poured over the 1569 Ladino edition for ten minutes before I realized it wasn't Arabic! In my defense, it's a really hard to read scan. See for yourself.
I've referred to interesting comments regarding Wessely's commentary to Leviticus which are found in Moses Mendelssohn (Hamburger)'s bookפני תבל: מוסר השכל (Amsterdam, 1872), but I finally have a chance to post them directly.
Later he discusses Wessely's writings in general (below) and be sure to read the last line to see who, as of that writing -- he died in 1861 -- was in possession of Wessely's manuscripts.
R. Samson Rafael Hirsch was his nephew. See the following from pg. 108:
posted by Mississippi Fred MacDowell at 11:29 AM |
Monday, November 02, 2009
19th Century Missionariana and Apostatiana
A wealth of a resource for Jewish life in the 19th century is to be found in the periodical and journals of Christian missionaries to the Jews, which was a very popular English pursuit of the time. With the usual caveats about how to critically evaluate sources, here are a couple of interesting things I found recently.
The following three illustrations appear in a book from 1838:
The following notice is a memoir by a Jewish apostate, written in 1839:
The careful reader will see what makes this particularly interesting:
"addressed as Rabbi Moreni"
"A book, intitled Schebet Misser"
The convert, a Galicianer born in Brody in 1761, writes his Hebrew transliterations with the form of Hebrew pronunciation known today because it is preserved by the Chassidim.
The Jew of Vilna; a 19th century inspirational Christian story.
In 1835 an article circulated in many English periodicals, in a very similar manner to email forwards today. The little anecdote is called The Jew of Vilna, and tells the story about the Napoleonic advance, when a French colonel in Vilna discovered a Jewish girl and her aged father being assaulted by four soldiers. Not being able to convince them to stop, he wielded his sword, killing two of them, wounding the two others and sustaining some cuts himself. When the Russians beat the pants off the French, the colonel again passed through Vilna on retreat. This time it was he who was in a bad state, and he knocked on the door of the Jew's home, and was given clean clothes and a way for him was even arranged to make it back to France.
Retiring with only a small pension back in France, he was surprised some years later by a knock on the door. It was the Jew, who handed him an envelope and left. Inside it was £5000 with a note; read the article below to know the content of the note. The story ends with the optimistic notice that not only that, after the Jewish man died, the French colonel married his daughter and inherited £100,000!
And in case the lessons of the story, why it circulated, is not apparent, below is an introduction to one of the printings of the story in the Christian Penny's Magazine:
posted by Mississippi Fred MacDowell at 12:22 PM |
Friday, October 30, 2009
Illowy adjustments and clarifications
I need to make a few adjustments to the Illowy post below, reflecting some new information and also reflecting personal reflections. However, I do not have time to do it now, but going into shabbos, I don't want the post as it is to be assumed to reflect everything I have to say about it.
In the meantime, here's an unintentionally hilarious notice from an 1868 issue of the Scientific American about the Illowy image from the American Phrenological Journal I had posted:
Since Chanuka's coming, here's something which ran in the Jewish Chronicle of London a long time ago:
Edit 11.02.09
Please read the update at the bottom of that post.
Crown of Aleppo: The Mystery of the Oldest Hebrew Bible Codex by Hayim Tawil and Bernard Schneider.
One thing seems certain; given Tawil's involvement, even if it is Da Vinci Code-sque with a silly plot and contrived contrivances, at least the facts will likely be facts. Plot prediction: a secret cabal of Syrians with a lair on King's Highway will be hoarding missing leaves.
Tawil is about to publish a new lexicon of Akkadian (link).
It's unbelievable. Apart from the fact that the Kevarim.com picture probably does not convey the true state of the tombstone, and in fact seems to have been scanned from a poorly printed photograph, what a terrible, even vulgar idea this is! Sure, why not replace an historically significant monument with a flashy new stone. Who gets to keep the old one? Do they grind it up and make cement with it? I stress that I realize the idea is well intentioned, but I feel like someone with such an inadvertently cavalier attitude would find the Dead Sea Scrolls and make shoes out of them. Maybe Montefiore shouldn't have added rows to the top of the Kotel, he should have just replaced the whole thing. This is like inadvertent Wahhabism:
In 1803 and 1804 the Saudis captured Mecca and Medina and destroyed historical monuments and various holy Muslim sites and shrines, such as the shrine built over the tomb of Fatimah, the daughter of Muhammad, and even intended to destroy the grave of Muhammad himself as idolatrous. link
Be that as it may, here are a couple of Illowy items:
His responsa and miscellaneous Hebrew, English and German writings, Hebrew poems, etc. were published by his son Henry (Dr. H. Illoway הק' צבי בן מה"ר יששכר דוב זצ"ל המכונה) in 1914 under the title מלחמות אלהים. It looks like this:
Henry Illoway (he spelled it this way) closes his loving tribute to his father with the following highly interesting note:
I don't know the precise circumstances surrounding the disclaimer, but evidently there were those who accused Rabbi Illowy of using his rabbinic position to enrich himself. Now, I have no idea if he was even wealthy, but of course that wouldn't stop tongues wagging anyway, as they do. I do know that in Harold Scharfman's book about R. Abraham Rice, "The First Rabbi" he reports that in 1861 Illowy's salary at his Baltimore Hebrew Congregation reduced his salary from $1500 to $600; his friends took up a collection and raised an additional $400. It seems that the New Orleans congregation Shanarai-Chasset , pleased with his -- how shall I put this, not anti-slavery position -- offered him the vacant pulpit for $2000, but he declined.
Incidentally, while it is certainly a shame that Rabbi Illowy missed a noble opportunity to condemn slavery, rather than the opposite, it bears clarifying what his position was. Firstly, he was opposed to Washington's approach to the South, and sympathized with the Secessionists. Secondly, he raised the following point about slavery: "Why did not Moses, as it is to been seen from his code, was not in favor of slavery, command the judges in Israel to . . . take forcibly away a slave from a master? . . . Why did Abraham, Ezra, etc., not free slaves? . . . All these are irrefutable proofs that we have no right to exercise violence against . . . institutions even if religious feelings and philanthropic sentiments bid us disapprove of them. It proves, furthermore, that the authors of the many dangers, which threaten our country with ruin and devastation, are not what they pretend to be, the agents of Religion and Philanthropy . . . " (Quoted in pg. 683 of Scharfman; read the full text of the sermon here.)
I will leave it to the reader to judge if this position was evil. Calling his position neutral is charitable. I of course have my own opinion, and am mindful of what Dante felt about moral neutrality:
But I also never lived in Baltimore in 1860.
Finally, an expert explains why tombstones are important: Dr.Leiman's post here. Note: we seem to be in minor disagreement, as he seems unconcerned about the stones per se, as he is about the content. I would preserve both. In any case, I look forward to the fruits of my friend's research.
UPDATE 11.02.09
As I mentioned on Friday, this post needs some updating and clarification.
I received an email from Baruch Amsel, the webmaster of Kevarim.com who explained to me that in previous cases when headstones were replaced due to the shabby condition they're in, the old ones were actually lain as footstones rather than discarded or, you know, stolen. An example of such spruced up graves include those of Rabbi Rice of Baltimore. Thus, the commenter was not looking to uproot history but rather to preserve it. I guess I owe an apology for assuming that I was had come across good, but boorish, intentions. Furthermore, the photo is new and the stone really is in bad shape (at least in the judgment of those who've seen it).
Secondly, I have been thinking about whether or not it is fair to have even used the word "evil" in describing the non-abolitionist position of a Baltimore spiritual leader in 1860. While it is true that I noted that I could not place myself in his shoes and guarantee that I'd have taken what I believe was the correct moral choice even then, perhaps I should not have even suggested that the reader should decide if his view was "evil."
posted by Mississippi Fred MacDowell at 12:56 PM |
Now, every book published in Prague in those days had to be approved by the state's censor (and everywhere else too, I imagine, except the United States). Naturally being the censor for Hebrew books required specialized knowledge, and that's why the role was often filled by a Jew (who either had or had not converted to Christianity, as the case may be). However, there were some very Hebraically knowledgeable Christian censors, one of whom was Karl Fischer (1757-1844), the censor in Hebraicis in Prague.
In Spitz's biography of his grandfather we learn that the two were close friends--
--thus the seemingly impersonal censor's page in זכרון אלעזר, below-- --means much more. Fischer was approving a biography of his friend.
Of course Fischer's censor's permit appears on R. Fleckeles's works themselves:
If you like, you can practice your Latin and compare these three:
1.
2.
3.
As it happens, there is a highly interestingly biography of Karl Fischer by Iveta Cermanova, two articles in Judaica Bohemiae XLII and III totaling 112 pages, called Karl Fischer (1757-1844). The Work of a Hebrew Censor. (based on an earlier paper by her). Among many other things, this article examines Karl Fischer's relationship with R. Elazar Fleckeles.
The two exchanged many Hebrew letters dealing with personal matters. For example, in one such letter Fischer writes to R. Fleckeles about the death of his boss:
"I am beset with pain and overcome with grief for Mr. Ungar, the Imperial-Royal Councillor and Chief Librarian, departed from this life in the night of 8 Tammuz. . . .
מכאובים סבבוני וטרדות קדמוני כי יום ח' תמוז בלילה האדון אונגאר ק"ק ראטה אונד ביבליאטהעקאר הלך לעולמו, הוא היה הנאמן ומיטיב עמי..."י
Apparently they knew each other as early as 1788 (given that in one 1806 letter Fischer reminisces that their friendship goes back 18 years). Their formal correspondence was in German, with their informal and personal matters conducted in Hebrew.
Below are some Hebrew letters reproduced by Cermanova.
The first is from R. Fleckeles to Fischer:
Next is one from Fischer to Fleckeles:
While it is true that it was in the best interests of the Chief Rabbi (or any rabbi or would-be Hebrew author) to be on cordial terms with the censor, in fact this seems to have been a real friendship. They apparently met each others family. In one of the letters R. Fleckeles sent his own wife's greetings to Fischer's wife Anna. In another R. Fleckeles "pays his compliments" to her, whatever that means. In another Fischer sends regards to the rabbi's son Meir, and so forth. Interestingly, they also exchanged holiday greetings, and that included Christmas.
Below is a a Rosh Hashanah greeting from R. Fleckeles (although I'm not sure if this is a September or January greeting):
Their exchanges covered diverse topics, with R. Fleckeles often answering Fischer's queries on Jewish issues, such as Jewish honorifics and the meaning of certain Hebrew words. However, their friendship also extended to loaning books to one another and playing host, including one Purim where Fischer was Fleckeles's guest. Fischer also got along well with his sons-in-laws, including R. Yitzchak Spitz (Yom Tov's father), exchanging friendly letters with them as well.
Apparently he was also quite friendly with R. Fleckele's close friend R. Betzalel Ranschburg (1762-1820). In fact, among Fischer's papers are 60 letters from R. Ranschburg. According to Cemanova who had the pleasure of reviewing them, although most of them are about official business, they too are friendly, full of holiday greetings, apologies for not being able to visit, and so on. Dashing the historical perception of people everywhere, R. Ranschburg was wont to send Fischer gifts, including an esrog one Succos, and mishloach manos (ish le-re'ehu) on Purim.
The Rosh Hashanah greeting by R. Ranschburg below is dated December 19, so it is obvious which Rosh Hashanah it is from.
Fischer in turn treated and viewed these rabbis and their friends as his own friends, doing them all sorts of favors, one of which turned out to be a big favor indeed -- to Jews everywhere. Let me preface this by pointing out that he was not some sort of dupe. He was the censor for an absolutist and intolerant regime which granted no right of free speech for 50 years. He did not receive or maintain this job because he did not really read and he did not really censor works submitted to him. He did his job, of course. On one occasion Fischer wrote: "I do not . . . provide a general apologia for the Talmud without any exceptions; no, that is not the case, for if local Jews wanted to have it republished today or tomorrow, then many passages would have to be removed from the Gemarah." In addition, in some of his later writings he refers numerous times to Eisenmenger (post on him forthcoming) although he seemed to have pointedly refused to use him as a source earlier. Although his friendship with the most traditional Bohemian rabbis are described above, he personally was a supporter of Enlightenment-motivated reforms by the government meant to modernize Jews.
However, it should be clear that he was no antisemite, had a great deal of interest, knowledge and admiration for things Jewish. He maintained notes on the Talmud, which he accumulated in a monograph which was completed already by 1802 (or more likely, 1792), but remained unpublished until almost 40 years after his death, the Gutmeinung über den Talmud der Hebräer / Testimonial on the Talmud of the Hebrews. This was published by Jews, from manuscript, in 1883 due to the great rise in antisemitism in the last quarter of the 19th century. It was his business to know what was going on in Prague Jewry. Here's an interesting letter from 1814 he wrote to a government official about the Prague Beis Din:
“The first [Dayyan], Rabbi Eleazar Fleckeles, is a widely respected scholar, a prudent and renowned man and, moreover, a skillful preacher. His colleague, the second Chief-Jurist, Samuel Landau [the Noda Be-yehuda's son], is his adversary and opponent in everything; he has the rabble on his side, while the other is backed by scholars and notables; fire and water or wind and earth are more likely to be in harmony together than these two. Nothing is known about the third Chief-Jurist except that he is an ignoramus and is about as useful as the fifth wheel of a coach. How is it possible in such circumstances, then, to expect a more fruitful Enlightenment? ... but were the first Chief-Jurist Fleckeles also to be the Chief Rabbi of the country, as there is one [rabbi] appointed for Moravia, and were he to have good men as his colleagues, like Rabbi Daniel Joel Rosenbaum, Salomon Kauder and such like; if there were more enlightened and upstanding rabbis in rural areas, such as the regional rabbi Isaac Spitz (to which the undersigned also adds the regional rabbi David Levit and the rabbi of Jeníkov Samuel Brod), then everything would certainly work much better.
Cermanova closed her first article with a quote from Fischer:
אמרתי ,כל מי שמדבר אמת ואוהב צדקה והולך בדרך ישרים יהי' יהודי או נוצרי או יוני או ישמעאלי הוא חשוב וראוי לאהבה, הלא נודע לכל אדם מה שאמר המלך החכם פרידריך השני? אמר, כל תושבי מדינותי יאמינו כרצונם וחפצם וואן זיא נור עהרליכע לייטע זינד
I think I'll close this post with the rabbinic quotes he chose for mottos in his manuscript
About the Chasam Sofer; on a visit to Pressburg in the 1870s, from a Missionary Journal
Interesting that according to this testimony he was said to have slept half the amount that was said of the Vilna Gaon; one hour in 24, instead of two in 24.
posted by Mississippi Fred MacDowell at 11:13 PM |
Herz Homberg in a classic commentary to Targum Onkelos, but not in Nehama Liebowitz's bibliography.
An interesting category of works are ones which are themselves totally acceptable to cite by anyone, but which contain citations that are totally unacceptable to cite by many people with such hang ups.
One such case is Rabbi Nathan Marcus Adler's monumental commentary to the Targum Onkelos, the Nesinah La-ger (which was initially printed as part of a Mikraos Gedolos type Chumash in Vilna in 1886, under the name Toras Elohim -- that's right, with a heh). As you can see below, in his explanation on Deut. 15.2 he instructs the reader to see further what "the author of ha-Korem" writes:
Who was "the author of ha-Korem"? It was Herz Homberg, the commentator to Deuteronomy included in Mendelssohn's edition of the Pentateuch. I am not surprised that Adler refers the reader to Mendelssohn's Chumash, but it is somewhat interesting that he refers to "the author of ha-Korem." Herz Homberg wrote a commentary on the Bible by that name. A part of it was included in the 1846 Vienna edition of the Biur. See below:
As you can see, there is no comment on the verse in ha-Korem. Thus, Alder is not referring the reader to ha-Korem, but quite literally, to the words of the author of ha-Korem (that is, Homberg). He means his words in his commentary to the Biur:
What was so bad about Homberg per se?
His reputation, for one thing. Below is an abstract of an article about Herz Homberg:
The image of the educator and maskil Naftali Herz Homberg (1749-1841) is almost universally negative in Jewish historiography. He is generally described as a radical enlightener at best and as a corrupt opportunist at worst. In the words of one historian, "he hated Judaism with the utmost hatred." This negative depiction is primarily the result of his activities in Galicia as the supervisor for the German-Jewish schools on behalf of the Austrian government The present article demonstrates that this negative image was first created in the 1860s with the partial publication of archival documents by the Viennese historian, Gershon Wolf. These documents, as interpreted by Wolf, are practically the only source for Homberg's sullied reputation. The view of Homberg that is offered here differs sharply from the way he is usually portrayed in Jewish historiography. This is achieved through a brief examination of several of Homberg's works, a description of the Austrian historical context, both Jewish and non-Jewish, a critical look at Wolf's publications, and the presentation of newly-discovered archival material. Homberg was, in fact, an enlightener in the mould of the Josephinian enlightenment. This enlightenment was fundamentally religious, yet believed in the supremacy of the state over the church in non-ritual matters, and in state-sponsored education that emphasized the formation of a religion-based moral character. Homberg, who saw himself as a student of Mendelssohn, was never alienated from Judaism, nor did he ever call for the abolition or weakening of the ceremonial law. There is no evidence that he himself did not observe the commandments. He did, however, support the full integration of the Jews in the Austrian state, and the consequences of this integration.
Despite the contention of the article that Homberg's ill reputation is derived from a historian's interpretation beginning in 1860 (and is really undeserved), the fact remains that he was quite despised by traditional Galician Jewry, and his reputation as one who "hate[s] Judaism with the utmost hatred" preceded 1860 and derived from the man and his life. As an example, it was decreed in 1812 that any Jew in Galicia who wished to be married had to be quizzed in German on Herz Homberg's Bene Zion, which I assume probably helped the book's sales; don't think this went totally unenforced either. Just try to imagine all those young, early 19th century Galicianer couples trying to make heads or tails out of the book below.
Furthermore, R. Adler was not "soft" on Reform, and was living on the Continent, and not England, during Homberg's heydey. He knew exactly who he was. However, one supposes that R. Adler did not have hang ups about citing questionable characters. But certainly many an admirer of the Nesinah Le-ger commentary would not wish to follow his advice and see what Herz Homberg had to say on the subject or would not wish others to do so!
Interestingly, below is something I noticed recently, although I can't say if it was an intentional distortion, a Freudian slip or only a mistake. In Aryeh Newman's Studies in Bereshit, his 1973 translation of Nehama Liebowitz's Torah studies, the following appeared in the bibliography of sources:
As you can see, somehow only four of the five Biur commentators are mentioned. The fifth, Herz Homberg, is not mentioned at all. In point of fact, Aaron Jaroslav, who commented on Numbers in the Biur, is an almost totally obscure figure. Most people aren't even aware that he was a part of it, and very little is known about the man. The same cannot be said for the other four, Homberg included, all of whom were famous or infamous in their own way. Thus, it seems strange that Herz Homberg was left out as an oversight, but it is still possible.
posted by Mississippi Fred MacDowell at 10:16 PM |
Friday, October 23, 2009
Salomon Maimon and portraits of the Vilna Gaon
For the purposes of this blog I have a modest list of things which I consider my Holy Grails, which is to say, things I'd like to uncover them myself. Since I don't want to promote my own scooping, I can't mention what they are, except for one. It's a small thing, but I really want to discover references to the Vilna Gaon in the Latin alphabet while he was alive. (Gothic is fine too.) We'll leave the Polish archives to other people (see.)
Unfortunately I can't consider this post to be any great triumph. I simply forgot an obvious source! Solomon Maimon's Lebensgeschichte was printed in 1793 (that is, four years before the Gaon died), andat the end of his discussion of his brush with nascent Chassidisim it contained the following remark:
An unfortunate typo, but Elias aus Wilda is the Ga'on of Vilna.
The 1888 English translation:
Fortunately the 1911 German edition changed the d to an n:
Since this hardly seems like a post, below is an image from an American shanah tova card from 1899:
This of course raises the question of what the Gaon looked like. The article to read is Zusia Efron's Portrait of the Gaon of Vilna, Two centuries of Imagination. In it he maintains that there is only one portrait which was painted in the Gaon's lifetime. It is the one below, and it is from circa 1750-55.
This is the only "authentic" portrait. All others are later and copied each other after a fashion. The later ones seem to become increasingly more elaborate. First they begin to show him in fancy rabbinic garb, and finally tefillin lies on his head, which apparently didn't begin to make it's debut until the 1880s.
The following image was painted in the 1820s by a Polish artist named Joseph Glowacki (1789-1858)
According to Efron, a similar portrait (i.e., based on this one) was the one which hung in many misnagedic homes. It came from a frontspiece to some sefer or another. Unfortunately I only have a tiny image of it, not really worth posting. However, it is perhaps notable that the image shows him looking quite severe.
As I said, the tefillin didn't turn up until the 1880s. See below, and note the caption (click to view an enlarged copy):
"The only original copy of the Great Genius, Rabbi ELIOHU, known as the "WILNER GOEN"
Here is another version of the tefillin picture, reproduced in the 1948 Agudath Israel of America publication The Jewish face; a portrait gallery, this one a little better than the one above:
It seems that the Gaon not only had tefillin and a yarmulke plopped on his head (where is the strap?) but even his garb was changed, perhaps because what was good rabbinic garb in the 1820s had changed and seemed too . . . fancy?
posted by Mississippi Fred MacDowell at 11:31 AM |
As difficult as it is to imagine, likely the reason why the First World War is not seen as the most disastrous upheaval in European Jewish history is because of the Second World War far eclipsed it. (Although admittedly I am far from well read in this area, and if I made an outrageous claim here, I'll be happy to be corrected.)
The following report was received by the American Joint Distribution Committee in 1916, by Drs. Paul Nathan and Bernard Kahn who took a trip "through Courland and Lithuania" on behalf of the Jüdisches Hilfskomite für Polen. You can read the full report here. Since the rest of it discusses Courland, Libau, Schaulen, Kovno, Vilna, Lida, Grodno and Bialystok in addition to Slabodka, I probably should think about whether I, too, favor the Yeshiva -- with this post.
In any case, the report concludes by tallying the amount of aid spent in all of Poland and Lithuanian in the single month of January, and recommends that at least that amount by spent in the months following. In my very inexact calculating, I found that the amount was approximately $770,000 in today's dollar. In other words, probably enough to buy a lot of bread and medicine for tens of thousands of suffering people, but obviously much more would have been needed. Incidentally, another report also points out that American Jews had been sending about 5-600,000 Marks monthly (which would seem to come out to more than twice the sum mentioned above) but at that point the English had begun to not let any mail through, with the result that this resource had dried up.
Rabbenu Peter revisited; also introducing Rabbi Patrick (with some meanderings down Y.H. Schorr Street).
Hirhurim reviewed the new issue of Meorot, Yeshivat Chovevei Torah's adaptation of the former Edah Journal. In the comments someone opined that in light of the inclusion of articles signed by names like Rabbis Scott and Todd Berman the journal shoots itself in the foot:
Merely with names like this, you have already lost the interst of most orthodox Jews. "Scott"? And "Todd"? For a RABBI??
It's amazing how some MO Jews dont get this. Many of them also let their clean-shaven rebbeim walk around wearng Jeans. They tell you these things, like names, are mere chitzoniyos. WRONG. A community expects more from tis teachers than it does from ballei battim. I know so many people who agree with so much of MO, including its program of good education and zionism, but dont send their kids there because of this fundamental flaw. (They have disagreements over the mingling of the sexes too, but that's for another time.)
Thus raising the issue of Jewish names, or what is a Jewish name? In the comments you get your usual assortment of Pappas and Hunas in reply. Finally someone mentioned the Tosaphist Rabbi Peter, about whose name I had posted here.
The original commenter who [asserted, pointed out] that names like Todd just don't work for an Orthodox rabbi countered that scholarship says his name was not actually the Christian "Peter." I assume he was referring to H.J. Zimmel's analysis of the name in the 1 1957 article "Rabbi Peter the Tosaphist" in the Jewish Quarterly Review, which is what my post was about.
So I countered that I'm not so convinced. Zimmels theorized that the name פטר isn't Peter. It's more likely to have been Pater, but his guess -- while educated -- isn't exactly petra-solid (pun intended).
Furthermore, even if he was really Rabbi Abba nee Pater we've still got to explain why he is named Pater in the Hebrew glosses on the side of the Gemara. I've never seen the Ramban referred to by his Catalan name Rabbenu Bonastruc in Hebrew writings!
Interestingly enough, the original commenter later wrote: "Note - I specifically mentioned the names Scott and Todd. I would have no problem with a name like David or Daniel or even Bernard, names that have a Jewish tradition. But Scott and Todd? No way."
In any case, whatever the name was it's obvious that Rabbenu פטר ought to be Exhibit A in any discussion of names for Jews (or rabbis!).
Thus, we find the following in a late 19th century book about Rumanian Jewish emigration to America:
While פטר seems obviously not to be a Jewish name, the interpretation of it being Peter is not recent. Here's a reference to the martyred rabbi, written in 1817:
(You can read about his martyrdom in the Second Crusade here, in a translation of the chronicle דברי הימים למלכי צרפת ובית אוטאמאן התוגר:
Of course, in the original Hebrew it is ר' פטר.
The author of the above chronicle was born in 1496 in Avignon, his parents having been Spanish Jews expelled in 1492.
Here is the entry on Rabbi Peter in Cassel's קורא הדורות:
Zimmels closed his short article with the following hypothesis:
I am now about to give some good testimony in favor of Zimmels's interpretation.
In the 16th century an anonymous Englishman produced a translation of Rabbi Joseph's chronicle. The manuscript is sitting on my shelf in my living room. Just kidding, it's in the British Museum, or whatever they're calling the library this century.
It looks something like this:
Below is the translation of the passage regarding Rabbenu פטר: (click it to see an enlarged, readable version):
Detail:
Of course this doesn't actually tell us how the name was pronounced in the 12th century, when Rabbi Peter lived. This 16th century translator could no more have known it than me (or for that matter, the chronicler R. Yoseph ha-Kohen the Sephardi). I assume, however, that reading ר' פטר in Hebrew it simply never dawned on him that the Jews would have a rabbi named Peter.
Moving onto Rabbi Patrick. Writing in The Menorah Volume 6. (1889) American Reform Rabbi Bernard Felsenthal produced an article of that name.
Let us begin with his ending:
Bernard Felsenthal is an interesting person, most especially to me because of his relationship with Yehoshua Heschel Schorr (also known as Osias H. Schorr, or Yehash). Schorr was the wealthy publisher of the vanity Haskalah periodical החלוץ (by "vanity" I don't mean to say that it was empty of content, only that it was primarily a vehicle for disseminating his own writings, some of which were highly polemical, and it was made possible by his [inherited] wealth). Schorr was the 19th Galician Haskalah bogeyman. He was not a "nice guy." He was known for being miserly, caustic and offensive. However, according to legend his one-time teacher Rabbi Shlomo Kluger actually said of him "Leave Heschele Schorr alone. He holds the [Talmud] Bavli in one hand and the Yerushalmi in the other," which is not in any way an endorsement of the man or his kind of scholarship on the part of RSK. (Unfortunately I was unable to trace the source of this reported statement, but Ezra Spicehandler gives it in a footnote in one of his HUCA articles on Schorr. He neglected to give a source. Since I am 99.99% sure that he didn't invent it, it's possible that it was simply one of those legendary things which got passed down for three generations. Since obviously R. Kluger never wrote this, I'm not sure what good a "source" would be anyway.
By the way, Schorr was a pupil of R. Kluger alongside his primary early collaborator in החלוץ, Abraham Krochmal, who was Nachman Krochmal's son. Given that the younger Krochmal was born in 1818, even if he was only 13 or 14 at the time, this means that he was studying under R. Shlomo Kluger in the early 1830s. Nachman Krochmal was already quite famous, and furthermore, already had a heretical reputation. In fact, the notorious Karaite correspondence scandal occurred 15 years earlier. Below is Zimberg's account of the scandal:
In any case, R. Shlomo Kluger having Abraham Krochmal as a teenaged talmid certainly says nothing about R. Kuger's attitude toward Karaism or Maskilim, but it probably does show something about Nachman Krochmal himself (where his heart lay and what his intentions were). In addition, it is difficult to see how a contemporary equivalent to R. Shlomo Kluger would teach a contemporary equivalent to Nachman Krochmal's son, so long as the son was not actually rebelling against his father.
Below we see an example of Schorr's audacious scholarship. Although Jewish Bible scholars had been proposing textual emendations of the Hebrew Bible for decades, the five books of the Torah remained taboo. Yahash respected no such taboo, emending the 5th word of the Torah:
Another kind of example of the kind of scholarship he practiced is his article on tefillin in the 5th volume of החלוץ. While a very scholarly, critical article, which analyzed all sorts of sources on tefillin, the point of the article was to demonstrate that tefillin are not meant by os and totafos in the Torah, and they're in fact from the Second Temple period. Not only were they not commanded by the Torah, but even in the Second Temple period and later few but the most pious wore them. In addition, he broke another taboo in that he unhesitatingly attacked Talmudic sages.
Incidentally, David Weiss-Halivni has this to say about Yahash: "[he] would have been most scientifically reliable were it not for his zeal to prove the Rabbis of the talmud wrong, making almost deliberate mistakes -- in Hechalutz book 7, p. 149 he almost admits this." Of course, all this really means is: use with caution, as you must in any case do with the analyses and theories of anyone. You just have to be more careful with a more polemical sort of character.
He featured in all sorts of Galician legends and jokes from the 19th century. One story has it that after his only son died, who had been a promising young scholar, he was inconsolable. Eventually he got a little pet dog that he enjoyed holding in his lap. One time Schorr showed the dog to a Chassid, asking him what he thought of his kaddishl (i.e, the dog). The Chassid replied, more than I think of your father's kaddishl! (i.e., you)
He was also a satirist. In one such work, "Taryag," he wrote of an encounter between himself and the amora Rav Simlai (the saying that there are 613, or "taryag" mitzvos is attributed to Rav Simlai). Schorr complains about the rabbinic writings from after Rav Simlai, such as the Talmud and works of the Rishonim. Rav Simlai, being a 4th century amora, is shocked. He tells Schorr that he didn't know there were books besides the Torah, Nevi'im and Kesuvim -- it isn't permitted to write the tradition, which must be passed on orally, in order so that the law can be somewhat flexible responding to the circumstance of time and place (this teaching he adopted from Shadal). Of course, there were megillas setarim, but those were meant to be ephemeral. So what are these big books? Schorr then goes on to shock him even further by quoting rulings of Abbaye and Rava in the Talmud Bavli. For example, they said (Shabbos 67a) "Whatever is used as a remedy is not [forbidden] on account of the ways of the Amorite." That is, so long as it is medicinal, anything superstitious is not forbidden. Rav Simlai is flabbergasted, for it contradicts the explicit Mishnah, "One may go out [on the Sabbath] with a Hargol's egg, a fox's tooth, and a nail from [the crucifix] of an impaled convict as a prophylactic. This is Rabbi Meir's view, but the Sages forbid this even on weekdays on account of "the ways of the Amorite." In short, "Taryag" sets up a scenario where an Eretz Yisrael amora is amazed and dismayed by the Talmud Bavli and the turn Judaism has taken since his time, which he cannot reconcile with the Torah he knows. While not necessarily a bad point, of course Schorr is neither a fan of the Judaism of Rav Simlai, nor particularly bound by the chumros of the chachamim, but it helps make his point.
Despite all this, while he could not possibly be passed off as pious by any Orthodox (or Rabbinic) definition, he was not an irreligious character. In fact, he seems to have exhibited a common sign of 19th century Reformers, namely a Karaitic tendency toward the Bible, and away from the Oral Law. Below is a translation from this work:
In my view we should not doubt the sincerity of this remark. He had no one to impress, and in fact loved to provoke. If he had felt otherwise he no doubt would have delighted in tearing apart and publicly disbelieving in the Torah, too.
Yahash had been a beloved correspondent of Shadal's since the age of 14. Some of Shadal's most interesting ruminations on textual emendation were prompted by Schorr's suggestions. In one such letter, Shadal dismisses his suggestions, and also more or less explains his own method for suggesting emendations. The letter is full of admonishment on the need for very vast knowledge of the Bible, language, grammar, commentaries and extraordinary diligence (spending days on a difficult word), and the importance of caution and conservatism. Which, of course, Shadal had. Now, while I write that a little mischievously because the intelligent reader knows full well how silly and conceited it comes across to basically say "Only I have the tools to do this," it is still true that he did possess the criteria which he claimed was necessary before proposing an emendation, from the knowledge to the diligence.
Heinrich Graetz exchanged some correspondence and even spent some time with Shadal in Padua. Graetz learned that at that point (the 1850s) Shadal had basically rued the day he had publicized his Bible emendations, although he stood by them 100%. In fact, looked at over the course of his life, nearly all of his emendations were the product of his earlier exegesis. At that later stage he viewed textual criticism that did not meet his own standard (i.e., almost all of it) as a product of irreverence toward the Bible, and capable of destroying the Bible itself. Feeling that this style of scholarship had gone totally amok, his later exegesis would seek to defend the Masoretic text. This caused the almost ridiculous situation where, on the one hand, he upheld and defended his own emendations, but tried to stem the tide of new emendations, no longer suggesting them himself, and disputing new ones.
Here is an example of Shadal's attitude toward text criticism of Nach (in a letter sent to Raphael Kirchheim in 1850 or so; it is printed on pg. 106 of K.'s Karme Shomron):
Schorr was very beloved to Shadal, although he knew full well that the younger man was not very pious (something which greatly distressed him). He tried to be what he thought was a good influence on him. On one occasion he wrote Schorr asking him not to try to publish a certain article the younger man had written, which was full of errors of the religious kind. Shadal promised that he would lovingly and privately explain to him in detail why he was mistaken. However, if he had the article published then he would have no choice but to respond stridently in public in the same manner. Schorr in turn loved his master, and even gave badly needed financial support at times (having observed Shadal's poverty personally, Graetz writes that all of Shadal's accomplishments were all the more to his credit, not only enduring poverty, but enduring it in Italy, where there was great wealth). On one occasion Shadal outbid Schorr's brother on a singular manuscript, the Diwan of Rabbi Yehudah ha-Levy (you, the reader, would not be the first to notice that the poverty-stricken Shadal spent whatever money he had on rare manuscripts). Both because of his esteem for Schorr and also to smooth over any wounded feelings on the part of his brother, he dedicated his edition of the Diwan to him on the occasion of his marriage, and even named the book בתולת בת יהודה, after his new wife (punning, of course, on the name of R. Yehudah ha-Levi himself):
As you can see, with this marriage Schorr became a great-grandson-in-law of the Nodah Beyehuda.
Schorr's views became more impious and more public. Eventually Shadal, reacting to what was for him a particularly offensive issue of החלוץ, lost contact with his disciple, lamenting that the periodical had become an עגל (punning on the name שור), and he also fretted that he had wasted 20 years in corresponding with him!
Yahash had disciples of his own, one of whom was Bernard Felsenthal (although I'm not sure if they ever met). Not only was he a disciple, but here in America he tried to turn people onto Schorr as much as he could. Some of Felsenthal's letters to him were printed by Ezra Spicehandler and in an article called "Bernard Felsenthal's Letters to Osias Schorr" in a volume called Essays in American Jewish history.
Below is a reviews of החלוץ by Felsenthal in the Menorah 3 1887:
Now that was a tangent!
Below is Rabbi Bernard Felsenthal's article Rabbi Patrick in the Menorah, 1889: . While you should read it, I'm sure some won't (although they also won't have reached this point either). So I'll abstract it:
He contends that there was a rabbi of the Talmud and Midrash named Patrick. Knowing how strange this must sound, he satirizes three kinds of Jews of his time and how they would react. "Hubert Falkenstein," a hypothetical German Jew, would reply that in Berlin where he is from there are 60,000 Jews, and no Patrick among them. Furthermore, he's travelled all over Europe, read Graetz's 11 volume History of the Jews, and is certain there never was a Rabbi Patrick. The other Jews, "Berish Warshawshik," is a "Lituak," and he went to the yeshiva of Wolosin (Volozhin) and learned the whole Talmud over and over again, and never saw a Rabbi Patrick. Next is a Galicianer, "Zalman Teitelbaum," who says that he never knew there were people named Patrick until he was 40 years old and came to America! None of these characters subsequently walk into a bar, nor do they encounter a rabbi or a priest.
Felsenthal then goes on to demonstrate what he believes. He cites no less than 5 rabbinic sources which mention רבי פטרוקי or אפטרוקי. He then gives a learned dissertation on the Aleph prostheticum, explaining the presence of superfluous alephs at the beginning of Aramaic words. The sharp Volozhiner counters that the ancient form of the name was "Patricius." So how could the c be rendered with ק? Felsenthal then explains correctly that in Greek and Latin there was only the hard sound. Patricius was, in fact, Patrikivs. He then goes on to cite a newly published Geonic responsum from Rav Saadya regarding a man named Patrick. Which raises a question: why would a Jew living in the Levant have such a European name as Patrick? I am telling you, you cannot make this stuff up. So he answers that in those days there was much contact between Jews, East and West . . . And he even cites another Geonic responsum mentioning their Greek pupils (the point being, of course, that they hailed from a Byzantine land).
Felsenthal then admits that he actually disagrees with Schorr here. Schorr, in He-halutz 10, interprets פטרוקי and אפטרוקי as not being real names, but cognomens. Schorr then delved into Greeek to try to show the etymology of the term. Truth be told, I have a hunch that Felsenthal's bekius was less the cause of his discovery of Rabbi Patrick and more his perusal of Ha-halutz (and therefore of Schorr's bekius). I also have a hunch that being an American rabbi of the 19th century, Felsenthal tended to see "Patrick," while Schorr, being a Galician maskil tended not to, but I digress. Still, he gives a nice illustration of why he disagreed with Schorr, whom he calls here "undoubtedly one of the greatest Talmudical scholars of our age" who has a "master mind."The illustration is that suppose in 2000 years a historian shows that in 19th century America there were men called things like "Rail splitter," but that "Rail splitter" was not the name of such men. He would be correct. But suppose then he extends the idea too far, and suggests that the reason why a certain 19th century American general was called Grant is because he granted honorable terms of surrended to General Lee. This would be an error, and F. maintains that Schorr committed just such an error. He then spends 6 more pages defending pedantry, and doing so quite humorously. You can't make this stuff up!
In all, it's a very, very entertaining article. It shows that Felsenthal didn't take himself too seriously and had a nice wit, but ironically it also shows that Felsenthal took himself more seriously than I think he realized -- just like me, most likely.
Another Hebrew poem, which is also an Italian poem.
Apparently the David Simonsen Manuscripts digital collection at the Kongelike Bibliotek web site will provide posts for the next thirty years. Or could provide posts, but it won't, so don't worry.
Anyway, here's another little gem from one of Reggio's note books:
Apparently Italian Jews felt compelled to follow in the footsteps of Rabbi Yehuda Aryeh Modena and write poems which sounded the same phonetically in both Hebrew and Italian, and meant the same thing (with a bit of stretching on both counts). Modena seems to have pioneered the genre at the tender age of 13 (see here) with his elegy for his teacher, Chi nasce, muor - קינה שמור. Eighteenth century Londoner Ephraim Luzzatto produced his own, Ah!L'uom misero è - הלום מי זה רואה.
Here Reggio copied an inscription on a tombstone found in the cemetery of his native Gorizia. We see that we can add another poet who wrote Ecco l'ora - הא כל אורה. Assuming this poem was never published before, you've seen it here first. It looks like it was written by the deceased, David ben Moshe Luzzatto (17?-1771), himself.
I guess this is a good place to reflect on digitization. The Simonsen archive becoming newly available is a sterling example of two things to keep in mind. The first is how amazing and wonderful it is that so many gems are available for free online. Imagine, I can read and see excellent images of dozens and dozens of rare manuscripts that I would otherwise have to go to Denmark for, or jump through all kinds of hoops to get copies of them. Wow!
The second thing, the other hand, is that this serves to highlight how only a tiny fraction of what is out there is online, and in reality only a small fraction will probably ever become available. This is a reminder that libraries are still an extremely important resource.
Wolfish Musings, who is a Torah-reader, wonders if the tune for the cantillation ever changed. Actually, I would word it another way; he knows full well that it has changed, and wishes to know more about it, what it sounded like 1000 years ago, and so forth.
I don't know the answer to what it sounded like 1000 years ago, but I can show precisely how it sounded in at least one place more than 500 years ago.
Münster was good enough and had the foresight to directly address Wolf's question by including notation of cantillation used by Jews in Western and Central Europe at the time (1524):
I welcome anyone to bang those notes out on the instrument of their choice, record it, and upload it -- I'll post it.
Actually, the book is much more than a translation of Kimchi, and here are some excerpts:
Finally, I thought it might be nice to see a couple of pages from a less well known Erasmus'sהספד for Sebastian Münster:
It continues in this vein for an impressive 50 pages.
See here for a letter R. Eliyahu Bachur wrote to Sebastian Münster.
