Ajs Review 1987: Fall, No 2

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Front Matter Source: AJS Review, Vol. 12, No. 1 (Spring, 1987) Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486391 . Accessed: 30/06/2011 22:32 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

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AJS VOL.

XII,

SPRING

NO.

1

1987

TheJournalof the Association forJewishStudies

KEVIE

VolumeXII, Number 1, Spring, 1987 ASSOCIATION FOR JEWISH STUDIES CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS

AJS Review EDITOR:

Robert Chazan, New York University ASSOCIATE EDITORS:

Seymour Feldman, Rutgers University Robert Goldenberg, State University of New York at Stony Brook Paula E. Hyman, Yale University David C. Jacobson, Wesleyan University Benjamin C. I. Ravid, Brandeis University S. David Sperling, Hebrew Union CollegeJewish Institute of Religion CORRESPONDING EDITOR:

Lloyd P. Gartner, Tel-Aviv University BOOK REVIEW EDITOR:

Michael Stanislawski,Columbia University The AJS Review (ISSN 0364-0094) is published twice annually by the Association for Jewish Studies. Manuscripts for consideration should be sent to Prof. Robert Chazan, Skirball Dept. of Hebrew and Judaic Studies, 51 Washington Square South, New York, N. Y. 10012. Books for review should be sent to Prof. Michael Stanislawski, Dept. of History, Columbia University, N. Y., N. Y. 10027 ? 1987 by the Association for Jewish Studies

MANUFACTURED

IN THE UNITED

STATES

OF AMERICA

AJSREVIEW THE JOURNALOFTHEASSOCIATIONFORJEWISHSTUDIES VOLUMEXII, NUMBER 1, SPRING, 1987

Articles 1 STUARTS. MILLER Intercity Relations in Roman Palestine: The Case of Sepphoris and Tiberias 25

M. RAFFEL CHARLES Providence as Consequent upon the Intellect: Maimonides' Theory of Providence

73

CHAVAVWEISSLER The Religion of Traditional Ashkenazic Women: Some Methodological Issues

95

DAVID FISHMAN

A Polish Rabbi Meets the Berlin Haskalah: The Case of R. Barukh Schick 123

LEE SHAIVEISSBACH The Jewish Elite and the Children of the Poor: Jewish Apprenticeship Programs in Nineteenth-Century France

Book Reviews 143

H. Louis Ginsberg. The Israelian Heritage of Judaism BARUCHA. LEVINE

157

S. D. Goitein. A MediterraneanSociety: The Jewish Communitiesof the Arab World as Portrayed in the Documents of the Cairo Geniza. Vol III: The Family, Vol. IV: Daily Life NORMANA. STILLMAN

163

Allan Harris Cutler and Helen Elmquist Cutler. The Jew as Ally of the Muslim: Medieval Roots of Anti-Semitism ROBERT CHAZAN

CollectedStudies 169

Jeffrey H. Tigay, ed. Empirical Models for Biblical Criticism

169

Jehuda Reinharz and Walter Schatzberg, eds. The Jewish Response to German Culture: From the Enlightenment to the Second World War

170

Etan Levine, ed. Voicesfrom Israel: Understandingthe Israeli Mind

171

William Frankel, ed. Survey of Jewish Affairs 1985

173

Books Received

Publicationof this volume of the AJS Reviewhas been made possible by grantsfromthe National Foundationfor JewishCulture,the LuciasN. LittauerFoundation,the S. H. and Helen R. ScheuerFamilyFoundation,and the Dorot Foundation.The Association is gratefulfor their support and encouragement.

Intercity Relations in Roman Palestine: The Case of Sepphoris and Tiberias Author(s): Stuart S. Miller Source: AJS Review, Vol. 12, No. 1 (Spring, 1987), pp. 1-24 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486392 . Accessed: 30/06/2011 22:32 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

Cambridge University Press and Association for Jewish Studies are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to AJS Review.

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INTERCITYRELATIONS IN ROMAN PALESTINE: THE CASE OF SEPPHORISAND TIBERIAS by STUART S. MILLER

Sepphoris and Tiberias were the most important administrative and rabbinic centers of Roman Galilee. The two cities had much in common: both were associated with Herod Antipas, who rebuilt Sepphoris sometime after a futile revolt in 4 B.C.E.and still later founded Tiberias;' both had jurisdiction over the bank and archives of Galilee at various times during the first century;2 both had pro-Roman factions in the First Revolt, though that of

The writer expresses his gratitude to the University of Connecticut for a Summer Faculty Fellowship to complete this work, an earlier version of which was presented under the title "From Tiberias to Sepphoris.. ." at the 1984 Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature. Professors M. McHugh, T. Suits, and A. Ward of the University of Connecticut, Professor J. R. Berkovitz of the University of Massachusetts, and Professor L. H. Schiffman of New York University offered helpful comments on preliminary drafts of this study. 1. For Antipas' relationship with both cities, see H.W. Hoehner, Herod Antipas (Cambridge: At the University Press, 1972), pp.84-87, 91-102. 2. Josephus notes this jurisdiction in Life 38, which is reproduced below and is discussed in S. Miller, Studies in the History and TraditionsofSepphoris (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1984), pp. 54 f.

1

2

STUART S. MILLER

Sepphoris was more influential;3 both maintained Hellenistic institutions and minted coins;4 both were connected by the major road built by Hadrian from Acco to the Sea of Galilee;5both would eventually become home to the Sanhedrin and the patriarchal house;6 both maintained communities of priests associated with a particular mishmar (priestly course),7 and finally, both attracted many prominent tannaim and amoraim who established noted academies.8 Despite these similarities-or perhaps because of them-it has often been contended that, from the first century on, Sepphoris and Tiberias vied for both political and rabbinic supremacy over Galilee.9 That the two cities were rivals at the outset of the First Revolt is apparent from a report of Josephus in Life 37-38. The historian relates that Justus of Tiberias incited his fellow Tiberians to join the revolt against Rome. Justus exhorted the Tiberians by pointing out that Nero had given jurisdiction over their city to Agrippa and had made Sepphoris the capital of Galilee in its stead. The passage reads:

3. On Tiberias' factions, see S. Freyne, Galilee from Alexander the Great to Hadrian 323 B.C.E. to 135 C.E.: A Study of Second Temple Judaism (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1980), pp. 130-132. On Sepphoris and the Romans, see Miller, Studies, pp. 2 f. 4. See Hoehner, Herod Antipas, pp. 97-100; E. Schiirer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 B.C.-A. D.135), ed. G. Vermes et al., 2 vols. (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1973-79), 2:172-176, 178-183; and Miller, Studies, pp. 1-59 (passim). The coins of Sepphoris are discussed in Y. Meshorer, "Sepphoris and Rome," Greek Numismatics and Archaeology: Essays in Honor of Margaret Thompson (Wetteren, 1979), pp. 159-171; idem, "Matbe'ot Zippori Ke-Maqor Histori," Zion 43 (1978): 185-200; and idem, Matbe'ot 'Arei 'Ere; Yisra'el Ve-'Ever Ha-Yarden Bi-Tequfat Ha-Romit (Jerusalem: Israel Museum, 1984), pp. 36 f. On the coins of Tiberias, see A. Kindler, The Coins of Tiberias (Tiberias, 1961); idem, "Matbe'ot Teveryah Bi-Yemei Romi," in Sefer Teveryah: 'Ir Kinarot Ve-Yishuvah Bi-Rei Ha-Dorot, ed. O. Avissar (Jerusalem: Keter Publishing House, 1973), pp. 50-59; and Meshorer, Matbe'ot 'Arei 'Ere; Yisra'el, pp. 34 f. 5. M. Avi-Yonah, The Holy Land: From the Persian to the Arab Conquest(536 B.C.-A.D. 640), An Historical Geography, 2d ed. rev. (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1977), p. 186. Also, A. Alt, "Romerstrasse Ptolemais-Tiberias," Palaestinajahrbuch des deutschen evangelischen Instituts fuer Altertumswissenschaft,Jerusalem 25 (1929): 42-43. 6. B. Rosh Ha-Shanah 31la-b. See the secondary sources referred to in Y. Cohen, "Ha-'Im U-Matai 'Avrah Ha-Nesi'ut Li-Teveryah," Zion 39 (1974): 114, nn. 1 and 2. Also, Miller, Studies, pp.116-122. The existence of the Sanhedrin in the second and third centuries has recently been questioned by L. I. Levine in his Ma'amad Ha-Hakhamim Be-'Ere; Yisra'el Bi-Tequfat Ha-Talmud: Hebetim Historiyim (Jerusalem: Yad Izhak ben Zvi, 1985), pp. 47-52. 7. See the sources noted in Miller, Studies, p. 62 n. 1, and the discussion there, pp. 120-132. 8. For Tiberias, see Avissar, Sefer Teveryah, pp. 272-278, and cf. M. Kliers, Tabor Ha-'Are;, reprint ed. (Jerusalem, 1965), pp. 30-54. For Sepphoris, see S. Klein, "Zippori," in idem, Ma'amarim Shonim 'Ere; Yisra'el, Mebqarim 'Ere;-Yisre'elim (Vienna, 1924), pp. 57-60. La-.Haqirat 9. See the ensuing discussion for the views of specific writers.

3

INTERCITY RELATIONS IN ROMAN PALESTINE

Now he [Justus]came forwardbefore all and attemptedto explain to the people that their city had alwaysbeen the capitalof Galilee [hipolis aei tis Galilaiasarxeien],at least in the time of its founder,Herodthe tetrarch,who desiredthat the city of the Sepphoreansbe subjectto thatof theTiberians;and that they had not lost the primacy[to prdteion]even in the time of King Agrippathe elder, and it lasteduntil Felix becameruler[i.e., procurator]of Judea.But now he said that they had been unfortunatein havingbeen given by Nero as a presentto Agrippathe younger. For Sepphorishad at once become the capital [arxai]of Galilee when it submittedto the Romans,and their [the Tiberians']royal bank and archiveswere dissolved.'0 Justus' argument clearly discloses a dispute between Sepphoris and Tiberias over which city deserved to be the capital of Galilee.1' Many writers interested in the later history of these cities regard this dispute as the beginning of a rivalry which was to last for centuries. Thus M. Goodman refersto the "constant rivalry" which existed between provincial cities and as an example notes that Tiberias was "traditionally opposed to Sepphoris and Hippos."l'2 L. Levine states in reference to the Josephus passage, "It is hard to imagine that such tensions could completely disappear under the later empire."'3 Levine also speaks of the "antagonism between these two large municipal centers" and attempts to find indications of it in rabbinic sources.'4 Finally, R. Kimelman addresses the question of Tiberias' rise to become the "academic and administrative center" of Galilee during the 10. Ed. Loeb: arcpEXOvov i' Ei.aovo 6tfjKtLo eLPV dpSEtEv

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Unless otherwise stated, translations are the writer's. Biblical verses follow the rendering of Tanakh.:A New Translation of the Holy Scriptures According to the Traditional Hebrew Text (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1985). 11. Josephus may actually have been trying to refute Justus' accusation that it was he who forced Tiberias to revolt. Accordingly, Justus, in his own history, tried to convince the Romans some twenty or thirty years after the war that the Tiberians had really wanted to remain loyal and as a consequence their city deserved autonomy just as much as Sepphoris. Josephus' response was to portray Justus as the real scoundrel. See S. J. D. Cohen, Josephus in Galilee and Rome.: His "Vita" and Development as a Historian (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1979), pp. 138-141. 12. M. Goodman, State and Society in Roman Galilee A.D. 132-212 (Totowa, N.J.: Rowman & Allanheld, 1983), p. 134. Goodman refers to Life 37 as his source for the opposition with Sepphoris. See p. 253 n. 245. 13. L. Levine, "R. Simeon b. Yoliai and the Purification of Tiberias: History and Tradition," Hebrew Union College Annual 49 (1978): 176. 14. Ibid., pp. 177 f. See below, sec. "Some Hints of Rivalry?"

4

STUART S. MILLER

amoraic period and speaks of the city's "far outshadowing its longtime competitor [emphasis added], Sepphoris."'5 Tiberias did indeed assume a more important position by the end of the third century, subsequent to the reestablishment there of the Sanhedrin and presumably the patriarchal house, both of which had formerly been located at Sepphoris.'6 The relationship between Sepphoris and Tiberias, however, needs to be re-examined. Disputes and rivalries among the cities of the Roman East were common and persistent enough, so that it is not implausible that tensions between Sepphoris and Tiberias continued long after the First Revolt. While disputes often resulted from differences over boundaries, rivalries over rank and titles were also common."7 Thus Ephesus and 15. R. Kimelman, "Rabbi Yohanan of Tiberias: Aspects of the Social and Religious History of Third Century Palestine" (Ph.D. diss., Yale University, 1977), pp. 51, 54. Also see p. 84 n. 39, where Life 37 is referred to. 16. According to S. Baron, A Social and Religious History of the Jews, 19 vols. (New York and Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1937-), 2:108, Tiberias was "rapidly becoming the major center of Jewish life in the country" already during the Hadrianic period. This is an overstatement. Tiberias' emergence as the most important rabbinic center in Galilee seems to have been a gradual one which stemmed from developments in the mid-third century. About that time, the Sanhedrin relocated to Tiberias, and R. Yohanan, who had also recently arrived from Sepphoris, was beginning to achieve prominence as the head of an academy there. (On Yohanan and Tiberias, see Kimelman, "Rabbi Yobanan," p. 54.) It is even possible that the patriarchal house remained in Sepphoris until the end of the third century despite the earlier move of the Sanhedrin to Tiberias. See Miller, Studies, p. 118 n. 315, and S. Safrai, "Ha-Yishuv Ha-Yehudi Ba-Galil U-Va-Golan Ba-Me'ot Ha-Shelishit Ve-Ha-Revi'it," in A. Baras et al., 'Ere; Yisra'el Me-Hurban Bayit Sheni Ve-'Ad Ha-Kibbush Ha-Muslemi.: Historiyah Medinit, IHevratit Ve-Tarbutit(Jerusalem: Yad Izhak ben Zvi, 1982), p. 151. For the view that the patriarchal house and the Sanhedrin were inseparable, see Cohen, "Ha-'Im U-Matai," pp. 117 f. Curiously, Cohen maintains that the patriarchal house moved to Tiberias in the mid-third century but assumes that Tiberias surpassed Sepphoris in importance already during the time of Rabbi Judah Ha-Nasi; thus he addresses the question of why the patriarch chose Sepphoris as his home in the first place. See Cohen, "Ha-'Im U-Matai," pp. 120-122. 17. Boundary disputes are discussed in F. Millar, The Emperor in the Roman World 31 BC-AD 337 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1977), pp. 435 f. For rivalry over rank and titles, see the sources referred to in the following note. These rivalries often found expression in the expensive building campaigns, games, and festivals in which cities indulged. See F. Abbott and A. C. Johnson, Municipal Administrationin the Roman Empire (New York: Russel & Russel, 1926), pp. 81, 142 f., and 218. Also, A. H. M. Jones, The Greek Cityfrom Alexander to Justinian (Oxford: At the Clarendon Press, 1940), p. 249; R. Macmullen, Enemies of the Roman Order: Treason, Unrest and Alienation in the Empire(Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1966), pp. 185 f.; and A. D. Macro, "The Cities of Asia Minor under the Roman Imperium," Aufstieg und Niedergang der romischen Welt II.7.2 (1980): 682 f. The right to be regarded as a "temple warden" (neokoros) was also jealously guarded by the cities. See D. Magie, Roman Rule in Asia Minor, 2 vols. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1950), 1:637, and T. R. S. Broughton, "Roman Asia," in An Economic Survey of Ancient Rome, ed. T. Frank, 6 vols. (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1933-40), 4:741-743.

INTERCITY RELATIONS IN ROMAN PALESTINE

5

Smyrna both claimed the right to be called "the First and Greatest Metropolis of Asia" in the second century.'" The emperor (Antoninus) eventually intervened in this case, establishing the titles by which each city could expect to be addressed by the other.19 The issue of primacy (pr6teion) persisted, however, into the third century, and by that time Pergamum had become a third contestant for a leading title.20 Similarly, in the early second century, Nicaea and Nicomedia were at odds over pr6teion, as both wished to be regarded as the first city of Bithynia. Here too, the feud continued for several centuries.21 The rivalry between Sepphoris and Tiberias described by Josephus would seem to be yet another example of a dispute over rank, as the historian makes it quite clear that pr6teion was the issue between these cities.22

Unfortunately, the titles assumed by both cities from the first century on do not necessarily reflect this dispute or shed any light on its persistence. That Sepphoris and Tiberias assumed prestigious titles in the first century is pretty well documented. According to Josephus, Herod Antipas made Sepphoris "the ornament of all Galilee" (proschima tou Galilaiou pantos) and called it "Autokratoris," perhaps alluding to its status as a capital city.23

18. he pr6ti kai megist? metropolis tts Asias. For occurrences of this title, see Magie, Roman Rule, 2:1496 n. 17. On the rivalry between Ephesus and Smyrna, see Dio Chrysostom, Or. 34:48; Broughton, "Roman Asia," p. 742; V. Chapot, La ProvinceromaineproconsulaireD'Asie (Paris, 1904), pp. 144 f.; and Magie, Roman Rule, 1:636 f. On the use ofpr6tt as "capital city," see W. F. Arndt and F. W. Gingrich, eds., A Greek-EnglishLexicon of the New Testamentand Other Early Christian Literature, 2d ed. (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1979), s.v. meris (p. 505). 19. The correspondence between the Ephesians and Antoninus is reproduced in Abbott and Johnson, Municipal Administration in the Roman Empire, p. 422. 20. See Aristides' address to the three cities (Or. 23), and cf., in addition to the secondary sources in n. 18, C. P. Jones, The Roman Worldof Dio Chrysostom (Cambridge and London: Harvard University Press, 1978), pp. 78, 86, and D. Knibbe and W. Alzinger, "Ephesos vom Beginn der romischen Herrschaft in Kleinasien bis zum Ende der Principatszeit," Aufstieg und Niedergang der r6mischen Welt II.7.2 (1980): 787. 21. See Dio Chrysostom's thirty-eighth discourse ("To the Nicomedians on Concord with the Nicaeans"). Cf. Magie, Roman Rule 1:588 f. It seems that Nicaea continued along with Nicomedia to be regarded as "first" until it supported Pescennius Niger's war against Septimius Severus. After Niger's defeat, Nicomedia had the phrase "the first of the province" erased from Nicaea's monuments. The rivalry persisted, however, into late antiquity. See Jones, Roman World, pp. 84, 87. Some aspects of the friction between Nicaea and Nicomedia are considered below. 22. See the passage quoted above. 23. See Josephus, Ant., XVIII, 27. Sepphoris would have lost the distinction of being the capital when Antipas later moved to Tiberias but certainly regained it under Felix (Life 38). See Miller, Studies, pp. 2 f., 57.

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Coins struck during the First Revolt at Sepphoris commemorate the city's pro-Roman stance with the titles "Neronias" and "Eirenopolis" ("city of peace").24 Curiously, coins minted in Tiberias in 99/100 C.E. refer to that city as "Claudiopolis," perhaps in commemoration of some honor bestowed upon it earlier by the emperor Claudius (41-54 C.E.).25It is possible that this designation was assumed with the intention of contrasting Tiberias with Sepphoris/Neronias, as Nero was Claudius' successor and was responsible for Tiberias' loss of freedom.26 Still, the projection of the pre-Revolt rivalry into the final years of the first century would be speculative at best, especially since Sepphoris had adopted its title considerably earlier, in 67-68 C.E.27 Nor are the later titles and ranks of Sepphoris and Tiberias any more informative. The coins minted at Sepphoris under Antoninus Pius (138-161 C.E.)bear the legend "Diocaesarea, the Sacred, City of Shelter and Autonomous."28 Actually, the city was already called Diocaesarea in the time of Hadrian (who had adopted the title Zeus Olympius), as the name appears on a milestone from ca. 130 C.E.29 The pagan imagery found on the coins befits a city whose leadership may have been assumed by gentiles in the interim.3" The Jewish inhabitants of Sepphoris could hardly have been 24. See Meshorer, "Sepphoris and Rome," pp. 160-162; idem, "Matbe'ot Zippori," pp. 185-187; Cohen, Josephus, pp. 245 f.; and Miller, Studies, p. 3. 25. Cf. Schuirer,History 2:180, and Kindler, "Matbe'ot Teveryah," p. 52. The title first appears on coins minted under Trajan and continues in various forms until the time of Elagabalus. The complete form: Tib(erieon)Kl(audiopolition)Sur(ias) Pal(aistines) is found on coins of Commodus from 189/190 C.E.and similarly in an inscription in Rome from after 135 C.E. designating an establishment (statio) of some sort belonging to the Tiberians. See E. M. Smallwood, The Jews Under Roman Rule (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1976), p. 522; and cf. Schiirer, History, 2:181, who defines statio as a "guild-hall." 26. See Cohen, Josephus, p. 141, and cf. T. Rajak, "Justus of Tiberias," Classical Quarterly 23 (1973): 350. Cohen also suggests (n. 141) that both Sepphoris and Tiberias were permitted to mint coins in order "to avoid exacerbating tension between the two cities." 27. It could of course be maintained that Tiberias assumed the title "Claudiopolis" during the reign of Claudius (41-54 C.E.),but there is no evidence that such was the case. See, however, M. Avi-Yonah, "Teveryah Bi-Tequfah Ha-Roma'it," in Kol 'Ere; Naftali, ed. H. Z. Hirshberg (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1967), pp. 154 f. Avi-Yonah argues that the city received its new name after Claudius' death in 54 C.E. 28. Meshorer, "Sepphoris and Rome," p. 165, and idem, "Matbe'ot Zippori," p. 190. 29. Miller, Studies, p. 3 n. 13. 30. The images include Hera holding a patera and a temple of the Capitoline Triad. The coins from the period of Trajan, however, have distinctly Jewish symbols. See Meshorer, "Sepphoris and Rome," p. 165 and plate 18, #7; idem, "Matbe'ot Zippori," pp. 190 f.; idem, Matbe'ot 'Arei 'Ere; Yisra'el, pp. 36 f.; G. F. Hill, Catalogue of the Greek Coins in the British Museum. Palestine (1914), pp. xii-xiii and 3-4; and M. Rosenberger, City Coins of Palestine, The Rosenberger Israel Collection, III (Jerusalem, 1977), pp. 61 f. On the question of the extent of alien colonization and rule of Sepphoris, see A. H. M. Jones, The Cities of the Eastern Roman

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proud of their city's new name or status. Coins issued under Caracalla (211-218 C.E.)and Elagabalus (218-222 C.E.),however, include, in addition to the earlier titles, a reference to the "friendship" (philia) and "alliance" (symmachia) between the "Holy Council" (hiera boule) of Diocaesarea the "Loyal" (pistC)and the Senate of the Roman people.3' Y. Meshorer claims that the hiera boulh must have been the Jewish council-perhaps even the Sanhedrin-and the coins are indicative of the improved relations with Rome which marked the career of the patriarch Rabbi Judah Ha-Nasi, who lived toward the end of his life at Sepphoris.32Be that as it may, the terms philia and symmachia were often used by cities wishing to enhance their own prestige by recalling an imaginary or real relationship with Rome in the distant past.33 Perhaps the boulh of Sepphoris sought to do just that in the early third century by invoking the city's relationship with Rome during the First Revolt. The reference to the city as "Loyal" would seem to be a further reminder of Sepphoris's earlier faithfulness to Rome.34 In any event, the only indication that Tiberias too was interested in upgrading its status in the early third century is a talmudic source (B. 'AvodahZarah 10a) that suggests that the city became a colonia about that time.35There simply is no way of knowing, however, whether the accumulation of titles by either Sepphoris or Tiberias was symptomatic of an ongoing struggle for supremacy. Provinces (Oxford: At the Clarendon Press, 1937), p. 279; and idem, "The Urbanization of Palestine," Journal of Roman Studies 21 (1931): 82. Cf. Jones's somewhat different view in his Greek City, p. 81. Also see Miller, Studies, pp. 31-59, where it is argued that the Romans maintained a castra at Sepphoris during the second century. 31. Meshorer, "Sepphoris and Rome," pp. 168 f.; idem, "Matbe'ot Zippori," pp. 194-197; and idem, Matbe'ot 'Arei 'EreZ Yisra'el, p. 37. 32. Meshorer suggests that the Holy Council of Sepphoris actually entered into "a treaty of friendship and alliance" with the Senate of the Roman people. He also calls attention to coins of Agrippa I which refer to a similar treaty made between the king and the Romans. For another view of the coins, see C.M. Kraay, "Jewish Friends and Allies of Rome," American Numismatic Society Museum Notes 25 (1980); 56f. 33. See Magie, Roman Rule, 1:637, and cf. Jones, Greek City, p. 324. 34. Meshorer may still be correct that Sepphoris and Rome enjoyed particularly good relations in the early third century, perhaps even officially acknowledged by some sort of treaty. The point made here is that the claim of Sepphoris for Rome's favor would have been based on the historical relationship of the cities. It should be noted that a papyrus from 359 C.E. also designates Ascalon as pistd. See Schilrer, History 2:107 n. 111. 35. The source has "Antoninus" (presumably Caracalla) reveal to Rabbi Judah Ha-Nasi his desire to make Tiberias a colony. For a full discussion, see Kimelman, "Rabbi Yohanan," pp. 48-51. The only other source referring to Tiberias as a colony is a marriage contract preserved in the Cairo Geniza and dated to 1034/35 C.E.See M. A. Friedman, Jewish Marriage in Palestine.: A Cairo Geniza Study, 2 vols. (Tel Aviv and New York: Tel Aviv University/ Jewish Theological Seminary, 1980-81), 2:207 f., 211.

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It is reasonable, however, to look for evidence of the persistence of the rivalry of which Josephus speaks (or any other forms of tension between Sepphoris and Tiberias) in rabbinic literature. Rivalries among the cities of the Roman Empire were often mirrored by the friction between their ecclesiastical authorities. Thus various bishoprics of the empire (e.g., Nicaea and Nicomedia) are reported to have contended over primacy, with their city's political rank as the basis of their claims.36Moreover, urban intellectual life may also have been affected by intercity tensions. Hence the feud between the second-century sophists Favorinus of Ephesus and Polemo of Smyrna appears to have been an outgrowth of the rivalry between their respective cities.37If the rivalry between Sepphoris and Tiberias went beyond the first century, as maintained by the above-mentioned authors, it would not be surprising if the rabbis took notice of it. Indeed, if there was constant tension between Sepphoris and Tiberias, we would expect some indication of it to appear in rabbinic literature, the major source for the history of these cities.38An examination of the traditions which mention both Tiberias and Sepphoris should shed some light on both the relationship between the two cities and the rabbinic attitudes toward them.

Sepphorisand Tiberiasin Rabbinic Literature The traditions are found in the Tosefta, the Palestinian and Babylonian

36. See A. H. M. Jones, The Later Roman Empire 284--602: A Social, Economic and AdministrativeSurvey, 2 vols. (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1964), 2:882 f. 37. See G.W. Bowersock, Greek Sophists in the Roman Empire (Oxford: At the Clarendon Press, 1969), pp. 90 f., and Jones, Roman World, p. 78. 38. The assumption here is that the rabbis would have made direct referenceto such tension or, at the very least, would have alluded (either consciously or unconsciously) to its existence, as Sepphoris and Tiberias were the major centers of Jewish life in Galilee. Recently, Neusner has argued that the city "lay beyond the social experience of the rabbis," who were more familiar with life in the villages and towns. This observation does not affect the position taken here that talmudic literature should be used to address the question of urban rivalry, as Neusner characterizes both Sepphoris and Tiberias as "towns" rather than cities. The larger metropolises which Neusner regards as "cities" are the places which he contends most rabbis would not have been able to relate to. See J. Neusner, "The City as Useless Symbol in Late Antique Judaism," in idem, Major Trendsin FormativeJudaism: Society and Symbol in Political Crisis (Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1983), pp. 33, 38. Besides the discussion of the relations between Sepphoris and Tiberias found in Josephus, there really is no other Greek or Latin writing that sheds light on our topic, though both cities occasionally appear in classical literature.

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Talmudim, and the Midrashei Aggadah.39The cities appear together in both halakhic and aggadic contexts, where they are referredto in various ways to clarify the subject at hand. The forty or so relevant traditions may thus be broken down into four types, the most prominent examples of which will be presented here.40 The largest group consists of passages in which Sepphoris and Tiberias are used merely as loci. In these instances, places other than Sepphoris and Tiberias could just as easily have been chosen to explicate a halakhah or dramatize an aggadah. For example, in a discussion of the prohibition of writing on the Sabbath, both the Palestinian and Babylonian gemarot use the example of one who writes one letter of the alphabet in Tiberias and one in Sepphoris to indicate a culpable act.41 Elsewhere, R. Eliezer ben Hyrcanus is asked by the epitropos of Agrippa whether he can fulfill his obligation to eat fourteen meals in the sukkah by eating one meal each day of Tabernacles in each of his two sukkot, one of which was in Sepphoris, the other in Tiberias.42Regarding the question of whether a wife has to actually receive a get within her home for a divorce to be effected, R. Hoshaiah, a first-generation amora from Sepphoris, explains that the document may even be delivered to her courtyard in Sepphoris while she is in Tiberias, or vice versa.43In a discussion of the kashrut of a slaughtered animal that has been found, it is decided that the area of the find is determinative. That is, if the animal was found in a place known for its Jewish settlement, such as the area between Sepphoris and Tiberias, it is permitted for consumption.44 The distance between the two cities is used by R. Ammi to illustrate just how far a yevamah has to go to meet with a yabam in order to be released from the obligations of a levirate marriage.45Among aggadic traditions two stand out: One drives home the extent of the Hadrianic 39. The Palestinian Talmud contains considerably more traditions than the other sources mentioned. Most of the relevant material has been collected in S. Klein, ed., Sefer Ha- Yishuv, vol. I (Jerusalem: Yad Izhak ben Zvi, 1939), pp. 60-62. Also see Klein, "Zippori," pp. 63 f. 40. This typology should not be considered absolute, as several of the traditions can be included in more than one of the categories presented here (cf. below, n. 48). This in no way detracts from either the analysis of the traditions or the argument which follows. A further breakdown of the traditions by genres or periods (i.e., tannaitic, amoraic) reveals nothing concerning their content and usages and so has been avoided. 41. P. Shabbat 12, 13d, and B. Shabbat 104b. 42. B. Sukkah 27a. 43. B. Gittin 77b. 44. B. Baba' Megia' 24b. Cf. P. Sanhedrin 5, 22c, where, with regard to the validation of witnesses in a murder case, Rabbi Yobanan explains that the witnesses are not required to identify the victim as a Jew or non-Jew if the killing took place between Tiberias and Sepphoris; it is assumed that the territory between the two cities is predominantly Jewish. 45. B. Sanhedrin 31b.

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devastation by stating that the emperor had a vineyard surrounded by a fence of corpses eighteen miles square; in order to vividly portray this distance, it is noted that Tiberias and Sepphoris were eighteen miles apart.46 The other tradition attributes the statement "May it be my lot to be among those who welcome the Sabbath in Tiberias and among those who dismiss the Sabbath at Sepphoris" to the tanna R. Yose, himself a resident of Sepphoris.47 R. Yose is simply emphasizing the beauty of the Sabbath by indicating that he would not mind extending the day by beginning it in the lowlands of Tiberias (where the sun appears to set early) and ending it in the mountainous region of Sepphoris (where the sun appears to set late).48 The second group of traditions notes differences in the customs and realia of Sepphoris and Tiberias. For example, R. Abbahu is said to have maintained that one does not make a blessing over the spices he smells on Sabbath eve in Tiberias or those he smells on Saturday night in Sepphoris because "they were made for other purposes," that is, they were not intended exclusively for their odor.49 The commentators explain that it was the custom of the Tiberians to deodorize their clothes with the spices on the While eve of the Sabbath, while the Sepphoreans did so after the Sabbath.5so in the halakhah is the same either case, the fact that the Sepphoreans and Tiberians used the spices at different times is evident. A disagreement between R. Yehudah and the hakhamim which appears in the Mishnah (Shevi'it 5:1) concerns the application of the sabbatical laws to Persian figs grown in 'Erez Yisra'el. The difference is explained by the Yerushalmito have been the result of the fact that the figs took two years to ripen in Tiberias, which was R. Yehudah's point of reference, and only one year in Sepphoris, which is the area the hakhamimhad in mind.5' In a discussion of 46. P. Ta'anit 4, 69a. 47. B. Shabbat 118b. 48. For other examples of this type, see T. Ma'aser Sheni 4:13; P. Berakhot 9, 14d (cf. below, n. 95); P. Megillah 1, 72d (with Caesarea); P. Sanhedrin 3, 21a (discussed below); P. Shabbat 6, 8a (= P. Sanhedrin 10, 28a); Genesis Rabbah 18:23; and Leviticus Rabbah 18:1 (= Ecclesiastes Rabbah 12:6). Many of the traditions considered below can actually be included here as well. However, since they have other characteristics besides the use of Sepphoris and Tiberias as loci, they have been assigned to different groups. The traditions discussed here use Sepphoris and Tiberias exclusively as loci without noting differences, similarities, or traffic between the cities, as do the types now to be presented. 49. P. Berakhot 8, 12b. Cf. B. Berakhot 53a. 50. See, for example, the comments of Rabbenu Yonah ad loc. 51. P. Shevi'it 5, 35c. Cf. P. Pesahim 4, 30d, where another difference between the cities pertaining to the sabbatical year is explained. There too a view of R. Yehudah in the Mishnah (Pesahim 4:2) is the subject.

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the havdalah,the amora Hezekiah is reported to have said that one does not recite a blessing over light unless one can discern the difference between a meluzma (usually understood as a coin) of Tiberias and one of Sepphoris.52 One final example, an anonymous tradition in the Yerushalmireports that the rabbis of Tiberias decided to follow the practice of the Sepphoreans in extending the prohibitions associated with the week of the Ninth of Av to the rest of the month despite the fact that the Tiberians were wont to apply the restrictions only to the week in which the fast-day occurred.53 If it was common for the rabbis to note the differences between the two

cities, it wasjust as common,if not more so, for them to indicatethe similarities. The next group of traditions relevant to our discussion includes a tannaitic rebuke of the men of both Sepphoris and Tiberias for not trimming their hair in honor of the Sabbath, something that even Absalom was believed to have done.54 A gloss to a baraita in the Bavli indicates that the two cities used similar weights."55 An amoraic discussion of work during Iol ha-Mo'ed notes that the net-fishermen of Tiberias and the grist-makers of Sepphoris would abstain from work during that period.56 In a midrashic exposition of Genesis 41:48, "He [Joseph] put in each city the grain of the fields around it," the rabbis explain that the blessing of plenty had to have occurred in the storage houses, for indeed if all the people of Tiberias and all the people of Sepphoris would gather to eat the food contained in each city's domain, each person would end up with only a handful.57In a midrash to Psalms 1:3, "And he shall be like a tree planted by streams of water," Tiberias and its scholars (havruteih) and Sepphoris and its scholars are likened to "streams of water" near which trees, i.e., Torah, are "planted."58 Similarly, in yet another midrash, this time to Ecclesiastes 11:3, "if a tree 52. B. Berakhot 53b. 53. P. Ta'anit 4, 69b. Other traditions which contrast Sepphoris and Tiberias or report different practices of their residents include: P. Baba' Qamma' 9, 6d and P. Pesabzim10, 37c (= P. Shabbat 8, I la; also cf. B. Pesahim 109a). 54. T. Sotah 3:16 (ed. Vienna). The parallel in the printed editions of NumbersRabbah 9:24 appears to be faulty. See S. Lieberman, Tosefta' Ki-Feshutah, 8 vols. (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1955-73), 8:643. 55. B. Sotah 10b. 56. P. Mo'ed Qatan 2, 81b (= P. Pesabim 4, 30d). 57. Genesis Rabbah 41:48. 58. See S. Buber, Midrash Tehillim(reprint ed., Jerusalem, 1977), 9b-10a. The word shatul ("planted") is similarly used in reference to members of a bet midrashin Numbers Rabbah 1:3, where Psalm 92:14 ("Planted in the house of the Lord...") is commented on. For other instances where shatul is used with regard to people, see Jastrow, Sefer Millim (reprint ed., New York: Judaica Press, 1971), p. 1638.

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falls to the south or to the north, the tree will stay where it falls," it is explained that all of Israel come to pay their respects when a sage passes away. The deaths of R. Mana in Sepphoris and of R. Abun in Tiberias, two amoraim of the fourth century, are given as examples.59 The final group of traditions reports on various trips made by the rabbis between the two cities. Here the usual form is "Rabbi so-and-so went up from Tiberias to Sepphoris . . ." Interestingly, the reported trip usually began in Tiberias and not in Sepphoris; the likely explanation for this is that most of these traditions appear in the Palestinian Talmud and in Leviticus Rabbah, both works which contain much material from Tiberias or the Sea of Galilee region.60 At any rate, examples of each genre include the report attributed to R. Simeon bar Yobai that he was able to travel from Tiberias to Sepphoris (and from Tyre to Sidon) on the Sabbath without violating the tehum shabbat because of the caves and burqii which extended the limits of the city of departure.6'On a journey from Tiberias to Sepphoris, R. Simeon ben Gamaliel is said to have met an old man who informed him of the nature of the various boils which render one impure.62Elsewhere, R. Haninah is reported to have ruminated over why he was blessed with longevity and guessed that it was his reward for stopping in to see R. Simeon ben in Ein Tenah whenever he was en route to Sepphoris from TiberH.alafta Three traditions involve the amora R. Yobanan, who apparently lived ias.63 his early years in Sepphoris before establishing his yeshivah in Tiberias.64 Thus Yohanan, on one of his trips to his earlier hometown, is said to have inquired about the great commotion he heard coming from Sepphoris as he approached the city; it turned out to have been the result of the preparations

59. Ecclesiastes Rabbah 11:3. For a midrash in which both cities appear to be facing a calamity, see Pesiqta' Rabbati 8:3. 60. This phenomenon may also reflect the final ascendancy of Tiberias as well as the editorial work done there. In this regard, it should also be noted that almost all of the Sepphoris/Tiberias traditions, not just those reporting trips between the two cities, mention Tiberias first. See Safrai, "Ha-Yishuv Ha-Yehudi," p. 167 n. 156. On the editing of the materials in the Yerushalmi, see S. Lieberman, "Talmudah Shel-Kisrin," Tarbi4 2 (1931), Supplement, 9 f. On Leviticus Rabbah, see J. Heinemann, "Leviticus Rabbah," Encyclopaedia Judaica (1971-72), 11:147. 61. T. 'Eruvin4:11 and P. 'Eruvin5, 22b. 62. Leviticus Rabbah 16:1. Some MSS omit the reference to Tiberias and have the incident occur in Sepphoris itself. Cf. the parallel at T. Ketubot 7:11 and the sources noted by M. Margulies, Midrash Va-Yiqra' Rabbah, 5 vols. in 3 (Jerusalem: Wahrman Books, 1971-72), 1:348. 63. P. Ta'anit 4, 68a. 64. See Kimelman, "Rabbi Yobanan," pp. 11-13.

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for R. Haninah's funeral.'65On another occasion an elderly Yolanan is helped along on his excursion to Sepphoris by R. Hiyya bar Abba, to whom he explains that he had sold various fields, vineyards, and olive groves between the two cities so that he could study Torah.66Curiously, the one tradition which has a sage going from Sepphoris to Tiberias also involves R. Yolhanan. This passage in the Yerushalmi indicates that Yolhanan left Sepphoris for Tiberias as a result of an offense he suffered in the academy of Sepphoris.67 Finally, it should be noted that trips between the two cities were so taken for granted that at least on one occasion the formula used is "like an individual who went up from Tiberias to Sepphoris," that is, a specific trip is not intended.68 The appearance of Sepphoris and Tiberias in the same contexts in rabbinic literature was clearly not intended, even in those traditions which contrast the cities, to show the superiority of one over the other or the existence of tensions between them. Though the Sepphoris/Tiberias traditions may be grouped into the four distinct types described, it must be remembered that they were all formed in order to drive home either a halakhic or an aggadic point. The rabbis referred to these two cities because they were, particularly in the amoraic period, the two leading centers of Jewish life in Galilee, in which many of them also happened to live or study. The question then is not whether rabbinic literature intentionally portrays Sepphoris and Tiberias antithetically,69but rather, do any of the traditions even so much as allude to the supposed trouble between them?

65. P. Baba' Megia' 2, 8d. 66. Leviticus Rabbah 30:1 and parallels. See Margulies, Va-Yiqra' Rabbah, 2:689. 67. P. Shevi'it 9, 38c, and P. Begah 1, 60a. 68. P. Yoma' 6, 43d. Also see Sanhedrin3 lb. 69. The fact that rabbinic literature does at times portray the Sepphoreans negatively (e.g., P. Ta'anit 3, 66c) does not detract from the argument presented here. First of all, it would have to be proven that all or most of these traditions emanate from Tiberian sources. Second, if the Sepphoreans were generally regarded as lacking character, and the Tiberians were responsible for conveying this impression, the Sepphoris/Tiberias traditions would almost certainly contain some overt reference to the Sepphoreans' faults. (Similar objections could be raised to the suggestion that the Sepphoreans were responsible for the traditions that cast aspersions on the purity of Tiberias. These traditions cannot be shown to have originated in Sepphoris, and some reference to the question of the purity of Tiberias would have been expected among the Sepphoris/Tiberias traditions. See the ensuing discussion.) For the passages dealing with the character of the Sepphoreans, see A. Biichler, The Political and the Social Leaders of the Jewish CommunityofSepphoris in the Second and Third Centuries (Oxford, 1909), passim; Z. Frankel, Mevo' Ha-Yerushalmi (Breslau, 1870), p. 4b; and S. Lieberman, "Palestine in the Third and Fourth Centuries," reprinted in idem, Texts and Studies (New York: Ktav Publishing House,

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Some Hints of Rivalry? Two previously unmentioned passages from rabbinic literature have been seen as allusions to the persistence of the rivalry of which Josephus speaks into the later, talmudic period. L. Levine has suggested that Sepphorean scholars were the source of an ongoing polemic concerning the purity of the city of Tiberias.70He proposes that the following passage from B. Megillah 6a alludes to Sepphorean resentment of Tiberias (represented here by Naphtali, in whose territory the city was located) in the fourth century:7 A. Zeirasaid, "Qitronis Sepphoris,and why is it calledSepphoris[Hebrew: Zippori]?Becauseit sits on top of a mountainlike a bird [Hebrew:;ippor]." B. But is QitronSepphoris?SurelyQitronis in the territoryof Zevulun.For it is written[Judg.1:30]:"Zevulundid not dispossessthe inhabitantsof Qitron or the inhabitantsof Nahalol." C. But Zevulunwas discontentedwith its portion [of land] as it is said [Judg. For whatreason?Because 5:18]:"Zevulunis a peoplethatmockedat death."72 Naphtali was "on the open heights"[Judg.5:18]. D. Zevulun[himself]saidbeforeThe Holy One, Praisedbe He, "Masterof the World, to my brothersyou gave fields and vineyards,but to me you gave mountainsand hills;to my brothersyou gave lands,but to me you gave lakes and streams." 1974), pp. 124, 146, 160. Elsewhere, Lieberman remarks, "Sepphoris was notorious in the age of the Palestinian Talmud for its boisterous and rebellious spirit and for its many criminals." He derives this characterization from P. Ma'aser Sheni, 5, 55d. See his "Jewish Life in Eretz Yisra'el as Reflected in the Palestinian Talmud," reprinted in Texts and Studies, p. 186. On the perception of the priests of Sepphoris, see Miller, Studies, pp. 102, 130. I am planning to publish an analysis of the anti-Sepphoris/Sepphoreans traditions. 70. "R. Simeon b. Yohai and the Purification of Tiberias," (see n. 13), pp. 175-178. 71. Ed Vilna: K,'1'rn1'x ,Ipu, T ' 'I" D~Y? pyn I1~lt 'LTV1 ~1KS pnK

lrnl-rn

~

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IT',

VI '

It

" TL'W'• K•ta'K1 ,/ i'X, 'Iat•t KrYT"aK ntl'•, ', , p '~TL',' l~ KrLvflI~ K~' I~~~~'f~~l~r l~lT~U.'Ip~h~fI~ Kmr

The bracketed material is missing in MS Munich and has not been translated here. For variants and further discussion of the passage, see Miller, Studies, pp. 25-27. 72. The JPS translation offers alternatively: Zevulun is a people that "belittled its life to die."

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E. He [God]repliedto him, "Theywill all needyou for the bilazon[a fishfrom which a purpledye for the ;igit was extracted],as it is said [in referenceto Zevulunin Deut. 33:19]:'[Forthey draw from the richesof the sea] And the hiddenhoards of the sand.'" F. Rav Yoseftaught,"'Hidden'-this [refersto] bilazon;'hoards'-this [refers to] tunny fish; 'sand'-this [refersto] white glass.".. G. Now, if you maintainthat Qitron is Sepphoris,why was [the tribe of] Zevulundiscontentedwith its portion?Surely,Sepphoriswas very desirable! And if you say thatit does not flow with milkand honey,did Resh Lakishnot say, "I myself have seen the flowing milk and honey of Sepphoris,and it [coversan area of] sixteen miles by sixteen miles?"... H. Even so, fields and vineyardsare [more] desirableto it [the tribe of Zevulun]. According to Levine, Sepphoris' antagonism toward Tiberias is revealed here through Zevulun's jealous remarks pertaining to Naphtali.73 The passage follows an amoraic discussion of whether Tiberias had been a walled city in the time of Joshua bin Nun. The gemara (5b) identifies Tiberias with Raqqat, mentioned in Joshua 19:35. Yolhanan, however, disagrees, maintaining instead that Hammat, which also appears in the verse, is Tiberias, and Raqqat is Sepphoris. Though Zeira finally equates Sepphoris with Qitron (A), it is interesting that Yolhanan, who headed an academy at Tiberias, is said to have been responsible for the identification with Raqqat. For indeed, had Sepphoris and Raqqat been identical, the above passage would have been altogether impossible. That is, Sepphoris too would have been in the land apportioned to Naphtali in Joshua (19:32 ff.), and so Zevulun would not have even entered the discussion, let alone been used as a cover for Sepphorean feelings toward Tiberias (Naphtali). Furthermore, it is unlikely that behind Zevulun's protest lies resentment felt by the Sepphoreans toward Tiberias. On the contrary, the point of the passage is not that the Sepphoreans were unhappy but rather that Zevulunwas dissatisfied with its portion, although it included Qitron, i.e., Sepphoris. The tribe's lot (and therefore that of Sepphoris) is viewed positively despite the fact that Zevulun himself may have preferredthe "fields and vineyards" of Naphtali. The aggadah (C-F) has God respond to Zevulun that his territory will be needed for its hilazon, and Rav Yosef concludes from the biblical proof-text 73. "R. Shimonb. Yohai,"p. 177.

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(Deut. 33:19) that tunny fish and white glass were also to be counted among the tribe's resources. Moreover, in a context which also extolls the virtues of Raqqat/Tiberias,74 it is rather striking that another prominent Tiberian, Resh Lakish, notes the fertility of Sepphoris, whose milk and honey flowed for sixteen square miles. Even here, the purpose is to express surprise at Zevulun's dissatisfaction which the rabbis perceived in Judges 5:18: "Zevulun is a people that mocked at death." The intent throughout is, therefore, exegetical. In fact, Zevulun's complaints and the material explaining the benefits bestowed upon his tribe's territory (C-F) make perfectly good sense apart from the context identifying Sepphoris with Qitron. To be sure, the interest of the gemara in the identity of Sepphoris generated the exegesis and is the overall concern of the passage. But the exegesis elaborating Zevulun's disillusionment can stand alone, in which case neither Sepphoris nor Tiberias would be explicitly In fact, the passage does not even mention Tiberias, and where mentioned."75 Tiberian scholars (Yohanan, Resh Lakish, Assi, Zeira, Jeremiah, Rabbah bar Hannah)76 do appear in the larger context, there is no polemic with Sepphoris, apparent or otherwise.77 A perhaps more suggestive passage, which is often cited when either the rivalry between the cities or Tiberias' final ascendancy is discussed," is found in P. Sanhedrin 3, 21a.79 A. R. Eleazarsaid, "One [litigant]suggested[that the case be decidedin] Tiberias,and the other suggested[thatit be decidedin] Sepphoris;theylisten to the one who suggestedTiberias."

74. B. Megillah 6a reports that the residents of Tiberias are full of religious observances, the city is the center of 'Ere2 Yisra'el, and its appearance is good. 75. Cf. Levine, "R. Simeon b. Yobai," p. 177 n. 138, who maintains that Sepphoris and Tiberias are "at the center of this exegesis." 76. Assi, Zeira, and Rabbah bar bar Hannah were all originally Babylonians who emigrated and studied under Yobanan. Jeremiah was also a Babylonian by birth who eventually studied with Zeira. 77. Cf. the obvious tension between Caesarea and Jerusalem which appears in the material following our passage in B. Megillah 6a. See below, "Conclusion." 78. See Levine, "R. Simeon b. Yolhai,"p. 177 n. 138; Kimelman, "Rabbi Yobanan," p. 84 n. 39; and Frankel, Mevo' Ha-Yerushalmi, p. 4a. i9 t, ?'nD,K,'L,13: " in ,u 79. MS Leiden: K' "• '• ... ,'v:'t~l ,nv m •,• '"t'• K~;IS K~;17?$'$'? 'TK~71S K~;1 I K3~Vb K'n 7'~'n' ?ln"~ p~'K~ '~~'r ~'tK TflK'L~'~ '~Kr ~7T1YS'7 tYr'Km;1

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B. ... R. La [Ila] said, "And that which R. Eleazarsaid, 'One suggested Tiberiasand the othersuggestedSepphoris,concernsthosewho weresittingin maskanah,;from here to there [Tiberias]is seven miles, from here to there [Sepphoris]is nine miles."s80 C. R. Yose said, "And you derivefrom it that if two peopleare involvedin a case in Tiberias,and one says [thatthe case shouldbe decided]in the greater bet din, and the othersays [thatit shouldbe decided]in the lesserbet din,the one who suggeststhe greaterbet din is listenedto." This passage appears as a digression in a discussion of M. Sanhedrin3:1, which is concerned with the finding of judges who will be acceptable to the disputants in cases involving property. After a discussion of this matter, the gemara considers the appropriateness of moving a case from one venue to another. Thus R. Yolhanan is said to have responded to an individual in Antioch that he should have his case tried locally and if necessary send the case to the "rabbanan," presumably of Tiberias, for final resolution. Our passage introduces an entirely new element in that two courts of 'Ereg Yisra'el are involved, those of Tiberias and Sepphoris. These courts were presumably on a more equal footing than those of'Antioch and Tiberias.A Nevertheless, it seems that here too the closer, more convenient court, i.e., that of Tiberias, is resorted to. Still, R. Eleazar, a late-third-century Tiberian, does not explain his preference for his city's court, and so the explanations of R. Ila and R. Yose are offered.82Many of the commentaries have a different reading of R. Ila's statement. Instead of placing maskanah, which is assumed to be a dwelling of some sort, at a distance of seven miles 80. The assumption here that the first "from here to there" means "from maskanah to Tiberias," and the second, "from maskanah to Sepphoris," is based on the likelihood that "Maskanah" is the name of an actual place which indeed is closer to Tiberias than to Sepphoris. See the ensuing discussion. Also, as seen earlier (n. 60), almost all of the Sepphoris/ Tiberias traditions mention Tiberias first. For an altogether different rendering, see Penei Mosheh, ad loc. 81. Mantel suggests that the Antiochean court may not have had ordained scholars or that the rabbanan referred to in the passage may mean "the Great Court" of Tiberias. See H. Mantel, Studies in the History of the Sanhedrin(Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1961), p. 223 n. 342. Presumably, the courts of both Sepphoris and Tiberias were composed of ordained scholars, though Tiberias' court system may have been of a higher rank. See the discussion below. 82. Two lines of text (between A and B) have been omitted from our discussion because they are really a digression on other themes suggested by the Mishnah. The omitted material includes such terms as mevi' ("brings") and posel ("disqualifies"), which are reminiscent of the Mishnah, and shanu ("they taught"), which probably refers to the sages mentioned there. Cf. the remarks of Z. W. Rabinowitz, Sha'arei Torat 'Ere; Yisra'el (Jerusalem, 1940), p. 514.

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from Tiberias, they present it as equidistant from both cities. Thus the disputants were nine miles from Sepphoris and nine miles from Tiberias.83 R. Ila would then be reading into R. Eleazar's opinion the superiority of the Tiberian court and perhaps even some degree of rivalry with Sepphoris. R. Yose's opinion-that is, that the greater court within a given city is to be preferredto the lesser court within the same city-would appear then to be a further extension of this understanding, taking for granted that the reason for R. Eleazar's preference for the Tiberian court was its supremacy over that of Sepphoris.84 That the rabbis were interested in ensuring that a particular case was brought to the appropriate court could be expected. The question of jurisdiction was certainly not peculiar to Jewish or rabbinic courts. What is interesting, however, is that the venue of legal proceedings was often an issue that led to strife and jealousies between the cities of antiquity. Thus Dio Chrysostom contrasts the rivalry between Nicomedia and Nicaea over pr6teion with that of Athens and Sparta, who "fought each other over the right of every man to have his lawsuits tried in his own home city."'85In pointing out that the real issue is one over "name and nothing more,"'86Dio asks the Nicomedians whether the recovery of primacy would mean that they would be able to summon for trial those cities which are now subject to Nicaea.87Sovereignty and judicial supremacy went hand in hand among the Greek states, who often made treaties to formalize matters of jurisdiction.88 The cities of the Roman Empire, however, could not claim this type of sovereignty or make treaties and instead yearned to be designated assize (conventus)centers.89Dio's point to the Nicomedians is that the acquisition 83. See, for example, Ijiddushei Ha-Ramban to B. Sanhedrin,chap. 3, and Nimmuqei Yosef on Alfasi at the beginning of the same chapter. Also, the commentaries referred to by S. Lieberman in his review of S. Klein, ed., Sefer Ha-Yishuv, Sinai 5 (1940): 463. Lieberman contends that the correct reading is nine miles, as P. Ta'anit 4, 69a, indicates that the distance between Tiberias and Sepphoris is eighteen miles (see above). He also refers to P. Berakhot, 9, 14d, as evidence that maskanah was located exactly between the two cities. On this source see below, n. 95. 84. Cf. Penei Mosheh on the passage. 85. Or. 38:25. (This and the following quotation are from the Loeb ed., H. L. Crosby, trans.) 86. Or. 38:24. 87. Or. 38:26. 88. See H. G. Robertson, "The Administration of Justice in the Athenian Empire," University of Toronto Studies in History and Economics (1924), for a comprehensive discussion of Athenian jurisdiction and treaties among the Greek states. 89. Cities of the empire could only form alliances with Rome. See Jones, Roman World, p. 84. On the assizes, see G. P. Burton, "Proconsuls, Assizes and the Administration of Justice Under the Empire," Journal of Roman Studies 65 (1975): 92-106.

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of primacywould not lead to any changein the prevailingassizesystem.90 Elsewhere Dio indicates that the right to hold assizes was of great importance to the cities, as it meant substantial economic benefits.91 He also reflects on the resentment created when people from other communities had to resort to assize centers for justice.92Dio himself seems to have eventually won assize rights for his own city, Prusa. Before then, the residents of Prusa had to bring their suits elsewhere, perhaps even to their rival, Apamea.93 It would not be at all surprising if these jurisdictional squabbles and jealousies were also found among the local (non-Roman) courts of rival

cities.94Does P. Sanhedrin3, 21a, pit the court systems of Sepphorisand Tiberias against one another? If so, does the passage serve as evidence, though indirect, of two cities that were at odds in the talmudic period? To answer these questions we must take a closer look at our passage. First of all, MS Leiden does place maskanah seven miles from Tiberias and nine

from Sepphoris.Furthermore,M. Avi-Yonah, S. Klein, and others take maskanah to be a proper noun identical with Khirbet Meskene, which was indeed located closer to Tiberias than to Sepphoris.95 Thus R. Ila may 90. As both cities probably possessed assize rights. See Jones, Roman World, p. 86. 91. Or. 35:15-17. Cf. Jones, Roman World, pp. 67 f. 92. Or. 40:33. Cf. 35:17 and Jones, Roman World, p. 68. 93. So suggests Jones, Roman World, pp. 108 f. 94. At least three court systems flourished in 'Ere? Yisra'el at this time: Roman, village (Jewish), and rabbinic. See Goodman, State and Society, pp. 155-171. Cf. the functioning of the early church courts discussed in H. F. Jolowicz and B. Nicholas, Historical Introductionto the Study of Roman Law, 3d ed. (Cambridge: At the University Press, 1973,) pp. 448 f. 95. Apparently, the road between the cities branched off, forming two distinct routes to Tiberias, the shorter through Khirbet Meskene and the longer through the Wadi Fejjas. This would explain the discrepancy between P. Ta'anit 4, 69a, which puts the distance between the cities at eighteen miles (see n. 83), and the reading of MS Leiden, which suggests that the distance was only sixteen miles. See M. Avi-Yonah, Map of Roman Palestine (Jerusalem, 1939), pp. 37, 42; idem, Gazetteer of Roman Palestine (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1976), p. 79; idem, Holy Land, p. 137; Klein, 'Erea Ha-Galil (reprint ed., Jerusalem: Mosad Ha-Rav Kuk, 1967), pp. 93, 116; and L. K6hler's review of Klein's Beitrage zur Geographieund Geschichte Galildias(Leipzig, 1909) in TheologischeLiteraturzeitung, 1910, no. 11, col. 327. The only other reference to maskanah in rabbinic literature occurs in P. Berakhot 9, 14d, which is taken by some as proof that this place (Avi-Yonah refers to it as a "road station") was exactly midway between Sepphoris and Tiberias (see n. 83). This source, however, merely uses the location as a convenient point between the two cities to illustrate the meaning of a verse from Megillat Hasidim: "Should you abandon Me for one day, I will abandon you for [many] days." Thus it is explained that two individuals, one from Tiberias, the other from Sepphoris, who take leave of one another at maskanah are not really thought of as having separated until they are two miles from each other. As each has gone a mile, they are now separated by two; so one who abandons God for one day is really separated from Him for longer. Khirbet Meskene need only have been regarded as approximately equidistant from Sepphoris and Tiberias, which indeed it was, for the passage to make sense. In any case, the distance from Khirbet Meskene to each of the cities is nowhere stated in the passage.

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simply have been explaining R. Eleazar's statement by stating that the disputants in this particular case were closer to Tiberias and for that reason its court was to be preferred.96R. Ila and R. Yose would then be offering two distinct explanations: for the former, distance was the issue; for the latter, judicial supremacy. In either case, however, rivalry between the cities is not evident. It should also be noted that there is an obvious Tiberian Tendenzin the sugia'. All of the amoraim mentioned in our passage and its context (Resh Lakish, Yolhanan, Eleazar, Zeira, Ila, and Yose) belonged to the circle of Yolhananat Tiberias toward the end of the third century. From their point of view, the Tiberian court system would certainly have been the preferred one, especially since, as is likely, the Sanhedrin had already relocated to their city.97 In addition, even if the issue was that of the greater vs. the lesser court, the matter is purely of academic interest, with the two cities serving as loci, as in our first group of Sepphoris/Tiberias passages. Competition is simply not apparent in our passage, which serves as an expansion of the theme of the Mishnah. As mentioned earlier, M. Sanhedrin 3:1 is concerned with the appointment of judges who will be acceptable to the disputants. The Mishnah first indicates that each disputant is to choose a judge and then goes on to report the view of R. Meir that each can reject the other's appointee. After elaborating upon this subject, the gemara turns to the question of appropriate courts. The transition from the appointment of acceptable judges to that of using the appropriate court seems natural. In sum, though Tiberias' ascendancy may be taken for granted in the passage, there is no trace of any tension with Sepphoris.

Conclusion:Intercity Rivalryin RabbinicLiterature The Sepphoris/Tiberias traditions as a whole do not contain any hint of rivalry, antagonism, or competition between the two cities, whether social, 96. The discussion in B. Sanhedrin 31b would seem to corroborate that R. Eleazar's concern is distance. Though the discussion there clearly involves lesser and greater courts, R. Eleazar is said to have taken the position that a debtor could not force a creditor to have their case tried before a higher court, as this would mean that the latter would have "to spend an additional maneh"; i.e., he would have to allot money for travel expenses. On the types of courts referred to in this passage, see S. Albeck, Battei Ha-Din Bi- Yemei Ha-Talmud (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 1980), pp. 117 f. 97. See the sources referred to above, n. 16. On the preference of the rabbis for "expert" (mumhim)courts, see M. B. Schwartz, "Appeals in the Jewish Courts of Palestine in the Third Century, C.E.," Hebrew Union College Annual 49 (1978): 196-199.

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political, or academic in nature. On the contrary, the traditions reflect the ongoing vitality of both Sepphoris and Tiberias even in the third and fourth centuries and emphasize both cities' continued prominence as academic centers.98Even when the traditions note differences in customs or realia, the purpose, as at all other times, is to illustrate an aggadah or a halakhah. The intention is always didactic and not in any way polemical. As such the traditions merely reflect the world of the rabbis, for whom Sepphoris and Tiberias were the two most important centers of Jewish life in Galilee. The rabbis of Sepphoris and Tiberias were simply not at odds, and if any rivalry existed between their two cities they were oblivious to it. Indeed, the traditions suggest an atmosphere of mutual respect in which the larger issues of religious life and practice were the overriding concern. This is dramatically indicated by an already mentioned tradition, perhaps of the third century, that reports that the rabbis of Tiberias put aside their own view and instead adopted the Sepphorean practice of extending the prohibitions of the week of the Ninth of Av to the rest of the month.99The preservation of traditions concerning the ongoing traffic between Sepphoris and Tiberias serves to further enhance the image of positive and constructive relations between these cities. Rabbinic literature does at times call attention to tension or resentment between the cities of 'Ere; Yisra'el, but never with regard to Sepphoris and Tiberias. In fact, when difficult relations are noted, a non-Jewish or quasiJewish city is usually involved. Thus the following passage appears in Lamentations Rabbah 1:17: "The Lord has summonedagainstJacob his enemiesall about him" [Lam. 1:17].For example,Halamishto Naveh, Sussitato Tiberias,Castrato Haifa, Jerichoto Naaram,and Lod to Ono.?00 98. Cf. Safrai, "Ha-Yishuv Ha-Yehudi," pp. 148, 151. 99. P. Ta'anit4, 69b. The context in which this report appears contains the views of several late-third- to early-fourth-century scholars. Cf. also the discussion in B. Ta'anit 29b-30a. The Sepphoris/Tiberias traditions really do not favor either city. Note T. Sotah 3:16 which preserves a rabbinic rebuke of both the Sepphoreans and the Tiberians. Also interesting is B. Sanhedrin 31b where R. Ammi, a Tiberian, declares that a yevamah has to go "even from Tiberias to Sepphoris" to be released from a levirate marriage. Though the statement is intended to indicate a particular distance, the usage of Sepphoris as the destination in Ammi's time (late-third century), when Tiberias had the superior court, again suggests acceptance of, rather than contention with, an equally respectable rabbinic center. 100. Ed. Buber: n• Tn:• 1•n'9,[!] nDln• ntvoip mn v'•n Tpl•i~,~ I'=,'•o"I?:•,•'n n• nn rnnoo 131K. For parallels, see Leviticus Rabbah 23:5, Midrash Shemu'el 16:1, and Song of Songs Rabbah 2:2.

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Naveh, Tiberias, Haifa, Naaram, and Ono were all Jewish cities. The "enemies of Jacob" here enumerated must refer to the gentile character or component of Halamish, Sussita (Hippos), Castra, Jericho, and Lod (Diospolis). '01The passage does not refer to Sepphoris as the antagonist to Tiberias, but instead mentions Hippos-Sussita, a well-known Hellenistic center. Certainly, the Jewish character of Sepphoris precluded its being used as an "enemy" in the sense intended by the verse. Still, it is curious that another well-known center of Torah study, Caesarea, is often condemned in rabbinic literature and is presented as the antithesis of Jerusalem. Thus in B. Megillah 6a R. Isaac Napaha (late third century) regards Caesarea as "the daughter of Edom [Rome]" and compares the city, which served as a "metropolis of kings," unfavorably to Jerusalem. Caesareaand Jerusalem:If a personshouldsay to you, "Botharedestroyed," do not believeit; "Bothare settled,"do not believeit. "Caesareais destroyed and Jerusalemsettled" or "Jerusalemis destroyedand Caesareasettled," believeit, as it is said [Ezek.26:2]:"I [Tyre]shall be filled, now that it [Jerusalem] is laid in ruins."When this one is full [i.e., populated],the other is destroyed;when the other is full, this one is destroyed.'02 Similarly, Lamentations Rabbah to (Lam.) 1:5, "... Her foes are at ease," comments: "Until Jerusalem was destroyed, no city [medinah]in the world was regarded by them [the foes] as important; once it was destroyed, Caesarea became a metropolis."'03Philo specifically refers to Jerusalem as a metropolis.'04 As this term was used to describe the most prominent city of a 101. The circumstances of the passage fit either the late third or the fourth century. See Margulies, Va-Yiqra' Rabbah, 2:533; M. Avi-Yonah, Atlas Carta' Li-Tequfat Bayit Sheni, Ha-Mishnah Ve-Ha-Talmud (Jerusalem: Carta, 1974), discussion of map 137; G. Allon, Toledot Ha-Yehudim Be-'Ere; Yisra'el Bi-Tequfat Ha-Mishnah ve-Ha-Talmud, 2 vols., 2d ed. (Tel Aviv: Ha-Kibbutz Ha-Meulad, 1961), 2:249 n. 29, 261; and Klein, Sefer Ha-Yishuv, 1:3 n. 9 (also see p. 144 n. 1 for the identification of Halamish). 102. Ed. Vilna: no'•, ,'•op in'•n T Kn tTntn •'o Tao , n • Tnrnto •'n t n, l• "o•, 'KP•,•-•,• ,'op ~T 1 Jfl 11 On this n137n nk',• t •Tniz'n It 1k,'• t mnzn n~fl "1?Ka• Tk~ n 'aop n' ,~'on i,,nn PtY,•ra. passage, see L. Levine, Caesarea under Roman Rule (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1975), p. 63. 103. Ed. Buber: [!] I ~r: nnonr-•'I P p inon nn', , r•,•-•v n;r'•n•o "r n, 104. Flacc. 45-46. Actually, Philo indicates that Jerusalem was regarded as the metropolis of all the Jews of the world. See Y. Amir, "Ha-Aliyah le-Regel Nusab Philon," in Peraqim Be-Toledot Yerushalayim Bi-Yemei Bayit Sheni.: Sefer Zikaron Le-Avraham Shalit, ed. A. Oppenheimer, U. Rappaport, and M. Stern (Jerusalem: Yad Izhak ben Zvi, 1980), pp. 154-165. Also, in the same volume, see M. Stern, "Yerushalayim, Ha-Mefursemet Le-'Ein Shi'ur bein 'Arei Ha-Mizralh," pp. 269-270.

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province, Caesareacertainly could not lay claim to it until Jerusalem's destruction in 70 C.E.'05 The antagonism expressed here toward Caesarea, which became the capital of Judea in 6 C.E. and assumed even greater importance after 70, is neither surprising nor unexpected. It must also be remembered that Caesarea contained a significant non-Jewish element.'06 Yet that this tension between Caesarea and Jerusalem would find overt expression in rabbinic literature suggests that the rabbis did not hesitate to take note of rivalry between cities, when in fact such rivalry existed.•"7It could, of course, be maintained that the rabbis could not have seen the same extreme contrast between Sepphoris and Tiberias as they perceived between Caesarea and Jerusalem. Still, the competition between the latter is confirmed by Christian sources, which note the tension between the bishoprics of Caesarea and Jerusalem in the third and fourth centuries;'08no similar corroboration from external sources exists for a rivalry between Sepphoris and Tiberias. Furthermore, what the rabbis do have to say about Sepphoris and Tiberias can only lead to the conclusion that they were not aware of any tension between the two cities. In conclusion, rabbinic literature offers no evidence of any type of rivalry between Sepphoris and Tiberias. The pre-First Revolt tensions which Josephus relates are not in any way reflected in the traditions of the rabbis. The latter know nothing of either city's claim to be the legitimate capital of 105. On the use of the term "metropolis," see Jones, Roman World, pp. 74 f. 106. See Levine, Caesarea, pp. 29 f., on the conflict between Jews and Greeks in the city prior to the revolt. Also see chaps. 3, 4, 6, and 7 (passim) on the pagan, Samaritan, and Christian elements in the city. 107. The passages just quoted may not prove that the rabbis were interested in documenting rivalry between cities, but they do suggest that they were aware of its existence. As argued above, tension between Sepphoris and Tiberias would very likely have found expression in the traditions pertaining to both cities. Cf. n. 38. The fact that these traditions do not allude to difficulties between Sepphoris and Tiberias but instead emphasize their positive relations suggests that there was no rivalry to speak of. 108. See Z. Rubin, "The Church of the Holy Sepulchre and the Conflict between the Sees of Caesarea and Jerusalem," in The Jerusalem Cathedra, ed. L. Levine (Jerusalem: Yad Izhak ben Zvi, 1981-), vol. 2 (1982), pp. 79-105. To be sure, LamentationsRabbah 1:5 and B. Megillah 6a were formulated long after Jerusalem had become a non-Jewish city. The rabbis probably use Jerusalem and Caesarea in these traditions as metaphors for Jews/Judaism and Rome/Romans respectively. Thus it could be maintained that these traditions have no bearing on the thirdand fourth-century rivalry reflected in the Christian sources. Still, it does seem significant that the rabbis contrast Jerusalem and Caesarea. True, both Lamentations 1:5 and Ezekiel 26:2 concern Jerusalem, so it is no wonder that the city appears in the exegesis of these passages in Lamentations Rabbah and B. Megillah. Caesarea, of course, serves as a fitting foil. At the very least, however, the existing tensions between Jerusalem and Caesarea must have enhanced the rabbis' metaphorical usage of these cities and made it more intelligible.

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Galilee. Furthernriore,the tendency of scholars to read the rivalry of Josephus' report into later rabbinic history is also unwarranted. The question of Tiberias' ascendancy as a rabbinic center at the end of the third century should be separated from that of the supposed competition between the two cities. The rise of Tiberias in importance does not presuppose the existence of competition with Sepphoris. Rabbinic literature does not manifest any struggle, tensions, or sudden diminution in Sepphoris' overall status. Josephus' report should not be regarded as anything more than a glimpse into the relations between Sepphoris and Tiberias in pre-First Revolt times.'09 Universityof Connecticut Storrs,Conn.

109. Several reasons could be offered for the discontinuance of the rivalry. First of all, Josephus' report may simply represent pre-First Revolt tensions and alliances that were no longer germane after the war and were soon forgotten. Alternatively, demographic changes, especially after the Bar-Kokhba Revolt, were bound to have an effect upon the attitudes and interests of the residents of both cities, who no longer could relate to the earlier squabbles. In any case, the silence of the rabbinic sources places the burden of proof upon those who would argue that the rivalry described by Josephus persisted.

Providence as Consequent upon the Intellect: Maimonides' Theory of Providence Author(s): Charles M. Raffel Source: AJS Review, Vol. 12, No. 1 (Spring, 1987), pp. 25-71 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486393 . Accessed: 30/06/2011 22:32 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

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PROVIDENCEAS CONSEQUENT UPON THE INTELLECT: MAIMONIDES' THEORY OF PROVIDENCE by CHARLES M. RAFFEL

I. Introduction

Julius Guttmann, in his classic work on the history of Jewish philosophy, summarizes his understanding of Maimonides' theory of divine providence: Divine providencedoes not, therefore,mean interferencewith the external courseof nature,but is transferredto the innerlife of man,whereit is founded on the naturalconnectionbetweenthe humanand the divinespirit.... Intellectualand not ethicalfactorsare decisivefor the role of divineprovidence.' After having extracted this theory from the Guide III/17, Guttmann adds in a footnote that his reading of the theory as set forth in III/17 does not tell

1. Julius Guttmann, Philosophies ofJudaism (New York, 1973), p. 194.

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the full story of Maimonides' views on providence, for chapters III/23 and III/51 contain "locutions which yield an exactly contrary theory to that indicated in chapter 17."2 In Philosophies ofJudaism, Guttmann is at a loss to explain the contradictions beyond the following remark: Maimonides "allowed opinions which were contradictory to each other to stand in various places in the book, thereby arousing the informed reader to discover his true doctrine."3 This move, imputing an esoteric doctrine beyond the contradictions in the Guide, is characteristic of a school of thought on Maimonides which Guttmann aggressively opposed.4 His apparent concession on the issue of providence reveals the perplexing, complicated nature of that theory in Maimonides' thought. One would assume that the contradictory and complex nature of Maimonides' full expression on providence would have attracted a variety of interpretations of the relevant texts and related concepts. However, a review of the secondary literature on the subject shows that the dominant method in attempting to flesh out or clarify Maimonides' thinking has been through an uncovering or identification of his philosophic sources. Scholars have made only modest efforts to interpret Maimonides' view on providence, while devoting considerable study to an identification of its philosophic sources. Perhaps Maimonides himself invited this source-quest, for in his initial account of providence in III/17, he presents his own opinion only after reviewing the history of relevant speculation on the issue. Maimonides ends chapter 16 of Part III of the Guide with the challenge of affirming, both as philosophically and traditionally correct, the notions of God's knowledge of and His providence over His creation and creatures. Maimonides begins the next chapter (17) with a review of five opinions on providence, the views of Epicurus, Aristotle, the Ashariya, Mu'tazila, and the Torah opinion, and then offers his own opinion. Shlomo Pines has shown, based on manuscript evidence, that the structure of this review and the substance of several of the opinions are based on Alexander of Aphrodisias' treatise On Governance.5 2. Ibid., p. 502 n. 99. 3. Ibid. 4. For a summary of Guttmann's view on the "political interpretation" of Leo Strauss, see Philosophies of Judaism, pp. 503-504, n. 125. For an extended discussion, see Julius Guttmann, "Philosophie der Religion oder Philosophie des Gesetzes?" Proceedings of the Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities 5 (1976): 148-173. 5. Shlomo Pines, "A Tenth Century Philosophical Correspondence," Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research 24 (1955): 123 ff. This discovery is incorporated and expanded upon in Pines's "Translator's Introduction" to The Guideof the Perplexed (Chicago, 1963), pp. lxv-lxvii.

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Maimonides' own opinion on providence emerges at the end of chapter 17 and is further elaborated in chapter 18 of the Guide, Part III. The theory is encapsulated in the phrase "providence according to the intellect." Aristotle had been presented by Maimonides (after Alexander) as denying individual providence in the sublunar sphere, but admitting a secondary "kind of providence" to the species of man and other animals. While Maimonides castigates Aristotle's denial of individual providence, the majority of scholars see in Maimonides' own opinion, "providence according to the intellect," an affinity to Aristotle which Maimonides is not willing to admit openly. The most radical claim, namely, that Maimonides' view is Aristotle's view (and is in agreement with the hidden view of the Torah), was offered by Joseph Ibn Caspi and was reaffirmed by a modern scholar, Norbert Samuelson. Samuelson writes on Ibn Caspi's analysis: ... Maimonides'real view agrees with that of Aristotle, the view of both agrees with the hidden meaning of the Torah, and the explicit or overt meaning of the Torah, which is the belief of the Jewish masses, is never affirmedto be a dogma or root belief of rabbinicJudaism.6 While Ibn Caspi expresses this view on the three major theories in the Guide, creation, prophecy, and providence, Samuelson agrees definitively only on the last issue: "I am certain that he is right about the issue of divine providence."7 A similar view, that Maimonides' opinion is fully consonant with Aristotle's opinion and, most probably, based on it, had been suggested by Samuel Ibn Tibbon in a letter written in 1199 to Maimonides, and argued for, independently, by Shlomo Pines.8 The identification of Maimonides' view with Aristotle's view involves a sophisticated reading of the text in III/17, for Maimonides both explicitly

6. Norbert Samuelson, Review of Studies in Joseph Ibn Caspi by Barry Mesch, Journal of the History of Philosophy 14 (1976): 108. Joseph Ibn Caspi, 'Amude Kesef, ed. S. Werbluner (Frankfurt, 1848). On creation, pp. 98-101. On prophecy, p. 113. On providence, pp. 126-128. The comment on providence is as follows: "Undoubtedly, Aristotle's and even his teacher Plato's opinion on this matter are equivalent to the Torah's view, according to the Guide's interpretation" (p. 128). See also Barry Mesch, Studies in Joseph Ibn Caspi (Leiden, 1975) p. 103. For the alleged equivalence of Aristotle's and Maimonides' views, see also Shem Tov Ibn Shem Tov, Commentaryon the Guide (in standard Hebrew translation of the Guide) on III/18 27b: "For Aristotle's view on providence is the Master's [Maimonides'], no more, no less." 7. Samuelson, "Review," p. 108. 8. Samuel Ibn Tibbon's position is reviewed below. For Pines, see "Translator's Introduction," pp. lxv-lxvii.

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and implicitly denies that connection. The sophisticated reading of the text is ultimately connected to the view that Maimonides at times says what he doesn't mean and at other times means what he doesn't say. The champion of this view, which sees an esoteric-exoteric dualism in Maimonides' thought, has been Leo Strauss. On this particular issue Strauss, however, sees Plato rather than Aristotle behind Maimonides' treatment of providence. Strauss's initial comment on Maimonides' theory, in his article on Maimonides' and al-Farabi's political science,9 is that, both in structure and content, Maimonides' account of providence parallels Plato's account. Both state a public doctrine which affirms God's justice in rewarding and punishing all human behavior, and a private doctrine which restricts divine providence to an intellectual elite. Since Plato is unnamed and apparently unmentioned in Maimonides' historical review of speculation on providence in III/17, Strauss takes as his task the rehabilitation of Plato as the prime influence on Maimonides' thinking. Plato's statement in the Laws that God knows individuals and rewards and punishes justly was voiced for its political utility (according to Strauss). This Platonic move parallels, and perhaps determines, Maimonides' understanding of the biblical doctrine that God rewards the righteous and punishes the wicked. The connection between Plato's exoteric theory of providence and Maimonides' theory is expanded upon by Strauss in his article "Der Ort der Vorsehungslehre nach der Ansicht Maimunis."'? His central concern, however, is not in explicating the theory of providence, but in demonstrating that the location of Maimonides' discussion demonstrates the overall structure of the Guide. Strauss's point is that the Guide is to be divided in two halves, a metaphysical section which includes Parts I, II, and III/1-7, and a political section, Part III/8-54. The location of the discussion of providence, which, according to Strauss, begins in chapter 8, is pivotal in that it initiates and determines the concerns of the second half of the Guide. The split between metaphysics and politics, between esoteric and exoteric concerns, places Maimonides not only in tune with Plato, but more immediately with the faldstfa, particularly al-Farabi and Avicenna. Shlomo Pines, besides his discovery of the influence of Alexander of Aphrodisias on the structure of Maimonides' discussion, offers two inde9. Leo Strauss, "Quelques remarques sur la Science Politique de Maimonide et de Farabi," Revue des etudes juives 99-100 (1935-36): 1-37. 10. Leo Strauss, "Der Ort der Vorsehungslehre nach der Ansicht Maimunis," Monatsschrift fiir Geschichte und Wissenschaft des Judentums 81 (1937): 93-105.

MAIMONIDES'

THEORY OF PROVIDENCE

29

pendent analyses of the source for Maimonides' own opinion. In his treatment of the philosophic sources of the Guide, he writes: Thus Maimonides'opinion concerningprovidenceappearsto be a combination of the Aristotelianconceptionof the intellectwith Alexander'sversionof what this commentatorholds to be the Aristotelianview of providence.In other words, it is a combinationof two Peripateticdoctrines." This assessment occurs in the section devoted to Alexander of Aphrodisias' influence on Maimonides. In the section on al-Farabi, Pines offers al-Farabi as the source for the same doctrine. It seemsclearthat al-Farabimaintainedthat the fact that humanindividuals progressedtoward, or attained,perfectioncan be equatedwith providence watchingover them.Thiswas Maimonides'own opinion,as he himselfpoints in this context. In all probability,he took it over, with or without modifications, from al-Farabi.'2 Pines does not relate his remarks on the al-Farabi connection back to his remarks on the Aristotle-Alexander connection, and we can only guess at the intended cumulative effect of this double attribution. Perhaps Pines means that al-Farabi is Maimonides' direct link to the Peripatetic developments. We mentioned above that these attributions of sources would require a "sophisticated reading" of the text in the Guide, reading beyond chapters 17-18, into chapter 23 and chapter 51, and considering at least those contradictory elements which Guttmann noted. The careful weighing of various passages and the assignment of rank, esoteric or exoteric value, to Maimonides' pronouncements would also seem to be required. The source figure, be it Plato, Aristotle, or al-Farabi, should also receive similarly careful treatment before the identification can be made or the comparison drawn. The scholarly treatments which we have examined, outside of Pines's work on the influence of Alexander's treatise on the structure of Maimonides' presentation, have not attempted to offer this kind of textual support. Although the quest for sources has dominated the treatment given Maimonides' theory of providence, two major attempts at understanding

11. Pines, "Translator's Introduction," p. lxvii. 12. Ibid., pp. Ixxix-lxxx.

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CHARLES M. RAFFEL

what Maimonides means by providence have been made. While still involved in translating the Guide, Samuel Ibn Tibbon wrote Maimonides seeking clarification of a troubling point within the theory of providence.'" In the course of that letter, he presents his own review of providence in the Guide, up to the section which perplexes him. He even suggests several possible interpretations, but turns finally to Maimonides for authoritative clarification. Unfortunately, no answer by Maimonides has survived, and Ibn Tibbon's letter serves now, not as an introduction to Maimonides' definitive response, but as a tentative interpretation of Maimonides' theory of providence. The second, full-fledged account, separated from Ibn Tibbon's by several centuries, is Alvin J. Reines's monograph, "Maimonides' Concepts of Providence and Theodicy,"l4 which in contrast to the trend of scholarship, ignores sources and is exclusively devoted to a rehabilitation and analysis of Maimonides' theories. Samuel Ibn Tibbon's letter represents the most sustained and comprehensive treatment which Maimonides' theory of providence received at the hands of his medieval commentators. The heart of Samuel Ibn Tibbon's question is the apparent contradiction between the theory of providence expressed in the early chapters of Part III of the Guide (chapters 17-18, 22-23) and the treatment of special providence for the perfect man in chapter 51 of Part III. This special providence is described by Maimonides in the following passage from chapter 51: "If a man's thought is free from distraction, if he apprehends Him, may He be exalted, in the right way and rejoices in what he apprehends, that individual can never be afflicted with evil of any kind. For he is with God and God is with him."'5 Ibn Tibbon reviews his own understanding of the earlier chapters and concludes that Maimonides' own theory of providence as a function of intellectual perfection is expanded and clarified in the chapters (22-23) which deal with the interpretation of Job. After experiencing intellectual knowledge of God, Job's attitude toward the evil and suffering of this world is transformed. After acquiring wisdom, Job's earthly misfortune, loss of

13. Zvi Diesendruck, "Samuel and Moses Ibn Tibbon on Maimonides' Theory of Providence," Hebrew Union College Annual 11(1936): 341-356. See also Aviezer Ravitzky, "Samuel Ibn Tibbon and the Esoteric Character of The Guide of the Perplexed," AJS Review 6 (1981): 87-123. 14. Alvin J. Reines, "Maimonides' Concepts of Providence and Theodicy," Hebrew Union College Annual 43 (1972): 169-205. 15. The Guide of the Perplexed, translated by Shlomo Pines (Chicago, 1963), III/51, p. 625. All subsequent page references are to the Pines translation.

MAIMONIDES' THEORY OF PROVIDENCE

31

wealth, health, and family, is insignificant in comparison to the fortune of ultimate felicity and immortality, and he may accept his earthly misfortune now as something beyond his understanding. Ibn Tibbon argues that Maimonides seems to contradict himself. The special providence for the perfect in chapter 51 involves physical immunity from evil, "that individual can never be afflicted with evil of any kind," while providence for the perfected Job involves only an intellectual immunity from evil or suffering. Ibn Tibbon poses the contradiction: Because [Maimonides]did not say that only before Job acquiredcertain knowledgeof God was he susceptibleto misfortune,while afterhe knewGod it was impossiblefor misfortuneto strikehim..... But he did say in the Guide III/22 if he [Job]had beenwise he would not havebeen affectedby any of the [misfortunes]which overcamehim.'6 Ibn Tibbon devotes the next section of his letter to an attempt to prove that Maimonides' own theory of providence, as developed in chapters 17 and 18, is more consonant with general philosophic opinion than Maimonides himself admitted. Ibn Tibbon writes that Job's view of providence after acquiring wisdom may be seen as equivalent to Aristotle's own theory. (Maimonides himself identifies Job's initial, pre-enlightenment view with that of Aristotle: "The opinion attributed to Job is in keeping with the opinion of Aristotle.")'7 This attempt by Ibn Tibbon to stretch Aristotle's limited notion of providence from the translunar to the sublunar, however tenuous, is based on the assumption that a universal framework of individual contingencies may be conceived as built into the natural world order. While Maimonides distinguishes, against Aristotle, between the contingent fact of a ship's sinking and the providential act of the sailors' fate, Ibn Tibbon tries to prove that Aristotle himself could maintain this distinction. Furthermore, basing his argument on other passages in Maimonides' works and the citation of al-Farabi in chapter 18, Ibn Tibbon envisions a broad consensus of philosophers who share the notion that an individual's providence is mediated by the development of his intellect. Maimonides cites the 16. Diesendruck, "Samuel and Moses Ibn Tibbon," pp. 355-356. The translation from the Hebrew is my own. No attempt is made here to indicate the tentative nature of Ibn Tibbon's translation of the Guide at the time this letter was written. Rather, citations from the Guideare taken from the Pines translation. The following is the original: K 1 KK' ' fK 2 1t1T K'V G1d nfnl'lK fft' n.' 94•'DPflK~' ~Y ln 1"; T 1'l:h 17• Y5r• ly5,DPf Klfl fl'fl tS'K ') 2f"~3 1~tTK V3K 1VfK Ktfl T..t ,.fnlY1~?:1 1',57 1K1'Vf 1Vf3K 5?3 i~-r DiVf 1'$57 K1~VfVfl KN' :K~VfV3.

17. Guide, 111/23, p. 494.

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CHARLES M. RAFFEL

following from al-Farabi: "Those who have the capacity of making their soul pass from one moral qualilty to another are those of whom Plato has said that God's providence watches over them to a higher degree."'"For Ibn Tibbon, the identification of Maimonides' theory with that of the philosophers is complete, if not total: "Apparently, all the philosophers agree that God's providence over individual men is consequent upon the intel-

lect."'9 After establishing Maimonides' own theory in chapters 17-23 as a thoroughgoing philosophic view, a harmonistic understanding of the providence for the perfect in chapter 51 seems impossible to Ibn Tibbon. A physical immunity from danger, "all evils are prevented from befalling him," is explicit from the plain meaning of Maimonides' words. How can such a physical immunity from suffering and evil be justified, asks Ibn Tibbon. The intellectual immunity which is Job's providence is acceptable philosophic doctrine, but physical immunity from misfortune can only be achieved through miraculous intervention, "through a miracle or a sign." If indeed Maimonides intends a miraculous intervention on behalf of the perfect man, then according to his theory of miracles (stipulated into the natural order at the world's creation), there would have to exist so many and so varied stipulations to protect each perfect man, that any coherent notion of a stable, permanent nature is violated. This notion of miraculous intervention, argues Samuel Ibn Tibbon, is certainly unacceptable to the philosophers, for whom this theory is especially offered; Maimonides hoped to dispel the "great doubt" of the philosophers concerning providence over human individuals with his formulation in chapter 51. If, on the other hand, Maimonides is making a sudden appeal to the religious sentiment, which would have no problem in accepting miraculous intervention, the rigorous intellectual requirement for intervention, in particular, and the philosophic framework of his basic theory, in general, would make such an appeal irrelevant. For according to the standard religious view, God intervenes for the morally pious who have not achieved intellectual perfection. Finally, given Ibn Tibbon's understanding, this chapter (51) satisfies neither the philosophic nor the religious position. The notions which it conveys are at once too sophisticated and too naive. Since the plain meaning and context of Maimonides' words point

18. Guide, III/18, p. 476. 19. Diesendruck, "Samuel and Moses Ibn Tibbon," p. 357.

33

MAIMONIDES' THEORY OF PROVIDENCE

"without a doubt"20 to some sort of miraculous intervention which is unacceptable to a philosophic position, and, within Maimonides' rigorous intellectual framework, irrelevant to a religious position, Ibn Tibbon's search for other possible interpretations will involve a less than plain (literal) understanding of the text in III/51. Ibn Tibbon offers an interpretation which is consistent with the philosophical conception of the earlier chapters on providence. The supremely perfected intellect of the perfect man may enable him to perceive and thus escape any forthcoming evil "that the human intellect perceives during the mind's contemplation so that it enables him to guard himself from all possible evils, natural, accidental and moral and thus be saved from [them]."2' Support is brought for this interpretation from Maimonides' own statement in chapter 17: ... Divineprovidenceis consequentupon the divineoverflow;andthe species with whichthisintellectualoverflowis united,so that it becameendowedwith intellectand so that everythingthat is disclosedto it, is the one accompanied by divineprovidencewhichappraisesall its actionsfrom the point of view of rewardand punishment.22

Finally, however, for Ibn Tibbon, this solution, a kind of rational divination, does not work. His consideration of Maimonides' tripartite division of evil in III/12, evil due to the deficiency of matter, evil that men inflict upon one another, and self-inflicted evil, limits the possible effects of this divination to the third kind of evil, self-inflicted. But the question from the text of III/51 returns, "no evil at all will befall him," and Ibn Tibbon sees no escape finally from the first two kinds of evil if not through miraculous intervention. Ibn Tibbon offers another interpretation: "Our Master's [Maimonides'] intention in this wondrous matter is that while the wise man frees his mind from distractions and contemplates, he will not be affected by any misfortune which befalls him, be it death or suffering."23For Ibn Tibbon, this interpretation is a duplication of the theory of intellectual immunity offered 20. Ibid., p. 358. 21. Ibid., p. 359.

22. Guide, III/17, pp. 471-472. 23. Diesendruck, "Samuel and Moses Ibn Tibbon," p. 361. ,'-10,

1K.

34

CHARLES M. RAFFEL

in the Job chapters. And for this reason the interpretation is rejected. Maimonides promises an innovative theory in III/51, "through which doubts may be dispelled and divine secrets revealed," not a duplication of his treatment of Job. Furthermore, argues Ibn Tibbon, Maimonides' scriptural proof-texts, particularly Psalm 91 (Song on mishaps), deal explicitly with dramatic physical escape, actual "physical" immunity, not "intellectual." After exploring three ultimately unsuccessful possibilities-miraculous intervention, physical immunity through divination, and intellectual immunity-Ibn Tibbon explores a fourth possibility. Perhaps Maimonides is contradicting himself on purpose, in order to hide an esoteric doctrine, and our text, therefore, contains a contradiction of the kind which Maimonides describes in his Introduction. The seventhcause. In speakingabout very obscuremattersit is necessaryto concealsome partsand discloseothers.Sometimesin the case of certaindicta this necessityrequiresthat the discussionproceed on the basis of a certain premise,whereasin anotherplace necessityrequiresthat the discussionproceed on the basisof anotherpremisecontradictingthe first one. In such cases the vulgarmust in no way be awareof the contradiction;the authoraccordingly uses some device to conceal it by all means.24 Although the treatment in the earlier chapters of the theory of providence contained numerous apparent inconsistencies, deeper reflection has resolved them, writes Ibn Tibbon. He cannot conceive of an esoteric doctrine which needs to be hidden by the text in chapter 51, but Ibn Tibbon leaves it up to Maimonides to rule out this final possibility. Samuel Ibn Tibbon remains as the most comprehensive medieval review of Maimonides' formulation. The critical point which Ibn Tibbon uncovers is that Maimonides' theory of providence is multidimensional. He understands Maimonides' treatment to include a base theory, presented and argued for in chapters 17-18, an elaboration of that theory in chapters 22-23 (the Job chapters), and a further elaboration, however it is to be read, in chapter 51. What we shall adopt from Ibn Tibbon, for our own analysis, besides the challenge to provide a coherent reading of III/51, is the identification of three dimensions to Maimonides' account of providence in Part III. While the tentative nature of Ibn Tibbon's remarks does not offer a

24. Guide, I/Introduction, p. 18.

MAIMONIDES' THEORY OF PROVIDENCE

35

systematic treatment of the problem, his attempt to examine the inconsistencies and apparent contradictions is instructive as an overview of the complex nature of Maimonides' account. Ibn Tibbon ends his letter with the possibility that the apparent contradictions in III/51 conceal an esoteric doctrine. A. J. Reines begins his monograph and bases his analysis on the realization of the assumption that as a "secret" doctrine, Maimonides' true views on providence and theodicy are concealed beneath the surface of the text. His analysis, then, involves a systematization of related concepts in the Guide and a rehabilitation of Maimonides' true opinion. The starting point in Reines's examination of Maimonides' theory is that providence is a "secret of the Law" and, as such, determines Maimonides' handling of the subject in two ways. First, that Maimonides'theory of providencediffersessentiallyfrom providence as traditionallyunderstood;and second that Maimonideswill deliberately obscurehis discussionof providenceto concealit from the unqualified reader.25

Reines takes "secret" to be virtually equivalent to "heresy," and maintains that the deliberately obscured doctrine is concealed by Maimonides predominantly through one device. Fragmentinga subject into its constituentparts and then scatteringthem throughoutthe Morehis one of Maimonides'favoritedevicesfor hidinghis true view on a secret subject.26 Reines's reconstruction of Maimonides' account revolves around these two central elements: Maimonides' rejection of the traditional notion of providence and his affirmation of a secret or heretical doctrine. Reines's evaluation of Maimonides' theory of individual providence, while attempting to be comprehensive and systematic, does not offer a sustained interpretation of the relevant passages in the Guide in which Maimonides both reveals and conceals his theory. If the theory is, in fact, concealed, for whatever reasons, simple systematization of related concepts will not reveal it. The text of the Guide can be consistently difficult and enigmatic, and Maimonides' style of writing demands an exactitude of 25. Reines, "Maimonides' Concepts of Providence and Theodicy," pp. 169-205. 26. Ibid., p. 170 n. 5. On p. 179 n. 43, Reines also mentions Maimonides' deliberately deceptive use of figurative language.

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textual interpretation which Reines does not provide. Attempting to relate Reines's reconstruction back to the text of the Guide involves significant problems and questions which are not resolved by the blanket claim of a secret or heretical doctrine. The goal of the present study is to examine Maimonides' presentation of his theory of providence and to substantiate and evaluate what he means by the phrase "providence is according to the intellect." The first task is to determine how Maimonides presents and differentiates his own view on providence from the competing views of other thinkers. This review will help focus the issues which have dominated the secondary literature on the topic, Maimonides' relationship to Aristotle's account, his relationship to the traditional account, and the nature of the interplay of philosophic and traditional elements in Maimonides' theory. The controlling factor in isolating Maimonides' own opinion on providence has been the notion that since providence is a secret doctrine, and the Guide a purposefully nonsystematic book, then, the most secretive, heretical doctrine that can be revealed must represent Maimonides' own true opinion. Commenting on the tenacity of this approach in finding what it sets out to find, Herbert Davidson has written: ... Those who absolutelyinsist on discoveringa non-traditionalphilosophic systemconcealedbelow the surfaceof Maimonides'professedsystemwill be able to withstandany evidenceto the contrary.Such evidencewill merely illustrateto them Maimonides'skill in hiding his genuineviews.27 Within the sections of the Guide on providence and God's knowledge, Maimonides has provided what may be a more authoritative key to unlocking his own thinking on these issues. In these sections of the Guide, Maimonides consistently distinguishes between his own opinion and the opinion of the Law, between "my opinion" and "our opinion."28The task of isolating his own opinion on providence or knowledge is by no means simple, for frequently the two opinions seem to be intertwined, and, of course, the interplay of these two opinions ("my" and "our") must be considered. But so far no attempt has been made to delineate the parameters of 27. Herbert Davidson, "Maimonides' Secret Position on Creation," in Studies in Medieval Jewish History and Literature, ed. Isadore Twersky (Cambridge, 1979), p. 16. 28. Initially, in the Guide, III/17, p. 469, Maimonides contrasts "our opinion" with "what I myself believe." The distinction between the "I" and the "we" seems to be consistently maintained in the discussion of providence and God's knowledge.

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37

the "my" and the "our," of the I-opinion from the we-opinion on providence; such an attempt seems to hold the possibility of a more accurate and authoritative unfolding of Maimonides' true views on providence.29 The second task is to explain what Maimonides means when he says that "providence is according to the intellect" by examining the relevant sections on providence throughout the Guide and, as necessary background, Maimonides' own epistemological scheme.

II. The Dual Theoryof Providence: "I" and "We" In chapter 17 of Part III of the Guide,only after reviewing and criticizing other opinions on providence does Maimonides offer his own view. He claims that his view satisfies the dual criteria of making philosophic sense and safeguarding fundamental principles of the Law. In his own words: "This is the opinion that to my mind corresponds to the intelligible and to the texts of the Law."'"3These same dual criteria informed his review and criticism of earlier opinions. In this section, I propose to investigate the standards by which Maimonides criticized less coherent or acceptable theories and how, from these standards, his own opinion is formulated. This investigation will enable us to understand the background and birth of Maimonides' own theory, which is based initially on that which he finds acceptable in two antagonistic formulations, based on two distinct sets of criteria, the dictates of the Law and philosophic coherence. A careful analysis of the Guide III/ 17 reveals not only the characters and opinions in Maimonides' review, but implicitly and explicitly Maimonides' own view concerning each character or opinion. The first opinion, "that there is no providence at all with regard to anything whatever in all that exists,"31is identified with Epicurus. A further identification is made with "those in Israel who were unbelievers," who shared this opinion, by reference to Jeremiah 5:12, "They have belied the Lord, and said: It is not He." The invalidation of this opinion follows immediately; Aristotle "has demonstrated that this opinion is inadmissible."32

29. For the same initial observation, see Leo Strauss, Persecution and the Art of Writing (Glencoe, Ill., 1952), pp. 82-84. 30. Guide, III/17, p. 474. 31. Guide, III/17, p. 464. 32. Ibid.

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The presentation of the first opinion sets a pattern which Maimonides follows in his discussion of the other views. 1. The opinion on providence. 2. The individual or group associated with this opinion. 3. The identification of any Israelites with this opinion through appropriate scriptural reference. 4. Criticism of the opinion. The second opinion, "those who hold that providence watches over certain things and that these exist through the governance and the ordering of one who governs and orders, whereas other things are left to chance,"33is identified as Aristotle's opinion. Maimonides' exposition of Aristotle's view is more thorough than his simple statement of Epicurus' opinion. As formulated by Alexander of Aphrodisias,34 Aristotle's view is that individual providence "ends at the sphere of the moon." Maimonides further identifies this doctrine as "a branch deriving from his root doctrine concerning the eternity of the world."35In regard to what is below the sphere of the moon, there exists, nevertheless, 'a kind of providence,' "an overflow from the providence in question, which overflow necessitates "the durability and permanence of the species,"'36though the durability of the individual is not maintained. Individuals are not totally neglected by this overflow, for the faculties which ensure the permanence of the species are carried by individuals. After outlining Aristotle's position, Maimonides' criticism involves the failure of this theory to grant any special status to human circumstances.

33. Ibid. 34. Shlomo Pines has demonstrated that Alexander of Aphrodisias' treatise On Governance (Fi'l-tadbtr), which is Maimonides' acknowledged source for his discussion of the range of philosophic opinion on God's knowledge in III/16, is the unacknowledged source for the parallel review of the range of opinion on providence in 111/17. Pines points out that Alexander's formulation or elaboration of Aristotle's unarticulated view, that providence extends in the celestial sphere up to the sphere of the moon, but does not include the sublunar world, is in line with Aristotle's position. The view is marked by affirmation of the eternity of the cosmic order, "whose preservation may be attributed to divine providence," and the denial of providential intervention in regard to individual beings or events. Pines, "Translator's Introduction," pp. lxv-lxvii. For the history of the formulation of a doctrine of providence within the Aristotelian school, see Paul Moraux, D'Aristote c Bessarion: Trois Exposis sur l'histoire et latransmission de l'artistotelism grec (Quebec, 1970), pp. 41-65. 35. Guide, III/17, p. 465. 36. Ibid.

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39

Aristotle, accordingto Maimonides,sees no distinctionin the following three sets: 1. The fall of a leaf or stone vs. the drowningof excellentand superior men on board ship. 2. An ox that kills a host of ants vs. a buildingwhich collapseson and kills people at prayerwithin it. 3. A cat devouringa mouse vs. a lion devouringa prophet.37 Aristotle'sfailureto make these distinctionsis symptomaticof his theory's denial of providencebeneaththe sphereof the moon. In summingup Aristotle'sview that it is impossiblethat divine providence should accompanyplants, animals, or human beings, Maimonides againdemonstratesthatthis viewderivesinevitablyfromAristotle'sbeliefin the eternityof the world:"Thisis consequentupon his opinion concerning the eternityof the world and the impossibilityof that which exists being in any respect different from what it is."38The Israelites who shared Aristotle's

opinion, referredto in Ezekiel 9:9, are recognized by Maimonides as "deviatingfrom our Law" for proclaiming,"The Lord hath forsakenthe earth."39 While the authorityof Aristotle(or Reason)was invokedto invalidate Epicurus,a secondsourceof authorityis now invokedto criticizethosewho have held Aristotle'sopinion: the authorityof the Law. Epicurus'notion failedexplicitly,basedon demonstrationand,presumably,on the authority of the Law, although that additionalstrictureis not explicitly stated by Maimonides. How has Aristotle's theory failed? By denying individual providenceover man, Aristotle'sview "deviatesfrom our Law."The philosophic rigor of Aristotle'sview, however,has not been challenged.As we shall see in relation to two subsequenttheories,Aristotle'stheory is free from "incongruitiesand contradictions,"40 which in Maimonides' terminology point to philosophicinconsistencies.Within the realm of philosophic discourse,Aristotleemergesrelativelyunscathed,perhapsbecause,

37. Guide, III/17, p. 466. 38. Ibid. 39. Ibid. 40. In regard to the third opinion, "great incongruities are bound up with this opinion" (III/17, p. 466) is the phrase which introduces Maimonides' criticisms. "Incongruities and contradictions follow necessarily also from this opinion" (III/17, p. 468) is applied to the Mu'tazilite view within the fourth opinion.

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in Maimonides' judgment, Aristotle determines and defines the standards of philosophic discourse. The third opinion, "that in all that exists there is nothing either among universal or particular things that is in any respect due to chance,"41 is stated, identified with the Ash'ariyya, exposed, and criticized. No scriptural correlation is offered. This opinion, according to Maimonides, involves "great incongruities," such as the denial of nature in favor of the everpresent will of God, denial of human free will, and the consequent undermining of the validity of the Law. This view, according to Maimonides' extended critique, makes neither philosophic nor prophetic sense. The fourth opinion, "that man has the ability to act of his own accord," and that "all the actions of God are consequent upon wisdom, that injustice is not permissible for Him, and that He does not punish a man who does good,"42 iS formally ascribed to no individual or group. However, a substantially modified version in which man's ability to act is not absolute, and otherworldly compensation justifies God's wisdom, is ascribed to the Mu'tazila. The "incongruity" attached to this opinion, according to Maimonides, lies in the regrettable doctrine of compensation, in which the suffering of a child with birth defects is ascribed to God's wisdom, and the death of a righteous man is seen as justified by the maximization of his reward in the world-to-come. The doctrine of compensation in the otherworld is even extended to the animal kingdom, including in Maimonides' list, a flea, a louse, and a mouse. The "self-contradiction" involved with the fourth opinion is the simultaneous assertion of God's omniscience and man's free will: "For they believe both that He, may He be exalted, knows everything and that man has the ability to act; and this leads, as the slightest reflection should make clear, to self-contradiction.''43 The third and fourth opinions both share the lack of any scriptural reference and identification of their views within the Israelite community.44 For our own present purposes, we may simply deduce that these views held currency during Maimonides' own times and were, therefore, subject to his review. As expressed by their Kalam advocates, these opinions met only with contempt from Maimonides.

41. Guide, III/17, p. 466. 42. Guide, III/17, pp. 467-468. 43. Guide, III/17, p. 469. 44. On page 471, within discussion of the fifth opinion, identification of "some latter-day Gaonim" with the Mu'tazilite view is confirmed.

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Before his presentation of the fifth opinion, Maimonides offers a curiously benign appraisal of the second, third, and fourth views. Within the individual presentation of each separate view, Aristotle was criticized, from the perspective of the Law, for failing to articulate a theory of individual providence, and the Ash'ariyya and Mu'tazila were more criticized than explained, being plagued by "great incongruities" and "incongruities and contradictions," respectively. But now, before revealing his own view, and perhaps signaling the complexity of the problem, Maimonides seeks to absolve the theoreticians of the three positions from any blame. All three theories followed good and honorable intentions-Aristotle "followed what is manifest in the nature of that which exists,"'45the Ash'ariyya tried to avoid ascribing ignorance to God, and the Mu'tazila tried to avoid ascribing to Him injustice and wrongdoing. It seems appropriate to ask here, along with Maimonides' summary review, what are the remains upon which he may build his own theory? No theory that he has surveyed has fulfilled the dual criteria of philosophic rigor and conformability to the dictates of the Law. Tackling the standards of the dual criteria separately, Aristotle's opinion, while deviating from the Law, satisfies (if not defines) philosophic rigor. The initial formulation of the fourth opinion, before the corrupting additions of the Mu'tazila, which asserted the justice of God's system of punishment and man's free will, is the only other opinion which survived or escaped Maimonides' total criticism.46 Each opinion, Aristotle's and the unattributed fourth view, may satisfy separately one set of the dual criteria. Nevertheless, while Aristotle's opinion may define philosophic respectability, and the assertion of God's justice and man's free will may begin to define the Law's concerns, the two views taken together are mutually antagonistic. And neither one alone makes philosophic sense and also adheres to the fundamental principles of the Law. How, then, does Maimonides compose, articulate, and defend a theory of providence which will satisfy the dual standards which have emerged from his review of other opinions? The answer lies within the account of the fifth opinion. The view, on first glance, contains opinions representing the

45. Guide, III/17, pp. 468-469. 46. The unattributed fourth view may share the "self-contradiction" involved in the Mu'tazilite conception. "For they believe both that He, may He be exalted, knows everything and that man has the ability to act; and this leads, as the slightest reflection should make clear, to self-contradiction" (Guide, III/17, p. 469).

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following three layers of Jewish scholarship: the consensus ("multitude of our scholars"), the minority ("our latter-day scholars"), and Maimonides' own view ("I myself").47 On closer examination, the fifth opinion reveals dual aspects of Maimonides' own theory of providence. It contains two views which represent different aspects of Maimonides' opinion-an "Our opinion, the opinion of our Law," of which the "multitude of our scholars" is a minimally acceptable subset and "our latter-day scholars" is an unacceptable one, and an "I" opinion. The our-opinion asserts root doctrines which reveal and define the Law's dictates on the question of providence, and the I-opinion presents a philosophic account of how providence may be said to operate over man. In partial answer to our question raised above, Maimonides negotiates the dual criteria which define coherent and acceptable thinking on the subject of providence by providing two distinct accounts-an our-account and an I-account.48 The our-account is offered first, and its distinctive lines are quite clearly marked. It is formed essentially by the simultaneous assertion of two fundamental principles and is consistently presented as "our opinion." The following are the two fundamental principles asserted in III/17: It is a fundamentalprincipleof the Law of Moses our Master,peace be on him, and of all those who follow it that man has an absoluteabilityto act; It is likewiseone of the fundamentalprinciplesof the Law of Moses our Masterthat it is in no way possiblethat He, may He be exalted,should be unjust,and that all the calamitiesthat befall men and the good things that come to men, be it a singleindividualor a group, are all of them determined accordingto the desertsof the men concernedthroughequitablejudgmentin which there is no injusticewhatever.49 The third principle, which completes the our-account, is asserted in III/18. This matteris one of the fundamentalprinciplesof the Law, which is built

47. Guide, III/17, p. 469. 48. As mentioned in n. 29 above, Leo Strauss noted the phenomenon but did not apply it to a sustained treatment of Maimonides' theory. "The significance of the singular and the plural in Maimonidean usage comes out most clearly in the discussion of Providence. There, he distinguishes, with an unequivocalness which could hardly be surpassed, between 'our opinion' and 'my opinion.' " See Strauss, Persecution and the Art of Writing, p. 83. 49. Guide, III/17, p. 469.

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upon it, I mean to say upon the principlethat providencewatchesover each human individualin the mannerproperto him.50 The combined assertions of man's absolute ability to act and God's justice in rewarding and punishing man according to his deserts form the substance of this opinion. The added disclaimer that God's system of judgment is beyond man's comprehension, buttressed by biblical support for this notion (Deut. 32:4, "For all His ways are judgment"), completes the initial presentation, in chapter 17, of this view. The I-account evolves slowly out of the our-opinion, and initially appears to be identical with it. The first-person singular view is gradually unfolded in four steps. The first step involves a virtual repetition of the our-opinion marked by the forthright claim that only individuals of the human species are subject to divine providence. For I for one believethat in this lowly world-I meanthat whichis beneath the sphereof the moon-divine providencewatchesonly overthe individuals belongingto the humanspeciesand that in this speciesalone all the circumstancesof the individualsand the good and evil that befall them are consequent upon the deserts,just as it says, "For all His ways arejudgment."' Maimonides confirms that, outside of the context of human circumstances, by denying providence to plants and animals, the negative half of his opinion is in accord with Aristotle. "But regarding all the other animals and, all the more, the plants and other things, my opinion is that of Aristotle."52 The second step involves Maimonides' initial formulation in regard to the what of divine providence and is presented as part of an ongoing process of reflection or interpretation. It seeems that Maimonides chose to present his I-opinion in the form of a gradual reinterpretation of the fundamental principles embedded in the our-opinion. Accordingto me, as I considerthe matter,divine providenceis consequent upon the divineoverflow;and the specieswith whichthisintellectualoverflow

50. Guide, III/18, p. 475. 51. Guide, III/17, p. 471. 52. Ibid.

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is united,so thatit becameendowedwith intellectand so that everythingthat is disclosedto a beingendowedwith the intellectwas disclosedto it, is the one accompaniedby divine providence,which appraisesall its actions from the point of view of rewardand punishment." This step of the I-opinion offers intellect as the distinctive factor which determines which species receives divine providence. This statement marks the birth of the distinctive element of Maimonides' own I-theory, the intellectualizing factor, which is encapsulated in the phrase "providence according to the intellect." In the third step of the formulation, Maimonides provides scriptural evidence that individual providence extends only over human beings. The evidence is threefold. 1. There are clear texts concerning providence watching over all the human individuals and exercising a surveillance over all their actions (Ps. 33:15, Jer. 32:19, Job 34:21). 2. The Torah, too, sometimes makes explicit statements concerning providence watching over human individuals and exercising a surveillance over their actions (Exod. 32:34, 32:33, Lev. 23:30, 20:6). 3. Stories concerning Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob are an absolute proof of there being an individual providence.54 On the other side, the evidence for animals is negative. Basing his proof on Habakkuk 1:12-15, Maimonides agrees with Aristotle's position that the only providence left to the animals is the secondary form of providence's safeguards built into a species, the ability to move and react, etc. The fourth and final step of the I-opinion's formulation in chapter 17 is offered as follows: But I believethat providenceis consequentupon the intellectand attachedto it. For providencecan only come from an intelligentbeing, fromOne who is an intellectwith a supremeperfection,thanwhichthereis no higher.Accordingly everyone with whom something of this overflow is united, will be reachedby providenceto the extentto whichhe is reachedby the intellect.55 In chapter 18 Maimonides draws some conclusions from the intellec-

53. Guide, III/17, p. 472. 54. Ibid. 55. Guide, III/17, p. 474.

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tualistic grounding of his I-theory and completes the initial presentation of his view. He begins by further rarefying or aristocratizing the category of the recipients of providence. While having first stated that individual providence is attached to the human species, Maimonides now qualifies that statement. By declaring himself a nominalist in regard to species, Maimonides sees providence as reaching only individuals, and furthermore, only those individuals who are prepared for it. The notion that "providence is graded as human perfection is graded"'56receives scriptural support, is asserted as "one of the fundamental principles of the Law," and receives blanket endorsement by the philosophers.57This view of providence dovetails with Maimonides' theory of prophecy by establishing a hierarchy of both intellect and action: "For it is this measure of the overflow of the divine intellect that makes the prophets speak, guides the action of righteous men, and perfects the knowledge of excellent ones with regard to what they know."'" The varying degrees of receptivity to the intellectual overflow create, in effect, a two-party system within the realm of the human species, the "haves" and the "have-nots," or more properly, "those who have more" and "those who have less." The "ignorant and disobedient" are neglected in proportion to their lack of intellectual perfection and, at the extreme, are on par with the animals of the nonhuman species. To summarize, Maimonides' I-opinion is introduced in the following four stages: 56. Guide, III/18, p. 475. 57. This blanket philosophic endorsement emerges in the Guide, III/18, p. 476, where Maimonides quotes from the (lost) commentary of al-Farabi on Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics: "Those who have the capacity of making their soul pass from one moral quality to another are those of whom Plato has said that God's providence watches over them to a higher degree." Shlomo Pines sees in this citation probable proof that al-Farabi is the source of Maimonides' theory. He writes: "It seems clear that al-Farabi maintained that the fact that human individuals progressed toward, or attained perfection can be equated with providence watching over them. This was Maimonides' own opinion, as he himself points in this context. In all probability, he took it over, with or without modifications, from al-Farabi" ("Translator's Introduction," pp. lxxix-lxxx). But the text of al-Farabi's commentary speaks of an individual's soul "passing from one moral quality to another," of moral perfection and not of intellectual perfection. As he reveals in a footnote, Pines is well aware of this problem, but his attempted solution is unconvincing. On p. lxxx he writes, "Al-Farabi apparently refers to moral perfection only, but he certainly had also (or rather first and foremost) in mind the perfection of the intellect" (n. 34). The seeming emphasis on moral perfection does not reflect Maimonides' own theory, while, of course, it does not totally contradict it. The evidence of text and context suggests that Maimonides employs the al-Farabi citation as blanket philosophic support for a notion which his own I-theory may ultimately transcend. 58. Guide, III/18, p. 475.

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1. Individuals of the human species alone are subject to divine providence. 2. Introduction of the intellectualizing factor. 3. Scriptural evidence that individual providence extends only over human beings. 4. "Providence is consequent upon the intellect." The we-opinion asserts three "fundamental principles"-man's "absolute ability to act," the justice of God's system of reward and punishment, and "that providence watches over each human individual in the manner proper to him." What emerges from this outline of the "we" and "I" accounts in the fifth opinion on providence is Maimonides' attempted solution to the problem of satisfying dual criteria-the simultaneous deployment of two views. The our-opinion asserts the fundamental principles which form the basis of the Law, and the I-account corresponds to the "intelligibles." The dual sets of requirements for an acceptable and coherent view of providence dominated Maimonides' review of available opinion. He conceded that uttering a coherent view on providence is a difficult task, but assessed ancient and contemporary opinion as either philosophically ludicrous or as inoperative for a religious-legal system. Maimonides' own opinion, given these dual standards, must satisfy the dual role of philosophic and prophetic sense. In chapter 17, Maimonides characterizes his own view when he labels it "less disgraceful than the preceding opinions and nearer than they to intellectual reasoning."'59Maimonides' previous criticisms of the other opinions have informed these standards with specific meanings and values. The disgraceful (or incongruous) aspects were involved in the Ash'arite and Mu'tazilite conceptions. Aristotle's opinion was easily closest to intellectual reasoning, but fell short of offering an actual theory of individual providence. Does Maimonides' conglomerate account satisfy the dual criteria which have dominated his presentation? Upon examination, each part of the account (I/we) seems to meet and articulate separately the standards Maimonides had used in evaluating other opinions. The our-account asserts the standards which conform to the dictates of the Law. The account ostensibly has its source in the consensus of right-thinking opinion within the religious community. But in the format of Maimonides' fundamental principles, it has received an obviously original presentation. By itself, the 59. Guide, III/17, p. 471.

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account does not really offer a theory of providence. The assertions stop well short of explaining the what or how of providence, but profess that God's system of justice, the divine logic behind reward and punishment, is beyond human understanding: "But we are ignorant of the various modes of deserts."60 If judged exclusively in regard to its conformability to the dictates of the Law, the our-account succeeds, not only because it asserts categorically that individual providence exists, but because it reveals authoritatively, as fundamental principle, the Law's concerns. These fundamental principles, while buttressed by scriptural evidence, are as axioms essentially self-validating in Maimonides' method of presentation.6' While the our-account asserts that individual providence exists, the I-view gradually stamps a distinctive element upon it by attempting to explain the substance and function of providence. The intellectualizing factor, that providence is according to the intellect, is the stuff of the I-view. How does Maimonides defend this part of his view? In chapter 18, after refining his I-theory, Maimonides attempts to give his theory the stamp of authority through scriptural support. However, the verses cited, which refer in the most general way to God's watching over the patriarchs and Moses, hardly offer substantiation of the notion of providence according to the intellect-for example, the promise to Abraham, "I am thy shield" (Gen. 15:1), or to Isaac, "and I will be with thee, and will bless thee" (Gen. 26:3).62 Maimonides would appear ready to admit this shortcoming. The scriptural evidence points to a certain conclusion, and "the point of view of speculation" helps to nail down that conclusion. After listing the verses concerning the patriarchs and Moses, Maimonides writes, "All these are explicit affirmations of providence watching over them according to the measure of their perfection."63 Maimonides' apparent admission is that Scripture neither comments on nor excludes the intellec-

60. Guide, III/17, p. 469. 61. In order to understand the significance of "our opinion" for Maimonides' congolomerate theory, it is important to separate the content, style, and emphasis of the stated "our opinion" and the cruder version of this opinion which "the multitude of our scholars" expressed. While the example offered for the sages' view seems to suggest the role of God's direct mediation in parceling out appropriate rewards and punishments, Maimonides' own example for the our-account suggests that the operating principles of pain and pleasure would seem to conform to punishment and reward. The rabbinic support mustered for the version of the sages seems to be a consciously supplied weak link. At any rate, I take only the assertion of fundamental principles to comprise the authorized version of Maimonides' "our opinion." 62. Guide, III/18, p. 475. 63. Ibid.

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tual dimension of "perfection." His reading the "intent"64 of Scripture, then, involves his reading in the intellectualizing element. He summarizes his twofold concern, Scripture and speculation, as it pertains to providence, as follows: Considerhow this kindof considerationhas conductedus to the knowledgeof the correctnessof what all the prophets,may peacebe upon them, have said concerningindividualprovidencewatchingover each individualin particular accordingto the measureof his perfection,and how this considerationfollows necessarilyfrom the point of view of speculation,providedthat, as we have mentioned,providenceis consequentupon the intellect.65 Now within Maimonides' own hermeneutic system for interpreting Scripture, the demonstrative results of philosophic speculation can and do determine the meaning and intent of a particular verse. Much of the first part of the Guide is composed of the conclusions of just such a system. The justification for the intellectualizing element which makes up his I-theory falls, then, from the superficially objective "intent" of Scripture to philosophic speculation which determines that intent. The philosophic justification for the notion of providence according to the intellect, within Maimonides' presentation of his own view, is presented as follows: But I believethat providenceis consequentupon the intellectand attachedto it. For providencecan only comefroman intelligentbeing,fromone whois an intellectperfectwith a supremeperfection,than which there is no higher.66 This justification has its source in Maimonides' own presentation of Aristotle's view on providence. While Maimonides has both vilified Aristotle's denial of individual providence and condoned his theory for following what is manifest,67his own I-discourse seems to have derived its philosophic rigor and authorization by adopting and modifying some elements of the Aris-

64. Guide, III/17, p. 471. "I am not relying upon the conclusion to which demonstration has led me, but upon what has clearly appeared as the intentionsof the book of God and of the book of our prophets." 65. Guide, III/18, p. 476. 66. Guide, III/17, p. 474. 67. For the vilification, see Guide III/17, p. 474, "Those that are excessive... animals." For the benign appraisal, see Guide, III/17, p. 468, paragraph beginning "To my mind . .

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totelian model. We have already seen that for Aristotle, as Maimonides presents his views, certain faculties, such as sensation and locomotion, serve a secondary kind of providential function by ensuring the durability of the species involved. Maimonides had presented part of Aristotle's view as follows: Everyindividualhas been given that which the specieshe belongs to needs. Finallysuch portionsof the matterin questionthat havebeen purifiedto the point of receivingthe form of the intellecthave been given anotherfaculty throughwhicheveryone of them,accordingto the perfectionof the individual in question governs, thinks, and reflectson what may renderpossible the durabilityof himselfas an individualand the preservationof the species.68 The validation or justification of Maimonides' I-account is ultimately based on the authority of Aristotle," the Chief of the philosophers."69 Although Maimonides' I-account expands upon Aristotelian lines, it is inextricably bound to an our-view which asserts fundamental principles diametrically opposed to the full Aristotelian conception of providence. By asserting as fundamental the existence of individual providence in his our-language, Maimonides is free in his I-language to extend and refine the philosophic model just to the cutting edge where it may conform to the Law's dictates. Simon Rawidowicz has noted Maimonides' desire to stay close to a rigorous philosophical model without abandoning the requirements of the Law as a consistent facet of his methodology.70 Maimonides' theory of providence, as articulated in chapters 17 and 18 of the Guide, is not simply a hybrid of the intersection of philosophy and Law, but an innovative coupling of previously antagonistic elements. Maimonides' goal, to conform to the Law's demands and to speak philosophic sense, has been attacked by presenting simultaneously two accounts. The method of combining antagonistic elements in order to produce a coherent theory is sustained by Maimonides' linguistic device-the oscillation between first-person singular and first-person plural pronouns. The Law's dictates, or fundamental principles, are consistently stated by "we" or "our." The philosophic description, "providence according to the intellect," 68. Guide, III/17, p. 465. 69. See Guide I/5, p. 28. See also Pines, "Translator's Introduction," p. lxi and n. 8 ad loc. 70. For Simon Rawidowicz's notion of Maimonides' method as "difficulty plus difficulty results in a solution," see his Studies in Jewish Thought, ed. Nahum Glatzer (Philadelphia, 1974), pp. 309-310.

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is consistently argued by "I" or "my." In the Guide as a whole, this method seems to have been adopted only for the problems of providence and God's knowledge.71 Much confusion in attempting to understand Maimonides' theory of providence has been generated by both failing to note the distinction between the "I" and "we" accounts and failing to appreciate that "I" and "we" combine to form the basis of Maimonides' thinking. The investigation of this present study suggests that the dual languages are designed to satisfy separately the dual criteria of philosophic consistency and legal-religious axioms. The "I-we" theories are introduced together and, at first, appear interchangeable. Only slowly does the specific identity of the "I" evolve. Maimonides makes the roots of his own I-theory clear enough to trace. In Aristotle's denial of individual providence lie some details which he adopts for his own theory which affirms individual providence. Rehabilitation or extension of an Aristotelian doctrine forms the basis of Maimonides' I-persona, but does not tell the whole story of Maimonides' theory or his method. Labeling Maimonides' theory Aristotelian exaggerates the extent to which Aristotle had actually articulated a theory of providence,72 even according to Alexander of Aphrodisias, and excludes Maimonides' we-persona, the assertion of fundamental principles on providence which reverses the way in which Aristotle is now to be taken. Maimonides saw in Aristotle a denial of individual providence, or more accurately, no theory of individual providence beneath the sphere of the moon, within a structure of general providence for the species of man and animals. While Maimonides could readily accept Aristotle's denial of individual providence vis-i-vis the kingdom of animals as consonant with the

71. In the second step of the formulation of the I-opinion, Maimonides points to the difference between his view and Aristotle's in regard to people killed in the sinking of a ship or the collapse of a roof. While according to Aristotle the accidents are acts of pure chance, according to Maimonides' view the decisions of the people to board the ship or remain in the house are "according to our opinion, not due to chance, but to divine will in accordance with the deserts of those people as determined in His judgments, the rule of which cannot be attained by our intellects" (III/17, p. 472). This reference, in the second step of the I-formulation, to "our opinion" is the single inconsistency in Maimonides' deployment of"I" and "we." The usage at this early stage of the I-account's formulation suggests, perhaps, the interdependency between the "I" and "our" opinions. The cumulative effect of the formulation is the divergence of the conglomerate I-we opinion from Aristotle's on the question of individual providence. Strictly speaking, one may not say, based on this passage, that Maimonides' own I-opinion is independently divergent from this detail of Aristotle's opinion. 72. See Moraux, D'Aristote a Bessarion, pp. 40-41.

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dictatesof the Law, and could embracethe structureof generalprovidence, the dominantdenialof individualprovidenceover man makesAristotle,as his theorystands,unacceptableand unavailable.WhenMaimonidesreturns to develop a philosophic model, he returns to Aristotle. After having assertedthe existenceof individualprovidence,and having formulatedhis own I-theory, Maimonideshas, in effect, formulateda new theory. Only consideringthese severelimitationsmay one say that a partof Maimonides' base theory is "Aristotelian." My understandingof Maimonides'dual theory as a solution to the problemof satisfyingdualcriteriarepresentsa moreprimitiveversionof the double-truththeory,73long the classicalmodel for understandingmedieval philosophy.Ratherthan harmonizingconflictingconceptions,Maimonides has found a methodfor allowingantagonisticconceptionsto coexist.Careful attention to Maimonides'presentationof his theory of providencein chapters17 and 18 of Part III has shown that speakingtwo languageswill resolvea problemthat speakingone will not. By havinghis "we" assertthe fundamentalprinciplesof God's justice and man's free will, and his "I" arguefor "providenceaccordingto the intellect,"Maimonides'dual theory has faredbetterwith the dual criteriathan any statements,rationalor otherwise, which he had previouslyreviewed. The analysisof Maimonideson individualprovidencebeginsratherthan ends here. For not only has Maimonidesleft unexplainedin chapters17-18 of PartIII of the Guidehow providenceworksaccordingto the intellect,but two furtherdimensionsof providence,addedto the basetheory,Job'sprovidence and the providenceof the perfectindividual,remainto be explored. III. "Providenceas Consequentupon the Intellect"

The purposeof the presentsectionis to examinethe furtherelaborations of the theory of providencein the Job chapters(22 and 23 of PartIII) and chapter 51, and to substantiateand consolidatethe core of Maimonides' I-theory, that "divine providence is consequent upon the intellect and attachedto it." The goals are essentiallytwofold:to probe the relationship of the three levels within Maimonides'multidimensionalaccount,from(1) 73. For the implications of an innovative reading of the double-truth theory in Averroes, see Alfred L. Ivry, "Towards a Unified View of Averroes' Philosophy," Philosophical Forum 4 (Fall 1972): 87, 107-111.

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the base (dual) theory, (2) the Job theory, to (3) the perfect-providence theory, and to articulate what "providence according to the intellect" means within each level. The second subsection of Maimonides' thematic account on providence, his treatment of Job in chapters 22-23 of Part III, serves a dual function: it consolidates, by way of traditional support, the structure and substance of Maimonides' presentation of the nexus of problems involved in the issue of God's providence and, by way of parable and ellipsis, breaks new ground in revealing further and different dimensions of Maimonides' thinking on providence. The first chapter on Job, chapter 22, parallels Maimonides' own attack against the significance of the problem of the suffering of the righteous, first argued in chapter 16. According to Maimonides' analysis of philosophical speculation, the problem of the suffering of the righteous, which initiates the "problem" of God's providence, arises from a serious misconception. That whichin the first place was mainlyresponsiblefor plungingthem into, and impellingthemtoward,this opinionis what appearsat first sight to be a lack of orderin the circumstancesof the humanindividualsand the fact that among the Adamitessome excellentindividualsare in a sorryand grievous plight whereassome wickedindividualsare in good and pleasurablecircumstances.74

The misunderstanding is one of confused values, of mistaking "good and pleasurable circumstances" for the ultimate good of intellectual perfection. This misconception led the philosophers, when given the necessary choice between God's ignorance and His negligence of human affairs, to opt for ignorance.7" Maimonides' prime resolution or deflection of this problem is based on his theory of evil as privation. Evil, he argues, is the absence of positive qualities of goodness, and, as such, is not something directly created by God. The popular misconceptions about evil which would seem to make God directly responsible for its existence are, according to Maimonides, based on the narrow perspective of man's selfish concerns, or more broadly

74. Guide, III/16, p. 461. 75. Guide, III/16, p. 462.

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speaking,on the inaccurateperspectivethat the universeis man-centered and not God-centered.76 This theory of evil as privation is found by Maimonides to be fully present in the text of Job, implied by the semantic separation of Satan, evil's representative, from the rest of being.77 The hint of this theory resolves immediately for Maimonides the problem of Job's suffering. For the "evil" which Job has suffered, loss of his fortune, death of his children, and excruciating physical pain, is not substantially evil, since substantial evil does not exist. As part of his own attack on the problem of the suffering of the righteous, Maimonides attempted to show that a proper understanding of evil as privation deflated the problem. His first chapter on Job repeats that attempt, cast, of course, in a traditional mode. The first Job chapter seems to offer the reader a dramatization and proof-text for what had been argued earlier in chapter 16. Chapter 22 ends with Maimonides' curious claim--"As I see it now, I have analyzed the story of Job up to its ultimate end and conclusion."78Curious, because a longer chapter on Job is to follow immediately, But rightly so, the demonstrative account is over; if the proffered theodicy is accepted, the problem of Job's suffering is resolved. What remains to be discussed, consonant with Maimonides' own two-tiered account, is the rhetorical case, in which Job's suffering is accepted as substantial and his righteousness as true righteousness. The process of Job's education and transformation from a suffering man to a man of providence is recounted in chapter 23. Maimonides aligns the various opinions of Job and his comforters with proponents of the opinions on providence which he reviewed in chapter 17. The opinion of Job is modeled after Aristotle, Eliphaz corresponds to the opinion of "our Law," Bildad with the Mu'tazila, and Zophar with the Ash'ariyya. The opinion of Elihu, by process of elimination and by tacit identification, seems to represent an extension of Maimonides' I-view on providence. Job's transformation from a man lacking knowledge ('ilm) to a man blessed with knowledge and experience of the divine is achieved through

76. The theory of evil is presented in Guide, III/8-12. Maimonides vigorously attacks those who "consider that which exists only with reference to a human individual" (p. 442). 77. "The sons of God came to present themselves before the Lord, and Satan came also among them" (Job 1:6, 2:1; emphasis added). 78. Guide, III/22, p. 490.

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Elihu's advice and personal prophetic revelation. The necessary interpretive task is to investigate the nature of Job and Elihu's thinking on providence. The upshot of Job's revelation points to a new dimension in Maimonides' theory, and the implications of Elihu's insights not only confirm Job's theory, but break new ground in clarifying the overarching relationship of providence to the intellect. In the midst of his discussion of divine knowledge, at the end of chapter 20, Maimonides argued a familiar theme-the equivocality of terms applied to God and man. Part of his discussion of what and how God knows centers on the equivocality of the terms "knowledge," "purpose," and "providence" when applied to God and man. Now, dovetailing with this discovery, Job's revelation is explained by Maimonides to yield a "negative" theory of providence. Reason has its limits. The attempted apprehension of the production of "natural matters" is condemned to futility. The purposeof all these thingsis to show that our intellectsdo not reachthe point of apprehendinghow these naturalthings that exist in the world of generationand corruptionare producedin time and of conceivinghow the existenceof the naturalforce within them has originatedthem."79 The lesson to be learned, revealed to Job, is the disjunction in meaning between man's providence and God's providence, and between man's governance and God's governance. But the notion of His providenceis not the same as the notion of our providence;nor is His notion of the governanceof the thingscreatedby Him the same as the notion of our governanceof that which we govern. The two notionsare not comprisedin one definition,contraryto whatis thoughtby all those who are confused,and there is nothing in common betweenthe two except the name alone.80 Maimonides summarizes the point of Job's discovery at the end of chapter 23 and includes the evidence from chapter 20: knowledge, purpose, providence, and governance are all equivocal terms, "so that you should not fall into error and seek to affirm in your imagination that His knowledge is like our knowledge or that His purpose and His providence and His governance are like our purpose and our providence and our governance."81 79. Guide, III/23, p. 496. 80. Ibid. 81. Guide, III/23, p. 497.

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This is the knowledgewhich Job lacked, which he needed to end his sufferingand which he receivedin propheticrevelation.This knowledge alleviates suffering, and rather than fostering man's doubts of God's knowledgeor His providence,accordingto Maimonides'terse statement, adds to man'slove of God. Job's acquisitionof knowledgeinvolvedknowledge of a specifickind,the "negative"understandingthat God's providence is not to be likenedto man'sprovidence,that God's ways are mysteriously incomprehensible.Job has become privilegedto a kind of immunityfrom suffering,basedon his understandingof the limitsof humanunderstanding. The Job accountappearsto achievefor Maimonidescontradictoryaims. It at once confirmsthroughduplicationthe structureand problematicsof Maimonides'initial treatmentof the problems of God's knowledge and providence:reiterationof the theory of evil as privation,assertionof the equivocality of terms such as "providence"and "governance,"parallel accounts of the range of views on providence.But the substanceof Job's own transformedopinionwould seemto underminethe abilityof Maimonides' base theory on providenceto make any sense. How can one speak of to God's providencewhenthe ways of His providenceareincomprehensible man?Assumingfor now that one can, or at leastthat one musttry to, articulate a theory of providence,Job representsa thoroughlydifferentman of providencethan the model suggestedby Maimonides'I-view. The Stoic dimensionof Job's acceptanceof whatis conventionallytermed"suffering" seems far removedfrom the base theory which preachedavoidanceof or protectionfrom calamitiesand accidents,ratherthan trainingoneself to accepttheir consequences.For Job, the conceptof rewardand punishment is changedalso, for what mattersis not so much what has happened,but how one thinksand feels about it. Beforeevaluatingthese criticalquestions on the relationshipof Job to the initialtheoryof providence,it is necessary to deepenand refineour understandingof what Maimonides'initialtheory means.A few hintsby Elihu,Job'sideal comforter,who representsa partof Maimonides'I-persona,will help establishthe mechanicsand implications of the initial formulation,"providenceaccordingto the intellect." AlthoughElihu'smessageis announcedby Maimonidesto contain the utmost significance,the problem for our investigationlies in deciphering what MaimonidesunderstoodElihuto be saying.For Maimonidespresents elliptically what, in Maimonides'own admission, Elihu portrays "parabolically."The cumulativeeffect, of Maimonidesthrough Elihu by Maimonides, is extremely hard to figure out. After much patient sifting, two key referencesemergefrom Elihu'sview:(1) "the intercessionof an angel,"

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and (2) "the how of prophecy."82 Elihu's additional insight joins with Job's prophetic revelation to focus on "the description of natural matters," which suggests that the problem of the suffering of the righteous can be resolved when the universe is understood properly as God-centered and not mancentered. The inability of man to comprehend fully the origin and existence of these natural matters leads Elihu to appreciate the axiom of negative theology, of the ultimate mystery of God's providence. But the conclusion of negative theology is not pursued to its logical end, for Elihu still has something to tell us, or at least hint at, in regard to providence. The two "added notions" by which Elihu distinguishes his view from his companions' are not elaborated upon, even in elliptical style. But the references have clear significations in a Maimonidean context. The relevance of the "intercession of an angel" points within Maimonides' own system to the Active Intellect,83but the elliptical reference here is significant both for its obtuseness and its tardiness. In his entire discussion of providence, this veiled reference is the only mention of the Active Intellect. The relevance of the "how of prophecy" points to a parallel phenomenon for possible clarification of the mechanics of providence. I believe it can be shown that these two clues point to Maimonides' epistemology as the proving ground for his theory of providence. This supposition is supported by the logical inference that the best place to understand "providence according to the intellect," outside of the discussion proper on providence, just may be the section on the intellect. Maimonides' theory of knowledge is, as Leon Roth has noted,84part and parcel of his theory of prophecy. This latter theory, explained in the Guide II/32-48, finds its summary definition at the beginning of chapter 36. Know that the true realityand quiddityof prophecyconsist in its being an overflowoverflowingfrom God, may He be cherishedand honored,through

82. Guide, 111/23, p. 495. 83. In Hilkhot Yesodei Ha-Torah, chap. 2, Maimonides specifically identifies the intelligences as Angels. In Guide, 11/6, pp. 263-264, Maimonides explains the controversial nature of the concept of the Active Intellect. Al-Farabi clearly identifies the function of the Active Intellect with providence: "The function of the Active Intellect is to exercise providence ['inayah]over rational animals and to seek to make them reach the ultimate level of perfection that man can reach, i.e., ultimate happiness. This consists in man's attaining the level of the Active Intellect." Al-Farabi, The Political Regime (Al-Siyasat al-Madaniyyah), ed. Fauzi M. Najjar (Beirut, 1964), p. 32. Translation by Miriam S. Galston (unpublished, 1979). 84. Leon Roth, The Guidefor the Perplexed: Moses Maimonides (New York, 1948), p. 80.

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the intermediationof the Active Intellect,towardthe rationalfacultyin the first place and thereaftertowardthe imaginativefaculty.85 The notion of "an overflow overflowing" is considered by Maimonides to be the best possible metaphor for explaining the action of something separate from matter. In this definition, God, through the agency of the Active Intellect, activates the human intellect from the capacity for thought to actual thinking. I propose to examine the categorization of prophets which Maimonides sets out in order to untangle the man of providence from the man of prophecy. By examining these prototypes, what separates "prophetic" thinking and action from "providential" thinking and action will emerge clearly. The qualifications which Maimonides sets for prophecy involve three areas: the rational faculty, the imaginative faculty, and moral habit. Each one is achieved, in the order listed, by study, natural disposition, and "through the turning-away of thought from all bodily pleasure and the putting an end to the desire for the various kinds of ignorant and evil glorification."86 Given sound moral character as a prerequisite for prophetic training, prophecy involves the perfection of an individual's rational and imaginative faculties. In a monograph on Maimonides' political philosophy, Miriam Galston has placed the definition of prophecy within its proper epistemological framework. The divineoverflowto the rationalfacultyproducestheoreticalperfection;the overflowto the imaginativefacultyimpartspracticalrationalperfection.The latterenablesits possessorboth to arriveat particularjudgementsnecessary for right conduct and to convey to laymen truths about the universeand moralityin languageand by means of images easy to comprehend.87 It is the imaginative faculty's ability to arrive at particularjudgments which would seem to form the sphere of providential man's activity. But only after surveying the full range of "overflow" activities may we determine where the overflow overflowing from God, through the agency of the Active Intellect, produces a phenomenon called prophecy as opposed to a phenomenon called providence. The ranks of various receivers of the divine overflow revolve around 85. Guide, 11/36, p. 369. 86. Guide, 11/36, p. 372. 87. Miriam Galston, "Philosopher King v. Prophet," Israel Oriental Studies 8 (1978): 205.

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three criteria: (1) which faculty is affected, (2) the degree of perfection of the receiving faculty, and (3) the degree of the overflow.88 The degree of one's moral character has apparently dropped out as a determinant of rank. The first two ranks listed by Maimonides are: A. Overflow only to the rational faculty. B. Overflow to both rational and imaginative faculties where the imaginative faculty is in a state of perfection. Now each of these two ranks has two dimensions-an inner-directed persona, where the degree of overflow does not extend beyond the individual receiver, and an outer-directed persona, where it does extend beyond the individual. Within Class A, men of science engaged in speculation may either be moved to compose works and teach (i.e., extend the overflow) or not. And Class B, the class of prophets, includes either a public or a private dimension. As Maimonides writes: Sometimesthe propheticrevelationthat comes to a prophet rendershim perfectand has no other effect.And sometimesthe propheticrevelationthat comes to him compelshim to addressa call to the people,teachthem,andlet his own perfectionoverflowtowardthem.89 The third class is: C. Overflow only to the imaginative faculty, comprising "those who govern cities while being the legislators, the soothsayers, the augurers, and the dreamers of veridical dreams."90 Maimonides takes leave of this division of rank and introduces the faculties of courage and divination as a prelude to his discussion of the class of "true prophets." The faculty of courage, in Maimonides' understanding, seems to cover the range of human behavior from mere self-preservation to the extreme of Moses' bravery. The faculty of divination involves a quickening of one's ability to draw conclusions from certain premises. This faculty also entails the ability to give warnings of future events. The fourth class, of true prophets, is ranked as follows:

88. These ranks and classifications are all outlined and discussed in Guide II/37-38. 89. Guide, II/37, p. 375. 90. Guide, II/37, p. 374.

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D. Overflow reaches both faculties where both the imaginative and rational faculties have achieved ultimate perfection. It is the perfection of both faculties, the rational and the imaginative, which determines the final class of true prophets. Within the last two classes of prophets, the possible outline for the man of providence may begin to emerge. The same double dimension, inner- vs. outer-directed, applies to the third and fourth classes, as it did to the first two classes. By the distinction between public and private prophets, it seems to me, the separate class of "providential" man is born. Providence, then, according to Maimonides, is the effect of the divine overflow through the agency of the Active Intellect on the rational and/or imaginative faculties of an individual, insofar as it affects the private aspect, the individual himself.91Prophecy involves exercising one's own providence over others, of extending the overflow. How these functions of the intellective faculties actually translate into providence may be best understood in light of Maimonides' classification of the components of the intellect. In chapter 1 of Shemonah Perakim, he offers the most complete overview. The rationalpart is the power found in man by which he perceivesintelligibles, deliberates,acquiresthe sciences,and distinguishesbetweenbase and noble actions.Some of these activitiesare practicaland some are theoretical. Of the practical,some areproductiveand some arereflective.By meansof the theoretical,man knows the essence of the unchangingbeings. These (theoretical activities)are called scienceswithout qualification.The productiveis the powerby meansof whichwe acquireoccupations,suchas carpentry,agriculture,medicineand navigation.The reflectiveis that by which one deliberates about a thinghe wishesto do at the timehe wishesto do it-whether it is possible to do it or not and, if it is possible, how it ought to be done.92 The parallel between providence and prophecy which Maimonides offered has been exploited to show a welcome niche for a more compre91. The distinction between providential and prophetic experience is not drawn explicitly by Maimonides. The two phenomena, public prophecy and private providence, overlap. The exercising of providence over others is, in Maimonides' own terms, tadbfr, or "governance." Governance, while at times an extension of one's own personal providence, may at other times conflict with it. For example, the prophet who receives a divine command to address a call to the people, whether they listen or not, could conceivably suffer harm or even death. 92. Ethical Writingsof Maimonides, trans. Raymond L. Weiss and Charles E. Butterworth (New York, 1975), pp. 63-64.

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hensive model of providence within the parent theory of prophecy. The range of the intellect's activities, cited above, may enable us now to further flesh-out the terse, unadorned initial formulation of "providence as consequent upon, or according to, the intellect." The exercising of one's own intellect on both a practical and a theoretical level enables one to preserve and perfect oneself as a human being. If we return to the original problem which motivated us to examine the implications of "providence according to the intellect," the relationship of the Job chapters to the initial theory, the two dimensions of intellect, practical and theoretical, suggest the crux of our solution: in the initial theory, Maimonides presents providence as a function of a practical intellect, while his Job theory presents providence as a function of theoretical wisdom. Now, how may we describe that providence operates "according to the intellect"? Considering the two dimensions of the intellect, Maimonides' treatment would yield two separate accounts. 1. Providence as consequent upon the practical intellect. 2. Providence as consequent upon the theoretical intellect. In III/27 Maimonides outlines the relationship between the perfection of these two dimensions. The first involves the perfection of man as a moral being, from achieving and maintaining bodily health, satisfying bodily needs for food and shelter, to the performance of virtuous actions and the development of moral qualities. The second perfection, which is identified as the "ultimate" and as "indubitably more noble and as the only cause of permanent preservation," nevertheless depends on the achievement of the first perfection, which enables speculative learning to take place. While the first perfection consists of actions and moral qualities, the second (and ultimate) perfection consists of "opinions toward which speculation has led and that investigation has rendered compulsory."'93Its goal is described as follows:

93. Guide, 111/27, p. 511. For al-Farabi on the relationship of practical and theoretical wisdom, see Aphorisms of the Statesman (Fusul al-Madani), ed. and trans. by Douglas M. Dunlop (Cambridge, 1961), p. 48. That the Fusul had a strong influence on Maimonides has been documented in Herbert A. Davidson, "Maimonides' Shemonah Peraqim and Al-farabi's Fusul AIMadani," Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research 31 (1963): 33-50. Apparently, al-Farabi also wrote a separate treatise On Providencewhich is no longer extant. See his own reference to it in his Harmonization of the Opinions of Plato and Aristotle, trans. Miriam Galston (unpublished, 1978), p. 39. Standard reference to the Dieterici edition is 26:2.

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... to becomerationalin actu, I meanto have an intellectin actu;this would consistin his knowingeverythingconcerningall the beingsthat it is withinthe capacityof man to know in accordancewith his ultimateperfection.94 These two perfections form the two distinct stages in Maimonides' theory of providence. The sphere of providential care described in Maimonides' initial theory (in chapters 17-18) concerns an individual's physical wellbeing, his actions, and his moral qualities. When we recollect the examples used in chapters 17-18 which implied providential care over certain individuals, we see that the cases include the avoidance of physical harm or death, guidance for "the actions of righteous men," and for the patriarchs, the full variety of all their activities, even including their acquisition of property.95 Considering the specific example of the fate of a passenger on a foundering ship, Maimonides argues that a man's decision to board the ship is not due to chance, but is based on intellect.96I take this to mean that the man's decision to board the ship or not is based on considerations and deliberations of the practical intellect, his appraisal of the ship's construction, of dangerous wind currents, the competency of the ship's crew, and given the "great dangers such as arise in sea voyages," the validity of his need to take this voyage. In the general statement in which the intellectual overflow offers guidance over the actions of righteous men,97providential care would seem to be subsumed by one's personal deployment of moral intelligence or practical wisdom. This interpretation understands providence to be a direct and natural result of the deliberations of one's own practical intellect. The Aristotelian notion of phronisis, translated variously as "practical reason," "practical wisdom," "practical intelligence," and "prudence," would seem to provide the springboard for Maimonides' theory. Aristotle is the source of Maimonides' distinction between the practical and theoretical components of man's rationality. Phronesis is described by Aristotle in Book VI of the Nicomachean Ethics. Practicalreason ... is concernedwith humanaffairsand with mattersabout

94. Guide, III/27, p. 511. 95. Guide, III/17, p. 472; III/18, pp. 475-476. 96. Guide, III/17, p. 472. 97. Guide, 111/18, p. 475: "For it is this overflow of the divine intellect that makes the prophet speak, guides the actions of righteous men, and perfects the knowledge of excellent men with regard to what they know."

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whichdeliberationis possible.. . . the most characteristicfunctionof a manof practicalreasonis to deliberatewell. In an unqualifiedsense,thatmanis good at deliberatingwho, by reasoning,can aim and hit the bestthingattainableto man by action."9 The concept of practical reason explains how the intellect may be said to function as a providential agent by guiding the virtuous man to the right decision for action and ultimately toward perfection. For Maimonides, divine Law has consolidated and co-opted most, if not all, of the functions of practical reason at an operative level. While for Aristotle, on an individual basis, "practical reason issues commands: its end is to tell us what we ought to do and what we ought not to do,"99 in Maimonides' system, divine commandments and prohibitions embody the divine practical reason. The distinction between Aristotle's fully employed concept of phronisis and Maimonides' recessed view is important in appreciating why the actual operation of personal practical reason is downplayed in Maimonides' account. The extensiveness and expansiveness of the Law's dictates restrict the interplay of phrontsis on an individual level. Nevertheless in Maimonides' view the harnessing of intellect for right action is intimately related to the concept of practical reason on a conceptual level, and finds its full expression in proper observance of the commandments which embody it.?oo In Maimonides' base theory, providential man operates within the world of human concerns, of "contingent facts," and strives to preserve himself, his family, and his community, and to maximize his own perfection. The nature of this sphere of activity ultimately determines the limitations of man's possible success. While experience counts in negotiating well within 98. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, trans. Martin Ostwald, Library of Liberal Arts (New York, 1962), bk. 6, chap. 7, 1141 lb. I have replaced "practical reason" for "practical wisdom" in Ostwald's translation. 99. Nicomachean Ethics, bk. 6, chap. 10, 1143a. 100. Maimonides' own reticence on practical reason (ta'aqqul) in the Guide is striking. Within the framework of a religious system based on Law, however, the Law seems to take over for moral intelligence at an operative level. In fact, the placement within the Guide of the section on the reasons for the Law, inserted in between the second and third sections of the thematic account on providence, suggests the possibility that the Law, as protector of the health of the body and the mind, displaces phronisis. For Averroes' intermittent reticence on phronsis and its relationship to the legal system, see George F. Hourani, "Averroes on Good and Evil," Studia Islamica 16 (1962): 13-40. For a discussion of the implications of this issue for Maimonides' ethical system, see Marvin Fox, "The Doctrine of the Mean in Aristotle and Maimonides: A Comparative Study," in Studies in Jewish Religious and Intellectual History Presented to Alexander Altmann, ed. S. Stein and R. Loewe (University, Ala., 1979), pp. 93-120.

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the worldof contingentevents,error,eitherin understandinga generalprinciple or in particularapplication,is not only possiblebut morethan probable. Whilepain and sufferingmay be minimized,they may not be avoided, and deathlooms as inevitable.If the base theorypresentsan ideal systemin whichmanis able to avoid harmand sufferingby leadinga virtuouslife and makingthe rightdecisions,basedon reason,the Job chapterspresenta challengingcounterexample.Within the realm of human action, moral intelligence cannot ensuretotal or completeprovidencefor man. Man decidesto act on the basis of general principlesand probabilities,and is subjectto harm by the improbableand the rare occurrence,not to mention as the object or victim, intended or otherwise,of a purposefullydisruptiveact. Maimonidesconcedes the point, in his discussionof evil, that the victim gains little recoursein dealingwith his attackers,when he writesthat "the wrongedman has no device against them."'1' In summary,Maimonides'basetheory(III/17-18) offersan explanation for individualprovidenceover man as consequentupon the practicalintellect, but falls short of explainingor accountingfor all the evidence.The slack left afterthe limits of the I-theory'sexplanation(providenceas consequent upon the intellect)is taken over, it seems,by the assertion,as fundamentalprincipleswhich uphold the Law, that God's systemof rewardand punishment,althoughbeyond humancomprehension,is just.102While the base theoryassertsGod'sjustice, as part of its dual components,in the Job account, on a differentlevel, Maimonidesattemptsto prove it. Job's metamorphosisis representativeof the transitionfrom the lower stage of providenceas consequentupon practicalintellectto the ultimate stage of providence as consequent upon the acquisition of theoretical wisdom. Job is transformedfrom a man who displays "moralvirtue and righteousnessin action,"but who suffers,to a man who "knewGod with a certainknowledge,"and transcendedsuffering.The "before"pictureof Job is painted as follows: The most marvellousand extraordinarything about this storyis the fact that

101. Guide, III/12, p. 444. Maimonides' discussion of evil actually includes two perspectives. From the ultimate and true perspective, evil has no real existence. From the narrow perspective of an individual human being (relative to his own existence and prosperity), evil exists, although Maimonides tries vigorously to limit its domain and extensiveness. 102. Maimonides' formulation of a theory of providence which satisfies both philosophic and religious-legal demands, as presented in Guide III/17-18, is detailed in Sec. II above.

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knowledgeis not attributedin it to Job. He is not said to be a wise or a comprehendingor an intelligentman. Onlymoralvirtueand righteousnessin action are ascribedto him. For if he had been wise, his situationwould not have been obscurefor him, as will become clear.'03 He is consistently described as a "righteous and perfect man, who was just in his actions and is more careful to avoid sins," but nevertheless "was stricken-without his having committed a sin entailing this-by great and consecutive calamities with respect to his fortune, his children and his body."l04 JOb is the parade example of the failure of practical intellect to guarantee complete providential care. Complete providential care is achieved by Job when he achieves theoretical wisdom, which enables him to cope with his misfortunes. Job's intellectual conversion centers on the awareness that "the things thought to be happiness, such as health, wealth and children," are not "the ultimate goal." Maimonides describes the outcome of Job's knowledge of God: But when he knewGod with a certainknowledge,he admittedthat truehappiness,whichis the knowledgeof the deity,is guaranteedto all who knowHim and that a humanbeingcannotbe troubledin it by any of all the misfortunes in question.'05 The switch to theoretical wisdom, the knowledge of "everything concerning all the beings that it is within the capacity of man to know,"'06 as the source for ultimate happiness and, as a result, ultimate providence has a clear Aristotelian breeding. In Book I of the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle attempts to outline and define a state of happiness for man that has permanence and completeness. The happymanwill havethe attributeof permanencewhichwe arediscussing, and he will remainhappythroughouthislife. For he will alwaysor to the highest degreeboth do and contemplatewhatis in conformitywith virtue;he will bearthe vicissitudesof fortunemost noblyand with perfectdecorumunderall circumstances,inasmuch as he is truly good and "four-squarebeyond reproach." 107 103. 104. 105. 106. 107.

Guide, III/22, p. 487. Guide, III/22, p. 486. Guide, III/23, p. 493. Guide, III/27, p. 511. Nicomachean Ethics, bk. 1, chap. 7, 1177b.

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Aristotle continues to speculate to what degree misfortune and suffering can disturb supreme happiness. For the most part, a "noble and high-minded" man can bear "many great misfortunes with good grace." The happy man may be dislodged from his happiness "only by great and numerous disasters such as will make it impossible for him to become happy again in a short time." 108 The discussion is resumed and the ambiguities resolved in the final book of the Nicomachean Ethics, in which Aristotle expresses the superiority of happiness as a result of theoretical wisdom (sophia) over the happiness of moral action and virtue. While the life of moral action is plagued by the constrictions of human existence, a life of contemplation, guided by theoretical wisdom, transcends the merely human dimensions of existence: "So if it is true that intelligence is divine in comparison with man, then a life guided by intelligence is divine in comparison with human life."'0' The superiority of the life of theoretical wisdom is argued extensively by Aristotle: it is the divine element in us, it "surpasses everything else in power and value," it represents "each man's true self, since it is the controlling and better part.""0 Aristotle expands upon this last reason by arguing that man's identity is his knowledge of theoretical wisdom. In otherwords,a life guidedby intelligenceis the best and most pleasantfor man, inasmuchas intelligence,above all else, is man. Consequently,this kind of life is the happiest." The contemplative life is further characterized as the one by which man can be truly self-sufficient. These Aristotelian concerns help flesh-out the background of Maimonides' approach, for Maimonides has adapted the notion of happiness as the basis for his concept of ultimate providence. True and permanent providence is reserved for Job only after he has experienced the ultimate realm of theoretical wisdom and perfection. Maimonides' implicit argument in the Job chapters for preferring the life of theoretical wisdom, aside from the immediate therapeutic value for a person in Job's predicament, duplicates the range of Aristotle's justifications: Job achieves immunity from suffering and misfortune, he realizes the ultimate value of theoretical intellect and its 108. 109. 110. 111.

Ibid., Ibid., Ibid., Ibid.,

bk. bk. bk. bk.

1, chap. 10, 10, chap. 7, 10, chap. 7, 10, chap. 7,

l 101a. 1177b. 1177b-1178a. 1178a.

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divine nature, and he has achieved a higher, if not the highest, degree of selfsufficiency. The controlling reason for identifying man's ultimate happiness and his ultimate providence with theoretical wisdom is revealed by Maimonides at the end of the Guide. The description of man's ultimate perfection reveals not only its Aristotelian lineage but the ambiguity regarding the nature of human identity which underlies Maimonides' two accounts of practical and theoretical providence over man.12 The fourthspeciesis the truehumanperfection;it consistsin the acquisitionof the rationalvirtues-I referto the conceptionof intelligibles,whichteachtrue opinionsconcerningthe divinethings.This is in truerealitythe ultimateend, this is whatgives the individualtrueperfection,a perfectionbelongingto him alone; and it gives him permanentperdurance;throughit man is man."3 Man is here not the sum of his composite nature, his desires, virtues, and intelligence, but his identity is his theoretical mind. The happiness achieved and the providence associated with it pertain to man's mind. By limiting the focus of human personality to man's theoretical mind, Maimonides is able to articulate a theory of complete and permanent providence, for providence is here a direct, unmitigated function of the ability of man's intellect to achieve conjunction with God. If a man chooses to lead the contemplative life exclusively, he remains solitary and does not translate the "overflow" of his personal providence into prophetic activity. His practical needs are few, and his relationship to the community is aloof, if not contemptuous. If the perfectman who livesin solitudethinksof them [otherpeople]at all, he does so only with a view to savinghimselffromthe harmthat may be caused by thoseamongthemwho areharmfulif he happensto associatewiththem,or to obtainingan advantagethat may be obtainedfromthemif he is forcedto it by some of his needs."4 That an individual of this nature is rare and uncharacteristic of Maimo-

112. My analysis of Maimonides' shift on the nature of human identity was influenced by John M. Cooper's understanding of Aristotle's bipartite notion of the nature of human happiness. See his Reason and Human Good in Aristotle (Cambridge, 1975), pp. 144-180. 113. Guide, III/54, p. 635. For an analysis of Maimonides' conception of human perfection, see Alexander Altmann, "Maimonides' Four Perfections," Israel Oriental Studies 2 (1972): 15-24. 114. Guide, II/36, p. 372.

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nides' thinking points to the transitional nature of individual providential experience as a prelude to the outer-directed, community-oriented activity of the prophet. As a role model, exclusively providential activity (based on the perfection of theoretical wisdom) remains rare and inaccessible. Nevertheless, Job would appear to be such a model, for his happiness and providence exist on the level of theoretical wisdom only insofar as it affects his personal intellect. While the conceptual basis for Maimonides' preference for theoretical perfection is solid and clearly articulated, the example of Job lends a pragmatic or defensive note to the choice. Would not Job be happier with family, fortune, physical health, and theoretical wisdom? Can he sustain the life of contemplation beyond any and all misfortune? Job, it would seem, has no choice but to find happiness in a higher realm. Without questioning further the details of the Book of Job, which is, after all, a dramatized account, the underbelly of the Job account provides some sobering realizations. In dealing with the full realm of the human personality, human virtue cannot consistently surmount the world of accident, of contingent events, and cannot generate, in and of itself, permanent human happiness. As a result, the exclusive pursuit of theoretical wisdom is not only man's ultimate goal, but also his only refuge. If, within the realm of man's actions, happiness cannot be assured as the natural end of virtue, why does Maimonides argue at all for the lower level of "providence as consequent upon the (practical) intellect"? The lower level of the theory has as its focus a broader spectrum of the range of human activity and personality, one's decision to take a sea voyage, to acquire property, to enter a building, to perform a certain action, etc. The full spectrum of man's activity and thought is, of course, the focus of the Law's concerns."15Maimonides' explanation of providence over the fuller range of human activity is therefore not expendable; but as it stands alone, it is incomplete. Given a realm of discussion in which no demonstration is possible, his theory, Maimonides would argue, explains at least the majority of the circumstances. Finally, Maimonides argues for both levels, practical and theoretical, not only because he affirms the dual concerns of the Law, but because of his own acceptance of the dual nature of man's identity. While theoretical intellect may be supreme, its successful and sustained exercise depends on the total well-being of man and his community for the maximalization of its true potential. 115. See the Guide III/27, which begins with the following formulation: "The Law as a whole aims at two things: the welfare of the soul and the welfare of the body."

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In arguing his theory of providence over the whole range of man's activities, the realm of accident and misfortune, which is inherent in the world of contingent events, is not explained away by Maimonides' philosophic "I" language. The justice of reward and punishment, from the notion that man is punished (by the legal system) for his evil actions and rewarded for his good deeds to the notion that virtue is its own reward and evil its own punishment, is maintained by Maimonides' we-persona as fundamental principles which ground and uphold the Law. Viewed from the perspective of the ultimate (theoretical) side of providence, the base theory has a dual nature, since the philosophic "I" cannot offer completeness. The we-theory, consistent with Maimonides' method, asserts the principles which make the Law possible, in a realm in which demonstration is impossible. The theoretical knowledge which Job acquired and the underlying assumption that the essence of man is to be identified with his intellect seem to offer man an emotional immunity from suffering or misfortune. The third and final dimension in Maimonides' thematic account of providence is presented in III/51 of the Guide. A considerably broader type of immunity from misfortune is outlined. Maimonides attempts to take his theory of providence as consequent upon the intellect to its logical end, and seems to have engendered some potentially illogical consequences. Total intellectual perfection seems to generate total providence, not simply to the limit of emotional immunity: the man of total providence is assured complete protection from any and all evils so long as his mind is concentrated on knowledge of God. If a man'sthoughtis freefromdistraction,if he apprehendsHim, may He be exalted,in the rightway and rejoicesin what he apprehends,that individual can neverbe afflictedwith evil of any kind. For he is with God and God is with him."6 Physical immunity for the perfect, argued as an extension of the original theory and as ultimately palatable to the philosophers, has appeared problematic to many commentators. The range of opinion may be glimpsed from Samuel Ibn Tibbon."7 who, as we mentioned above, noted the problem in a letter to Maimonides and saw this extension as contradictory to the original

116. Guide, III/51, p. 625. 117. For Samuel Ibn Tibbon, see Diesendruck, "Samuel and Moses Ibn Tibbon," pp. 360-361, and the discussion in Section I above.

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theory, to Julius Guttmann, who saw an elaboration of an "almost mystical idea that men whose mind is wholly in contact with God are, as long as that contact endures, lifted above all influence of the external world.""1 I think the account is purposefully ambivalent and represents both a consistent conclusion to the notion of providence as consequent upon theoretical intellect and a triumphant, idealized flourish which caps Maimonides' thinking on providence. If the physical body, then, is not the "I" which escapes these evils, who or what is? Maimonides' shift on the nature of human identity, consummated in the Job account, prepares the reader to appreciate the hero of chapter 51, who is immune from any and all evils, not as a superhuman being, but as that which is essentially human, the intellect. The intellect emerges as the true self which survives all, and chapter 51 can be understood consistently as an allegory of the individual intellect's attempt at transcendence and conjunction with God. This final section of the theory describes not just providence for an individual through the intellect, but providence through the intellect for the intellect. This ultimate dimension of providence would dovetail with Maimonides' description of immortality, the details of which are not only beyond the scope of the present investigation, but beyond our grasp as well. The final section, in this sense, brings to a logical conclusion the implications of the theoreticalintellectualistic framework which surfaced and predominated in the Job account. A contrary interpretation would focus not on the inner intent of the parable, but on the literal meaning and force of Maimonides' words, as he reflects on the scriptural account of a perfect man who "passes through thousands of killers and killed, under a thunder of swords and through bloodshed, as if he were walking through a peaceful glade."'9 This triumphant ideal would grant total providence, not only to man's mind, but to the whole of man, who now transcends the very limitations of his own nature, and is both perfectly and totally himself and yet "with God." The intensity of Maimonides' emotional and intellectual commitment to this final possibility is at least partially immune to any scholarly assessment. What would seem to profit from further analyis is the shift in Maimonides' thinking on the problem of evil, implicit in his multidimensional

118. Julius Guttmann, Commentary to The Guideof the Perplexed, by Moses Maimonides, trans. Chaim Rabin (New York, 1947), p. 224 n. 85. 119. Ps. 91:7-8, which figures prominently in Maimonides' discussion (pp. 626-627), as paraphrased by Rawidowicz in his Studies in Jewish Thought, p. 284.

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account of divine providence. Besides arguing for evil as privation, which Maimonides realizes postpones rather than solves the problem (since God is ultimately responsible for the creation of matter), Maimonides offered an alternative or additional explanation in chapter 12 of Part III. By cataloguing three types of evil, metaphysical, moral (inflicted by man on another), and moral (self-inflicted), he argues that God's responsibility for evil is minimal and man's maximal. Underlying this division is the assertion that existence is an absolute good and that the true necessities for man's survival and flourishing are fully available for all segments of mankind. Maimonides attempted, it would seem, to attack the problem of evil from all angles, to surround it, if not solve it. It is my contention that a different theodicy also emerges from the body of the multidimensional treatment of providence. Within the discussion of providence, Maimonides abandons the refuge of a God-centered universe momentarily, and tries to argue for justice in the ordering of human circumstances from an enlightened human perspective. This implicit theodicy is multidimensional and corresponds to the three stages of the providence account. At the beginning of chapter 16 of Part III, the question of God's justice in the ordering of human circumstances is raised, and Maimonides does not refer the reader to his completed theodicy (chapters 8-12). Rather, his discussion of God's providence (and knowledge) is an attempt to re-solve the question of the apparent suffering of the righteous and the flourishing of the wicked. This solution is composed of the following three stages: 1. In the world of actions and choices, one succeeds or fails in accordance with the successful deployment or neglect of one's practical intellect. 2. As a response to probable and predictable results (which one does not desire), the intensity of pain or suffering is not absolute, but relative to one's attitude and ability to maximize or minimize or transcend the particular pain or suffering. 3. Within the theoretical realm which is intellect, one's own intellect may acquire an immunity from pain and suffering and transcend any and all evils. The common thread of this scheme is man's freedom to avoid evil of any kind. Man is free (1) to maximize his flourishing and minimize his suffering, (2) to minimize the emotional destructiveness of unavoidable pain and suffering, and (3) to transcend evil ultimately. Within this discussion, Maimonides attempts to offer, beyond negative theology, beyond mere assertion of God's justice, beyond a partial explanation, beyond evidence from a major-

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ity of the cases,an explanationthat God's orderingof humancircumstances is just. Stages 1 and 2 involve unavoidableprobabilitiesand argue,at best, for the possibilityof explainingGod's justice. Stage 3 presentsthe ideal, though certainlyrare case, whose existenceconfirmsGod's justice. Total perfectionof the theoreticalintellectcommandstotal providence.The system, as best as we may understandit, is thereforejust. Nevertheless,one mustobjectthat deploymentof the theoreticalintellectcannotbe separated, evenfor the sakeof this argument,fromthe necessities,accidents,fortuitous events, and hazardsof practicalexistence.Stage 3 is thereforeneitherconclusive nor compelling. Two inverse functionsprevail in this scheme. As one moves from the practicalto the theoretical,from Stage 1 to Stage3, the degreeof providential coverageand, thereby,the cogency of the system'sjustice, increase.In Stage 1, one's abilityto negotiatethe levels of realityand moral concernis influencedby many circumstancesoften beyond one's control. In Stage 2, one's abilityto transcendemotionallyone's sufferingis solely dependent,in Maimonides' view, on the depth and intensity of one's intellectualemotionalmake-up.Finally,in Stage3, one's intellectand commitmentare the only necessarydeterminantsof one's fate. Inversely,as the degreeof self-sufficiencyincreasesor expands,the identityof the self, the recipientof providence,narrowsas one moves from Stage I to Stage3. First,the sphere of concernis the full rangeof humanfunctions,secondly,the internal,practical emotional-intellectual"I," and thirdly,the theoreticalintellectalone. Maimonides'best answer,technicallyspeaking,to the question of justice withinhumancircumstancesis for total providenceover the narrowestbut most substantialareaof humanconcern,intellect.On that immutablelevel, Maimonideswould arguethat God's justice could be proven. YeshivaUniversity New York,N.Y.

The Religion of Traditional Ashkenazic Women: Some Methodological Issues Author(s): Chava Weissler Source: AJS Review, Vol. 12, No. 1 (Spring, 1987), pp. 73-94 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486394 . Accessed: 30/06/2011 22:32 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

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THE RELIGIONOF TRADITIONAL ASHKENAZIC WOMEN: SOME METHODOLOGICALISSUES by CHAVA WEISSLER

What does it mean to study women's religion? How are we to define our subject matter? How are we to understand the relationship of the history of women's religious life and practice to the history of particular religious traditions? I shall explore these questions within the context of a very specific topic: the religious life of Ashkenazic (Central and Eastern European) Jewish women in the late seventeenth, eighteenth, and early nineteenth centuries, as seen through the popular religious literature of the period. This literature, which was addressed primarily to women, was in

The research on which this article is based was supported by a grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities (FA-24469-84). I wish to express my gratitude to the Foundation. My thanks go as well to Professors John Gager, Martha Himmelfarb, and Ivan Marcus, and to Dr. David Satran, for their helpful comments on various drafts of the article. A note on the romanization: I have romanized the titles of works which are entirely or almost entirely in Yiddish according to their Yiddish pronunciation, even if the titles consist entirely of Hebrew words.

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Yiddish, the vernacular of Ashkenazic Jews, rather than in Hebrew, the sacred language, understood almost exclusively by men. My thinking about the different approaches one could take to this material, and the different uses to which it could be put, was stimulated by a lecture given by Joan Scott on the study of women's history.' Using a framework of analysis suggested in part by Scott's work, I will distinguish between three general approaches to the study of women's religion: (1) those that add an account of women's religious lives to an already existing history of Judaism; (2) those that consider women's Judaism within the framework of other groups usually omitted from the history of Judaism; and (3) those that seek to transform our understanding of Judaism through the incorporation of the perspective gained from the study of women's religion. Filling in the Blanks To start with the first approach: One way to begin our study might be to ask, What has been left out of the history of Ashkenazic Jewish religious life and expression in the early modern period? The history of Jewish religious life as it has been written is chiefly the history of the educated elite. Indeed, it must be, since the most important sources for this history are the written works produced by learned men. Because so few women received more than the rudiments of Jewish education throughout the ages, the spiritual life of women, as a group, has been perhaps the most neglected area of the history of Jewish spirituality. Few women learned Hebrew, the language of scholarly communication, and even fewer left any literary legacy, even in the vernacular. Further, not only did women produce no works of religious philosophy, legal rulings, or mystical speculation, they were excluded from the arenas of public religious life: the talmudic academy, the rabbinical court, the kabbalistic conventicle, and the hasidic gathering. Even in the synagogue, women did not count as one of the minimum number of ten adults required as a minyan, could not lead the service, and sat behind a partition, or in a balcony or a completely separate room.

1. Scott's lecture was published as "Women in History II: The Modern Period," Past and Present 101 (1983): 141-157. Other important articles on the doing of women's history include: Joan Kelly-Gadol, "The Social Relations of the Sexes: Methodological Implications of Women's History," Signs 1 (1975-76) : 809-824; Gerda Lerner, "Placing Women in History," in her The Majority Finds Its Past (New York: Oxford University Press, 1979), pp. 145-159, and "The Challenge of Women's History," ibid., pp. 169-180.

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Can it be that, because of this exclusion, women had no religious life to speak of? Or that it was entirely derivative, a pale shadow of what the men were doing? Or did women have spiritual lives of their own, nourished in some way by Jewish tradition as mediated by men, but also developed independently? If they did, is it possible to retrieve this religious life, and what sources exist which will help us to study it? Fortunately, there does exist a rich array of sources for writing the religious history of Ashkenazic Jewish women. Beginning in the sixteenth century, there began to appear in print a voluminous homiletical, ethical, and devotional literature in Yiddish, the vernacular of Ashkenazic Jews. Information from the title pages and introductions of these works, and contemporary accounts, indicate that women were the chief audience for these collections of pious tales, guides to the upright life, paraphrases of the Bible, and supplicatory prayers. These last, the prayers called tkhines ("supplications"), have been my particular interest. Because some of them seem to have been written by women as well as for women,2 I regard them as an especially important source for the study of Ashkenazic women's religion. There are, of course, difficulties involved in using any of these sources. First and foremost is the fact that most of them were written by men. They can be defined as a women's literature in terms of their audience-their readership. Indeed, there is evidence that these Yiddish works were very popular: women read and reread them. Given that this is the case, one can argue that they must have corresponded in some degree to women's experience; otherwise, women would not have bought and read them. Even with the tkhines, some of which were written by women, there are difficulties. First, many collections of tkhines were published anonymously. Were they written/compiled by men or by women? Second, some of those attributed to women can be documented to have been written, pseudonymously, by men.3 2. Cynthia Ozick, in her article "Notes toward Finding the Right Question" (in On Being a Jewish Feminist, ed. Susannah Heschel [New York: Schocken, 1983], pp. 120-151), does her readers a disservice by creating the impression that virtually all tkhines were forged by indigent male yeshiva students (pp. 132-133). This practice did not begin before the mid-nineteenth century, and thus there is no a priori reason to doubt attributions of tkhines (or other Yiddish literature) to female authors whose works were published before that period. This includes authors such as Rebecca Tiktiner, mentioned by Ozick, who can be documented to have existed. It is unfortunate that the misinformation Ozick conveys has gained such wide currency. See also note 3 below. For further discussion of the tkhine literature, see Chava Weissler, "The Traditional Piety of Ashkenazic Women," in A History of Jewish Spirituality, ed. Arthur Green (New York: Crossroad, forthcoming), vol. 2. 3. See Shmuel Niger, "Di yidishe literatur un di lezerin," in his Bleter geshikhte fun der yiddisher literatur (New York: Sh. Niger Bukh-komitet baym alveltlekhn yidishn kultur-

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How do we distinguish the "real" female authors from the fakes? Do works written by women and men differ in definable ways? There is another sort of difficulty, more specific to particular genres. An example is the musar literature. Although all the Yiddish musar literature was probably read by women, one work in particular, the Brantshpigl,written by Moses Henoch Yerushalmi Altshuler, first published in 1596, was addressed to women in particular.4 It includes chapters such as "This chapter explains how the modest woman should conduct herself in the home"; "This chapter explains who is a good wife and who is a bad wife"; and even "This chapter explains how, with much talking, women can talk their way into Eternal Life."5 Yet we may ask, how does one extrapolate from the prescriptive to the real? To rephrase the question, what is the relationship between the recommendations of Moses Henoch Altshuler and what women actually did and felt?6 Analogous questions may be asked about the collections of pious tales, such as the Mayse bukh (first published 1602), in which the moral is sometimes longer than the story.' How does one relate the fictive to the factual?

kongres, 1959), esp. pp. 82-83; and Israel Zinberg, History of Jewish Literature, trans. Bernard Martin (New York: Ktav, and Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 1972-78), vol. 7, Old Yiddish Literaturefrom Its Origins to the Haskalah Period, pp. 252-253. According to both Niger and Zinberg, maskilim began to write tkhines to which they attached women's names beginning in the 1860s. Niger gives a list of female authors of tkhines and other Yiddish works on pp. 88-94. 4. On the Brantshpigl, see Zinberg, History, 7: 157-159; also Max Erik, "Bletlekh tsu der geshikhte fun der elterer yidisher literatur un kultur: I. Der Brantshpigl-Di entsiklopedye fun der yidisher froy in XVII yorhundert," Tsaytshrift (Minsk: Institut far vaysruslendishe kultur) 1 (1926): 171-177. 5. For a discussion of women's fate in the afterlife, see Chava Weissler, "Women in Paradise" Tikkun, vol. 2, no. 2, April-May 1987, pp. 43-46, 117-120. 6. Another fascinating genre which raises such questions is the guide to the observance of women's commandments, known in several related versions. The earliest extant manuscript dates from 1504, and the first published editions of each version date from 1535, 1552, and 1577. These works deal with the three women's commandments: lighting Sabbath candles (10 chapters in the Basle, 1602, ed.); separating dough for hallah (15 chapters); and, especially, the observance of menstrual avoidances and purification (105 chapters). For a definitive study of these works, see Agnes Romer Segal, "Sifrey migvot ha-nashim be-yidish ba-me'ah ha-16" (Masters' thesis, Hebrew University, Jerusalem, 1979). 7. The Mayse bukh is available in an annotated English translation: The "Ma'aseh Book": Book of Jewish Tales and Legends, translated from the Judeo-German by Moses Gaster (1934; Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1981). For the literary history and sources of the Mayse Bukh, see Zinberg, History, 7:185-198; Jacob Meitlis, Das "Ma'assebuch," seine Enstehung und Quellengeschichte (Berlin: Mass, 1933); and Sara Zfatman, "Mayse Bukhqavim li-demuto shel zhaner be-sifrut yidish ha-yeshanah," Ha-Sifrut 28 (1979): 126-152.

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Despite these formidable methodological difficulties, this literature, taken together, reveals an intensely lived religious life, and a richly imagined spiritual world. To use the tkhines as an example: A survey of the many occasions on which women recited tkhines enables us to map out the important religious events of women's lives. Further, an analysis of the content of these prayers can reveal how women understood their religious activity. A tkhine for lighting the Sabbath candles which contains prayers for the protection of the woman's husband and children from evil spirits, or a description of the candelabrum in the ancient Temple, shows some of the meanings that kindling the lights might hold. It is important to note that an analysis of the content of these prayers shows that there was a range of meanings attached to any one particular act: women's spirituality was far from monolithic. Finally, unlike Hebrew prayers, the tkhines contain many references to the matriarchs-Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah-and other women of the Bible and Midrash. By analyzing their portrayal of these female figures, we can discern the images of women and women's religious lives that the tkhine literature presents. Now let us step back for a moment, and ask what kind of answer-what kind of question-this approach represents. We might characterize it as "filling in the blanks." That is, there are certain "blank spaces" in the history of Judaism, blank spaces where the history of women ought to be, which need to be filled in. To use the title of Rachel Adler's well-known article, this approach tries to describe "the Jew who wasn't there."8This is important to do, and much of my work so far on early modern Jewish women falls into this category. But it is also important to notice something about it: This way of understanding women's religion makes it a separate domain. Women's history is additive: It adds knowledge to an already existing, albeit incomplete, history of Jewish religious life.

"Womenand Men WhoAre Like Women" Perhaps, though, this is too narrow a context into which to set women's religion. With this we come to the second approach mentioned at the outset. Perhaps this women's Yiddish literature can best be understood as part of some broader category, a category which will give it a social location. And 8. Response 7, no. 22 (Summer 1973): 77-82. Reprinted in On Being a Jewish Feminist: A Reader, ed. Susannah Heschel (New York: Schocken, 1983), pp. 12-18.

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indeed, such a category suggests itself from the material. In the first chapter of the Brantshpigl, for example, the author explains why he wrote the work in Yiddish: "The book was written in Yiddish for women and for men who are like women in not having much knowledge." This is the category nashim ve-'amei ha-ares, "women and the ignorant." To put it into more neutral terms, this literature, and the women's religious life which it represents, can be seen as being part of folk or popular religion, of the religious life of those who are not part of the educated elite. The attempt to set this material into a folk religious context can provide a way into a number of interesting issues. First, it raises at another level the question of the extent to which men were also an audience for this literature. Second, it raises the question of the relationship between this literature and various folk religious practices, which once again requires consideration of which practices were associated with women, which with men, and which with all the "folk." Finally, it lends itself to an exploration of issues of the sociology of religious knowledge: What kinds of things could ordinary Jews know? Is there a difference between the religious knowledge of women and of "men who are like women in not having much knowledge"? To turn to the question of audience. To what extent does it make sense to group together women and "ignorant" men? For Catholic devotional literature in early modern France, the important distinction is between the clergy, who used Latin, and the laity, who used the vernacular, French.9 One could argue that in Judaism, the relevant distinction is between women and men, since there is no sacramentally and ritually set-apart clergy, and all men are potential participants in elite religious culture. But in actuality, many, perhaps most, men did not acquire enough knowledge to take part in rabbinic culture in any but the most perfunctory ways. Traditional Ashkenazic society was highly stratified, and power and knowledge were concentrated in the hands of an interlocking elite of the wealthy and/or the learned. 0 Thus, it is indubitable that those men who could not read the classics of Jewish tradition in the original Hebrew and Aramaic did form part of the audience for the vernacular popular religious literature. It seems, though, 9. Conversations with Natalie Davis and Virginia Reinburg about French devotional literature were very helpful to me. See Reinburg's doctoral dissertation, "Popular Prayers in Late Medieval and Reformation France" (Princeton University, 1985). 10. On the structure of the traditional Ashkenazic community, see Jacob Katz, Tradition and Crisis (1961; New York: Schocken, 1971). For social stratification, see especially pp. 199-209.

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that we can make distinctions between the genres associated more with men and more with women. The tkhines and the Tsenerene(a collection of homilies on the biblical portion of the week, a work which was reprinted so frequently that it might be considered a genre in itself)" were women's genres, although there are a few tkhines meant to be recited by men, and many men as children listened to their mothers reading from the Tsenerene.'2On the other hand, apart from the Brantshpigland some guides to the observance of women's commandments in particular,"3the Yiddish ethical literature was addressed either to men and women equally, or primarily to men. The title page of Isaac ben Eliakum's Lev Tov, first published in Prague in 1620, begins: All you menandwomen, And all who are fashionedby the Creator Who wish to build this world and the other for themselves, Come, all of you, and look at this splendidbook. I believe no one will be sorry Who reads it throughcompletely. One will find in it all of Judaism In its length and in its breadth, Quite understandableand well explained, Extendingover twenty chapters.'4 As Israel Zinberg notes, the author of the Lev Tov repeatedly addresses his audience as "householders and women."'5 The Qav ha-yashar, a kabbalistic morality book written by Tsvi Hirsh Koidonover, published in 1706, in Hebrew and Yiddish, addresses itself to men, but there is evidence that it

11. On the Tsenerene, see Khone Schmeruk, "Di Mizrekh-eyropeishe nuskhoes fun der Tsenerene (1786-1850)," in For Max Weinreich on His Seventieth Birthday (The Hague: Mouton, 1964), pp. 320-336. 12. For example, Yosef Svirski, in his article on Jewish life in Vilna, "Zikhronot shel yerushalyim de-lita" (Yeda' 'am 33-34 [1967/68]: 108-116), writes: "The book Tsenerene,the Torah in Yiddish for women, played an important role in our culture in past generations. Our mothers used to sit on every Sabbath after the afternoon nap, and read it aloud, chanting, with emphasis. And we children would listen sometimes, to hear the beautiful parables and the words of explanation, which the author would quote in the names of the commentators on the Torah" (p. 109). 13. On these guides, see Segal, "Sifrey migvot ha-nashim be-yidish." 14. Translation from Zinberg, History, 7:160. 15. Ibid., p. 161. "Householders" (balebatim)are, of course, hardly the bottom of the social scale.

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was also read by women.'6 Thus, the generic distribution of this literature among men and women gives some evidence that the category of "women and ignorant men" makes a certain amount of sense, but also that one can make distinctions between men and women. That in some ways women and men participated in separate phases of popular religion while in others they partook of a common popular religious culture is also borne out by the referencesin the Yiddish devotional material to acts of folk religious origin. These popular religious practices were not required by halakhah, and at times were even frowned upon by the rabbinical authorities. Some of these practices were particularly associated with women. The Shloyshe she'orim, a book of tkhines attributed to a woman known as Sore bas Tovim, contains a long prayer for the making of memorial candles for the dead, something women usually did on the eve of Yom Kippur.'7 The prayer refers to the making of the candles as a mi4vah,a divine commandment: Although the elite may not have considered it obligatory, the women-or the folk-did. Two other such women's practices are the following (the first of these seems to reflect an oral tradition): The Tsenereneand also an early collection

16. I. L. Peretz, in his short story, "A Farshterter shabes," in his Ale verk, vol. 2, Dertseylungen,mayselekh, bilder (New York: Cyco Bikher-Farlag, 1947), pp. 211-219, lists the devotional works read by a traditional Jewish woman: "Seril is an accomplished woman; she reads ivre-taytsh [the special variety of Yiddish in which this literature was written] fluently: She knows the Taytsh-khumesh[i.e., the Tsenerene] and the Qav ha-yashar and the Reyshis khokme and other such books.. ." (p. 214). 17. It is unclear whether Sore bas Tovim was a historical or a legendary personage. Despite the fact that, in the 1860s, her name was attached to newly written tkhines, both Niger ("Di yidishe literatur," pp. 82-85) and Zinberg (History, 7:253-256) reach the conclusion that she actually existed and was the author of the Shloyshe she'orim. Basing himself primarily on autobiographical information contained in this text and another work which he considers genuine, Zinberg concludes that she lived in the first few decades of the eighteenth century. The earliest extant editions of the Shloyshe she'orim were published without notation of date or place of publication. The earliest dated edition I have seen is in the Jewish National and University Library in Jerusalem;it was published in Vilna: Romm, 1838. Because the text of the Shloyshe she'orim as we have it contains material from S. Hemdat yamim (see n. 26 below), it is probably no earlier than 1742, or perhaps 1731. There is extensive ethnographic documentation, from a somewhat later period, of the practice of making memorial candles for the dead; see the referencesin Weissler, "Traditional Piety of Ashkenazic Women." Ashkenazic women engaged in candle making at a much earlier period as well. Dulcia (d. 1197) is described by her husband, R. Eleazar b. Judah of Worms, as making wicks for the synagogue and school, and preparing candles for Yom Kippur. R. Eleazar's moving poem in memory of Dulcia is translated and analyzed in Ivan G. Marcus, "Mothers, Martyrs, and Moneymakers: Some Jewish Women in Medieval Europe," ConservativeJudaism, Spring 1986.

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of tkhines, the Seyder tkhines u-vakoshes,'8include a prayer said by women when biting off the end of the etrog (citron) on the holiday of Hoshana Rabba, a practice which was supposed to make for an easier childbirth. In the prayer, the woman expressly repudiates Eve's sin of eating the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge (thought by some rabbis to have been a citron), and implies that therefore she ought not suffer the consequences. Second, the Sefer a collection of prayers and practices connected with the ha-.ayyim,19 sick, dying, and dead, and with cemetery visits, contains a prayer to be said when measuring graves in times of distress, another women's practice. Women measured the grave, or the entire circumference of the cemetery, with candle-wicking, and made it into candles which were donated to the synagogue or house of study. While all of these practices seem unambiguously associated with women, there are others which are less so. The Sefer ha-hayyim and another collection of cemetery prayers, the Ma'aneh lashon,20 both have versions in Hebrew and versions in Yiddish, versions for women and for men, "folkier" and "less folky" aspects. These collections turn out to be splendidly ambiguous in relation to all these categories. The Yiddish of the Ma'aneh lashon seems-but not completely-to be intended for men, not women, while the Hebrew version of this work seems to reflect a "folkier" view of the relationship of the living and the dead than does the Yiddishof the Sefer ha-bayyim, while in which seems to be intended for women. And the Sefer general taking a more "elite" line than the Ma'aneh ha-.ayyim, lashon (i.e., by discouraging graveside prayers to the dead), also includes instructions for keeping demons away from a corpse, stories about what to do if you see the dead in your dreams, explanations about how the dead know all that goes on in the world of the living, and instructions to bury a sheet or diaper with a woman who died in childbirth, so that she can care for her dead child in

18. Tsenerene (Amsterdam, 1702/3), p. 4b (parashat bereshit); Seyder tkhines u-vakoshes (Fuerth, 1762), no. 89. 19. Sefer ha-hayyim, by Simeon ben Israel Judah Frankfort, was first published in Amsterdam, 1703; 2d ed., slightly enlarged, Amsterdam, 1716. I have used the Koetten, 1717, was a ed. From its first edition, and in all of its many subsequent editions, Sefer ha-.ayyim bilingual work; its first half in Hebrew, the second in Yiddish. 20. Ma'aneh lashon, by Jacob ben Abraham Solomon, appeared in Prague (in Hebrew) in 1615. Steinschneider regards this as the second edition. It was enlarged, according to Steinschneider, by Eliezer Liebermann Sofer ben Loeb. This enlarged edition was first published in Prague, ca. 1658. Beginning with the Frankfurt, ca. 1688, edition, it was frequently published in Yiddish translation. One bilingual edition was published (Amsterdam, 1723); I have chiefly relied on this bilingual edition.

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the grave. This material demonstrates the great complexity of the interrelationships between folk and elite religion, and between women's and men's religion. There is yet another issue which might be fruitfully explored as part of the consideration of women's religion in the framework of popular religion. This is the sociology of religious knowledge. What kinds of access did women, and unlearned men, have to the great literature of Judaism? If they could not understand Hebrew, what could they know by reading the Tsenerene, the morality literature, the tkhines, the stories? These Yiddish sources could give their readers access to fairly extensive Jewish knowledge, although not in the original languages (Hebrew and Aramaic). The Mayse bukh billed itself as "the Yiddish Gemara"; a large number of the stories it contains do originate in the Talmud.21As the title page proclaims: A beautifulstorybook.Come here, dear men and women, and examinethis lovely storybookwhich, since the world has existed,has never appearedin print.With threehundredand some stories,all of whichare madeout of the Gemara,and also tales out of the MidrashRabbaand Bahya,and none of the storiesof RabbiJudahthe Piouswill you miss.Also talesout of SeferHasidim and Sefer Musarand the Yalkut,as you will see in the back in my listing. Therefore,dear women, before you had the German [i.e., Yiddish]books; now you will also have the German[i.e., Yiddish]Gemara.So you will have the entireTorah. On the verso of the title page, the compiler spells out his intentions and the merits of his work even more fully. Glory to God alone, Blessedbe His Name, who helpedme realizethe desire which I long ago undertookto serve pious women. I have now composed manybooks, but all of themarenothingin comparisonwith this one. Fromit will read rabbisand rabbis'wives and everyman. Even if one knows much Gemara,he will bringout of it midrashimand storiesand legendsso that the whole world will be astonishedat him and everyman will say: "I believehe knows the whole Torah on one foot. As he has such great eruditionin the Gemara,I believe he knows the whole Torah. Who has seen his like?"To every situationhe gives a law to be carriedout in practiceapplicableto the 21. On the sources of the Mayse bukh, see Zfatman, "Mayse-Bukh," pp. 131-136, and the notes to Gaster's translation. 22. Translation from Zinberg, History, 7:185-186.

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case .... Our sacred books write that it is a sin as big as a house to read [ungodlybooks] on the holy Sabbathday. If you wish to spend your time reading,I will writea lovelystorybook.Therefore,dearwomen,buyit quickly before it goes away into foreign lands-to Bohemia, White Russia, and Poland.... Later you will say, Why did I not buy any when it was in the land?22 The Tsenerene quotes by name such popular biblical commentators as Rashi, Bahya ben Asher, and the Hizkuni. Readers of this literature could gain familiarity not only with the content of traditional sources, but also with the way in which traditional Jewish exegesis makes use of sources and structures an argument. For example, the chapter in the Brantshpigl which explains how women can talk their way into Eternal Life quotes a number of talmudic and midrashic proof-texts demonstrating that women as well as men can receive a heavenly reward; it also quotes opposing viewpoints and attempts to reconcile them. Considering all of this evidence, it seems clear that an "ordinary Jew," male or female, who read this literature could have considerable knowledge of both the content and style of the midrash, Bible commentaries, and the aggadic portions of the Talmud, and of a certain amount of halakhah.23 One of the issues here is that there is an elite deciding what it is appropriate for the "folk" to know. This comes out in interesting ways with regard to the kabbalistic material, perhaps the most problematic sort of material for broad distribution. In the earlier stages of this literature, some pains were taken to exclude or minimize the material of kabbalistic origin. For example, Bahya ben Asher's commentary on the Torah includes the four standard types of Jewish exegesis: literal, homiletical, philosophical, and mystical. The author of the Tsenerene quotes Bahya copiously, yet always stops short of including the kabbalistic portions of Bahya's work.24 Similarly, the Seyder tkhines u-vakoshes, while influenced, as Freehof has shown,25 by the mystical devotional literature in Hebrew, omits just that

23. Making halakhic materials available in Yiddish could be controversial; see Zinberg, History, 7:216-218, for a discussion of rabbinic reaction to publication of extracts from the 'Arukh as an appendix to Elhanan Kirchhan's Yiddish ethical work, Simkhas Shulh.an On rabbinic opposition to the publication in Yiddish of laws concerning the ha-nefesh. women's commandments, see Segal, "Sifrey migvot ha-nashim be-yidish," pp. 2-3. 24. Chava Turniansky, personal communication. My thanks to Prof. Turniansky for drawing this to my attention. 25. Solomon Freehof, "Devotional Literature in the Vernacular," CCAR Yearbook 33 (1923): 375-424.

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material-the kabbalistic kavvanot and permutations of divine nameswhich actually involves esoteric teachings. Yet some Yiddish devotional, homiletical, and ethical material contains overt kabbalistic teaching, and in some cases deliberately undertakes the popularization of mystical materials. Thus, for example, the Shloyshe she'orim contains passages from the Zohar, and from S. Hemdat Yamim,a crypto-Sabbatian text-although without attribution.26 The S. Ma'asey Ha-shem and the Avir Ya'aqov, both compiled and translated by Simon Akiva Baer ben Joseph, consist of Yiddish (and Hebrew) translations of kabbalistic materials from a variety of sources, from the Zohar to the Shivhey ha-Ari. The Nakhlas Tsvi is a Yiddish translation of much of the Zohar, made by Tsvi Hirsch Chotsh, and published in 1711. Further the Qav ha-yashar, by Tsvi Hirsch Koidonover, is a morality book heavily influenced by the kabbalistic worldview. All of this literature is part of the great move to popularize Kabbalah which occurred in the wake of the Safed revival.27An interesting question to investigate is the role of the Yiddish material in the popularization of the mystical tradition. Did the Yiddish material reach a wider public than the Hebrew? Are there differences between the presentation of kabbalistic material in the Yiddish sources and in the Hebrew (e.g., more stories in Yiddish, more theoretical material in 26. I discuss the transformations of one of the passages from the Zohar in the Shloyshe she'orim and other Yiddish popularizations in "Women in Paradise." As far as I know, no one has previously noted that the description of the women's Paradise found in the Shloyshe she'orim originates in the Zohar. Nor has anyone noted that the passage in the prayer for the New Moon which implores the patriarchs, Moses, and the Messiah to beseech God to bring the Redemption originates in S. Hemdat Yamim,4 vols. (Jerusalem: Maqor, 1969/70; photo-offset of Constantinople, 1734/35 ed.), vol. 2 (Rosh pp. 12b-13b (Enqat Asir). .Hodesh), 27. S. Ma'asey Ha-shem, pt. 1, Ist ed. (Frankfurt a.M., 1691); pt. 2, Ist ed. (Fuerth, 1694); edition which combines pts. 1 and 2 (Amsterdam, 1708). Avir Ya'aqov,Ist ed. (Sulzbach, 1700). Qavha-yashar, Hebrew text first published 1705; Yiddish translation, 1724. Later editions were bilingual. On the Safed revival, see Gershom Scholem, Major Trendsin Jewish Mysticism (New York: Schocken, 1961), pp. 244-286; Solomon Schechter, "Safed in the 16th Century," in his Studies in Judaism, 2d ser. (1908), pp. 203-306; R. J. Zwi Werblowsky, Joseph Karo, Lawyer and Mystic (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1977), esp. pp. 38-83; Lawrence Fine, Safed Spirituality (New York: Paulist Press, 1984). On the popularization of Jewish mysticism following in the wake of the Safed revival, see Gershom Scholem, "Ha-Tenu'ah ha-shabta'it be-folin," in Bet Yisrael be-folin (Jerusalem: Ha-mablaqah le-'inyane ha-no'ar shel ha-histadrut ha-Siyyonit, 1953/54), vol. 2, pp. 36-76, esp. pp. 36-40; and Gershom Scholem, Sabbatai Sevi (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1973), pp. 66-92. But see also Bernard Weinryb, The Jews of Poland (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1976), pp. 225-228; Weinryb describes "Polish Jewry's lack of great interest in cabala." My thanks to Prof. Ivan Marcus for drawing this to my attention.

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Hebrew)? How did this popularized Kabbalah affect-and how was it affected by-popular religious practice?28 We have seen that it can be fruitful to consider women's Yiddish devotional literature within the framework of popular religion. Yet once again, let us stand back and ask what the problems are with this approach, and what kind of approach it is. There are several difficulties with considering Ashkenazic women's religious materials as part of folk or popular religion. First, to do so ignores the very real stratification among women, both in terms of wealth and in terms of knowledge. Those few women authors who can either be documented to have existed or who seem plausible from the evidence of their works were clearly learned far beyond the average woman. Sarah Rebecca Rachel Leah, daughter of Yokel Segal Horowitz,29wrote her "Tkhine of the Matriarchs" in Aramaic, with an introduction in Hebrew, and her own Yiddish translation of the text. At the other end of the scale were the many women who could not read. Are they represented in this literature at all? There is evidence that such women had an oral tradition of devotions in the vernacular. To what extent did that oral tradition influence the written material that we have?30 Second, even if we pinpoint a particular social stratum, if we can identify the level of "popular religion" under discussion-the religious lives of those 28. Works concerning the sick, dying, and dead, such as the Sefer ha-bayyim and the Ma'aneh lashon (noted above), are a particularly fruitful field for investigating these questions. Another work which would repay study is the Ma'avar Yabboq,a Hebrew book containing prayers for the dying, a very interesting kabbalistic commentary on the care of the dying and the dead, and mourning practices. 29. On Sarah Rebecca Rachel Leah, see Hayim Lieberman, Ohel Rahel (New York, 1979/80), pp. 432-435; and S. Osar Sihot hakhamim (Bene Beraq, 1971/72; photo-offset of Sonik, 1911/12), pp. 42-43. In his memoirs, Ber of Bolechow (1723-1805) recalls meeting her when he was a boy of twelve, and notes her prowess at talmudic scholarship (Zikhronot [Berlin: Klal Verlag, 1922], p. 44). 30. The issue of the relationship of oral tradition to the written tkhines is addressed in an interchange between the folklorists S. Ansky and N. Prylucki. Prylucki's article, "Polemik: A tshuve eynem a retsenzent," in Noyekh Prilutskis zamelbikherfar yidishenfolklor, filologye, un kulturgeshikhte, vol. 1 (Warsaw: Nayer Ferlag, 1912), pp. 154-166, is a response to Ansky's review of Prylucki's book Yidishefolkslider. Ansky criticized Prylucki for including as "folksongs" material he regarded as stereotypical printed women's prayers. Prylucki quotes a portion of Ansky's review, which is of interest here: "Some of these [Yiddish women's] prayers are included in the women's prayerbooks and [books of] tkhines, but the majority of them circulate in oral tradition, possessing a multitude of variants." Ansky lists the following topics as particularly common for women's oral prayer: candle-lighting, separating dough for and ritual immersion, "laying the wicks" for memorial candles for the dead, pregnancy, .allah, entering the synagogue. Ansky's review appeared in EvreiskayaStarina, 1911, p. 591. I translate from Prylucki's Yiddish translation of portions of the review.

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who could readYiddishbut wereby and largenot learnedin Hebrewandin the texts of the elite traditionin their originallanguage(not the bottom of the social scale by any means)-we still need to investigatethe questionof the relationshipbetween men's religion and women's religion. Is there enoughcommongroundso thatwe can say thattherewasa popularreligion in whichboth men and womenparticipated?Or, alternatively,if men'sand women's nonelite religiouspractices,knowledge,devotions, and so forth, differedsubstantiallyfrom one another,does it add anythingto our understandingof themto includethemboth in the category"popularreligion"?3' Finally, in the last analysis,this too is an "additive"approachto the studyof women'sreligion.It simplybroadensthe categoryto be added.The pictureof "normative"Judaismremainsunchanged:We "fill in the blank" of popularreligion.Womenaresubsumedundera categorywhichis defined as beingoutsideof whatis usuallystudiedas "Judaism."Further,considering women'sreligionunderthe rubricof popularreligiondoes not allowthe historyof women'sexperienceto challengeour receivedassumptionsabout either "elite" or "popular"Judaism.

ReconfiguringAshkenazic Judaism

Takingthe third approachmentionedat the outset, the transformative approach,raises the question:How can what we learn about Ashkenazic women'sreligionreconfigureour understandingof AshkenazicJudaismas a whole?32The rewritingof historyto incorporatethe perspectiveof women's historypresentsus with a challenge.It beginswith women,but its subjectis gender.33Making gender a categoryof analysisenables us to understand

31. Historians are calling into question the usefulness of the category "popular religion." See, for example, Peter Brown's critique of the "two-tiered system" (elite vs. popular religion) in The Cult of the Saints (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981), esp. pp. 12-22, in which he traces our concept of popular religion to David Hume's essay, "The Natural History of Religion." For a critique of the concept of "popular religion" as used by historians of early modern Europe, see Natalie Zemon Davis's chapter, "From 'Popular Religion' to Religious Cultures," in Reformation Europe: A Guide to Research, ed. Steven Ozment (St. Louis: Center for Reformation Research, 1982). Also see her earlier essay, "Some Tasks and Themes in the Study of Popular Religion," in The Pursuit of Holiness in Late Medieval and Renaissance Europe, ed. Charles Trinkaus (Leiden: Brill, 1974), pp. 306-336. 32. One might argue, of course, that the additive is ultimately transformative, that adding something to an account inevitably changes that account in some fundamental way. 33. Scott, "Women in History, II," p. 152.

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Ashkenazic Judaism as a total social system in which both men and women participated. Further, it reveals the cultural constructions, the structures and symbols, which defined and expressed Ashkenazic Judaism's specific visions of maleness and femaleness. At this point in my research, I can only raise some questions and suggest some directions in which work could go; I have not yet worked out the full transformation. Three possible areas of inquiry are the following. First, this approach sets men and women in relation to one another. Thus it leads, for example, to the investigation of the distribution of domains of the religious life between women and men, and what this distribution tells us about the system as a whole. A specific area within this larger question is the differing views of the relationship of sexuality and the reproductive life to religious expression which one finds in men's and women's devotional literature. A second topic is the relationship of gender and power. Here, the very existence of the category "women and ignorant men" becomes the subject of analysis. A third direction for research is an inquiry into the cultural construction of gender. Two particularly interesting fields of investigation in this area include the morality literature, with its prescriptions for proper behavior, and the images of women and men in the Yiddish devotional literature, especially the transformation of these images as they move from their original sources to the vernacular material. Let me discuss each of these in a little more detail. Since I have so far looked chiefly at the women's material, most of my examples will be drawn from the woman's perspective, but I shall try to suggest ways in which it can be juxtaposed with the "normative" view. First, the distribution of domains. The tkhine literature can give us a good sense of the domains and occasions of women's religious lives. Each tkhine comes with a title specifying when it is to be said; for example, "The woman says this when she puts the Sabbath loaf into the oven," "When a woman becomes pregnant, she should say this every day, or when she goes to give birth," "What one says when the cantor sings Sim shalom."34About a third of prayers in one of the largest collections of tkhines, Seyder tkhines u-vakoshes, are connected with topics and places we might expect from a general knowledge of Jewish life: Sabbaths, holidays, fast-days, the synagogue. Others, while still concerning matters that were of some religious significance to men, seem to have distinctive significance for women: the New Moon, cemetery visits. There are also 34. Seyder tkhines (Amsterdam, 1752), p. 8b; Seyder tkhines u-vakoshes (Fuerth, 1762), nos. 95, 6.

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prayers for the women's miSvot,for pregnancy and childbirth, and for such private concerns as the illness of a child or a widow's desire to remarry. All in all, the list of tkhines gives us the sense that women's religious lives were more private than men's: The majority of these prayers were meant to be recited when the woman wished, and in the home or some other private setting. Furthermore, the prayers are phrased in the singular, and some leave space for the woman to insert her own name as petitioner. This contrasts with what we know of men's religious lives, which were carried on chiefly in public settings, such as the synagogue or house of study. The Hebrew liturgy is phrased primarily in the plural, and, by preference, should be recited communally. It is required and public, in contrast to the tkhines, which are voluntary and private. Yet is there a way to get past this overly neat distinction between the public and private spheres? One way to look for the answer to this question might be to examine the places where the domains cross or intersect. For example, what was the nature of the prayers women said in the synagogue (the tkhines, not just the regular liturgy), or the prayers husbands said during their wives' pregnancies? Why is it that cemeteries, which are, after all, public places, seem to be so important in women's religious lives? Some possible answers seem to point us back toward the private domain; many women's cemetery prayers were addressed to their dead relatives. This is still, in a way, keeping the family together. Also, the cemetery was public, but was only rarely, e.g., during funerals, the scene of public rituals.35It may be that for cemetery devotions, the distinction between public and private simply breaks down. A particularly fruitful comparison, in this connection, is that between the tkhine literature, on the one hand, and the kabbalistic voluntary devotional literature in Hebrew for men which arose at about the same period, on the other. This literature, which, as mentioned above, had some influence on the tkhines, was similar to the tkhine literature in being voluntary, although a larger proportion of it was intended to be recited publicly, as part of a praying community. Indubitably private, however, were many of the prayers concerned with sexuality. The Sha'arey Siyyon, by Nathan Nata Hannover,36 contains prayers to be said before intercourse, asking God's aid

35. As mentioned above, cemeteries were also important arenas for men's piety, and it is often unclear whether particular collections of cemetery prayers were meant for the use of women or of men. 36. 1st ed. Prague, 1662. I have used the J6zefow, 1867, ed.

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in preventing impotence, and in ensuring male rather than female offspring. These prayers, which express a fear of sexual inadequacy, are more directly concerned with sexuality than the tkhines. The comparable cycle of tkhines, found in eighteenth-century editions of Seyder tkhines u-vakoshes,has to do with the observance of niddah (menstrual avoidances), conception, pregnancy, and childbirth. This material contains a strong conception of menstruation as impure, stresses God's justice in causing the sufferings of childbirth,37and expresses the hope for sons, but finds daughters acceptable. It is far more concerned with the reproductive life than with sexuality. The closest the tkhines come to the subject of sexuality is the following, taken from a tkhine to be recited after ritual immersion: "Purify my heart and my thoughts that I may think no evil while my husband has intercourse with me, and may his whole deed be done in great purity, not wantonly or brazenly." The prayer then moves right on to conception: "Send me the good angel to wait in the womb to bring the seed before you, Almighty God, that you may pronounce [its fate]."38 From this emerges the interesting observation that women's devotional literature, though expressing chiefly private concerns, excludes the erotic, which was reserved for (relegated to?) men. This distinction is also borne out if we compare Hebrew and Yiddish ethical literature of the period. The Sheney luhot ha-berit by Isaiah Horowitz (d. 1628), for example, contains a lengthy discussion of whether or not one can atone for the sins of masturbation and nocturnal emission, for which harsh penances are prescribed, and counsels the reader as to how to avoid inappropriate sexual arousal. By contrast, while the Seyder mitsvas ha-noshim and the Brantshpigl both advise that intercourse be performed in a pure and modest manner, they seem to assume that women rarely have troubling sexual desires.39 How can we account for the absence of the erotic in women's materials and its strong 37. Perhaps to the point of muted protest? The text reads in part: "God and my king, you are merciful. Who can tell or know your justice or your judgment? They are as deep as brooks of water and the depths of springs. You punished Eve, our old Mother, because she persuaded her husband Adam to trespass against your commandment .... You spoke with anger that in sadness she would give birth. So we women must suffer each time, and have our regular periods, with heavy hearts. Thus, I have had my period, with a heavy heart and with sadness, and I thank your Holy Name and your judgment..." (Seyder tkhines u-vakoshes, no. 91). 38. Seyder tkhines u-vakoshes, no. 93. 39. The one such problem they do address is the possibility that the woman, as well as the man, may be thinking of someone other than the spouse during intercourse. Proper sexual behavior is discussed in the Seyder mitsvasha-noshim(Basle, 1602) pp. 21a-22a (chaps. 72-73); and in the Brantshpigl (Hanau, 1626), chap. 38. See also the Sheney luhot ha-berit, sha'ar ha-otiyot, s.v. qedushah.

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presence, both as a subject for prayer and petition, and as part of the content of kabbalistic myth,40 in the literature for men? Or, to think about it in a slightly different way, this material seems to suggest that the popularization of Kabbalah during this period needs to be understood in the context of male guilt and fear, on the one hand, and female lack of interest in or suppression of sexuality, on the other. The second transformative way to think about this material is to explore the relationship between gender and power. Here, as I indicated, we might start out by analyzing the category "women and men who are like women in not having much knowledge." In what contexts (halakhic, devotional, community structure, etc.) does this category make its appearance? This could lead into questions concerning the relationship of gender and class, and might provide a new way of looking at that problematic category, "popular religion," as well. In addition, within the Jewish community, knowledge was power, in a very particular sense. The community was headed by an interlocking aristocracy of wealthy and learned men. The distribution of knowledge, then, becomes a key to examining the distribution of power as well. I have already discussed the question of what could be learned from the Yiddish sources. But in this connection, it might be interesting to take as a starting point the ambiguities of audience. So many of these works have title pages or introductions which start out by addressing men and women, and switch to women, or vice versa; or which address the masses in one breath and the elite in the next. The example of the Mayse bukh was cited above. The cemetery prayers are equally ambiguous. For whom, exactly, was what knowledge intended? Third, let us consider how the perspectives gained from the study of women's religion can contribute to our understanding of the cultural construction of gender in Ashkenazic Jewish society. Just taking this approach transforms some of the methodological difficulties with the literature under investigation into interesting points of departure. In the ethical literature, we were worried about the relationship of the prescriptive to the actual. Yet now the prescriptions themselves become the object of analysis. In addition, it would be fruitful to compare the ethical literature in Yiddish addressed to women with that addressed to men, and with the Hebrew ethical literature

40. For discussions of the erotic element in kabbalistic symbolism, see Gershom Scholem, On the Kabbalah and Its Symbolism (New York: Schocken, 1965), esp. chaps. 3 and 4; idem, Major Trendsin Jewish Mysticism, esp. chap. 6; and Zohar: The Book of Enlightenment,translation and introduction by Daniel Chanan Matt (New York: Paulist Press, 1983), passim.

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for men, to see whether conceptualizations of male and female roles and behavior vary from one to another. The Brantshpigl addresses the question of how to be a good wife, while the Lev Tov offers counsel on how to be a good husband. How do the descriptions compare? Do they "match"? Are they reciprocal? Are they symmetrical or asymmetrical? In another genre, the cemetery prayers, the prayers said by wife and husband at the grave of the deceased spouse, are startlingly asymmetrical. The husband asks his wife's pardon for his occasional outbursts of temper, and expresses the hope that she will not hold a grudge against him, but will intercede before the Throne of Glory for him and their children. The wife's prayer, by contrast, is full of expressions of grief and loss, totally absent from the husband's prayer.4' These examples from the morality literature and the cemetery prayers, prescriptive or idealized as they might be, have to do with the concrete relations of real men and women. What of the mythical images, the role models, the portraits of the patriarchs and matriarchs, for example? Unlike the Hebrew liturgy and the Hebrew kabbalistic devotional literature, which refer almost exclusively to the patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and other male biblical heroes, the tkhines also make frequent reference to the matriarchs and other biblical women. The different ways in which these women (and men) are portrayed suggest both the hallowing of women's traditional roles and the possibilities for transcending gender categories. Particularly interesting in this regard is the selection and transformation of motifs from midrashic and kabbalistic sources. Thus, for example, Sore bas Tovim's long prayer for making memorial candles for the dead calls on the aid of a whole string of biblical figures. The patriarchs, although not the male figures who appear without female partners, are portrayed as the passive recipients of God's aid. "As I lay the third thread of the wick for our father Abraham, whom you saved from the fiery furnace," runs the text, "so may you purify us of our sins and trespasses." The matriarchs, by contrast, are pictured both exclusively as mothers and as advocates for their children and by extension for the people of Israel. Because of the pain Sarah felt as Isaac was led to be bound on the altar, "may she be an advocate for us before God, be blessed, that we may not this year be widowed, God forbid, nor our children taken away from the world during our lives." This tkhine 41. S. Ma'aneh lashon (Amsterdam, 1723) pp. 63b-66b (nos. 19-20). There were prayers to be recited at the graves of a whole spectrum of relatives, from maternal or paternal grandparents down to little children. These can help us to understand how all of these different family roles were conceptualized.

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affirms the value and power inherent in the traditional woman's role of mothering.42A further point here is that midrashic material, in the aggregate, certainly does not portray the patriarchs as passive, in contrast to active matriarchs. Yet this text, by selecting among midrashic motifs, puts together a picture that gives precisely that impression. Can this be seen as subversion of traditional roles within their ostensible reaffirmation? Muted protest? Or just a woman's-eye view of actual roles in the family? Further investigation is required. Yet other tkhines suggest the possibility of transcending traditional roles. In one prayer, for example, the woman lighting Sabbath candles identifies herself with the High Priest, an unexpected association.43 Perhaps the best example of the transcending of categories comes from a description of the women's Paradise, which originates in the Zohar, the classic work of medieval Jewish mysticism, and appears in a number of Yiddish versions: within a tkhine, as a story, in a collection of translations of kabbalistic material.44All of these versions change the original in significant ways. To summarize the differences briefly, the Zohar, while honoring righteous women in general and certain heroic women of the Bible (Pharaoh's daughter, Seralhdaughter of Asher, Jocheved, Miriam, Deborah, and the matriarchs) in particular, makes it quite clear that even in Paradise, women retain their subordinate status. Their radiant heavenly garments do not shine quite as brightly as men's robes. Further, three times a day, Pharaoh's daughter and Seralhpay homage to the forms of Moses and Joseph, respectively, saying, "Happy is my lot that I brought up this light," and "Happy was the day when I brought Jacob the news that Joseph lived."45Along with 42. For a fuller discussion of this text, as well as of a literary description of its recitation, see Weissler, "Traditional Piety of Ashkenazic Women." 43. Seyder tkhines u-vakoshes, no. 47. 44. The original description occurs in the Zohar III, p. 167b (parashat shelat lekha). The extant Yiddish versions include: Nakhlas Tsvi, by Tsvi Hirsch Chotsch (Lublin, 1893), pp. 180-181 (first published in 1711); S. Ma'asey Ha-shem, by Simon Akiva Ber ben Joseph (Amsterdam: Proops, 1723), pp. 15a-b (pt. 2, which contains this passage, was first published in 1694); a "story" appearing as a separate section in several books (including "Ma'aseh gadol me-Rabi Shimon bar Yohai," appended to S. 'Olam ha-ba [Hanau, 1620], pp. 7a-8b; "Ayn vunder sheyn mayse oyz den Zohar parshas Lekh Lekha [sic]," which is followed by another brief tale [Prague, ca. 1665]; and "Ayn sheyn mayse oyz den Zohar parshas Lekh Lekha [sic]," [Fuerth, 1692-98]); and part of printed as an addendum to Ayn sheyn getlikh lid Orah .layyimcollection attributed to Sore bas the prayer for the Blessing of the New Moon in the tkhine Tovim, the Shloyshe she'orim. 45. Serah, daughter of Asher, is mentioned in the Bible only in genealogical lists (Gen. 46:17, Num. 26:46, 1 Chron. 7:3). However, the midrash portrays her as gently breaking the news that Joseph was alive by playing the harp and singing about it so that Jacob could hear

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singing praises to God, the women in Paradise occupy themselves with studying the reasons for the commandments, particularly those they were unable (because they were women) to perform during their earthly lives. In almost all of the Yiddish versions, by contrast, the little detail about the women's garments is omitted. When this motif appears in a tkhine, Pharaoh's daughter bows down to the form of Moses, and says, "How worthy is my strength and how knowing is my power! I drew such a light out of the water, I brought up this dear light!" Similarly for Serah: "Praised is my strength, and how worthy is my power!" Finally, most of the Yiddish

versions state that women in Paradise"study Torah," two texts saying explicitly "just like men." By transforming the original text, these Yiddish versions allowed the reader to imagine herself in a radically different situation from that in which she lived: reciting these prayers or reading these stories, a woman could picture herself surrounded by other righteous women, unconcerned with her roles as wife and mother, devoting herself to studying Torah and praising God. All of this suggests that in order to delineate the images of the religious life to which women and men could aspire, we need to consider the original text-the Zohar-and its transformations. These texts were part of the popularization of the Kabbalah during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. It is significant that it is precisely the Yiddish materialsmysticism for the masses-which contained a more positive image of women.46 Nor can we give the simplistic explanation that the Yiddish versions are naturally favorable to women because they were written for a female audience. Most of the changes mentioned above were first introduced by a male author, Simon Akiva Ber ben Joseph, in his Sefer Ma'asey Ha-shem, which was addressed primarily to (male) householders, but, with characteristic ambiguity, toward the end of the introduction, also to women. A careful study of the distribution and readership of the various versions (including the original) of this story, which seems to have become something of a touchstone image, will enable us to delineate the range of ways in which women's spiritual potential was imagined among Ashkenazic Jews.47

? (Sefer ha-Yashar, Va-yiggash). For a discussion of the figure of Seral in the midrash, see Joseph Heinemann, Aggadot ve-toldotehen (Jerusalem: Keter, 1974), pp. 56-63. 46. However, nineteenth-century versions of these texts tend to change or omit the assertion that women studied Torah, or otherwise dilute the expressions of women's power found in some of the earlier versions. 47. These issues are discussed more fully in Weissler, "Women in Paradise."

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We have seen that all three approaches to the study of women's religion can make important contributions to the study of the religious lives of Ashkenazic women. Yet our discussion of the third approach, the transformative, suggests that viewing women's religion as an addition alongside men's religion, or subsuming it under the rubric of popular religion, limits the full insight to be gained from the investigation of women's religious lives. Viewing Ashkenazic Judaism as a system which incorporates both men and women allows us to move beyond a mere static delineation of "the woman's role in Judaism." Thus, for example, our discussion of the transformation of midrashic and zoharic motifs suggests a more dynamic picture, one in which women and men, folk and elite, made use of the sources and resources of Judaism to create a culture with many and complex images of men's and women's religious roles and spiritual aspirations. The analysis of these motifs, and other similar materials, can show us that Ashkenazic Judaism itself offered multiple possibilities for the cultural construction of gender, possibilities which can still be explored and reclaimed. PrincetonUniversity Princeton,N.J.

A Polish Rabbi Meets the Berlin Haskalah: The Case of R. Barukh Schick Author(s): David E. Fishman Source: AJS Review, Vol. 12, No. 1 (Spring, 1987), pp. 95-121 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486395 . Accessed: 30/06/2011 22:33 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

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A POLISHRABBI MEETS THE BERLIN HASKALAH: THE CASE OF R. BARUKH SCHICK by DAVID E. FISHMAN

The name of Rabbi Barukh Schick of Shklov (1744-1808) does not figure in the pantheon of great eighteenth-century Jewish personalities, alongside those of R. Israel Ba'al Shem Tov, Moses Mendelssohn, and R. Elijah, the Vilna Gaon. Unlike the latter, his teachings were not distinguished by great originality or profundity, and they exerted rather limited influence. Indeed, Schick's name might well have fallen into total oblivion were it not for a few lines in the introduction to one of his books (a Hebrew translation of Euclid's Elements), in which he related certain remarks made to him by the Vilna Gaon in support of the study of science. "I heard from his holy tongue," Schick wrote, "that for every deficiency of knowledge a man has in the sciences he will have a hundred deficiencies of [h.okhmah], in the science of the knowledge Torah; for Torah and science are closely related. And he commanded me to translate everything possible of the 95

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sciences into our holy tongue ... in order to spread knowledge among our people Israel."' These lines played a pivotal role in immortalizing the Vilna Gaon as an advocate of the sciences, and a forerunner of the Haskalah. During the nineteenth century, Russian Maskilim cited them in order to lend a rabbinic stamp of approval to their program to reform Jewish education and culture. Their educational ideal, they claimed, was not unlike that of the Vilna Gaon. Traditionalists responded by offering more restrictive interpretations of the Gaon's words to Schick. This small exegetical controversy, echoes of which can be found in modern Jewish scholarship, assured Schick a small but secure place in historical memory. He was, in some cases, depicted as R. Elijah's loyal disciple; a flattering but baseless characterization.2 The Maskilim and historians who quoted these famous lines accepted them as an accurate reproduction of R. Elijah's words. They focused their attention on interpreting their message, and neglected to take a close look at the messenger. Schick's personal odyssey was frequently ignored or glossed over. Rarely was much attention paid to the fact that he had spent a year in Berlin, in the company of Moses Mendelssohn, Naftali Hirtz Wessely, and David Friedlfinder, shortly before his audience with R. Elijah.3 Yet an awareness of this fact leads one to raise questions about Schick's motives and reliability. Did he approach R. Elijah with a hidden Maskilic agenda? Was his account of the latter's words accurate or a self-serving distortion? The entire episode-and with it, perhaps, the Vilna Gaon's attitude toward science-can only be evaluated properly in light of Schick's biography and ideology. But Schick deserves to be examined for reasons which go beyond this one celebrated incident. A person who traversed the distance between Berlin and Vilna in the late eighteenth century, and who was exposed to the intellectual ferments surrounding Moses Mendelssohn and the Vilna Gaon, requires close scrutiny. Until now it has usually been assumed that these two 1. Uklides (The Hague, 1780), introduction (unpaginated). 2. For an analysis of the Vilna Gaon's image as a forerunner of the Haskalah, see Immanuel Etkes, "Ha-Gra Ve-ha-Haskalah: Tadmit Ve-Mitziut," in Prakim Be-Toldot Ha-Hevra Ha-Yehudit Be-Yeme Ha-Benayim Ve-ba-Et Ha-Hadasha Mukdashim Le-Profesor Ya'akovKatz, ed. E. Etkes and J. Salmon (Jerusalem, 1980), pp. 192-217. Schick's image as a disciple of the Vilna Gaon has likewise a long history. See, for instance, S. Stanislavski, "Biograficheskie Etudi," Voskhod, no. 12 (1891), pp. 143-157, esp. pp. 143, 176. 3. Cf. S. J. Fuenn, Kiryah Ne'emanah (Vilna, 1915), p. 146; Israel Zinberg, Geshikhte Fun der Literatur Bay Yidn, vol. 5 (New York, 1943), pp. 320-324; Raphael Mahler, Divre Yeme Yisrael Ba-Dorot Ha-Ahronim, vol. 1, pt. 4 (Tel Aviv, 1956), pp. 14-16, 53-56.

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great arenas of historical events were hermetically sealed off from each other. Schick's story suggests that there was a level of contact between the Berlin and Vilna circles, and it may even reveal that there was a measure of intellectual traffic between them. In addition, the story of a Lithuanian rabbi who went to Berlin, saw the Haskalah circle first-hand, and then returned home somewhat changed, promises to shed light on the cultural division which was emerging at that time between Maskilim and traditionalists. Schick's reaction to the Haskalah-which was neither one of total embrace nor total rejection-draws attention to the variety and complexity of modes in which traditional rabbis approached modernity. This paper will analyze Schick's encounter with the Mendelssohnian circle in Berlin, and assess its impact-on Schick, and secondarily, on the Berliners. The best way to go about such an assessment (in the absence of extensive memoirs and retrospective statements by the protagonists themselves) is a before-and-after approach. How did Schick's thinking on science differ before and after his stay in Berlin? Conversely, how did the Berlin circle's thinking about Polish Jews differ before and after Schick's visit? Such an approach may, of course, suffer from the post hoc, ergo propter hoc fallacy. It is always difficult to prove direct causation. I believe, however, that there is a sufficient body of evidence to support the contention that this encounter precipitated certain discernible changes in Schick's mind, and, to a lesser extent, in the Berliners'. Toward the end of the paper, I will suggest that Schick's reaction to the Berlin Haskalah is in a sense paradigmatic of a type of reaction by East European traditionalist rabbis to the Haskalah.

I Barukh Schick was born in 1744, in the east Belorussian city of Shklov, which, much like the Galician Brody, emerged as a burgeoning Jewish center during the eighteenth century. Schick was born into a distinguished family belonging to Belorussia's rabbinic elite. His father, R. Jacob, served as Shklov's communal rabbi for some twenty years, and was, according to contemporaries, a respected talmudist and halakhic authority. Schick's uncle on his mother's side was the noted R. Arye Leyb Ginzburg, the Sha'agat Arye, widely viewed as the most outstanding halakhist (alongside the Vilna Gaon) in eighteenth-century Poland. In a society where social status was closely connected with family pedigree, Schick's relation to the

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Sha'agat Arye was of particular importance. The Ginzburg family was, in addition, the predominant force in the Belorussian rabbinate, with members of this family holding the office of provincial rabbi for "Medinat Rusiya," and communal rabbi in several local towns.4 What we know of Schick's youth seems to indicate a young man following in the footsteps of his family. He studied the Talmud under his father's tutelage, then moved to Minsk, the capital of Belorussia, in 1760, joined the exclusive hevra "Shivah Keruim" (open only to scholars and communal leaders), and began to rise up its ranks. In 1764, Schick was granted semikha by R. Avrohom Katzenelenbogen of Brest-Litovsk (Brisk), and eventually assumed the positions of parnas and dayyan in the Minsk community.5 One has here what appears to be a typical biography of a scholar rising up the ladder of rabbinic and communal leadership, thanks to his learning, kinship ties, and connections. But there is one feature of Schick's early life which appears to be atypical for someone of his rabbinic background and Polish-Lithuanian milieu, i.e., his study of certain scientific disciplines, and his involvement in composing Hebrew books of science. According to Schick's own accounts, these activities began during his years in Shklov and Minsk. In the introduction to his first book, he reminisced: "I said I shall be wise,"and I preparedmy books of science."Butit was far from me,"for whenI composedtwo or threepages,the city burntdown, and all my books and tools weredestroyed.Lateron, I had a bit of prosperity,and I continuedto collect "wordsof understandingand wisdom of the times." When the burdenof sustenancefell upon me, I in my anguisharrangedthe little that I had of scientificbooks and decidedto elucidatethat whicha man needs to know regardinghimself,his body, and composition.6 4. Schick's date of birth: Jacob of Karlin, Keren Orah'al Masekhet Nazir (Jerusalem, 1959), introduction. R. Isaac and his brother R. Jacob of Karlin were Schick's grandsons. His death is recorded in the pinkas of the Slutsk burial society (Jewish National and University Library, 4?927), Rosh Hodesh Adar 5568 (= 1808). On Schick's father, see the letters of approbation to the latter's posthumous Moreh Tzedek (Shklov, 1783); on the Ginzburg family and Schick's relation to it, see David Magid's Toldot Mishpehot Ginzburg(St. Petersburg, 1891), pp. 27-28, 32, 54-56, 168-171. 5. Pinkas Hevra Kadisha Shivah Keruim (Jewish National and University Library 8?2395), fols. 4a, 6a, 7a, 10a, 17b, and passim; Avraham Haim Shabad, Toldot Ha-Yamim She-Avru Al Hevra Kadisha Shivah Keruim (Vilna, 1909), pp. 7-9; Schick's semikha was printed in his edition of Yesod Olam (Berlin, 1777); his former post as dayyan figures on the title page to Uklides. 6. Amude Ha-Shamayim-Tiferet Adam (Berlin, 1777), p. 26.

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Although Schick's testimony does not specify a time or place, several of its details correspond to his years in Minsk during the 1760s. After he began to compose a work of science, his books were devoured in a local fire-an allusion to the great Minsk blaze of 1762, which destroyed the local Beth Midrash, the synagogue of the "Shivah Keruim" society, and other buildings in the Jewish quarter.7Shortly after returning to his scientific work, he was married and assumed the burden of supporting a family, an event we can safely venture took place during his Minsk years, when Schick was in his late teens and twenties. Despite these obstacles, Schick recalls, he was able to compose his first work, devoted to human anatomy and physiology, which he published in Berlin in 1777 under the title Tiferet Adam. In a second brief recollection, written during his stay in Berlin, Schick dated his involvement in science to an even earlier stage of his life-his youthful years in Shklov. WhenI was still in the home of my father,the famousrabbiand scholar,and we usedto studytogetherthe Talmudwith Rashi,Tosafot,and codesday and night,my soul longedto lift up the crownof Israel,andto translatebooksinto the Hebrewlanguageon every disciplineand science.But the vicissitudesof time overtookme, and these thoughtsof mine cameto an end..,. due to my dislocationfrom one home to another,and from one city to another.8 Here again, the account alludes to a verifiable event in Schick's life-his relocation from Shklov to Minsk. One may, of course, wonder whether it was not self-serving on Schick's part, sitting in Berlin, to claim that his devotion to the sciences went back to his earliest youth. Moreover, it seems unlikely, to say the least, that the son of a Polish rabbi living in Shklov would, at age sixteen or less, conceive of the unprecedented project of translating books on all disciplines and sciences into Hebrew. One suspects that Schick was projecting his current designs back into his childhood. Nonetheless, despite these misgivings about Schick's second testimony, it points in the same general direction as the first one, indicating that his scientific studies began in Belorussia, long before Berlin. This claim is corroborated by the testimony of R. Saul Levin that Schick "came here from the land of Lithuania with a scroll on the santification of the moon and anatomy."9 7. Shabad, Toldot Ha-Yamim, pp. 5, 7-9. 8. Yesod Olam (Berlin, 1777), introduction (unpaginated). 9. Haskamah to Amude Ha-Shamayim-Tiferet Adam.

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Both anatomy and lunar astronomy, the subjects of Schick's early works, enjoyed venerable traditions as objects of study and literary creativity among rabbis. Anatomy was, of course, an essential part of medical education, and had attracted the interest of numerous rabbi-physicians, ever since the days of Shabbetai Donello and Maimonides. In addition to its practical application in the medical profession, anatomy was viewed by rabbis who were themselves physicians as a valuable tool for instilling an awareness of God in one's consciousness. The human body was God's greatest creation, and examination of it served to strengthen one's religious sensibility, argued Donello, Joseph Ibn Aknin, Meir Aldabi, and numerous others. They invariably cited Job 19:26, "from my flesh I behold God," as the proof-text for this viewpoint.'0 The tradition of astronomical study among rabbis was just as strong. Calculating the exact time of the lunar phasis, which marked the beginning of the new Hebrew month, was considered by many to constitute fulfillment of the biblical commandment to "sanctify the moon." Ever since Maimonides' epoch-making treatise on the subject, Hilkhot Kiddush ha-.Iodesh, scores of rabbis had studied the relevant mathematical and astronomical calculations, in order to determine the moment of the new moon's "birth." Lunar astronomy was thus regarded as a legitimate specialty in the field of halakhah, and generated a small library of rabbinic works and commentaries." Both these traditions were inactive in eighteenth-century Poland. Lunar astronomy-a popular discipline among Polish rabbis in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries-fell into general disuse after the great deluge of 1648-1657; human anatomy thrived among Italian rabbi-physicians for a lengthy period of time, but was never popular among Polish rabbis, who rarely complemented their rabbinic studies with a medical education.'2 Schick's originality lay in his turning to these spheres of inquiry, which were dormant in his time and place. Dormant, but not delegitimized. Medicine was a respected and honored profession among Polish Jews in the eighteenth century, with several of the finest and brightest young men journeying to Padua or Frankfurt to obtain 10. Kitve Shabbetai Donello, Mutner ed. (Jerusalem, 1949), p. 36; Joseph Ibn Aknin, Sefer Musar, Bacher ed. (Berlin, 1911), p. 75; Meir Aldabi, Shevile Emunah (Tel Aviv, n.d.), p. 33a. 11. David E. Fishman, "Science, Enlightenment, and Rabbinic Culture in Belorussian Jewry 1772-1804" (Ph.D. diss., Harvard University, 1985), pp. 10-12. 12. Ibid., pp. 12-30; David B. Ruderman, "The Impact of Science on Jewish Culture and Society in Venice" (unpublished manuscript).

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a medical education. The Spanish-Italian tradition of rabbi-physicians was imbedded in history and viewed with distant respect. The attitude toward astronomy was more immediate; it was still considered to be a discipline which was sanctioned by the rabbinic tradition. In theory, if rarely in practice, it remained a legitimate intellectual option. One can point to a few rabbinic practitioners of astronomy/mathematics in eighteenth-century Poland-R. Solomon of Chelma, R. Israel of Zamosc, R. Jonathan of Ruzhany, and the Vilna Gaon himself.1"Schick's study of these disciplines -particularly of anatomy-was not commonplace for his day and age, but there was nothing deviant or rebellious in it. It evidently did not hinder his rise to positions of prominence, such as dayyan and parnas in the Minsk Jewish community. A perusal of Schick's early works provides an interesting glimpse of his scientific workshop and thinking before his exposure to the West. On the whole, these works follow in the tradition of medieval rabbinic sciencetheir content is essentially premodern, they cite rabbinic literature as a source of scientific wisdom, and they are prefaced by religious rationales for the study of their respective disciplines. But within these traditional parameters, there are some novel and surprising features worthy of note. 1. Schick's early science was medieval. His anatomy followed Galen, apparently oblivious to Harvey's discoveries on the heart and bloodcirculation, which revolutionized the study of the human body. His astronomy was Ptolemaic, without so much as an allusion to the Copernican theory of a heliocentric planetary system. In their naivet6 regarding scientific developments which had occurred more than 150 years earlier, Schick's works were truly a throwback to the Middle Ages. A number of his predecessors in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries had displayed a keen awareness (if not an enthusiastic embrace) of the theories of Harvey and Copernicus.14 One cannot ascribe Schick's scientific backwardness to an ignorance of Latin on his part. Surprisingly, and inexplicably, Schick knew Latin and 13. Isaac Eisenstein-Barzilay, "The Background of the Berlin Haskalah," in Essays on Jewish Life and Thought in Honor of Salo W Baron (New York, 1959), pp. 184-185; R. Jonathan of Ruzhany's YeshuaBe- Yisrael (Frankfurt, 1720) is a comprehensive commentary to Maimonides' Hilkhot Kiddush Ha-Hodesh. 14. Tiferet Adam, pp. 21b-22b, 25b; Amude Ha-Shamayim, pp. 24b-25a; J. Leibowitz, "Smukhim Harvianiim Ba-Refuah Ha-Ivrit," Ha-Rofe Ha-lvri 2 (1957): 36-48; Hillel Levine, "Paradise Not Surrendered: Jewish Reactions to Copernicus and the Growth of Modern Science," in Epistemology, Methodology, and the Social Sciences, ed. Robert Cohen and Max Wartkowsky (Dordrecht, 1983), pp. 205-222.

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utilized treatises in that language. In the course of his anatomy, he cited the work of Girolamo Cardano (1501-1576), a professor of medicine at Pavia University, and in his astronomy he referred to Frangois Vi&te's (1540-1603) Canon Mathematicus and Euclid's Elements.'5 In fact, Schick prided himself on his Latin scholarship, and, in his preface, took to task earlier Hebrew authors on astronomy who "lacked the necessary learning from books in foreign tongues, such as Euclid and others." (This was indeed an apt critique of the rabbinic astronomy practiced in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Poland, whose luminaries drew their knowledge exclusively from medieval Hebrew writings and translations.)'6 Linguistically, Schick was up to the task of obtaining a correct picture of the state of knowledge in these fields. If Schick's science was severely antiquated, this was due to his remoteness from the centers of European science. Schick based his knowledge upon the few Latin writings which reached him in Belorussia, and the latter were, it seems, hopelessly outdated. One can only speculate as to how Latin manuscripts reached Schick's hands. A number of young Lithuanian Jews traveled to Padua, Italy, to pursue a medical education, and it is likely that they brought scientific writings back to Lithuania after their course of study.'7 One such medical student, Yekutiel Gordon of Vilna (known for his membership in the mystical-messianic circle of R. Moshe Haim Luzzatto), resided in Shklov during the 1730s and 1740s, and practiced medicine there. He may well have been the conduit through which the writings of Cardano, Vidte, and Euclid reached Shklov.'8 In a few instances, Schick's scientific information was surprisingly advanced. He was aware of the invention of the microscope and its use in biological research (begun by Malpighi in 1660), and he knew of the dis-

15. Tiferet Adam, p. 8a; Amude Ha-Shamayim, pp. 2b, 5a, 10a-b; on Cardano and Vidte, see Charles C. Gillespe, ed., Dictionary of Scientific Biography, vol. 3 (New York, 1971), pp. 64-67; vol. 14 (New York, 1976), pp. 18-25. 16. Tiferet Adam, introduction, p. 2b. It is difficult to comprehend why Schick singled out Isaac Israeli's Yesod Olam and Joseph Shlomo Delmedigo's Elim for criticism on account of their ignorance of "books in foreign tongues, such as Euclid." Both were replete with references to Euclid and other Greek scientists. 17. N. M. Gelber, "Le-Toldot Ha-Rofim Ha-Yehudim Be-Polin Ba-Meah Ha-18," in Shay Le- YeshayahuYovelLe- YeshayahuVolfsberg,ed. I. Tirosh (Tel Aviv, 1956), pp. 347-371. Gelber lists six Padua graduates from Lithuania and Belorussia in the eighteenth century. 18. On Gordon, see S. Ginzburg, Ramhal U-Bene Doro (Tel Aviv, 1937), index; I. Tishby, "Darke Hafatsatam Shel Kitve Ramhal Be-Polin Ve-Lita," Kiryat Sefer 45 (1977): 139-150. For additional evidence of Gordon's intermediacy between Padua and Shklov, see below.

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covery of the lymphatic system (made by Rudbeck in 1653).'9But these were minor details, compared to his ignorance of Harvey and Copernicus. 2. In keeping with the tradition of rabbinic science, Schick employed the works of classical rabbinic literature as sources of scientific wisdom. His astronomy relied heavily upon Maimonides' Hilkhot Kiddush ha-Hodesh, and his anatomy invoked the Bible, Talmud, and Zohar as authorities.20 The utilization of the Zohar in this manner was an innovation on Schick's part and deserves some explication. A recurring theme in the Zohar and medieval kabbalistic literature is the notion that the Divine sefirot correspond-in one sense or another-to the limbs of the human body. It was commonplace for the Zohar to refer to different sefirot in anthropomorphic terms, as the supernal brain, eyes, liver, and so forth. The sefirotic realm itself was frequently referred to as Adam Elyon, "supernal man." Most post-zoharic kabbalists, rejecting as they did the anthropomorphic conception of God, were eager to stress that the correspondence between the human limbs and the sefirot was purely symbolic. But however allegorized or minimized, the idea of correspondence between the "supernal image" and the human image was part and parcel of the kabbalistic tradition.21 This doctrine allowed Schick to employ the anthropomorphic sections of the Zohar as reliable statements of human anatomy; indeed as the most reliable statements of all, since the Zohar was traditionally viewed as the product of Divine revelation to R. Shimon bar Yoblai. Consequently, his discussion of the lungs quoted an excerpt from the Raya Mehemna which dealt, in symbolic language, with the sefirot of Hesed and Din; his discussion of the kidneys cited a passage from Tikune Zohar elucidating the relation between Netzah and Hod; he derived information on the structure of the brain from the Zohar's discussion of Keter, and so on.22In doing so, Schick did not empty these passages of their theosophic meaning; on the contrary,

19. Tiferet Adam, pp. 4a, 8a. 20. Amude Ha-Shamayim, pp. 24b, 26a-b, 27a-b, 28b. Tiferet Adam cites the Bible and Talmud on pp. 6b, 7a, 8a-b, 23a-b, 27b, and passim. 21. I. Tishby, Mishnat Ha-Zohar, vol. 1 (Jerusalem, 1971), pp. 148-148, 155-158; A. Altmann, "The Delphic Maxim in Medieval Islam and Judaism," Studies in Religious Philosophy and Mysticism (New York, 1969), pp. 14-19. 22. Tiferet Adam, p. 22b, citing Zohar IV 234a and 235a. See R. Yehuda Ashlag, Zohar Im Perush Ha-Sulam, vol. 17 (Jerusalem, 1957), pp. 148-151, 167; Tiferet Adam, p. 28b, citing Tikune Zohar 52b; Tiferet Adam, p. 13a, citing Zohar III 128b; similarly Tiferet Adam, p. 18a, citing Tikune Zohar 128a and others.

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in keeping with the doctrine of correspondence, he accepted them as accurate anatomy and truthful theosophy at one and the same time. 3. Schick's adherence to the Zohar, and more generally to Kabbalah, also came to the fore in his apologia for the study of anatomy. Besides invoking the time-honored rationale that study of the human body heightened one's awareness and reverence of God, he adduced a kabbalistic argument as well, based on the very same zoharic doctrine of the "supernal image." Anatomy, he claimed, was key to apprehending the mystery of God himself. (This involved a new twist in the usage of Job 19:26.) Within[man]are bound and hiddenthe clues to the mysteryof God, as it is written,"from my flesh I behold God."24 [God]createdmanin His likenessand image,so that [man]mightattainfrom his veryself the mysteriesand knowledgeof the Creator,as it is written,"from my flesh I behold God." We have thereforeundertakento explain man's structureand composition, and the compositionof his limbs, so that the initiated[ha-maskil]may delveinto theirhiddenmeaning,whichis concealed and spiritual.25 Here Schick employed the doctrine of the supernal image in the opposite direction as beforehand. If each sefirah was analogous to a human limb, then study of the human body could provide the initiated kabbalist with valuable insights concerning the sefirot. He would able to translate his knowledge of anatomy into Kabbalah, and read the Zohar's anthropomorphic sections with deeper mystical understanding. "Each and every organ intimates a deep mystery," Schick claimed; hence the need for the comprehensive study of anatomy.26 This line of argumentation was not totally new. Schick drew much of it from R. Moshe Haim Luzzatto (Ramhal), the great Italian kabbalist, ethicist, and author. Luzzatto had expounded upon the theme of the "mystery of the body" in the introduction to his commentary on Idra Rabba. Invoking Job 19:26, and citing the Zohar's statement that man should "know himself, who he is, and how his body has been arranged,"

23. Tiferet Adam, p. 17a, citing Zohar III 235a. Y. S. Reggio, an enlightened Italian rabbi, criticized Schick for his utilization of the Zohar for anatomical data, Otzar Nehmad 1 (Vienna, 1856): 9. 24. Tiferet Adam, p. la. 25. Ibid., p. 2a. 26. Ibid.

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Luzzatto had concluded that "There are things which one should understand concerning the sefirot by virtue of man."27It was left to Schick to take this argument to its logical conclusion, and claim that a systematic exposition of human anatomy was of theosophic import. Schick referredin passing to "the manuscript commentary on the Idra by Rabbi Haim Luzzatto," and it is clear that his rationale for anatomy was indebted to the latter. This is noteworthy, since Luzzatto's work on the Idra Rabba was unpublished at the time, and manuscripts of the latter's works were copied and disseminated in Eastern Europe by none other than Yekutiel Gordon, the former Padua medical student who resided in Shklov in the 1740s. Our discovery of Ramhalian influence on Schick leads us to Gordon as intermediary. This lends strength to our earlier suggestion that Gordon was the courier who brought Latin scientific manuscripts to Shklov.28 Schick's kabbalistic rationale for anatomy is noteworthy for substantive reasons as well. It is a vivid illustration of the fact that Kabbalah and science were not necessarily polar opposites in traditional Jewish thought; preoccupation with the one did not preclude acceptance and study of the other. Rabbinic minds such as those of Schick and the young Solomon Maimon (not to mention the Vilna Gaon) constructed intellectual modi vivendi in which Kabbalah and science were harmonious, complementary, and in Schick's case, even reinforced each other. The student of science was not by definition a rationalist. While Schick's study of science was atypical for his milieu, his allegiance to Kabbalah indicates the extent to which he shared the traditional modes of thinking of his time. Kabbalah dominated Jewish religious thought in eighteenth-century Eastern Europe,29and Schick, a product of its rabbinic elite, was no exception. His originality notwithstanding, Schick's thinking was very much that of an eighteenth-century Polish rabbi. More generally, the basic contours of his early works were set by the rabbinic tradition of science: his interest was confined to areas with strong rabbinic traditions of study, and he rationalized the study of these disciplines in terms of their advancing traditional religious values-whether the elucidation of Hilkhot Kiddush or the enhancement of one's mystical knowledge. There ha-.Iodesh is no merit in viewing Schick in his pre-Berlin years as a forerunner of enlightenment. 27. Moshe Haim Luzzatto, Adir Ba-Marom, ed. S. Luria (Warsaw, 1880), pp. 2a-b. 28. Tiferet Adam, p. 2a; on Gordon see the references in n. 18 above. 29. See Mendl Piekarz, Bi-Yeme Tzemihat Ha-Hasidut (Jerusalem, 1978).

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II The last-known record of Schick's residence in Minsk hails from 1773, when he was sold a seat on the eastern wall of the "Shivah Keruim" synagogue, an indication of his continued high status within that exclusive society. He next surfaced in Berlin in late 1776. The intervening years are a mystery.30 Schick's journeying westward and his residence in Berlin were in themselves nothing out of the ordinary. During the second half of the eighteenth century, thousands of Polish Jews migrated westward, to Prussia and the other German states, as a result of the political and economic disarray in which Poland found itself. Although entry into Berlin was restricted and somewhat difficult, some Polish Jewish peddlers, melamdim, and wealthy merchants made their way through the city's gates. In addition, there were those scholars and intellectuals who came to Berlin and became part of the circle of enlightened Jews surrounding Moses Mendelssohn. These included Isaac Satanov and Solomon Dubno in the 1770s, and Solomon Maimon and Menahem Mendl Lefin in the 1780s.31 One is tempted to add Schick's name to this list of 6migr~s turned Maskilim, but there are several respects in which Schick differed from the latter. Firstly, Schick was not an immigrant at all. He journeyed westward for the limited purpose of collecting advance subscribers for his scientific writings, in order to finance their publication. (This was a common practice among Polish rabbis at the time, due to the economic crisis in Poland.)32 After obtaining subscribers in a number of Polish and German towns (Zlotowo, Lissa, Schwerin), Schick had the good fortune of encountering the Jewish community of Berlin, which was singularly supportive of his literary ventures. But he was no more than a visitor in their midst: his stay there lasted less than a year, and he returned to Poland after successfully publishing his books. Secondly, Schick did not come to Berlin in search of truth and wisdom,

30. Shabad, Toldot Ha- Yamim,p. 16. According to Mahler, Divre Yeme Yisrael, vol. 1, pt. 4, pp. 53-54, Schick journeyed first to London, studied medicine there, and visited Berlin en route back to Poland. I have found no evidence to support any of these claims. R. Saul Berlin in his letter of approbation to Amude Ha-Shamayim-Tiferet Adam states that Schick "came here from the land of Lithuania with a scroll on kiddush ha-hodesh and anatomy." 31. M. A. Shulvass, Between East and West(Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1971). 32. Berl Kagan, Seyfer Ha-Prenumerantn(New York: Ktav, 1975), Yiddish introduction, pp. ix-x.

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as did Maimon and Lefin, but rather in search of financial support for his books. And unlike the other Polish Jews who came into contact with the Mendelssohnian circle, he was a bona fide member of the Polish rabbinic elite-an ordained rabbi, a dayyan, and the scion of a prestigious rabbinic family. All these factors impinged upon the relations between Schick and the Berlin circle during his stay there. They also provide a context for understanding why Schick's Berlin experience had a moderate rather than a revolutionary impact upon him. His first contact appears to have been with the rabbi of the Berlin Jewish community, R. Hirschl Levin, and the latter's son R. Shaul, then rabbi of the neighboring Frankfurt on the Oder. Both father and son greeted this Polish rabbinic scientist warmly, and composed letters of approbation for his first book, Amude Ha-Shamayim-Tiferet Adam, which consisted of Schick's early works on astronomy and anatomy. R. Hirschl encouraged Schick to continue publishing scientific treatises, and assisted him in initiating his second literary venture-the preparation of a printed edition of Isaac Israeli's Yesod Olam, a classic of medieval Hebrew astronomy-by sharing two rare manuscripts of the work from his private collection. It is also likely that R. Hirschl introduced Schick to the notables of the Berlin Jewish community, including the circle of enlightened Jews surrounding Moses Mendelssohn.33 By 1777, the Mendelssohnian circle was firmly established. Marcus Hertz, David Friedlinder, Isaac Satanov, Solomon Dubno, and Naftali Hirtz Wessely had all settled or resettled in Berlin by the time of Schick's arrival. They, along with several others, constituted a well-defined and distinct social circle, which met frequently in Mendelssohn's home. Moreover, they had by then developed their distinctive outlook on the need to introduce reforms in Jewish culture and society. In 1777, Mendelssohn and Dubno were at work on the Biur, a project which undertook to spread knowledge of "pure German" among Jews, and to instill in them an aesthetic appreciation of the Bible. David Friedlhnder was in the midst of organizing the Freischule, a school which would combine secular disciplines and European languages with a Jewish religious curriculum. Schick encountered the circle during the heady early days of its efflorescence, and, one should

33. See the haskamot to Amude Ha-Shamayim-Tiferet Adam and Yesod Olam, as well as Schick's introduction to the latter. Schick's hopes of publishing Yesod Olam originated before his visit to Berlin; see Amude Ha-Shamayim, pp. 3a, 24a.

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add, before it clashed in public with the rabbinic authorities of the time.34 As far as one can judge, Schick's reception by the intellectual and social elite of the Berlin Jewish community was more than cordial-it was warm, outgoing, even effusive. A group ofparnasim and prominent citizens became his patrons, and hired him to tutor their sons in mathematics. They and the Mendelssohnian circle rallied around Schick's project to publish Yesod Olam, and provided him with the material support to do so. In just over a month's time, Schick had the necessary funds to publish a volume which was a work of typographic craftsmanship-with four different typefaces on the title page, diagrams within the body of the text, clear printing, and durable paper. This magnificent edition could only have been made possible thanks to considerable financial resources.35 The list of advance subscribers to the volume, published on its second page, was virtually a who's who of the Berlin Jewish community. It included Moses Mendelssohn himself, Daniel Itzig (then head of the community), four of Itzig's sons, including Isaac Daniel Itzig (soon to be co-director of the Freischule), David Friedlinder (who purchased five copies-for himself and his four brothers in Koenigsburg), R. Shaul Levin (whose name was placed at the head of the list of subscribers), and eight parnasim of the Berlin community. R. Hirschl Levin provided a warm letter of approbation, which was endorsed by the full rabbinic courts of Berlin and Frankfurt on the Oder. Finally, Naftali Hirtz Wessely, the poet laureate of the Mendelssohnian circle, contributed a special poem in praise of Schick and his enterprise.36 It is clear that the Mendelssohnian circle viewed the publication of Yesod Olam as an important literary event. It was, in fact, the very first publishing venture they entered into as a group. Why so much fanfare and enthusiasm for the work of a virtual stranger, a passing visitor? What great attraction was there in YesodOlam-a book of Ptolemaic astronomy-that its publication should be transformed into a sort of public cultural manifestation? To a certain extent, the commotion surrounding Schick may have been due to condescending curiosity on the Berliners' part. The sight of an 34. On the Mendelssohnian circle, see A. Altmann, Moses Mendelssohn: A Biographical Study (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1973), pp. 346-420; Jacob Katz, Traditionand Crisis 4New York: Schocken, 1971), pp. 245-274. 35. By contrast, Amude Ha-Shamayim-Tiferet Adam, published shortly after Schick's arrival, was a simple, low-cost publication. It appears that Schick had not yet made the acquaintance of Berlin's elite at the time of its printing. 36. Yesod Olam, verso, pp. 1, 2.

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Ost-Jude, from the farthest corner of Eastern Europe, who had mastered the mathematical sciences was something astonishing and exotic for them. (They would be similarly surprised by Solomon Maimon's incisive philosophic thinking when the latter arrived in Berlin a few years later.) Schick, and later Maimon, did not fit their image of Ost-Juden as "ignorant of languages, dignified behavior and matters of science," an image based largely upon the peddlers and melamdimwhom they saw in their midst. A Polish Jew who wrote books of astronomy and mathematics was cause for amazement. Surely such a person deserved their charitable assistance.37 But the organized and public show of support for Schick's edition of YesodOlam was unquestionably much more than an expression of paternalistic benevolence. It is safe to conclude that the Berliners took Schick under their wing because they saw great promise in him as an agent of positive change among the Jews of Poland. Schick intended to return to Poland and distribute his books there, and the Berliners hoped that he would be able to generate interest in science among Polish Jews, particularly among scholars and talmudists. As a rabbi, dayyan, and scion of a great rabbinic family, he was in a unique position, they hoped, to introduce scientific studies into the rabbinic curriculum. (The Berlin edition of Yesod Olam drew attention to Schick's rabbinic credentials by printing the text of his writ of ordination.) This would be an important step forward, and could pave the way for a broadeFand more general reform of Polish Jewry. If talmudists began to study science, then the spirit of science and reason might eventually spread beyond the rabbinic curriculum into other spheres of life, or so they reasoned. This reconstruction of the Berliners' thinking is admittedly speculative. But it is the most plausible explanation for the outpouring of support which Schick's Yesod Olam project elicited from the enlightened Jews of the city. The hopes which the latter placed on Schick were expressed in Wessely's laudatory poem to him, which read, in part: AriseBarukh,andplow throughyourland, Cause fruits to blossom from your gardenof reason, 37. On the Berliners' attitude toward Polish Jews, see N. H. Wessely, Divre Shalom Ve-Emet (Berlin, 1782), pp. 55-56; Aaron Halle Wolfsohn, "Siha Be-Eretz Ha-Hayim," Ha-Measef 7 (1797): 55. The anonymous fanatic Mendelssohn debates in this imagined dialogue is clearly a Polish Jew; see pp. 56, 58, 123, 131. On Maimon's reception by the Berlin Maskilim, see his Autobiography,translated by J. Clark Murray (London, 1954), pp. 109-113. See, more generally, Steven Aschheim, Brothers and Strangers: The East European Jew in German and German Jewish Consciousness, 1800-1923 (Madison, 1982).

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DAVIDFISHMAN The generousones have wateredyour dry soil, Now give your voice to the cause of wisdom. The fortressesof the magnatesshall not stand forever, In due time their iron bolts shall be broken, Your shield of wisdom is eternal,your fruit everlasting, You and your supporterswill not expire. Woe unto the fools who chase after nothingness, The man of reason is in their eyes a misleader, Blessedis the man who hearkensto instruction, Who is a friendof the wise and a companionof the knowledgeable.38

To suggest that the Mendelssohnian circle embraced Schick as someone who could begin the process of reforming Polish Jewish culture does not mean, of course, that Schick's own goals were identical to theirs. Schick's "agenda," if one can call it that, was restricted to science; theirs was much broader, including reforms in the spheres of language, dress, manners and morality, economic activity, and ultimately, social rapprochement with enlightened Gentiles and political emancipation. Schick's frame of reference was squarely that of the rabbinic tradition (in the introduction to Yesod Olam, his central point was that the mathematical sciences were indispensable for understanding various commandments of the Torah); the Berliners' frame of reference was largely that of the European Enlightenment. But their differing goals and outlooks did converge at this one point of science, and the Berlin circle was eager to support any project that would expand Jews' intellectual horizons beyond the conventional parameters of the day. Both Schick and the Berliners could not help but be aware of the differences between them. The Berliners must have found him sorely lacking in a number of areas. His range of interests was too narrow, since he was apparently indifferent to philosophy, aesthetics, and the humanities; he lacked fluency in German and probably could not read German literature. In their terms, Schick could hardly have been considered a man of culture. This evaluation is precisely the one which emerges from a passage in Wessely's Divre Shalom Ve-Emet, written five years after Schick's visit. Wessely's description of Polish rabbinic scientists who visited Berlin matches Schick to a tee. It is quoted here in full. We have seen among our Polish brethrenwho have come to this city great 38. Yesod Olam, pp. 2a-b.

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Torah scholars,who studiedgeometryand astronomyin their homelandby themselves,without the aid of a teacher. They knew the depths of these sciences,to such an extent that Gentile scholarsmarveledat their reaching sucha level of knowledgewithouta teacher.Theystudiedthe fewbooks which werewrittenby scholarsof our nation,suchas YesodOlamby IsaacIsraeliand Elim by Yosef Kandiah. If these people had masteredone of the foreign languages,they would have learnedmuch more in less time, becauseof the many books written on these sciences by Gentile scholars, in an orderly fashion and a pure languageunderstandableto beginners.The books which they studied,however,were not writtenfor beginners,and are not writtenin an orderlyfashion.They also did not know anythingof the naturalsciences. since nothingis writtenabout themin Hebrew.Needlessto say, they did not know geographyand history,even thoughthe latterare mucheasierthan the deepscienceswhichtheystudied,becausethereareno Hebrewbooks to study about them. Even in those sciences which they mastered,they could not organizetheirwordsandcommunicatewell to others,becauseof theirstuttering language.Fromall of this we see whata greatmisfortuneit is if the youths do not study one of the foreignlanguagesgrammatically,such that they can speak it clearly,and can read any book or letterwrittenin it. Wessely's reference to Yesod Olam leaves little doubt that he had Schick in mind when composing this portrait of Polish rabbinic scientists. The upshot of Wessely's remarks was to stress the indispensability of fluency in a modern European language (actually German) in order to become educated and cultured. He cited Schick as a negative example of someone whose scope of knowledge was extremely narrow, and who was unable to communicate his knowledge logically and effectively because of his lack of fluency in German. Schick was hardly a model of the new type of Jew the Berlin Maskilim envisioned. But despite their ideological and cultural differences, Schick and the Berliners found it useful, for their own separate purposes, to ally themselves with each other. Schick was able to publish his books, and the Berliners were able to gain a modest foothold in Eastern Europe for their program of cultural reform. They did not share the same worldview or outlook. But they did share a common interest in disseminating scientific knowledge among the Jews, and they were able to collaborate on that basis. That common interest did, in fact, set both Schick and the Berliners apart from the Ashkenazic Jewish culture of their time.

39. N. H. Wessely, Divre Shalom Ve-Emet (Berlin, 1782), pp. 45-46.

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Schick left Berlin for Poland in the fall of 1777. But before we move on to assess the impact which his Berlin experience had upon him, it is worthwhile to pause and consider the converse as well. What impact, if any, did his visit have on the Mendelssohnian circle? Clearly, the visit must have been a memorable event that left a lasting impression if Wessely referredto it years later in Divre Shalom Ve-Emet.But did it have any concrete effect on the Berliners' thinking and activity? With the aid of hindsight, one can say that Schick's visit aroused a lasting interest among members of the Mendelssohnian circle in the problem of reforming Polish Jewry. Their exposure to Schick, with his unique mixture of progressiveness and backwardness, heightened their awareness of the opportunities and difficulties involved in altering the complexion of the vast Jewry to the east. The topic remained in their consciousness after Schick's departure, and in subsequent years they devised publication projects which were specifically designed to advance Polish Jewry's reform. To a greater or lesser extent, these publications were modeled after Yesod Olam. In 1784, Mendelssohn, Friedlinder, and a group of enlightened Jews hired Solomon Maimon to translate works into Hebrew "in order," as Maimon recalls in his autobiography, "to enlighten the Polish Jews still living in darkness." The group considered various proposals of books which would further this goal, ranging from Basnage's History of the Jews to Reimarus' Natural Religion, but finally agreed on composing a mathematics text in Hebrew, based on the Latin writings of Wolff. Maimon records with some bitterness that after he had spent several months composing his translation, the group withdrew its financial commitment to the volume, claiming that it was too expensive and unprofitable.40 Five years later, in 1789, the Berlin Freischule press also managed to bring a similar project to fruition. It published Menahem Mendl Lefin's Modah Le-Binah, a volume consisting of letters on the natural sciences and a discourse on health translated from a popular medical manual. Lefin, a native of Podolia, undertook the project during his stay in Berlin (1780-1783), at the suggestion of Mendelssohn, who intended it for "our brethren the children of Israel in the land of Poland." Mendelssohn composed a fund-raising letter for the volume in 1785 (shortly before his death) in which he stressed the need for Hebrew discourses on medicine "in

40. Maimon, Autobiography,pp. 134-137. The original German provides the initials of the persons involved. These were Dr. B. and Messrs. F., J., and L.; according to Altmann, Dr. Bloch, Friedlinder, Jaroslav, and Levi, Moses Mendelssohn, p. 363.

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Poland, which is without a single reliable physician and is full of incompetents and fakes."4' It is noteworthy that both these projects sought to initiate the reform of Polish Jewry specifically through the medium of mathematics and natural science (including medicine) rather than through works of ethics, aesthetics, history, geography, or a textbook of German. In their choice of subject matter, these projects followed in the footsteps of Yesod Olam. The tactical decision to begin with Hebrew books of math and science was in all likelihood the legacy of Schick's visit in their midst.

III There is no need, in the context of this paper, to follow Schick's biography in its entirety from 1778 until his death in 1808. Since our focus here is on the impact of his Berlin experience, we will restrict our discussion to the few years immediately afterwards, which marked the height of Schick's activity and productivity. During this time he published three books: Derekh Yeshara (The Hague, 1779), a manual of preventative medicine, Uklides (The Hague, 1780), a translation of Books I through VI of Euclid's Elements, and Keneh Ha-Midah (Prague, 1783), a translation of a British work on algebra, geometry, and trigonometry. Schick spent these years residing in Minsk, although he did venture westward, to Prague, in 1783.42 A perusal of these writings reveals that Schick was not converted into a Maskil-in any meaningful sense of the term-by the year which he spent in Berlin. He did not come to espouse Haskalah positions or the need to alter Jewish language, manners, moral behavior, economic activity, social relations, or even, as we shall see, elementary schooling. Indeed he remained

41. See the partial reprint of Modah Le-Binah under the title Refuot He'am (Zolkiew, 1794), title page and verso; Jospeh Klausner, Historyah Shel Ha-Sifrut Ha-Ivrit Ha-Hadasha (Jerusalem, 1960), vol. 1, pp. 225-226. 42. Schick spent his later years in Minsk (to 1791), in Ustye, a private estate in the Mogilev province of tsarist Russia (to roughly 1797), and Slutsk, where he died in 1808. He published but one book during this span of time, a second edition of Keneh Ha-Midah (Shklov, 1791). His most surprising act was his becoming a member, in 1785, of the Vienna chapter of the Order of the Asiatic Brethren, a pseudo-Masonic organization whose members included Austrian aristocrats and Jewish Frankists. Despite this unusual association, about which very little is known, there is no basis for doubting Schick's religious orthodoxy in the 1780s and 1790s. See G. Scholem, "Karyerah Shel Frankist: Moshe Dobrushka Ve-Gilgulav," Mehkarim Ve-Mekorot Le-Toldot Ha-Shabtaut Ve-Gilguleha(Jerusalem, 1974), esp. pp. 160-163.

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profoundly indifferent to these concerns, which formed the matrix of Haskalah ideology. Schick's sphere of interest continued to be limited to science, and primarily to mathematics. But this is not to say that he remained completely unchanged by his Berlin experience-his activity was transformed and intensified, and his mode of thinking underwent certain changes. We now turn to consider these new developments. Before Berlin, Schick was an isolated practitioner of rabbinic science; afterwards he was an active crusader for the dissemination of scientific wisdom. He was now imbued with an urgent sense of mission that contributed toward his prolific output during these years. In addition to his published works, he completed and announced for publication three volumesthe concluding half of Uklides, a treatise on triangles, and a collection of medical remedies-whose appearance in print were prevented by a lack of funds.43 Schick was now driven by some sort of compulsion. Much as the Berliners had hoped, he was engaged in a one-man literary campaign to spread scientific knowledge among his coreligionists in Poland. This intensified literary activity was complemented by an aggressive pursuit of supporters and allies among the great rabbinic authorities of the day. One of Schick's first steps after returning to Poland was to meet with the Vilna Gaon-a meeting which took place in February 1778, roughly six months after the publication of Yesod Olam in Berlin. It is likely that Schick hoped to obtain a haskamah from the Gaon for one of his books, perhaps even a public statement on behalf of the study of science. The latter would have been the most effective means by which to gain the attention of rabbinic scholars throughout Lithuania and beyond. If so, Schick was to be disappointed by the outcome of their meeting. R. Elijah did not issue a haskamah or public pronouncement (in his lifetime, R. Elijah gave all of three letters of approbation), although he did express some general words of encouragement, which Schick eagerly publicized in his introduction to Uklides44. Four years later, in 1783, Schick journeyed to Prague with a similar intention-to enlist the support of its chief rabbi, R. Ezekiel Landau, who was second only to the Vilna Gaon in his standing as a rabbinic authority. There Schick published Keneh Ha-Midah, along with Landau's haskamah, which was remarkably brief for Landau (all of ten lines), and which praised

43. Derekh Yeshara, introduction; Uklides, postscript appealing for advance subscribers. 44. Uklides, introduction; I intend to deal with the encounter between Schick and the Vilna Gaon separately.

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the book in rather guarded language.45Once again Schick had journeyed a considerable distance in order to obtain the support of a rabbinic luminary, only to receive a favorable, but less than enthusiastic, response. While in Prague, Schick conducted mathematics classes for a group of adult students, and enlisted the financial support of several prominent citizens of the Jewish community, most notably the members of the Jeitteles family.46 What transformed Schick from a cloistered scholar of the sciences to an activist on behalf of their dissemination? The answer appears to lie in a new development in Schick's thinking which may be attributed to his stay in Berlin; namely, his deep distress and concern about the Jews' inferiority in the sphere of scientific learning. The topic of Jewish inferiority, absent from Schick's early works, was first mentioned in his introduction to Yesod Olam and assumed greater prominence in his post-Berlin writings. Schick claimed in the introductions to Uklides and Keneh Ha-Midah that the Jews' ignorance of science had led to their being mocked and derided by Gentiles. In Uklides, he lashed out at unnamed "enemies of wisdom" and claimed that the latter had brought great harm to the public image of the Jews. They are the ones who have causedthe childrenof Israelto sin againstthe sciences, and have strickenthem with the plague of blindness.They have therebymade [thechildrenof Israel]a mockeryand disgracein the eyesof the nations.47 A few lines later he returned to the topic a second time. The nameof heavenis disgracedamongthe Gentiles,who abuseus by saying that we are a foolish nation, not a wise one.48 Toward the end of the introduction, Schick asserted that Jewish honor could be restored by disseminating scientific wisdom among rabbinic scholars. He now professed that this was in fact his chief intention in publishing Hebrew books of science such as Uklides. His professed goal was 45. Keneh Ha-Midah (Prague, 1783), verso. 46. Ibid. On Prague in this period, see Hillel J. Kieval, "Caution's Progress: The Modernization of Jewish Life in Prague, 1780-1830," in Toward Modernity.: The European Jewish Model, ed. Jacob Katz (New Brunswick, 1987), pp. 71-105. 47. Uklides, introduction. 48. Ibid.

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DAVIDFISHMAN to removethe boastfularroganceof the tyrants,the multitudeof nationswho roarat us like the soundof greatwaves,"whereis yourwisdom?"thusleading to the desecrationof God's name.49

Although these sentences are couched in such stereotypic rabbinic phrases as kiddush ha-shem and a "wise and knowing people" (Deuteronomy 4:6), it would be wrong to dismiss them as only so much rabbinic rhetoric. The topic of Gentile mockery is raised three separate times in the course of the introduction to Uklides, clearly more than one would expect for the utilization of a standard rabbinic theme, and the same "standard theme" is totally absent from Schick's rationales for scientific study in his pre-Berlin works. The claim of Gentile mockery should be taken seriously, as a matter of deep concern to Schick. Moreover, we know from Wessely's account in Divre Shalom Ve-Emet that Schick did indeed meet with German scientific scholars, who "marveled at [his] having reached such a level of knowledge without a teacher." It is likely that this "marveling" at Schick's geometry and mathematics was coupled with a heavy dosage of condescension and amusement at his antediluvian knowledge of astronomy and anatomy. If so, then Schick may well have experienced "the mockery of the Gentiles" first hand! In any event, it was certainly a topic he heard much about from the Berlin Maskilim, who were exceedingly sensitive about the subject of the Jews' ignorance of science and other branches of modern culture. Schick's phrases regarding "the mockery of the Gentiles" reflect (in stereotypical language) the personal distress which he experienced in Berlin upon his discovery that he and his coreligionists were considered to be ignorant and backward in many spheres of knowledge. This must have come as a jolting realization for Schick. In eighteenth- century Eastern Europe, Jews lived predominantly among a peasant population and were, on the whole, more culturally advanced than their Gentile neighbors. When it came to literacy and mathematical ability, Jews in Shklov or Minsk were heads above the local townsmen or peasants. But in Berlin, Schick, who had devoted years of study to the sciences, was considered backward and ignorant. This was a case of acute culture shock. For Schick, the intellectual inferiority of Jews, and specifically of rabbis

49. Ibid. The position of this sentence is ambiguous; it may be read as a continuation of the words of the Vilna Gaon which precede it, or, alternatively, as Schick's own words. I am convinced that the sentiment is Schick's and is totally uncharacteristic of R. Elijah.

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such as himself, in the sciences was not so much a social problem (as it was for the Berlin Maskilim) as a religious one. It reflected negatively on Judaism, and led observers to the conclusion that Judaism itself was somehow inferior. He voiced this concern in the following terms: The Gentilesabuse us and say that we are a foolish nation, not a wise one. They consequentlyslander the words of our sages, and say that whoever studies them becomes divorcedfrom the norms of civility and from nature [yibadel mi-hok ha-medini ve-teva olam].50

Here Schick was echoing in his own terms the vilification of the Talmud practiced by adherents of the European Enlightenment. Enlightenment thinkers perennially blamed the Talmud for the Jews' obscurantism, backwardness, and separatism. It was, they asserted, a compendium of superstitions, nonsense, and lies which had perverted the Jews' thinking and character. In order to enlighten the Jews and render them worthy of emancipation, they would first have to be drawn away from the pernicious influence of the Talmud.5' Schick cared little about the Jews' emancipation or enlightenment, but he could not remain indifferent to the defamation of the Talmud. In particular, he was disturbed by the charge that "whoever studies [it] becomes divorced from . . . nature," i.e., that in its content and spirit, the Talmud was inimical to science. This struck at the very essence of his personal being as a rabbi, and as a rabbinic scientist. Schick responded to the charge with an impassioned defense of the Talmud, claiming that it was a veritable treasure house of science. Such was not the way of our sages. No mystery,discipline,or scienceeluded them.This is evidentfrommanystatementsin the Talmud,madein just a few words.Suchas the statementin the GemaraBerachot[58b],"if cometspassed throughthe galaxyof Orion,the worldwouldbe destroyed";andthe magnifying glass of RabbiGamliel[Eruvin43b];and all the mattersof trefotin which they were highly expert, such as the animal-woundwhich, "if salves are applied, [the animal]will survive"[Hulin54a], as opposed to those wounds which it would not survive.52 50. Uklides, introduction. 51. Arthur Hertzberg, The FrenchEnlightenmentand the Jews (New York and Philadelphia, 1968), pp. 253-254, 256-257, 279, 294, 309, 311. 52. Uklides, introduction. The claim that the rabbis of antiquity had been masters of science, or even that the sciences had originated among them and been lost in the travails of

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On a more basic level, Schick's entire campaign after his stay in Berlin to spread scientific learning among rabbinic scholars was motivated by a desire to respond to the Enlightenment's assault on the Talmud. For in the final analysis, the charge that the Talmud was a pernicious, obscurantist force could not be refuted by mere textual arguments, but by living examples of talmudists who were also devotees of science. As long as the symbolic representatives of Talmudic Judaism, the rabbis, remained ignoramuses in these matters, Judaism's name would continue to be scarred. Schick's intensive program of publication and propaganda on behalf of science, following his visit to Berlin, was driven by an apologetic urge to disprove the slanderous charges against Judaism and the Talmud that he had encountered in the West. His transformation from a scholar into an engaged activist was thus a direct result of his exposure to the Enlightenment, his being profoundly troubled by its view of Judaism, and his desiring to refute that view to the best of his ability. Since the issue at stake was, according to Schick's understanding, a religious one ("what is the nature of Judaism?"), his efforts were directed at reforming the intellectual profile of the rabbinic elite, which was the living embodiment of the talmudic tradition. The reform of Jewish elementary education, a primary concern of Mendelssohn, Wessely, and Friedliinder in the 1780s, was not on Schick's agenda. This is reflected in the content of Schick's books, which were designed not for Jewish schoolchildren, but rather for sharp talmudic minds. They moved rapidly from basic principles to complex and difficult theorems, challenging their readers at every step of the way. In the introduction to Uklides, Schick's apologetic concerns shared the limelight with the traditional argument that knowledge of the sciences facilitated and enhanced the elucidation of hallowed texts. (This was likewise the gist of the remarks Schick quoted from the Vilna Gaon, that "for every deficiency of knowledge in the sciences, one will have ten deficiencies of knowledge in the science of the Torah.") But in his introduction to Keneh Ha-Midah there was no such balance between religious and apologetic arguments. Without making so much as an allusion to the religious or halakhic benefits to be gained from the study of science, he addressed himself solely to its apologetic importance, as a means by which the public image of Judaism would be rehabilitated. exile, was an old one. What was new in Schick's case was the use of this argument as part of a polemic against the Enlightenment's view of Judaism.

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In these times, "science"servesto increasethe honor of the Torah.It renders Torahscholarshonorableand esteemedin the eyes of the nationsandprinces. I have thereforedecidedto come to the aid of Israeland to lift up the fallen crown of Judah.53 To sum up this point, Schick did not become a Maskil after Berlin, but he was, nonetheless, substantially affected by his exposure to the enlightened view that Judaism was obscurantist. His response was two-pronged. On the one hand he argued that the rabbis in the time of the Talmud were deeply involved in the study of science, and at the same time he devoted himself fully to disseminating scientific learning among contemporary rabbis and talmudists. By responding to the enlightened critique of Judaism, and unconsciously internalizing a small portion of its worldview, Schick moved beyond the self-contained parameters of rabbinic science. He became a ray maskil, a rabbi who was himself, to a certain degree, influenced by the attitudes of the Enlightenment. There were other noteworthy changes in Schick's writings following his visit to Berlin. One was related to their scope and content. Schick's major treatises in his post-Berlin years were devoted exclusively to mathematics, with the natural and biological sciences conspicuously absent. Gone were anatomy and astronomy; in their place came geometry, algebra, and trigonometry. Why this sudden narrowing of purview? As we suggested earlier, Schick discovered in Berlin that his knowledge of the natural sciences was inferior and backward, compared to that of Gentile scholars. In the purely mathematical disciplines, the gap between him and German scholars was considerably narrower. Wessely had taken note of this discrepancy: on the one hand, Gentile scholars "marveled" at Schick's level of knowledge in geometry; on the other hand, he "did not know anything of the natural sciences."54In Berlin, Schick reached much the same conclusion; and in his subsequent works he "retreated" to the disciplines where his knowledge was on firm ground, and not as blatantly outmoded. A second change related to the sources Schick utilized. After Berlin he discontinued his previous practice of drawing scientific data from the Talmud, Zohar, and Maimonides. Instead he undertook a project of translating foreign scientific works into Hebrew. Rather than combining the

53. Keneh Ha-Midah (Prague, 1783), introduction. 54. Wessely, Divre Shalom Ve-Emet, pp. 45-46.

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scientific wisdom available in classical rabbinic sources and non-Jewish ones, he now dropped the one and relied exclusively on the other. This shift is attributable to Schick's discovery that the scientific information contained in his rabbinic sources was somewhat problematic, a discovery which was an integral part of the culture shock he experienced in Berlin. Schick's failure to utilize the Zohar is particularly noteworthy. The latter was as replete with mystical mathematics (i.e., numerology) as it was with mystical anatomy, but Schick refrained from mining the Zohar for math as he had once done for anatomy.55 In general, Schick's connection with Kabbalah weakened after his stay in Berlin. He did not preface Uklides or Keneh Ha-Midah with a kabbalistic mystique of numbers-a theme with a long tradition-akin to his mystique of the human body in TiferetAdam. Kabbalistic arguments for science were now part of his past. Schick alluded but once in his introduction to Uklides to a passage from the Zohar; his citation was elliptic, he offered no interpretation of its ambiguous words, and in the context of his argumentation it carried little weight.56The decline in the position of Kabbalah in Schick's thought was likely the result of assaults on it by enlightened Jews in Berlin, who viewed Kabbalah as superstitious and nonsensical. In sum, Schick's exposure to Berlin brought on key changes in his works of science as such. Their scope and content were narrowed to mathematics alone. Non-Jewish treatises displaced rabbinic literature as a source of information, and the rationales presented for the study of scientific disciplines underwent a marked transformation. The kabbalistic mode of rationalization died and was no more; the halakhic-talmudic rationale receded in importance, and a new apologetic rationale assumed a preeminent position. These changes in purview, sources, and rationale constituted a move away from the tradition of rabbinic science, and a rapprochement with modern European science. Conclusion The case of R. Barukh Schick is a rare instance in which the indigenous rabbinic tradition of science and the Berlin Haskalah encountered each other face-to-face. These two intellectual currents should not be confused 55. On Jewish number mysticism and gematria, see Gershom Scholem, Kabbalah (Jerusalem, 1974), pp. 38-39, 54, 337-343. 56. Zohar III 47a-48a; see Zohar with the Sulam Commentary, vol. 13, pp. 33-38. One of the accepted interpretations of the passage is that it is incumbent upon one to combine wisdom with foolishness.

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with each other, but neither should it be overlooked that they did share, in the context of eighteenth-century Ashkenazic Jewish culture, certain points of convergence. As a result of their shared interest in science, Schick and the Berlin circle were able to collaborate on a project of mutual interest. Schick's story indicates how the two trends could mutually influence each other. Although he remained deaf to most of the Haskalah's message, particularly to its social and political goals, Schick was deeply affected by the enlightened critique of rabbinic Judaism as obscurantist and antithetical to science. In the specific area of science, Schick was transformed into a crusader and reformer. This is an instance of Haskalah ideology being internalized in a fractured, fragmentary form. Schick's campaign to introduce scientific learning among rabbis and talmudists was motivated, to a considerable extent, by apologetic concerns, i.e., a desire to defend rabbinic Judaism against its enlightened detractors. His apologetic stance was predicated upon a partial, if unconscious, acceptance of their value system. In this respect, Schick may be seen as a paradigm for a certain type of traditionalist rabbi which one finds in the nineteenth century -the rabbi who combines science and Torah primarily as a demonstrative apologetic act, in order to prove that Judaism is "wise and understanding." In the minds of such rabbis, the issue of science was divorced both from theology and from broader cultural, social, and political concerns of the day. BrandeisUniversity Waltham,MA

The Jewish Elite and the Children of the Poor: Jewish Apprenticeship Programs in Nineteenth-Century France Author(s): Lee Shai Weissbach Source: AJS Review, Vol. 12, No. 1 (Spring, 1987), pp. 123-142 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486396 . Accessed: 30/06/2011 22:33 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

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THE JEWISHELITE AND THE CHILDREN OF THE POOR: JEWISH APPRENTICESHIPPROGRAMS IN NINETEENTH-CENTURY FRANCE by LEE SHAI WEISSBACH

The desire of the Franco-Jewish elite to foster the acculturation of French Jewry during the nineteenth century is a theme that has been explored in considerable detail in recent years. Historians of French Jewry have described the development of an ideology that identified Judaism primarily as a religion, have analyzed the attempts of various communal institutions to mitigate Jewish distinctiveness, and have demonstrated that the leaders of French Jewry adopted a policy of social integration both because they were attracted to the mainstream culture of France and because they felt that acculturation was the implied price of empancipation. The author wishes to thank Phyllis Cohen Albert, Todd Endelman, and Moshe Waldocks for their helpful comments on earlier versions of this article. He also wishes to thank the Arts and Sciences Research Committee and the Graduate Research Council at the University of Louisville for their support of the research on which this article is based.

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One important element in the integrationist policy of the Franco-Jewish elite was its effort to promote the "regeneration" of the Jewish lower classes and encourage their occupational diversification. To accomplish this end, the leaders of the Franco-Jewish community initiated a variety of projects to influence poor Jewish youths to reject a life of street hawking and peddling, acquire an education, and enter "useful" professions. The efforts of the Jewish elite to promote acculturation and economic productiveness among the children of the poor have frequently been mentioned by historians of French Jewry, but their analyses of these efforts have always been presented solely in terms of the internal concerns of the French Jewish community. Rarely has Jewish scholarship taken notice of the larger milieu of French social action in which Jewish social action took place, and never have Jewish programs for the children of the poorer classes been discussed in the larger context of French philanthropic activity generally. Indeed, the literature of Franco-Jewish history conveys the distinct impression that promoting the moral reform of the lower classes by providing apprenticeship training was a uniquely Jewish innovation.' The efforts of the Franco-Jewish elite to promote the regeneration of the Jewish poor cannot be evaluated fully, however, if they are viewed only from a Jewish perspective. That is why this article seeks to reappraise the apprenticeship 1. The most extensive treatment of Jewish apprenticeship training to date mentions nonJewish efforts to aid apprentices in only one brief paragraph about Protestant projects, and in that paragraph their role is seriously misrepresented; see Zosa Szajkowski, "Yiddishe fachshulen in Frankreichin 19th yahrhundert," YivoBletter 42 (1962): 81-120. Patrick Girard, Les Juifs de France de 1789 c 1860 (Paris, 1976), p. 119, states that it was "the particular structure of the Jewish population" which accounts for its involvement in the training of the lower classes, "even though the diffusion of education among the poor classes was not the most ardent desire of the 19th-century bourgeoisie." Most of the works which mention Jewish apprenticeship projects convey the impression that these projects were unique by discussing them only in reference to Jewish communal concerns; see, for example, LbonBerman, Histoire des Juifs de France (Paris, 1937), p. 407; Zosa Szajkowski, "Occupational Problems of Jewish Emancipation in France, 1789-1800," Historia Judaica 21 (1959): 127-129; idem, Jewish Education in France, 1789-1939 (New York, 1980), pp. 15-16; Jonathan Isaac Helfand, "French Jewry during the Second Republic and Second Empire (1848-1870)" (Ph.D. diss., Yeshiva University, 1979), pp. 139-143; Nancy Lascoe Green, "Class Struggle in the Pletzl: Jewish Immigrant Workers in Paris, 1881-1914" (Ph.D. diss., University of Chicago, 1980), pp. 175 ff; Michael Graetz, Ha-Periferyah haytah le-markaz: perakim be-toldot Yahadut Tsorfat ba-me'ah ha-tesha' 'esreh (Jerusalem, 1982), pp. 65-71. Even those rare studies that do not totally disregard the French context in which Jewish social action took place make only fleeting references to it: compare Michael Marrus, The Politics of Assimilation: The French Jewish Communityat the Time of the Dreyfus Affair (Oxford, 1971), p. 79; and Phyllis Cohen Albert, The Modernization of French Jewry: Consistory and Community in the Nineteenth Century (Hanover, N.H., 1977), p. 136.

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programsof the nineteenth-centuryJewish communityby placing them within the largerframeworkof Frenchsocial action generally.This study will reviewthe historyof Jewishapprenticeshipprojectsin France,explore the questionof the uniquenessof those projects,and ultimatelydemonstrate that only in a largerFrenchcontextcanthe policyof the Franco-Jewishelite toward the childrenof the poor be understoodcompletely. The concern of the Jewish elite with the vocational trainingof poor Jewishyouthshad its originsveryearlyin the post-emancipationera,and at the beginningof the nineteenthcenturya variety of efforts to encourage apprenticeshipwerealreadybeingundertakenby Jewishcommunalleaders. As earlyas 1810the welfarecommitteeof the consistoireof Parisdecidedto devotefundsto supportthe apprenticeshipof poor Jewishchildren,andthis policy was also adopted by consistorialbodies elsewherein Francein the earlydecadesof the century.In severalcommunities(in Bordeauxand Metz, for example) there were attempts to tie industrialarts training and the encouragementof apprenticeshipinto the emerging system of Jewish primaryand elementaryschools. The most significant efforts to foster Jewish vocational training, however, were initiated by societies founded for the express purpose of encouragingthe childrenof the poor to undertakeapprenticeships.Organized by well-establishedindividualsin manyJewishcommunities,and often calledsocidtcsde patronage,the earliestof theseinstitutionstendedto have rather limited functions. They did little more than act as intermediaries betweenpoor Jewishfamiliesand skilledmastersand providesubsidiesto Jewish apprenticesor to their parents. In their fully developed form, however,these societies undertooka much wider rangeof activities.They not only helped the poor conclude apprenticeshipcontracts for their children,but they also monitoredthe progressof the childrenand provided them with formalclassesto supplementtheirtrainingin the shop. In addition to subsidizingthe apprenticesthey placed, they also sponsoredsocial gatheringsand awardedprizes for accomplishmentsin craftsmanshipand scholarship.Sometimessocidtisde patronageeven providedhousingfor the childrenthey supportedand assistedthem after their apprenticeshipswere completedwith loans for the purchaseof tools and with ongoingsocial and educationalactivities. The earliest socidtis de patronagewithin the Jewish communitywere establishedin the 1820s,and by midcenturythey had appearedin the major centers of Jewish population throughoutFrance:in Bordeaux,Bayonne, Marseille,Metz, Nancy, Colmar.In 1825,the societyfor Jewishapprentices

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at Strasbourg established an icole de travail, a trade school that was in essence a boarding facility for apprentices who were receiving their practical training in individual shops. In 1842 a similar institution was opened at Mulhouse.2 In Paris, the earliest society organized for the specific purpose of encouraging the apprenticeship of poor Jewish children was the Soci6t6 isral61itedes amis du travail. Founded in 1825, this society placed about one hundred apprentices in its first five years, but by the mid-1830s financial distress had forced it to cease operation. After 1835, the consistoire of Paris resumed some of its previous efforts on behalf of apprenticeship, and around 1850 yet another independent institution was organized under the leadership of Albert Cohn to foster vocational training. This was the Soci6t6 des jeunes gargons isral61itesde Paris. In 1853 the recently established Soci6t6 des jeunes gargons absorbed the program of evening classes that Dr. Manuel Leven and Chief Rabbi Isidor had started for apprentices and young laborers a few years earlier, and thus it evolved into the Soci6t6 de patronage des apprentis et ouvriers isral61itesde Paris, the first full-fledged socicdtdde patronage of the Paris Jewish community.3 In the late 1850s and early 1860s, the Soci6t6 de patronage des apprentis isral61itesoversaw the apprenticeship of some forty or fifty youngsters annually, and in 1865 it further expanded its activities by opening an Jcole de travail modeled on those at Strasbourg and Mulhouse. The dcole de travail at Paris, designed primarily for children without parents or from broken homes, was housed first at 10 rue des Singes, then at 10 rue des Guillemittes, and finally, from 1876, at 4 bis rue des Rosiers (where its successor, now operated by ORT, is still in operation today). In 1878, the number of apprentices sponsored by the Soci~t6 de patronage des apprentis israelites stood at sixty, and the number continued to grow each year; at the beginning of 1887, for example, the society was sponsoring ninety-five

2. See Szajkowski, "Yiddishe fachshulen," passim. See also idem, Jewish Education, pp. and Robert Weyl, Juifs en Alsace (Toulouse, 1977), pp. 378-381; 15-16; Freddy Raphael61 "Soci6t6 protectrice de la jeunesse isral61iteet des arts et m6tiers de Bayonne" (Bayonne, 1867), pp. 7-13; "Soci6t6 d'encouragement pour les arts et m6tiers parmi les israelites de Metz," Archives isradlites 5 (1844): 408-412; Isidore Cahan, "Les anciennes et les nouvelles moeurs isral61itesA•propos de la Soci6t6 d'encouragement A Marseille," Archives isradelites13 (1852): 45-49. 3. See L6eonKahn, Les professions manuelles et les institutions de patronage (Paris, 1885), des amis du pp. 23-34. See also "Rapport sur le r6glement d'institution de la Soci6t6 israel61ite travail" (Paris, 1825).

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youngsters, of whom fifty-eight were housed at the icole de travail.4A socicdtdde patronagefor the apprenticeshipof girls from poor families(the Soci~t6pour l'6tablissementdes jeunes filles israelites)had been organized within the Jewishcommunityof Parisas early as 1843,and in 1872a trade school with dormitoryfacilitiesfor girls was establishedin the capital as well. Named for its benefactors,the FondationBischoffsheimhad already admitted 152 girls by 1878.5 All the effortsundertakenby the Franco-Jewishelite in favorof apprenticeshiptrainingwere intended,of course,to do much more than teach the childrenof the Jewishpoor a trade.To the leadersof the Jewishcommunity, rigindrationmeantnot only industrialtraining,but also moralreform;they viewed apprenticeshipprograms as instrumentsfor reshaping the very characterof poor Jewish youths. As Chief Rabbi Zadok Kahn indicated when he addressedParis'Jewishapprenticeson Hanukkahin 1872,being "good workers"also meant being "good Jews and useful citizens."6Thus the work of patronageinvolved the inculcation of values as much as it involved the teachingof vocational skills. The men and womenwho organizedapprenticeshipprogramswantedto be surethat the youngstersthey wereassistingdevelopeda positiveattitude toward labor and an understandingof thrift. They wantedto instill in the apprenticesundertheirprotectiona measureof self-discipline,a respectfor their patrons, and a patrioticloyalty to France.They also wanted to encouragetheir young chargesto rejectthe lifestyleof the lower classes and learn to appreciatethe glories of Frenchculture.In short, they wantedto createfuturegenerationsof adultswho would be "virtuous,intelligent,and Those within the Jewish communitywho participatedin hard-working."7 the work of patronagerecognizedthat gentileimages of the Jew were often basedon impressionsof the mannersand moralsof the Jewishunderclasses, and they knew that even though they wereleadersin their own community they would neverachievesocial respectabilityas long as negativeimagesof

4. Kahn, Professions manuelles, pp. 35-42; Compte-rendude la Societe de patronage des apprentis et ouvriers isradlites de Paris, annee 1859 (1860), annies 1872 c 1876 (1877), annie 1877 (1878), annees 1878-1879 (1880); Compte-rendude l'dcole de travail.. . de Paris, anndees 1880, 1881, 1882, 1883 (1884), annies 1884, 1885, 1886 (1887), annies 1892-1893 (1894); L'ORT Sses amis.: Bulletin de liaison de I'ORT France, n.s. 14 (February 1981). 5. Kahn, Professions manuelles, pp. 43-46, 50-54. 6. Zadok Kahn, "Instruction et travail," Sermons et allocutions adressis c la jeunesse isradlite (Paris, 1878), p. 162. 7. Compte-rendu . . . Paris (1877), p. 6.

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the Jew persisted. Thus the Jewish elite hoped that its efforts on behalf of the Jewish poor would redound to its own benefit as well. But there remains the question of the uniqueness of Jewish programs to encourage industrial training and moral reform. Were these programs innovative responses to a particularly Jewish social situation, as much of the Jewish historiography would lead us to believe, or is there a more complex explanation for their development? In order to probe this question further, it is useful to consider the general state of apprenticeship in France during the nineteenth century. At the beginning of the century, the institution of apprenticeship was entering a period of crisis. The French Revolution had dismantled the corporate structure of the Old Regime, and in doing so it had destroyed the basis on which traditional apprenticeship had rested. Of course apprentices continued to be placed with masters throughout the nineteenth century, but the disappearance of guilds and the advent of industrialization meant that the quality of apprenticeship training in individual craftshops could no longer be guaranteed. With traditional apprenticeship in decline, interest in alternative systems of vocational training intensified, and a new emphasis was placed on industrial arts education in the classroom. Before long, technical training courses were being developed by various government agencies (usually at the local level), by industrialists' societies, by chambers of commerce, and even by individual firms. Among the most active sponsors of vocational education in France were the Frbres des 6coles chr~tiennes, a teaching order that had long been offering manual arts instruction to poor children. In the early nineteenth century, the Frbres greatly expanded their existing programs and began offering evening trade courses for working youths and adults; by 1863 they had twenty thousand pupils under the age of fourteen and four thousand adult students in Paris alone. The early nineteenth century also witnessed the proliferation of dcoles de dessin (schools of design) and of icoles des arts et mdtiers (arts and crafts schools). These specialized institutions, some sponsored by governmental bodies and some privately funded, also answered the need for new forms of technical education. The dcoles de dessin usually offered supplementary afternoon and evening classes, while the dcoles des arts et mitiers had more extensive programs, often based on that of the pioneering school founded in 1786 by the Duc de La Rochefoucauld-Liancourt. In that school about one hundred boys had been housed and taught basic subjects such as reading, writing, and arithmetic, as well as trades such as tailoring, shoemaking, and carpentry. As early as 1810, there were successful dcoles de dessin in at least

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eleven Frenchcities, includingStrasbourgand Mulhouse.Under the July Monarchy,the tradeschool that had developedout of the &colede dessinat Mulhousebecamea model for &colesdes arts et mitiersthroughoutEurope. In Paris, the most importantCatholic trade school of the period, the Ecole Saint-Nicholas,opened its doors in 1827, and soon the municipal governmenttoo began sponsoringa vocationaleducationnetworkat the secondarylevel. The firsttechnicaltrainingschool establishedby the municipality was the Ecole Turgot, founded in 1839; by 1889 the municipal vocationaleducationnetworkcomprisedtwelveschools,each specializingin a specific group of artisanaltrades. By midcentury,the French national governmentwas deeply involved in the issue of apprenticeshiptrainingas well. In the mid-1860s,the governmentconductedan extensiveinquiryinto vocationaleducation,for example,and after 1882it beganrequiringmanual arts instructionin all Frenchprimaryschools. But the transferof vocationaltrainingto the classroomwas not the only France.Some responseto the crisisof apprenticeshipin nineteenth-century about industrial education believedthat French concerned leadersof society trainingin the craftshop offered certain advantagesover training in the classroom,and that it should not be abandoned.From their positions of influencewithinthe hautebourgeoisieand the old aristocracy,theywereable to take measuresto try to improvethe natureof traditionalapprenticeship and guaranteeits survival.They lobbiedfor legislationto regulateapprenticeshipcontracts,for example(an ApprenticeshipLaw was indeedenacted in 1851),and they organizedsocietiesto promotetraditionalartisanshipand to protectand assist apprenticesin the craftshop;they organizedsocidtisde patronage.8

So none of the institutionalstructuresemployedby the Jewishcommuniin its efforts to foster vocational training was of a uniquely Jewish ty character.The workwith childrenin Jewishcommunalschools,the evening classes for Jewishworkers,the Jewish trade schools at Strasbourgand at Mulhouse-all thesewerebasedon preexistingmodelsand had equivalents in French society at large. And the sociutis de patronage of the Jewish community had non-Jewish parallels as well. Catholic and Protestant 8. See Ministbre de l'agriculture, du commerce, et des travaux publics, Enquite sur I'enseignementprofessionnel ..., 2 vols. (Paris, 1864), passim; Jean-Pierre Guinot, Formation professionnelle et travailleursqualifis depuis 1789 (Paris, 1946), pp. 67-159; Frederick B. Artz, The Development of Technical Education in France, 1500-1850 (Cambridge, Mass., 1966), pp. 133-140, 201-216; Antoine Prost, Histoire de l'enseignement en France, 1800-1967 (Paris, 1968), pp. 305-310, 341-343.

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groups organized socidtis de patronage at the very same time that they were being founded within the Jewish community, and nondenominational apprenticeship societies also appeared, especially in the latter half of the nineteenth century. In 1866, for instance, the first socidtks de patronage organized along craft lines were founded (one in cabinetmaking, one in artificial flower production, and one in wallpaper manufacturing), and in the 1880s nonsectarian societies to serve youths in individual arrondissements proliferated. By the end of the century, there were literally hundreds of sociktis de patronage in France, each targeting a particular group of young people.9 In their basic programs, the various societis de patronage in France were remarkably similar to each other. Regardless of their sponsorship, all apprenticeship projects acted in the first instance as agencies for the placement of poor youngsters. The societies helped parents negotiate contracts, they subsidized apprentices, and they carefully followed the progress of the young people under their protection. They also provided supplementary evening classes, organized competitions, and directed recreational activities. And many sociktis de patronage, like the Soci6t6 de patronage des apprentis isral61itesin Paris, maintained their own facilities where their various programs could be conducted and where some apprentices might be housed. For example, the venerable Soci6t6 des amis de l'enfance, one of the oldest Catholic socidtis de patronage in Paris, was renowned for its "maison de famille," where some of its charges were lodged, and where others could find "at any hour of the day or night . . . a shelter when their shop is idle, care when they are sick, fresh clothing each week, and a place to spend Sunday."'0 The structural similarities between Jewish and non-Jewish socidtis de

9. In 1873, there were already some three hundred patronage societies in the country, serving about eighty thousand children; see Annales de l'Assemblde nationale.:Compte-renduin extenso des slances 40 (Paris, 1873): 517 (February 3, 1873). For the nineteenth-century socidtts de patronage in Paris, see Manuel des oeuvreset institutionsde charitdde Paris (Paris, 1852), esp. pt. 1; E. Knoepflin, Annuaire de la charitd (Paris, 1863), esp. pts. 4, 5; Manuel des oeuvres et institutions religieuses et charitables (Paris, 1877), chap. 3; Office central des oeuvres de bienfaisance, Paris charitable et privoyant (Paris, 1897), esp. chaps. 21-24. On the socidtd de patronage organized in cabinetmaking, see Lee Shai Weissbach, "Entrepreneurial Traditionalism in Nineteenth-Century France: A Study of the Patronage industriel des enfants de l'6b6nisterie," Business History Review 57 (1983): 548-565; on the socidtd de patronage organized in artificial flower production, see Marilyn J. Boxer, "Women in Industrial Homework: The Flowermakers of Paris in the Belle Epoque," FrenchHistorical Studies 12 (1982): 411-412. 10. Manuel des oeuvres (1852), p. 33.

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patronage is nicely illustrated by a comparison of the official programs of Jewish and non-Jewish projects. For example, the Oeuvre des apprentis et jeunes ouvriers, one of the most prominent Catholic societis de patronage of the nineteenth century, articulated the following goals: 1. To place children with trustworthyand able masters when they leave school, and to watchover them duringthe periodof their apprenticeship; 2. To open eveningschoolsfor childrenemployedin shopsandfactorieswhen they finish work, and to bring them togetherduringthe day on Sunday underthe supervisionof the Frdres.Apprenticesand young laborersfind religiousservicesand instructionat these gatherings,and recreation. Everythree monthsprizesare awardedto the most accomplished,and relief to the most needy." And this is how the Soci~t6 de patronage des apprentis israelites de Paris defined its purposes: 1. To encourageapprenticeshiptrainingamongthe childrenof poor Jewsin the city of Paris, and particularlyof those who leave the Jewishprimary schools; 2. To assist them with a monthly subvention; 3. To watch over them in an active and benevolentmanner; 4. To furnishthem the opportunityto completetheirinstructionand education, by means of regularlyestablishedeveningcourses; 5. To keep track of those young people who become workers,and sustain them with its patronage.'2 Even more significant than the structural similarities between Jewish apprenticeship programs and others, however, is the similarity in their goals of social reform. Gentile sponsors of apprenticeship programs, like Jewish sponsors, wanted to do much more than provide high-quality industrial training; they too made the connection between vocational education and the moral reform of the lower classes. In the early industrial period, many in the upper and middle classes of French society felt threatened by the large numbers of the poor in their midst, and by their "culture of poverty." The perennial questionsociale of the nineteenth century was what to do about the poor; and those who began to confront this question recognized that

11. Ibid., p. 34. 12. Knoepflin, Annuaire, pp. 274-275; also Compte-rendu... Paris (1877), p. 4.

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economic misery and moral depravity often went hand in hand. Furthermore, non-Jewish philanthropists, like their Jewish counterparts, believed that one of the best ways to ameliorate the condition of the poor and integrate them into society was to make their children productive citizens adhering to a system of values acceptable to the dominant elites. Children were, after all, more the victims of poverty than its cause, and thus they were not only more deserving of the solicitude of the privileged classes, but also more likely to respond to it. As Armand de Melun, the patriarch of the Catholic patronage movement, observed, "It is through childhood that God renders centuries corrigible, and nations susceptible to healing."'3 So non-Jews as well as Jews argued that providing sound technical training for the working classes could "reaffirm the basis of our society,"'4 and non-Jewish philanthropists in the patronage movement, like their Jewish counterparts, spoke of the "rigindration sociale" of the poorer classes.'5 Christian apprenticeship societies argued just as strongly as Jewish societies that theirs was "not only an oeuvre industrielle, .. . but also an oeuvre morale." 6 Moreover, the similarity between Jewish and non-Jewish apprenticeship programs went far beyond a superficial identity of motivation, for it involved a very large measure of agreement on the central question of what values the children of the poor needed to be taught. In fact, there seemed to be agreement between Jews and non-Jews on an entire system of values to be instilled in the hearts and minds of poor apprentices. To the supporters of patronage within the Jewish community, one of the most important things apprenticeship projects could do was teach the necessity and the value of "useful" labor. The Soci6t6 de patronage des apprentis isral61itesin Paris spoke of allaying its apprentices' "fear of work," and convincing them "that peoples, like individuals, develop themselves only through ceaseless labor.""' The president of the Jewish socikte de patronage at Nancy declared that "manual labor is, as much so as intellectual labor, an instrument of emancipation and prosperity.'""'And Chief 13. Quoted in Am6d6e D'Andign6, Armandde Melun: Un apdtre de la charitd(Paris, 1961), p. 168. 14. Armand Audiganne, "Du Mouvement intellectuel parmi les populations ouvrieresL'enseignement industriel en France," Revue des deux mondes, new period, 10 (1851): 886. 15. "De l'oeuvre des apprentis," Annalesde la charith 1 (1845): 473. See also "Du patronage des enfants employ6s en manufacture," Annales de la charitd 3 (1847): 115. 16. Ministbre de l'agriculture, Enquite, vol. 1, p. 170. 17. Compte-rendu... Paris (1894), p. 16; Isidore Cahen, "Soci6t6 de la jeunesse israeliteDistribution des prix," Archives isradlites 21 (1860): 83. 18. "Soci6t6 de patronage des apprentis isral61itesde Nancy" (Nancy, 1899), p. 4.

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Rabbi Samuel Marx explained to the Jewish apprentices of Bayonne that "work makes men moral, develops the forces with which we are endowed, and procures our independence and our even more precious self-esteem." Rabbi Marx complained that "it is precisely that class of society which has the greatest need of work . . . that has for the longest time resisted this premier obligation of man." He urged his young listeners to maintain a positive attitude toward labor, observing that work was a "great law of humanity."19 But non-Jewish communal leaders were just as concerned about the reluctance of the poor to enter "productive" professions; they too stressed the importance of instilling a work ethic among the lower classes. Indeed, they spoke in terms strikingly similar to those used by the Jewish elite. Armand de Melun, for example, told an assembly of apprentices in 1853 that Workis not sufficientlyappreciatedeven by those who spendall theirtime at it; often they submitto it as a penitence,they curseit as an injustice;and yet, when it is sanctifiedwith prayerand made moralwith virtue,work is one of the most magnificentgifts that heavenhas bestowedon earth.20 "Work! Oh! May this word arouse in us no prejudice and no repugnance!" cried another president of a Catholic apprenticeship society.21 And yet another patronage leader (echoing Rabbi Marx) insisted that "man is made to labor as the bird is made to fly and the fish to swim. Labor is, to be sure, a law of the world."22 Thrift, it should be added, was seen as the essential complement to labor. Thus, while Manuel Leven was exhorting the Jewish apprentices of Paris to "be thrifty, save a part of your salary every day," Paul Decaux was explaining that within his Catholic patronage, "it is taught that one must conserve by economizing, just as it is taught that one must earn by working."23 All the philanthropists of the patronage movement also agreed that the children of the poor should be encouraged to develop a sense of selfdiscipline. The Jewish apprentices of Bayonne were asked to "have a high

19. "Soci6t6 protectrice ... de Bayonne," pp. 4-5. 20. Quoted in Charles de Riancey, "Distribution des prix auxjeunes apprentis des quartiers Saint-Denis et Saint-Martin," Annales de la charitd 7 (1851): 507. 21. Quoted in Abb6 de Poterat, Le patronage des apprentisd'Orlians (Orl6ans, 1902), p. 23. 22. Paul Decaux, "Les patronages d'apprentis et les cercles d'ouvriers" (Paris, 1874), p. 4. 23. Compte-rendu .. Paris (1887), p. 12; Decaux, "Les patronages," p. 4.

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sense of morality and perserverance in the face of every trial," and the Jewish apprentices of Paris were warned to "beware those deadly tendencies that may lead you to concern yourselves with something other than your profession."24 Likewise, M. E. Cacheux, the author of a comprehensive report on patronage, observed that "young men have passions they must learn to control," and the director of a Catholic societeFde patronage at Orl6ans complained that among the various problems his project had faced over the years, "the inconstancy of youth" was "alas! the most persistent."25 The necessity of teaching poor apprentices a certain amount of deference and obedience was another matter on which all the supporters of patronage found agreement. Even though Jewish orators could proclaim that "the interests of the master and the worker are the same," and their non-Jewish counterparts could speak of "breaking down the walls of separation between the classes,"26 it was clear that the haute bourgeoisand aristocratic men and women who directed the work of patronage did not envision a society based on social and economic equality. Rather they had in mind an idealized corporate society in which social and economic stability would be guaranteed. Apprentices were certainly expected to accept their place in the social order and to acknowledge their debt to those who aided them. Thus Virgile Leon praised the Jewish apprentices of Bayonne for being "submissive and respectful toward their protectors,"27and the Jewish apprentices of Metz were reminded of their status each time they sang their hymn of thanks to God: You haveled me to encounter,for the guidanceof my youth, Generousmen whose protectingcare Preservesme from evil, extricatesme from indolence, And providesme with work to escape my misfortune.28 Christian reformers delivered the same message about deference. "What is

24. "Soci6t6 protectrice . .. de Bayonne," p. 6; Compte-rendu... Paris (1887), p. 12. 25. M. E. Cacheux, Etat actuel en France du patronage et des l'enseignement de apprentis (Paris, 1889), p. 66; Poterat, Patronage, p. 31. 26. Compte-rendu... Paris (1887), p. 12; "Patronage des jeunes ouvribres de la ville de Paris," Annales de la charitd 7 (1851): 101. 27. "Soci6t6 protectrice... de Bayonne," p. 20. 28. S. Weyl, "Soci6t6 d'encouragement des arts et m6tiers parmi les Israblites de Metz," Archives isradlites 16 (1855): 92-93.

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it, then, that imposesupon man the rule and the duty of obedience?"asked the presidentof a Catholicsocidtde de patronagerhetoricallyin 1863."It is it is came the necessity, reason," reply.And this ideawas reinforcedwithyet another:"religiouspreceptmakes of obediencea virtue."'29 If all supportersof patronagewanted the childrenof the poor to learn gratitudeand devotionto those of highersocial rank,theywantedthemalso to learn loyalty to their country. Historiansof nineteenth-centuryFrench Jewryhave tendedto identifythe patriotismof the Franco-Jewishelite with its desire to demonstratehow well integratedinto French life the newly emancipatedJewishcommunityhad become,and thereis certainlytruthin this analysis.Butpatriotismwas in fact a valueemphasizedin thepatronage movementgenerally,with both Jewishand non-Jewishoratorsstressingto young apprenticesthe connectionbetweentheirown industrialtrainingand theirabilityto servetheircountry."Yourplaceis markedout in the pacific armyof industry,"Meluntold the apprenticesof his societyin 1850."Your aptitude, your perseverance,will contributeto France'smaintaining... the respect that she is due in the world."30The same point was made by Manuel Leven of the Soci6t6de patronagedes apprentisisraeliteswhen he insistedthat "truepatriotism"lay in helpingstrengthenFrance'seconomic position vis-t-vis foreign competitors.3' Because the patronagemovementwas attemptingto reshapethe very sensibilitiesof the childrenof the poorer classes, a part of its campaignof rigindrationinvolved protectingpoor children from what the dominant classes perceivedas the vulgaritiesof popular culture. It was important, relatedan articlein the Archivesisradlites,to guardyoung apprenticesfrom "thedangerouspromiscuitiesof the workshop,to sheltertheireyesandtheir ears from sights and conversationsthat may corrupttheir heartsand taint theirperceptions."32 And it was importantalso to protectthe childrenof the both of poor "from the dangersof the street and from vagabondage,"33 whichthe Jewishelite musthave associatedwith the itineranttradesthey so despised. But non-Jewishphilanthropistsfrom the privilegedclasses also worriedabout the negativeinfluencesof the shop floor and of the street.

29. Poterat, Patronage, p. 24. 30. A.C., "Distribution des prix auxjeunes apprentis du faubourg Saint-Antoine," Annales de la charite 6 (1850): 492-493. 31. Compte-rendu... Paris (1887), p. 11. 32. H. Prague, "Chronique de la semaine," Archives isradlites 46 (1885): 408. 33. Compte-rendu. . . Paris (1880), p. 4.

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Cacheux, the contemporary commentator on patronage, asserted that it was imperative to protect children "against the dangers of bad company, and against the attractions of the street," and the nonsectarian society for apprentices in Paris' 17th arrondissementannounced that one of its goals was "to defend apprentices from vagabondage and the evil influences of the street."34 Caf6s and cabarets were also singled out as places where young apprentices could be led astray. The "final piece of advice" given Jewish youngsters completing their apprenticeships in Paris in 1886 was to stay away from caf6s and cabarets, "the two scourges of working-class society."35And when the Catholic patronage activist Paul Decaux described the achievements of his institution, he announced proudly that the youngsters under its influence "resist the unfortunate habit of the small glass and the large bock"; and that "they fear the turbulence of the dance, the jostling of the theater pit, the suffocating atmosphere of the upper gallery."36 Indeed, so concerned were the leaders of the patronage movement with the influences of the culture of poverty that they did not fully trust even the parents of the youngsters they were attempting to help. They believed that many poor families were incapable of raising their own children. The founders of the Soci6t6 de patronage des apprentis israelites noted that in initiating their work they had had to overcome "the inertia" and the "totally unjustified mistrust" of working-class parents, and the leaders of the society expressed concern about those youths who "find within their families only pernicious examples and perverted sentiments."'37 Similarly, Cacheux observed that apprenticeship societies were often called upon to combat parental "stupidity and ignorance," and individual philanthropists, such as the founder of the societeF de patronage in cabinetmaking, berated parents for sending their children out to earn a few centimes rather than providing for their proper vocational training.38

34. Cacheux, Etat actuel, p. 67; "Soci6t6 de patronage des apprentis gargons et filles du XVIIe arrondissement" (Paris, 1888), p. 14. 35. Compte-rendu... Paris (1887), p. 12. 36. Decaux, "Les patronages," p. 24. 37. Isidore Cahan, "Chronique du mois," Archives israelites 19 (1858): 345; Compte-rendu Paris (1860), p. 2. See also Christine Piette, Lesjuifs de Paris (1808-1840): La marche vers ... I'assimilation (Quebec, 1983), p. 43. 38. Cacheux, Etat actuel, p. 69; "D6position de M. Lemoine," Ministere de l'instruction publique et des beaux-arts, Commission d'enquite sur la situation des ouvrierset des industries d'art (Paris, 1884), p. 8.

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But trying to shelter youngsters from the influence of lower-class culture was not enough. The task of "directing the tastes"39" of young apprentices also included exposing them to the more refined elements of French civilization. Thus the Fondation Bischoffsheim offered its students courses in gymnastics, dance, voice, sewing, and music, as well as in more fundamental subjects. On Saturday afternoons, after synagogue services, the boys of the icole de travail in Paris were taken on outings to public parks, or to museums and galleries such as those of the Louvre and the Conservatoire des arts et m6tiers.40In much the same way, the nondenominational apprentice society in Paris' 6th arrondissement offered its youngsters lessons in voice, violin, diction, and fencing. And the society for apprentices in the 17th arrondissementconducted trips to the Louvre, Cluny, the Luxembourg Palace, the Conservatoire des arts et m6tiers, and other sites, in order to "educate" the children entrusted to it "by showing them masterpieces of art and industry."41 Reading was recognized as an important vehicle for instilling values, and here again Jewish and non-Jewish organizations were of the same mind as to what should be read. The leaders of the Jewish patronage movement wanted their apprentices to be exposed to "good French authors" so that they could be weaned from "that vulgar language that runs rampant in the streets" and encouraged to acquire "a taste for serious reading."42Likewise, Catholic apprentices were urged to read books containing "wholesome ideas and beneficial notions." These would replace "the images and impressions of those all-too-cheap books..,. that are the disgrace of literature and the most active agents of popular corruption."43Jewish efforts to encourage reading among the children of the poor were so much in tune with nonJewish efforts that in 1869 James de Rothschild was able to offer the library of the Soci6t6 de patronage des apprentis israelites as a model for libraries to be established by other apprenticeship societies. At the time that Rothschild described the library of the Jewish society, it contained 162 volumes considered serious reading (including 42 volumes of history, 20 of travel litera-

39. Compte-rendu... Paris (1860), p. 2. 40. Maxime Du Camp, Paris bienfaisant (Paris, 1888), p. 411; Compte-rendu... Paris (1878), p. 8. 41. Office central des oeuvres, Paris charitable, p. 239; "Soci~t6 de patronage ... XVIIe arrondissement," p. 8. 42. Cahen, "Soci~t6 de la jeunesse isra6lite," p. 83. 43. Armand de Melun, "Oeuvre des apprentis et des jeunes ouvribres," Annales de la charite, n.s. 4 (1863): 537.

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ture, 20 of science, and 33 of art, industry, and morale), as well as 171 books in a lighter vein. By far the most popular volumes in the library were the novels of Erckmann-Chatrian and those of Jules Verne. There were very few books of an essentially Jewish character in the collection.44 The various apprenticeship societies of nineteenth-century France were in fact so similar in nature that at times Jews and gentiles cooperated closely with each other in the work of patronage. Jewish youths sponsored by the socidtd de patronage in Paris participated alongside apprentices from other societies in competitions organized by sundry government agencies and trade associations, and Jewish youths attended the courses in design offered by the Paris municipality. The Soci6t6 de patronage des apprentis israelites in Paris and the Fondation Bischoffsheim both participated with a host of other apprenticeship projects in the various Universal Expositions of the late nineteenth century.45So too, local non-Jewish youths were welcomed at the evening classes sponsored by the Soci6t6 de patronage des apprentis israelites, and in 1862 twelve of the eighteen nonboarding students at the Jewish dcole de travail in Strasbourg were Christians.46Gentiles were among those who contributed to the fund-raising drives of Jewish apprenticeship programs. They also attended the annual awards ceremonies of Jewish societies, and praised the work of these institutions in print. One writer in 1845 contended that of the 423 sponsors of the Jewish apprenticeship project at Mulhouse, only 189 were Jews!47 Just as there were gentiles who supported apprenticeship programs organized to serve Jewish youths, there were also Jews who supported socidtis de patronage established outside their own community. For example, among the benefactors of the nonsectarian Soci6t6 de l'orphelinat de la Seine, which apprenticed orphans and abandoned children, the names of several important Parisian Jewish families were represented: Cr6mieux, Dreyfus, Lazard, Vidal, Goldschmidt, Rodrigue, Godchaux, Kahn, L6vy, 44. See James de Rothschild, "Bibliothbque de la soci6t6 de patronage des apprentis et ouvriers israelites," Bulletin de la Socidtdede protection des apprentis et des enfants des manufactures, 1869, pp. 226-229. 45. Compte-rendu ... Paris (1877), p. 4; Compte-rendu .. Paris (1878), p.2; Compterendu. . . Paris (1884), p. 6; Compte-rendu. . . Paris (1894), p. 14; Du Camp, Paris bienfaisant, p. 418. 46. Compte-rendu... Paris (1878), p. 8; Szajkowski, "Yiddishe fachshulen," p. 94. 47. Th6ophile Hallez, Des Juifs en France: de leur e~tatmoral et politique (Paris, 1845), p. 257. See also "Ecole israblite d'arts et m6tiers i Mulhouse," Archives isradlites 5 (1844): 399-403; "L'cole de travail de Strasbourgjug6e par un publiciste chr6tien,"Archivesisraelites 27 (1866): 405-406; "Soci6t6 d'encouragement... Metz," p. 411.

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L~vy-Alvards, and (not unexpectedly) Rothschild.4s So too, the Patronage de l'enfance et de l'adolescence, another nondenominational society, was able to announce proudly that from its inception it had "counted concurrently among its members, H.E. the Cardinal Richard, M. the Chief Rabbi Zadoc-Kahn, and M. the Pastor Vernes."49When the Soci~t6 de protection des apprentis et des enfants des manufactures was founded in 1867 as an umbrella organization to coordinate the work of patronage and to lobby for child labor legislation, there were among its charter members some eighteen individuals (including Rabbi Elie Astruc) who were also subscribers of the socidtd de patronage for Paris' Jewish apprentices at one time or another.50 In 1872, James de Rothschild was elected a vice-president of the Soci~t6 de protection des apprentis. Although recent historians have for the most part ignored the larger context of their work, nineteenth-century supporters of Jewish apprenticeship projects seemed to be very much aware of their place within a more general patronage movement. Here, for example, is how the Soci~t6 de patronage des apprentis israelites de Paris described its own origins: In largecities,andaboveall in capitalcities,like Paris,thosemenwho concern themselveswith populareducationand trainingalwaysrealizedthe pressing needto extricatechildrenfromthe dangersof the streetandremovethemfrom the thousandsof petty trades... This necessitywas evidentwith the same clarityamongthe representatives A' of the Jewish Community... Of course, each individual socidtdde patronage in France was to a certain extent unique, and each had its own specific agenda. Every socidtdde patronage affiliated with a religious denomination made some effort to promote its own faith and to instill a sense of pride and loyalty in the children under its supervision. "[A]t the patronage / Each one takes care / to become a wise /

48. See the brochure "Soci6t6 de l'orphelinat de la Seine pour l'assistance et l'apprentissage des orphelins et des enfants abandonn6s," in Archives nationales (Paris), carton F17-12530. 49. "Patronage de l'enfance et de l'adolescence: Soci6t6 de protection des enfants en danger moral" (Paris, ca. 1905), p. 9. 50. The list of charter members of the Soci6t6 de protection des apprentis, in Bulletin de la Socidte de protection des apprentis et des enfants des manufactures, 1867, pp. 39-44, was compared with subscribers lists in Compte-rendu... Paris (1860), pp. 12-16, and in Compterendu . . . Paris (1877), pp. 34-44. 51. Compte-rendu. . . Paris (1878), p. 3.

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and a better Christian," sang Catholic apprentices.52And every socidtd de patronage had to deal with specific problems stemming from its own particular identity. In the 1870s, the militantly Catholic patronage society under the presidency of Armand de Melun had to contend with political problems arising from its monarchist propagandizing, for example;"5and the socidtd de patronage for apprentices in the cabinetmaking trade had to confront the widely recognized decline in the quality of French furniture.54 Thus, although it is important to recognize that Jewish apprenticeship projects occupied a place within a broader network of French philanthropy, it nonetheless remains important to consider the specifically Jewish concerns of these projects. The fact that Jewish apprenticeship programs were representative of a whole genre of French philanthropic institutions in no way diminishes the significance of their specifically Jewish aspects. Indeed, the sponsors of Jewish apprenticeship programs, while they saw themselves as participants in the larger French enterprise of patronage, also understood that the situation of Jewish apprentices was in some ways quite different from that of other apprentices. French Jews were, after all, a newly emancipated minority in an essentially Christian society. Jewish orators frequently reminded the youngsters under their patronage that the many occupations closed to Jews under the Old Regime were now open to them. And always present in the minds of Jewish philanthropists was the need to dispel the image of the Jew as economic parasite.55The 6cole de travail of Paris was praised for producing artisans who, "by wielding a plane or a chisel, defend Israel against the eternal reproach leveled against it, that it loathes manual labor."'56Many a Jewish boy, like the fictional Isaie in the moralist novel of Rabbi Isaac L6vy, was told that by learning a trade "you render a service to yourself, [and] you render a service to your religion."57 There were also certain practical problems of a specifically Jewish character that Jewish projects of patronage had to address. For example, there was the issue of Sabbath observance. In Paris and in Bordeaux, 52. From the song "Notre Patronage," in Chants des patronages (Saint-Saulve [Nord], 1909), p. 27 53. See material in Archives nationales (Paris), carton F17-12533. 54. See Weissbach, "Entrepreneurial Traditionalism," passim. 55. See, for example, Manuel Leven, "Distribution des prix aux ouvriers et apprentis israelites, a Paris," Archives israelites 20 (1859): 26; "Soci6t6 de patronage... de Nancy," p. 2. 56. Prague, "Chronique," p. 408. 57. Quoted in Rapha1eland Weyl, Juifs en Alsace, p. 378; and in David Cohen, La promotion desjuifs en France a l'epoque du Second Empire (1852-1870) (Aix-en-Provence, 1980), vol. 2, p. 333.

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apprenticeship contracts drawn up under the supervision of Jewish societies were scrupulous about restricting Sabbath labor, and the leaders of the Lyon Jewish community opted to send their children to the trade schools of Mulhouse or Strasbourg rather than place them with local Christian masters and risk having them violate the Sabbath.58 In the end, however, the degree to which Jewish apprenticeship societies were concerned with specifically Jewish matters is far less striking than the degree to which Jewish societies and their non-Jewish counterparts were alike. Jewish and gentile patronage activists perceived the culture of poverty in much the same way, and they were largely in agreement about how the value systems of the poor needed to be altered. Indeed, what Jewish patronage philanthropists wanted to instill in their wards was not so much a Jewish value system as it was a French bourgeois value system. This is the reason that some Orthodox French Jews raised objections to the work of Jewish vocational training societies and schools.59 In establishing projects to provide moral guidance and professional training for the children of the poor, the leaders of the Franco-Jewish community adopted both the institutional structures and the social action ideologies that weredeveloping in the largely Catholic society around them. And it might be added that the nineteenth-century Jewish elite was not much more successful in its efforts to remold the working classes and eradicate poverty than were non-Jewish communal leaders. Class antagonisms were not eliminated as a result of patronage; Jewish participation in the militant labor movement of the late nineteenth century attests to this. Nor was poverty eliminated. As soon as French Jews seemed on the verge of abandoning such occupations as peddling and street hawking (the percentage of Parisian Jews in "petit commerce" went from about 52 percent in 1809 to about 19 percent in 1872, for example),60 the problem of poverty within the Jewish community was once again exacerbated by the arrival of immigrants from Eastern Europe. So once again we are reminded that in order for the experience of the Jews in modern France to be fully understood, it must be viewed from the broadest possible perspective. If we are to fully understand the mentality of the communal leaders who initiated programs for the vocational training

58. See Kahn, Professions manuelles, p. 24; "Biographie... Michel Goudchaux," Archives israelites 24 (1863): 754; S. Bloch, "Lyon," L'univers isradlite 11 (1855): 118-119. 59. See, for example, Albert, Modernization, p. 137; Helfand, French Jewry, p. 142. 60. Cohen, Promotion, p. 350.

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and moral reform of poor Jews, we must recognize that they acted both in response to the internal concerns of the Jewish community, and in response to the concerns of French society in general. The apprenticeship projects of the Jewish community were as much a part of a larger French social action movement as they were a manifestation of the Jewish desire for respectability and acceptance. In attempting to reshape the character of poor Jewish youths, the leaders of French Jewry were not only trying to advance the cause of Jewish acculturation, but also confronting the same fundamental question sociale that troubled all French elites in the early industrial period. Jewish and gentile philanthropists alike had come under the influence of the Enlightenment's glorification of productive labor, and Jewish involvement in the work of patronage reveals the extent to which the leaders of French Jewry had come to share a faith in the regenerative power of vocational training with their gentile counterparts. A careful examination of Jewish apprenticeship projects in the nineteenth century demonstrates that the Franco-Jewish elite had placed itself squarely within the French system of paternalistic philanthropy, just as in other ways too it had placed itself (for better or worse) within the mainstream of French upper-class culture. Universityof Louisville Louisville,Ky.

Review: [untitled] Author(s): Baruch A. Levine Source: AJS Review, Vol. 12, No. 1 (Spring, 1987), pp. 143-157 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486397 . Accessed: 30/06/2011 22:33 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

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BOOK REVIEWS

H. Louis Ginsberg. The Israelian Heritage of Judaism. New York Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1982. 145 pp. H. L. Ginsberg's recent monograph is perhaps the most seminal study of the Deuteronomic question since Julius Wellhausen's History of Israel, Volume 1, first published in 1878, a work which in its time revolutionized biblical research.' No two works could be more dissimilar, however, either in style or method. Wellhausen wrote expansively, seeking to demonstrate a comprehensive theory of religious development in ancient Israel. He worked with historical models derived from other disciplines. Ginsberg, on the other hand, writes more in the manner of a theoretical mathematician, providing us with a series of equations, laconically stated, and accompanied by only brief comments. Ginsberg focuses on a limited number of key biblical passages, and subjects these to a type of exegesis which he himself has perfected and refined more than any other modern scholar. His method rests on the analysis of diction, which allows him to trace literary provenance. Ultimately, Ginsberg's potential for conclusive demonstration is greater than was Well1. The original German title was Geschichte Israels. In 1883, Wellhausen published a second, revised edition under the title Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels, which has become the standard reference work (English trans., Prolegomena to the History of Israel [Cleveland and New York: Meridian Books, 1961]).

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hausen's, because he bases his conclusions on biblical Hebrew expression, on the evidence of language, rather than on a theoretical model. Ironically, what has remained valid in Wellhausen's own reconstruction is his interpretation of certain specific biblical texts, whereas his overall historical reconstruction has been shown to be problematic in basic respects. In the present study, Ginsberg argues that "proto-Deuteronomy" (a term designating those sections of the book which we have reason to consider primary) originated in the northern Israelite kingdom of the mid- to late-eighth century B.C.E.,in the period prior to the downfall of northern Israel. Ginsberg coined the term "Israelian" to convey this geosocial context. In the course of the monograph, he also exposes the Israelian origin of other biblical writings-chapters 6-7 of Micah, parts of the Book of Proverbs, and certain Psalms. The cumulative effect of his discussions is to provide a more balanced view of literary creativity and religious development during the eighth century B.C.E. We become aware of positive responses to the problems of northern Israelite society, coming from within that society itself. Ginsberg's effort corrects for the "bad press" received by the northern Israelite kingdom in much of biblical literature. Foremost among the Israelian responses are the teachings preserved in Deuteronomy. Ginsberg argues that the doctrine restricting all sacrifice and cultic activity to one legitimate temple first emerged in northern Israel and was then transmitted to Jerusalem and Judah. It eventually impacted seventh-century Judah, as well as the postexilic Judean community restored. By positioning proto-Deuteronomy in northern Israel of the eighth century B.C.E.instead of in seventh-century Judah, as most scholars had concluded, Ginsberg also places the priestly component within Torah literature (known as P) in literary-historical perspective.2 He shows that, with surprisingly few exceptions, priestly legislation represents a set of accommodations to the Deuteronomic program, especially as regards the changing character of the annual pilgrimage festivals. I Undoubtedly, the best way to underscore the importance of Ginsberg's contribution would be to clarify the centrality of the Deuteronomic question 2. Perhaps the best representative discussion of the Deuteronomic question is to be found in M. Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School (Oxford, 1972). Ginsberg's monograph will, however, require serious modification of Weinfeld's treatment.

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itself, in both historical and phenomenological terms. Essentially, what we call the Deuteronomic question concerns patterns of worship and the delimiting of sacred space. In the Near East, as elsewhere in the ancient world, the sanctity of space lay at the heart of religious experience. A primary function of institutionalized religions was, therefore, to determine where one could legitimately worship. In antiquity, worship inevitably involved sacrifice, for prayer, by itself, was regarded as insufficent. It was generally held that sacrifice was efficacious only at sacred sites. To put it another way: sacrifice worked only at sites where divine beings were thought to be present, or to which they could be invited. When we read of the initiation of sacrificial worship at a site previously unknown for its sanctity (at least, as the Bible states the matter), we find that worshipers would invoke the deity by name. The resultant appearance of the deity, the theophany, served to confirm the sanctity of the site. Ritual activity and magical means were aimed at consecrating space-the ground itself, as well as the related structures, artifacts, and materiel, extending to the personnel operating in sacred space. Decisions relevant to the locus of worship and celebration determined, to a considerable degree, the manifest character of a given religion. One would surely expect to find in the Hebrew Bible statements of policy on the matter of sacred space; and indeed we do. Exodus 20:19-23 tells us what certain "Israelian" spokesmen of the ninth or perhaps early eighth century B.C.E. thought about sacred space. The stated policy is as follows: Israelites may offer sacrifices to the God of Israel at any mdqdm("cult-place") in the land where God permits His name to be invoked. He permits this where certain specific conditions are met; namely, idolatrous worship is emphatically forbidden, the altar is constructed in a specific manner, and the priests conduct themselves decorously. The God of Israel will "arrive" at a proper mdqdmin response to invocation, and will grant blessings to His worshippers. There is no limit on the number of such cult-places. This relatively early statement, appearing almost directly after the Decalogue, and immediately before the laws of the Book of the Covenant, correlates with the most reliable biblical traditions on religion and worship. The Patriarchs, as we read about them in the earliest narratives of Genesis, erected altars all over the land, and offered sacrifices upon them, invoking God's name and experiencing theophanies in sacred space. Jacob's experiences at Beth-El, as related in the northern Israelite narrative of Gen. 28:12-22, provide a good example. Judges of Israel acted in the same way, and even Solomon offered sacri-

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fices regularly on the great bdmdhat Gibeon before the Temple was built in Jerusalem (I Kings 3). Elijah sacrificed on a Yahwistic altar somewhere in the Carmel range (I Kings 18), just as Samuel had, before him, at any number of cult-places located along his circuit.3 Archaeological excavations have unearthed Israelite cult-places all over the land, literally from tell-Dan to tell-Beer-Sheva, dating from the period of the monarchies, and even prior to that time at such sites as Shiloh, in the Ephraimite hills. Although we find conflicting traditions in biblical literature, it would seem that Exodus 20:19-23 accords with official policy up to and until the historical period covered by approximately the last ten chapters of Second Kings; which is to say, until near the close of the eighth century B.C.E.,when Hezekiah was king over Judah and Jerusalem. The normal pattern in biblical Israel, according to law, policy, and custom, was one of multiple cult-places of varying magnitude and complexity, functioning on a local, regional, and even a national basis. Every town of any size would normally have a cult-place of some sort nearby, either an altar or a bdmdh.There were places for worship located on the main roads and in border areas, often attached to military or administrative outposts. The sanctuaries at Arad and Beer-Sheva were representative of this system. This system is specifically renounced in Deuteronomy, chapters 12 and 14-17, where a different doctrine altogether is expounded. If Exodus 20:19-23 permits worship at any proper mdqdmin the land, Deuteronomy explicitly forbids this. All cultic activity is to be restricted to one mdtqdm, whose location will be determined by God. All that we are told is that this mdcjom would stand in one of the tribal territories. The restriction covers festival celebrations and the remittance of tithes, votives, and firstlings. In literary context, Deuteronomy 12, which is the principal statement of policy, addresses the Israelites of Moses' time, as they prepared to cross the Jordan into Canaan. The chapter opens with the command to destroy all existing pagan cult-places in Canaan, where the native inhabitants of the land worshiped, together with their attendant artifacts. The one legitimate mdqdmwas to be newly constructed, not produced from an earlier structure. As the chapter unfolds, however, the Israelites are told not to persist in their own erstwhile pattern of offering sacrifice at various cult-places. The justification of that policy (the one followed before entry into the land) was that a people on the move, who had not as yet arrived at a secure haven, might

3. A fairly elaborate description of such a cult-installation is found in I Samuel 9.

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require many places of worship. Once settled, however, Israelites were to utilize only one, newly erected sanctuary in the Promised Land. Deuteronomy 12 continues with regulations concerning the slaughter of animals. Since all sacrificing would be restricted to a single sanctuary, the act of slaughtering animals, when performed elsewhere, could have no sacral significance whatsoever. No cult of purity would be involved, nor any altar used. Instead of being dashed on the altar, as was the practice with sacrificial blood, such blood was to be spilled on the ground and covered over. Among other things, this change in the phenomenology of slaughtering would eliminate the need for priests and other cult-practitioners throughout the land. Indeed, chapter 12 proceeds to exhort Israelites to be generous to the Levites, who would presumably join the ranks of the unemployed! Chapter 12 of Deuteronomy ends with an admonition to avoid forms of worship practiced by the indigenous Canaanites. Deut. 14:22-27 extends the laws of chapter 12 to tithes and firstlings, and 15:19-23 restates the law as regards firstlings. Chapter 16 emphasizes the requirement that the annual pilgrimage festivals take place exclusively at the central including mdlom, even the paschal sacrifice. In chapter 17 we read that the High Court would be located at the central md om, as well. The point to be made about Deuteronomy 12, in particular, is that it purports to speak only of idolatry. The polarity it generates is between worship of the God of Israel and pagan worship, and this is part of a widespread tendency in biblical literature to brand improper worship of the God of Israel as tantamount to idolatry. This tendency masks several different forms of heterodoxy, some purportedly representing the worship of the God of Israel, but which were objectionable in the view of biblical spokesmen. But the reference in chapter 12 of Deuteronomy to the earlier pattern of worship among the Israelites, who themselves used multiple cult-places, is a giveaway! It alludes to reality, and suggests that the issue actually being addressed is the policy governing worship of the God of Israel, not simply the eradication of idolatry, on which every official tradition agreed. Deuteronomy is ostensibly blind to the actual history of worship in ancient Israel. It imposes its doctrine on the entering Israelites, whereas, in historical perspective, what it states clashes with a background experience of local and regional worship of the God of Israel, in the Promised Land itself. Its message confronts a longstanding, customary pattern, formerly thought to be proper and in accordance with God's will. Here is not the place to deal with traditional attempts to resolve the

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Deuteronomic disagreement with patterns of worship recorded in biblical books canonically subsequent to Deuteronomy, and which were believed to pertain to subsequent periods of biblical history. Understandably, later Jewish interpreters sought to demonstrate the overall consistency of the biblical record. The offerings of Samuel and Elijah, recorded in the books of Samuel and Kings, were taken to be sporadic and unusual measures, and not representative of normal patterns of worship in the premonarchic and monarchic periods. In utter contrast to the traditionalist view, modern critical scholars eagerly seized on what they correctly regarded as a significant, documented shift in religious policy, inevitably connected in some way to the edicts of Josiah, king of Judah, recorded in II Kings 22-23, and dated ca. 622 B.C.E. This shift in policy surely accounts for the repeated proverbial condemnations of the bdmdt editorially implanted into the text of Kings.4 While the Temple in Jerusalem was under renovation, a priest discovered an old document, which was brought to Josiah and read in his presence. Upon hearing its contents, Josiah rent his garments, and sought clarification from the prophetess Huldah. She confirmed the authenticity of the document, and interpreted its contents to mean that Jerusalem and the Temple would be destroyed, and the people sent into exile. God had been angered by the widespread idolatry. From the measures which Josiah undertook in response to the discovered document, we may infer something of its specific contents. He destroyed, or at least put out of commission, cult-places all over the land. He singled out for particular attention the cult-center at Beth-El and its adjoining necropolis, and the Tophet outside of Jerusalem. He killed off pagan priests, and ordered Israelite priests to report to Jerusalem, thereby terminating their operations elsewhere. Of particular interest was his directive proclaiming celebration of the paschal sacrifice in the Temple of Jerusalem, something that had never before occurred. Against this background, we may now formulate what we have been referring to as the Deuteronomic question. We do so in several phases: 1. What is the historical relationship between the legislation of Deuteronomy and the edicts of Josiah? Are both sources referring to the same religious movement, and if so, how? 2. Is the tale told in II Kings about an old document discovered in the

4. For examples see I Kings 22:44, II Kings 12:14, 14:4, 15:4, 35, etc.

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Temple to be taken at face value? Are we to conclude that the objection to existing cult-places had, indeed, emerged at an earlier period, but had been ignored or opposed during the long reign of Manasseh, throughout most of the seventh century B.C.E.?Or is this tale legendary, merely intended to lend sanction to what was, in reality, a reform of worship and of the priesthood initiated by Josiah himself, and actually a product of religious ferment in the Judah of the mid- to late seventh century B.C.E.? 3. How are we, in either case, to interpret the efforts of Hezekiah, who had also sought to eliminate existing cult-places, as reported in II Kings 18:3-5, 22? These efforts would have taken place soon after the fall of the northern Israelite kingdom, in the late eighth century.

II Ginsberg does justice to all phases of the Deuteronomic question as we have just formulated it. How he does so requires us to read Hosea with new eyes, and to register its diction more precisely than we have been doing. A cursory reading of Hosea in tandem with Deuteronomy would hardly endorse Ginsberg's claim that the Deuteronomic program originally constituted a response to Hosean prophecies. There is little overall similarity between the two works. And yet, Ginsberg has identified three examples of corresponding diction which are so distinctive in biblical writings of the ninth to eighth century B.C.E.that we may theorize that the author (or authors) of proto-Deuteronomy most likely would not have derived such diction from any source other than the books of Hosea, which are collections of Israelian writings. (As a matter of fact, Ginsberg posits two Hoseas: chapters 1-3, written in the ninth century, and chapters 4-14, of the eighth century.) The theory that dictional correspondences indicate shared literary provenance rests on the reality that in ancient societies writers and scribes learned their techniques of composing narratives and chronicles, as well as poems, and legal and ritual codes from relatively few teachers. The successive exponents of specific teachings were usually associated with the same, ongoing institutions, and worked in the same schools, or circles, so that they would expectedly employ the same diction as their mentors and precursors had. In Hosea 2:10 we read that the Lord, in His kindness, had provided the Israelites with dagan, tFrdsh,and yitshar, "grain, wine, and oil," in that

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order (cf. further in Hos. 2:24). In Deut. 12:17, part of the basic exposition of the Deuteronomic program, we read that Israelites are required to remit tithes of dagan, tfrdsh, and yitshadr,in that order, to the Lord, at the one central mdqdm. This is repeated in Deut. 14:23 and 18:4. What was, in the first instance, a merism became a cliche in the writings of the Deuteronomist (Deut. 7:13, 11:14, 28:51). Independently, two of the three components of the merism, ddgdn and tfrdsh, occur as a pair in Gen. 27:28, 37, in the work of the Elohist of northern Israel; and in Hos. 7:14 and 9:1, somewhat adapted. The fact that, according to Ginsberg, chapters 1-3 of Hosea derive from the ninth century B.C.E.adds significance to the dictional correspondence between Hosea and Deuteronomy, because it brings us back to the northern Israelite society of an even earlier period. What we have is, therefore, Israelian diction par excellence, and we can trace the further transmission of the same merism in Judean literature and into postexilic times, even as far as the recently discovered Temple Scroll. The other two examples of diction discussed by Ginsberg are equally compelling. But diction alone cannot make the case that proto-Deuteronomy is an Israelian creation of the period between 740 and 725 B.C.E.Ginsberg consequently discusses examples of Deuteronomic legislation which he regards as responses, at least in part, to Hosean prophecies. It is the interaction of diction, theme, and law which ultimately clinches the argument. Ginsberg cites two examples of Hosean influence. One seemingly has nothing directly to do with the religious doctrine of Deuteronomy, but we shall learn that, in a curious way, it does! In Hos. 10:13-15, the prophet condemns reliance on chariotry and professional warriors, as part of his antiwar policy. Deut. 20:1-9, part of the law of warfare, and Deut. 17:16-17, part of the law of the king, echo this Hosean theme. More immediately pertinent to the argument is Ginsberg's suggestion that Hos. 8:11-14 was the impetus behind Deut. 12:8-18. Here is how Ginsberg explains this point: The centralizationof the cult whichis requiredby Deut. 12:8-18 is surely,at leastin part,a responseto the denunciationcumthreatof Hos. 8:11-14:"For Ephraimhas multipliedaltars-for guilt; his altars have redoundedto his guilt; (12) The principles(?) of the instructionI wrote for him have been treatedas somethingalien. (13) They have slaughteredvictimsto no purpose (?)-only for meat to eat. YHWH has not been appeasedby them. Behold,He will remembertheir iniquityand punishtheirsins:back to Egyptwith them!(14) SinceIsraelhas

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forgottenHis Makerwhile buildingtemples... I will send down fire on his cities and it shall devour his fortresses."The Deuteronomist evidently reasoned:if a multiplicityof altarsand templeswill lead to exile and devastation, the catastrophemay be avertedby reducingthe numberof templesto one, so that peoplemay not relyon them as a meansof obtainingabsolution. That this passagein Hoseawas a factorin givingriseto the law in Deut. 12,is confirmedby the recurrencein the latterof the phrasewe haveitalicizedin the former:yzbhwbsr wy'lkw(Hos. 8:13) tzbh w'klt bir (Deut. 12:15)[p. 21]. Surely, this matter warrants added discussion, because it is pivotal to the entire attribution of an Israelian provenance to proto-Deuteronomy. We begin with Ginsberg's keen observation that Hos. 8:11-14 and Deut. 12:15 are linked by shared and highly distinctive diction. As a matter of fact, no other biblical passage contains, in a single clause, these three ingredients: the verb 'dkhal, "eat," the verb zdbhah, "to slaughter," and the noun bdcir, "meat." But this is more than a technical correspondence. The theme of feasting on meat is basic to Deuteronomy 12, which repeatedly states that in the new order of worship, feasting on meat will have no sacral significance. Whereas Hosea regards as regrettable the practice of reducing the sacrificing of animals to mere feasting on meat, with no worshipful intent, Deuteronomy ordains that henceforth, the slaughter of animals outside the one legitimate mdqdm will, ironically, be nothing more than feasting on meat. So much for diction and its allusiveness. The real question is whether the Deuteronomic program is a logical response to Hosean prophecies. Is the reduction of sacred space to one legitimate cult-place a reasonable response to what Hosea was opposing in the northern Israelite society of the mid- to late eighth century B.C.E.?

All of Hosea 8 expresses the prophet's observation that Israel has abandoned "what is good," as verse 3 puts it. As a consequence of its disloyalty, northern Israel will be destroyed by an enemy. The people had betrayed berntand tarah, and their worship of God had been hypocritical. They seek ritual atonement as a mask for their transgressions. They appoint kings unacceptable to the Lord, and spend their wealth on idols, a prime example being the Bull of Samaria. This brings us to vv. 11-14, which Ginsberg cites in particular. It is a case of "the more the worse!" The prophet posits a correlation between the proliferation of altars and temples and the guilt of the people. Those who endow temples and erect altars are the very ones who have forgotten God. The more cult-places, therefore, the greater the affront to God and the more severe the degeneration of society. The same quantitative correlation is

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expressed in Hos. 4:7, with reference to priests: "The more numerous they (=the priests) have become, the more so have they offended Me. I will turn their prestige into disgrace!" The theme of Hosea 8 is carried forward in Hos. 10:1-8, which adds vehemence to the prophetic denunciation of an expanded cultic establishment under royal sponsorship. The passage is extremely difficult to interpret with assurance, but it holds forth potential insights into the thrust of Hosea's policy on cult and worship. Israelis a ravagedvine, And his fruit resembleshim! When his fruit abounded, He had built abundantaltars! When his land enjoyedplenty, He had erectedstelae aplenty! But because his devotionfailed,

He now faces ruin!5 So now he himselfwill pull down his altars, He will smash his own stelae! For now they claim:"We have no king! We did not fear the LORD, So what can the king do to us?" Agreementswere concludedwith false oaths, And covenantsenacted, And justice broke out like poisonous weeds In the furrowsof the field! The residentsof Samariafear for the calf of Beit-'Awen, Its populacemournsover its glory,

5. I prefer to see the botanical metaphor as moving quickly to the people of Israel. NJPS translates: "Now that his boughs are broken up," etc. This rendering takes its cue from II Sam. 18:14,where bilkbh hd'~dlhmeans "in the thick growth of the terebinth." The verb bdlaq is taken in the usual sense of "dividing, splitting off, or the like." The translation given here posits a second root in biblical Hebrew: cognate to Akkadian ljalaqu, "to disappear, vanish, to become missing or lost, to perish" .hlaq, (see the Assyrian Dictionary [University of Chicago], vol. 6 36 f.). This root is probably attested elsewhere in biblical Hebrew, unbeknown to most (cf. (•l), the niphal form in Gen. 14:15, as an example). The sense here is that the metaphor, having shifted from the vine to the people, speaks of their loss of "heart," namely, their loss of devotion or loyalty. For this sense of Hebrew lebh, see usage in Num. 32:7, 9, II Sam. 15:13, I Kings 12:27, etc.

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That has departedfrom it.6 It, too, will be transportedto Assyria, As tributeto an imperialking. Ephraimshall be shamed, Israelshall be failed by its own policy! Samaria'smonarchyis dissolving, Like foam upon the water! The high-placesof 'Awen shall be ruined, The guilt of Israel! Thorns and thistles shall overrunher altars, They shall say to the mountains:"Coverus!" To the hills: "Slide over us!" Hosea might have preferred no cult at all to what he had observed in northern Israel. The cult establishment was a major part of the problem, because its influence contradicted the true objectives of religious life. It represented what we might call "state religion." Joash and Jeroboam II, kings of northern Israel, exploited the popular penchant for worship and celebration, and the strongly felt need for expiation and divine forgiveness. The royal establishment endowed numerous altars and cult places, and royally appointed priests undoubtedly assumed control over existing traditional cult-places so that everywhere, royal policy would be sanctioned by the institutions of religion. This strategy is brought home by the sharp interchange between the prophet Amos and Amaziah, the priest of Beth-El, preserved in chapter 7 of Amos. Chapters 8 and 10 of Hosea inform us that royal policies had proved disastrous, both in domestic and international terms. The people were beginning to defy their king. They were tearing down the lavish symbols of royal policy, the altars and stelae. They reasoned, a fortiori, that once they had offended God and suffered His wrath, they had little to fear from a discredited king! In Hosea 8 and 10 we observe a subtle blending of the religious and the sociopolitical as themes of prophetic denunciation. Most assuredly, there was something seriously wrong with current modes of worship and with religious attitudes, but there was more to the problem than heterodoxy and hypocrisy. 6. Hebrew 'dwen, "iniquity," represents a pejorative alteration of the toponymic Beit-'El, "House of God," to Beit-'Aen, or just 'Awen, for the actual town of Beth-El. See Hosea 4:15, 5:8, in addition to our passage.

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Hosea and Amos refer by name to a number of cult-centers, undoubtedly royally sponsored, which were operative in the northern Israel of the eighth century B.C.E. They mention Beth-El, of course, as well as Dan, Gilead (Jabesh Gilead?), Gilgal, Samaria, and Shechem. They also refer to "altars," and this is significant, as we have seen in the case of mnizbc2hdt, Hosea 8:11.7 Now, Isaiah of Jerusalem, who also objected to lavishing wealth on idols (Isa. 2:7-8), refersonly once to the problematic of such altars. This is as part of an oracle on the downfall of the Kingdom of Damascus (Isa. 17:1-11), in which the prophet predicts for the Arameans the same misfortune that was about to befall the northern kingdom of Israel! The point is that the phenomenon of altars was a distinctive feature of

religiouslife in northernIsrael,and it is only when he is characterizingthe situation in northernIsrael that Isaiah refers to it specifically. In fact, a good case could be made for concluding that Isaiah of Jerusalem spoke somewhat like a northerner when his subject was the religious disloyalty of northern Israelite society. One need only compare Hosea 14:4b with Isaiah 17:8! The target of Hosea's critique is the domination of religious life by the kings of northern Israel. In these terms, we can appreciate Ginsberg's attention to the thematic link between Hosea's reference to chariotry and professional soldiers, on the one hand, and the laws of Deuteronomy 17 and 20, regarding the duties of the king and warfare, on the other. Is it coincidental that Hosea 8:1 accuses the House of Israel (for that is how Ginsberg reads this verse) of transgressing the covenant, while Deut. 17:2 speaks of an Israealite who advocates doing the same, with both texts employing the fairly rare formula, 'c"bharbirFt?8 Given the emphasis in chapters 8 and 10 of Hosea on bnrft,mishpdt, "justice," and tbrah "instruction," is it coincidental that Deuteronomy 17 calls for the establishment of a High Court in the projected central mcqdm, where tdrah and mishpc2i would, it was hoped, be dispensed faithfully? Ginsberg 7. See Hosea 8:11, 10:1-2, 8, 12:2, Amos 3:14. The quantitative correlation reappears later in Jer. 11:13, 17:1, and the problem of numerous altars informs Ezekiel 6, for instance, and is addressed in Kings and Deuteronomistic literature generally. 8. The Masoretic text of v. 1 has belt YHWH, "House of the LORD," but NJPS, informed by Ginsberg, suggests that an emendation would yield belt Yisrd'll, "House of Israel." It was Ginsberg who surmised that biblical manuscripts may have registered only a yod (in our case, berty-), not the entire word, so that an ancient copyist might have misread the intent. See the article by Ginsberg, "Hosea," in Encyclopaedia Judaica, vol. 8, cols. 1010 f. For the formula 'dbharbi?rFt,"to transgress the covenant," see Hosea 6:7, and also Jos. 7:15, 23:16, Judg. 2:20, which are Deuteronomistic in tone.

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notes the theme of royal arrogance shared by Deut. 8:12-15, 17:20, and Hosea 13:5-6. We find in Hosea and Deuteronomy shared themes associated with the monarchy, in addition to distinctive dictional links between the two sources. The structure of Deuteronomy 17 seems almost to be dictated, or conditioned, perhaps, by Hosea's agenda. It begins by condemning an Israelite who worships other gods, and proceeds to ordain a High Court in the central temple, so as to promote justice in the land. It continues to warn of the danger presented by a king who becomes haughty and profligate, and requires kings to study the book of God's teachings diligently. The prophecies of Hosea prompt us to regard the Deuteronomic restriction of cultic activity to one central sanctuary as part of a larger, more comprehensive program. We must not miss the point of Deuteronomy 12 that the one legitimate mcdqdmfor sacrifice and celebration will not stand in the royal capital; that its location will not be determined either by the monarchy or by any traditional institutions. It will be located where God determines, "in one of your tribal territories." This is Deuteronomy's way of saying that the central temple would be taken out of the hands of the royal administration, and that the High Court would also be independent. The beautiful oracle preserved in Hosea 14:2-9 affords us a mirrorimage of the Hosean critique of northern Israelite society. When Israel repents, and "returns" to the Lord, what will then be its national policy? Israel will not enter into unwise treaties, nor place its reliance on Assyria. Nor will it rely on chariotry, an allusion to relations with Egypt. Israel will no longer worship idols, but will look to the Lord for help. For His part, the Lord will bless Israel bountifully. The most significant statement comes in v. 2b: Sayto Him:"Youabsolveall sinfulness, And accept good acts. We shall substitutefor bulls, The [pledge]of our lips!" In context, this is not, I submit, a suggestion that prayer may replace sacrifice as a mode of worship, as the later Jewish tradition has interpreted this passage, followed by some modern scholars. Rather, the statement emphasizes that a pledge of loyalty to the Lord is more efficacious than sacrificing bulls! Such a pledge might be expressed in the very words of this oracle, the words of vv. 3b-4 and 9. All who are wise and intelligent

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ncbh6n) realize that this is what the Lord truly desires from His (.dkham,Once again, diction suggests a link between Hosea and Deuteronpeople. omy.9

III Most of Ginsberg's monograph actually deals with the transmission of proto-Deuteronomy into Judah, and with assessing its eventual impact there. Ginsberg's reconstruction of the development of the annual festivals is a major breakthrough in itself. His treatment of the Josianic edicts is incisive. He explains how Hezekiah, in his own time, was motivated by the doctrine of proto-Deuteronomy, and how, in a later generation, Josiah revived this doctrine, and ordered major changes in religious life, adapted to the Judean situation of the late seventh century B.C.E. The Addenda which Ginsberg provides attest to his magnificent obsession with philology and exegesis, and further elucidate the relationship between the priestly source of the Torah and the Book of Ezekiel. The purpose of this review essay was to attempt an explanation of Ginsberg's "equations," as I called them at the outset. My understanding of them may differ from what Ginsberg himself had in mind, but I have tried to convey, at least, what one student has learned from his teacher. More study of royal policy as it affected religious life in the northern kingdom of Israel during the eighth century B.C.E.is certainly required. Nevertheless, I am prepared to accept Ginsberg's principal hypothesis: Originally, the program stated in Deuteronomy 12 constituted a response to the situation which obtained in the northern Israel of the mid- to late eighth century B.C.E., before the Assyrian invasion A word should be said, in conclusion, about the long-term effects of the restriction of sacred space ordered by Josiah, less than half a century before the final destruction of the First Temple of Jerusalem, an edict ultimately based on the doctrine of proto-Deuteronomy. To understand the relevance of Josiah's edicts for the Judean exiles in Babylonia, one should read Ezekiel 20 closely. The single, legitimate temple in Jerusalem was relevant to the hope of national restoration to the Land of

9. Note this diction in Gen. 41:33, 39, which represents northern Israelite writing (the work of the Elohist), and in Deuteronomistic sources such as Deut. 4:6, I Kings 3:12, Jer. 9:11.

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Israel. An exiled people whose religious fulfillment depended on access to Jerusalem would be less likely to abandon its hope of return! The Jewish communities of the Diaspora were to establish alternative types of religious institutions, such as synagogues; but with relatively few exceptions, these communities were to consider sacrificial worship improper in the lands of exile. After all, they had been taught that the God of Israel had ordered their ancestors, as they were about to enter Canaan, to limit worship and celebration to the single mdqdmwhich He would select as the unique locus of His earthly presence. To Judeans, this meant the site of the Temple in Jerusalem. BaruchA. Levine New York University New York, N.Y.

S. D. Goitein. A MediterraneanSociety: The Jewish Communitiesof the Arab World as Portrayed in the Documents of the Cairo Geniza. Vol. III: The Family, Vol. IV: Daily Life. Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London: University of California Press, 1978 and 1983. xxi, 522 pp. and xxvi, 487 pp. When Professor Goitein died on February 6, 1985, he had just recently completed and sent off to the publisher the fifth and final volume of his magisterial work, A Mediterranean Society. The book is not only the culmination of forty years of Geniza research, in which Goitein had already established himself as the undisputed master, but drew upon a lifetime of scholarship in both Jewish and Islamic studies. The result is one of the most intimate, illuminating, and engrossing reconstructions of a medieval society ever written. Like most truly great works of scholarship, its importance goes far beyond the confines of its specific subject, the Jews of the Islamic Mediterranean from the tenth through the thirteenth century. Because of the relative integration of Jews during this period into the secular aspects of the broader society in which they lived-a fact corroborated by the Geniza documents themselves-this work offers an unparalleled insight into Islamic society at large, particularly into those facets of society which are rarely revealed in the Arabic chronicles and literary sources. Then, too, the book has broad implications for all students of Mediterranean and general

Review: [untitled] Author(s): Norman A. Stillman Source: AJS Review, Vol. 12, No. 1 (Spring, 1987), pp. 157-163 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486398 . Accessed: 30/06/2011 22:33 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

Cambridge University Press and Association for Jewish Studies are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to AJS Review.

http://www.jstor.org

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Israel. An exiled people whose religious fulfillment depended on access to Jerusalem would be less likely to abandon its hope of return! The Jewish communities of the Diaspora were to establish alternative types of religious institutions, such as synagogues; but with relatively few exceptions, these communities were to consider sacrificial worship improper in the lands of exile. After all, they had been taught that the God of Israel had ordered their ancestors, as they were about to enter Canaan, to limit worship and celebration to the single mdqdmwhich He would select as the unique locus of His earthly presence. To Judeans, this meant the site of the Temple in Jerusalem. BaruchA. Levine New York University New York, N.Y.

S. D. Goitein. A MediterraneanSociety: The Jewish Communitiesof the Arab World as Portrayed in the Documents of the Cairo Geniza. Vol. III: The Family, Vol. IV: Daily Life. Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London: University of California Press, 1978 and 1983. xxi, 522 pp. and xxvi, 487 pp. When Professor Goitein died on February 6, 1985, he had just recently completed and sent off to the publisher the fifth and final volume of his magisterial work, A Mediterranean Society. The book is not only the culmination of forty years of Geniza research, in which Goitein had already established himself as the undisputed master, but drew upon a lifetime of scholarship in both Jewish and Islamic studies. The result is one of the most intimate, illuminating, and engrossing reconstructions of a medieval society ever written. Like most truly great works of scholarship, its importance goes far beyond the confines of its specific subject, the Jews of the Islamic Mediterranean from the tenth through the thirteenth century. Because of the relative integration of Jews during this period into the secular aspects of the broader society in which they lived-a fact corroborated by the Geniza documents themselves-this work offers an unparalleled insight into Islamic society at large, particularly into those facets of society which are rarely revealed in the Arabic chronicles and literary sources. Then, too, the book has broad implications for all students of Mediterranean and general

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medieval studies due to what Professor Goitein dubbed "The Unity of the Mediterranean World in the 'Middle' Middle Ages."' But most importantly, A MediterraneanSociety is a model of how social history as a totality might be studied. In the first volume, Goitein reconstructed the economic life of this society. In the second volume, he surveyed the organization of the Jewish community, its institutions, and its relations with the dominant society and the state. From this depiction of the macrocosm, he proceeded to focus his lense in Volumes III and IV, here under review, upon the microcosm of the family and the physical realia that constituted the material environment in which people lived. (The final volume, which is soon to appear, will focus in upon the individual from the perspectives of what the French would call mentalites et sensibilitis.) In accordance with the overall guiding principle of proceeding from general to particular, in Volume III, Professor Goitein addresses the subject of the extended family, and more particularly the patriarchal family, which in the Geniza world was the primary familial group with which a person identified himself. The primacy accorded to the family is reflected in a variety of ways: in the honor paid to ancestors and agnates through lengthy and solemn memorial commemorations in the synagogue, in the preservation of pedigrees, in the naming of children, and in the widespread practice of endogamy, especially in the form of first-cousin marriage. Interestingly, marriages between uncle and niece seem to have been rare among Jews at the time, perhaps reflecting the negative attitude toward such unions held by all of the other groups in society (Muslims, Christians, and most vociferously the Karaites). The centrality of the extended family was also reflected in joint economic endeavors, which were very common. More significantly, the society at large-Jewish and Muslim-held a person's kith and kin to be financially responsible for him beyond the strict limitations of either the halakha or the shari'a. Despite the social, economic, and legal importance of the extended family, the Geniza records do not indicate that clannish enclaves were the norm, as they were in Yemen, for example, in more recent times. The reason for this, explains Goitein, was primarily economic. Urban property was expensive, and few families could afford to buy blocks of domiciles. Nevertheless, families tried to stay close together. 1. S. D. Goitein, Studies in Islamic History and Institutions (Leiden, 1966), pp. 296-307. The essay was originally published in Studia Islamica 12 (1960): 29-42.

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Turning from the extended family, Goitein examines the institution of marriage itself in the context of the Geniza society. The social ideal, the precise steps taken in arranging and contracting unions, the economic aspects, and the social safeguards are all discussed in detail. The Jews of the medieval Islamic Mediterranean were essentially monogamous even without having a Herem of Rabbenu Gershom. Long before restrictive clauses began appearing in Egyptian marriage contracts in the twelfth century, it was already "local custom" recognized by the Jewish court that a man could not take a second wife without the consent of his first spouse or without granting her a divorce, an act which had financial consequences serious enough to give the husband pause. Custom and later express stipulations also gave the wife a veto with respect to the acquisition of slavegirls for the house. Indeed, Goitein interprets the data as suggesting that the latter were considered far more of a cause for concern, due to the prevailing mores of the dominant society, than was the possibility of a second wife. Although the Jewish minority adopted some of the legal terminology of the surrounding majority, Goitein discerns major differences between the Jewish and Muslim institutions of marriage in actual practice at that time, particularly with regard to the property rights of the wife, whose position in Jewish law and customary usage was considerably better than that of her Muslim counterpart. The longest section in Volume III is devoted to the nuclear family. The texture of relations between husband and wife and between parents and children is examined. Here Goitein candidly wonders, "Can we ever hope to penetrate the arcanum of married life in an age and region so removed from us . . . ?" He points out that the Geniza texts in this instance must be considered as presenting a slanted picture. Official documents by their very nature reflect problems of domestic life (including marital squabbles, wife beating, sexual inadequacies, prolonged separations, and divorce), while due to the strict conventions of the time, private correspondence is extremely circumspect with regard to females generally and says very little at all about the relations between man and wife. In spite of these limitations, Professor Goitein has been able to elicit a considerable body of information from the sources. The picture of the relations between parent and child is far better documented. In a male-oriented society such as the Geniza world, sons were of course preferred, for religious, social, and economic reasons. However, there is no lack of texts showing the genuine affection of a father for his daughter. It was considered auspicious for the first child to be a girl, since

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this not only warded off the evil eye that threatened the birth of firstborn sons, but also provided a mother's helper to assist in the care of future sons. Furthermore, Goitein concludes that "even among common people, blaming a wife for producing a girl must have been regarded as improper." It is striking that in a society where blood ties were regarded so highly, frequent mention is made of foster children. Raising orphans, both boys and girls-and in the case of the latter, providing for their marriage-was considered to be a highly meritorious act. In times of disaster, such as the Crusades, there was an increase in the number of orphaned and homeless children to be cared for. Although adoption is not a concept in either halakha or shari'a, Goitein deduces that "the Jewish courts had considerable experience in these matters," on the basis of a detailed record of an actual adoption, referred to in a carefully formulated document as a "sale." The problems of widowhood, divorce, and inheritance complete the chapter on the nuclear family. Divorce was frowned upon, but was apparently much more common than in later European Jewish society. Custom and social pressures made divorce more complex and less one-sided in actual practice than in talmudic legal theory. In many if not most of the divorce cases for which detailed information is available, Goitein suspects that the wives were the initiators of the proceedings. The financial settlements recorded in the Geniza do not seem to have been pro forma, but, on the contrary, were extremely variegated. The last chapter of Volume III leads us into "The World of Women." The position of women in the Geniza world was by no means unified. Geography and rank were significant factors. Despite the prevailing ideals of modesty, subordinance, and seclusion, women in Egypt were less restricted during this period than in other Muslim lands. Women sometimes did venture into the public domain to earn a livelihood, to appear in court, and to travel. There were even some independent women, hitherto known to us only from literary representations in The Thousandand One Nights. Some women were educated and literate, although on the whole the educational gap between males and females was great. Still, Jewish society was far less segregated than Muslim society. Jewish homes rarely had separate women's quarters. "There was privacy, but no purdah." Volume IV, Professor Goitein informs us, was originally supposed to have been the final one and to have included both the physical outer environment and the spiritual inner world of the Geniza people, with the main emphasis upon the latter. However, he confesses, as his work progressed, he came to the realization that "what really occupied the mind" of the Jews whose voices come through to us in the Geniza correspondence were "prac-

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tical matters and physical objects." He is quick to caution the reader not to conclude that religion did not permeate medieval life. It did for Jews, Christians, and Muslims. But for the most part "religion formed the frame rather than the content of the daily existence." And so, the fourth volume is a detailed vade mecum depicting the city, the home, clothing, adornments, food, and drink that constituted the realia of the medieval Middle Eastern Jew's daily life. Already by the tenth century, the Jews of the Islamic world had become a predominantly urban people. The city, therefore, was the natural environment of the Geniza people. Using Fustat as his primary example, Goitein leads us through its quarters, bazaars, and alleys, pointing out caravanserais, public buildings, ruins, other landmarks, and even the sewage system. The medieval Islamic city was not a city in the Weberian sense. It "was a place where one lived, not a corporation to which one belonged." Nevertheless, people had strong sentiments for their watan ("hometown" in medieval Geniza usage), which they expressed in writing. They also had a notion of concern for their fellow townspeople which was captured by the term baladiyya. On the other hand, medieval Jewish society was a mobile one, and the bond between a man and his hometown was like a marriage. It could be severed. After touring the city, Goitein leads us into the home of a middle-class family and provides a meticulous description of the structure and its layout. The tour takes us from the underground storage chamber (matmara) to the main floor, or gd'a, and the upper portion of the house ('alw), which might consist of more than one floor (tabaqa). On the way we are even provided with glimpses of the pantry and the ventilation shafts. The first two appendixes at the end of the volume outline in tabular form an overview of the purchase and rental costs of urban domestic real estate. The furnishings of the interior are described next. As in the later Islamic world, there was very little in the way of wooden furniture in the house other than a few chests for storage. Cushions, mattresses, carpets, mats, and curtains were the norm. Other objects in the living quarters were lamps, candlesticks, braziers, and censers. On the basis of the abundance of lighting appliances brought by Jewish brides as part of their trousseaux, Goitein believes that middle-class homes were better illuminated in the Geniza period than was the case in the first half of the nineteenth century as described by Lane. After furnishings comes a description of housewares, down to such details as the flyswatters (some had silver handles!) used by people while dining to keep away the ubiquitous pests. People were quite clothes-conscious during the Fatimid and early Ayyu-

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bid periods, and the Jews were no exception. Throughout most of this time, the Islamic discriminatory laws regulating dhimmi dress were not in force, and therefore much of the information from the Geniza is of the highest importance for general Islamic costume history. Layers of robes, elaborate turbans for males (including schoolboys), and a variety of headdresses and veils for women were standard attire. Clothing could be colorful, ornate, and of costly fabrics, such as silk, brocade, and fine linen. Special garments for Sabbaths and holidays were considered absolutely de rigueur for any self-respecting person. The hundreds of ketubbot from the Geniza indicate that middle- and upper-class Jewish brides normally brought a considerable wardrobe with them as part of their wedding trousseaux. Unfortunately, there are no such detailed lists of the personal wardrobes owned by men, although data on male attire can be gleaned from correspondence, commercial inventories, and other documents. The great variety of jewelry that is carefully described in the Geniza trousseau lists and other documents, such as wills, are invariably of gold, silver, and gemstones. Costume jewelry was certainly worn by the masses of women, since beads, corals, cowry shells, and other such items appear frequently and in great quantities in Geniza mercantile documents. Whether they were worn by Jewish women, we can only guess. The account of how people adorned their bodies is followed by an exposition of how they nourished them. Bread, of course, was the staff of life. An average family needed about an irdabb(about 70 kilos) of wheat per month. Whenever possible a family tried to store up a year's supply as a hedge against price fluctuations. As is common practice in many Muslim countries up to the present, dough for bread was prepared at home and taken to a public oven for baking. Vegetables were also a major constituent of the medieval Jewish diet. Fowl and meat were reserved mainly for Sabbaths and festivals. Household accounts for meat and groceries show how a middleclass family's budget looked both on weekdays and special occasions. Wine, beer, and various soft drinks were the usual beverages. In talmudic and ancient times, wine had been an integral part of the daily Jewish diet. During the Islamic Middle Ages, however, it appears that wine-substitutes, juices, and sherbets largely replaced wine as the weekday drink of middle-class Jews. The survey of material culture concludes with a brief discussion of riding animals. A mount was a status symbol to which, Goitein points out, people related in a number of respects that parallel modern man and his car. A respectable member of the middle class could afford a modest riding beast

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costing around 4 to 6 dinars. A common workingman could not. Very few Jews were in a position to purchase thoroughbred mules and elegant saddlery, which in any case was considered to be dangerously ostentatious for a non-Muslim. A man who heard rumors that his brother had received an expensive mule and saddle from an Arab chieftain wrote to warn his brother of gossip and prayed that God would preserve him from the evil eye. In citing this Geniza letter, Goitein in one stroke has taught us about family ties, material culture, social relations, and the concerns of Jews living in medieval Muslim society not to be overly conspicuous. Here, as in so many instances, Goitein's discerning eye finds those personal details that breathe real life into his historical reconstruction. Professor Goitein was a great humanist, a master teacher, and a consummate artist. In Volumes III and IV of A MediterraneanSociety, he offers us a remarkable and indeed a majestic vision of the ordinary aspects of the life of the Jews of the medieval Muslim world. NormanA. Stillman State Universityof New York Binghamton,N.Y.

Allan Harris Cutler and Helen Elmquist Cutler. The Jew as Ally of the Muslim. Medieval Roots of Anti-Semitism. Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1986. x, 577 pp. There is much in this volume to be admired, including the broad sweep of the scholarship, which ranges from antiquity to contemporary affairs, the highly idealistic tone that animates the study, and the consistent call for comparative analysis of historical issues involving the Jews. For students of Jewish history, who are all too often prone to treat the issues of Jewish history in isolation, the insistence upon comparative analysis is especially salutary. In setting out a methodology for the study of papal-Jewish relations, the Cutlers suggest as a sixth and final demand that "each pope's general policy toward the Jews should be understood in the light of what we know, from the most recent research, about his policy toward other non-Catholics, whether pagans, Christians (medieval Western Christian heretical movements, Protestants, Eastern Orthodox, and Middle Eastern Christians), or Muslims." Adopting this stance would surely advance the understanding

Review: [untitled] Author(s): Robert Chazan Source: AJS Review, Vol. 12, No. 1 (Spring, 1987), pp. 163-168 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486399 . Accessed: 30/06/2011 22:33 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

Cambridge University Press and Association for Jewish Studies are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to AJS Review.

http://www.jstor.org

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costing around 4 to 6 dinars. A common workingman could not. Very few Jews were in a position to purchase thoroughbred mules and elegant saddlery, which in any case was considered to be dangerously ostentatious for a non-Muslim. A man who heard rumors that his brother had received an expensive mule and saddle from an Arab chieftain wrote to warn his brother of gossip and prayed that God would preserve him from the evil eye. In citing this Geniza letter, Goitein in one stroke has taught us about family ties, material culture, social relations, and the concerns of Jews living in medieval Muslim society not to be overly conspicuous. Here, as in so many instances, Goitein's discerning eye finds those personal details that breathe real life into his historical reconstruction. Professor Goitein was a great humanist, a master teacher, and a consummate artist. In Volumes III and IV of A MediterraneanSociety, he offers us a remarkable and indeed a majestic vision of the ordinary aspects of the life of the Jews of the medieval Muslim world. NormanA. Stillman State Universityof New York Binghamton,N.Y.

Allan Harris Cutler and Helen Elmquist Cutler. The Jew as Ally of the Muslim. Medieval Roots of Anti-Semitism. Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1986. x, 577 pp. There is much in this volume to be admired, including the broad sweep of the scholarship, which ranges from antiquity to contemporary affairs, the highly idealistic tone that animates the study, and the consistent call for comparative analysis of historical issues involving the Jews. For students of Jewish history, who are all too often prone to treat the issues of Jewish history in isolation, the insistence upon comparative analysis is especially salutary. In setting out a methodology for the study of papal-Jewish relations, the Cutlers suggest as a sixth and final demand that "each pope's general policy toward the Jews should be understood in the light of what we know, from the most recent research, about his policy toward other non-Catholics, whether pagans, Christians (medieval Western Christian heretical movements, Protestants, Eastern Orthodox, and Middle Eastern Christians), or Muslims." Adopting this stance would surely advance the understanding

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not only of papal-Jewish relations but of all ecclesiastical and secular policies toward the Jews during the Middle Ages. These virtues notwithstanding, the critical issue in the book is the provocative thesis that it advances, and it is to an examination of this thesis that we must proceed. The Cutlers present their thesis in the very title of their study. The meaning of their title and the thrust of their thesis are spelled out clearly in the introductory chapter. Because of their similarities to the Muslims [emphasis in original], the Jews

were viewed by Christiansas allies of the Muslims[emphasisin original], Islamicfifthcolumnistsin Christianterritoryand agentsof the dangerousforeign Islamicconspiracy.As such, the Jews had to be degraded,converted, exiled,or killed.Had therebeen no greatoutburstof Christianhatredagainst the Muslimsin the Crusades,theremightwell have been no greatoutburstof anti-Semitismin WesternEuropeduringthe High MiddleAges. Indeed,had there been no such outburstof Christianhatredagainstthe Muslims,antiSemitismmight well have died out altogetherin Westernsociety, for antiSemitism was dormant during most of the previous period in Western (circa 700-1000). [p. 6] Europeanhistory,the Carolingian-Ottonian To be sure, the Cutlers acknowledge that there were other factors in medieval resentment of the Jews. They identify four such factors. (1) religiousfactors,suchas the deicidecharge(the chargethatthe Jewskilled Christ),ChristianMessianicexpectations(accordingto whichthe Jewshad to be eitherconvertedor annihilatedas agentsof Antichristbeforethe Second Coming could take place), and Christianresentmentof Jewishproselytizing activities;(2) economicfactors,such as economiccompetitionbetweenChristians and Jews and/or Christianresentmentof Jewishmoney-lendingactivities;(3) politicalfactors,suchas the strugglefor powerbetweenthe monarchy, the nobility,and the urbanmiddleclass, and laterthe urbanlower class, in whichstrugglethe Jewswereoftencaught;and (4) psychologicalfactors,such as the deeplyfelt humanneedto findscapegoatsfor individualand/or societal interpreshortcomings,the fearof whatis different,andthe Freudian-Oedipal tation of medievalanti-Semitism.[p. 89] While recognizing the impact of these other factors, the Cutlers reiterate their thesis. However,a hithertoratherneglectedfactor which may well have made the most decisivecontributionof all to the greatoutburstof anti-Semitismin the High MiddleAges was the following.MedievalChristiansseemto haveasso-

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ciated Jews with Muslimsfrom the very beginningof the Arab conquestsof Christianterritoryin the 630s;and, at timesof specialdistress,to have consideredthe Jewsallies of the Muslimsand Islamicfifth columnistsin Christian territory.Once the great anti-Muslimmovement known as the Crusades beganin the eleventhcentury,it was inevitablethat the Jews,who had oftenin the past beenlookedupon as agentsof a foreignIslamicconspiracy,wouldbe consideredmore dangerousthan ever and would be degraded,converted, exiled, or killed. [pp. 89-90] I have quoted the Cutler thesis at some length and in two versions. What is the evidence adduced for this important thesis? The key chapter, as noted by the Cutlers themselves, is the fourth, entitled "The Association of Jew with Muslim by Medieval Christians: A New Comparative Approach to the Origins of Modern Anti-Semitism." This crucial chapter is divided into three sections: (1) "Twentieth-Century Revivals of the Association of Jew with Muslim by Medieval Christians" (8 pp.); (2) "Why Did Early Medieval Christians Associate Jew with Muslim (circa 600-110 A.D.)" (9 pp.); (3) "Additional Medieval and Modern Examples of the Christian Equation of Jew with Muslim (circa 1000-1975 A.D.)" (23 pp.). The organizational pattern of this key chapter is immediately disquieting. If the central thesis of the book is the medieval Christian perception of the Jews as allies of the Muslims, then why are only nine pages devoted to the allegedly critical period in the development of this supposed perception? Indeed, why do these nine pages set out to answer the question of why the perception developed? It would seem that the primary task is to prove the existence of such a perception. In fact a mere three pages are devoted to examples of this proposed Christian perception of the Jews as allies of the Muslims. Let us look closely at the evidence. The following items are adduced: (1) Byzantine persecution of the Jews in the 630s; (2) the Spanish accusation of Jewish collusion with the Muslims in the 690s; (3) purported ninth-century complaints against the Jews in southern France; (4) the Bodo-Elazar affair of the ninth century; (5) an eleventh-century tradition that the Jews betrayed Toulouse to the Arabs in 848; (6) a ninth-century complaint that the Jews betrayed Barcelona to the Muslims in 852; (7) Byzantine persecution of the Jews in the 930s; (8) the persecutions around the year 1010; (9) the persecutions attendant upon the First Crusade. This is not an overwhelming set of materials upon which to base the far-ranging thesis proposed by the Cutlers. What is more, upon careful examination, some of the items, including the most important ones, tend to evaporate. It is surely understandable that, during the period of Muslim conquest,

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the Jews might have been perceived as allies of the new conquerors. Thus, items 1, 2, 5, and 6 certainly do reflect Christian perceptions of the Jews as allies of the Muslims. This, however, is a phenomenon limited to a special set of circumstances and hardly substantiates the broad claim of the Cutlers that perception of the Jews as allies of the Muslims is the central factor in the development of anti-Jewish views in the Middle Ages. As to item 3, the Cutlers document in their footnote the Zuckerman thesis (noting but not recognizing sufficiently, it seems to me, the telling criticisms of Jeremy Cohen in this journal, vol. II), but they fail to document their claim of a Christian perception of a Jewish alliance with the Muslims. Likewise with regard to item 4, the Cutlers claim that the conversion of the court chaplain Bodo to Judaism "served to strengthen the tendency to associate Jew with Muslim," but they fail to afford us evidence of that association. The same is true with regard to item 7. The sources noted by the Cutlers fail to advance any notion of a Jewish alliance with the Muslims as the grounds for the Byzantine persecution of the Jews. The most important instances for the Cutlers and the most problematic are the last two. They are important because they are so far removed from the period of Muslim conquest. Both, however, are highly problematic. The Cutlers assert that the persecution of 1010 "is clearly and unequivocally attributed by the Christian primary sources to the charge that the Jews were in league with the Muslims (specifically, in league with al-Hakim, the Fatimid Caliph of Egypt, who destroyed the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem circa 1010)." Now, for this persecution, which is nowhere near so important an event as the Cutlers make it out to be, there are five available primary sources, three Christian and two Jewish. Of the five, only one, Raoul Glaber, tells the story of alleged collusion between the Jews and the Muslims (the Cutlers claim that this perception is reflected in Adhemar of Chabannes as well, but this is simply not so). Appearance of this motif in one Christian source hardly constitutes evidence for a perception so widespread as to form the key element in the development of medieval anti-Jewish sentiment. Finally, we come to the attacks of 1096, which are yet more important to the Cutler thesis. Here we possess substantial evidence, both Christian and Jewish. According to the Cutlers, this persecution "seems to have been primarily the result of the association of Jew with Muslim by medieval Christians (although our primary sources are not as explicit about the operation of this factor in 1096 as they are about its operation circa 1010)." For this contention the Cutlers offer no proof whatsover from the sources. In fact, after studying exhaustively these First Crusade sources for the past decade, I can find no testimony at all to support their claim.

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Thus, looking back over the minimal evidence presented, we are left with a number of instances that are obvious, stemming from the period of Muslim conquest, and a larger number of instances where the purported perception of the Jews as allies of the Muslims does not appear in the manner claimed. It seems to me that the core thesis of the book has simply not been substantiated. There is a bit more to be said. The second version of the Cutler thesis quoted above provides in effect a two-stage development of anti-Jewish sentiment based on anti-Islamic animus. In the first stage the Jews are associated with the Muslims; in the second they are seen as allies of the Muslims. There is, to be sure, a great difference between these two stages, a difference often blurred in the Cutlers' argumentation. It is one thing to suggest that the Jews were associated in Christian thinking with the Muslims, and another to say that Jews were perceived as allies of the Muslims. This critical difference is often lost in the flow of the Cutlers' claims. Thus, for example, it is surely accurate to suggest that the Jews were associated with the Muslims in the minds of those crusaders who attacked them in 1096. All the versions of the slogan with which the crusader assaults were justified make mention of that association-it is an association that begins with reference to the Muslims as the enemies against whom the crusade was called and proceeds to argue that the Jews were both nearer and more hostile enemies who should therefore be attacked first. This association of the Jews and the Muslims as enemies of Christendom never, however, reaches the point alleged by the Cutlers, the point of seeing the Jews as enemies in alliance with the Muslim enemies. It may well be that part of the error in the Cutlers' argument stems from a loose extension of association of Jews with Muslims (which is in the sources in a significant measure) to perception of the Jews as allies of the Muslims (which does not appear in the sources in a significant measure). Part of what I perceive to be the weakness of the Cutlers' thesis may flow from their book's disjointed style of presentation. Each chapter is identified as the embodiment of prior papers or articles. One senses that the weaving of these disparate elements into a cohesive statement has not been satisfactorily accomplished. To argue in sustained fashion the provocative and significant thesis which the book advances would have taken a fuller effort at integration of the disparate sections of prior research. Indeed the thesis of the Cutlers, which I find unsubstantiated in the sources, does lead in a direction that might be more fruitful than the one that they pursued. To cite again their formulation noted above: "Had there been no great outburst of Christian hatred against the Muslims in the

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Crusades, there might well have been no great outburst of anti-Semitism in Western Europe during the High Middle Ages." For the Cutlers, this is an implication of their argument that medieval anti-Jewish sentiments flowed in large measure from Christian perceptions of the Jews as allied with the Muslims. I would venture to suggest an alternative. The heart of the issue, it seems to me, lies not in the "great outburst of Christian hatred against the Muslims," but simply in the "great outburst of Christian hatred." Put differently, I would propose that a marked upsurge of Christian belligerence against the non-Christian world altogether resulted in manifestations of both anti-Muslim and anti-Jewish sentiment. Not surprisingly, this animosity toward the outsider often resulted in the association of Muslims and Jews in Christian eyes. This linkage, however, did not include a significant perception of the two as united in an anti-Christian alliance (except under very limited circumstances). The broader phenomenon of rampant medieval anti-Jewish sentiment has more to do, it seems to me, with the powerful vitalization of western Christendom during the eleventh through thirteenth centuries and the striking emergence of anti-outsider antipathy that was an unfortunate concomitant of that vitalization. RobertChazan New York University New York, N.Y.

Collected Studies Source: AJS Review, Vol. 12, No. 1 (Spring, 1987), pp. 169-172 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486400 . Accessed: 30/06/2011 22:33 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

Cambridge University Press and Association for Jewish Studies are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to AJS Review.

http://www.jstor.org

COLLECTEDSTUDIES Jeffrey H. Tigay, ed. Empirical Models for Biblical Criticism. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1985. 307 pp. CONTENTS: Jeffrey H. Tigay, "The Evolution of the Pentateuchal Narratives in the Light of the Evolution of the Gilgamesh Epic." Jeffrey H. Tigay, "Conflation as a Redactional Technique." Emanuel Tov, "The Composition of I Samuel 16-18 in the Light of the Septuagint Version." Alexander Rofe, "Joshua 20: Historico-Literary Criticism Illustrated." Jeffrey H. Tigay, "The Stylistic Criterion of Source Criticism in the Light of Ancient Near Eastern and Postbiblical Literature." Yair Zakovitch, "Assimilation in Biblical Narratives." Mordechai Cogan, "The Chronicler's Use of Chronology as Illuminated by Neo-Assyrian Royal Inscriptions." Emanuel Tov, "The Literary History of the Book of Jeremiah in the Light of Its Textual History." Jeffrey H. Tigay, "Summary and Conclusions." George Foot Moore, "Tatian's Diatessaron and the Analysis of the Pentateuch." Jehuda Reinharz and Walter Schatzberg, eds. The Jewish Response to German Culture: From the Enlightenment to the Second World War. Hanover, N.H., and London: University Press of New England, 1985. 362 pp. CONTENTS:George L. Mosse, "Jewish Emancipation: Between Bildung and

Respectability." Alexander Altmann, "Moses Mendelssohn as the Archetypal German Jew." Walter R611, "The Kassel 'Ha-Meassef' of 1799: An Unknown Contribution to the Haskalah." Nathan Rotenstreich, "Hermann Cohen: Judaism in the Context of German Philosophy." Michael A. Meyer, "Reform Jewish Thinkers and Their German Intellectual Context." Jacob 169

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Katz, "German Culture and the Jews." David Sorkin, "The Invisible Community: Emancipation, Secular Culture, and Jewish Identity in the Writings of Berthold Auerbach." Lothar Kahn, "Heine's Jewish Writer Friends: Dilemmas of a Generation, 1817-33." Harry Zohn, "Fin-de Sidcle Vienna: The Jewish Contribution." Guy Stern, "German-Jewish and GermanChristian Writers: Cooperation in Exile." Werner E. Mosse "Wilhelm II and the Kaiserjuden:A Problematical Encounter." Shulamit Volkov, "The Dynamics of Dissimilation: Ostjuden and German Jews." Steven E. Aschheim, "'The Jew Within': The Myth of 'Judaization' in Germany." Marion Kaplan, "Sisterhood under Siege: Feminism and Antisemitism in Germany, 1904-38." Jehuda Reinharz, "The Zionist Response to Antisemitism in the Weimar Republic." Kurt Diiwell, "Jewish Cultural Centers in Nazi Germany: Expectations and Accomplishments." Sybil H. Milton, "Lost, Stolen, and Strayed: The Archival Heritage of Modern German-Jewish History." Etan Levine, ed. Voices From Israel: Understandingthe Israeli Mind. New York, London, and Toronto: Herzl Press and Cornwall Books, 1986. 283 pp. David Ben-Gurion, "Vision and Redemption." Martin Buber, "Israel's Mission and Zion." Abba Eban, "Lessons of the Holocaust." Chaim Schatzker, "Holocaust Education in Israel." Eugene C. Weiner, "The Death Taint and Uncommon Vitality." Isaiah Leibowitz, "Judaism and the Jewish State." Gershon Shaked, "The Case for Secularism." B. Z. Sobel, "The Exodus from Israel." Michael Rosenak, "On Zionism and Jewish Happiness." Hanoch Bartov, "A Sermon at Southampton." Abba Oren, "Occupying Ourselves with the Pure." William Freedman, "At Peace with the Army." Stanley Maron, "My Discovery of Zionism." Bernard Och, "Israel: Dream and Reality." Etan Levine, "A Critique of Criticism." Golda Meir, "My Expectations of American Jewry." A. B. Yehoshua, "Toward Radical Redefinition." Eli Eyal, "To Take Up the Gauntlet." Moshe Sharett, "Israel's Obligations to the Diaspora." Yitzhak Rabin, "Israel and American Jews." Nahum Goldmann, "The Vital Partnership." CONTENTS:

David Altshuler, ed. The Jews of Washington, D.C.: A CommunalHistory Anthology. Chappaqua, N.Y.: Jewish Historical Society of Greater Washington, 19xx. 000 pp. CONTENTS:Lester Rosen, "A History of Congregation and Talmud Torah

COLLECTED STUDIES

171

B'nai Israel." Bernard I. Nordlinger, "A History of the Washington Hebrew Congregation." Leroy S. Bendheim, "Beth-El History and the Jews of Northern Virginia." Ruth Sinberg Baker, "From Shtetl to Valley Drive." Edward Rosenblum, "Fifty Years of Recollection: Young Men's Hebrew Association 1912-1923, Washington Jewish Community Center 1923-1957." Ann R. Goldberg, "Jewish Social Service in Washington, D.C. 1890-1940." Leona H. Hacke, "The Washington, D.C. Section of the National Council of Jewish Women: A History (1895-1959)." Mrs. John Safer, "The Beginning of Hadassah in Washington." Sophie Shulman, "Hebrew Sheltering Society." Erich Rosenthal, "Jewish Intermarriage in Greater Washington." Nathan M. Kaganoff, "The Education of the Jewish Child in the District of Columbia, Pt. I, 1861-1915." Nathan M. Kaganoff, "The Education of the Jewish Child in the District of Columbia, Pt. II, 1861-1951." Robert Shosteck, "The Jewish Community of Washington, D.C. During the Civil War." Evelyn Levow Greenberg, ed. "Life in the Old Southwest." Samuel J. Rosenberg, "The Young Friends Club." Amy B. Goldstein, "Farewell to Council House." Theodor Schuchat, "An Epilogue." Robert Shosteck, "An Economic Study of the Southwest Jewish Community, 1855-1955." Evelyn Levow Greenberg, "An 1869 Petition on Behalf of Russian Jews." Moses Aberbach, "The Early German Jews of Baltimore and Washington." Nancy Moses, "Jews of Georgetown 1860-1900." Sophie Shulman, "Jews and Music in Washington." Luna Ereza Diamond, "The Sephardic Jews." Elmer Cerin, "A Vigil for Freedom." "Jewish Historical Society of Greater Washington Is Incorporated." Sylvan M. Dubow "The Jewish Historical Society of Greater Washington: Its Archival Program." Evelyn Levow Greenberg, "Preservation or Demolition: Washington's Oldest Synagogue Building Threatened." Evelyn Levow Greenberg, "Preservation of Washington's Oldest Synagogue Building." Henry H. Brylawski, "Moving of the 'Old Shul'." Anne Hebald, "Making Way for Subway Staging Area: Old Synagogue Building to Roll on Wheels to Site 3 Blocks Away." Henry H. Brylawski, "The 'Old Shul' Story." "Small's Gift Aids Synagogue Restoration." Leon Brown, "The Architectural Restoration." Wolf Von Eckhardt, "Adas-'Restored but Forlorn'." William Frankel, ed. Survey of Jewish Affairs 1985. Rutherford, N.J.: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1985. 279 pp. CONTENTS: Asher Arian, "A Government of National Unity: The 1984 Israeli Election." Charles S. Liebman, "Jewish Ultra-Nationalism in Israel:

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Converging Strands." Henry Near, "Authenticity and Adaptability: The Kibbutz Today." Mark A. Heller, "The Forgotten War: Conflict in the Gulf." P. J. Vatikiotis, "Syria: The New Middle East Power." Raphael Vago, "Maneuverability within Bondage: East European Involvement in the Middle East." Lord Chalfont, "The Conspiracy of Violence: International Terrorism in 1984." Elie Kedourie, "Transformations in Lebanon." Seymour Martin Lipset and Earl Raab, "The American Jews, the 1984 Elections, and Beyond." Peter Kovler, "The Jackson Phenomenon." Steven M. Cohen, "Romantic Idealism to Loving Realism: The Changing Place of Israel in the Consciousness of American Jews." Lorenzo Cremonesi, "The Vatican and Israel: Theological Contempt to Political Confrontation." Julius Gould, "Impugning Israel's Legitimacy: Anti-Zionism and AntiSemitism."

Books Received Source: AJS Review, Vol. 12, No. 1 (Spring, 1987), pp. 173-174 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486401 . Accessed: 30/06/2011 22:33 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at . http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=cup. . Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

Cambridge University Press and Association for Jewish Studies are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to AJS Review.

http://www.jstor.org

BOOKSRECEIVED Alfasi, Eliyahu, and Yechiel Torgeman. Baba Sali, Our Holy Teacher:Life, Piety, Teachings, and Miracles, Rav Yisrael Abuchatzeirah. Translated by Leah Dolinger. New York: Judaica Press, 1986. xxii, 224 pp. Berlin, Adele. The Dynamics of Biblical Parallelism. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1985. xii, 179 pp. Carlebach, Alexander. Men and Ideas, a Jewish Miscellany: Selected Writings 1935-1980. Jerusalem: Koren, 1982. 458, 31 pp. Davis, Moshe. Sir Moses Monteflore: American Jewry's Ideal. Cincinnati: American Jewish Archives, 1985. 32 pp. Fishbane, Michael. Biblical Interpretationin Ancient Israel. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985. xviii, 613 pp. Fuchs, Esther. CunningInnocence: On S. Y. Agnon's Irony. Tel-Aviv: Katz Research Institute for Hebrew Literature, Tel-Aviv University, 1985. 174 pp. (Hebrew) Gal, Alon. David Ben-Gurion: Preparing for a Jewish State. Sede Boqer: Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, 1985. x, 278, xvii pp. (Hebrew) Gilbert, Martin. The Holocaust: A History of the Jews of Europe during the Second World War. New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 1985. 959 pp. Handler, Andrew. From the Ghetto to the Games: Jewish Athletes in Hungary. Boulder: East European Monographs; distributed by Columbia University Press, 1985. xii, 140 pp. Hammer, Gottlieb. Good Faith and Credit. Introduction by Arthur Hertzberg. New York: Cornwall Books, 1985. 258 pp. Liberles, Robert. Religious Conflict in Social Context. The Resurgence of Orthodox Judaism in Frankfurtam Main, 1838-1877. Contributions to 173

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the Study of Religion, no. 13. Westport: Greenwood Press, 1985. xiii, 295 pp. Oppenheim, Michael. What Does Revelation Mean for the Modern Jew? Rosenzweig, Buber, Fackenheim. Lewiston, N.Y.: Edwin Mellen Press, 1985. viii, 151 pp. Rubinstein, Leon. The First Swallows: the Dawn of the Third Aliya. New York: Cornwall Books, 1986. 205 pp. Shargel, Baila R. Practical Dreamer: Israel Friedlanderand the Shaping of American Judaism. Moreshet Series, no. 10. New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1985. xxvi, 223 pp. Stow, Kenneth R. "The 1007 Anonymous" and Papal Sovereignty. Hebrew Union College Annual Supplements, no. 4. Cincinnati: Ktav Publishing House, 1984. 89 pp. Talmage, Frank, Chaim Rabin, and Libby Garshowitz. Study Guide for "Sifron La-Student" (Alef Bet). 2d ed. Toronto: Hilda Publishing Corp., 1985. xv, 178 pp. Zipperstein, Steven J. The Jews of Odessa: A Cultural History. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1985. ix, 212 pp.