Ajs Review, Spring 1990

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Front Matter Source: AJS Review, Vol. 15, No. 1 (Spring, 1990) Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486460 . Accessed: 02/07/2011 16:31 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.XV,NO. 1 SPRING1990

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9"A

TheJournalof theAssociation forJewishStudies

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REVIE

VolumeXV, Number 1, Spring

1990 ASSOCIATION FOR JEWISH STUDIES CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS

AJS Review EDITOR:

Norman A. Stillman,State Universityof New York at Binghamton ASSOCIATE EDITORS:

Nehama Aschkenasy, Universityof Connecticut,Stamford Robert Goldenberg,State Universityof New York at Stony Brook Paula E. Hyman, Yale University Alfred L. Ivry, New York University BenjaminC. I. Ravid, BrandeisUniversity S. David Sperling, Hebrew Union CollegeJewish Institute of Religion CORRESPONDING EDITOR:

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

Gary A. Rendsburg,Cornell University EDITORIAL ASSISTANT

Susan O. Savitch The AJS Review (ISSN 0364-0094) is published twice annually by the Association for Jewish Studies. Manuscripts for consideration should be sent to Prof. Norman A. Stillman, Judaic Studies Program, State University of New York at Binghamton, Binghamton, N. Y., 13901. Books for review should be sent to Prof. Gary A. Rendsburg, Dept. of Near Eastern Studies, 360 Rockefeller Hall, Cornell University, Ithaca, N.Y. 14853-2502. ? 1990 by the Association for Jewish Studies MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

AJS REVIEW THE JOURNAL OF THE ASSOCIATION

FOR JEWISH STUDIES

VOLUME XV, NUMBER

1990

1, SPRING,

Articles 1

HARVEYE. GOLDBERG Anthropology and the Study of Traditional Jewish Societies

23

MORDECHAI A. FRIEDMAN a Tamar, Symbol of Life: The "Killer Wife" Superstition in the Bible and Jewish Tradition

63

MOSHESOKOL The Allocation of Scarce Medical Resources: A Philosophical Analysis of the Halakhic Sources

95

LAWRENCE PERLMAN

Buber's Anti-Kantianism 109

STEVENT. KATZ Lawrence Perlman's "Buber's Anti-Kantianism": A Reply Review Essay

119

Ross BRANN

Of Rhetoric, Revelry, and Rabbis

Book Reviews 133

Abraham Halkin and David Hartman. Crisis and Leadership. Epistles of Maimonides STEPHEN D. BENIN

136

Marc Lee Raphael. A bba Hillel Silver: A Profile in AmericanJudaism LANCE J. SUSSMAN

CollectedStudies 141

Erhard R. Wiehn, ed. Judenfeindschaft.: ine bffentliche Vortragsreihe an der UniversitdtKonstanz 1988/89

141 142

Bernard Blumenkranz. Juifs en France: Ecrits disperses. Bernard Blumenkranz, ed. Les Juifs et la RdvolutionFrancaise.

143

Books Received

Publication of this volume of the AJS Review has been made possible by grants from the National Foundation for Jewish Culture, the Lucius N. Littauer Foundation, the S. H. and Helen R. Scheuer Family Foundation, and the Dorot Foundation. The Association is grateful for their support and encouragement.

Anthropology and the Study of Traditional Jewish Societies Author(s): Harvey E. Goldberg Source: AJS Review, Vol. 15, No. 1 (Spring, 1990), pp. 1-22 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486461 . Accessed: 02/07/2011 16:31 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].



ANTHROPOLOGYAND THE STUDY OF TRADITIONAL JEWISH SOCIETIES by HARVEY E. GOLDBERG

Introduction The analytictools of anthropologyoriginallywere fashionedon smallscaletribalgroupsthat possessedno writtentraditions.AfterWorldWarII, as anthropologistsbecame involved in the study of complex societies in different"developingareas,"the disciplinebeganto relateits findingsto the concerns of other fields. Simultaneously,scholars from other social and humanist disciplines,who previously had assumed that anthropologists focused only on "primitives,"began to incorporateanthropologicalmethods and conceptsinto theirtool kits. As part of these generaltrends,there wereanthropologistswho turnedto the studyof Jewishsocietyandculture. One naturalexpressionof this trendhas beenthe studyof contemporary Jewishcommunities.Therearenow dozensof studiesof Jewishlife fromone or anotheranthropologicalperspective,most of them dealingmainlywith Jewsin the UnitedStatesof Ashkenazibackground'or withcommunitiesin

1. Walter P. Zenner, ed., Persistence and Flexibility: Anthropological Perspectives on the American Jewish Experience (Albany, N.Y., 1988); Jack Kugelmass, ed., Between Two Worlds: Ethnographic Essays on American Jewry (Ithaca, N.Y., 1988).

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Israel whose origins were in the Middle East.2 A very different trend is found in the analysis of classic texts, notably the Bible but with some attention being given to rabbinic literature, using structuralism and related methodologies.3 At first initiated by anthropologists who were not themselves specialists in the biblical period, these approaches have now been adopted by some students of ancient Judaism, who combine them with the more standard methods used in research on biblical and rabbinic texts.4 Anthropology has made less of an impact on Jewish studies inhabiting the broad region between the contemporary and the ancient, that is, on the social history of traditional Jewish communities in medieval times or in the early modern period. This is a situation which has begun to change, particularly if we include in this category anthropological studies which have sought to document the recent history of Middle Eastern Jews, many of whom lived in traditional settings until the nineteenth or early twentieth century. The purpose of the present essay thus will be to explore the potential contribution of anthropological methodology to the study of traditional Jewish communities, both "East" and "West." It will try to pinpoint the ways in which tools of research first developed in small-scale, nonliterate, societies can interdigitate with some of the more conventional approaches to Jewish historiography.

CharacteristicsofAnthropology An inquiry into the possible contributions of anthropology to Jewish studies must begin with a brief examination of the former discipline. It is difficult to present an analytic definition of anthropology which sets it off, with no ambiguity, from neighboring fields. A more productive approach is

2. Shlomo Deshen and Walter P. Zenner, eds., Jewish Societies in the Middle East: Community, Culture and Authority (Washington, D.C., 1982). 3. Bernhard Lang. ed., Anthropological Approaches to the Old Testament (Philadelphia, 1985); Harvey E. Goldberg, ed., Judaism Viewedfrom Withinandfrom Without:Anthropological Studies (Albany, N.Y., 1987), pp. 26-27. 4. See, for example, Jacob Neusner, The Idea of Purity in Ancient Judaism. Witha Critique and Commentary by M. Douglas (Leiden, 1973); Howard Eilberg-Schwartz, The Savage in Judaism. An Anthropology of Israelite Religion and Ancient Judaism (Bloomington, forthcoming).

ANTHROPOLOGICAL STUDY OF TRADITIONAL JEWISH SOCIETIES

3

to highlight the special emphases that anthropological studies have featured in the past, and to explore how these may cross-fertilize current directions in Jewish studies. This of course entails attention to the obverse, that Jewish studies contain within them directions and challenges that might activate unfulfilled potentials within the anthropological paradigm. The central perspective during anthropology's formative era was that of evolutionism.5 Nineteenth-century scholars examined data from tribal societies around the world and classified them in "sequences," yielding portraits of the development of human society and culture from its beginnings to the present. This gave way, in the twentieth century, to specific investigations of societies and cultural regions which were less far-sweeping in scope. Within this overall reorientation there appeared, in the early decades of this century, a divergence in the paradigm followed in the United States, under the leadership of Franz Boas, and in the research program developed within British social anthropology. The work of the American school retained, from the evolutionary period, an interest in history, and attempted to view every culture, or culture area, as an outcome of particular historical developments. In the absence of written documents from pre-Columbian North America, anthropologists examined the spatial distribution of cultural and linguistic traits to determine, as far as possible, the growth of cultural forms among neighboring societies within a geographic region. Their research program did not rely only on existing ethnographic accounts, as did that of the nineteenth-century evolutionists. The questions that they asked took them into the field to gather data, first hand, from members of the societies who had participated in the Amerindian cultures that they were concerned to "salvage" for posterity. Fieldwork also became a hallmark of the new theoretical orientations in Great Britain, and there developed, in that country, a radical break with the historical (or pseudo-historical) theories of the previous century. Parallel to the distinction between diachronic and synchronic analysis which de Saussure established as central to the study of language, British anthropologists

5. Robert Lowie, The History of Ethnological Theory (New York, 1937); Marvin Harris, The Rise of Anthropological Theory (New York, 1968); Adam Kuper, Anthropologyand Anthropologists: The Modern British School (London, 1983); George Stocking, Observers Observed (Madison, 1983).

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insisted that they could best understand tribal societies by ignoring their past, which in any event was not available because of the lack of written documents, and by focusing, instead, on how they currentlyfunctioned. Both in the form of functionalism that was espoused by Malinowski, which was methodologically tied into the logic of fieldwork, and in the expression of structural-functionalism that Radcliffe-Brown took from Durkheim, British social anthropology turned its back on historical questions. Instead, the discipline developed methods and concepts for the study of society synchronically, as it existed, so to speak, in a "slice of time." It is often stated that American anthropology was primarily interested in "culture," while the British school emphasized "social structure." The Americans, who could no longer observe ongoing American Indian societies, treated social life as emanating from cultural traditions which dictated how they should be organized. Amerindian groups were thus viewed as "having" clans or moieties, in a manner analogous to that in which they "had" a certain bow or a folktale theme. The British, for their part, being able to do fieldwork in colonies in Africa and elsewhere, were able to observe ongoing social life in detail, and saw culture forms as "expressing" aspects of social structure. For example, rituals of ancestor worship were seen as "arising from" a strong patrilineal organization. Cultural forms were not viewed as an outcome of historical contacts with other groups, but were seen as growing out of their social context. In the 1950s there emerged a perspective, partially in reaction to the sociological determinism of the British school, and partially influenced by the American interest in culture, which sought to analytically separate cultural systems from the social fields with which they interacted. Cultural systems, it was argued, were both rooted in the past and had to be characterized by their own properties with the aid of structuralism, symbolic analysis, careful attention to language, and other methods that focus on structures and processes of meaning. Cultures were shown to have their own intricate logics. It is not that cultural processes were unconnected to social reality, but that refined analysis of the symbol systems which constituted culture was required before one could adequately understand how webs of meaning both touched upon and were shaped by patterns of social interaction. This development pushed anthropology into a renewed interest in humanistic approaches, and one began to read of the "deciphering," "translation," or "interpretation" of cultures. One metaphor prominent in this melange has been that of culture as a "text" which must be interpreted in the


5

manner of literary texts.6 This particular metaphor is somewhat paradoxical, for anthropology, historically, has had an anti- (or at least a "non"-) textual bias. Even when investigating communities which were part of civilizations boasting a "great tradition," anthropologists placed more emphasis on context than on text.7 These new images suggest, therefore, that careful consideration be given to what the application of anthropology implies in connection with societies in which literacy and textual traditions are important. Traditional Jewish societies, which so heavily invest texts with significance, provide a helpful vehicle for carrying out such an examination. To illustrate these notions with reference to a specific case, we cite Marcus's study of the pietists (hasidim) of medieval Germany, a study which self-consciously adopts anthropological models in interpreting Jewish society in the Middle Ages.8 Previous work on hasidei Ashkenaz attempted to place the writings of the pietists in an historical framework, seeking to determine their place in the Jewish community or assess the degree of influence from the surrounding Christian society. Marcus's reading of the data available is that they do not permit definite causal historical conclusions, so he adopts the stance, justified by referenceto anthropology, that he should limit his study to a full and adequate explication of pietist writings, highlighting common themes, distinguishing different strands, and showing links between diverse parts of their religious approach-their interpretations of classic Jewish sources and related rituals. Anthropological sources are cited in showing how the various aspects of a religious culture are intertwined, yielding an encompassing portrait of a particular religious stance. While the ability to make firm assertions of a causal-historical nature is

6. See, for example, Tom Beidelman's collection of essays in honor of E. E. Evans-Pritchard, The Translationof Culture (London, 1971); Clifford Geertz's collected essays focusing on theory, The Interpretation of Cultures (New York, 1973); or Mary Douglas's paper "Deciphering a Meal," in Implicit Meaning: Essays in Anthropology (London, 1975), pp. 249-275. The textual metaphor is found, among other places, in James Boon, From Symbolism to Structuralism: Levi-Strauss in a Literary Tradition (Oxford, 1972) and Geertz, op. cit. 7. Redfield has distinguished between "little traditions," religious cultures growing out of the situation of local communities where literacy was limited, and the various "great traditions" (Islam, Hinduism, etc.), whose bearers are a transregional literate religious elite. He sought to formulate research problems concerning the impact of great traditions on local communities. See Robert Redfield, "The Social Organization of Tradition," Far Eastern Quarterly 15 (1955): 13-22. 8. Ivan Marcus, Piety and Society: TheJewish Pietists of Medieval Germany(Leiden, 1981).

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limited, the study succeeds in conveying a persuasive portrait of what pietism in the Rhineland of the Middle Ages was about. Marcus's study contains a brief reference to a fascinating custom which ties in with the general theme of the centrality of texts in Jewish culture. This is the custom, carried out on Shavu'ot, the festival marking the receipt of the Torah, of having young male children, in the presence of the rabbi, lick honey from a slate upon which the letters of the Hebrew alphabet were written and eat cakes in the forms of the letters.9 One pietist opinion was that this practice should be banned, because the cake-letters would eventually be turned into feces, while a later opinion permitted it, apparently in response to the tenacity of the custom within the community. In the terms we have presented above, Marcus's study adopts a synchronic perspective, seeking to give a portrait of the internal structure of the pietists' religious system. The emphasis is on the cultural level, with some attention given to a depiction of social structure, including attempts to see how cultural and social levels are connected. The approach, in its synchronic mode, eschews the question of the degree to which Jewish pietism was influenced by Christian pietism, even though other researchershave suggested that this was a crucial historical factor. Similarly, reference is made to a local folk custom, the type of practice which often is rooted in a wider cultural milieu, but no suggestion is made as to whether it reflects a trait common to neighboring groups or is expressive of the social structure of Jewish society. While the practice is not based on any well-established biblical or rabbinical rule, its close linkage to important values in rabbinic tradition highlights the problematics of the interpenetration of folk traditions and great traditions, and points to a potential application of anthropological insights concerning ritual to popular Jewish practice. The example cited above thus points to a number of methodological issues which anthropologists have faced in their work with tribal and traditional societies. Anthropological research, as it has been carried out until now, has little to offer with regard to the question as to whether one set of texts produced by a religious elite may be related to a different set of texts. It takes for granted, however, that folk customs and everyday behavior are to be assessed in a regional context. Moreover, it assumes that there exist func-

9. Ibid., p. 113; Marcus, "Jewish Schools in Medieval Europe," Melton Journal 21 (1987): 5-6.


7

tional and meaningful links between different spheres of action within a given community or society. These issues will now be explored in greater depth, while referringto research into traditional Jewish societies conducted from anthropological perspectives. The issues to be dealt with are (1) the influence of the wider non-Jewish environment, (2) viewing customary practice as an expression of social structure, and (3) incorporating a textual perspective as part of an anthropological approach to the understanding of Jewish society and culture. The discussion will conclude by considering the value of another anthropological principle, that of comparative research, for Jewish studies.

Influence of the Environment It is rare, for the Middle Ages, to have extensive data of so detailed a nature as would allow an assessment of how a given custom was distributed within and among different groups of a geographic region. We can explore the complexities of this question, however, by referenceto Ashkenazi culture at a much later stage. We refer here to the work of the Language and Culture Atlas of Ashkenazic Jewry, which documented dialect patterns and culture trait distributions among Yiddish speakers as they existed in the early part of this century.'0 This project, in addition to recording in detail many aspects of traditional culture in the Yiddish-speaking world, sought to understand the dynamics of "bilingual dialectology," the impact of neighboring languages upon one another. It systematically compared parallel linguistic features of a Jewish language (Yiddish) and the non-Jewish languages (e.g., Polish, Russian) which coexisted with Yiddish in the same area. The mapping of parallel linguistic features within the same region showed clearly the expected influence of the coterritorial languages on Yiddish dialects. At the same time, the data indicated that the Jewish language was not simply a "sponge" which mechanically absorbed influences from the environment. The spatial

10. See Uriel Weinreich, "Culture Geography at a Distance: Some of the Problems in the Study of East European Jewry," Proceedings of the 1962 Spring Meeting of the AmericanEthnological Society (Seattle, 1963), pp. 27-40; Marvin Herzog, The YiddishLanguage in Northern Poland; Its Geography and History (Bloomington, 1965).

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distribution of linguistic features in Yiddish was not identical to that exhibited by the non-Jewish languages, a fact that reflected migrations and lines of communication internal to Jewish society, resulting in linguistic influence that was partially autonomous of the wider environment." The same type of analysis with regard to the distribution of cultural traits (e.g., traditional practices) also raises some interesting questions. A well-known non-Jewish custom in parts of Poland is the preparation of colored eggs on Easter. The data of the Yiddish Atlas indicate that there were places in which Jews prepared colored eggs on Passover, which were exchanged during visits between families. Even more intriguing, however, is the fact that in some places Jews practiced this custom, not on Passover, but on Lag Ba'omer.'2 One cannot go back into history and prove the motivations behind these developments, but, following Levi-Strauss, anthropologists widely assume that such phenomena reflect the working out of a system of markers of cultural difference.'3Proximity between two groups is, on the one hand, a cause of similarity between them, but on the other, may be the basis of the underlining of cultural distinction. The work on the Yiddish Atlas shows the powerful influence of the environment on Jewish culture, but also the integrity of Jewish life as a working system in its own right. It thus requires a sensitive sociohistorical touch to be able to take into account wider non-Jewish cultural influences while simultaneously appreciating the internal threads which hold Jewish society together. In order to handle the subtleties involved in such a challenge, it is important to separate, analytically, cultural from social processes. In the example cited above, we could point to the fact of social contact between Jews and other Eastern Europeans, but this does not determine whether the result of such contact will be cultural borrowing or the elaboration of emblems of separateness. Before discussing this issue in greater depth, further mention will be made of the development of lines of anthropological thought on the matter. Customand the Internal Structuringof Communities The turn away from evolutionism, discussed above, led anthropologists

11. Herzog, Yiddish Language, pp. 252-255. 12. Ibid., pp. 38-39. 13. Claude Levi-Strauss, Race and History (Paris, 1958), pp. 10-12.


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to focus on one local unit at a time, variously defined as a "society" or as a "culture." This approach could be maintained so long as anthropologists were dealing (or thought they were dealing) with relatively isolated groups. It allowed anthropologists to show the institutional overlapping and symbolic linkages which tied communities of people together. For more than a generation, however, anthropology has criticized this model in its simplistic form. It has come to realize that there are no truly isolated societies, but that all of the single communities anthropologists studied were affected by wider economic, political, and cultural realities.'4 This did not make the study of individual communities meaningless, but forced anthropologists to focus more carefully on the applicability of their concepts. The distinction between social and cultural aspects of communal life proved useful in this regard. This distinction, between interactional and institutional patterns, on the one hand, and symbolic or cultural processes on the other, does not seek simply to separate and catalogue these differing levels of action, but to explore their intricate, and sometimes contradictory, modes of interpenetration. Any given community might form part of a wider economic network, or be integrated into a broader political entity, but the members of that community could still continue to view themselves, in some aspects of their social lives, as distinct. The communities traditionally studied by anthropologists often were small in scale and their members were intertwined with one another in many-stranded relationships. The stability of these relationships (links to the wider society notwithstanding), and of the general societal and cultural frameworks within which they functioned, encouraged the development and elaboration of multilayered symbolic systems built upon shared and implicit meanings. Moreover, systems of symbols had the ability of creating distinct cultural universes, even though the participants in those worlds of meaning might, on a concrete interactional level, be engaged with individuals and groups attached to very different cultural worlds. Thus, analytically separating the cultural from the social aspects of communal life permits one to explore how groups can be very much part of a broader social reality while forging distinctive self-definitions, world-views, and rules for behavior. The above characterization of communities typically studied by anthropologists in the field could broadly be applied to social life in earlier times

14. Eric Wolf, Europe and the People Without History (Berkeley, 1982).

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duringwhich therewas primaryrelianceon community-wide,face-to-face, communication.It is not necessaryto have observational taken-for-granted data that one has collectedon his own in orderto approacha societywith the eyes of a fieldworker.At a basic methodologicallevel, fieldworkleadsa researcherto take into accountthe way differentspheresof social and culturallife intersect,for example,how social stratificationmay be reflectedin religion, or how a customarypracticemay carrypolitical overtones.Anthropologicaltheorizinghas movedbeyondthe notionsembodiedin clich6s such as "holism,"suggestingthat "everythingis connectedto everything," but remains sensitive to the complex and contradictoryways in which aspects of social life and culturallife may be interwovenin daily life. A socialperspectivein Jewishhistory,of course,is not new.Throughthe study of communalordinancesand responsa,historianshave given us portraitsof institutionallife, anchoredin economicrealiaand reactingto wider political frameworks.Less attentionhas been paid to the more "informal" sides of social intercourse,such as family functioning,casual contacts between Jews and non-Jews,or popularreligiouscustoms. These spheresof everydaybehavior,to whichthe anthropologistis particularlyattuned,often become infusedwith delicatesymbolicaccretionswhich appear,at first, to be "curious"or "quaint" but whichmay be linked,in multipleways,to the more "serious"structuresof a society. An example of these processesmay be found in the Mimuna festival amongthe Jewsof Morocco."5Celebratedon the nightwhichterminatesthe Passoverholiday,this popularfate clearlyresemblesother springtimefestivals describedfor the Mediterraneanareafrom antiquitythroughthe present. The direct influenceof the environmentis manifest,while structural analysisrevealsmaskedlinks betweenthe Mimunaand a Muslimcelebration, called Sultan et-Tolba, that takes place at approximatelythe same periodof time. MoroccanJews,however,work to interpretthe celebration in terms of Jewish tradition.They link the patently North African term mimunawith the Hebrewword for "faith,"emuna. The Mimuna, however, is not only a trait absorbedfrom the larger society,but takes on significanceat severallevels.One of theseconcernsties

15. Harvey E. Goldberg, "The Mimuna and the Minority Status of Moroccan Jews," Ethnology 18 (1978): 121-133.


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among familieswithin the community,for the Mimunais a reversalof the formalitywhich characterizesintra-and inter-familyrelationson the first night of Passover.Secondly it is a statementabout the linkages between Jewsand the non-Jewishworld,andevenentailsan involvementof Muslims in Jewishrituallife. It may be seen as an attemptto makethose ambivalent links smooth at a season, structuredby the Jewishliturgicalcalendar,when they are potentiallyfraughtwith tension. The Mimunathus carriesmeanings relevantto family life, communalsolidarity,and relationswith nonJews, and is finely balancedbetweenthe forces of popularreligion,Jewish tradition,and local Gentile influence.Sociologically,it clearlyreflectsthe overall reality of the Jews as a weak minority under Muslim rule, and complementsthe view of Moroccansocietycarriedout with the aid of more conventionalapproachesto Jewish historiography.'6 The analysis of the Mimuna outlined above is based on observations made in contemporaryIsrael, informationgatheredfrom informantswho describedlife in Morocco, and a readingof historicaldocumentswith an anthropologicaleye. The kinds of questionsanthropologistsask, however, are no longerconfinedto that discipline,and appear,for example,in works on culturalhistory,or in the studyof whatthe Frenchcall mentalitis.More could be done in this areaif existingmaterialon "customs"or "folkways" wereexaminedthroughan anthropologicallens. An exampleis providedby Horowitz's study of confraternalprocessionsamong Italian Jewish communitiesin the Veneto in the early modernperiod." Processions,as part of the funeralof a knownrabbi,or accompanyinga Torah scroll being donated to a synagogue,are documentedin detail for communitiessuch as Venice,Verona,and Padua.Varioustensionsaccompaniedtheseprocessions,perhapsthe most basicbeingthe concernthat they obviously reflectedthe influence of the Catholic environment.Once the principleof the processionswas accepted,however,a close readingof the details of their performancerevealsvariousfacets of communalorganization and attendantconflicts.Horowitzshows how an examinationof these

16. Shlomo Deshen, The Mellah Society: Jewish Community Life in Sherifian Morocco (Chicago, 1989). 17. Elliot Horowitz, "Confraternal Processions and Social Tensions in the Jewish Communities of the Veneto" (Paper presented at a conference on Jewish Societies in Transition in the 16th-17th Centuries, Van Leer Institute, Jerusalem, January 1986, and forthcoming as a chapter in Jewish Confraternal Piety in Early Modern Italy).

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events throws light on the competition among various confraternities, the relative importance of the confraternities vis-a-vis the broader community council, and the changing place of the yeshiva in relation to the community. In his words: "The groups participating in the funeral procession often saw in it an opportunity to express their perceived relationship, not only with the deceased, but also with each other." Both of the above examples, one taken from Italy (in which there were both Ashkenazi and local Italian traditions), and the other from North Africa, show the influence of the environment, on the one hand, and the reworking of these influences, in terms of the internal structure of the Jewish community, on the other. Indeed, in Horowitz's study, he indicates how the non-Jewish source of influence was, at a certain point, a matter of explicit concern and debate. In general, the dynamic aspect of such a situation must be appreciated. The very absorption of influence from the wider society, a ubiquitous phenomenon in Jewish history, itself stimulates countervailing processes which seek to oppose, insulate, mask, reinterpret, or in some fashion or another judaize the external borrowings. The Cairo genizah materials from the Middle Ages provide many examples of Muslim influence on Jewish practice, coupled with attempts to resist that influence. For example, Goitein discusses how Muslim law recognizes a formal status between a freed slave and his (her) former owner, the latter being known as the mawla of the former. Jewish law concerning freed slaves recognizes no such continuing official status, but Jewish practice was clearly influenced by the prevailing Muslim norms. "In a court record from Fustat, dated June 28, 1080," Goitein writes, "the freedman Mubarak (who had become a successful businessman) was first characterized as the mawla of Joseph b. Joshiah, a person known from other documents, then the Arabic term was deleted and replaced by the Hebrew 'freed by'."'" The replacement of a Judeo-Arabic word by a word in Hebrew in a contract between individuals is one example of the pervasiveness of such "countervailing" processes. Goitein's penetrating portrayal of medieval "Mediterranean society," with the aid of documents from the genizah, is also an example of the use of

18. S. D. Goitein, A MediterraneanSociety: The Jewish Communitiesof the Arab Worldas Portrayed in the Documents of the Cairo Geniza, vol. 1, Economic Foundations(Berkeley, 1967), p. '46.


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an anthropologicalperspectivein the writingof Jewishhistory.Goiteinutilizes the neologism "sociography"to describehis work.19His beguilingly straightforwardnarrativestyle hides an explicitmethod which attemptsto let the people and documentsof the genizah "speak for themselves,"20 a point of view reflectingrecentdebatesas to the natureof anthropological work.

Text in Society

Goitein's claim that his purposeis to let membersof "genizahsociety" speakfor themselvesnotwithstanding,he adroitlyweavespowerfulgeneralizations into his writings.In his volume on the family,he venturesthe view that genizahsociety, despiteits opennessand similarityto modernsociety in many regards,remainedmedievalin its characterbecausewomen were not routinely included in the elementaryeducationalinstitutionswhich inculcatedbasic skills of literacy.21 This summarystatementsuggestsa divisionof social life, in traditional societies, into sphereswhere the ability to read and write is central, and otherswhich are basedon interpersonalcommunicationunmediatedby the writtenword.Onecan see a correlationbetweenthe formercategoryandthe world of men, in contrastwith the latter linked to the world of women. Recently,however,in a studyof Ashkenaziwomenin earlymoderntimes,it has been shown that this is too facile a formulation.22 Still, it is possibleto characterizetraditionalJewishsocieties,as we did above,as basedon shared understandingssupportedby face-to-facecommunicationwhichwas maintainedeven when ratesof literacywerelow. The questionof whichsectorsof the populationparticipatedin literary-basedculture,and to what degree, should remain open for empiricalinvestigation.TraditionalJewish communities,as indicated,fit into the common medievalpattern,but it seems also to be the case that both referenceand accessto the community'ssacred

xv.

19. Ibid., vol. 5, The Individual(Berkeley, 1988), p. xix. 20. Ibid., vol. 3, The Family (Berkeley, 1978), p. viii; vol. 4, Daily Life (Berkeley, 1983), p.

21. Goitein, The Family, pp. 321, 356-357. 22. Chava Weissler, "The Religion of Traditional Ashkenazic Women: Some Methodological Issues," AJS Review 12 (1987): 73-94.

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HARVEY E. GOLDBERG

texts, among differentstrataof society, were more extensiveand intensive than was common in the wider Christianor Muslim milieus. One set of questions growing out of this situation concerns the formalizedand informalsocial mechanismswherebythe contentsof texts were transmittedand made relevantto daily life. With regardto this question,it is strikinghow similarthe structureof basicJewisheducationwas throughout the premodernJewishworld, whetherin Europe,North Africa,or the MiddleEast.23Anotherset of questionsrelatesto the dynamicslinkingsymbolic systemsgrowingout of the rhythmand "logic"of social life at a given time and place with those based on reveredtexts formedin the past. This issue may be illustratedby furtherdiscussionof North Africancase material. One sphereof social behaviorand culturalmeaningwhichis universally encodedwith many levels of significanceis the realmof food preparation and consumption.Food-relatedactivitiesare basicin all societies,andcarry complexsymbolicloads evenwhenthe groupin questiondoes not possessa literarytradition.24It is instructive,therefore,to examine how symbols anchoredin the life of the kitchenlink up with religiousideas regnantin other central life spheres. Such an examinationmust keep in mind that meaningsassociatedwith food (or any other semiotic system)are poorly understoodwhen simply viewed as part of a "dictionary,"in which each food customis listed and its meaningattached.Rather,individualsymbols makefullestsensewhenplacedin the contextof a seriesof interrelatedsignifications.25 In Bourdieu'sstudy of Kabyle (Berber)society in Algeria,he analyzes the cooking cycle, showing that the implicationsassociatedwith different foods and their modes of preparationare part of an annualrepetitivepattern based on the agriculturalyear and the contrast between male and female,both of whichare linkedto basic notions of the cycle linkingfecundation, death,andresurrection(and back again).The codes of cookingand of other women'sactivitiesare subordinatedto the dominantrealityof the

23. Harvey E. Goldberg, "Torah and Children: Some Symbolic Aspects of the Reproduction of Jews and Judaism," in Judaism Viewedfrom Within and from Without, p. 108. 24. Jack Goody, Cooking, Cuisine, and Class: A Study in Comparative Sociology (Cambridge, 1982). 25. Douglas, "Deciphering a Meal."


15

agriculturalyear. These symbolicsystems,however,can be analyzedwith little referenceto Islam,exceptthat Bourdieupointsout how the dailycycle of agrarianand domestic activities meshes with the times of the call to prayer.26

In partial contrast, and still referringto the North African context, Bahloul has provided a study of the semiotics of food among Algerian Jews.27She shows, for example,the linkagesbetweenthe Jewishcalendar, the textuallybasedframeworkwhichsets the basicparameterswithinwhich Jewishritual life is carriedout, and activitiesin the kitchen.In these linkages, referencesto textual-basedmaterialfrequentlycome up, even though individualwomenworkingin the kitchenmay not be learnedor even literate, and some of the food customsamongthe Jews,reflectinglocal ecology and conceptionsof the agriculturalcycle, originallymay have been borrowed from non-Jewishneighbors.When such customs develop, Jewish traditiondoes not "leavethem alone,"but tendsto judaizethem by linking them with a traditionalverse,phrase,or even a word.If we mayparaphrase Derrida'sstatementthat "thereis nothingoutsidethe text,"28anthropological data on Jewishcommunitiesshow that thereis nothingthat "the text" ignores. This can be seen by citing anothercustom in its North African Jewishversionwhilerelatingit both to its textualbase and its expressionin other Jewish settings. Udovitchand Valensidescribehow the Jews of Jerba,in southernTunisia, utilizea form of wordplayon Rosh ha-Shanahwith regardto the fruits and vegetablesthat adorn the festiveholiday table.29Utilizing homonyms and homophones,associationsarecreatedbetweenthesefoods and qualities of the coming New Year that membersof the family, and communityat large,wish to invoke.The Arabicword for "beans,"the Jerbaninformants

26. Pierre Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice (Cambridge, 1977), pp. 143 ff. There have been recent studies in Islamic societies stressing the links between formal written traditions and local society and culture. See Nadia Abu-Zahra, "The Rain Rituals as Rites of Spiritual Passage," International Journal of Middle East Studies 20 (1988): 507-529, and Richard Antoun, Muslim Preacher in the Modern World:A Jordanian Case Study in ComparativePerspective (Princeton, 1989). 27. Joelle Bahloul, Le Culte de la Table Dresse'e:Rites et Traditionsde la TableJuive Algerienne (Paris, 1983). 28. Jacques Derrida, Of Grammatology, trans. G. Spivak (Baltimore, 1976), p. 158. 29. Abraham Udovitch and Lucette Valensi, The Last Arab Jews: The Communities of Jerba, Tunisia (New York, 1984), pp. 71-72.

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HARVEY E. GOLDBERG

explained, evokes the Hebrew stem meaning "growth," and the local term for "squash" connotes Hebrew "tear apart," with the implication that the consequences of past sins should be destroyed. This practice, taking place at one of the central moments of the ritual year, signals an intricate symbiosis between universal Jewish tradition and the specific reality in which Jews find themselves, as expressed in the vernacular and the produce of the market. This custom, however, represents more than a regional North African trait, for it carries with it the weight of rabbinic tradition. Its prototype is outlined in the Talmud,30where the vernacular is Aramaic, and was encoded by Yosef Caro, a sixteenth-century Sephardi rabbi living in the Ottoman Empire, in what became the authoritative Shulhan 'Arukh.3'The practice, in fact, entered standard Sephardi ritual, even though the spoken JudeoSpanish of the Sephardic communities was quite remote from the Aramaic on which the custom is based. The way the practice concretely presents itself in different communities, however, shows an interesting variety of the interweaving of text, language, and custom. In some North African communities, such as Algeria, the custom is spelled out in the New Year mahzor, and there the resemblance between some of the current Arabic food terms and the original Aramaic comes into view. In other communities, including Jerba, many versions of the mahzor do not mention the practice, so that its immediate impact is that of a tradition carried within the living community which resonates closely with the contemporary spoken language. I recently visited the home of a Jewish family from Tripoli, Libya, now residing in Rome, and began to thumb through a New Year mahzor on one of the bookshelves. It was a copy of an edition published in Leghorn, and was similar to the Algerian book mentioned above. Turning to the page describing the customs for the Rosh ha-Shanah night table, I found a piece of paper that listed, in Italian, the foods to be prepared in accordance with the ritual. The woman of the house had had no formal Jewish schooling, and the food customs she had learned in her native Tripoli were probably generally similar, while differing in some details, to those appearing in the book (which she could not read). Being literate in Italian, she made the list in order to be able to preserve the custom of her original North African home, where the first language of most Jews

30. B.T. Keritut 6a. 31. Orah Hayyim 583.


17

had been Arabic. The seemingly casual presence of this piece of paper attested to the importance which the practice still retains. In addition, the power of the overall pan-Jewish written tradition is indicated by the fact that Rosh ha-Shanah food wordplay was also found in Yiddish-speaking regions, although researchers focusing on that area also seem to have overlooked the textual side of this language-linked custom.32 Moreover, one of the leaders of Orthodoxy in nineteenth-century Eastern Europe, Rabbi Yisrael Meir Ha-Cohen, in a gloss on the above-cited section of the Shulhan 'Arukh in his Mishnah Berurah,33explicitly states that this practice should be extended to every land, and adjusted to the local language. It is far from our intention to claim that every detail of local behavior on the part of traditional Jewish communities was anchored in a proof-text, but the Rosh ha-Shanah table example should alert us to cultural mechanisms which link together textually based and popular culture. Thus, at a pivotal moment in the Jewish ritual year, Jewish traditions, as embodied in Hebrew words (which over the centuries were valorized primarily in their written rather than spoken forms), expands to impose its own interpretations upon the non-Jewish setting to which it normally must accommodate itself. Albeit a moment of relaxation and perhaps mild levity on one of the year's most solemn days (or perhaps precisely because it appears in the form of "play"), this custom, and others which parallel it, shows the ability of the tradition of a minority, linked to the language and books which are shared with Jews everywhere, to transform the external to one's own, the Arabic to Hebrew, the realia of daily existence to a gloss on a hallowed text. The examples cited above have shown the penetration of textual culture into the world of the kitchen and cuisine, realms often thought of in terms of casual, nonliterate, cultural transmission, "from mother to daughter." Conversely, to the extent that males were perceived as the arbiters of the written tradition, it meant that they had to pay some attention to this other-

32. Herzog, YiddishLanguage, pp. 32-33, 48n., documents a custom of this genre among Yiddish speakers of northern Poland involving the preparation of sweet carrots (= mern, which also means "to multiply"). He notes the absence of a parallel custom among the coterritorial non-Jewish population, but his discussion ignores the basis of the custom in the "great tradition," as do the references to the same practice in Max Weinreich, History of the YiddishLanguage, trans. S. Noble with J. Fishman (Chicago, 1980), pp. 4-5, 182. 33. See n. 31 above.

HARVEY E. GOLDBERG

18

wise feminine domain. This linkage between diverse domains, the "scholarly" and the "domestic," falls into place with the commonly made contrast between popular custom and rabbinic rules, and the observation that often when rabbis opposed a widespread practice, but could not eradicate it, they refashioned the popular rite by interpreting it in terms of authoritative texts. A recent study by Horowitz has documented a transformation of this sort with regard to the performance of precircumcision vigils, while also showing how the process entailed a shift in the roles of men and women within those celebrations.34

First mentioned as early as the thirteenth century, these events involved singing, storytelling, gambling, and in some instances dancing, along with the liberal consumption of food and drink. Though linked to the biblically prescribed circumcision ritual, they themselves had little formal religious content but reflected a common medieval atmosphere in which "the domains of the sacred and the profane defied neat separation." During the seventeenth century, the vigils became more reserved and more sacred. Communal sumptuary ordinances toned down the lavish consumption, and rabbinical decrees introduced the reading of appropriate selections from revered texts, including the Zohar. These developments involved removing women from a prominent place in the valued phases of the festivities, where they previously had been central, and had intermingled casually with men. Horowitz documents these shifts in Italy and in Central Europe, while placing them in the context of changing religious sensibilities in the wider society, both among Protestants and Catholics. It is, of course, characteristic of the Jewish case that the reading and "study" of texts on the part of the participants were the means by which such fetes were moved into the orbit of activities carrying rabbinic sanction. While in the regions which form the focus of Horowitz's research the popular names given to these vigils were Veglia and Wachnacht, in Tripolitania they bore the appellation of the text associated with the occasion: Lilet ez-Zuhar ("the night of the Zohar"). ComparativePerspectives The last example, as well as others we have discussed, underlines the fact that even the most intimate processes of Jewish society must be seen in

34. Elliot Horowitz, "The Eve of Circumcision: A Chapter in the History of Jewish Nightlife," Journal of Social History, in press.


19

their wider context. This implies a comparative outlook, which has always been one of the hallmarks of the anthropological perspective, even though a variety of approaches and methods have been utilized in carrying out comparative research. This section constitutes a plea for comparative investigations of Jewish society and culture, by citing several studies which point in that direction. The first involves the study of the non-Jewish setting in which Jews live. Here, too, the analytic distinction between the social and the cultural orders, as well as the distinction between the aspects of a cultural world which are expressive of local conditions as compared to those stemming from a "great tradition," must be kept in mind. Bartoszewski has carried out research on Jewish-Gentile relationships in rural Poland, investigating the social ties that obtained between the Polish peasants and the Jews in the countryside before World War II.35His data are taken from field interviews concerning that period, and he has analyzed popular images of Jews as expressed in various folklore genres. He finds that stereotypes concerning Jews were, in many respects, similar to stereotypes of other foreign ethnic groups, and that mythic images of Jews often reflected their position as mediators or middlemen. These stereotypes of Jews, arising out of the organization and logic of peasant economic life, were distinct from stereotypes and images related to formal Christian traditions. Bartoszewski argues that Christian notions, transmitted by the church, did not have a great effect on the Polish peasantry, who maintained their own traditions which often differed from the official doctrines of the church. This thesis, stated here in stark form, is obviously subject to controversy, and it must be kept in mind that Bartoszewski's claim relates to the countryside and not to the urban settings which gave rise to modern forms of anti-Semitism. Whatever historical conclusions are reached as to the substance of this thesis, two connected methodological points should be kept in mind. The first is that the type of data cited by Bartoszewski, in which Jews appear in defined cultural images in peasant lore, in a manner that reflects local conditions, may be found not only in Poland and neighboring European regions, but also in North Africa.36There is thus room for comparison, for example,

35. Wladyslaw T. Bartoszewski, "Ethnocentrism: Beliefs and Stereotypes; A Study of Polish-Jewish Relations in the Early 20th Century" (Ph. D. diss., University of Cambridge, 1984). 36. See Harvey E. Goldberg, Jewish Life in Muslim Libya: Rivals and Relatives (Chicago, 1990).

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HARVEY E. GOLDBERG

between the Mimuna and correlative Muslim celebrations in which Jews have a role, and parallel data from the Eastern European countryside. Secondly, the question of the relationship between cultural forms stemming from local social life and those related to broader civilizational traditions can only be asked if the difference between the two is appreciated. This is a point which bears reiteration in the context of Jewish culture, where people often take it for granted that customs "stem from" classic texts. It is only by perceiving that this link is not inevitable, but reflects a special emphasis of Jewish tradition, that the dynamics of creating and maintaining this "natural connection" can be elucidated. Turning to comparison among Jewish societies, the time is ripe for specialists in European Jewish studies and researchersof Middle Eastern Jewry to begin attending to one another's work. Comparison can yield unexpected commonalities, but also useful contrasts. Using examples already cited, the examination of popular images of Jews in Morocco and Poland may point to similar processes of local stereotype formation, but might also uncover differences in the nature of the everyday cultural boundaries between Jews and non-Jews in the Muslim and Christian worlds. The existence of precircumcision vigils in Europe and North Africa does not mean that they are identical. Horowitz's discussion of the transformation of Jewish "nightlife" in the former region could usefully be put in juxtaposition to a model suggested with regard to Jerba, and adopted in a study of nineteenth-century Morocco.37 This model posits a structural contrast of "night" vs. "day" which runs parallel to the opposition of "Jew" vs. "Muslim," the spatial contrast of the "Jewish quarter" to the "market," and the religious dichotomy of "sacred" vs. "profane." Whatever the outcome of such a comparison, the posing of these questions should lead to further research with regard to both the European and the Middle Eastern contexts of Jewish communal existence. Finally, the fact that aspects of Jewish culture were widely shared, even those now viewed as "esoteric" and related to the mystical tradition, provides a basis for research that bridges diverse areas and Jewish traditions. For example, using the tools of psychological anthropology, Bilu has examined the cases of dybbuk possession found in moralistic literature.38He

37. Daniel Schroeter, The Merchants of Essaouira (Cambridge, 1988), pp. 63-64. 38. Yoram Bilu, "The Taming of Deviants and Beyond: An Analysis of Dybbuk Possession and Exorcism in Judaism," Psychoanalytic Study of Society 11 (1985): 1-32.


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finds that this deeply personal phenomenon was related to broader historical processes in which Jewish society attempted to shore up its cultural defenses when threatened by changing norms in the general environment. The cases he cites encompass both European and Middle Eastern Jewish communities, with no noticeable difference between them. Moreover, his analytic perspective, drawn from one field of anthropological theory, is both illuminating with regard to the material at hand and itself becomes enriched through being applied to the details of Jewish social and religious life.

Conclusion Anthropology, it has been argued, while originally fashioned in research on nonliterate societies without their own written sources, has developed in a manner which permits it to be utilized in the study of traditional Jewish communities. Much of the work of contemporary anthropologists in Israel has focused on Middle Eastern Jewish groups, but, as has been emphasized by Weinreich,39all premodern Jewish communities shared some basic characteristics which shaped their cultural dynamics, a situation calling for comparative studies. Various preconceptions, perhaps, have prevented scholars from expanding their purview in this manner. It is somewhat ironic that nineteenth-century Wissenschaftsavants emphasized medieval Sepharad, to the detriment of Ashkenaz, because the former appeared to represent a more desirable "symbiosis" with the general cultural environment, while some contemporary students of Jewish history associate recent Middle Eastern Jewish culture primarily with "folklore," implicitly denigrated because of the influence of non-Jewish surroundings. We have tried to show that parallel, though not necessarily identical, processes were found in Middle Eastern and European Jewish societies, both with regard to "great tradition" facets of Jewish life and with respect to various aspects of local religion. Comparison, therefore, need not be confined to the realms of folk belief and practice. Soloveitchik has recently outlined some features of the religious culture of medieval Ashkenaz, maintaining that these differed from the situations characterizing Provence and Spain.40His analytic approach,

39. Weinreich, History of the Yiddish Language, pp. 171-174. 40. Haim Soloveitchik, "Religious Law and Change: The Medieval Ashkenazic Example," AJS Review 12 (1987): 205-222.

HARVEY E. GOLDBERG

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in which the details of halakhah are scrutinized against the background of a "collective psyche," or a set of religious sensibilities which appear prominent in one group but not another, is clearly one to which comparative modes of inquiry are apropos. Anthropology's sensitivity to the details of social and cultural life in diverse contexts can perhaps aid in the utilization of data on both formal and popular religious behavior and thereby provide broader and deeper pictures of Jewish religious cultures in their various social settings. HebrewUniversity Jerusalem,Israel

Tamar, a Symbol of Life: The "Killer Wife" Superstition in the Bible and Jewish Tradition Author(s): Mordechai A. Friedman Source: AJS Review, Vol. 15, No. 1 (Spring, 1990), pp. 23-61 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486462 . Accessed: 02/07/2011 16:31 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].



TAMAR, A SYMBOLOF LIFE: THE "KILLER WIFE" SUPERSTITION IN THE BIBLE AND JEWISH TRADITION by MORDECHAI A. FRIEDMAN

For Robert Gordis

The "killerwife"superstition,by whichwe meanthe beliefthat the husbandsof certainwomenare doomedto die, is examinedhereas it appearsin Jewishsourcesfromthe Bibleto Maimonides.The manypertinentdevelopments in post-talmudic-midrashicsources requirea separatestudy. For this period we confine our discussionto Maimonides,the most significant medievalspokesmanon the subject.Our topic is a popularthemein folklore.' Hereour primaryinterestis in how the religionof Israelreactedto the superstition,both conceptuallyand practically.

1. For an extensive discussion of the folkloristic theme in Jewish (and non-Jewish) sources and for referencesto additional literature, see H. Schwarzbaum, "The Hero Predestined to Die on His Wedding Day," in Studies in Marriage Customs, ed. I Ben-Ami and D. Noy, Folklore Research Center Studies, no. 4 (Jerusalem, 1974), pp. 223-252. In several variations of the theme, the wife is not the source of danger and actually saves her husband from his fate.

23

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MORDECHAI A. FRIEDMAN

1. Women,Evil, and Death: IntroductoryNote "Women are a separate people," said the rabbis (B. Shabbat 62a). As in many male-dominated societies, the mysteriousness of women was considered threatening by some of the talmudic sages. These men associated women with life-endangering demonic forces. "And He closedup [wayisgor]the fleshat the spot" [Gen.2:21].R. the H.inena son of R. Ada said: From the beginningof the book until here the letter samekhis not written.Onceshe [woman]was created,Satanwas createdwith her. Why do womenprecedemen in a funeralprocession?He [R. Joshua]said to them: Becausethey broughtdeath to the world. .... Why was she given the commandmentof menstruation?Because she spilled the blood of the first man.2

The terrifying nature of the demonic forces associated with women is perhaps most forcefully expressed in the following passage: R. Joshua b. Levi said: The angel of death told me ... "Do not stand before

the women when they returnfrom a funeralprocession,becauseI dance in front of them. My sword is in my hand, and I have the power to smite."3 With the exception of Gen. 38, discussed below, the attribution of diabolic forces to women is apparently absent in the Bible. The tone is set in Gen. 3:20. Both the midrash and modern scholarship suggest that the

2. Satan: Bereshit Rabba 17:6, ed. Theodor-Albeck, p. 157. Cf. M. M. Kasher, Torah Shelemah, 2:241, no. 276. Death: Bereshit Rabba 17:8, pp. 159-160 and parallels. Cf. The Book of Ben Sira [Heb.] (Jerusalem: Academy of the Hebrew Language, 1973), 25:24 (p. 25): "The beginning of sin is from woman, and because of her we all die." Cf. E. E. Urbach, The Sages [Heb.] (Jerusalem, 1969), p. 372. 3. B. Berakhot 51a. For R. Joshua b. Levi's encounter with the angel of death, see B. Ketubbot 77b. On that legend, see S. Lieberman(n), Shkiin (Jerusalem, 1939), pp. 38-42; cf. H. Schwarzbaum, Studies in Jewish and WorldFolklore (Berlin, 1968), pp. 346, 291. (Cf. Elijah of Vilna, Commentaryto Jonah [Heb.], ed. J. Rivlin [Israel, 5746], pp. 19-20: "The sword of the angel of death is Lilith, who entices man, then takes his soul.") On the motif of the angel of death's sword, see now M. B. Lerner, "Collected Exempla" [Heb.], Kiryat Sefer 61 (1986-87): 883 ff.

THE "KILLER WIFE" SUPERSTITION IN JEWISH TRADITION

25

etymologyof Eve (rnn)may be from a word meaning"snake"(as Aramaic But it is explainedby the Bible as "becauseshe was the motherof all Maln).4 livingthings."If the snakeetymologyis correct,the storycan be assumedto contain an older, folk stratumin which primevalwoman herselfwas associatedwith the serpent,the symbolof Satan(anddeath)-as in the previously cited rabbinicstatementsand some later non-Jewishinterpretationsof the story.The biblicalnarrator,I assume,was familiarwiththe tradition.In effect,he can be seen as havingreworkedthe tale. By supplyinga "correct" explanationof the meaningof Eve'sname,he "exorcised"the demonfrom woman and identifiedher with motherhoodas the sourceof life. Man was punishedfor having disobeyedGod's command.We thus are taught that sin, not the snake, the devil, or woman, causes man's death.5 This is, of course, not the only explanationof death (and suffering) found in the Bible.The Bibleand laterJewishliteratureare not monolithic, and from the outset, it shouldbe madeclearthat our analysisis offeredfor only the specific biblical and postbiblicalpassages consideredhere. The same must be said concerningthe way in which we read these texts. Our interpretationof biblical (and some postbiblical)sources closely follows some of the methodologyof Y. Kaufmann(see n. 5). As is well known,his understandingof the Bible'sattitudeto paganismand the role of a primordial realmof forces associatedwith it, in contrastto the religionof Israel, has not won universalacceptance.6But no serious critic will disavow its 4. The "snake" etymology appears in Bereshit Rabba 20:11, p. 195: "R. Aha said: 'The snake is your snake; you are man's snake.' " Cf. L. Ginzberg, The Legends of the Jews, 7 vols. (Philadelphia, 1955), 5:91, n. 48. (Note that according to the talmudic sages [B. Sanhedrin38b], primeval man spoke Aramaic.) It has been adopted by modern scholars as well. See U. Cassuto, From Adam to Noah [Heb.], 3rd ed. (Jerusalem, 1959), pp. 113-114. Cf. F. Zimmermann, "Folk Etymology of Biblical Names," Supplements to Vetus Testamentum15 (1966): 316-318, and C. Westermann, Genesis 1-11, A Commentary,trans. J. J. Scillion (Minneapolis, 1984), pp. 268-269. 5. See Y. Kaufmann, The Religion oflsrael, trans. and abridged by M. Greenberg (Chicago, 1960), pp. 292-295. Cf. Urbach, The Sages, pp. 371-384. Note, e.g., M. Rosh Hashana 3:8: "Does the snake kill or does the snake revive?"; B. Berakhot 33a: "The 'arwad [a deadly reptile] doesn't kill; sin kills." (On the latter, see B. M. Bokser, "Wonder-Working and the Rabbinic Tradition: The Case of Hanina ben Dosa," Journalfor the Study of Judaism 16 [1985]: 42-92.) 6. A recent critique is offered by D. Sperling, "Israel's Religion in the Ancient Near East," in Jewish Spiritualityfrom the Bible through the Middle Ages, ed. A. Green (New York, 1986), pp. 16 ff. Kaufmann (and others, see below, n. 49) argued that certain pagan beliefs entered Jewish religion as foreign elements in the postbiblical period, when, in contrast to biblical

26


total applicability to all texts. The issues studied in this paper may be representative of broader trends in biblical and postbiblical religion; we limit ourselves to the phenomenon under discussion and will not try to prove more comprehensive implications. Also beyond the scope of this paper are the notions within Judaism that women in general are associated with the devil or with the evil inclination. Here we examine the bizarre belief that some women are the sources of their own husbands' deaths, even though they appeared to have died from natural causes: the "killer wife."

2. The "Killer Wife" Superstitionin the Bible The "killer wife" superstition appears in the patriarchal stories in Gen. 38. This chapter has been discussed extensively in recent years, but little attention has been paid to this motif. J. Skinner, for example, writes: "This motif appears to have been introduced simply to provide a background to the main part of the story." And according to J. A. Emerton, "Whether the motif of the slaying of Er and Onan was an adaption of that of the demon murderer of husbands [see below, sec. 3], cannot be more than a matter of speculation which is of little value for the study of the story of Judah and Tamar." As we are here interested in studying this very motif, this literature is of little value for our purposes.7 The names of the main characters of the story appear to be symbolic, and they could have been understood as setting the stage for the action. Judah's daughter-in-law is Tamar ("date palm"), a symbol of fertility. She

times, they were not considered threatening to monotheism. Sperling's argument against Kaufmann's biblical hypothesis includes the point that "pious Jews who lived in the period of late antiquity, who were surely more consistent monotheists than their Israelite ancestors, did not object to the use of incantations . .. recognized the legitimacy of many kinds of divination" (pp. 19-21), thus basing himself on an alternative hypothesis. 7. J. Skinner, The Interpreter's Bible, 1:757. J. A. Emerton, "Some Problems in Genesis XXXVIII," Vetus Testamentum25 (1975): 355. See the literature on Gen. 38 reviewed by Emerton in that article (pp. 338-361) and in two other articles, ibid., 26 (1976): 79-98 and 29 (1979): 403-415. Cf., e.g., S. Niditch, "The Wronged Woman Righted: An Analysis of Genesis 38," Harvard Theological Review 72 (1979): 143-149. Much of this literature deals primarily with the authors' reconstructions of the text rather than the biblical text itself; cf., e.g., G. R. H. Wright, "The Positioning of Genesis 38," Zeitschrift fiir die Altetestamentliche Wissenschaft94 (1982): 523-529, where it is suggested that underlying the story is a myth whose heroine was transformed into a palm tree.

IN JEWISHTRADITION THE "KILLERWIFE"SUPERSTITION

27

thento Onan(possibly is marriedfirstto Er-compare rw ,i ("childless"), fromp~, "of naught").8 Gen.38:6ff hernamewasTamar.(7) ButEr, (6) Judahgot a wifefor Erhis firstborn; Judah'sfirstborn,was displeasingto [lit.evil in the sightof] the Lord,andthe Lord took his life. (8) Then Judah said to Onan, "Joinwith your brother's wife and do your duty by her as a brother-in-lawand provideoffspringfor yourbrother."(9) But Onan,knowingthatthe seedwouldnot count as his, let it go to wastewheneverhe joined with his brother'swife, so as not to provide offspringfor his brother.(10) What he did was displeasingto [lit. evil in the sight of] the Lord, and He took his life also. (11) Then Judah said to his Tamar,"Stayas a widowin yourfather'shouse untilmy son daughter-in-law Shelahgrows up"-for he thought,"He too mightdie like his brothers."So

Tamarwentto livein herfather'shouse. The tension between the conflictingyet connected forces of life and deathis predominantthroughoutthe story. The tragedyof Er'sdyingwithout childrenis to be amelioratedby Onan's performingthe levirate(see Deut. 25:5-10) with Tamar"and providingoffspring,"that is, a measureof immortality,for him.9Onanrefusesto fulfillthis obligation,andhe too dies. 8. I am not arguing that these explanations necessarily correspond to the "historical" etymologies of the names. Other reasonable ones have been offered, and the matter is not central to our thesis. "Er" is explained in Bereshit Rabba 85:4, p. 1037, as "emptied from this world" YerushalmiI (Pseudo-Jonathan) (ed. Reider, pp. 58-59): "She called ([n]•iYrn).Targum his name Er because he would die without children." Cf. Kasher, TorahShelemah, 6:1447, no. 23 and the sources cited there; Zimmermann, "Folk Etymology of Biblical Names," pp. 322-323; M. Garsiel, Midrashic Name Derivations in the Bible [Heb.] (Ramat Gan, 1987), p. 147. "Onan" is explained by the midrash as a reference to mourning . In Bereshit Rabba 85:4: "he caused mourning for himself." See Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews, 5:333, n. 79; Torah Shelemah, loc. cit., and the sources cited there in the comment to no. 24. On our suggested derivation from paK,cf. Garsiel, p. 133. Besides "naught" awen could mean "evil, fraud." Cf. "conceiving wrong and begetting evil" in Isa. 59:4, Ps. 7:15, and Job 15:35. Zimmermann, p. 323: "the unfortunate one." Midrash Haggadol on the Pentateuch, Genesis [Heb.], ed. M. Margulies, reprint ed. (Jerusalem, 1975), p. 644, attributes Tamar's name to "her stately form like a palm." This is obviously a reference to Song of Songs 7:8 and accordingly reflects Tamar's sex appeal. (Cf. the connection with Ishtar suggested by J. Skinner, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Genesis, 2nd ed. [Edinburgh, 1963], p. 452.) Zimmermann (p. 323) takes Shelah to mean here "deprived of a name" (cf. below, n. 53). 9. See Urbach, The Sages, pp. 453-454; cf. M. B. Lerner, "The Story of the Tanna and the Ghost" [Heb.], Asuppot 2 (1988): 50-51.

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Tamar, by bearing a child, was to have provided life for the dead; but Judah blames her for his sons' deaths. In the end, she triumphs. Through her daring and resolution she tricks her father-in-law into providing her with his own seed. Judah is not aware of Tamar's identity during their liaison, and upon learning of her pregnancy he orders her execution. When he realizes what has happened, the execution is canceled. Tamar lives and gives birth to twins, Zerah and Perez, the ancestor of King David. Judah's belief that Tamar might be the cause of his two sons' deaths is clearly implied in verse 11 ("for he thought, 'He too might die like his brothers'"). Tamar is sent away from his home, not, as he professes, until Shelah comes of age, but in order to remove her as a threat to the life of his only remaining son.10 His resort to deception is a significant point in the narrative as far as the belief in the "killer wife" is concerned. While he recognizes the potential danger she poses, it is not evident to Tamar (or her family). And obviously there is no prohibition against her marrying a third time (or performing the levirate)." Judah's deception is balanced by Tamar's. She disguises herself as a harlot and tricks Judah into having intercourse with her. Later he admits that she was "more in the right than I" (v. 26). This portion of the narrative closes in verse 26 with the remark: "And he was not intimate with her

10. A curious modern parallel to the Tamar story, with the same elements of the levirate and the "killer wife" superstition, can be cited from a report from the Arab village of Artas, south of Bethlehem. There women called qashra are believed to be possessed by an evil spirit which causes the death of their husbands. When Jamile entered Ibrahim's house, he became pale and died in forty days. Jamile was considered a qashra and returned to her father's home. Mahmid, Ibriim's brother, would not marry Jamile, as he "was afraid the same thing would happen to him." But he was in love with her, and he changed his mind. Special measures were taken on their wedding day to avert the evil from him. He lived with Jamile four years, had a son, and then died. Jamile then asserted "that she would even marry the third brother in spite of his mother, her mother-in-law." She died before she could carry out her intention, supposedly a punishment for having sworn a false oath. (H. Granqvist, Marriage Conditions in a Palestinian Village, vol. 2 [Helsingfors, 1935], pp. 307-309.) 11. Nahmanides' challenge to Rashi, in his comment to v. 11, is based on the anachronistic assumption that the talmudic law was common knowledge to the patriarchs:"Rashi wrote, 'He pushed her aside with a straw [found an excuse for removing her], because he did not intend to give her in marriage to him [Shelah], "for he thought, he too might die like his brothers," since she had the status of a woman whose husbands die.' But I do not know why Judah, the ruler of his generation, should be embarassed by this woman and not tell her, 'Go in peace from my house' and why he should deceive her, since she was forbidden to Shelah, as they said, 'in marriage two times is a precedent.'"


29

home. again."Tamarsucceedsin beingreinstatedin her father-in-law's Why then is her relationshipwith Judaha onetimeaffair?The usualexpla-

nationmaintainsthat Judahwantsto avoidincestwithhis daughter-inlaw.12Some scholarshavesuggestedthat, as in HittiteCode 193and Middle AssyrianLaws33, the leviratecould be performedamongthe ancientIsraelites not only by a brotherbut also by the father.The relationshipwas terminated,however,afterthe widow had a child and offspringwas thus provided for the dead man." Judah's refrainingfrom furtherintimacywith Tamarcould likewisebe explainedby his fearof contactwithheras a "killer woman."'14 The Bible specifies(vv. 7, 10)that both Er and Onandie, or rathertheir lives are taken by the Lord, becausethey or their actions are evil in His sight. Onan'sevil is describedin verse9 as his failureto fulfill the levirate obligationby practicingcoitusinterruptus(onanism);and this explainswhy the Lordtakeshis life. But Er'ssin is not defined.For what evil does he die?

12. So Jubilees 41:23; Testament of Judah 12:9;Siphre d'be Rab (Numbers), ed. H. S. Horovitz (Leipzig, 1917 [reprint ed., Jerusalem, 1966]), Beha'alotkha, sec. 88, p. 87. 13. For MAL and Hittite levirate, see A. Skaist, "Levirat," Reallexikon der Assyriologie und vorderasiatischen Archaeologie (Berlin, 1983), 6:605-608. For Judah's role, note that according to the midrash (Bereshit Rabba 85:5, 8-10, pp. 1038, 1041-1043, and parallels), Judah's affair with Tamar was predestined. (Also cf. B. Yevamot20b: "If they were intimate, the acquisition is effective with the first act of intercourse, but they may not have intercourse a second time.") Cf., e.g., Abraham Maimonides in his commentary to Gen. 38:13-14, quoting his grandfather (Perush R. Avraham b. Ha-Rambam z"l 'al Bereshit u-Shemot, ed. E. J. Weissenberg [London, 1958], pp. 144-145); Nabmanides' commentary to Gen. 38:8, 26 ("Once he had provided offspring for his sons, he no longer wanted to be with her"); Gersonides' commentary (Venice, 1546/47), p. 44d; A. B. Ehrlich, Miqra ki-Pheschuto (Berlin, 1899), 1:105;M. D. (U.) Cassuto, "The Story of Tamar and Judah," in Siyyunim: Y N. Simhoni Memorial Volume [Heb.] (Berlin, 1929), p. 98; Encyclopedia Biblica (Miqra'it), 3:444; R. Gordis, "Love, Marriage, and Business in the Book of Ruth: A Chapter in Hebrew Customary Law," in Light unto My Path: Old Testament Studies in Honor of Jacob M. Myers, ed. N. H. Bream, R. D. Heim, and C. A. Moore (Philadelphia, 1974), p. 249. Note that the Spanish Muslim author Ibn Hazm (d. 1064) also wrote that Judah performed the levirate with Tamar (cited by H. LazarusYafeh, Tarbiz 55 [1986]: 373, n. 59). 14. This was suggested in the commentaries of Joseph Bekhor Shor (reprint ed., Jerusalem, 1978), p. 64; Hezekiah ben Manoah (Hizzekuni, Jerusalem, 1981), p. 147; and Gersonides (pp. 44d-45b). (Abrabanel, on the other hand, takes v. 26a as Judah's admission that Tamar was not to blame for his sons' deaths, since she had conceived by him. The comments of Bekhor Shor, Ben Manoah, and Gersonides correspond with the later talmudic belief in the "killer wife," viz., that the danger was not dependent on the length of the marriage or the number of contacts. Abrabanel's corresponds with the Tobit story, where the danger is present in the first act of intimacy. Cf., e.g., Sefer Hasidim's interpretation of B. fullin 95b, below in sec. 4.)

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The talmudic sages sensed that something is missing here, and the midrash supplied Er's sin: he too performed coitus interruptus.'5But the biblical text provides no basis for this or any other specific sin. The question then should be redefined. If Er's sin is not specified, why is it mentioned at all? Perhaps hundreds of deaths are spoken of in the Bible. Rarely is the cause of death defined, and it is most unusual to find a reason for what we would consider a natural death. Where one is supplied the narrator had a particular purpose for doing so. Just such a case is Num, 27:3, where the daughters of Zelophehad say, "Our father died in the wilderness. He was not one of the faction, Korah's faction, which banded together against the Lord, but died for his own sin; and he has left no sons." Here the reason for saying that Zelophehad "died of his own sin" is self-evident, even though the sin is not specified. His daughters thereby emphasized that his death was not connected with Korah's faction, and there was no reason to withhold his estate. The statement that Er "was evil in the Lord's sight, and the Lord took his life," with no obvious explanation supplied by the narrator, is, I believe, without parallel in the Bible. Nabmanides, who, unlike the talmudic sages, did not invent a sin for Er, felt it necessary to explain its mention, even though his explanation (to instruct us that Er did not die as punishment for Judah's involvement in Joseph's sale [contrary to B. Sofa 13b]) cannot be accepted as the simple meaning of the text.16 The passage contains two separate explanations of Er's and Onan's deaths: the omniscient narrator's, namely, that God took their lives because of their sins, and Judah's, that Tamar was somehow responsible and that Shelah's life would be endangered by marrying her. These explanations are clearly mutually exclusive. The reader is undoubtedly expected to accept that of the narrator. I suggest that the narrator "revealed" the cause of Er's

15. P. Ketubbot7:5, 31b and parallels. See TorahShelemah, 6:1449, no. 32; 6:1450, nos. 34, 35, and references there. Er abstained from relations with Tamar according to Testament of Judah 10:2-3 and Jubilees 41:2. (Also cf. the sources quoted by M. Beer, Zion 53 [1988]: 152, n. 13.) 16. "Evil in the Lord's sight" occurs only rarely in the Bible and refers (usually) to grave sins for which God takes one's life or for which one deserves to die. Cf. Gen. 13:13concerning Sodom; II Sam. 11:27, David's sin with Bathsheba; cf. I Chron. 21:7 (Isa. 59:15, Prov. 24:18). As to explaining the deaths of Er and Onan, S. Yeivin ("The Beginnings of the Davidids" [Heb.], Zion 9 [1944]: 60), for example, takes it as a reference to the disappearance of certain intermarried Judean-Canaanite clans.

THE"KILLER WIFE"SUPERSTITION IN JEWISH TRADITION

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death for this reason and that this is at least one of the purposes in speaking

of Onan'ssin. Accordingly,the storymay be seen as composedof (at least) two strata.'7 (The phenomenon of a divine or "religious" explanation appended to the human understanding of events occurs elsewhere in the Bible. Cf. Judg. 14:4: "His father and mother did not realize that this was the Lord's doing: He was seeking a pretext against the Philistines," etc.)'8 The original tale-or, at least, Judah's version-explained the deaths of Er and Onan by the "killer wife" superstition. The exact nature of the superstition is not defined, but it evidently is based on a belief that man's destiny may be controlled by malevolent, irrational forces, here associated with women. By identifying the cause of their deaths as sin, the omnisicient narrator informs us of Judah's error. I hold that the mutual exclusiveness of the two explanations of the deaths of Er and Onan-Judah's, that Tamar was to blame, and the narrator's, that God took their lives because of their sins-is self-evident. Some medieval commentators noticed the contrast between the two, but they either left it without interpretation or attempted harmonization (see n. 17). Inexplicably, modern scholars seem to have overlooked it. The novelty of our interpretation may warrant an examination of different possibilities as to the rationale behind the narrator's explanation, which we undertake at the risk of some tediousness. In the absence of other evidence, one might hypothetically assume-with Nalhmanides, for example-that the narrator shared Judah's belief that certain women did cause the deaths of their husbands but disagreed as to Tamar's status. But if so, what would be the purpose of informing us that Tamar did not fall into that category? For "historical accuracy" or to purge King David's progenitor from a blemish? Neither seems a particularly convincing explanation. The story unequivocally supports the levirate commandment. Would not the levirate's primacy have been enhanced if the Bible had affirmed that Tamar had caused the

17. The contrast between the two is implicit in Nahmanides' attempt to reconcile them in his comment to v. 11: "It is unlikely that Judah did not hear that his sons had sinned and 'He dispatched them for their transgression' [Job 8:4], and Tamar had no sin [i.e., was not to blame] for them," etc. Cf. Abraham Maimonides, Commentary to Gen. 38:11 (Weissenberg ed.), pp. 144-145 and n. 13 there (see below, sec. 5). 18. Similar phenomena of "double causality" in the Bible, the human and the divine, are studied by I. L. Seeligmann, "Menschliches Heldentum und gottliche Hilfe: Die doppelte Kausalitat im alttestamentlichen Geschichtsdenken," Theologische Zeitschrift 19 (1963): 385-411. (I am indebted to Prof. G. Brinn for this reference.)

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deaths of her first two husbands but the Lord had protected her levir for having fulfilled his obligation? (See below, sec. 5, where the tension between the "killer wife" belief and the levirate is considered by Maimonides.) Alternative explanations may yet be offered, but I prefer to view the narrator's remarks that Er and Onan died because of their sins not as intended to inform us only that Tamar was not a "killer wife" but as a general statement of opposition to the belief that there are such women. Women do not bear a curse. They are not possessed by evil spirits which cause the deaths of their husbands. Israelite religion-as manifested in Gen. 38-rejected this pagan superstition. Death is not caused by diabolic forces or evil spirits. Willful sin causes death. When one is evil in God's sight, He takes one's life. Thus interpreted, the narrative reinforces the lesson of the Garden of Eden story. Here too the Bible "exorcises" the evil spirit which superstition had attributed to some women. Women are sources of life, not death.19

3. The Second TemplePeriod, Sectarian Literature Second Temple literature interprets the Judah episode in a way that exonerates Tamar of any guilt. The prophet whose words are brought in Mal. 2:11-12 rebukes the people for intermarrying. (11) For Judahhas profanedwhat is holy to the Lord-what He desires-and espoused daughtersof alien gods. (12) May the Lord leave to him no descendantsdwellingin the tents of Jacobandpresentingofferingsto the Lord of Hosts. The Hebrew original for what has been rendered (in the new JPS ny, has perplexed generations of commentranslation) "descendants," nma•i tators. The midrash explains these verses as concerning Judah's "sin" in i as referring to his marrying a Canaanite, the daughter of Shua, andmi; n sons n. It is likely that this was in fact intended in the biblical passage.20 I•lK1

19. Cf. S. D. Goitein, Bible Studies [Heb.] (Tel-Aviv, 1957), p. 34: "The story of Tamar and Judah comes to teach us that a woman may acquire at any expense her natural right to motherhood"; cf. ibid., p. 56. 20. See Bereshit Rabba 85:1, p. 1029; Midrash Haggadol to Gen. 38:1, ed. M. Margulies, p. 642; Kasher, TorahShelemah, 6:1444, no. 8, 6:1446, no. 19. On Malachi 2:12 cf. M. Zer-Kavod, Commentaryto Haggai, Zechariah and Malachi [Heb.] (Jerusalem, 1968), p. 152. Note B. Sota 10a, where Tamar is quoted as saying, "I am a proselyte."


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In anyevent,suchanunderstanding of Gen.38appearsin twosectarian books, Judah'sTestament(chaps.10-13) and Jubilees(chap.41). The

deaths of Er and Onan were the result of Judah'smarryinga Canaanite woman. Tamar,being an Aramean,was a propermatch for Judah'sson. But his own wife wantedhersons to marrya Canaanitelike herself.Because of his mother'sinfluence,Er treatedTamarcruelly. He avoided sleeping with her, so as not to procreate,and was killed by the Lord'sangel on the third night of the marriage.Onan did the same for a year until Judahinsisted that he have relationswith her. He performedcoitus interruptusand died becauseof his sins. Contraryto the biblicalnarrative,Judahdid want to give Tamarin marriageto Shela, but his wiferestrainedhim from doing so. The "killerwife," while expungedfrom the Tamarstory, reappearsin full force in the literatureof the SecondTempleperiod.Sarahthe daughter of Reuel, the heroine of the apocryphalBook of Tobit, has alreadybeen widowedseven times when introduced.Each husbanddied in the wedding chamber.Her maidservantssay she will never keep a husband,and they suggestthat she commitsuicide.At this pointTobias,Sarah'scousin,arrives on the scene. His angelictravelingcompanion,Raphael,urgeshim to marry Sarah. Since he is her only (or closest) relative,she is intendedfor him. Tobias does not take to this suggestion,as he is an only son and is fully aware of what happenedto Sarah'sfirst seven husbands.When he finally does proposeto Reuel, the lattertriesto dissuadethe boy. After all, he is a cousin, and Reuel does not want to be responsiblefor his death. Tobias insists,and the marriageceremonyis performed.Whenthe brideandgroom enter the weddingchamber,Reuel has a gravedug, so that Tobias can be buried quicklyand quietly. At this point we must mentiona uniqueaspectof the fable.The author makesno secretabout the actualcauseof the deaths.The demonAshmedai (= Asmodeus)is in love with Sarahand cannot bearanyonebeingintimate with her. As soon as each of her grooms approachesher, Ashmedaislays him. How does Tobiasescapethis fate?Simple.Raphaelsupplieshim with the heartand liverof a fish. It seemsthat demonscannotstand the smell of burningfish hearts and livers. Tobias places them on a censer;and when Ashmedai inhales the odor, he flees from Persia, where all of this takes place,to the distantrecessesof UpperEgypt.Tobiasand Sarahprayto God and beg for His mercy.Tobias is spared,and the couple lives happilyever after. The story bringsthreeor four separateelementsinto play in explaining

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the deaths of Sarah's first seven husbands and Tobias' deliverance from calamity. Besides the demon, endogamy is an important theme. The author stresses the significance of marrying within the extended family. Sarah's first husbands were strangers; her marriage to Tobias, her cousin, is predestined. Furthermore, after the demon is driven off, the couple pray to God for mercy, and Tobias affirms that he is not taking Sarah only to have sex with her but in truth (i.e.; for procreation). Tobias seemingly owes his life to a magical exorcism rite, the predestination of his endogamous marriage, prayer, and the purity of his intentions for reproduction. We are unable to ascertain when and how these diverse elements were combined. I consider it likely that the author "judaized" an older folktale where the demon theme alone appeared-it is still the dominant one-by adding the motifs of endogamy (which was for him a commandment of paramount importance), prayer, and procreation. The fact that the demon is in love with Sarah is mentioned in 6:15 in the shorter version, Codex Vaticanus, and absent in the longer Codex Sinaiticus. Y. M. Grintz, who identified endogamy as the main theme, suggests that the demon's love is a later intrusion in Codex Vaticanus. In my view it is an integral part of the primary motif and was so understood in Codex Sinaiticus, even though not explicitly mentioned. In any event, according to both versions, there is no question but that Ashmedai takes a most active, independent role in the death of Sarah's husbands, and Tobias' life depends on removing him by magic.2' Did the "killer wife" superstition persist in the popular religion of Israel, despite the attempt of the narrator of Gen. 38 to eradicate it (suggested in sec. 2), or was it reintroduced in Judaism as a foreign element during the Second Temple period? The question has larger implications related to the nature of the popular religion during the biblical period, but these are 21. D. Heller, ed., "Sefer Toviah," in Ha-Sefarim ha-IHitzonim,ed. A. Kahana (Tel-Aviv, 1959), 2:303, 319-320 (chap. 3:7-15), 327-334 (6:10-8:21). Cf. R. H. Charles, ed., Apocrypha and Pseudepigraphaof the Old Testament(Oxford, 1913), 1:196; F. Zimmermann, The Book of Tobit (New York, 1958), pp. 63, 91-93; Y. M. Grintz, "Hebrew Literature in the Persian Period" [Heb.], in Sefer ha- Yovelle-Rabbi Hanokh Albeck (Jerusalem, 1963), pp. 123-139 (on pp. 128, 133, he all but discounts Ashmedai's role in the story); Schwarzbaum, "The Hero Predestined to Die," pp. 225-226. J. D. Thomas, "The Greek Book of Tobit," Journal of Biblical Literature 91 (1972): 463-471, argues for the primacy of Codex Sinaiticus; but, as we have noted, this does not affect our understanding of Ashmedai's role in the story. For the efficacy of prayer and supplication in thwarting fate, see Schwarzbaum, Studies in Jewish and WorldFolklore, pp. 281-285. See below, n. 51. On clerical reworking of folklore, see Bokser, "WonderWorking and the Rabbinic Tradition," p. 70.


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beyond the scope of our paper.22The likely Persian origin of the Book of Tobit and the explicit demonology (and angelology) of the story strongly suggest the latter possibility. A seven-time widow is the subject of a question which the Sadducees asked Jesus in a well-known passage in the Christian Bible. If, through fulfillment of the levirate, a woman married seven brothers and was widowed successively from each, whose wife would she be at resurrection? Jesus responded that in the world-to-come there would be no marriage.23No indication is made of the supposed cause of death of this woman's husbands. I do not think it unreasonable to speculate that their number, seven, may be an indication that their deaths were not believed to be from "natural" causes.

4. Talmudicand Midrashic Literature The superstition appears in a number of passages in talmudic and midrashic literature. These as well as its absence where expected are discussed here. a. T. Shabbat 15:8 "If a womanmarriedone man and he dies, and a secondand he dies, she does not marrya third."These are Rabbi's words. R. Simeon b. Gamalielsays, "She does not marrya fourth."24 It is clear from this beraita that at the end of the tannaitic period (some of) the sages believed in the "killer wife" superstition. Their innovation was to define the number of times a woman could be widowed before being assumed to belong to this category, and, more significantly to restrict her from remarrying and so protect the lives of prospective husbands. Rabbi (Judah ha-Nasi) and his father R. Simeon b. Gamaliel disputed the exact

22. See Kaufmann, Religion of Israel, pp. 122 ff. 23. Matt. 22:23-33, Mark 12:18-34, Luke 20:27-40. 24. Ed. Lieberman, p. 70 and parallels (B. Yevamot64b, Nidda 64a, and Ketubbot 43b in Munich and Firkovitch MSS [see The Babylonian Talmudwith VariantReadings... Kethuboth, ed. M. Hershler, vol. I (Jerusalem, 1972), p. 320]).

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number.25(Note that according to the story in B. Ketubbot62b, on the death of Rabbi's son's bride-to-be the parties believed that the match might have been "disqualified" by something in their family histories.) "She does not marry" or literally, in the passive, "she is not married" implies that the widow's remarriage is forbidden and that the sages were not simply giving sound advice here (that would probably have been worded "one should not marry," etc., ... inv envx nK DK S). All other uses of xK KtV in the Mishnah and the Tosefta clearly refer to forbidden marriages.26 K•'nn b. B. Yevamot64b The amora Abbaye (Babylonia, fourth generation) relies on a report that R. Yo1hananinstructed parents to circumcise (on a Yom Kippur which fell on a Shabbat) a baby boy whose two brothers had died after circumcision, and he concludes that a precedent is not presumed until after three occurrences. He thereupon marries Homa, the daughter of Isi b. R. Isaac b. R. Judah, after she had already been widowed from her first two husbands. The Talmud adds that Abbaye himself died after marrying her (there is no indi-

25. According to the anonymous gemara in B. Yevamot64b, some reverse the names of Rabbi and R. Simeon b. Gamaliel here. But elsewhere when the two dispute the number of times which are considered a precedent, Rabbi says two, and R. Simeon b. Gamaliel, three. Besides our case (sources in the preceding note), there is the case of circumcision: After how many baby boys have died from circumcision does a family stop circumcising its sons? (T. Shabbat 15:8; B. Yevamot64b, where a report is cited in the name of R. Yohanan that R. Simeon b. Gamaliel ruled in such a case that a fourth baby should not be circumcised.) (Fo folktales on evil forces which threaten a baby at circumcision, see Schwarzbaum, "The Hero Predestined to Die," p. 224, n. 6; cf. J. Trachtenberg, Jewish Magic and Superstition [New York, 1939], pp. 170 ff.) P. Yevamot6:6, 7d, cites a number of beraitot which differ on whether a precedent is assumed after two or three times. These concern a woman who stains as a result of intercourse (after a precedent has been set she may not engage in intercourse), the circumcision case, and the right of a woman to collect her ketubbaafter a number of marriages which did not produce offspring. All the beraitot are anonymous, and the Yerushalmi does not identify them with Rabbi or R. Simeon b. Gamaliel. The Yerushalmi suggests that the tanna who rules that a barren woman not collect her ketubba from her fourth marriage may agree that the third son not be circumcised, because of the danger to his life. Note also T. Yevamot8:6 (p. 26): after three marriages which produce no offspring a woman does not remarry; but in B. Yevamot65a: after two, she does not remarry. See S. Lieberman, Tosefta Ki-Fshutah, 6:72. B. Yevamot64b-65a also identifies Rabbi with M. Sanhedrin 9:5 (punishment of a three-time offender [cf. T. Sanhedrin 12:7-8]) and R. Simeon b. Gamaliel with M. Nidda 9:10 (regular menstrual period fixed after three times) and M. Bava Qamma 2:4. Also cf. B. Bava Mezia 106b and I10b. 26. M. Bikkurim 1:5; Yevamot2:9, 15:5, 7; T. Yevamot6:3, 8:4, 14:1, 7; Ketubbot2:1, 2, 6:7, 7:5, 10, 11; 'Eduyot 1:6; Nidda 2:2, 8:2.


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cation of how much time elapsed). Rava (Abbaye'scontemporary) exclaimed,"Does one act on a case on himself?"Thatis, one does not endangerhis own life (cf. Rashi)wherethereis roomfor doubt.(Rava'sown wife, R. Hisda'sdaughter,had beenwidowedfrom herfirst husband;see B. Bava Batra 12b. The irony of name, which means "Wall,"is too H.oma's strikingto ignorehere. The sages taughtthat a wife servesas a wall for her

husband,i.e., sheprotectshim[fromsin].In givingherthisname, .Homa's she scholarlyfamily must have intendeda prayer-nomen est omen-that would be blessed by becominga protectressfor a suitablehusband.)27 The Talmudthen cites two opinions as to the cause of the deathsof the husbandsof the "killerwife."R. Mordechaitells R. Ashi that Avimiof Hagronia reportedin the name of Rava:28"The well [in her womb]29 is the

27. B. Yevamot62b: "R. Tanbum said in the name of R. Hanilai, 'A man without a wife lives without joy, without blessing, and without good.' ... In the West [Eretz Israel] they say, 'Without Torah and without a wall [bIoma].'" Maharsha comments: "One's wife protects him from sin and the war with the evil inclination." Note, however, that the name appears with slightly different spellings; see The Babylonian Talmudwith VariantReadings ... Kethuboth,ed. M. Hershler, vol. 2 (Jerusalem, 1977), p. 100, n. 19. Shulhan Arukh, Even ha-'Ezer 129:34, cites Homa as an example of a woman's Hebrew name. (Rabenu Abraham of Montpellier, Commentary on the Tractate Yevamoth[Heb.], ed. M. Y. Blau [New York, 1962], p. 151: 1rtin,but this apparently is an error: nvin appears in the continuation.) This was Abbaye's second marriage, and he seems to have been much older than Homa. See A. Hyman, Toldoth Tannaim Ve'Amoraim, vol. 1 (reprint ed., Jerusalem, 1987), pp. 86-87; cf. J. L. Maimon, "On Abbaye's Biography" [Heb.], in Sefer ha- Yovelle-Rabbi Hanokh Albeck (Jerusalem, 1963), pp. 320-321 (= J. L. Maimon, Abbaye and Rava [Heb.] [Jerusalem, 1965], p. 20). (R. Gordis suggests [in a private communication] that the sages may have called this woman Homa ["Wall"] because of her inaccessibility-as in Song of Songs 8:9-as proven by the deaths of her husbands.) 28. The printed edition has R. Huna, and the text is so quoted by, e.g., Nalhmanides, Responsa, no. 121. But elsewhere R. Mordechai is found transmitting traditions from Avimi of Hagronia to R. Ashi not in R. Huna's name but in Rava's. Accordingly, Ch. Albeck (Introduction to the Talmud,Babli and Yerushalmi[Heb.] [Tel-Aviv, 1969], p. 403) prefers here the variant "Rava" found in the Munich Codex (95). "Rava" appears in other manuscripts, including Geniza fragments, as well as in texts quoted by RID and Meiri; see The Babylonian Talmudwith VariantReadings.. . Tractate Yebamoth,ed. A. Liss, vol. 2 (Jerusalem, 1986), p. 444; likewise in the texts quoted in the responsa of R. Joseph Albo and R. Yebiel (J. Buksboim, "Responsa of Spanish Rabbis concerning the Qatlanit" [Heb.], Moriah 7 [1977]: 6, 9. 29. Hebrew ,yn (Jastrow's translation). Nabmanides (Responsa, no. 121) cites the Gemara which means the same and may be his paraphrase (cf. R. Asher, Responsa 53:8). The with np•n, text quoted by RID (see preceding note), pt ("sin"), if not a scribal error, is likely to be a "correction" rather than a true variant. Note also that one of the terms used in the Talmud for womb is "grave" (e.g., M. Ohalot 7:4). Cf. B. Sanhedrin 92a: "What is the connection between Sheol and the womb?" etc. Death resulting from intercourse is a known folkloristic theme. See S. Thompson, Motif-Index of Folk-Literature, vol. 3 (Copenhagen, 1956), p. 173 (F582); cf. p. 164 (F547.1.1); vol. 5 (1957), p. 362 (182).

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cause," i.e., death results from sexual contact. R. Ashi (sixth generation) said, "Fate [mazzal, determined by the planets] is the cause."30(It hardly seems coincidental that in one of the other five talmudic passages where R. Mordechai informs R. Ashi of Rava's teachings transmitted by Avimi of Hagronia, B. Bava Mezia 97a, this consists of an aphorism: "If a man is killed by women, there is no judge or judgment." [Its alternative uses there are explained by the commentators as referring to a man who does battle with women or engages in excessive sex with them.]) The significance of these explanations is discussed below (in sec. f). The sugya adds in the name of Rava31(who interprets R. Joseph) that in matters of marriage the law concerning sequences is according to Rabbi. Consequently, being twice widowed constitutes a precedent; and the woman does not remarry.32

30. But Rava himself says (B. Moed Qatan 26a) that "life, children, and sustenance do not depend on merit but on fate [mazzal]." (See an example of Rava's concern for his own mazzal when sick in B. Nedarim 40a.) Might R. Ashi be transmitting a tradition of Rava here?(But see Albeck, Introductionto the Talmud,pp. 428-429.) The connection between the two is implicit in R. Asher's explanation of "fate is the cause" in B. Yevamot64b (Responsa, no. 53:8): "The woman has the bad luck [mazzal] that her husbands die. This thing depends on fate, for one's life and sustenance depend on fate, if one is born in an hour whereby he should be wealthy or poor. A woman is secluded in her house, and she would be unable to earn her own livelihood were her husband not to sustain her. It is decreed that this woman's husbands die, in order that she live in poverty all her life, without anyone to sustain her. . . . But one cannot interpret that she was born in an astrological sign [mazzal] which causes her husband's death. . ... For we find in the Talmud only that wealth or poverty or longevity or the like depends on fate, but causing the death of other people does not depend on fate." ("Fate" here was explained by kabbalists as meaning that the woman was destined to marry someone particular, and any other man she married would die. See Derisha to Tur,Even ha-'Ezer 9:1. This can be seen as a variant of one of the motifs in the Book of Tobit; see above at n. 21. Cf. below n. 66.) Note the story in B. Ketubbot 62b, cited above, of the death of Rabbi's intended daughter-in-law. On the other hand, it is clear that R. Ashi himself believed in the power of astrology; see, e.g., B. Shabbat 156a. Cf. B. Bava Batra 12a-b, where both Rava and R. Ashi speak of sages born under the same astrological sign. 31. R. Abraham b. Ishbili (Responsa, 3, no. 364), reads ~in instead of xn and takes this to be the third-century amora Rabba. But even according to that reading (also found in Codex Munich 14) the intention is probably to Rava. Cf. Albeck, Introductionto the Talmud,p. 411; D. Halivni, Sources and Traditions... Nashim [Heb.] (Tel-Aviv, 1968), p. 71, n. 2. (Rava's preceding statement discussed there may originally have been only "One should not marry a woman from a family with epileptics or lepers.") The Rabba/Rava interchange is discussed by S. Friedman in a forthcoming study. 32. But according to the anonymous gemara in B. Nidda 64a, both Rav and Samuel follow R. Simeon b. Gamaliel.


39

c. B. Ketubbot65a After Abbaye's death, Homa appeared before Rava's court to establish how much support she was entitled to as a widow. She was obviously a very beautiful woman, and when she raised her arm to show the size of the goblets of wine she used to drink when Abbaye was alive, her sleeve fell back, and her arm was exposed. Rava immediately went home and asked his wife to have intimate relations with him. His coming home this way in the middle of the day made her suspicious, and she demanded to know who had been in

court. When she heardthat it was Homa, she ran out, strikingHoma with the lock of a chest,33and chased her all the way out of the town of Mehloza, exclaiming, "You already killed three; now you want to kill another." This affair implies that Rava's wife feared he might actually marry (Rava's tolerance of polygyny is mentioned repeatedly.)35If so, it .Homa.34 would seem that at least she believed that marriage to a "killer wife" was not strictly prohibited but merely to be avoided as sound advice. Actually, if we judge from Rava's remarks after Abbaye married Homa, his wife had nothing to worry about. In any event, we should not base too much on the words of a jealous wife. d. VariousMishnahsand the AnonymousBavli Certain mishnahs deal with the remarriage of a woman widowed a number of times. None of them refers to the "killer wife" superstition or to any restrictions. But in some cases the anonymous sugya in the Babylonian Talmud draws pertinent inferences. Yevamot 2:10 implies that a twice-widowed woman is permitted to remarry. The Talmud (B. Yevamot 26a) notes that this counters Rabbi's ruling, and it interprets the mishnah as referringto the case of a woman once

33. Rashi. Jastrow (Dictionary, p. 1329): "she struck her with the strap of a chest." Cf. Arukh Completum,7:110 and n. 5. See the variant readings in The Babylonian Talmudwith Variant Readings ... Kethuboth,vol. 2, pp. 110-111. Note that qolpa also means "ax." See D. Boyarin, "Towards the Talmudic Lexicon" [Heb.], Tarbiz 50 (1980/81): 187-191. 34. Cf. Rashi and Perushe R. Judah b. Nathan (Rashi "First Version"), ed. J. N. Epstein (Jerusalem, 1933), p. 37. 35. See B. Yevamot63b, 65a, Qiddushin7a; cf. Ketubbot 80b and Berakhot 65a. Cf. M. A. Friedman, Jewish Polygyny in the Middle Ages [Heb.] (Jerusalem, 1986), p. 367a.

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divorced and once widowed. This interpretation is not warranted by the text of the mishnah. M. Yevamot3:7 (end) deals with a levirate case where a twice-widowed woman is permitted to marry the third brother, and the Talmud makes no comment on this.36M. Yevamot16:2 (T. Yev.14:3, p. 51) concerns a twice-widowed woman, the second time from a levirate marriage. The anonymous tanna rules that she may not remarry, but only because of the insufficient evidence of the death of her first husband; R. Eliezer rules that she may marry a third time. The Talmud does not comment here on the "killer wife" issue. The same is the case with M. Yevamot 9:5-6, which relates to a thrice-widowed woman. T. Yevamot11:5 concerns a woman who reported (or received a report) that her husband had died abroad and then-without an explicit court ruling-remarried. This situation repeated itself until she married her fourth husband. This is the text of Codex Vienna. The other versions omit one case, but the omission is likely to have been unintentional.37 Most of the sources discussed in the preceding paragraph deal with third marriages, and it could be argued that they correspond to R. Simeon b. Gamaliel's ruling. This cannot be done in the last case, since it deals with a fourth marriage. But the marriage took place on the wife's own initiative and without court permission. Consequently, we can assume that there was

no absolutegeneralaversionto suchmarriages(if in factthe fourthhusband knew of all the previous ones), but not that the sages sanctioned them.38

36. Also cf. M. Yevamot3:9 (R. Simeon); B. Yevamot28b-R. Safra's hypothetical case concerning six brothers. Cf. below n. 79. 37. The beraita deals with a case where "all" of the first husbands returned from abroad. "All" clearly suggests that there were at least three before her last marriage. There are additional indications of omissions in the other versions. The Erfurt Codex has here only "three husbands," but the third and last husband also goes abroad. As Lieberman notes (Tosefta KiFshulah, 6:110, n. 19), there is no point to this. (Lieberman inadvertently refers to the fourth husband rather than the third, and says that the four words describing his trip abroad are superfluous.) These words are a remnant of an additional clause dealing with another husband. Similarly, the Geniza manuscript cited in the apparatus has only "two husbands" (even though it too speaks of "all" of them). The words "they came and told her" are clearly a remnant of an additional clause, and they were deleted by a later hand. 38. Cf. T. Yevamot8:6 (p. 26): "How many times may she [a barren woman] marry?Three. More than that she may marry only one who has a wife and children. If she marries someone who does not have a wife and children, she is divorced without the ketubba, because her marriage is a mistaken marriage." See Lieberman, Tosefta Ki-Fshulah, 6:72-74. Cf. T. Nedarim 6:4 (p. 117): "A betrothed girl ... her husband did not hear her [vow] before he died, and she became betrothed again, even to ten [one after the other]." B. Qiddushin77b mentions the hypothetical case of a thrice-widowed woman.


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Other than the passage in T. Shabbat 15:8, the Mishnah and Tosefta seem to ignore the "killer wife" even in cases where some reference would be natural. Should we infer from their silence that the editors of these worksor the sages whose rulings are cited in the relevant passages (Rabbi was the editor of the Mishnah!)-considered marriage to a "killer wife" something that a prudent man would avoid after having been warned but not as being strictly prohibited? I do not believe that one can go beyond hypothesis here. The Talmud ignores some of these passages and does not take up our question. On the other hand, the anonymous gemara does make an interesting comment on a mishnah that really has nothing to do with the issue. M. Ketubbot4:2 concerns the rights of a girl's father to her ketubbamoney if she was divorced from her first marriage and widowed from the second. Her subsequent marriage is not discussed. The gemara notes that, following Rabbi, the mishnah intentionally avoided a case where the girl had been widowed twice, since she "would no longer be fit to remarry." "Not fit" (Krn) suggests a definite prohibition, and this is made explicit in some versions of the text (XK'4).39 e. The Yerushalmi I have not seen any references to passages in the Palestinian Talmud that deal with the "killer wife" superstition, and to the best of my knowledge there is none. The Yerushalmi is silent on the issue even in those places, discussed above, where its mention would be expected. It is tempting to suggest that the Palestinian amoraim did not believe in the superstition. In general, the Palestinian Talmud has been described as having less demonology (and angelology), sorcery, magic, astrology, and other kinds of superstitions than the Babylonian. But we should be cautious about drawing conclusions from arguments from silence, especially for specific issues.40

39. See The Babylonian Talmudwith VariantReadings ... Kethuboth,vol. 1, p. 320, n. 32. 40. Note especially P. Yevamot6:6, 7d (above, n. 25), where other cases where a sequence is presumed after two or three occurrences are cited. Yefe Enayim (to B. Yevamot64b) suggests that the Yerushalmi would prohibit remarriage after the death of two husbands. It does so on the basis of the remark in this Yerushalmi passage that the tanna who ruled that three occurrences define a precedent would agree that after two babies had died from circumcision a third should not be circumcised, because of the danger. But in light of the Yerushalmi's silence on the "killer wife," I do not believe that this conclusion is warranted. For the relative absence of magic and similar phenomena in the Palestinian Talmud, see, e.g., L. Ginzberg, A Commentary

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f. Bereshit Rabba 85:5 (p. 1039) R. Eleazar4'said, "Eventhoughthereis no [permissible]divination[nablash, see Num. 23:23]thereis an omen [simman]-'Forhe thought,he too mightdie like his brothers'(Gen. 38:11)."

neither Twootherversionsof this traditionappearin talmudicliterature; refers specifically to the "killer wife." P. Shabbat6:9, 8c It has beentaught[tene].R. Eliezerb. Jacobsays,"Youshallnot practicedivinationor soothsaying"(Lev. 19:26).Eventhoughthereis no divination,there is an omen-provided that it is afterthree signs.42So "whenI was returning from Paddan,Racheldied"(Gen.48:7);"Josephis no moreand Simeonis no more, and now you would take away Benjamin"(ibid. 42:36). B. lfullin 95b It has been taught [tanya].R. Simeonb. Eleazarsays, "A house, an infant/ child [tinoq],and a woman-even though there is no divination,thereis an omen-provided that it has occurredthree times,43for it says, 'Josephis no more and Simeon is no more, and you would take away Benjamin."' Despite the differences between these three versions in the attribution of the saying and in its text, they can be assumed to be variants of one basic tradition: "Even though there is no divination there is an omen." Bereshit Rabba, which alone cites the Tamar story, corresponds with Rabbi's ruling that two occurrences are considered a precedent. The Yerushalmi and Bavli versions correspond with that of R. Simeon b. Gamaliel, which requires three occurrences to establish a sequence. The three losses suffered by Jacob,

on the Palestinian Talmud, vol. 1 (New York, 1941), pp. xxxiv-xxxvi (= On Jewish Law and Lore [Philadelphia, 1955], pp. 22-24); cf. D. Boyarin, Tarbiz 50 (1980/81): 185, n. 77 quoting Lieberman. But see S. Lieberman, Greek in Jewish Palestine, 2nd ed. (New York, 1965), pp. 110-111. (P. 110: "It is fundamentally an error to generalize and say that in Palestinian Talmudo-Midrashic literature fewer 'superstitions' are found than in the Babylonian.") Cf. Urbach, The Sages, pp. 85 ff. 41. Some texts read "Eliezer"; see variant readings in Theodor-Albeck's edition and the commentary there. 42. These words are likely to be an editorial addition. 43. These words are in Aramaic, and they are evidently a later addition.


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namely Rachel, Joseph, and Simeon, explain his reluctance to let Benjamin go with his brothers. The fIullin passage requires some comment. The omission of the reference to Gen. 48:7 (Rachel's death) has caused difficulties for the commentators (cf. Rashi), as this leaves only two previous occurrences. Moreover, it is not clear what "a house, an infant/child, and a woman" refer to. Rashi explains: "If he succeeded in business after building a house, after a baby was born, or after he married, it is a sign that he will continue to succeed." R. Gershom: "It is a sign if he has good luck or bad luck three times after dedicating a house, after the birth of a baby, or after marrying a wife." Maimonides (Avoda Zara 11:5) refers to one who says that he has had good luck with a house he built, a wife he married, or an animal he purchased; and if one asked a child what verse he was learning and it was a lucky verse, one should see it as a good sign. ("These and the like are permissible, since he neither planned his actions or inactions based on them but only considered what already had happened an omen for himself.") The schoolchild's verse is discussed as an omen in the lines before our passage in B. Hullin 95b,44 and this explains Maimonides' comment here. The sages remark that gentiles would consult astrologers (who would say "the divination is good(?)" n vrnm) before an undertaking, such as the purchase of a slave or a marriage (or the birth of a baby).45The Bavli passage may refer to such practices when it forbids divination. (It is interesting to note that medieval Jewish marriage contracts of various traditions, for example those written in Fustat and preserved in the Cairo Geniza, have the words "in a good augury" [K• Kvrn:] written over the text. I hardly think those Jews practiced divination, but they were not careful with their choice of words. This has not been found in any of the Palestinian-style marriage contracts; instead, they have "in the name of our Creator"46or "in a good sign"

44. See S. Lieberman, Hellenism in Jewish Palestine, 2nd ed. (New York, 1962), pp. 194-199. 45. Before a general undertaking: P. Shabbat 6:10, 8d (or rather before purchasing merchandise; see S. Lieberman, Hayerushalmi Kiphshuto [Jerusalem, 1934], pp. 114-115; see next note). Before purchasing a slave: Bereshit Rabba 87:4 (pp. 1064-1065). Before marriage: Shemot Rabba 20:8. Before the birth of a baby, see Bereshit Rabba 85:2 (p. 1031), B. Sofa 12b-13a. Cf. B. Sanhedrin 65b end, Shabbat 155a, and Nedarim 32a. 46. See S. Lieberman, Tarbiz6 (1935): 234-235; 27 (1958): 57-60 (translated in Lieberman, Texts and Studies [New York, 1974], pp. 21 ff.). Cf. M. A. Friedman, Jewish Marriage in Palestine.-A Cairo Geniza Study, vol. 1 (Tel-Aviv, 1980), pp. 91-92; idem, "Marriage as an Institu-

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[KX"2X•~"on].47

Again this suggests that there was less astrology, etc., in Pales-

tine.) In light of the Bereshit Rabba parallel and the other sources discussed above, serious consideration should be given to the explanation of the IHullin passage found in Sefer Ifasidim. Theysaid, "An infant,a house,anda womanareomens."A woman:Shedoes not marrya thirdor fourthif herhusbandsdiedone afterthe other,afterthey had intimaterelationswith her,andthey diedwithoutchildrenor immediately afterintercourse,like Er and Onan,who did not tarrywithTamar.An infant: If they circumcisedthe first, second,and third,and they died. ... Similarlya house:If one built a new houseor entereda new housein whichthreepeople had died one afterthe other;he deservesto die [endangershis life]if he tarries in this house.48 The Bereshit Rabba passage is the closest the talmudic sages came to admitting the pagan origin of the "killer wife" superstition. Divination is forbidden by the Torah (Lev. 19:26). But paganism no longer was considered a threat to rabbinic Judaism, and certain practices and beliefswhether introduced from foreign sources or emerging from the depths of the popular religious consciousness-were condoned by the sages, despite their implicit pagan overtones. In doing so, the sages sometimes reinterpreted superstitions to make them compatible with their understanding of the requirements of Jewish tradition.49 In our case, this clearly seems to have

tion: Jewry under Islam," in The Jewish Family: Metaphor and Memory, ed. D. Kraemer (Oxford, 1989), pp. 40-41, 45. Cf. S. D. Goitein, "Religion in Everyday Life as Reflected in the Documents of the Cairo Geniza," in Religion in a Religious Age, ed. S. D. Goitein (Cambridge, Mass., 1974), pp. 13-14. 47. See Friedman, Jewish Marriage in Palestine 1:90, n. 70. Cf. J. Naveh, "A Good Subduing, There Is None Like It" [Heb.], Tarbiz 54 (1985): 375-376. 48. Sefer Hasidim (Das Buch der Frommen), ed. J. Wistinetzki and J. Friemann, 2nd ed. (Frankfurt, 1924), pars. 1870-1871, pp. 452-453; ed. R. Margaliot (Jerusalem, 1970), par. 470, pp. 324-325. 49. See, e.g., J. Z. Lauterbach, Hebrew Union College Annual 2 (1925): 353; Ginzberg, On Jewish Law and Lore, pp. 62 ff.; Y. Kaufmann, The Religion of Israel [Heb.], vol. 1, book 2 (Tel Aviv, 1937), pp. 429-433 et passim; Lieberman, Greek in Jewish Palestine, pp. 91 ff. (p. 92: "It is particularly difficult to eliminate practices which have their roots in popular beliefs and superstitions"); idem, Hellenism in Jewish Palestine, pp. 120-121, 129, et passim; Urbach, The Sages, pp. 17 ff. Cf. J. Neusner, A History of the Jews in Babylonia, vol. 3 (Leiden, 1968), pp. 117 ff.; vol. 4 (1969), pp. 354 ff.


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been the intentionof the fine distinctionbetweendivinationand an omen. The "killerwife" superstitionwas definedas belongingto the latter category. Its dissociationfromdivinationor any paganbeliefsrenderedit acceptable to the rabbis.Furthermore,thereis no suggestionin our sourcesthat the sages-many of whom believed in demons-thought that a demon possessedor "protected"a woman whose many husbandsdied. As we have seen, their deaths were explained by Rava as caused by sexual contact (todayone wouldimaginethat she was a carrierof AIDS) and by R. Ashi as the resultof fate. Perhapsthese explanationstoo servedto makethe belief compatible.Whetherpseudo-medicalor astrological,the superstitioncould be consideredas basedon soundcontemporaryscientifictheoriesor at least within the boundariesof what the sages consideredreligiouslyacceptable. As Liebermanwrote,"A learnedand culturedman of those timescould not rejectthe science of Astrology, a science recognizedby all of the civilized ancientworld."50

g. Midrash Tanbuma

A late reworkingof the Tobiasand Sarahstoryappearsin MidrashTanbuma,Ha'azinu,par. 8. The bride'sfirstthreehusbandsdie on theirwedding night. Her cousin and fourth husband-there is no suggestionthat this marriageis forbidden-is saved from this fate when she confronts the Lord'smessenger,who has come to claim her groom, and demands,on the authorityof the Torah(Deut. 24:5),that he be released:"Whena man has taken a bride,he shall not go out with the armyor be assignedto it for any purpose;he shall be exemptone year for the sake of his household,to give happinessto the womanhe has married."WhenGod hearsthis, He calls off His angel; and the dangeris averted. In its reworkedversionthe paganelementshavebeen removedfromthe tale, and it has beenalteredin keepingwithJewishconcepts.The demonhas been replaced by an (unnamed)angel of God. His mission is canceled

50. Lieberman, Greek in Jewish Palestine, p. 68. Many Jews accepted astrology (and other pagan practices and beliefs) without question. Some sages rejected it outright (see Lieberman, pp. 99 ff.). On astrology and demonology among the rabbis, see Neusner, History of the Jews in Babylonia, 4:330 ff.

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becauseof an argumentbasedon a versefromthe Torah,not as a resultof any magicalexorcismrites.5' h. Ruth in the Midrashic (and Kabbalistic)Literature

The Book of Ruth associatesthe Judah and Tamarstory with Ruth's marriageto Boaz both in the good wishes extendedto the latter in 4:12 ("And may your house be like the house of Perez whom Tamarbore to Judah-through the offspringwhich the Lord will give you by this young woman")and in the genealogyat the end of the book (4:18-22), whichidentifies Boaz as a descendantof Perez,six generationsremoved(and Obed, Boaz and Ruth'sson, as David'sgrandfather).A numberof parallelscan be drawn betweenthe two women. Both are resolutewidows (and "foreigners") who take bold action (with older men relatedto their husbands)to assurethat offspringwill be providedfor the dead.52It is ratherironicalthat some midrashimand latercommentatorsdrawa furtherparallelby implying or forthrightlystatingthat, like Tamar,Ruth too may have been considereda "killerwife." The kabbalistSolomon Alkabez(d. 1584),in his commentaryto Ruth, ShoreshYishai,quotesJudahIbn Shoshan:"Themidrashexpoundsthat she [Ruth] entereda leviratemarriagewith Chilion"(after her first husband, his brotherMahlon, had died). After Chilion'sdeath Ruth would thus be considered(accordingto Rabbi) a "killerwife,"and this explains,he suggests,the reluctanceof Boaz'skinsmanto (redeemthe estateand)marryher.

51. According to Ginzberg (Legends of the Jews, 6:335, n. 96), "it is difficult to determine with certainty the relation of this legend to the story of Tobit, as it would be a rash conclusion to consider the former directly dependent upon the latter." But the many points of similarity between the two (omitted in the brief summary above) are strong arguments in favor of the opinion of Grintz ("Hebrew Literature in the Persian Period," p. 123) and Schwarzbaum ("The Hero Predestined to Die," pp. 238-240; see literature in n. 46 there) that "this story is nothing else than a folk-retelling of the old, famous tale embedded in the Book of Tobit." (I note here one parallel which might be overlooked: as in Tobit, the bride addresses her groom as "my brother." Cf. M. A. Friedman, "Israel's Response in Hosea 2:17b: 'You Are My Husband,'" Journal of Biblical Literature 99 [1980]: 203.) Schwarzbaum suggests that the number of dead husbands was altered from seven to three to be "more in keeping with the Talmudic statement" (discussed above). But as a fourth marriage is forbidden even according to R. Simeon b. Gamaliel's ruling, I hardly think that this was intended. Schwarzbaum does not discuss the other changes which are noted above. 52. Cf., e.g., Kaufmann, Religion of Israel [Heb.], vol. 2, book 1, p. 212; Gordis, "Love, Marriage and Business," pp. 241 ff.


47

"Subsequently, I believe that she was a killer wife, and 'So-and-so' let her go 'lest he impair his estate.' But Boaz was not afraid of this."" Alkabez remarks that he searched high and low for such a midrash but could not find one. He suggests that Ibn Shoshan may have inferred as much from Ruth Rabba 7.7, 10, which comments on the redeemer's disclaimer (Ruth 4:6: "Then I cannot redeem it for myself, lest I impair my own estate. You take over my right of redemption, for I am unable to exercise it"): He said, "The first ones died only becausethey marriedher. ShouldI marry her?God forbid.I will not mix my descendants[seed].I will not mixworthless matter [offspring]with my children."And he did not know that a new interpretationof the law had already been established:"An Ammonite" [male] (Deut. 23:4)-not an Ammonitefemale;"a Moabite"[male]-not a Moabite female.54 The text is not without difficulties. "I will not mix worthless matter [offspring] with my children" appears to be a gloss to the preceding clause. From the closing remarks, it is clear that the redeemer supposedly believed that it was (still) forbidden to marry a Moabite woman. (The midrash attributes the exegesis which permitted this marriage to Boaz's court.)" Consequently, he did not want the offspring of a forbidden union among his children. As to the preceding statement, "the first ones died only because they married her," three questions present themselves. Who were the "first ones"? Why did marrying Ruth cause their deaths? And if the redeemer feared that he too would die if he married her, why is he concerned with the offspring of the marriage? To begin with the last question, two separate excuses may have been combined here: the redeemer's fear of death and, should he live and produce offspring from the marriage, his fear that this offspring would be unworthy and would pollute his family. (The redeemer's

53. Shoresh Yishai to Ruth 4:9 (reprint ed., Bat Yam, 1981, p. 71a). 54. Ruth Rabba 7:7, 10, ed. M. B. Lerner ("The Book of Ruth in Aggadic Literature and Midrash Ruth Rabba" [Heb.] [Ph.D. diss., Hebrew University, 1971], 2:186, 190). For the term pesolet "worthless matter (offspring)" (so translated by Jastrow, Dictionary, 2:1191), see Lerner, 3:75. For the present context, cf. Ruth Rabba 4:9 (ed. Lerner, 2:112): "Doeg the Edomite ... said, 'Even if he is from Perez, isn't he from a disqualified family [pesul mishpaba]?Isn't he from Ruth the Moabite?'"; 8:1 (p. 204): "David said. .. 'How long will they say: Isn't he from a disqualified family?'" 55. See Lerner, 1:106-109.

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fear of death and his concern for the offspring of the union are not necessarily mutually exclusive; see below concerning Boaz.) The "first ones" might be a loose expression for Ruth's first husband.56But, as Alkabez suggested, it could be understood as implying that she had had two husbands; and the London manuscript of the midrash in fact adds here: "Mahlon and Chilion.""57If Ruth's first two husbands had died, she could be assumed (by Rabbi) to be a "killer wife." The redeemer may have attributed their deaths not only to their transgression in having married a Moabite woman58but also, or alternatively, to the widow superstition. It is noteworthy that the midrash also suggests that the redeemer might have considered marrying Ruth but abstaining from intimate relations with her. Boaz (tragically-see below) dissuaded him from this course.59 (Moshe Sofer in his Responsa [/Jatam Sofer] writes that he found in H. J. D. Azulai's commentary to Ruth, Simhat ha-Regel, "in the name of the midrash," that Chilion, Ruth's first husband, died, and Mahlon married her.60Sofer apparently wrote this from memory. Azulai remarks that Mahlon was Ruth's first husband and Chilion the levir. And he did not quote it in the name of the midrash but rather cited Simon Habillo's seventeenthcentury kabbalistic commentary on Ruth, Heleq Bene Yehuda.6'Habillo wrote that after Mahlon's death, Chilion took Ruth in a levirate marriage; but he quotes no sources.62Azulai himself reconstructs an interesting debate

56. Cf., e.g., B. 'Eruvin 53a: "The 'first ones' is R. Akiva." 57. Lerner, 2:187, variant readings to line 88; cf. Lerner, 3:75, who cites Alkabez. 58. This agrees with R. Meir's midrash on Ruth 1:4 ("They married Moabite women") in Ruth Rabba 2:9: "They did not proselytize them and immerse them, and they did not let the new interpretation of the law be established. Had they let the new interpretation of the law be established, they would not have been punished because of them. An Ammonite (male)--not an Ammonite female; a Moabite (male)-not a Moabite female." This is the correct text of the midrash; see S. Lieberman, "Some Notes to the Beginning of Ruth Rabba" [Heb.], in Henoch YalonJubilee Volume(Jerusalem, 1963), p. 179. A passage in B. Ketubbot 11la seems to reflect a liberal application of this theme: A man's brother in Be Hozaa (Babylonia) died and his sisterin-law thus became eligible for levirate marriage. He came before R. Hanina (in Eretz Israel) and asked him, "Is one permitted to emigrate ['descend'] in order to perform the levirate?" He responded, "His brother married a gentile. Bless the Lord for killing him. He wants to go down after him?!" 59. Ruth Rabba 7:9 (ed. Lerner, 2:188). Cf. Friedman, Jewish Polygyny in the Middle Ages, pp. 9-10. 60. Hatam Sofer, III, Even ha-'Ezer 1 (Jerusalem, 1970), no. 130, last par. (p. 82b). 61. H. J. D. Azulai, Simhat ha-Regel (Livorno, 1781/82), p. 34b. 62. Simeon Habillo, Heleq Bene Yehuda(Venice, 1694/95), p. 42b.


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betweenthe redeemerand Boaz. The formersupposedlybelievedthat the law restrictingthe remarriageof a "killerwife" appliedto the levirate[or "redemption"],while Boaz thoughtthat it did not. This is an old question; see below our discussionon Maimonides'responsum.) The midrashdescribesTamar'sbearinga child to Judah as a result of divine intervention.63The same is done for Ruth and Boaz. Both are describedas beingbeyondtheirproductiveyears.Boazis eighty,Ruth forty. Moreover,like the matriarchsin the midrash,Ruth was bornwithouta full set of reproductiveorgans, and her ability to conceive is the result of a miraculous"operation."64 IdentifyingRuth as a widow from her first two husbandscompletesthe comparisonwith Tamar.Both are fearedas "killer wives" who enteredlevirate/redemptionmarriagesto become progenitors of David and symbolsof life and motherhood.(Accordingto the kabbalists, Mahlonand Chilionwerereincarnationsof Er and Onan.)But the strangest twist to the Ruth saga is addedby that midrashwhich has Boaz die immediatelyafterhe consummateshis marriagewith Ruth.Accordingto Midrash RuthZutta,"Theysaid, 'Onthe samenightthat he had intercoursewith her he died."'"(In the Leqab Tovversion, he died while having intercourse.)65 The midrashdoes not commenton Ruth as a possible cause of his death. As Boaz was an octogenarian,his being kept alivejust until he impregnated Ruth could be construedas one of the semimiraculousaspectsof the eventssuppliedby the midrash.But overtonesof the "killerwife"motif are so salient in these midrashimthat it is difficultto considerthem as being unintentional.One can hardlyimaginethat the rabbishad any specificpurpose in inventingthese midrashimother than to embellishthe story and complete the connectionwith Tamar. 63. See above, n. 13. 64. Ruth Rabba 4:4 (p. 102), 6:4 (p. 160), 7:14 (p. 202). Cf. Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews, 6:194. Fixing Ruth's age as forty was intended to prove the miraculous nature of her conceiving and giving birth; cf. B. Bava Batra 119b: "A forty-year-old woman is no longer productive; because of their piety, a miracle was performed." 65. Midrash Ruth Zutta, ed. S. Buber (Berlin, 1894), p. 49; cf. YalqutShim'oni Ruth, par. 608. R. Tovia b. Eliezer, Lekach Tob zu Megillat Ruth, ed. S. Bamberger (Mainz, 1887), p. 44 (which grotesquely describes how Ruth held Boaz in a death-love embrace until morning). From the context in YalqutShim'oni it seems that Boaz's death on his wedding night was associated with a midrash on nip'1in 4:13, understood as np,'1: "Woe, Boaz married Ruth!" According to Leqah Tov it is associated with v. 17: "'A son is born to Naomi'-to Naomi, not to Boaz." For Mahlon and Chilion as reincarnations of Er and Onan, see S. Vital, Meqor lHayyim (Livorno, 5531), p. 14c (I am indebted to Dr. Y. Spiegel for this reference).

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5. Maimonides In the post-talmudicperiod we find a new Hebrewterm for a woman whose husbandsdie: qallanit,literally"killerwoman."There is an abundance of medievaland postmedievalsourcesrelevantto the attitudesand legalrulingson the widow syndrome,but theseare beyondthe scope of this paper.66

Maimonides' writingon the subjectis too significantto passover.He treatsit in a detailedresponsum thatdealswitha twice-widowed woman who was now a candidatefor a leviratemarriage.67 One of the localscholars argued that she could not enter such a marriage,since she was mubzeqet ("assumed")to be a womanwhosehusbandsdie. Thisopinionwas supported by an old responsumfrom some authority.Anotherscholararguedthat fulfillmentof the leviratewas a commandmentwhichsupersededthe prohi-

for a womanwiththe "assumed" bitionof remarriage status.

In his responsumMaimonidesexpressedhis amazementthat scholars would fail to distinguishbetweendifferentcategoriesof prohibitions:things forbiddenby the Torah,thingsforbiddenby the sages,and thingswhichare "reprehensible" (makrah)but not forbidden.The remarriageof the woman "assumed"to lose herhusbandsbelongsto the lattercategory.It is "doubtful dangerto life, fearof whichis in way of soothsaying,divination,conjecfromwhichat some time bodiesof weakconstitution tures,68and fantasies,69 66. See, e.g., Bet Yosef to Tur, Even ha-'Ezer 9. A search on the computer of Bar-Ilan University's responsa program with qatlanit as the key word produced quotations from 114 responsa. One of these did not refer to the widow syndrome but to the case of a kohen involved in a fatal car accident Note that according to the Zohar (Jerusalem: Mossad ha(n,~t~pmlxn). Rav Kook, 1960, II, 203), Mishpatim, the ghost of the first husband remains with the widow and causes the death of other husbands. On "philosophical" considerations in Albo's responsum (above, n. 28), see I. Ta-Shma, Sefunot 3 (1985) 110. 67. R. Moses b. Maimon, Responsa, ed. J. Blau, vol. 2 (Jerusalem, 1960), no. 218, pp. 384-388 (cf. Blau's notes and references to scholarly literature). The responsum (without the question) has recently been reedited by I. Shailat, Letters and Essays of Moses Maimonides [Heb.], vol. 2 (Maaleh Adumim, 5748), 620-623. The widow syndrome is treated in responsum no. 15 (Blau, 1:22-24) as well. The latter is translated and discussed in my paper "The RansomDivorce: Divorce Proceedings Initiated by the Wife in Mediaeval Jewish Practice," Israel Oriental Studies 6 (1976): 293-296; n. 37 there deals with the text of no. 218. 68. Arabic awha(mcan also be translated "delusive imaginations, erroneous impressions, fancies, delusions, beliefs, guesses, surmises, biases, prejudices, self-deception, forebodings," etc. 69. Arabic takhayyuldt can also be translated "imagination, delusions, hallucinations, fancies, whims, fantastic notions."


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might be affected." There can be no comparison between the real danger caused by circumcising a baby whose brothers had died from this operation and the remarriage of the widow. The latter involves no prohibition whatsoever, and marrying such a woman is no more wrong than "eating from a bunch of vegetables tied by a gardener" (which makes one susceptible to witchcraft according to a gentile witch quoted in B. Shabbat 82a). In all of Andalusia, states Maimonides, a woman widowed many times was never denied remarriage, especially if she was a young woman. It is preferable for pious men to avoid officiating at such a woman's betrothal, but they should explicitly inform her that if she finds someone to marry her, they will not require the couple to get a divorce.7"By legal subterfuge (bila) the couple arranges to perform the betrothal privately, in the presence of two witnesses. They than appear in court, and the rabbis forthright issue them a marriage contract and perform the wedding ceremony. Maimonides testifies that this practice was followed by the courts of R. Isaac Alfasi and R. Joseph Ibn Migash, by their successors, and by himself since he settled in Egypt.7 All of this, including the legal subterfuge, concerns a regular widow, not a levirate widow. No restrictions whatsoever apply to the marriage of the latter, which is a commandment of the Torah. Maimonides, the rationalist and physician, ignored the Talmud's pseudo-medical and astrological explanations of the "killer wife" superstition and, in his responsum, struck at its very heart by identifying it as nothing less than "soothsaying, divination, conjecture, and fantasy." His words are in direct conflict with the sages' justification of the superstition--"even though there is no [permissible] divination, there is an omen," explicitly applied by the midrash to Judah's fear of Tamar. (But not, as we have seen, by the parallel in B. lHullin95b, which Maimonides interpreted otherwise and could have considered as taking precedence over the midrash passage.)

70. The word "divorce" has been corrupted in the Arabic original but is preserved in the medieval Hebrew translations. See Blau, 2:387, nn. 33, 11. S. Abramson, in his notes to this responsum in Blau, vol. 3 (1961), p. 167, suggests another way to read the text, according to which the court does not advise the widow to circumvent the talmudic prohibition; but in his notes to Blau, vol. 4 (1986), p. 54, he states that Maimonides did in fact recommend advising the widow to get betrothed. I concur with Shailat, 2:622, n. 15, in upholding Blau's suggestion on the text. Also cf. Otzar ha-Geonim, ed. B. M. Lewin (Yevamot), 7:145, no. 339. 71. On Alfasi and the widow syndrome, see Nalhmanides, Novellae to Yevamot[Heb.], ed. S. Dickman (Jerusalem, 5747), pp. 236-237 and n. 295. As to Ibn Migash, see A. Frieman's note in Blau, 2:387, n. 12 (cf. Abramson, ibid., 3:167, 4:54).

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The full import of the master's identifying this belief with al-fa'l wal-zajr ("soothsaying and divination") is made evident by a comparison with his Sefer ha-Miswot, Negative Commandment 33: The prohibitionby whichwe wereforbiddento practicesoothsayingand divination [al-fa'lwal-zajr],as when the commonpeople say, "Now that I have returnedfrom the journey,my need will not be taken care of" or "Thefirst thing that I saw today was such and such, so I will gain somethingtoday." This type is most prevalentamong the masses of the ignorant religions. Whoevertakes actiondependingon soothsayingand divinationis to be beaten by lashes, as statedby the Most High, "Let no one be found amongyou who consigns . . . or who is a soothsayer,a diviner"[Deut. 18:10].72 The sometime possible effect on bodies of weak constitution, itself a medical explanation, seems to have been understood by Maimonides as the result of the "soothsaying, divination, conjectures, and fantasies" themselves (this follows from the Arabic original).73 In his son R. Abraham's commentary to Gen. 38:11, fear of the physical effects of marrying too young is attributed to Judah. "ThenJudahsaid to [hisdaughter-in-law] Tamar,"etc. ["'Stayas a widowin your father'shouse until my son Shelahgrows up'-for he thought,'He too might die like his brothers."']My father's father's [comment],may his memorybe for a blessing:"Whenhe said to her 'until my son Shelahgrows up' this was to get rid of her, for he had decidedthat he wouldnot give him to her in marriageat all." And it is more likely that he postponed [Shelah's] thatthe cause of marriageuntilhe grewup becausehe imagined[tawahhama] Er'sand Onan'sdeathswas theirhavingmarriedwhenthey wereyoung, due to illnessesand weaknesswhichas a resultbefellthem. He did not knowtheir secrets[secretsins], whichthe Most High revealedby way of his messenger's words.74 Maimonides deals with the twice-widowed woman in his Mishne Torah

72. Maimonides, Sefer ha-Mi$wot, ed. J. (Jerusalem, 1971), p. 199. Note that R. Kafih. Saadiah Gaon translates pn~ with fa'l (mutafdwil). 73. On danger which results from the fear of divination, cf. B. Pesahim I 10b and Nedarim 32a. 74. Abraham Maimonides (above, n. 13), pp. 144-145. Note that "imagine" (tawahham) is the same root used by his father (above, n. 68) to describe the belief: awham.


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(IssureBi'a 21:31),and doubtshave beenraisedconcerningthe relationship

of thatpassageto his responsum. A twice-widowed womandoesnot marry[Ktvm5] a thirdtime.If shedoes marry,she need not be divorced.And even if she were only betrothed,the marriagemay be completed.

Some have suggestedthat "does not marry"is intended as an outright prohibitionand that Maimonidestherebyopposedthe rulingin his responsum accordingto whichthe courtwould explicitlyadvisethe womanto cir-

cumventthe restrictionby havinga betrothalperformedin private.75 But

thereis no proofthatthis is the case, as the phrasein questionis not Maimonides' but a quotation from the talmudicpassage (where,admittedly,we suggestedthat it did referto a prohibition).The very nextrulingin his code instructsthat "one does not marry" x, also a quotation) into the (xv•t familyof a boor. This is one of the marriagesdefinedby Maimonidesin his Commentaryto the Mishnah(Sanhedrin7:4) as makrah("reprehensible"), the sameterm, borrowedfrom Islamiclegalnomenclature,whichhe uses in his responsum for the marriage of the twice-widowed woman.76There is no reason to conclude that he intended a full prohibition for either. The other unions listed in his Mishnah Commentary as makrah, e.g., taking many wives,77 were clearly not intended as outright prohibitions. Maimonides' dismissal of anything which he associated with demonol75. See Dov Ber, Matsav ha-Yashar, II, 19b, quoted by Abramson in his notes to Blau, 4:51. 76. As in Islam (see J. Schacht, An Introduction to Islamic Law [Oxford, 1964], pp. 121-122), Maimonides uses this category for actions which are reprehensible but not prohibited. So in his Mishnah Commentary, ed. J. Kafib, to Bava Mezia 5:11 (p. 74; see n. 28 there), Sanhedrin7:4 (pp. 181, 182, 184), and Avot 1:16 (p. 417). See J. L. Kraemer, "On Maimonides' Messianic Posture," in Studies in Medieval Jewish History and Literature, ed. I. Twersky (Cambridge, Mass., 1984), 2:133, n. 83. Cf. Shailat, 2:622, n. 6. Likewise already in a responsum by R. Saadiah b. Judah in MS Cambridge University Library Taylor-Schechter Collection 8 G ' r? no K 7.6: n? 1n , , K•t 12D r KN "as to what you mentioned concerning roast meat -Vntn on the first night of Passover, it istni•T reprehensible." (Thanks are hereby extended to the Syndics of the Library and to Dr. S. C. Reif.) Also note the gaonic responsum (Otzar haGeonim, vol. 3 [Pesahim], 67-69, no. 168) concerning B. Pesahim 49b, where Rabbi is quoted as saying that a boor is not permitted to eat meat, etc. The Gaon calls the so-called prohibition "law of etiquette ... idle talk." (The responsum appears to be from Rav Hai or Rav Sherira v Gaon. See Harkavy, Teshuvotha-Geonim, p. 375, notes to no. 380; cf. M. A. Friedman, "r,' and the Signing of the Second Tablets of the Decalogue in the Midrash," Te'uda7 [in press], n. 27.) 77. See my Jewish Polygyny in the Middle Ages, pp. 25-26.

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ogy or magic is well known. He did so in disregard of the Talmud.78While relying on the precedent of earlier Maghrebi scholars, he boldly-and, I believe, somewhat sarcastically-permitted himself such exegetical license as to equate the explicit talmudic prohibition of remarriage of a woman widowed two or three times, promulgated by the tannaim and confirmed by the Babylonian amoraim (and anonymous gemara), with a witch's tale about eating vegetables from a bunch. He conceded that such a marriage should be designated "reprehensible." But in consideration of his explicitly designating the superstition as soothsaying and divination, this must be understood as only a matter of form or harmonization, as was the legal subterfuge of recommending a private betrothal and the Mishne Torahstatement that this woman "does not marry." For all intents and purposes Maimonides "exorcised the demon" and abolished the talmudic prohibition of marrying a "killer wife." With this we come full circle to the biblical narration's rejection of Judah's superstition. Although the Talmud does not explicitly apply the prohibition to levirate cases,79 we have seen in the Bereshit Rabba passage that the sages were well aware of the connection of this syndrome with the levirate story of Tamar.80 Maimonides disregarded this source and ruled that levirate marriage is not affected by the qatlanit superstition. Irony at its best. 6. Summary Our paper discusses the "killer wife" superstition over an extended period and deals with details found in different kinds of sources. A summary of the main points is in order. The Garden of Eden story teaches that death is not the fault of woman. Man is responsible for his own actions, and death is the result of sin. Woman is the source of life. This may have involved the reworking of an old folktale in which "Eve" (mrn)was understood as "snake," whereas the Torah explains that "she was the mother of all living things." This lesson was ignored by a few of the talmudic sages, who associated death with women. The belief that certain women are responsible for their husbands' deaths, 78. Cf. I. Twersky, Introduction to the Code of Maimonides (New Haven, 1980), p. 481. 79. Even where relevant; see above, n. 36. 80. Cf. Midrash ha-fHefeS:"'For he thought, he too might die like his brothers' [Gen. 38:11]. From here we learn that if a woman marries one man and he dies, and a second and he dies, she may not marry a third" (Torah Shelemah, 6:1457, no. 55; see comment there).


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presumably because of some malevolent forces connected with them, appears in Gen. 38. Judah believes that his daughter-in-law Tamar is to blame for the deaths of his sons Er and Onan. But the narrator clarifies that their deaths had nothing to do with her. Rather, they were evil in the sight of the Lord, and he took their lives. In what is tantamount to a reworking of a prebiblical tradition, the narrator in effect informs us that Judah's belief is to be rejected. We have interpreted this as a general rejection of the "killer wife" belief. The Torah here reconfirms that man by his own voluntary actions decides his fate. Death results from grave sins, not from diabolic forces attached to women. Tamar ("date palm") is a symbol of life. Second Temple literature exonerates Tamar for the deaths of Er and Onan and blames Judah's marriage to a Canaanite woman. But the "killer wife" superstition reappears in the Book of Tobit. Sarah's seven husbands die in the wedding chamber because the jealous demon Ashmedai is in love with her. He slays anyone who attempts to have intimate relations with her. Tobias exorcises the demon by burning the heart and liver of a fish, a trick he has learned from the angel Raphael. The likely Persian origin of the book plus the explicit demonology (and angelology) suggest that the superstition was a foreign (pagan) element reintroduced to Judaism rather than the remnant of a popular belief never eradicated during the biblical period. The story may reflect the Jewish reworking of an earlier pagan tale, in which endogamy, prayer, and procreation were added as reasons for Tobias' deliverance. Several talmudic and midrashic passages deal with the superstition. Some sages unquestionably believed in it; and they ruled that to guard against danger, a woman who had been widowed two or three times (according to the respective views of Rabbi and R. Simeon b. Gamaliel) was not permitted to remarry. The ruling, which appears in the Tosefta, is clearly worded as a prohibition. But it is not mentioned in the Mishnah (or elsewhere in the Tosefta), even where relevant; and we wonder whether this silence might not reflect some intentional "editorial policy." A similar question can be asked with regard to the Talmud Yerushalmi, where too it is ignored. The Babylonian amoraim, on the other hand, confirmed the danger of the "killer wife." Abbaye taught that she was considered dangerous only after having been widowed three times. He married Homa ("protectress"), a twice-widowed woman, and later died. In condoning the superstition the sages introduced a subtle reinterpretation of its nature whereby they disavowed its manifestly pagan elements. R. Eleazar distinguished between divination, which the Torah prohibits, and an

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theremarriage omen,thusallowingtheprecautionary stepof notpermitting of a woman the death of whose first husbands had provided multiple omens. Rava offered what looks like a pseudo-medical explanation for the deaths: sexual contact. R. Ashi attributed them to astrology (mazzal, the planets). Such explanations could have been considered compatible with the religion of the sages. A manifest case of removing pagan elements is attested in the late midrash which is a retelling of the Tobit story. A woman's first three husbands die on their wedding nights because their lives are taken by God's messenger. The woman saves the life of her fourth husband by arguing with the messenger that taking his life would be tantamount to an abrogation of Deut. 24:5. Ironically, some midrashim supply all the elements for identifying Ruth as a "killer wife." The subtle shift in approach by the talmudic sages failed to impress Maimonides. He blasted the "killer wife" superstition as "soothsaying, divination, conjecture, and fantasy." Adoption of the Islamic legal category may have facilitated his downgrading the prohibition to makrfih ("reprehensible"). Marrying such a woman is (sarcastically?) compared to ignoring a witch's advice, quoted in the Talmud, not to eat vegetables tied by a gardener. The master here seems to have reclassified law as folklore. A woman who had been widowed a number of times should arrange a betrothal in private. Once she had done so, the "reprehensible" aspect of the act would be over; and the rabbis would then conclude the marriage ceremony. Maimonides' liberal reinterpretation of the talmudic sources brings us back to square one: the biblical narrator's rejection of the belief in Gen. 38. The "killer wife" superstition is essentially pagan. Man has free will. His deeds, whether good or evil, decide his fate. The demon in women has been exorcised. Our interpretation of the history of this superstition illustrates the vicissitudes of a belief related to women, death, and sin through many strata of biblical and later Jewish sources. Successive generations repeatedly interpreted and reinterpreted the sacred literature and traditions and adjusted them according to their understanding of Israel's heritage. (These processes manifest themselves in the appendix as well. R. Saadiah Gaon interprets Judah's and Tamar's liaison as mut'a, a temporary marriage; and the two are exonerated from having engaged in fornication. Mut'a was permitted in Islam [in the Shi'a]. Saadiah's comment that it was forbidden by Deut. 24:13 may be seen as a type of polemic, intended to protect the Jewish community's sexual morals from the influence of the dominant society.)


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Appendix Rav Saadiah Gaon and the Kaiaites on Tamar, Judah, and Mut'a Marriage The biblical narration is quite explicit in describing who Judah thought Tamar was when he slept with her. Gen. 38:15: "When Judah saw her, he took her as a harlot [zond]."And in verses 21-22, she is called a "cult prostitute" (qedisha) three times. In his Arabic translation of the Torah, Rav Saadiah Gaon usually renders zond as fajira or zaniya. But in Gen. 38 he translates both z6nd and qedishd by the Arabic mumatta'a, "a woman who enters mut'a marriage."' Forbidden sexual relations between humans are divided by Saadiah, in his Arabic commentary to Exod. 20:13, into seven categories of ascending severity. A quotation from this passage was cited several years ago from an unedited Geniza manuscript by the lamented Moshe Zucker. The first (category)is the mut'amarriage,becausea womanwho does this is called a qedisha,as you learnfromthe storyof Tamar.This is prohibitedby (the Torah) stating:"No Israelitewoman shall be a qedisha, nor shall any Israeliteman be a qddish"[Deut.23:18].Boththe manandwomanareforbidden thereby.Why is this in the first categoryof prohibitions?Becauseit is a marriagewith a marriagecontract,witnesses,and betrothal.It is placedas a prohibitiononly becauseof [itsinvolving]the qualificationof a loose woman.2

1. J. Kafib, R. SaadiahGaon'sCommentson the Torah[Heb.](Jerusalem,1963),p. 43, mistakenlyrendersmumatta'ain v. 21 as z5nd. 2. M. Zucker,RavSaadyaGaon'sTranslation of the Torah[Heb.](New York, 1959),pp. 477-478. Zuckerdoes not identifythe sourceof the manuscript.Upon my request,Dr. Moshe SokolowkindlysearchedZucker'spapersandfoundreferenceto JewishTheologicalSeminary of AmericaLibraryEN Adler2707.51,evidentlythe manuscriptcitedby Zucker.(Butthereis some doubtas to the identification,sincethereare slightdifferencesin the text of the passage, none of whichchangesits meaning:... 5lwa'nm~. .K.Xp KlD-n ... n.nos K. ... nrPan .. n rI• nK Thanksareherebyextendedto the Librarianof the JewishTheological usiw. upj .... ,-nan!-1 of America.) ..,w Seminary My translationof the end of the passage(concerningwhichI consulted Prof.Joel Kraemer)and the subsequentdiscussiondifferfromthat offeredby Zucker(and by Kafih,op. cit., p. 146,n. 2). The sevencategoriesare as follows:(1) mut'amarriage,(2) relations with an unmarriedwoman,(3) incest,(4) adultery,(5) relationswith a womanwithmenstrualimpurity,(6) relationswith a gentile,and (7) (in the manuscriptcited in the next note) sodomy(betweenmen).Ibn Ezra,in his LongCommentaryto Lev. 18:21(ed. A. Weisser[Jeru-

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This manuscriptbreaksoff in the sixth category.I have found a manuscript in the CambridgeUniversityLibraryfrom a differentcopy of the

thatcontainsthelatterportionof Saadiah'sdiscussion. In the commentary the text,whichcontinuesaftera smallbreakbetweenthetwo manuscripts,

Gaon identifiesthe seventh category. Following this he adds a comment

whichalso concernsTamar: There is anothercategorywhich does not belong to these seven but is sui generisand forbidden.That is coitus interruptus[al-'i'ztl 'an al-nisd'].God

whomit says, requiresdeathfor this,as you learnfromOnan,concerning hejoinedwithhisbrother's "whenever wife,"etc.,andthen"itwasdispleasing

to the Lord,"etc. [Gen. 38:9-10], as I have explained.3

Mut'a marriage,literally "marriagefor pleasure,"a temporarylegal union betweena man and womanfor the sole purposeof engagingin sex, is sanctioned in Islam (in the Shi'a).4 Saadiah interpretsthe qddish and qedishd prohibitionof Deut. 23:18 as referringto mut'a marriagein his Torah translation and in his Sefer ha-MiSwot as well.5 The identification of mut'a with a qedisha relationship is of interest, among other reasons, because of the suggestion made by modern scholarship that mut'a began among the Arabs as cult prostitution.6 The Karaite Daniel al-Qfimisi similarly designates mut'a as one of two categories of the qdddshand qedishd prohibition and identifies Judah's affair

with Tamaras this kind of relationshipand Onan's actions as the other. Daniel claimedthat the qedishdis of two categories.One is a man having salem, 1977], 3:57) and in his Short Commentary to Exod. 20:13 (Weisser, 2:138, n. 143), refers to the Gaon's "eight categories." In the former and in his Long Commentary to Exod. 20:13 (where he refers to Saadiah's "several categories") bestiality is added as the most severe category. No mention of mut'a is made; and the forbidden relations appear in different order. 3. TS Ar. 48.104 (cf. the preceding note). Thanks are given to the Syndics of the Cambridge University Library and to Dr. S. C. Reif. 4. See Encyclopaedia of Islam, Ist ed., 6:774-776 (Shorter Encyclopaedia of Islam, pp. 418-420). 5. Both cited by Zucker. The latter is from a Geniza text in the Kaufmann collection, Budapest, edited by A. Scheiber and S. Hahn in Tarbiz 28 (1958): 51. The relevant passage is mistranslated on p. 53; it should be rendered as follows: "He prohibited mut'a marriage for a man or a woman, as is written concerning both of them (read rqbtK) 'No Israelite woman shall be a qedeshd,' etc." 6. Encyclopaedia of Islam, loc. cit.; Shorter Encyclopaedia of Islam, loc. cit.


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intercoursewith a woman for a fee, on conditionthat she stays with him for one or two days, for a monthor more. He considersher to be his wife on this condition,not to be his wife foreverwith a contractand stipulations.According to Daniel the two of them are a qcddshand a qedisha.They do this in India, where they consider this a marriage.Daniel stated that the death penaltyis incurredby both of them.The secondcategoryis havingintercourse with one's wifefor passiononly and not for procreation.Theyarebothqddish and qedisha,and theyarefornicating,as is written"Theyshallgo whoringbut This is not procreate"[Hos.4:10,hererenderedas understoodby al-Qfimisi].7 similarto what Onan did, for "he let his seed go to waste" [Gen. 38:9],and "whathe did was displeasingto the Lord"[v. 10]. The first categoryis what Judahdid. This category,that is temporarymarriage,may have beenpermissible at that time. Sometimesthe Muslimsdo this, and they call it mut'amarriage.8 The tenth-century Karaite David b. Abraham al-Fasi makes a comparable statement on temporary marriage, though he avoids use of the term mut'a. A womanwho is at the disposalof men is called a qedishd.This is a type of fornication.In antiquityit was permitted-even thoughconsideredreprehensible [yastasmijanahu]. That is why Judah consented to it ....

This name is

appliedto any womanat the disposalof passersby,and this is called a secret marriage.If done with a contractandwitnesses,the verse"sheis yourpartner and covenantedspouse"[Mal.2:14]applies.It is a temporarymarriage,andit is still found amongthegentiles.ButamongIsraelit is forbidden,as is written, "Thereshall not be a qedisha,"and concerningone who has intercoursewith her, "nor shall there be a qddjsh"[Deut. 23:18].9 Al-Qfimisi and al-Fasi do not describe a mut'a/qedisha relationship as necessarily formalized by any ceremony. Saadiah, contrariwise, describes a completely formal marriage, limited to an agreed period, a possibility also recognized by al-Fasi.

7. Cf. B. Yevamot61b and see Friedman, Jewish Polygyny in the Middle Ages, pp. 162-165. 8. al-Qirqisdni, KitTb al-Anwar wal-Mardqib, ed. L. Nemoy (New York, 1941), Ya'qtib 3:728 (cited by Zucker). Also cf. Judah Hadasy, Eshkol ha-Kofer, sec. 278, p. 105c (I would like to thank Prof. H. Ben-Shammai for this reference). 9. David ben Abraham al-Fdsi, Kitab Jami' al-Alfd; (Agron), ed. S. L. Skoss (New Haven, 1945), 2:541, cited by Y. Ratzaby, A Dictionary of Judeo-Arabic in R. Saadya's Tafsir [Heb.] (Ramat-Gan, 1985), p. 124, in connection with Saadiah's translation of qedesha as mumatta'a.

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As noted by Zucker, there is no indication whatsoeverin talmudic sourcesthat a temporarymarriageis forbidden.I suggestthat Saadiahand the Karaitescholarsroughlycontemporarywith him identifiedthe qdddsh prohibitionas mut'abecauseof theirevidentlyuncompromisingcondemnation of the latter. While only the Shi'a recognizedmut'aas such, Sunnis made concessions which rendered temporary marriage acceptable. AlShafi'i describesan agreementthat the marriagewill be temporarymade prior to the marriagecontractas makrah("reprehensible").'0 The Jewish savantsliving underIslam must have regardedmut'awith contempt and considered it no better than legalized prostitution.The influenceon Jewishsocietyof the Muslimpracticeof temporarymarriages was evidentlysufficientto warrantmeasuresby the Jewishauthorities.Nalhmanides'interpretationof the prohibitionof remarryingone's divorcedwife afterhermarriageto another(Deut. 24:1-4) as intendedto preventlegalized wifeswapping-by both couplesgoing throughdivorcesand newtemporary marriages-may reflect a similarpolemic. (Islam does not permit one to remarryhis divorcedwife until after she has consummatedanothermarriage!)"The sexuallicensewhichthe Jewswho livedunderIslampermitted themselvesleft its markon Jewishlaw withreferenceto otherinstitutionsas well, such as concubinagewith slave girls.12 Saadiahclarifiesboth the legally bindingnatureof mut'amarriageand the reason for its prohibition-its similarityto sex for pleasureonly. The former, he emphasizes,explainswhy it constitutesthe first, most lenient, categoryof sexualprohibitions.(Perhapshe intendsa degreeof restriction somewhatanalogousto makrah"reprehensible"[compareal-Fasi'syastasmi janahu in referenceto the patriarchalperiod and above on al-Shafi'i], which,as we haveseen, is used by Maimonidesin connectionwith the marriage of the twice-widowedwoman.) The reconstructionof a formal (temporary)marriagewhichJudahand Tamarsupposedlyentered,ratherthan a mere casual liaison, appearsin other sources from the gaonic period, both Rabbaniteand Karaite.'3It

10. Encyclopaedia of Islam, loc. cit.; Shorter Encyclopaedia of Islam, loc. cit. 11. I have discussed Deut. 24:1-4 in an extensive paper (not yet published). 12. See Friedman, Jewish Polygyny in the Middle Ages, p. 292. 13. Rabbanite: See Kasher, Torah Shelemah, 6:1445, no. 15, 6:1462, nn. 76, 78. Cf. M. Margulies, The Differences Between Babylonianand Palestinian Jews [Heb.] (Jerusalem, 1938), p. 105, n. 21. Karaite: See the text edited by Zucker, pp. 485-486. I render the passage at the


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obviously follows from the definitiongiven to the word qedisha, itself a

rejectionof the Islamicmut'a.'4But,moreclearly,it derivesfromthecomso asto eliminate mentators' perennial penchantforreinterpreting Scripture the unacceptable weaknesses of its heroes.In thiscasethe talmudicsages affirmedthat there was no need to conceal the biblicalaccount, and they ruledthat the Judahand Tamarstorywas to be both readand translatedin public.'5 TelAviv University Ramat Aviv, Israel

bottom of p. 485 as follows: "The only reason that Scripture did not mention the giving of the bride price [for Tamar] was because she had already been deflowered and did not have her virginity, so that she could agree to any sum less than the fifty dirhems." 14. It could also have been complemented by a late midrash on Gen. 38:18 in which rmn was understood as the signet ring used to perform the betrothal. For such a midrash, see Torah Shelemah, 6:1464, n. 81. On the practice of effecting the betrothal by giving a ring (unmn),see ibid., p. 1524; Friedman, Jewish Marriage in Palestine, 1:207-210; idem, "Contracts," in The Literature of the Sages, vol. 2, ed. S. Safrai (forthcoming), nn. 91-92. 15. M. Megilla 4:10. See Lieberman, Tosefta Ki-Fshutah, 5:1214.

The Allocation of Scarce Medical Resources: A Philosophical Analysis of the Halakhic Sources Author(s): Moshe Sokol Source: AJS Review, Vol. 15, No. 1 (Spring, 1990), pp. 63-93 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486463 . Accessed: 02/07/2011 16:32 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].



THE ALLOCATION OF SCARCE MEDICAL RESOURCES: A PHILOSOPHICAL ANALYSIS OF THE HALAKHIC SOURCES by MOSHE SOKOL

I What is Jewish ethics? Is there a distinct academic discipline under the rubric of "Jewish studies" or "Jewish philosophy" which can properly be called "Jewish ethics"? The answer to these two related questions is more elusive than one might think. Indeed, it has recently been argued that there really is no such thing as Jewish ethics at all.' On the one hand, if a principle of action is truly ethical, then it must be universal, and if it is universal, it cannot be distinctively Jewish. On the other hand, if Jewish ethics is really halakhah in disguise, as so many writers in the field of medical ethics, for

1. Menachem Kellner, "Reflections on the Impossibility of Jewish Ethics," Bar-Ilan 22-23 (1987).

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example,seem to believe,then why botherwith the disguiseif one can get the real thing? Whileit would be impossible,in the contextof this essay,to charta fullfledged theoreticalcourse that would carry us safely past this Scylla and Charybdisof Jewishethics,2these problemsin a senseconstitutethe essay's subtext.WhatI shallin effectbe proposinghereis one way of doingJewish ethics (amongstothers)that, it seemsto me, slipsbetweenthe two disciplinary perils. My treatment of the problem of allocating scarce medical resources,quite apartfrom its criticalimportance,is thus intendedto be a case study in a particularapproachto the enterpriseof Jewishethics. The methodology advocated here involves the analysis of classical Jewishtexts, largelyof a halakhicnature,in light of moraltheory.Broadly speaking(I shall formulatethis more preciselybelow), the idea is to use moral theory to explainin some sense the positionstaken by the halakhic sources.In so doing, Jewishethicsis engagednot as a normativeenterprise, in whichcontextthe issues raisedabove becomeproblematic,but ratheras an explanatoryenterprisethat usesthe philosophicaltools of modernethical theory. Butis this legitimate?Is it legitimateto usethe categoriesof modernethical theoryto explainancientor medievaltexts, whose authorsclearlycould not have thought in terms of these new categories?Doesn't modern historicalconsciousnessprecludethe sort of textualinterpretationcharacteristic of, for example,the medievalJewishphilosophers,who used Greekphilosophicalcategoriesto explainbiblicaltexts, an enterprisevery similarto the one proposedhere?Whilethis questiontoo cannotbe fullytreatedin the context of this essay, it does requireat least some attention. Classicaltexts of any period may be approachedfrom a varietyof perspectives.The philologisthas one set of concerns,the form-criticalanalyst quite another.The social historianaskscertainkindsof questions,the intellectual historianothers. No one of these approacheshas an intellectual monopoly;each contributesin its own way to the fullest possible understanding of the text. Indeed, no approachis entirely self-sufficient.The intellectualhistorianwho ignoresthe findingsof the philologistdoes so at his own peril.

2. For a somewhat fuller treatment of the question, see my article "Jewish Ethics" in The Encyclopedia of Ethics (New York: Garland Publishing Co., forthcoming).

ALLOCATION OF SCARCE MEDICAL RESOURCES

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The methodologyemployedhere is philosophicalandjurisprudentialin character.The philosopherorjurisprudewho analyzesa legaltext makesno directhistoricalor philologicalclaimsabout the text, althoughthe tools of such analyseswill certainlybe used where they are available.Rather,the aim of this interpreteris to explainthe text, by recourseto philosophicalor jurisprudentialtheories,distinctions,and concepts.Of course,the notion of "explanation"here itself needs explanation.Do we mean by explaininga text the recoveryof the author'soriginalintent?Recenthermeneutictheory has shownjust how difficult,if not impossible,all attemptsat recoveringan author'sintent are. This generalhermeneuticproblemis multiplieda hundredfoldif what one seeks to do in the explanatoryprocessis employ the latest legal or philosophicaltheory in understandingan ancient rabbi's teachings.Clearly,the categoriesand conceptsof contemporarytheoryare entirelyoutside the pale of his intellectualframework,no matterhow brilliant he mighthave been. One could argue,then, that the traditionalacademic disciplinesof jurisprudence,and of the historyof philosophygenerally, are defeatedby the demon of anachronism. ElsewhereI have taken this point up, and noted that even historical treatmentsof texts seek to explain authorialpositions by recourseto historical forces of which the author may have been entirelyignorant.3Historical forces often operateoutside the pale of human awareness.In that essay I suggestthat the philosophicalexplanationof a text is modeledafter the scientificexplanationof a naturalphenomenon:in both instances,the researcherseeksto accountfor the data at his disposal-in the one case, the resultsof scientificexperiments,in the other, statementsmade by the same author-by recourseto an explanatorytheory.Textualexplanation,on this view, is largelyjustificatory;that is, the philosopheror jurisprudewill "explain" Rabbi Akiva's assertion by justifying it. Certain concepts or theorieswill be trottedforwardto showjust how muchsenseRabbiAkiva's position makes. Such an effort is furtherstrengthenedby the scope of the explanatorytheory-by the extent to which it is able to accountfor other statementsRabbi Akiva or membersof his school might have made. This account,however,needsfurtherrefinement,since, in an important sense, it leaves RabbiAkiva curiouslyout of the picture.A theorymightbe

3. "Some Tensions in the Jewish Attitude Toward the Taking of Human Life," Jewish Law Annual7 (1988): 97.

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resoundingly successful in justifying Rabbi Akiva's views, and it may even have the requisite scope, yet if we know on other grounds that Rabbi Akiva would likely have vigorously denied it were he asked (for example, because it assumes theological positions which an ancient rabbi would likely have regarded as heretical), then there ought to be something seriously wrong with applying the theory to Rabbi Akiva. Yet, as formulated above, there wouldn't be. I would like to suggest here that the link to Rabbi Akiva may be at the level of pretheoretic intuitions. Underlying most-probably all-complex philosophical or jurisprudential theories are certain fundamental, undifferentiated intuitions. The natural law theorist has one way of looking at the law, the legal positivist quite another. These basic intuitions can be formulated in one or another of the countless ways in which natural law theory or legal positivism have been put forward over the years. These complications arise as the theorist seeks to make the theory ever more responsive to a growing body of empirical data, logical or philosophical arguments, and more nuanced or deeper theoretical concepts. While these complications and the differences between formulations are often critical, the point which should be emphasized is that in many instances, at the deepest and most fundamental level, they are variations on a single intuitive theme. Sometimes, of course, the different formulations themselves reflect different intuitions. But in any case, it is the intuition which gives rise to what often becomes a highly complex and exceedingly sophisticated theory. While the concept of a pretheoretic intuition itself requires further analysis (What, exactly, is it? What is its relation to the linguistic categories needed for its formulation? What is the precise relation between a pretheoretic intuition and the theory which is its articulation?), it seems fair to say that most of us have-if the word may be used-an intuitive grasp of the concept. For our purposes here, this will have to suffice. Thus, attributing a sophisticated theory to an ancient source is not anachronistic if the theory is an attempt to formulate and capture certain fundamental legal or philosophical intuitions, and if those intuitions are such as could have been held by the ancient source. This is, of course, provided that the explainer is not claiming that the source actually intended, or could have intended, the modern formulation. In brief, the position proposed here is that a classical source is well explained by a modern theory to the extent that the explanation satisfies three conditions:


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1. The theory justifies the source, showing why one would want to take the position it takes. 2. The theory has scope, in that it provides an explanatory framework linking up numerous assertions by the source, or members of his school. 3. The theory is a successful formulation of an intuition or set of intuitions about the issue in question, such that the source could have had those intuitions. Where there is independent evidence that the source did have such intuitions, the explanation is commensurately strengthened. While this concept of explanation, and the methodology it suggests, has been only cursorily sketched here, I shall assume it for the remainder of this paper, if only so that we can proceed to its more substantive aspects.4

This concern for methodological issues should not obscure the enormous practical significance of the problem itself. With the advent of all kinds of new experimental medications, organ transplant procedures, and exotic technologies, the question of how these are to be allocated is of acute contemporary importance. Where there are two candidates for a liver transplant and only one liver, or where there are two AIDS victims who are candidates for a limited supply of AZT, who is the lucky one, and who dies?

4. See B. Jackson, ed., Modern Research in Jewish Law (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1980) for discussions of some methodological issues in Mishpat Ivri. Note in particular the articles by Jackson and Albeck, who draw a parallel between the methodology of Mishpat Ivri and that of the linguist, who formulates rules of grammar as an interpretation of the linguistic intuitions of speakers. This is analogous, too, to moral epistemology, where the moral epistemologist seeks to account for moral intuitions through ethical theory. In stressing the condition of justification I am veering somewhat from this approach. The question of interpreting ancient texts is of course different from interpreting the putative intuitions of some hypothetical moral agent, as it is different from interpreting the linguistic conventions of the speaker who stakes out no position on anything at all, but merely uses the language. For a sophisticated contemporary account of legal interpretation, see Ronald Dworkin's Law's Empire (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1986). Dworkin stresses what I call here the justificatory role of interpretation, although in a somewhat different way, drawing upon recent hermeneutic theory. See in particular chaps. 2 and 6-10.

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The problem, of course, is not dependent upon new technologies. Where two accident victims arrive in the emergency room, and there is only one physician available, a classic case of triage, who gets the scarce medical resource-the physician's attention? The problem as formulated here is one of micro-allocation, selecting from amongst individuals who will live and who will die. There is another level to the problem as well, what has been called the macro-allocation question. How should society at large allocate its health care resources? What percentage of the GNP should be directed toward health care? Should more funds be invested in preventive medicine, in curing exotic diseases, or in making CAT scans available to all community hospitals? This essay will focus only on the micro- rather than the macro-allocation problem. One final point concerning the scope of this paper. By far the most common micro-allocation problems involve a third party, normally a physician, sometimes a health care team or committee, which allocates the scarce medical resource. While this point seems obvious, discussions of the problem in the halakhic context sometimes go astray here, since a good many of the original halakhic sources (such as the travelers case below) involve only two parties. This consideration limits the range of applicable halakhic sources only to those which bear on third-party allocation questions, and hence provides a greater focus to this study. The rabbinic and medieval sources, perhaps not surprisingly, do not address the question directly. Nevertheless, two important morally isomorphic analogues do exist within the halakhic tradition. The first source is one of the classic "life-for-life"texts in the halakhah, the dispute between Rabbi Akiva and Ben Petura concerning two people traveling on the road with only enough water for one of them. The Talmud records the story as follows: Twopeopleweretravelingon the road,andone of themhas a flaskof water.If both drink, they will both die; if one drinkshe will arriveat the town. Ben Peturaexpounded[darash]:it is betterthat theyboth drinkanddie, andone of them not witnessthe death of his companion.Until RabbiAkiva came and taught, "and your brothershall live with you" [Lev. 25:36].Your life takes precedenceover the life of your brother.5

5. B.T. Baba Mezia 62b.


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We shall return to this text shortly. The second set of sources appears in the context of pidyon shevu'yimor zedakka, and relates to the last mishnayot in Horayot. A man takes precedenceover a womanwhen it comes to savinga life and to restoringsomethinglost. A womantakesprecedencewith regardto provision of clothesand to be redeemedfromcaptivity.Whenboth standequalchances of being degraded,then the man takes precedenceover the woman. A kohentakes precedenceover a levi; a levi to a yis'rael;a yis'rael to a mamzer;a mamzerto a ne'sin;a ne'sinto a convert;a convertto a freeslave. When [do we say this]?When they are all equal. But if therewere a talmid hakhammamzerand a ko'hengadol am ha'aretz,the mamzertalmidhakham takes precedence.6 There is much to say about these mishnayot, which I shall reserve until later. Before beginning an analysis of these sources, however, a brief comment about their interrelationship is in order. Should the system of priorities outlined in Horayot (and related halakhic material not yet mentioned) apply to the dilemma of the travelers? None of the major talmudic commentaries suggest that it should. Why not? One possible answer has to do with ownership. In the travelers case, one of the endangered persons owns the scarce resource. In the Horayot context, we appear to be dealing with a third party who wishes to allocate scarce funds to save a captive or who wishes to save one of two people drowning in a river.7While this is a distinction of the first importance, according to certain interpretations of the travelers case dispute, it is not relevant, as we shall see. A second distinction, whose significance is not often realized, concerns whether the resource is physically divisible. A quantity of water can be divided in two, and each person can drink half. However, only one person can be redeemed from captivity, there is no half redemption, as there is no half salvation from the raging waters of the river. For the purposes of this paper, this distinction will be taken as basic, and the analysis proposed here will be organized around it. In dealing with the travelers case, we shall in effect be dealing with the allocation of divisible scarce resources.

6. Horayot 3:7-8. 7. See Bet Yoseph, Yoreh De'ah 251, s.v. ma she'katab.

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The first question that must be addressed is whether or not Ben Petura's view should be taken as a halakhic pesak. Aaron Enker, in an extremely provocative chapter on life-for-life issues in halakhic sources in his book Hekhrekh ve-Zorech be-Dinei Onshin,8has suggested that Ben Petura's position is moral rather than halakhic in nature. That Ben Petura uses the language "it is better that they both drink and die" suggests moral advice, not pesak halakha. This point is further buttressed by the fact that the Rambam, Tur,and Shulhan A rukh delete the law, and that the Maharsha cites it in his hiddusheiaggadot rather than in his hiddusheihalakhot. If this suggestion is correct, then we really have only one view in halakhah, that of Rabbi Akiva. As will be seen, this point would make some difference in our analysis. While this suggestion is surely an interesting one, it is far from decisive. Insofar as this story is reflected in the halakhic sources, Ben Petura's position is taken by all the sources to be legal in character. Moreover, and of special significance, the parallel passage to this talmudic debate which appears in Sifra, cited by Enker, suggests otherwise.9 As Enker himself notes, the phrase "it is better that" is not used. Rather, Ben Petura is quoted as saying simply, "they should both drink and die." At least Sifra's version of the debate suggests that Ben Petura's position is legal. It seems safe to assume then, with most commentators, that the argument, at least for Sifra, is halakhic. The question we must now address is: What are they arguing about? What precisely is the logic behind each of the positions? Neither R. Akiva nor Ben Petura explains himself, and so if we are to analyze the text with an eye to getting at a Jewish view of the allocation of scarce medical resources, we must turn to the halakhic tradition itself. How did the halakhic sources understandthe debate, bracketing for our purpose the question of whether the text itself means those understandings. My own survey of the sources revealed at least five and perhaps six different interpretations of the R. Akiva-Ben Petura debate.1' While many are

8. Ramat Gan: Bar-llan University Press, 1977. 9. Sifra (Torat Kohanim), Leviticus, Be-Har 5 (in Weiss's edition, [Vienna, 1862], p. 109). 10. Besides those mentioned below in the text, they are: Minhat Hinukh, mitzva296; Hiddushei R. Hayim ha-Levi al ha-Rambam, p. 2a; Rabbi Y. Gershuni, Responsa Kol Tsophayikh (Jerusalem, 1980), pp. 391-395. See the fine article "Kedemiyut ve-Adifiyut be-Hatzalat Nefashot le-Or he-Halakha" by S. Dichovsky, Dinei Yisrael, vol. 7 (Tel Aviv), pp. 45-66, in which some of these, as well as other relevant sources, are cited. Rabbi S. B. Werner, Responsa Mishpetai Shmu'el (Jerusalem, 1980), pp. 21-61, provides perhaps the most comprehensive rabbinic treatment of the issue, and all its many ramifications, that at least this author has seen.


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interesting in their own right, and a thorough treatment of the halakhic tradition evolving out of the Tosephta/Sifra would be a rewarding exercise, only two interpretations are relevant to the question of third-party allocation of scarce medical resources. The first interpretation is that of the great nineteenth-century scholar Naftali Zvi Yehuda Berlin (known as the Ne'tziv)." Rabbi Abraham Karelitz, popularly known as the Hazon Ish, one of the leading twentiethcentury halakhists, appears to take this position as well in one of his works.'2 They understand the debate to revolve around the following issue: Suppose A and B are at risk of their lives, and one of two actions, X or Y, can be performed to assist them, either by A or B themselves, or by some third party, C. If X is performed, then the lives of both A and B will be temporarily extended. If Y is performed, then the life of one of them will be permanently saved and the other will face immediate doom. Which is the better choice? Is it better to extend two lives temporarily or to save one life permanently, even where doing so results in the immediate death of the other? Rabbi Akiva, on this explanation, is of the view that it is better to permanently preserve one life, even if at the expense of the other, and thus only one should drink. Ben Petura is of the view that it is better to temporarily extend the lives of both, and therefore both should drink. In the words of the Ne'tziv, explaining Ben Petura, "if both drink, at least they will both live another day or two ... and perhaps by then water will be found."'3 As formulated, the logic of the argument is such that it makes no difference whether A, B, or some third party, C, is in possession of the water: Rabbi Akiva's reasoning, that only one should drink, would apply no matter who had possession of the water, as would Ben Petura's reasoning, that both should have a temporary extension of life. Possession is relevant only in determining which of the two should drink; were Ben Petura to agree with Rabbi Akiva's basic logic, that only one should drink, then he too might well agree that it should be the owner of the water who does the drinking. At issue between them is whether one drinks or two drinks, not whether the owner drinks or they both drink.

11. Ha'amek She'ela, She'ilta 147:3. 12. See Hoshen Mishpat, Bava Me'tzia, Likutim 20, p. 62a. In his comments on R. Chaim Soloveitchik's Hiddushei GRAH al ha-Rambam, Hilkhot Yesodeiha-Torah, however, he seems to take another view. See R. Shmuel Vosner, Responsa Shevet ha-Levi, vol. 6, resp. 242. 13. Shelah, par. 147.

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The Hazon Ish in his volume on Hoshen Mishpat is quite explicit in asserting that the debate between Rabbi Akiva and Ben Petura is neutral on the question on ownership: "And it appears that if one person has water, and before him are two people dying of thirst, this too depends upon the dispute [between Rabbi Akiva and Ben Petura]."'4 This analysis of the dispute yields the conclusion that the question of micro-allocating divisible scarce medical resources depends upon the Rabbi Akiva-Ben Petura dispute. Since most are of the view that the halakhah follows Rabbi Akiva,'5 only one would receive, say, the scarce medication. Later we shall take up the question of which of the two persons in need of the medication receives it. Before proceeding with our analysis, one final point should be made. On the face of it, Rabbi Akiva's view makes good common sense: after all, why should both die, when at least one can live? The likelihood that additional water will be found in the middle of a desert, or that more AZT will be miraculously made available, is remote. Aren't we sacrificing one human life for poor odds? In short, Ben Petura's position, according to this interpretation of the dispute, is in need of explanation. The second interpretation of the debate relevant to the allocation of scarce medical resources question is that of one of the leading early-twentieth-century poskim, Rabbi Chaim Ozer Grodzinski.'6 Rabbi Eliezer Waldenberg, one of the most influential contemporary poskim in the field of medical halakhah, arrived at a similar conclusion, apparently independently.'7 This analysis (particularly as formulated by Rabbi Waldenberg) takes as its starting point an observation of Rabbi Shmuel Edels, in his late-sixteenth-century talmudic commentary,'8 to the effect that if A and B were partners in the water, then Rabbi Akiva would agree with Ben Petura that the water should be split between them. Rabbis Grodzinski and Waldenberg reason that Rabbi Akiva and Ben Petura disagree only where one of the two parties owns the water; at issue between them is whether property rights are morally relevant in life-and-death situations. The verse ve-hai ahikha im'kha teaches Rabbi Akiva that A's ownership of the water is morally rele-

14. 15. 16. 17. 18.

Ibid. See Rif, Rosh, and Me'iri ad loc., in Baba Me'zia. Ahi'ezer, in Yoreh De'ah 16 (Vilna, 1925), p. 35. Responsa Ziz Eliezer, vol. 9, chap. 28. Baba Me'zia 62b.


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vant, and thus that A keeps it. Ben Petura denies the moral relevance of ownership in life-and-death situations; therefore, for Ben Petura, A and B stand in morally equivalent positions with respect to the water, and they must split it. However, where A and B indisputably stand equal with respect to the water, i.e., where A and B are partners in the water, or whereneitherA nor B owns the water, then both would agree that the water must be split.'9 A similar halakhic result, although for somewhat different reasons, is maintained by Rabbi Zadok ha-Cohen of Lublin in the nineteenth century,20and apparently by the Hazon Ish himself, in another treatment of the same subject.2' The direct relevance of this analysis to the allocation of divisible scarce medical resources is obvious. Neither patient A nor patient B owns the scarce medication. C, the physician, would thus be obligated, according to both Rabbi Akiva and Ben Petura, to apportion the medication equally. Let us consider the implications of this pesak. C, the physician, has four alternatives: 1. 2. 3. 4.

He can give all the medication to A. He can give all the medication to B. He can split it between A and B. He can withhold it from both A and B.

If C withholds the medication, then both A and B will die soon, say in three hours. If he splits the medication between them, they will both gain a limited reprieve, say they will both live another twelve hours, and then die. If, on the other hand, he gives it all to either A or B, then one will die in three hours and the other will live until 120. Common sense would seem to dictate that C should give all the medication to one of them. After all, if he divides it, then both will get only a short reprieve, whereas if one gets all he will lead a long and blessed life. Nevertheless, according to this authoritative interpretation of the debate everyonewould agree that the water/medication must be split. Indeed, some of the most influential of twentieth-centuryposkim take

19. Rabbi Grodzinski relates this to the question in B.T. Baba Kamma 60b concerning saving oneself with someone else's money, and the interpretation of Rashi and the Tosafists ad loc. 20. Ozar ha-Melekh, Yesodei ha-Torah 5:5. 21. Gilyonot le-Hiddushei R. Hayim ha-Levi, Hilkhot Yesodeiha-Torah (B'nei Brak, 1974).

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precisely this view.22This compounds the puzzle raised earlier in discussing the interpretation of the Ne'tziv. If this is counterintuitive, imagine the following: A is a high priest and talmid hakham, a family man and pillar of society. B, on the other hand, is an unmarried drug addict. To whom must C give the medication? None of the poskim cited above make such distinctions. Where the life-saving resource can be split, it must be split even if someone as distinguished as A must lose his life. What explanation can there be for this striking pesak? I would suggest that underlying this thesis is an insight of some significance for halakhah and Jewish ethics. To see this, we must temporarily leave halakhic analysis and consider aspects of general ethical theory.

III Normative ethics is split down the middle by a great debate between teleologists and deontologists.23 Teleologists (or, as they are sometimes called, consequentialists) maintain that the moral rightness or wrongness of an action is determined exclusively by its consequences,i.e., by the nonmoral good or evil it produces. For example, utilitarianism, the most popular form of teleologism, holds that it is happiness which is the nonmoral good by which the morality of an action is measured. If an action maximizes the sum total of happiness in the world over its alternatives, then it is moral; if it reduces the sum total of happiness in the world relative to its alternatives, then it is immoral. The action in question has no moral features in itself; its morality derives exclusively from what it does in the world. To put it differently, actions are not moral ends in themselves; they are only means to producing some moral (or immoral) end. Deontologists, on the other hand (or, as they are sometimes called, absolutists), maintain that actions are in themselves moral ends; that certain

22. In addition to the authorities cited in the text, see also R. Moshe Shternbukh, Responsa Teshuvotve-Hanhagot (Jerusalem, 1986), Hoshen Mishpat, resp. 858 (pp. 301-302), who takes the same view. A contrary position is taken by Rabbi Y. Unterman, in Shevat Yehuda(Jerusalem, 1955) p. 18, and Rabbi Moshe S. Shapira in R. Moshe Shmuel ve-Doro (New York, 1964), p. 236. 23. This exposition of the teleologist/deontologist debate is drawn from my article "Some Tensions in the Jewish Attitude Toward the Taking of Human Life."


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features of the action itself make it right or wrong. Thus, on this view, an action is moral if it is just, keeps a promise, or is truthful. Acting justly is good not because it has wonderful consequences for society; it is good because it has the property of being just, or of conformity to the moral law "Act justly!" In Kantian terms, the action is good if performed out of respect for the moral law, which requires that all humans be treated not only as means to some end, but as ends in themselves. Deontologists take considerations of justice, responsiveness to the moral claims of interpersonal choice situations, and respect for human worth and dignity with radical seriousness. That an action has good consequences for society, or generally maximizes life, is far less important-according to some views, not inherently important at all-than the moral properties of the action itself. In a very perceptive article, Thomas Nagel suggests that the difference between the two positions involves more than abstract moral theory.24 Rather, the difference, he suggests, is grounded in fundamentally differing

conceptionsof what it is to be a moral being operatingin humansociety. Specifically: [Deontologism]is associatedwitha viewof oneselfas a smallbeinginteracting with othersin a largeworld.Thejustificationsit requiresare primarilyinterpersonal.Utilitarianismis associatedwith a view of oneself as a benevolent bureaucratdistributingsuch benefitsas one can control to countless other beingswithwhomone mayhavevariousrelationsor none.Thejustificationsit requiresare primarilyadministrative.The argumentbetween the two may depend upon the priorityof these two conceptions.

Accordingto Nagel,then,whatis at stakein the deontologist/teleologist debateis no lessthanourconceptionof the veryessenceof moralagency. Therelevanceof thisdebateto thetravelerscase-and to the allocation of divisiblescarcemedicalresources-shouldbe clear.My claimis that ethicaltheoryprovidesanexcellentaccountof thefinalhaladeontological khic position according to Rabbis Grodzinski and Waldenberg and others,

and of the position of Ben Petura,accordingto the Ne'tziv.

The physician is faced with two morally equivalent claims. Justice, says 24. Thomas Nagel, "War and Massacre, Philosophy and Public Affairs 1, no. 2 (1972): 123-144.

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the deontologist, would require treating them equally. Treating the two of them equally means dividing the medication, despite the fact that in doing so each will live only a few more hours. To the teleologist, this is foolish: providing all the medication only to one would enable him to live a full life. Dividing the medication would thus violate the principle "Maximize life!" The deontologist argues, on the other hand, that this principle is a bureaucratic abstraction, imported from outside the choice situation, and is not responsive to the immediate and equal claims of A and B. Despite the consequences of dividing the medication, divide it the physician must. Thus, deontological considerations lead naturally to the halakhic positions discussed above.25 One final point should be made here, about the opposition. Those that disagree with the view explained here as deontological, i.e., those that maintain that the medication should be allocated only to one of the two needy persons, could of course be said to be taking a teleological position. This is perhaps the most obvious interpretation. It should be noted, however, that they might also hold some sort of blend of the two theories, a position some recent ethicists have sought to maintain. As will be seen in the final section of this paper, even those who maintain that the resource should be divided-the view explained here as deontological-do not adopt a pure deontologism. In order to see why this is so, however, we must proceed with our analysis.

IV Up until now we have considered the question of allocating divisible scarce resources. What happens when the life-saving resource is indivisible,

25. See my "Some Tensions in the Jewish Attitude Toward the Taking of Human Life" for other instances in Jewish sources in which the teleologist/deontologist debate may be reflected. Note also Ramakh's puzzle, cited in Keseph Mishna, Mishneh Torah,Hilkhot Yesodeiha-Torah 5:5, as to why, according to Rambam, following the Tosephta and Resh Lakish in the Yerushalmi, if heathens come upon a group of Jews, and threaten the lives of the entire group unless they turn over a particular-guiltless-individual, the law is that they must all lose their lives rather than turn over the individual. As Ramakh and many others point out, this seems remarkably counterintuitive: why sacrifice so many lives, when by turning over the individual everyone else can be saved? Here, too, deontological considerations help account for this position, and other related sources.


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whenthereis only one heartavailablefor transplant,or timeenoughto save It is here,I wouldargue,that only one personfrom drowningin the river?26 the prioritizationhierarchiesfoundin the rabbinicsources,most notablythe mishnayotin Horayot,and those found in the poskimcome into play. That is, considerationssuch as yihusor sex are relevantonly wherethe resource in question cannot be divided between, for example, the kohen and the yis'rael. Wherethe resourcecan be divided,however,such considerations are irrelevant. My argumentfor this claimis twofold.First,withrespectto the travelers case, wherethe resourceis divisible,theposkimwho maintainthat the water should be split do not, at least in that context, suggestthat yihusor sex is relevantto deciding the allocation. Second, with respect to the sugya in Horayot,the Bet Yosephcitedearlier(n. 7) specificallyassertsthat whenthe mishnaspeaks of le-hahayot("to saving a life")-i.e., life-for-lifesituations-it refersto a case of saving one of two people drowningin a river, wherethe resourceis obviouslynot divisible.Although,as we shall see, the halakhahdoes apply the prioritizationprinciplesto the obligationto providecharityfor peoplein needof sustenance,andnormallycharityfundsare divisible(give one pennyto eachof two peoplein needof the mealinsteadof two penniesonly to one), Bet Yosephspecificallyassertsthat such cases are not life-for-lifeissues. The only examplehe has for life-for-lifeissues is the case of two people drowningin the river.27 My goal in this portion of the paperis to tracethe developmentof the prioritizationhierarchiesin the halakhicsourcesfrom the rabbinicperiod on down. I shallarguethatthe halakhicdevelopmentheretakeson a specifiable moral shape. Sincemy aim is only to drawcertaingeneralconclusions aboutthe halakhah'sdevelopment,ratherthanto resolvein a practicalway the many complex issues involved, I shall consider only the halakhah's

26. The divisibility or indivisibility of the resource of which I speak here should probably be understood functionally. That is, if the liquid medication can help each one a bit if each receives half, then the resource is divisible. If, on the other hand, the medication can be divided quantitively, but there is a minimum dosage such that if one takes less than that dosage he is not helped at all, then it should not be counted as divisible if the respective portions of medication fall below the effective threshold. I am grateful to Prof. Dov Frimer for this point. 27. Presumably, in a case where two people literally on the verge of death from starvation appear simultaneously before someone with only two pennies in his pocket, even for Bet Yoseph, we have a direct analogue to the travelers case/third-party allocation.

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broad contours, without attempting a fully comprehensive treatment of every relevant source. Let us begin, as we must, with the rabbinic period. An analysis of the most relevant rabbinic sources reveals that six prioritization principles operate in life-for-life situations. 1. Yihus. This category leaps out at the reader from the words of the mishna in Horayot cited earlier: "A kohen takes precedence over a levi,;a levi over a yis'rael. . ." Thus, when faced with a choice between saving someone with a higher yihus value over someone with a lower yihus value, and only one of the two can be saved, then all other things being equal, the person with the higher yihus value must be saved first. Of course, the qualification "all other things being equal" is of great importance: already in the rabbinic period substantial limitations are placed on yihus as the determining factor in allocating indivisible scarce resources, as we shall soon see. 2. Social need. This category, as well as several others that follow, does not announce itself as such in the rabbinic sources. Nevertheless, certain rabbinic halakhot seem best interpreted as reflecting the categories in question. With respect to the social-need category, the Tosephta, cited in the Talmud on the mishna in Horayot quoted above, asserts that the "mashuah milhama [priest anointed as, in effect, chief chaplain of the army] takes precedence over the se'gan [vice high priest]." No explanation is given in the Tosephta itself, nor in the talmudic discussion in Horayot. Rashi, however, following the Talmud in Nazir 37b, comments ad loc. that the reason is "because the community needs him": i.e., he is necessary for successful warring, where the survival of the community is at stake. If this interpretation is correct, as it seems to be, the Tosephta is introducing the value of social need into the prioritization hierarchy. That the Tosephta places the king and other officials relatively high on the priority scale suggests a similar idea. There is, of course, no explicit affirmation of this as a category, and therefore no incontrovertible evidence that the category can be applied to other instances or kinds of social need, e.g., persons valuable to society but not especially in times of war; or persons valuable to society in ways other than saving lives, such as political figures, judges, and so one. Nevertheless, generalizing from mashuahmilhama is surely not unreasonable. In any case, we do have evidence of the existence of the category, even if we give it the narrowest possible interpretation, and that is the main point. 3. Capacity for mitzvot. Here too, the rabbinic texts do not announce this as a category. Evidence for its existence, however, may be drawn from


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the mishna's assertion, cited above, that a man takes precedence over a woman for the purpose of saving a life. No explanation for this claim is provided in the rabbinic period, and it is therefore difficult to know what, precisely, the rabbis had in mind. The text itself is consistent with the view that gender itself is the functional category. However, the medieval commentators, starting with Maimonides, explain that the reason men are preferred over women is that "men are obligated in all the mitzvot, whereas women in only some of them."28 This account of the mishnaic ruling seems most reasonable, and in ascribing the category of capacity to perform mitzvot to the rabbis (as distinct from the medievals, where it is explicit), I am assuming it. Here, too, we can ask whether one can generalize for the rabbinic period on the basis of this category to other kinds or instances of capacity-toperform-mitzvot differences. Thus, faced with a choice between saving a mongoloid male and a normal male, what would the rabbis say? I would argue that the generalization is a safe one, even safer than with respect to the social-need category. The distinctions which might be drawn between the male/female and normal/abnormal choices seem far less significant than the distinctions to be drawn between mashuah milhama/vice high priest and, e.g., surgeon general/politician choices.29 4. Talmid hakham. The classical expression of the value placed upon Torah learning from the rabbinic period on down is the mishna in Horayot cited above: "A bastard learned in the Torah takes precedence over an ignorant high priest." According to biblical law, a bastard may not even marry into the Jewish community (except to another bastard), and thus with respect to yihus is at the bottm of the social barrel, particularly in light of the fact that yihus is largely a social institution whose impact is most sharply felt in the context of marriage. A high priest, on the other hand, stood at the very top of the social scale during rabbinic times. Nevertheless, when faced with a choice between saving the life of an ignorant high priest and a bastard talmid hakham, the mishna teaches that the talmid hakham takes precedence. While this teaching may be understood in the historical context of the Pharisee-Sadducee conflict and the attendant Pharisaic critique of priestly corruption in Roman times, as well as the widespread distrust of the

28. Pherush ha-Mishna, ad loc. 29. Rabbi Ya'akov Emden, discussed below, draws out the same conclusions.

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am ha'aretz on the part of rabbinic scholars, its force, as well as its subsequent impact on rabbinic Judaism, should not be underestimated. One might suggest that the category of talmid hakham should be seen as a subset of the category of social need rather than as a separate category of its own. After all, the talmid hakham performs a critical function in Jewish life: who else would teach the Jewish people the Torah and provide decisions for daily life?3"I would argue, however, that a distinction should be drawn between social utility and religious utility. The text from which the rabbinic category of social utility is derived seems best characterized as relating to specifically social rather than purely religious concerns. The category of talmid hakham, on the other hand, is clearly closer to the religious than the social, even if valued for its utility. I would also argue that the value of the talmid hakham is not merely a subset of a larger class of religious values, which would include, for example, the capacity to perform mitzvot. Rather, it seems best to construe Torah knowledge, as understood by the rabbis, as an end in itself; and hence it is best seen as a category unto itself. My argument is threefold. First, the mishna lists the talmid hakham separately from the other categories. Secondly, throughout rabbinic literature, extraordinary value is placed on Torah knowledge and study. Third, and especially important, is a second prooftext which should be cited as evidence for the talmid hakham category in rabbinic literature: the striking comment in the Jerusalem Talmud on the mishna in Horayot attributed to R. Yehoshua b. Levi in the name of R. Hanina b. Antignos: [Whenfacedwitha choicebetween]the life of an amha'aretzand clothingfor the wife of a talmidhakham,clothingfor the wife of the talmidhakhamtakes precedenceoverthe life of the amha'aretz,becauseof the dignityof the talmid hakham.3' The value of Torah knowledge is here extended even to the wife of the talmid hakham, whose mere clothing takes precedence over the very life of one ignorant of the Torah. Bracketing for present purposes the moral problematic of this teaching, it graphically illustrates the power of the talmid hakham value. Moreover, it suggests that the value here is just that-talmid ha30. See Rambam's Pherush ha-Mishna, loc. cit. 31. J.T. Horayot 3:7.


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kham-rather than religious utility generally. No similar claim is made for other religious or social values: clothing for the wife of the mashuah milhama, the nonignorant high priest, or the hazzan required to enable the community to satisfy its prayer obligations is not given precedence over the life of an am ha'aretz.32 5. Relative degree of need. This category is derived from the mishna in Horayot. A man takes precedenceover a womanwhenit comes to savinga life and to restoringsomethinglost. A womantakesprecedencewith regardto provision of clothingandto be redeemedfromcaptivity.Whenbothstandequalchances of being degraded,then the man takes precedenceover the woman. Degradation here refers to rape; in the case of males, the rape is homosexual.33In general, the mishna teaches, a woman should be redeemed before a man because the likelihood of female rape is greater than male rape, and therefore the female stands in greater danger than the male. Where the likelihood of rape is equal, then the male must be redeemed first, since, as the commentators explain, it is likely that the male will experience greater anguish due to the abnormality of the act.34The mishna thus seems to be using the criterion of relative degree of danger in determining who should be saved first: Where it is more likely that X will be harmed than Y, X is saved first. Where the probabilities are equal, other considerations are taken into account. It should be noted that the harm from which X and Y are to be saved here is not imminent death (le-hahayot) but physical and psychological harm. The prioritization scheme is here being used more broadly than in strict life-for-life situations. It should be noted here that a narrower reading of the mishna would suggest a somewhat more limited formulation of this category: instead of

32. For additional evidence of the category of talmid hakham, see: (1) Baba Me'zia 2:11, which decides that if one's father and rabbi are in captivity, the rabbi should be redeemed first, unless the father is a hakham; (2) B.T. Baba Batra 8a, where Rabbi Yehuda ha-Hanassi provided food from his storage houses during a famine only to those learned in the Torah; (3) the Tosephta in Horayot, cited above, according to which saving a hakham takes precedence over saving a king. 33. Cf. Rashi ad loc. 34. See, e.g., the comments ad loc. of Rambam, R. Obadiah of Bartenura (Pherush haRa'av), and Tiferet Yis'rael.

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relative degree of need, we could speak of relative degree of danger. The mishna, strictly speaking, is prioritizing only in cases of imminent physical danger. Nevertheless, the category has been formulated more broadly here because there is other evidence from the rabbinic period which prioritizes on the basis of need, even where no danger is present. Thus, the following passage: Two boats that are passingin the river.... whereone is loadedand the other not, the unloadedone should be precededby the loaded one...35 Me'iri's explanation seems to be the simple reading of the text: whichever can least tolerate the delay should take precedence, just as a sick person takes precedence over a healthy person. A loaded ship normally needs to get to the port sooner, and therefore the Talmud accords it preference. A caveat must be added here: this text, as noted above, does not deal with prioritizing in cases of danger, and a distinction can in fact be made between prioritizing on the basis of need in cases of danger and prioritizing on the basis of need in other cases. It is Me'iri who makes the connection explicit; the rabbinic text itself is mute. While this is surely a possibility, the analogy between the two is so close, and the distinction mentioned above so barely significant, that the category seems best formulated as one: relative degree of need. 6. Relation to rescuer. This, the final category in the rabbinic period, derives not from the Horayot context, but from a teaching related to charity. Rav Yosephtaught:[It says] "If you lend to my nation,to the poor persons with you" [Exodus22:26].[Whenfaced with a choice between]membersof my nationand idol worshipers,membersof my nationtakeprecedence;a poor person and a rich person,the poor persontakes precedence;your poor [i.e., relatives]and the poor of your city, your poor take precedence;the poor of yourcity andthe poorof anothercity, the poor of yourcity takeprecedence.36 Rav Yoseph teaches that with respect to allocating scarce charity dollars, certain categories of persons take precedence over others. The distinction between the categories seems to hinge on the relation of members of that category to the donor, e.g., family member or resident of the same city. I

35. B.T. Sanhedrin 32b. 36. B.T. Baba Me'zia 71a.


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would argue that it is safe to generalize for the rabbis on the basis of this principle to other sorts of categories. Thus, for example, it seems reasonable to claim that according to Ray Yoseph residents of the donor's neighborhood take precedence over residents of another neighborhood in the same city; or, similarly, that a brother takes precedence over a first cousin.37The same logic applies.

V The categories formulated above as reflecting prioritization hierarchies in the rabbinic period undergo relatively little change through the medieval period. The categories of yihus and capacity for mitzvot remain pretty much the same. Social need, interestingly enough, is by and large not extended from ancient categories of social function such as mashuah milhama or king into categories meaningful to a medieval Jew, such as shtadlan or parnas. The only reflection of the category is in the discussion in the Tur as to whether a rabbi or a hazzan should be hired if the community has only enough funds to hire one of them.38 The category of relative degree of need is expanded by Ritva, who asserts that if an am ha'aretz appears to be dying of hunger during a famine, then the giver of charity is obligated to feed him even if there is a possibility that as a result of feeding the am ha'aretz there will be insufficient food for the talmid hakham. This is because the am ha'aretz is certainly in need of the food, while it is uncertain whether or not the talmid hakham will need the food.39 (Of course, where there is a certainty that there will be insufficient food for the talmid hakham, the food must be saved for the talmid hakham.) Ritva does not abstract from this ruling a general principle to the effect that where X is in definite need of some resource, and Y only possibly needs the resource, then all other things being equal, X takes precedence over Y. This generalization appears for the first time in the modern period, as we shall

37. See, for example Tur,chap. 251, where an intrafamily hierarchy is worked out, i.e., self before father and mother, who in turn take precedence over children, and so on. While this is not a rabbinic-period source, generalizing as the Turdid seems safe even as an exercise in rabbinic interpretation. 38. Ibid. 39. B.T. Baba Batra 8a.

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see. Nevertheless, his ruling is clearly a precursorto the more general principle, which counts as a substantial enlarging of the scope of the relativedegree-of-need category. As noted above, the category of relation to rescuer is explicitly expanded the Tur to include an intrafamily hierarchy,40 although, as we argued, by that expansion seems implicit in the rabbinic category itself. The category of talmid hakham is extended somewhat by Maimonides, who writes in his Pherushha-Mishna on Horayot 3:7-8 that all other categories are secondary to talmid hakham: if X is a greater hakham than Y, then X takes precedence over Y, even if Y is superior to X by any one of the many categories mentioned in the Mishnah and Tosephta except king, father, and teacher. As Maimonides puts it in the Mishneh Torah, "Whoever is greater in wisdom takes precedence, except if one is his father or rabbi," where it makes no difference who is greater than whom provided the father is also learned. Substantial changes in the prioritization scheme first begin to emerge during the early modern period. One of the more striking changes to occur during this period relates to the category of talmid hakham, which played such a central role in the rabbinic and even medieval texts. Rabbi Moshe Isserles, in his glosses in Shulhan Arukh (251:9), codifies the Talmud Yerushalmi's decision that clothing for the wife of a talmid hakham takes precedence over the life of an am ha'aretz. Rabbi Shabsai Cohen, in his highly influential seventeenth-century commentary on Shulhan Arukh, the Shakh (251:16), asserts the following: It appearsthat this is accordingto the law. However,in these times where thereis not even a talmidhakhamwith respectto the law of a golden liter, as above 243:7,all the moreso savinga life shouldtake precedencebeforehim, and it is in the same categoryas a man in need of clothingand a woman in dangerof dying,or vice-versa,whereit says in the Yerushalmithat the person in dangerof dying takes precedence. While it is not clear that Rabbi Shabsai Cohen intends to do away entirely with the category of talmid hakham, its force is surely limited by his claim that in our days the halakhic category of talmid hakham barely exists, if it does at all.41

40. Tur, chap. 251. 41. Pithei Teshuva,ad loc., cites Resp. YadEliyahu, resp. 43, who disagrees with the Shakh.


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A second striking shift-more accurately, set of shifts-appears in the eighteenth-century writings of Rabbi Ya'akov Emden, who discusses the issue at length in his Migdal Oz.42 With respect to the category of yihus, he makes the following revolutionary statement: A kohentakesprecedenceovera levi,and levito a yisrael. . . althoughin truth the superiority[ma'alot]of the priesthoodandleviteshiphavedeclinedin these generationssuchthat evenfor maleswedo notgiveprecedenceonthesegrounds, and this because they are kohanim only by presumption[hazaka]. Nevertheless,

I am undecidedabout the matter [emphasisadded]. In this passage, Rabbi Emden seriously considers dropping the entire category of yihus, which by his day had lost the valence it had while the Temple was still in existence and shortly thereafter.43 The category of capacity for mitzvot is altered by Rabbi Emden as well, in this case expanded rather than contracted. Rabbi Emden states that a normal male takes precedence over a minor, someone who is deaf, or someone who is a halakhic shoteh (idiot). Similarly, a normal male takes precedence over a male missing an arm and therefore unable to wear tefillin. The category of talmid hakham is expanded so that in choosing between "[a woman who is] modest, intelligent, a woman of valor over against an ordinary woman, certainly the woman who fears God" takes precedence.44 Of special importance is the fact that Rabbi Emden appears to add an entirely new category, which might be called the capacity to maximize life. This can be instantiated in one of two ways: either X himself has a greater likelihood of living over against Y, because, for example, Y is mortally ill, and X is not; or, X has the capacity to create other life, by reproduction, whereas Y does not, because he is either sterile or too old. Examples of the first sort, drawn from Rabbi Emden's words, include selecting a young

42. Perek "EvenBohen,"pinahaleph. 43. It should be noted that Rabbi Emden's view is a minority one; almost all other treatments of the subject do use yihus categories. See the various responsa cited throughout this paper. Nevertheless, that such a view is entertained by as important a figure as Rabbi Emden is quite significant. His position is echoed in the responsa of Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, discussed below. 44. One might suggest, of course, that this is not an instance of the talmid hakham category, but either a new category altogether or an important conceptual revision of the category that reflects not only Torah learning but piety.

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person over against an older person; an older person in good health against an older person in poor health; a sick person over against a person whose sickness places his life in danger; a sick person whose life is in danger over against a sick person who is mortally ill. Examples of the second sort include a male who can reproduce over against a sterile male; and a female who can reproduce over against a sterile male.45 Rabbi Emden's views are noteworthy not only because he introduces critically important new categories (especially that of selecting the person who is most likely to live as a result of treatment, a position which many contemporary poskim also take), and not only because of his questioning of the paramount rabbinic category of yihus. They are methodologically noteworthy as well, in that he argues largely from common sense, using the sort of considerations commonly found in lay or consequentialist discussions of allocating scarce medical resources. To conclude our discussion of the early modern period, one other change in the categories should be noted. As mentioned earlier, the category of relative degree of need is expanded so as to be formulated as a general principle that the person in certain danger of losing his life takes precedence over the person whose life is not certainly endangered. Contemporary halakhic discussions of the problem introduce a consideration which, in at least one highly influential formulation, has the remarkable effect of making the entire elaborate prioritization scheme irrelevant in most cases of allocating scarce resources. All contemporary poskim of whom I am aware are in agreement that where the physician has already started treating one of two patients, X, then even if, by any of the prioritization standards, Y ranks higher than X, X still takes precedence, and it would be wrong to leave X and treat Y.46The practical ramifications of this pesak are significant, since in emergency room situations it is frequently-although by no means always-the case that treatment of the one patient begins before treatment of the other. The argu45. It has been suggested that a parallel to this last category can be found in the works of Rabbi Yehuda he-Hasid (see Dichovsky, op. cit., p. 63). It seems clear, however, that Rabbi Emden took the positions he did on the basis of reason rather than by appeal to the authority of anyone else. 46. Rabbi M. Feinstein, Igrot Moshe, Hoshen Mishpat, vol. 3 (New York, 1985), resp. 73, 74; Rabbi M. Hershler, Halakha u-Refu'ah, vol. 4 (Jerusalem, 1985), pp. 79-84; Rabbi Sh. Vosner, Responsa Shevet Levi, vol. 6 (B'nei Brak, 1986), resp. 242; Nishmat Avraham,vol. Yoreh De'ah (Jerusalem, 1986), p. 156.


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ments for this position, interestingly enough, are not so much halakhic or legal in nature as moral or philosophical. That is, precedent, either direct or indirect, is not cited. Rather, the considerations advanced are more general. In Rabbi M. Hershler's words: It appearson thebasisof reasonthatif he beganto treatthe one who is only in possibly life-threateningdanger. . . he should not leave him and treat a second one [who is in certainlylife-threateningdanger],since he has become obligatedin the first one's treatment.And eventhoughthereis no evidencefor this position,reasondictatesit [emphasisadded].47 Rabbi Moshe Feinstein similarly uses the language of moral obligation: ". .. and once he has been admitted to the emergency room, he has acquired a right to his place" (emphasis added).48 Rabbi Feinstein, probably the most influential posek to deal with the problem, carries the pesak one critical step further.49He maintains that the first person to arrive at the hospital acquires the right of treatment, even before the treatment actually begins. The question he addresses specifically concerns two patients, A and B, seeking admission to the emergency room, which has a bed available only for one of them. A, who is mortally ill, clearly needs emergency room treatment, but it will only extend his life somewhat. B, in the judgment of the physicians, can be cured entirely, but it is as yet unclear whether or not he needs emergency room treatment. Rabbi Feinstein decides that while if they were to arrive simultaneously B should be treated first, since he can be cured, nevertheless if A arrives first, then he should be admitted. His argument for this position is a psychological one: should A, who arrived first, discover that B, who arrived after him, has been admitted, than A might believe that his physicians despair of curing him and therefore have decided to admit B even though he arrived first. Such thoughts might in turn cause a further deterioration of his condition, thereby hastening his death. Since it is halakhically wrong to hasten anyone's death, A should be admitted first, even though he will die soon in any case. I might add here that by parity of reasoning, the same result should obtain for

47. 48. 49. above,

Hershler, op. cit., p. 84. Feinstein, op. cit., p. 304. Ibid. Although the text is somewhat unclear, it is possible that Nishmat Avraham,cited takes the same position.

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any scarce resource, such as an organ required for transplantation: if A and B are both in need of a kidney, and A registers for the kidney before B, then A should receive the kidney first if his death might be hastened upon learning that B was chosen before him. What then of the elaborate prioritization scheme developed in the classical sources? To quote Rabbi Feinstein: And even with respectto prioritizing,thereare only those principlescited in the mishnain Horayot,and evenwithrespectto theseit is difficultto act upon themwithoutverycarefulconsideration [i'yun].And evenwhereit is certainthat thereis priorityaccordingto the law,thatis relevantonly wherethey areequal with respectto time [of arrival];and the physicianshould go to whomever calls him first ... [emphasisadded].50 Rabbi Feinstein urges great caution in applying the prioritization system of the rabbinic sources to real-life situations, perhaps echoing, in part, Rabbi Emden's views. It should be noted as well that he cites only the mishna in Horayot, and none of the ancillary sources explored in the previous two sections of this essay. One gets the strong impression that Rabbi Feinstein feels general reluctance to apply the classical prioritization criteria.5' According to Rabbi Feinstein's view and, perhaps to a lesser extent, the views of other contemporary poskim, the prioritization schemes for allocating scarce resources which grow out of the rabbinic sources are relegated to a severely circumscribed set of cases. Are the views of these poskim, then, inconsistent with the earlier tradition? Certainly not. Earlier sources just do not raise the question of what A should do if he starts swimming out into the river to save B, a yisrael, then notices that C, a kohen, is drowning in another part of the river. Or of whether the yisrael or the kohen should be redeemed first when the former was captured by the enemy before the latter. Thus, strictly speaking, there is no inconsistency. Nevertheless, the great stress contemporary poskim, and particularly Rabbi Feinstein, place on chronological priority is clearly a halakhic hiddush(innovation) of the first order, whose practical significance cannot be overstated. Can we make any general observations about the halakhah's develop-

50. Ibid., p. 312. 51. In this respect, Rabbi Feinstein may differ from such authorities as Rabbi Unterman, cited above in n. 22.


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ment on this issue from the rabbinic period on down? Taken as a whole, I would argue, the halakhah has to a certain extent moved away from its early preoccupation with yihus (note the extremely long list in Horayot) and Torah scholarship, via Rabbis Emden and Cohen in particular, to considerations that are more universal in nature. These include various elaborations on the degree-of-need category and, especially, the contemporary stress on chronological priority and time of arrival. The justification for many of these considerations, it will be remembered, is universal as well: general moral intuition. It seems clear, then, that there are identifiably moral contours to the shape of the halakhah's development on the issue in question.

VI To conclude our analysis we must backtrack temporarily and consider the moral-theoretic consequences of the classical prioritization hierarchy, which emphasized yihus, Torah scholarship, and the like. We argued earlier that where the resource is divisible the halakhah, according to some of its most influential interpreters,took what appeared to be a deontological position: the owner of the water divides it into two equal parts, so that each of the travelers can live a bit longer. But how can deontological ethics, which takes with absolute seriousness respect for individual human worth, dignity, and justice, adopt as allocation criteria such considerations as yihus, for example, which is utterly foreign to its grundprinciples?Surely my value as a human being is not dependent upon my yihus! Isn't the entire sugya in Horayot, then, a striking counterexample to the thesis argued for earlier? More importantly-and these two questions are linked-aren't some of the classical categories morally problematic in their own right, at least by contemporary standards, apart from moral-theoretic considerations? The Yerushalmi's position, codified in the Shulhan Arukh, that providing clothing for the wife of a talmid hakham takes precedence over feeding an am ha'aretz is only the most troubling of the classical considerations; it is by no means the only troubling one. Of course, this question is in its own way anachronistic, in that it projects late-twentieth-century American moral values onto ancient Near Eastern texts. It is a truism that the ancient rabbis did not think like contemporary Americans. Nevertheless, the question still needs to be addressed, in light of our discussion of methodology in the first

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section of this essay. If explaining a classical text at least in part involves justifying it, then the question raised here is a quest for justification: why would one want to take the rabbinic position? what can be said to make it inherently plausible? In light of the quest for justification, we can also ask ourselves whether the rabbis themselves may have had some deep underlying intuition which would shed new light on their position, and suggest an explanatory framework separate from their obvious cultural predispositions about such values as yihus. Dismissing questions such as these about classical sources on grounds of anachronistic projection is just too easy, and blocks deeper inquiry into the sources. At this point in our analysis, it would be helpful to place the halakhic approaches to allocating scarce resources in the context of the general legal and philosophical approaches to the problem.52These have fallen into two main schools: those who advocate criteria of social worth, and those who advocate an egalitarian method of allocation. The social-worth school, following the teleological ethicists, takes into account, in deciding who shall live and who shall die, such considerations as past and future contributions to society, volunteerism, size of family, and the like. These categories certainly bear a resemblance to the classical halakhic considerations of Torah scholarship, social need, and even yihus. However, the social-worth school has been widely criticized on a number of grounds, but most importantly for violating the incommensurate worth of a human being by reducing his value to mere social utility. Does the halakhah also in effect reduce human worth to social utility or genealogical rank? The egalitarian school, following the deontologists, takes as fundamental uncompromising respect for human worth and dignity-the view that human beings can never be treated only as means to some socially useful end. Therefore, say the egalitarians, each patient must be treated equally. How then is the resource to be allocated? By some arbitrary means which does not rank people according to utility. This may take the form of a lottery, or better yet, a first-come-first-served system, similar in effect to the position taken by Rabbi Feinstein (although for somewhat different rea-

52. There is an enormous amount of literature dealing with the problem in legal and particularly philosophical sources, and to cite even the most important studies here would be excessive. The best summary and bibliography I am aware of is in Maxwell J. Mehlman's "Rationing Expensive Lifesaving Medical Resources," Wisconsin Law Review, 1985, no. 2, pp. 239-303.


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sons). On this summary analysis, then, it would seem that the halakhah developed over the years from a largely consequentialist/social worth view in the rabbinic period, to a position akin to deontologism/egalitarianism, as at least partially embodied in the views of Rabbi Feinstein.53 This analysis, however, is seriously flawed. It must be remembered that where the resource is divisible, we argued that the halakhah takes a deontological position as early as the rabbinic period, at least according to many halakhically authoritative interpretations of the rabbinic texts. It will not do, then, to distinguish between an early consequentialist period and a late deontological period if even important early sources are, from the halakhic perspective, authoritatively explained as deontological. The central question really is, why does the halakhah, according to the views we have considered here, employ largely deontological considerations when the resource is divisible, and employ, at least up until the modern period, largely consequentialist considerations when the resource is not divisible? Why shift moraltheoretic gears when shifting kinds of resources?This question leads us into the very heart of the matter. I would suggest-and herein lies the nub of my analysis-that in all cases of allocation three moral/halakhic imperatives may be postulated as explaining the halakhic decision: 1. The equal-respectprinciple. All human beings must be treated with equal respect for their human worth. 2. The maximize-life principle. Act always so as to extend the sum total of human life. 3. The nonarbitrarinessprinciple. Do not make arbitrary decisions in matters of life and death. The equal-respect principle is deontological, and derives from our account of the travelers case. The maximize-life principle is teleological in formulation, and derives ultimately from the biblical command not to stand by while someone's life is endangered (lo ta'amod al dam re'ekha). The nonarbitrariness principle is what I propose to account for how the halakhah

53. I recognize that Rabbi Feinstein's reasoning is not deontological (although it is consistent with deontologism). My point is that the practical position he takes is one that would in some important respects follow from deontologism/egalitarianism.

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deals with certain conflicts between the equal-respect principle and the maximize-life principle, as occurs when the resource to be allocated is indivisible. Let us see how this is so. Our analysis of the travelers case has shown that where the resource is divisible, the base-line principle which governs the choice situation for many poskim is deontological-the equal-respect principle. All the water is not given to just one person, as the maximize-life principle, in good teleological form, would require. Rather, the claims of each traveler must be treated with absolutely equal moral seriousness. Nevertheless, life can be maximized to a certain extent, withinthe constraintsset by the base-lineprinciple, by giving some water to each. In that way each life is extended. The second principle is thus at least partially satisfied, and not voided of all moral impact. Finally, since giving equal amounts of water to each is surely not arbitrary, the nonarbitrariness principle is satisfied as well. All this changes, however, where the resource is not divisible. Here, the equal-respect and maximize-life principles come into tragic conflict. If human beings are to be treated with equal respect for their human worth without exception, then it would be wrong to give it to either of them, since giving it to one favors the recipient over the one abandoned to die. It should turn out, then, that neither would receive the water or medication, and both would die. Some deontologists do in fact take this extreme position. The halakhah clearly does not. In these difficult circumstances the maximize-life principle makes its claim. While the equal-respect principle carries great halakhic force, the halakhic tradition simply valued life too much to sacrifice it entirely on the altar of justice. Sacrifice it partially, yes; we saw as much in the case of divisible resources, where the water is divided in two parts, giving each just a few more hours to live, rather than giving one a full 120 years. Where the sacrifice would be total, however, and neither would get the medication, the moral force of the maximize-life principle would be voided entirely, and this the halakhah would not tolerate. Thus the choice is forced: Only one can receive the kidney. By what criteria should one choose? The most common egalitarian/deontological answer to this question is that under these conditions the choice should be arbitrary, so that considerations irrelevant to basic human worth and dignity are never taken into account. If the choice is arbitrary, then no features of the recipient are picked out as causally determining the choice, and human worth is thus not reduced to any such features. Arbitrary criteria include lotteries or a firstcome-first-served system.


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This too, I would argue, is a position the halakhah, certainly in its classical formulation, would not sustain. In matters as monumentally significant as life and death, it is wrong to make arbitrarychoices: life is just too important to be treated arbitrarily. Hence, the nonarbitrariness principle. Given this conviction, the halakhah found itself forced to grasp at what are, in effect, morally irrelevant criteria, such as yihus. For the halakhah, these are far better than no criteria at all. It is, I would argue, only where the halakhah's arm is twisted by its belief in the importance of life, and its abhorrence of arbitrariness, that teleological considerations are taken into account. It should be added that many of these considerations are not artificial inventions for present purposes. Rather, they are fully developed, generally religious categories, with their own independent, anterior logic and justification. The value of Torah study and the laws governing the talmid hakham were not produced for the sake of the mishna in Horayot, nor were the categories and laws relating to yihus. These are all fully articulated elsewhere, and borrowed here in service of what amounts to a morally coerced choice. That the halakhah does import these considerations is not at all surprising, given its endorsement of the three principles. What is surprising-even startling-is the extent to which the halakhah avoids them. Where A is a talmid hakham and B is an alcoholic misfit, and the medication they both need can be divided, then according to many influential poskim, divide it the physician must, although both will shortly die. Radical respect for human equality and justice here prevail above all else. TouroCollege New York, N.Y.

I am grateful to Prof. Dov I. Frimer for referring me to a number of the contemporary responsa cited in this paper, and for his insightful comments on an earlier draft. Dr. Ronnie Warburg also made several valuable suggestions. Abridged versions of the paper were read before the New York Jewish Theology Group and the Association for Jewish Studies Conference in Boston. The comments I received on both those occasions proved most helpful.

Buber's Anti-Kantianism Author(s): Lawrence Perlman Source: AJS Review, Vol. 15, No. 1 (Spring, 1990), pp. 95-108 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486464 . Accessed: 02/07/2011 16:32 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].



BUBER'SANTI-KANTIANISM by LAWRENCE PERLMAN

Introduction The philosophy of Martin Buber has attracted more attention, both favorable and critical, than has any other modern Jewish philosophy. None of the criticism leveled against Buber's thought is as thorough and philosophically informed as that found in Steven Katz's seminal essay, "Martin Buber's Epistemology: A Critical Appraisal."' In this essay Katz argues that Buber adopts a Kantian architectonic to provide the metaphysical underpinnings for his philosophy of dialogue. In Katz's own words, ThoughBuberdoes not provideanythinglike te elaboratearchitectonicargumentsof the first Critiqueit is evidentthat he assumestheiressentialvalidity. Thisimplicitassumption,in fact,providesthe a prioritheoreticalconstellation of the dialogicalstructure.2 I contend, however, that Buber ultimately rejects the Kantian architectonic 1. In Steven T. Katz, Post-Holocaust Dialogues: Critical Studies in Modern Jewish Thought (New York: New York University Press, 1983), pp. 1-51. 2. Ibid., p. 8.

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thatKatzattributes to him.A closereadingof alltheappropriate textswill demonstrate thatthereis onlysuperficial warrantfor considering Buber's useof someKantianideasto be ultimately determinative. Buber'srejection of centralKantianpositionsmustbe weighedalongsidethe evidencethat Katzmarshalsto erecthis thesis.Katzfailsto reconstruct Buber'sentire position,and he ignoresthe evidencethat contradictshis thesis.Katz's analysisof Buber'sI-Thou/I-Itdivisionof reality,as philosophically He doesnot giveseriousattentionto informedas it is, is purelystructural. Buberiantexts that indicateBuber'sunderstanding of Kant'sposition.3 Katz drawsparallelsbetweenBuber'suse of a Thou-worldand Kant's He doesnotcollect noumenon,andthe It-worldandKant'sphenomenon. andanalyzeBuber'sownremarks theseKantianideas.A textuconcerning al analysisof Buber'sideasin theseareaswillillustratethatKatz'sviewis andignoresBuber'scentralthrustin Buber's faultyin its mainassumption Kant's of rejection metaphysics. Buber'ssupposedKantianism is focusedon his use of threeKantian that revolve the of reality.According around basis to Katzthereis positions a structuralidentitybetweenKant'sand Buber'sviewsof reality.4The of realityat the foundationof Kant's description noumenal/phenomenal is importedinto Buber'sthought.'As a resultof thisKantian metaphysics viewof reality,KatzclaimsthatBuber'sviewof reality,indicatedthrough I-Thou/I-It,parallelsKant'sviewon threepoints.It is bestto let Professor Katzspeakfor himself. First,like Kant, Buberseesthe worldas essentially"twofold";second,Kant's understandingof "noumenal"realityis the basis,thoughnot the sumtotal, of Buber's understandingof the I-Thou reality; thirdly, Kant's account of "phenomenal"realityprovidesthe foundation,if not the whole. of Buber's understandingof I-It reality.6 3. Ultimately we are no closer to understanding Buber's position if we analyze some of the data without constructing all of the epistemological ideas. This does not necessarily mean that Buber's position is ultimately defensible nor that one should reject out of hand Katz's criticism of Buber's use of dialogue. I do not wish to enter into that type of discussion here. Furthermore I find myself in agreement with many of Katz's criticisms of the effects of Buber's use of dialogue. I do not have anything new to say about the contentless nature of Buber's view of revelation. 4. Katz, p. 8. 5. Ibid. 6. Ibid., pp. 8-9.

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This dichotomyof realityposes opposingconditionsfor humanknowledge. I-It knowledgeoperatesunderthe rule of causaland spatio-temporallaws. I-Thouknowledgedoes not operateundertheseconditions.It is directand unmediated.Katz's detailedand insightfulcriticismof Buber'sphilosophy follows entirelyfrom this basis. Any well-foundedrejectionof Katz'sthesismustcontendwith the overall effectof the threepoints listed above. Not only mustit bringevidenceto the contrary,but the evidence,in relationto Buber'sclaim,mustbe a significantreversalor undercuttingof his relianceon somecentralKantianpositions. It is my claim that Buber'sunderstandingof the I-Thou relation underminesany possiblerelianceon Kant's metaphysics.Kant's noumena and Buber'sThou are not relatedas a foundationis to the rest of the edifice, as Katz suggests.7In otherwordsthereis much moreto Buber'sThou than a borrowedstructuraldependencebasedon Kant'snoumena,andthis additional aspect outweighsall structuraldependencies.8 Buber's Criticism of Kant

The way in whichto uncoverthis strictlyBuberianaspectof the Thou is throughBuber'santi-Kantianstatements.A structuralanalysis,such as the one performedby Katz, is unavailingbecauseit immediatelyseizes on the dichotomyof realitythatseemscommonto Kant and Buberandthen theorizes about the content of Buber'sideas based on this structure.A more accuratepictureof the content of Buber'sideas might be availableat the point at which they divergeand not where they converge,because Buber himself emphasizedthis divergence. The first element of Buber'srejectionof a Kantian position explicitly flies in the face of Katz's assertion.In a discussionabout the humanbeing who is ableto ventureforthto the supremeencounter,Bubermakesa telling comment about the world of appearances.

7. Ibid. 8. Katz is most clear about his thoughts on Kant's noumena and Buber's Thou, "In respect of the Thou, Buber's relation to Kant stands at the end of a century of post-Kantian thought that had already well begun the reconstruction of the concept of 'noumena' which it had inherited. That is to say, in structural if not in all substantive ways Buber's Thouis close to Kant's 'noumena'." Ibid., p. 10.

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To this end one does not haveto stripawaythe worldof the sensesas a world of appearances.Thereis no world of appearance,there is only the worldwhich,to be sure,appearstwofoldto us in accordancewith our twofoldattitude. Only the spell of separationneeds to be broken.9 With utmost clarity, Buber informs the reader that he does not uphold a Kantian view of the world. There is no distinct world of appearances over against a noumenal world. Katz's basic assertion concerning the dichotomy of Buber's world-view along Kantian lines is totally unfounded. Moreover, Katz's criticism that Buber, like Kant, denies reality to space-time is entirely baseless.'0 Twofoldness," Buber's basic ontological category, does not parallel Kant's noumenal/phenomenal distinction. I do not propose to examine that Buberian concept in full here, but I merely wish to point out that it diverges from Kant's position on a major issue, the reality of the world. Whatever a detailed examination of twofoldness would yield, it could not be mistaken for an ideal construction similar to Kant's noumenal/phenomenal construction. Twofoldness is a way of relating and not an act of judgment in consciousness, as it is for Kant. Any attempt to associate Kant and Buber on this point leads to serious misconceptions about Buber's ontology and completely misses the point of his attempted rejection of Kantian metaphysics, a point to which I will return. It is of major importance to note that when Buber rejects such a seminal Kantian position he does it for a specific reason. He is informing the reader in no uncertain terms that the supreme encounter, the availability of the

9. Martin Buber, I and Thou, trans. W. Kaufmann (New York: Scribner's, 1970), p. 125. 10. "To probe one step further, let me introduce one additional consideration. It may well be that space-time regulates I-It, but wherein does this spatio-temporal regularity fall? That is to say, imagine that X and Y have an I-It encounter that operates under the Kantian norms, but, in turn, under what regulative conditions do these Kantian norms operate? Put another way, what is the ontic status of the separate particulars that enter into this relationship, as well as of the relational unit as a whole? A simpler way of articulating the logic of this argument is to note that even if space-time and I-It are 'appearances,' surely these 'appearances' are real. If one is not prepared at some point to admit this, then metaphysical confusion ensues. But admitting this breaks the Kantian-Buberian schemata. In other words, denying reality to space-time leads to self-contradiction as well as to the impossibility of establishing objective knowledge, a truth Kant himself seems to have begun to be aware of.... Buber, however, does not consider this and similar difficulties." Katz, pp. 19-20. It should be clear that Buber has not denied reality to space-time, as Katz asserts. In fact he has done the opposite. for man in accordance with his twofold attitude. The attitude 11. "The world is TWOFOLD of man is twofold in accordance with the two basic words he can speak." I and Thou, p. 53.


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Eternal Thou, is the motivating concern for the rejection of appearances as epistemological aspects of consciousness.'2 It comes as no surprise, then, that when Buber criticizes the significance of causality in the It-world, in a way that Kant never could (an obvious rejection of Katz's third point), he is doing it for exactly the same reason. He is making a claim on behalf of man's relation to the Eternal Thou. The unlimitedsway of causalityin the It-world, which is of fundamental importancefor the scientificorderingof nature,is not felt to be oppressiveby the manwho is not confinedto the It-worldbut freeto step out of it againand againinto the worldof relation.HereI andYou confronteachotherfreelyin a reciprocitythat is not involvedin or taintedby any causality;here man finds guaranteedthe freedomof his beingand of being.Onlythose who know relation and who know of the presenceof the You have the capacityfor decision. Whoevermakes a decisionis free becausehe has steppedbeforethe countenance.14 At this juncture we can see that Buber rejects the underpinnings of Kant's world-view when he makes reports about the Eternal Thou. This rejection is not limited to the world of appearances and causality but includes the use of categorical understanding as well. It is fundamental to Kant's undertaking that he demonstrate the categorical manner in which the mind can grasp separate appearances and put them together in one act of knowledge.14 This is the task of categorical laws which provide for consciousness the objective connections of what it finds in its experience. Katz assumes that this Kantian doctrine applies equally for Buber.'5 If this were the case, then every claim for the actuality or reality of the objects of our experience that Buber could make would have to include either a reference or a possible reference to the categorical nature of our knowledge. But, this does not seem to be the case. 12. "When one has achieved steadfastness in this state, one is able to venture forth toward the supreme encounter. To this end one does not have to strip away the world of the senses as a world of appearance." Ibid., p. 125. 13. Ibid., pp. 100-101. 14. Immanuel Kant, The Critique of Pure Reason, trans. N. Kemp Smith (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1965), p. 111. 15. "In Kant's system the categorical conditions of mind determine the 'phenomenal' nature of things; likewise, in Buber's account, the knower, the I, determines through his 'knowing' activity whether he 'encounters' reality in all its manifoldness as Thou or as It." Katz, p. 9.

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Whoeverstandsin relation,participatesin an actuality;that is, in a beingthat is neithermerelya partof himnormerelyoutsidehim.All actualityis an activity in which I participatewithoutbeingable to appropriateit. Wherethereis self-appropriation,there is no actuality. The more directly the You is touched,the more perfectis the participation.'6 Buber clearly rejects the idea that relation is a form of knowledge via selfappropriation and therefore of construction. The person in relation cannot have a mental construct of his own at any time. The active participant cannot bring any categories of mind to bear on the situation. There are no laws of understanding which provide objective connections in consciousness. If these did exist, Buber's concept of actuality would cease to apply. This is an unqualified rejection of categorical understanding which no doubt is directed entirely at Kant. Knowledge:as he beholdswhat confrontshim, its being is disclosedto the knower.Whathe beheldas presenthe will haveto comprehendas an object, comparewith objects,assigna placein an orderof objects,and describeand analyzeobjectively;only as an it can it be absorbedinto the store of knowledge. But in the act of beholdingit was no thing among things, no event amongevents;it was presentexclusively.It is not in the law that is afterward derivedfrom the appearancebut in the appearanceitself that the beingcommunicatesitself. That we think the universalis merelyan unreelingof the skeinlikeeventthat was beheldin the particular,in a confrontation.And now it is lockedinto the It-formof conceptualknowledge.Whoeverunlocksit and beholds it again as present,fulfillsthe meaningof that act of knowledgeas somethingthat is actual and active betweenmen." Obviously this "unlocking" is a rejection on behalf of relation. According to Buber, something beheld as present in the appearance itself, including the use of the senses, partakes of the Thou. Kant absolutely rejects such claims on behalf of the noumenal."s Buber uses "presence" and "actuality" to 16. 1 and Thou, p. 113. 17. Ibid., pp. 90-91. 18. "The concept of a noumenon is a merely limiting concept, the function of which is to curb the pretensions of sensibility; and it is therefore only of negative employment. At the same time it is no arbitrary invention, and it is bound up with the limitation of sensibility, though it cannot affirm anything positive beyond the field of sensibility." Critiqueof Pure Reason, A255, B310-311.

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convey the point that categorical laws do not yield knowledge of relation. There is a strict limitation in our knowledge of the noumenon according to Kant that clearly does not apply for Buber.'9 What we know in relation is not a matter of how we know, as it is for Kant.20Presence and actuality for Buber indicate a correlation that they cannot yield for Kant. The limitation of the It-world that is found in Kant's philosophy and applied to the noumenon reverberates in Buber's criticism. While he does not aim his remark directly at Kant, this anonymous man sounds much like Kant, who is, in Buber's words, "reconciled to the It-world as something that is to be experienced and used and who holds down what is tied into it instead of freeing it, who observes it instead of heeding it, and instead of receiving it utilizes it."21 The strength of Buber's rejection and its far-reaching consequences should not be neglected. Buber does not let the point pass into obscurity. In connection to remarks about the Buddha, Buber illustrates the relation of thought to the world. Certainlythe worlddwellsin me as a notion,just as I dwellin it as a thing.But that does not meanthat it is in me as I am not in it. The worldand I include each other reciprocally.This contradictionfor thought,which inheresin the It-relation,is annulledby the You relationwhichdetachesme fromthe world in orderto relate me to it.22 This remark has immediate consequences for Buber's supposed Kantianism. Relation leaves categorical thinking behind. Relation detaches the knower from the world only to bring him back to the world and places no importance on how he knows. The categorical conditions of the mind lose all their significance in the face of a You, just as have all the other seminal Kantian doctrines. This rejection of the categorical conditions of the mind of the knower is not the final aspect of Buber's rejection of Kant. It merely points to a far more significant repudiation. It is a commonplace that Kant formulated his basic problem of knowledge in terms of the synthetic a priori. Kant wanted

19. 20. 21. 22.

Ibid., Katz, I and Ibid.,

A256, B312 and A260, B315. p. 9. Thou, p. 90. pp. 141-142. Kaufmann applies these remarks to Schopenhauer.

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to know how synthetic a priori judgments were possible. Believing that the principle of causality was neither self-evident nor capable of logical demonstration, Kant argued for the acceptance of a priori synthetic judgments as the criteria which are capable of determining the validity or invalidity of general principles.23In other words, Kant tried to determine the necessity and strict universality of knowledge apart from experience. Without any doubt whatsoever, Buber's disavowal of synthetic judgments would point to a wholesale rejection of Kant's architectonic. If judgments cannot be thought synthetically, then we have no basis to say that Buber is Kantian in any meaningful sense. This Buberian disavowal is made clearly and forthrightly. In a discussion of situation and presence, not unlike that which we saw concerning categorical thinking,24Buber rejects the possibility of an act of synthesis. Not only does he distinctly do this, but he does this while criticizing Kant. He uses Kant's own language to attack Kant's position, not to adopt it. It is well worth quoting this long passage in its entirety. Man's "religious"situation,existencein the presence,is markedby its essential and indissolubleantinomies.That these antinomiesare indissolubleconstitutes their very essence. Whoeveraffirms the thesis and repudiatesthe antithesisviolatesthe senseof the situation.Whoevertriesto thinka synthesis destroysthe sense of the situation.Whoeverwouldsettlethe conflictbetween antinomiesby some meansshortof his own life transgressesagainstthe sense of the situation.It is to be livedin all of its antinomies-only lived-and lived ever again, ever anew, unpredictably,withoutany possibilityof anticipation or prescription.A comparisonof the religiousandthe philosophicalantinomy will make this clearer.Kant can relativizethe philosophicalconflict of freedom and necessityby relegatingthe latterto the worldof appearanceand the formerto that of being,so thatthe two positionsno longerreallyoppose one anotheras well as do the two worldsin whicheach is valid.But when I mean freedomand necessitynot in the worldsthat arethoughtof but in the actuality in which I stand beforeGod; when I know, "It dependson me,"then I may not try to escapefromthe paradoxI haveto live by relegatingthe irreconcilable propositionsto two separaterealms;neithermay I seek the aid of some

23. N. Kemp Smith, A Commentaryto Kant's Critiqueof Pure Reason (London: Macmillan Press, 1979), p. xxvii. 24. See n. 17 and following.


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theologicalartificeto attain some conceptualreconciliation:I must take it upon myself to live both in one, and lived both are one.25 The content of this passage is illuminating in many respects, but the clear rejection of Kant's position is foremost. According to Buber, Kant's synthetic thinking cannot be used as an escape to two separate realms, the phenomenal and the noumenal, nor can it do away with the antinomies of our experience. There is no Kantian relativization which synthesizes our knowledge in Buberian terms. Clearly a Kantian synthesis cannot describe the paradox "I have to live" and by extension cannot be applied to the world of I-It or I-Thou. Also of major importance is the fact that this rejection of Kant by Buber turns, once again, on the ability of the individual, who can mean "freedom and necessity not in the world that are thought of but in the actuality in which I stand before God." God, or the Eternal Thou, is the being whose presence constantly disrupts and renders meaningless the Kantian form of knowledge and superstructure. As the texts themselves indicate, an analysis of knowledge, in the case of Buber, ought to begin with such concepts as "presence," "situation," and "actuality" because they clearly determine the limits of what the individual can know. The attempt to place an ill-fitting superstructure on Buber's epistemology misconceives his point of view. Clearly, meaning for Buber is not based on a logical judgment within a Kantian architectonic, but on an existential decision "to go forth" to one's Thou. This point cannot be underscored enough. A careful reading of the texts sustains the correctness of this interpretation. The point that Professor Katz has so steadfastly clung to, the identifying of Kant's phenomenal/noumenal distinction with Buber's I-It and I-Thou reality, is dealt with by Buber himself. His words stand in total opposition to this identification. Thereis only the one flood fromthe I to the You, evermoreinfinite,the one boundlessflood of actuallife. One cannotdivideone's life betweenan actual relationshipto God and inactualI-It relationshipto the world-praying to God in truthand utilizingthe world.Whoeverknowsthe worldas something to be utilizedknowsGod the sameway. His prayersarea way of unburdening himself-and fall into the ears of the void. He-and not the "atheist"who 25. I and Thou, pp. 143-144.

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LAWRENCE PERLMAN from the night and longingof his garretwindowaddressesthe nameless-is godless.26

There is no dichotomy in Buber's epistemology in the sense in which Kant incorporated one into his description of knowledge. The distinction of the phenomenal and noumenal worlds ultimately collapses for Buber, not in consciousness, but in actual life with God.

The Basis of Buber'sEpistemology My analysis of Buber's remarks concerning Kant demonstrates that Buber is clearly trying to reverse Kant's thinking about the noumenon. Whereas for Kant we can have no knowledge of a supreme Subject, Buber is distinctly allowing for that possibility through relation. As I have demonstrated, the awareness of a supreme Presence is at the heart of each one of his rejections of a fundamental Kantian position. This is the one point of divergence that Katz sees between Kant and Buber. He recognizes that Buber has used a form of nonsensible intuition that Kant will not allow.27But he sees in this usage a desire to be Kantian and more than a Kantian at the same time,28 and not a desire to reject basic Kantian doctrines. The preceding section has shown that a responsible analysis of Buber's position must begin with his rejection of Kantian idealism and his use of existential relations such as "presence," "situation," and "actuality." Even as knowledgeable a critic as Katz has noticed that Buber has transmuted Kant's form of "non-sensible intuition,"29but he has not been able to produce an explanation for this divergence. In fact, he constantly criticizes Buber for a blind acceptance of Kant's epistemology. The evidence marshaled here demonstrates that a vast amount of that criticism is misdirected because Buber has not proposed a dialogical synthesis to parallel Kant's synthesis. If my thesis is correct, then it remains for me to explain how Buber thought he was overcoming the dichotomy of I-It and I-Thou relations.

26. 27. 28. 29.

Ibid., p. 156. Katz, p. 19. Ibid. Ibid.


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This demonstrationwould haveto includetwo majoraspectsto satisfyboth intuitionaland epistemologicalneeds. In other words, it must point to an aspectof Buber'sdialoguein whichGod and mancan possiblyrelateto each other as nonsensiblesubjects.Before I draw this final conclusionI would like to remindthe readerthat I am not rejectingthe claimsKatz and others have madeagainstthe contentlessnatureof revelationaccordingto Buber.I acceptthem and do not consideranythingthat I haveto offeras a correction of that problem. If anything, I would point to greater ambiguitiesthan Buber and others seem to have been awareof in relationto this issue. Buber'sattemptto overcomeany latent Kantianismin his position and an inherentdichotomyin realityhas to be foundin his reportof the Eternal Thou, God. Eachand everycriticismof Kantthat Buberlevelspointsto the ability of God to do somethingin relation to us that is not possible for Kant's noumenonor phenomenonin consciousness.Buber'sreportabout God is not at all similarto Kant'sdescriptionof the "thingin itself."Buber makes this entirelyclear. Unfortunatelyhe does it in only one sentence. Amidstan explanationof the exclusivityof actualrelationshipsin the world, Buber says of the EternalThou, "In the relation to God, unconditional exclusivenessand unconditionalinclusivenessare one."30In relationto God thereis no insidenor is therean outside.God is capableof retaining,in perfect relation,all thingsin theirown being, as they are in themselves.God is wholly other and wholly same accordingto Buber.3'It is Buber'sopinion that God's presenceis unlike any other presence.It maintainsits distance and the proximityof its subjectivityin relation,without favoringone over the other;32God's presenceis a dipolarevent. In it, thereis no waythe particularsas such retain their importanceapart from the relation.33 This reportby Buberis only half of his position.ClearlyBuberdoes not producean explanationor an argumenton behalf of this point. Any such attemptwould be besidethe point for Buber.But, on the other side of the

30. I and Thou, p. 127. 31. Ibid. 32. This is the meaning of the following, "Of course, he is the Mysterium tremendum that appears and overwhelms; but he is also the mystery of the obvious that is closer to me than my own I." Ibid. 33. "For those who enter into the absolute relationship, nothing particular retains any importance--neither things nor beings, neither earth nor heaven-but everything is included in the relationship." Ibid.

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relation from God, man can and must have a way to indicate his encounter with God. This way of indicating the encounter has not been seriously considered and has remained buried as an obscure remark. When considering and rejecting the possibility of an ideal description of the I-Thou encounter, Buber momentarily turns his attention away from the It-world toward the Thou. All this has its place in the It-worldand does not take us one step-out of it. Going forthis unteachablein the senseof prescriptions.It can only be indicated-by drawinga circlethatexcludeseverythingelse.Thenthe one thingneedful becomesvisible:the total acceptanceof the present.34 This text illuminates the central problem of Buber's epistemology. No intellectual prescription, not even a Kantian one, can capture the nature of an I-Thou encounter. But there is one way in which it can be indicated, according to Buber. The drawing of a circle excluding everything else that is not part of the encounter somehow indicates the encounter. Several things must be recognized immediately. This is surely an epistemological claim. Second, it describes knowledge exclusively in terms of a circle. Third, presence, since it is circular and not chainlike, cannot have a deductive character. Presence cannot be approached as a hierarchical chain of a deductive or inductive sort. What does all this mean? It means that Buber claims to see something in the circle that is prior to experience (not part of the It-world) and is neither logical nor necessary in its structure. It is best indicated as a recognition of a pattern. Some things help to form the pattern and some things are extraneous to it, but the extraneous things help to establish a limit or boundary for the pattern even though they are not part of the pattern proper. This is the meaning of the organic image, in which the parts of the circumference of the circle, while not part of the encounter itself, point to what is included in that presence. When the individual goes forth to the relation, he draws a circle around his reality, as it were, to indicate, but not to grasp, his Thou. This solution by Buber stands in absolute opposition to Kant's transcendental schema, which must retain a deductive categorical nature.3

34. Ibid., p. 126. 35. On this point see Kemp Smith, pp. 332-342. I am in agreement with Katz on this issue as it applies to Kant. I think that the transcendental deduction cannot be performed. Katz, p. 18.


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This explanationof the roots of Buber'sepistemologyleaves one major problem unsolved but perhapsin clearerperspective.In rejectingKant's idealismand its attendingarchitectonic,Buberhas opted for an existential dialogue.His distrustof syntheticknowledgehas led himto an epistemology that bypasseseveryknown descriptionof content.He could possiblymaintain a consistentview of consciousnesswereit not for what makeshis view of dialogue so anti-Kantian.He has done more than reject categorical understanding.In his attemptto widenthe scope of knowledgethat allows for directnonsensibleintuitionof God, Buberhas rejectedany understanding that requiresany categoricallyor sensiblydeterminedintellectualcontent. From the point of view of the individualin the relation,he cannot impart anythingin the relation. Yet the focusing of the attention of the individualis to be includedas an aspect of the relation,if we are to take seriously his image of the circle. Herein lies the greatest ambiguity of Buber'sview of dialogue.Moreover,that focusingcannotbe taught.Buber might have taken the position that it could not be taught becauserelation was inherentlyunteachable.He seemsto thinkthis is what he has done. But this is certainlynot the only unusualfacet of his dialogicalphilosophy.He has assertedthat the drawingof a circleis a bona fide way of indicatingthe I-Thouencounter.A circleincludessome content and excludessome other content.Any focusingof attentionindicatesa relianceon whatBuberwould call the It-world, because it implies a selecting of objects or experiences based on some view of content. But accordingto his own criteria,Buber thinks he has indicateda form of dialoguethat cannot be taught because there is no specificcontentpeculiarto it, thereis nothingspecificto teach. While he may have seen these as positivefeatures,they risk collapseinto a chaos that would renderhis dialoguea meaninglessgesture.Most importantlyfor our inquiry,thesefeaturesof his dialogicalphilosophypointto the fact that Buberis thoroughlycriticalof Kant'smetaphysics.In no way does he assumethe essentialvalidityof Kant's architectonicand use that architectonic as "the a priori theoreticalconstellationof the dialogical structure."36

My examinationof Buber leads in an entirely differentdirection. It points to the assumptionin Buberiandialoguethat beliefs,concepts,grammaticalrules,and linguisticpracticesare not partof the relationshipto an I. Theseare all elementsof the It relation,or of experiencewhichis neverpart

36. Katz, p. 18.

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of a continuum with the Thou relation. The dichotomy of It and Thou must always be fully retained if Buber's thought is to be consistent. On the other hand this dichotomy leads not to a systematic use of the Kantian architectonic, but to a Schleiermachian dependence on intuition." Any reading of Buber that disregards his anti-Kantianism and his reliance on intuition will subvert the existential elements of Buber's dialogue, which bypass the constituitive Kantian mode of knowing. To attempt to read Buber as a Kantian and then bewail his lack of systematic thinking does little to explicate the significance of the dialogical principle, no matter how flawed we may ultimately think it is. BrandeisUniversity Waltham,Mass.

37. For a thorough examination of Schleiermacher'sdescription of religious experience, see W. Proudfoot, Religious Experience (Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1985).

Lawrence Perlman's "Buber's Anti-Kantianism": A Reply Author(s): Steven T. Katz Source: AJS Review, Vol. 15, No. 1 (Spring, 1990), pp. 109-117 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486465 . Accessed: 02/07/2011 16:32 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].



LAWRENCEPERLMAN'S "BUBER'S ANTI-KANTIANISM": A REPLY by STEVEN T. KATZ

The essential argument of Lawrence Perlman's critique of my essay "Martin Buber's Epistemology: A Critical Appraisal"' is that I have misunderstood Buber insofar as I claim that his dialogical philosophy is largely Kantian in structure. In response it must be said that Perlman has worked hard to make his case-but finally it is unconvincing, even seriously misleading, because it rests on a triple misunderstanding, i.e., a misunderstanding of Kant, of Buber, and of Katz. Let me be clear, to begin, that my essay dealt primarily, as Perlman rightly notes, with structural issues. Here I repeat, for the sake of simplicity, my earlier comment that Perlman quotes on the first page of his essay. ThoughBuberdoes notprovideanythinglike the elaboratearchitectonicargumentsof the first Critiqueit is evidentthat he assumestheiressentialvalidity. Thisimplicitassumption,in fact, providesthe a prioritheoreticalconstellation of the dialogicalstructure.2 1. In my Post-Holocaust Dialogues: Critical Studies in Modern Jewish Thought(New York, 1983), pp. 1-51. 2. Ibid., pp. 8-9.

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Perlman, in response to this schematic description, wishes to show that my construal is incorrect. And he proposes to show this by "bring[ing] evidence to the contrary," evidence that represents "a significant reversal or undercutting of his [Buber's] reliance on some central Kantian positions." and Perlman goes on: It is my claim that Buber'sunderstandingof the I-Thourelationundermines any possible relianceon Kant's metaphysics.Kant's noumenaand Buber's Thou are not relatedas a foundationis to the rest of the edifice,as Katz suggests. In other words there is much more to Buber'sThou than a borrowed structuraldependencebased on Kant's noumena,and this additionalaspect outweighsall structuraldependencies. This counterattack, however, fails for at least the following reasons: 1. Perlman relies on Buber's claims to be an anti-Kantian, but these are in need of scrutiny-indeed this is the point of the entire exercise-and cannot be taken, as Perlman naively does, at face value. 2. Perlman's reading of Buber's comment in I and Thou reveals a profound ignorance of Kant's view and an uncritical reading of Buber's position.3 Only this incorrect reading of Kant and Buber allows Perlman to juxtapose Kant and Buber as he does. That is to say, Kant does not hold that there is only a "world of appearances" as Perlman suggests, based on his decoding of Buber. Rather, just like Buber, Kant knows there is a reality-the world-that exists independently of sensation and consciousness. This is the noumenal reality. However, and again exactly like Buber, i.e., Buber's Kantianism, Kant argues that this noumenal reality is known to us, given the sorts of beings we are, in specific, usually, though not always (I will return to this point), phenomenal forms. That is, Kant is not a Berkeleyan idealist; at least he believes himself not to be and is critical of what he takes to be Berkeley's subjective idealism, which seems, in certain ways, solipsistic. Buber shares-borrows-Kants view exactly when he writes, as Perlman quotes him: "The world, to be sure, appears twofold to us in accordance with our twofold attitude." Buber, like Kant, posits the existence of an independent world but also, simultaneously, demands that our knowledge of this external world is dependent on our forms of knowing. There is no real anti-

3. See the Walter Kaufmann trans. of I and Thou (New York, 1970), p. 125.

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Kantianism in this Buberian proposition-even if we substitute the Buberian term relation for knowing. Note: Buber specifically uses the terms appear and attitude to describe the cause of the two alternative ways the world is known by us. Contra Perlman this does not, therefore, constitute a "[non] Kantian view of the world." Let me add for purposes of clarification and elucidation, as this seems to be at the root of Perlman's error, that for Kant there is also, to use Perlman's phrase, "no distinct world of appearances," as if such a "world of appearances" existed independently of the knowing self, or in Buber's language, outside of "our twofold attitude." 3. Perlman's assertion that "Katz's criticism that Buber, like Kant, denies reality to space-time is entirely baseless" is based on a completely false understanding of my exegesis of both Buber and Kant. What I argue, as anyone who knows his Kant will readily concur with, is that space-time as we know and employ it is, for both Kant and Buber, a product of consciousness, or using Buber's technical idiom, the consequence of I-It relation. Perlman, for some reason that is not at all clear, rejects this as "entirely baseless." But contra Perlman, Buber explicitly tells us in I and Thou: Whoeversays You [Thou]does not havesomethingfor his object.For wherever thereis somethingthereis anothersomething;everyIt borderson other Its; It is only by virtueof borderingon others.But whereYou [Thou]is said this is no something,You [Thou]has no borders.Whoeversays You [Thou] does not have something;he has nothing. But he stands in relation.4 This Buberian pericope requires no elaborate exegesis beyond noting the chain of thought involved. The I creates either It or Thou relationships. In one, I-It, the I simultaneously employs spatio-temporal forms of understanding to order the relationship. In the other, I-Thou, relationship, the I does not so employ the spatio-temporal forms; indeed this is one of the defining requirements of I-Thou relationship. And it is in this Kantian sense that I read Buber as "denying reality to space-time." To reinforce this exegesis I cite another elaboration of Buber's on this theme. When I confronta humanbeingas my You [Thou]and speakthe basicword I-You [I-Thou]to him, he is no thing among things nor does he consist of 4. Ibid., p. 55. I have added the more usual term Thou in brackets for Kaufmann's term You.

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things. He is no longer He or She, limitedby otherHes or Shes, a dot in the world grid of space and time, nor a conditionthat can be experiencedand described,a loose bundleof namedqualities.Neighborlessand seamless,he is You [Thou]and fills the firmament.... And even as prayeris not in time but time in prayer,the sacrificenot in spacebut space in sacrifice-and whoever reversesthe relation annuls the reality-I do not find the humanbeing to whom I say You [Thou]in any Sometimeand Somewhere.I can place him there... but immediatelyhe becomesa He or a She, an It, andlongerremains a You [Thou],5 Buber's understanding is thoroughly, perfectly, Kantian. Space-time, as we know and utilize it, is a product of our mode of relationship to things, varying from I-It to I-Thou relationship; and in fact as we have seen, it is not applicable to I-Thou relations. Or to put it another way, Buber is no realist (in the technical philosophical sense) vis-a-vis space-time. Though avoiding any real presentation of Buber's position Perlman still feels free to assert: Whatevera detailedexaminationof twofoldednesswould yield, it could not be mistaken for an ideal constructionsimilar to Kant's noumenal/ phenomenalconstruction.Twofoldednessis a wayof relatingand not an act of judgmentin consciousnessas it is for Kant. But here again Perlman is taken in by appearances. For did not Buber, in the passage just quoted, instruct us that "I do not find the human being to whom I say You [Thou] in any Sometime and Somewhere," though he goes on to acknowledge, contra Perlman, that "I can place him there"?And how do I do this? By the attitude (Buber's own term) I adopt. Here I would call attention to the abiding nature of this Buberian idealist commitment, as evidenced in his little-studied but philosophically significant work "Distance and Relation." Employing the Kantian notion of the "transcendental unity of apperception" in his own dialogical way-without mentioning Kant-Buber describes the act of "setting things at a distance" and "entering into relation" with them in these terms: We may characterizethe act and the work of enteringinto relationwith the

5. Ibid., p. 59.

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worldas such-and, therefore,not with partsof it, and not withthe sum of its parts, but with it as the world-as synthesizingapperception,by which we establishthat this pregnantuse of the conceptinvolvesthe functionof unity: by synthesizingapperceptionI mean the apperceptionof a being as a whole and as a unity.Sucha view is won, and won againand again,only by looking upon the world as a world. The conceptionof wholenessand unity is in its origin identicalwith the conceptionof the worldto whichman is turned.He who turns to the realmwhich he has removedfrom himself,and which has beencompletedand transformedinto a world-he who turnsto the worldand looking upon it steps into relationwith it, becomesawareof wholenessand unityin such a way that fromthen on he is ableto graspbeingas a wholeness and a unity.6 Buber could not be more revealing on the idealistic presuppositions, i.e., the role of human consciousness, in creating the world as we know it and as we enter into relationship with it. He tells us: It is only manwho replacesthis unsteadyconglomeration,whoseconstitution is suited to the lifetimeof the individualorganism,by a unity which can be imaginedor thought by him as existing for itself. With soaring power he reachesout beyondwhatis givenhim, flies beyondthe horizonandthe familiar stars,and graspsa totality.With him, with his humanlife, a worldexists. The meetingof naturalbeingwith the livingcreatureproducesthose moreor less changingmassesof usablesensedata whichconstitutethe animal'srealm of life. But only fromthe meetingof naturalbeingwith man does the new and enduringarise,that whichcomprehendsand infinitelytranscendsthe realm.7 Again, in a second essay in the same collection, entitled "Man and His Image-Work," Buber writes: Man belongsin naturenot merelywith his vital acts, not merelyas one who moves, but also as one who perceives.My perceptionis, withoutprejudiceto all spirituallyarisingfrommy beinga subject,a naturalact in which"I"andx take part. Let us proceedconfidentlyfrom x, from its unfathomabledarkness:its beinghas intercoursewith my beingwhenit dispatchesto my sensesthe repre6. Buber,"Distanceand Relation,"in TheKnowledgeof Man,ed. M. Friedman(1966),pp.

62-63. 7. Ibid., p. 61.

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sentativesto whichscientificlanguagehas lentthe ambiguousnameof stimuli, and out of our intercoursearise the clearlyoutlined forms that people my sense world in colour and sound. It itself, the sense world, arisesout of the intercourseof being with being. Whichconnectionscorrespondin the ontic of x to the forms of this our world?We know nothingabout it. But when we gaze into the life-depthsof our perception,we learn that here as everywhereformingis not a making. Fromeach unrealizableconnectionin the x-worldthereshoots upwardto us a multiplicity,just those so-calledstimuli;it is as if it disintegratedinto these stimuliin orderto reachus. But here each multiplicityentersinto a formed unity,my sensesworktogetherwithit in close association-and the particular lindenstandsbeforeme. Indeed,eventhe rustlingand fragranceis not merely in and on it; it itself rustlesand smells,and it is it itself that I feel when my handtouchesits bark.Fromthe whollyunsensibleconnectionin x that meets me the wholly sensiblecorrespondencehas arisenthat now standsin its place as a being in nature,with its existencedependenton me and those like me. Evenwhen I wanderin the desertand nowherea form offersitself to my eye, evenwhena crudenoisestrikesmyear,theretakesplacein my perception binding and limiting,joining and rhythmizing,the becomingof a formed unity. The truer, the more existentiallyreliablyit takes place, so much the more, in all realmsof sense,is observationtransformedinto vision. Visionis figuratingfaithfulnessto the unknownand does its workin co-operationwith it. It is faithfulnessnot to the appearance,but to being-to the inaccessible with which we associate.8 Can anyone reading these Buberian propositions about dialogical relationship be skeptical regarding his profound indebtedness to Kant and the neoKantian tradition? Put another way, relationship for Buber is, in fact, a dispositional or attitudinal stance involving many attributes--nearly all of which are derived from his inherited Kantian schemata of phenomenal and noumenal reality. 4. Perlman's claim that his position is somehow proved by Buber's critique of I-It, on behalf of I-Thou relation, is odd. Buber's criticism is no different than Kant's, it is certainly not un-Kantian. Kant argues that noumenal experience, which for him is gained primarily in our knowledge of ourselves as free beings (with all this means for the nature and possibility of ethics in Kant), is fundamentally different than phenomenal knowledge 8. Buber, "Man and His Image-Work," in Knowledge of Man, pp. 157-158.

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exactly because, to use Buber's idiom, quoted but misunderstood by Perlman, "The unlimited sway of causality of [the] I-It world ... is not felt to be oppressive by the man not confined to the It-world but free to step out of it." Kant calls this stepping out noumenal experience and grounds his entire anthropology in just this possibility. Buber calls this stepping out I-Thou relation. But both Kant and Buber agree that there is a reality that men and woman can and do experience that is not limited to the world of causality/ I-It. That Perlman thinks this provides any grounds for his position is simply an error in his decipherment of Kant's view. I add that even Buber's language quoted by Perlman, i.e., Buber's phrase referring to "the capacity for decision. Whoever makes a decision is free," echoes, and emerges from, the Kantian emphasis on the autonomous will as the supreme evidence of the existence of noumenal reality and its presence in our lives. 5. Perlman's account of Kant's notion of the synthesizing powers of consciousness and Buber's supposedly different notion of relationship is thoroughly muddled. Its essential error is to confuse what Kant says about phenomena with what Buber says about I-Thou. That is, the proper analogy is Kant's noumenal and Buber's Thou. And here, contra Perlman, their observations concur rather than diverge. Kant, like Buber, sees the self working differently in the noumenal reality than it does in the phenomenal reality. This, by definition, is what constitutes the ontological disjuncture between the two realms. The quotation that Perlman reproduces from IThou says exactly this as any Kantian would. Or described from within the Kantian context, the reason that Kant distinguishes between pure and practical reason is due to his firm premise that noumenal/ Thou awareness is to be radically distinguished from phenomenal/It knowledge. Let me also note that Perlman's claim that "What we know in [Buberian] relation is not a matter of how we know, as it is for Kant" is absurd. Is not the difference of It and Thou relationships wholly a matter of how we relate to the Other. This, indeed, is Buber's essential claim. The worldis twofoldin accordancewith ourtwofold attitude.The attitudeof man is twofold, in accordancewith the twofold natureof the primarywords which he speaks . .Primary . words do not describesomethingthat might exist independentlyof them, but being spoken they bring about existence.9

9. I and Thou, trans. Gregor Smith (New York, 1958), p. 3 (emphasis added).

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And again, "the way he says I," Buber declaims, "what he means when he says I-decides where a man belongs and where he goes. The word 'I' is the true shibboleth of humanity" (I and Thou, Kaufmann trans., p. 115). Buber strikes this chord so repeatedly in I and Thou, and elsewhere, that it is difficult to understand how it could be misconstrued. 6. Perlman is correct that Buber paradoxically, i.e., self-contradictorily, fills out the presentation of the Thou world far more than Kant does the noumenal world. But I had already made this point, as Perlman acknowledges, and this filling out is what Buber has in common with many postKantians from Schleiermacher on. But this is not a criticism of my argument. Moreover Perlman misunderstands, as has now become habitual, what Kant's position is at this juncture. When Perlman connects Buber's comment about the man "reconciled to the It-world" with Kant, he is simply engaging in shallow polemics. Kant's aim was exactly the reverse, i.e., like Buber his ambition was, as the title of his first and greatest work indicates, to Critiquepure reason and to make room, as Kant himself said, "for faith." And this was no idle or defensive remark, as a reading of the second half of the first Critique, the whole of the second and third Critiques (of Practical Reason and Judgment), and his Religion within the Bounds of Reason makes self-evident. Here Perlman is right that Buber intends that "relation leaves categorical thinking behind." But he is wrong to think this individuates Buber's account from Kant's rather than showing its thorough dependence upon it. For Kant, what Perlman calls "the categorical conditions of the mind" also "lose their significance in the face of the noumenal" (Perlman writes here of Buber and uses the term "You" where I employ the apposite Kantian terminology). 7. Perlman's argument that turns on his understanding of what Kant means by a priori synthetic judgments is wholly irrelevant because (a) he simply does not understand what Kant means by this notion, and why he is interested in it; and (b) his effort to use Buber's comments about antinomies as a rejection of Kant's concerns is a non sequitur. Here I will produce no further extended counterargument, as Perlman's error is equivalent to adding 2 plus 2 and getting 5. 8. Perlman's claim that "God, or the Eternal Thou, is the being whose presence constantly disrupts and renders meaningless the Kantian form of knowledge and superstructure" is false. It rests, again, on failing to adequately distinguish what Kant himself has to say about the difference between noumena and phenomena on the one hand and God on the other.

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When Perlman polemically asserts: "Clearly, meaning for Buber is not based on a logical judgment within a Kantian architectonic, but on an existential decision 'to go forth to One's Thou,' " he is involved in seductive but misleading intellectual shadow-boxing. The correct way to understand Buber's thesis is not as an either/or over against Kant's Weltanschauung, but rather as an acceptance of that ontology, and then, withinit, to opt for a particular existential act as defined and delimited by that larger inherited metaphysical matrix. 9. I will refrain from commenting in detail on the last third of Perlman's essay, in which he attempts to develop his own non-Kantian reading of Buber's epistemology, as it does not directly deal with my own work, which is the subject of this reply. However, I think my observations, reservations, and criticisms to this point indicate that anyone meditating on Perlman's reconstruction ought to do so with great care. CornellUniversity Ithaca, N.Y.

Review: Of Rhetoric, Revelry, and Rabbis Author(s): Ross Brann Source: AJS Review, Vol. 15, No. 1 (Spring, 1990), pp. 119-132 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486466 . Accessed: 02/07/2011 16:32 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].



REVIEWESSAY OF RHETORIC, REVELRY,AND RABBIS by ROSS BRANN

Raymond P. Scheindlin. Wine, Women,and Death: Medieval Hebrew Poems on the Good Life. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1986. x, 204 pp. At first blush, the courtier-rabbis of the Andalusian Hebrew "Golden Age" (ca. 950-1150) seem a most improbable breed of literati and an even more unlikely brand of clerics. On the one hand, they were deeply attached to Jewish tradition and meticulous in their observance of Jewish law; on the other, they were aficionados of Arabic paideia in Hebrew dress. How is it that an entire class of rabbinic scholars could have come to embrace Arabic rhetoric and style to the point of composing bacchic Hebrew wine songs or, more remarkably, lyrical songs of love for beloved "gazelles," male as well as female? Thematic innovations such as these signify but one dimension of the new direction in which the poets took Jewish culture and Hebrew litera-

This review article was accepted for publication in 1987 and scheduled to appear in Vol. 13. The editors regret that its publication was delayed.

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ture. From the formal point of view Andalusian Hebrew poetry was an even bolder innovation, its peculiar fusion of biblical Hebrew locution with Arabic prosody and style a deviation from traditional poetic norms. It took a good deal of ingenuity and a willingness to compromise both Arabic quantitative meters and principles of Hebrew grammar, but the first two generations of Golden Age poets managed to transpose the distinctive prosodic patterns of Arabic to biblical Hebrew. Dfinash ben Labrdt (mid-tenth century), the first poet of the school, tinkered with only eight different meters. Within fifty years of Dfinash. Samuel the Nagid (993-1056) would employ no fewer than sixty-one meters-fourteen basic meters each with several variations. How, one wonders, could the poets have felt at ease superimposing the prosodic norms, thematic framework, and style of Arabic poetry upon the sacred language of their Scripture? Such troublesome questions of motive and consciousness cannot be discounted as the product of our own insatiable (and often inventive) quest for contradictions. No sooner had the poets begun "to chirp in the days of Hasdai [ibn Shaprfit] the Nasi" than opposing voices were heard within and without the community of poets. Indeed, even during the heyday of the school, the poet Moses ibn Ezra (ca. 1055-1138) criticized his more irascible contemporaries for their excesses with a conventional motif (e.g., hijd' [invective]), and no less a Hebrew poet than Judah ha-Levi (1075-1141) assailed the Hebraicized Arabic meters with which he had spellbound the Jews of al-Andalus. A third apparent paradox of the Andalusian literary-creativeprocess lies in the juxtaposition of the poets' secular verse with their piyyulim, a different species of Hebrew poetry appealing to a traditional set of ideals. Andalusian liturgical and devotional poetry (whose volume dwarfs the secular diwdns) was deeply influenced by the style and prosody of secular verse, but it was an ennobling and sublime rather than entertaining poetry given over to the communal or individual passion to draw closer to God. As liturgical poets the courtier-rabbis of the Golden Age strike us as "poets of high seriousness" seeking Truth; but as secular poets they present themselves as "poets of wit and whimsy," that is, as skilled practitioners of the art of manipulating language and hence reality. These two literary art forms, one inspirational, the other pleasurable, accommodated the courtier-rabbis' opposing world-views. But it should not seem odd if in actual practice they combined the serious with the playful and trifling, and the sacred with the profane. The ideal man lived in both worlds and found the ambiguity most attractive.

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Conventional scholarship has consistently interpreted the poets' Arabicizing style and extravagant indulgences with the language of Scripture as manifestations of "cultural nationalism." This is not an unwarranted conclusion when we consider that the poets frequently claimed to be defending the honor of Hebrew against the inimitable model of Arabic. To be sure, an ideology of Hebraism did sweep the Jewish literati of Andalusia in response to the regnant ideal of al-'arabiyya (Arabism). Jewish intellectuals were most anxious to demonstrate the eloquence of the Hebrew language and the stylistic elegance of the Hebrew Bible because it was no longer sufficient to simply regard Scripture as the true divine revelation. For the Hebrew Bible to compete with the "inimitable" Qur'in it now had to be seen as both beautiful andpersuasive;that is, it had to stand out as a paradigm of aesthetic and rhetorical perfection. Philologists, grammarians, and exegetes took upon themselves the responsibility of rereading the Hebrew Bible in light of these new stylistic ideals (as well as in light of medieval rationalism). Poets found another way in which to contribute. Since Arabic scribes and poets freely dabbled in turning classical Arabic speech into Arabic poetry, it was only a matter of time until Jewish secretaries and courtiers would try their hand at Hebrew versifying in the new style. For all its thematic revelry in wine, women, young men, and song, the true pleasures of Golden Age Hebrew poetry come from its stylistic luster. It is often inadequately understood that the Hebrew poets were entranced by a rhetorical ideal of life perfectly suited to courtly culture. The purpose of this ideal, as it had been in late antiquity, was "to create pleasure and to win approval."' Poetry was a vehicle of entertainment, a means of generating literary pleasure as well as making an impression in the world of the court. This concept of literature and the attitude toward language it embodies (ornatus) were far removed from the manner in which the poets understood language as scholars of Jewish law or the way they employed it in their liturgical compositions.2 The secular poem was thought of as a construct that came about when the poet decorated autonomous themes with the tricks of his trade-rhetorical ornamentation. A poet's originality and brilliance thus

1. Werner Jaeger, Paideia: The Ideals of Greek Culture(Oxford, 1944), 2:144, cited by R. A. Lanham, The Motives of Eloquence: Literary Rhetoric in the Renaissance (New Haven, 1976), p. 3 n. 1. 2. The rhetoric found in liturgical and devotional poetry is, in theory, purposeful rather than playful. It is rhetoric in service of a higher ideal rather than rhetoric for its own sake.

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lay in his ingenious refinement of convention, in his dazzling wordplay and puns, in his zestful ploys and literary ruses. A delightful illustration of how the rhetorical impulse contributed to the creation of Andalusian Hebrew poetry is the account of a literary dare preserved in the dtwdnof Samuel the Nagid.3 Yehosef ha-Nagid's (Samuel's son and editor) superscriptions relate how the Nagid was in attendance at a literary gathering during which some luscious apples were served. To one of the poets in the group the apples suggested a piquant line of Arabic verse (on the theme of apples and love), which naturally he recited. Quite in keeping with courtly etiquette, a second poet attempted a poetic Hebrew "translation." The company then apparently goaded the Nagid into composing a Hebrew rendition of the original line, whereupon Samuel improvised not one but two versions. A moment later the Nagid upstaged himself by extemporaneously rattling off an additional thirteen variations on the theme! This anecdote certainly signifies a master's reputation for virtuosity, and it neatly captures the competitive yet charming ambience of an Andalusian literary circle as well. I prefer to think of it as exemplifying how imaginative thematic leaps were subordinated to fascination with style and figuration, and how rhetorical ornamentation was elevated to a principle of the poet's art.4

For all its many pleasures, medieval Hebrew literature (both poetry and rhymed prose) can be an exacting and elusive form of literary discourse on account of its intricate language and style. To command its texts one must first know how the poets construed the language of the Hebrew Bible and how they constructed medieval Hebrew on the basis of that classical linguistic paradigm. This means that medieval exegetical texts as well as lexicographic and linguistic literature must be open books to the student of medieval Hebrew poetry. Correspondingly, the model of Arabic poetry and poetics and the influence of the Arabic language on medieval Hebrew are profound. The latter matrix affected Hebrew syntax and semantics; the former dictated the tropology, motifs, prosody, and rhetorical style. These areas of inquiry

3. Diwan shemu'el ha-nagid; Ben Tehillim, ed. D. Yarden (Jerusalem, 1966), pp. 274-278. The anecdote is related in the superscriptions to poems 114-128. 4. A similar argument can be made to explain the poets' fondness for tajnts (paranomasia) mannerisms (cf. Moses ibn Ezra's Sefer ha'anaq), epigrams (cf. the Nagid's Ben mishlei), and other such "exquisite trifles."


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and discourse do not even take into account the social, political, and intellectual history of the Jews of the Iberian peninsula or of adjacent Islamic domains, all of which is requisite knowledge for anyone hoping to approach Andalusian Hebrew poetry on intimate terms. And increasingly we are finding that Romance and Provenqal literary traditions may be able to illuminate aspects of Hebrew literary creativity in Spain (from the twelfth century onward) that cannot be explained within the framework of Islamic society and Arabic culture. This formidable syllabus suggests that medieval Hebrew poetry merits consideration as something more than a national literature. But paradoxically, due to the demands it imposes on the reader and perhaps on account of its often eccentric mannerisms, "popularity" and a secure place in any canon have eluded it. Following the demise of the Golden Age, Andalusian Hebrew poetry was kept alive by exclusive circles of connoisseurs. Medieval copyists in Christian Spain, Provence, Italy, Yemen, and Iraq quietly culled and transmitted the secular dfwans of the Andalusian masters.5 They preserved this poetry in manuscript, imitated it, synthesized and transformed its traditions, and in the end created their own styles of Hebrew poetry in both secular and liturgical composition. If they often seem unduly infuenced by the Andalusians' inflated claims to literary preeminence, it is because these "outsiders" were indoctrinated by writers such as Moses ibn Ezra, Judah al-Harizi, and Abraham ibn Daud and by the itinerant cultural propagandist Abraham ibn Ezra. Subsequent generations of Mediterranean and Yemeni Hebrew writers were infatuated with the Golden Age paradigm but selective in their appropriation of it. Yemeni Jewish society, for instance, was governed by a cultural conservatism foreign to the Andalusian ethos. Its poets devoted themselves exclusively to piyyul, though they drew upon the figures of Andalusian secular verse for their sacred songs. By contrast, Hebrew poets in Italy occasionally mimicked the Andalusians, but mostly they were busy incorporating the latest Renaissance and baroque literary fashions into Hebrew. Post-Andalusian medieval and Renaissance Hebrew poets may not have written Golden Age-style Hebrew verse, but they studied their

5. The transmission of secular Hebrew poetry in the Middle Ages is studied by Hayyim Schirmann, "Secular Hebrew Poetry in the Geniza Manuscripts" [Heb.], in Te'uda I: Cairo Geniza Studies, ed. M. Friedman (Tel Aviv, 1980), pp. 97-123. See also Joseph Yahalom and Isac Benabu, "Towards a History of the Transmission of Secular Hebrew Poetry from Spain" [Heb.], Tarbi; 54 (1985): 245-262.

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Andalusian literary forebears and looked to their writings as a neoclassical model of Hebrew aesthetics and poetics down to the Haskalah (European Jewish Enlightenment). Nineteenth-century early-modern Jewish scholarship then discovered the "historical relevance" of medieval Hebrew poetry in both its secular and its liturgical forms. Research into the field of medieval Hebrew literature in general and Andalusian Hebrew poetry in particular can now be said to have moved out of the shadow of its primitive stages. Textual reconstruction of the Hebrew dfwdnsis not yet complete,6 but invigorated by the literary finds in the Cairo Genizah it is a task well in hand. Our understanding of the normative poetics of the Andalusian school has progressed well beyond the onedimensional descriptive poetics of David Yellin,7 due primarily to the late Dan Pagis's stylistic analysis of Moses ibn Ezra and the interrelationship between literary theory and poetry in that poet's work.s While literarycritical studies of specific texts have lagged, somewhat impressive advances have come in literary-historical and literary-theoretical studies. The first chapter of Pagis's Change and Traditionin the Secular Poetry, for instance, established the fundamental diachronic framework for further inquiry into Andalusian Hebrew verse.9 Pagis was the first scholar to synthesize what had been learned about the sociohistorical context of Hebrew poetry since weshirah Joseph Weiss's brief but seminal essay "Tarbut h.agranit h.agranit" to be Hebrew verse ought (1947),1o in which it was argued that Golden Age understood as reflecting the setting and values of courtier society in Islamic Spain. Hayyim Schirmann can be said to have applied this approach to the poetry in all of his work, but until Pagis no scholar had attempted to articulate a comprehensive statement of what was known of the innate connection between secular Hebrew poetry and Jewish society. Scholars of medieval Hebrew poetry, responding to Pagis's cue as well as to developments in contemporary literary theory, are increasingly interested in the broad sociohistorical context from which Andalusian Hebrew poetry 6. New critical editions of the diwans (that is, the secular poetry) of Judah ha-Levi and Abraham ibn Ezra are major desiderata. 7. See Yellin, Introductionto the Hebrew Poetry of the Spanish Period [Heb.] (Jerusalem, 1932). 8. See Pagis, Secular Poetry and Poetic Theory: Moses ibn Ezra and His Contemporaries [Heb.] (Jerusalem, 1970). 9. Change and Tradition in the Secular Poetry: Spain and Italy [Heb.] (Jerusalem, 1976). 10. Proceedings of the World Congress of Jewish Studies 1 (1947): 396-403.


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derives and obversely in the relationshipbetween its discourse and the society the poets served."This directionin criticalperspectivehas brought about a profound change in the kinds of questions asked of medieval Hebrewpoetryand consequentlyin the methodsemployedto readit. For all theirimpressiveerudition,earlierscholars,withthe exceptionof Schirmann, demonstratedlittle in the way of what we would call literarysensibility. They variouslyregardedmedievalHebrewliterarytexts as quasi-documentary source materialfor the sociopoliticalhistory of SpanishJewry, as a philological resourcefor the history of Hebrewlinguistics,as proof-texts from which the poets' biographiesmight be reconstructed,and as the basis for source-criticalannotation of biblical and rabbinicHebrew allusions embeddedin the poems or source-criticalinquiryinto the Arabic models fromwhich Hebrewpoets worked.A modifiedversionof the source-critical approach still lingers because some scholars are intent upon exhuming either biblicalallusionsor non-Hebraicsourcesas the key to the composition of the text. Suchwork has been undeniablyuseful,but it has also been misleadingand seeminglyunawareof its own premises. Apologeticor ideologicalagendashavealso cloudedresearchinto Andalusian Hebrewpoetry ever since it assumeda place of honor in the "civilized" canon of nineteenth-centuryJewish scholarship. Early-modern scholars,disdainfulof the austerepiety of piyyul, appropriatedthe secular poetry of the Golden Age as a historicalmodel of enlightenedJewishculture. To a certainextentthe tableshaveturned,for it is now assertedthat in the span of things Jewishthe Andalusianschool was but a fad, the passing fancy of a distinctclass of Jews. Accordingto this revisionistlogic, shirat ha-bolmay be relegatedto an isolatedcornerof Hebrewliteraryhistoryfor two reasons.First,becausethe poets'obsessionwithliteraryelegancebarely found its way to other strata of AndalusianJewish society; and second, becauseGolden Age secularpoetryhad no lastingimpacton the courseof Hebrew literature,in contrastto, say, the Andalusianpiyyul A fall-back position for those unableto deny the vibrancyof secularHebrewpoetryis, as we observed,to sacralizeit by regardingit as the formalliteraryexpression of the new doctrine of cultural nationalism. In this transparently 11. Two interesting applications of this perspective are Joseph Yahalom, "Poetry and Society in Egypt: An Examination Based on the Attitude to Judah ha-Levi's Secular Poetry" [Heb.], Zion 45 (1980): 286-298, and Raymond P. Scheindlin, "Fawns of the Palace and Fawns of the Field," Prooftexts 6, no. 3 (1986): 189-203.

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polemicalview of literature,whatever"authenticity"obtainsin GoldenAge poetryis a functionof its "correct"resistanceto 'arabiyyaand its propagation of the Hebrewlanguageand its Text. A poet like Moses ibn Ezrawho subscribesto bothJewishandArabicculturalnormsis consequentlystigmatized for his "assimilationist"tendencies.12 PaulZumthor'sincisivearticulationof the problemof readingmedieval texts might well be appliedto AndalusianHebrewpoetry:"The ultimate termwe aim for is reallyto bringthe ancienttext into the present,that is, to integrateit into that historicitywhichis ours. The pitfallis that in doing so we may deny or obscureits own historicity:we may foreshortenthe historical perspectiveand, by giving an achronicshape to the past, hide the specifictraits of the present."'3Pagis'ssecond book dispelledmany of the noted above. He showedthat secular generalizationsand misapprehensions medievalHebrewliteraturefrom MuslimSpainto RenaissanceItaly developed continuously;that the popularityof this literatureresultedin its widespreaddisseminationandinfluence;that "culturalnationalism"was but one of a bundleof factorscontributingto the vitalityand successof the school; and that secularHebrewliteraturecoexisted,oftenin "creativedissonance," alongside piyyul.

Raymond Scheindlin'swork also signals an abrupt departurefrom earlierapproaches,a departurewhichpromisesto clarifythe significanceof medieval Hebrew literary texts, amplify the complexity with which we regardthem, and enhance the refinementwith which we can read them today. Scheindlin'smethodsdeftlycircumventboth of Zumthor'sinterpretive time-traps. Like Pagis before him he scrutinizesmedieval Hebrew poetryon its own terms,that is, in light of the conventionsand codes which circumscribethe rangeof meaningsa text mayhave, but with a discriminating, moderncriticaleye toward the structures,contradictions,and social functionof its discourse.He first tested this method in his "Rabbi Moshe

12. For example, N. Allony, "The Reaction of Moses ibn Ezra to 'Arabiyya," Bulletin of the Institute for Jewish Studies 1 (1973): 19-40; and idem, ed., Ya'aqov ben El'azar: Kitab al-kamil (Jerusalem, 1977), pp. 6-8. 13. Paul Zumthor, Speaking of the Middle Ages, trans. S. White, foreword by E. Vance (Lincoln, 1986), p. 33.


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ibn Ezraon the Legitimacyof Poetry"(1975),14an essay which rethought the epistemologicalframeworkwithin which AndalusianHebrew(actually Judeo-Arabic)poeticswas normallyconsidered.Scheindlinshowedthat far from being the ars poetica for which it had alwaysbeen taken, Ibn Ezra's (The Book of Discussion and ConversaKitcb al-muhdkiarawa-'l-mudhcdkara

tion)'5 signified an ambivalentdefense of the poetry of the Andalusian school. His innovation was to regard Ibn Ezra's text as a documentof AndalusianJewishcultureratherthan as a prescriptivebook of poetics.This insight led him to examinethe unusualstructureof the book and the puzzling configurationof its arguments.Now Scheindlinhas broughtthis critical perspectiveto bearon AndalusianHebrewpoetryitself.Accordingto his new book, WVine,Women, and Death: Medieval Hebrew Poems on the Good

Life, the path to understandingthe Andalusianpoets' peculiarblend of poetic sophisticationand traditionalismlies in perceivingthe Jewishculture of al-Andalusas a modelof "creativeacculturation"whichsupported"two opposing principlesof life": this world and its pleasures(dunya),and the world of God and ultimatereality('akhira)(p. 28). Wine, Women,and Deathwas conceivedas an introductionto the literary and culturaluniverseof AndalusianJewryduringthe two hundredyears from 950 until 1150.A few disgruntledreaderswill undoubtedlytake issue with Scheindlinon this account,averringthat so expertand adept a writer as he should direct(that is, restrict)his insightsto a trulyworthyaudience, namelythose who inhabitthe privilegedturretsof the academy.To be sure, the author himself impliesthat his book is intendedfor the novice rather than the initiate.However,I wouldcautioncuriousacademicsnot to be put off by his modesty.In this case the contrastof audiencesmay be somewhat more apparentthan real, because,while the anthologicalform of the book may be popular,its contents are not. Throughoutfour splendidchapters, the authortakesgreatcareto renderhighly"esoteric"materialaccessibleto the nonspecialist,butcomparativists,especiallyArabistsand Hispanistsand even scholars of other epochs in Hebrew literaturewho know of the "GoldenAge" of Hebrewculturein MuslimSpain but find its texts either inaccessibleor forbidding,will discovera "gardenof earthlydelights"in Wine, Women, and Death. 14. Medievaliaet Humanistica.,n.s. 7 (Medieval Poetics), ed. P. Clogan (1976): 101-1 15. 15. Edited by A. S. Halkin under the title Sefer ha'Iyyunim weha-diyyunim (Jerusalem, 1975).

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Scheindlinpresentsthe originals,each with facingversetranslationand a brief analysis, of thirty-onepoems of short to moderatelength evenly allottedbetweenthreechapterheadings.Hebrewwinepoetry,modeledafter the 'Abbisid Arabicgenreof khamriyydt,is the subjectof the firstchapter; Hebrew courtly love poetry, of both the homosexual and heterosexual gender modes, based on the Arabic ghazal genre, constitutesthe second chapter;and meditativeand reflectivepoemsderivedin partfromzuhdiyydt ("ascetic")and gnomic versemake up the third.Eachof the threechapters of poemsis precededby an introductionto the particulargenreand its conventions,includinga discussionof the social settingand intellectualcontext fromwhichthe genreemerged.The genreintroductionsand the texts,translations, and analysesare themselvesprefacedby a concise but penetrating introductionto the period, the poets, and their culture. This framework enablesthe readerto follow the detailof the commentson the poemsas well as to appreciatethe typicallymedievalinterplaybetweenconventionand innovationabout whichthe poets' creativityrevolves.Scheindlin'sanalyses of the poems-highly suggestive textual notes, really-are tantalizingly brief.They have been framedas guidesto readingthe poem ratherthan as exhaustive explications or presumptuous "definitive interpretations." Instead,Scheindlininvitesthe readerto explorevariantEnglishtranslations and other readings.This is a subtle way of emphasizingrespect for the poems and for the process of readingthem anew. Scheindlin'smethodologicalstrokeis to breakdownthe rigidand artificial distinctionsthat have been erectedbetweenHebrewpoetry and other manifestationsof Andalusianculture.Unlike interpreterswho tend to reify the medievalHebrewpoem as a text unto itself,he proposesthat we thinkof the Golden Age poem in relationto the system of culturefrom which it comes. This approachtakes the readerinto the heart of the Andalusian experience:the sights, sound, and smells of the Andalusiangarden;the etiquetteof quaffingat a wine soiree;the mannersof courtlylove; and the idealworldof Neoplatonicphilosophy.Scheindlincracksthe artistic,social, and intellectualcodes the poets employedto producetheirpoetry,and in so doing he has given us a new way of looking at the poems. A literary-intellectual profileof the four most importantHebrewpoets in his of poemssupportsScheindlin'sexpansiveconcollection represented of Hebrew the of relationship poetryto Andalusianculture.Samuelthe cept was a Hebrew grammarian,a rabbinicscholar,an exegete,and in all Nagid likelihooda religiouspolemicist;Solomon ibn Gabiroldevotedhimselfto


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philosophicalstudies,and when he was very young he seems to have been involvedin grammaticalresearch;Mosesibn Ezrawas a philosopher,a literary critic, and a literarytheorist;Judah ha-Levi was a Jewish theologian and a physician;and Abrahamibn Ezra(not representedin the collection) was an exegete, a Hebrewgrammarian,and a scientist.All but the Nagid werealso prolificliturgicalpoets. Knowledge,then,was not so fragmenteda commodityas we are accustomedto think.But even moreto the point is the realizationthat the poetic imaginationwas touchedby virtuallyeverymanner of experience,form of culture,and thought. To the modernsensibility,undoubtedlythe most engagingissue to arise from readingAndalusianHebrewpoetryis the questionof what was meant by its love poetry.Quitenaturally,thereis a desireto graspat the social and biographicalimplications of the lyrics of love. Did the courtier-rabbis actuallydally with maidensand young men, or did they merelyogle them? Or is it correct to regardthe entire genre as the product of the literary imagination,andif so, to whatend?Thesewerequestionsof somesensitivity even duringthe Golden Age. The Nagid's son Yehosef,for instance,introducedhis father'sdiwanwith an apologeticdeclaration:the eroticthemesin Samuel'spoetryare metaphorssignifyingthe love betweenGod and Israel! The genre of love poetry found an adroit defender,though an ambivalent one, in Moses ibn Ezra. Moses maintainedthat love poetry was not inherentlyboundto experience("one could composea [fine]love poem without ever loving"),and hejustifiederoticlanguageand themesby observing that they are well representedin the HebrewBibleand thereforesanctioned by tradition. AndalusianHebrewlove poetryis a subjecthistoricallyapproachedwith caution. Had the Hebrew poets somehow been outsidersto AndalusianJewishsocietyratherthan its courtier-rabbis,I suspectthat the issueof their intentionwould not have becomeso highlycharged.The uniquenessof the poets of the Golden Age is that they stood at the verycenterof Andalusian Jewishsociety, servingas its scholarsand communalleaders.Ignaz Goldziher, the great Islamicist,commentedthat medievalArabicpoetry(whose sukhf [obscenity],Scheindlinnotes, can make Hebrew poetry seem like "chastenessitself") representedsomethingof a protest against the stringency of orthodoxIslamand its hypocrisies.'6Arabicpoets too werealways 16. Muslim Studies, ed. S. M. Stern and translated by C. R. Barber and S. M. Stern (Albany, 1967), vol. 1, pp. 35-36.

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close to the courts,the centersof politicalpowerand patronage.But unlike the courtier-rabbisof Jewish society, they never served as the 'ulamd'of Muslimsociety.The insolentironiesand mock-subversivetones of Hebrew poetry thus presentthe readerwith a differentset of ambiguities. Roughlythirtyyearsago SchirmannandNehemiahAllonylockedhorns in a contentiouspolemic concerningthe extremecase: the significanceof homosexuallove poetry." Essentially,Schirmannreferredto a "literary homosexuality"inspiredby the Arabicmodel. He allowed, however,that the conventionalthematicframeworkbespoke sublimatedfeeling, and he did not ruleout the possibility(remote,he felt)thatthe poemsmightreflect the actualexperienceof somepoets.Allonywouldnot evenconcedethe concept of a "literaryhomosexuality"whenit cameto the rabbisof al-Andalus. The genre,he asserted,was nothingmorethan a stylisticexercise.Thepoets' devotion to Hebrew,the sign of their culturalnationalism,requiredthat they matchArabiceloquenceand rhetoricin everydetailof literaryfashion. Otherscholarshave sinceenteredthe fray,but the termsof the controversy have changedlittle since Schirmannand Allony. Scheindlin'scontributionto this debateis an excellentillustrationof his method for readingall of Golden Age poetry. Following Schirmannand Pagis, he argues that the stylized form and conventionalnature of the materialdo not invalidatethe possibilityof experienceor the sincerityof feelingsexpressed,"whetherthey arise from real love or imaginarylove." Scheindlin,however,redefinesthe issue.The readeris advisedto leaveaside the historicaland biographicalquestionswhichabsorbus, to focus on more relevantliteraryquestions.Whatis the conceptionof love that is expressed in the poems?How did the genreservethe poets' artisticneeds?Scheindlin suggeststhatthe GoldenAge love poemis actuallya ritualcelebrationof the relationshipbetweenan "observerand beautyobserved"ratherthan "that of lover and beloved" (p. 79). Moses Ibn Ezra's muwashshah(strophic poem) "Daddeiyefatto'ar"("Caressa lovelywoman'sbreast")(pp. 90-95) might first appear to be an exquisite specimenof an insolent love song. Scheindlin,however,is ableto demonstratehow the poem proceedsfrom a Neoplatonicworld-viewto lay out "a whole theory of pleasure"in which 17. Jefim Schirmann, "The Ephebe in Medieval Hebrew Poetry," Sefarad 15(1955): 55-68; Nehemiah Allony, "Ha-$evi we-ha-gamal be-shirat sefarad," yehudei sefarad 4 (1961): O;ar 16-43; and idem, "The Zevi [Nasib] in the Hebrew Poetry in Spain," Sefarad 23 (1963): 311-321.


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(ecumenical)beauty is a "rule of life." We are dealingwith a literatureof ideal types in which the individualityof the beloved and the experienceof the poet are secondaryto the communal,that is, the classidealin the service of beauty.Homosexuallove poetry,the authorasserts,is but a variationon the theme of adorationof beauty. I havetriedto suggestthat this book, for all its lack of pretense,is of surpassingimportancebecauseof its inventiveapproachto GoldenAge poetry. Yet it is likely that the book will be recognizedprincipallyfor its translations, which are, arguably,its most distinctiveachievement.Scheindlinhas invested an inordinateamount of ambition, time, and energy in devising ways to renderAndalusianHebrewverse into poetic English. His superb translations seem all the more remarkablewhen compared with prior efforts, which were, with one exception, uninspiredand faulty.'"Only T. Carmi, whose fine The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse (1981)•9 includes a

substantialcorpus of AndalusianHebrew poetry, succeededin rendering this poetryinto meaningfulEnglish.Carmi,a gifted American-bornIsraeli poet, is thoroughlyconversantwith AmericanEnglishidiom and eminently capable of producing poetic translations.However, by renderingprose translationsof the poems he apparentlydeferredto the editorialpolicy of the PenguinAnthologyseries.The resultis that his translationsneatlyconvey the thematiccontentof medievalHebrewversebut leave its formaland stylistic elements,which is to say its elegance,fallow by comparison. Aspectsof medievalHebrewpoetrypreviouslyhiddenfromthe readerin translationcan now be studied from Scheindlin'sdiaphanousrenderings. For example,the sound of rhetoricallybalancedword-playand the rhythmic "rise and fall" of every verse toward its inevitablemonorhymewere sensations essential to the experienceof hearing a medieval Hebrew or Arabicpoem. To captureaffectsand effectssuch as these, the authorsacrifices lexical precisionand normalsyntax in orderto recreatethe style and tone of the Hebrew. To simulate rhythm he employs familiar English rhythms(mostlya varietyof iambicmeters),and for idiomshe drawsupon various registersof English,from the archaic(but not arcane)to the decidedly contemporary("Altogetherwasted me" [p. 103]). Since, as I have 18. See, for example, Leon J. Weinberger, Jewish Prince in Moslem Spain: Selected Poems of Samuel ibn Nagrela (Tuscaloosa, Ala., 1973), and David Goldstein, The Jewish Poets of Spain, revised and expanded edition (New York, 1971). 19. New York, 1981.

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tried to make clear, the medieval Hebrew poem prizes the rhetorical style in which the poet recasts the conventional materials that are its content, Scheindlin's translations are truly poetic because they are calculated to suggest the sound as well as the sense of the original texts. Readers who know Hebrew may debate the translator's liberties with a given line, but they would find it baffling to counter his philosophy of translation or its execution with another model as apposite to the stylistic nuances of Andalusian Hebrew verse. To return briefly to the issue of audience: One of Scheindlin's avowed purposes in writing the book was to elicit interest in the Golden Age as a paradigm of creative cultural interaction (p. ix). It is not so much that he aims to "enlarge the canon" of Hebrew literature, which too often is restricted to the Hebrew Bible and modern Israeli letters. Rather, he inducts readers into the literary pleasures of medieval Hebrew poetry in the hope of persuading contemporary Jewry that creative cultural interaction between Jews and non-Jews is both desirable and possible without compromising what he loosely refers to as "Jewish identity." He serves notice that his "intention is not apologetic," but his statement of purpose at least (articulated in the foreword, introduction, and afterword) seems somewhat argumentative. Finally, Wine, Women, and Death is brimming with confidence in language, learning, and life-the very elements that engrossed the elites of Muslim Spain with such vitality. The reader is treated to a sense of the enchantment with language and literature and the enthralling power of beauty to which all of the peoples of al-Andalus were keenly attuned. At every turn it is obvious that the author shares these values, and he communicates them to his readers in a prose style that is masterfully artful while seemingly effortless. Readers enlightened by Scheindlin's approach to Andalusian secular Hebrew poetry will wait impatiently for the companion volume in which he promises to cast his scholarly spell on the liturgical and devotional poetry composed by the same courtier-rabbis who in their worldly guise reveled in the lyrics of love and death. CornellUniversity Ithaca, N.Y.

Review: [untitled] Author(s): Stephen D. Benin Source: AJS Review, Vol. 15, No. 1 (Spring, 1990), pp. 133-136 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486467 . Accessed: 02/07/2011 16:32 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].



BOOK REVIEWS Abraham Halkin and David Hartman. Crisis and Leadership: Epistles of

Maimonides.Philadelphia:JewishPublicationSociety of America,1985.x, 292 pp. This volume contains three of Maimonides'most famous epistles-On Martyrdom, Epistle to Yemen, and On Resurrection-admirably translated

with helpfulcommentsby AbrahamHalkin.David Hartmanintroducesthe volume, and after each epistle he elaborateson its theologicaland philosophicaldoctrines.Hartmanstressesthe disturbingenigmaof Maimonides' oeuvre:did Maimonideswriteintentionallyfor two differentaudiences,the masses and the elite, and in so doing advance contradictoryopinions? Before turningto a discussionof Hartman'sdistinctiveapproach,a brief discussionof the sources is necessary. The Epistle on Martyrdomconcerns those North African Jews who, whenconfrontedwith Almohadpersecution,chose apostasyto avoiddeath. Some made a formalconfessionof faith yet continuedto practiceand perpetuateJudaismwithin the confines of their homes. An anonymousrabbi had ruled that such people were no better than idolators and that their actionswerenot only in vain butsinful.Maimonidesadopteda morelenient attitudein an effort to encouragethem. Those who were able to do so, he wrote, should escape to other lands. As for martyrdom,dying 'al qiddush ha-shemwas certainlya greatand holy act, but it was not warrantedby the circumstancesin this case, becauseprofessingthe Islamicfaith was not the same thing as practicingidolatry,and furthermore,the Muslimrulersknew that the "converts"were clandestinelypracticingJudaism. 133

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The Epistle to Yemenalso sought to sustain Jews against the onslaughts of a fanatical Muslim sect, this time in Yemen. It was written in response to a letter from Jacob ben Nathanel al-Fayyumi, who had contacted Maimonides on behalf of the community with four questions: Did their communal suffering have any significance? How should they respond to an apostate who was now a missionary for Islam? How were conflicting messianic claims to be evaluated? Could the messianic advent be predicted by astrology? The last of the three epistles, the Essay on Resurrection,was written late in Maimonides' life. In it he defends himself against accusations that he did not believe in the resurrection of the body. Maimonides asserts his absolute belief in bodily resurrection, but insists that the resurrected bodies will ultimately return to dust and the soul alone will enjoy the divine presence eternally. These three epistles have long perplexed readers and commentators. The Essay on Resurrection apparently tries to have it both ways, accepting the idea of physical resurrection, since to do otherwise would be heretical, but making it only a temporary stage, so that immortality of the soul could remain the preferred doctrine. The position on martyrdom advocated in the Epistle on Martyrdom seems to contradict halakhah, including Maimonides' own halakhic rulings. The significance attached to messianic phenomena in the Epistle to Yemen is at variance with Maimonides' attempts to devalue messianism in some of his other writings and countenances the type of unrefined eschatology he repeatedly condemned. Is there any way to make sense of these seemingly inconsistent positions? In the introduction, Hartman maintains that Maimonides, in these three epistles, was attempting to aid the "ten thousand ignoramuses" so cavalierly dismissed in the Guide. "Here is no erudite intellectual expounding complex philosophical arguments for the sake of a 'single virtuous man,' but a committed leader who enters the marketplace of the community and is prepared to suffer hardships for the sake of the welfare of the whole" (p. 6). Hartman further asserts "that a commitment to the community is actually a leitmotiv of all his works" (p. 6). According to Hartman, "Even in the Guide, Maimonides does not advocate an ivory-tower existence, but instead tries to convince his reader to return to the community" (p. 6). Another of Maimonides' primary aims, according to Hartman, was to educate the community in such a way as to neutralize their obstinately faithful illusions and thwart their lofty religious expectations. "While fully aware

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of the gap that existedbetweenthe levels of worshipof the massesand the educatedfew, he nonethelesstried, throughouthis life, to raisethe level of the communitycloserto the ideal of love of God" (p. 8). In this view, then, the threeepistlesdemonstrateMaimonides'attitudewhenhe hadto come to the assistanceof communitiesfacing criticalchallenges,in contrastto the modes of thought he adopted in the Guide. Anotherway of resolvingthe apparentinconsistenciesmay be found in Maimonides' heuristic technique and possible pedagogicalmodels as a teacher.Everthe philosopherpar excellence,Maimonidessoughtto devise educationalmethodsfor the masses,who, accordingto some of his writings, were almost beyond instruction.He faced a difficulty familiar to most teachers:Is it better to risk boring the few by addressingthe many, or to alienatethe manyby speakingto the few?This was one of the quintessential quandariesthat Maimonidesconfronted. Maimonidesadoptedthe pedagogicalapproachof taking the world on its own terms. Both humanity in general and Israel in particularwere acceptedas they were, and it was in accordancewith this that his approach to diversereligiousissueswas developed.Maimonidesunderstoodindubitably thatthe metaphysicaland ontologicalquestionsregardingthe Torahand its mitzvot differ from the epistemologicalones. That is to say, since the divine laws are the result of divine wisdom, they are rational and consequentlyknowableby mankind.But the laws-in part, if not in toto-may have been conditionedhistorically,and thereforemay, to some degree,be contingent. This, of course, approachesthe position advancedby some concerning the explanationof the ta'ameiha-mitzvotin general,and the sacrificesin particular,in part 3 of the Guide.If, in fact, one subscribesto the idea of God employingdivine"ruses,"or some sort of accommodationor gradualism in His Law, then surely Maimonides,as a committedleader and not simply an eruditeintellectual,could advancesupposedlycontrarypositions dependingupon diverseconditionsat disparatetimes. This would not be inconsistentwith Hartman'sthesis that Maimonideswas continuallyconcernedwith the community.Wouldit, afterall, be so strangefor a leaderof a communityin crisisto sanctionpracticalpositionsthat weresupposedlyat odds with stancesadvocatedin theory?This is one and the same issue with regardto the hostilitybetweenphilosophyand halakhah;the fragileyet perdurablerole and functionof messianism;and the dilemmaof eschatology. How are they presentedto, explicated,and perceivedby the few and the

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many? For Hartman, these letters reveal the sage offering practical counsel to people and communities facing calamity. Hartman's well-known differences with other interpreters of Maimonides (L. Strauss, H. Soloveitchik, I. Twersky, A. Funkenstein, among others) are addressed but not reconciled in this volume. His impassioned discussions are informative and provocative. This is not a book for beginning students, but for those who have studied Maimonides it provides the cogent reflections of a sensitive scholar. And yet, despite the abundant scholarly contributions of Hartman and others, the questions concerning the Sage of Fustat still draw us onward. StephenD. Benin MemphisState Unversity Memphis,Tenn.

Marc Lee Raphael. A bba Hillel Silver: A Profile in AmericanJudaism. Introduction by Rabbi Alexander M. Schindler. New York: Holmes & Meier, 1989. xxxiii, 282 pp. Marc Lee Raphael's Abba Hillel Silver is an important book for students of American Jewish history, Zionism, and the Holocaust. The first fulllength biography of Abba Hillel Silver (1893-1963), based on extensive, new primary research, it is richly detailed and alive to the complexities and controversial aspects of the Cleveland rabbi's personality as well as his wide range of interests and talents. More than half of the book focuses on Silver's activities as an indefatigable Zionist leader from 1939 to 1949. Less attention is paid to his role as a congregational rabbi, local community leader, and Jewish intellectual. General readers will probably find the book to be narrowly focused and uneven. Raphael generally fails to place Silver in the context of his times and consequently does not fully explain the larger historical significance of his remarkable career. Equally disappointing is Raphael's inattention to the inner content of Silver's personal intellectual development, an odyssey which led the Lithuanian-born activist from Ahad Ha'am's Cultural Zionism to the halls of the largely anti-Zionist Hebrew Union College (1911-1915) and, ultimately, to General Zionism and the championing of the cause of Jewish statehood.

Review: [untitled] Author(s): Lance J. Sussman Source: AJS Review, Vol. 15, No. 1 (Spring, 1990), pp. 136-139 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486468 . Accessed: 02/07/2011 16:32 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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many? For Hartman, these letters reveal the sage offering practical counsel to people and communities facing calamity. Hartman's well-known differences with other interpreters of Maimonides (L. Strauss, H. Soloveitchik, I. Twersky, A. Funkenstein, among others) are addressed but not reconciled in this volume. His impassioned discussions are informative and provocative. This is not a book for beginning students, but for those who have studied Maimonides it provides the cogent reflections of a sensitive scholar. And yet, despite the abundant scholarly contributions of Hartman and others, the questions concerning the Sage of Fustat still draw us onward. StephenD. Benin MemphisState Unversity Memphis,Tenn.

Marc Lee Raphael. A bba Hillel Silver: A Profile in AmericanJudaism. Introduction by Rabbi Alexander M. Schindler. New York: Holmes & Meier, 1989. xxxiii, 282 pp. Marc Lee Raphael's Abba Hillel Silver is an important book for students of American Jewish history, Zionism, and the Holocaust. The first fulllength biography of Abba Hillel Silver (1893-1963), based on extensive, new primary research, it is richly detailed and alive to the complexities and controversial aspects of the Cleveland rabbi's personality as well as his wide range of interests and talents. More than half of the book focuses on Silver's activities as an indefatigable Zionist leader from 1939 to 1949. Less attention is paid to his role as a congregational rabbi, local community leader, and Jewish intellectual. General readers will probably find the book to be narrowly focused and uneven. Raphael generally fails to place Silver in the context of his times and consequently does not fully explain the larger historical significance of his remarkable career. Equally disappointing is Raphael's inattention to the inner content of Silver's personal intellectual development, an odyssey which led the Lithuanian-born activist from Ahad Ha'am's Cultural Zionism to the halls of the largely anti-Zionist Hebrew Union College (1911-1915) and, ultimately, to General Zionism and the championing of the cause of Jewish statehood.

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In his eulogistic introduction, Alexander Schindler, the president of the Union of American Hebrew Congregations, suggests that there was a higher unity in Silver's intellectual and religious life than is portrayed by Raphael. Essentially, he maintains that Silver sought to introduce the concepts of Amcha (peoplehood) and Shivat Zion (restoration) to Reform Judaism's "classical" understanding of Israel's biblical prophets and correctly attributes to Silver a "holistic sense of Jewish life [which became] the hallmark of Reform Judaism in the postwar years" (p. xxxi). Filling in a major gap in Raphael's text, Schindler also cites Silver's historic 1935 speech before the Central Conference of American Rabbis, which helped pave the way for the adoption of the 1937 Columbus Platform and the Reform movement's reaffirmation of Jewish peoplehood. From reading this volume, it becomes clear that Silver's relationship with the Reform movement was more complex than Schindler suggests. Raphael offers one (probably) apocryphal explanation as to why the young Silver chose to study at HUC, "a bastion of anti-Zionism"-"to conquer it" (p. 10)-but also reports that, in general, Silver kept his distance from the organized Reform movement. In a letter written to a friend in 1943, Silver complained that "our Rabbinate is less informed than the average Jewish layman. ... They do not study. They do not read. They are just pompous loud speakers for stale platitudes" (p. 76). Regrettably, Raphael does not discuss Silver's term of office as CCAR president from 1945 to 1947. In contrast to Silver's apparent ambivalence toward the organized Reform movement, Raphael argues, his emotional and intellectual ties to Eretz Yisrael and Zionism were deeply rooted in his childhood and early education. Hebrew was spoken and studied at home as well as in school. His parents, Rabbi Moses and Dinah Silver, were Zionists and encouraged their children to organize and participate in the Dr. Herzl Zion Club. Emigrating to Palestine after their children had grown, they provided Abba Hillel Silver with an intense personal tie to the land of Israel which augmented his already highly nurtured ideological commitment to Zionism. It is possible that the organizing theme of Raphael's book changed as his work on it progressed. The major emphasis of the biography seems to shift from Silver's rabbinate to his Zionist activity and, finally, back to his rabbinic work. Both the subtitle and the preface suggest that Silver "saw his primary role as a ray, a rabbi" (p. xiv), a theme principally discussed in chapters 2 and 9. But, as already noted, most of the book concentrates on Silver's participation in the "furious factional fights" at the highest levels of

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American Zionist leadership and his relentless diplomatic work on behalf of Jewish statehood in Palestine. In his conclusion, Raphael maintains that Silver "was above all else a Zionist" (p. 215). Raphael also generally fails to alert his reader to the broader historiographical issues involved in his study of Silver. Most importantly, in discussing the highly sensitive issue of American Jews and rescue efforts during the Holocaust, Raphael offers little historical perspective or analysis. He depicts Silver as skeptical about the possibilities of rescue but reports that Silver's colleague and admirer, Rabbi Leon Feuer, observed his "single-minded devotion to the task [of rescue]" (p. 92). By the end of 1943, Raphael finds that "for Silver the facts were plain; the Nazis had already murdered almost all the Jews of Europe; [and] the most appropriate response to this massive extermination was an autonomous Jewish state" (p. 97). David S. Wyman's assertion in his widely acclaimed book, The Abandonmentof the Jews, that American Zionists led by Abba Hillel Silver "had misread the signs concerning rescue [of European Jewry, and that] substantially more was possible than they recognized" (p. 177) is totally ignored by Raphael. By contrast, his description of Silver's role in the creation of the State of Israel and in the subsequent struggle over control of the Jewish Agency is both more complete and more compelling. Following years of sharp conflict with adversaries within American Zionism, most notably Nahum Goldmann and Rabbi Stephen S. Wise, Silver gained control of the movement at the propitious moment to serve as a midwife for the birth of the Jewish state both in the United Nations and as a Zionist lobbyist to the Truman administration. Silver's affiliation with the Republican Party and opposition to the partitioning of Palestine, Raphael adroitly points out, greatly complicated his work in Washington, D.C. The tremendous power Silver had garnered by 1948 put him at odds with Israeli leaders, especially David Ben-Gurion, who believed that "the domination of Zionist affairs ought to rest with those men (and a woman) who had in fact made aliyah" (p. 216). "There is little doubt," Raphael candidly remarks, "that in addition to Zionist issues, Silver himself served as a catalyst for much of the opposition that successfully forced him to resign. ... Different people found him arrogant, overbearing, domineering, egotistical, contemptuous, and an enemy of anyone who dared oppose him or one of his ideas" (p. 181). Thus, despite its lacunae and unevenness, Raphael's biography of Rabbi Abba Hillel Silver succeeds in portraying its subject as an autocratic, bril-

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liant, and energetic leader who thrived on hardball politics, rose to international fame, and then quickly fell from power to become an elder statesman and scholar. He was revered by his supporters and despised by his opponents. Above all, he was the dynamic voice of American Jewry during the most fateful hours in the modern history of the Jewish people. Raphael's book represents an important first step in the direction of understanding Abba Hillel Silver and, perhaps, will refocus scholarly attention on the important role American Jews played in the creation of the State of Israel. LanceJ. Sussman State Universityof New York at Binghamton Binghamton,N.Y.

Collected Studies Source: AJS Review, Vol. 15, No. 1 (Spring, 1990), pp. 141-142 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486469 . Accessed: 02/07/2011 16:33 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].



COLLECTEDSTUDIES Erhard R. Wiehn, ed. Judenfeindschaft:Eine 6ffentliche Vortragsreihean der UniversitdtKonstanz 1988/89. Konstanz: Hartung-Gorre Verlag, 1989. 303 PP. CONTENTS: Michael Ley, "Die religi6sen Wurzeln des Antijudaismus." Alexander Patschovsky, "Judenverfolgung im Mittelalter." Jacques Picard, "Recht auf Abweichung? Das Juden- und Frauenbild in der deutschen Romantik und Bettine von Arnims Seitensprung." Detlev Claussen, "Antisemitismus und Gesellschaftstheorie." Jacques Picard, "Die Schweiz und die 'Judenfrage' 1933-1945: Quellen und Materialien zur Geschichte eines Dilemmas." Willy Guggnheim, "Antisemitismus und die Einstellung zu Israel seit dem Zweiten Weltkrieg in der Schweiz." Charles E. Ritterband, "Antizionismus-Antisemitismus: Nur ein neuer Name fiir ein altes Phdinomen? Diagnose einer Polemik." H. Joachim Schwagerl, "Antisemitische Bestrebung in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland-Einschaitzung aus der Sicht des informativen Verfassungsschutzes." Erhard R. Wiehn, "Judenfeindschaft als soziologisches Problem."

Bernard Blumenkranz. Juifs en France: Ecrits disperses. Franco-Judaica 13. Paris: Commission franqaise des archives juives, 1989. 252 pp. "Introduction "aHistoire des Juifs en France." "Les Juifs de CONTENTS: France: petite histoire de leurs historiens." "Pour un guide bleu-blanc de la France." "Un r6v61ateurdes mutations en France: l'histoire des Juifs." "La gbographie historique des Juifs en France m6di6vale: pour une nouvelle 141

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Gallia Judaica." "Aire(s) un Hyeres? A propos de la toponymie frangaise en h6breu m6di6val." "Juifs en France, Juifs de France, Juifs franqais:les Juifs en Lorraine." "Gdographie historique des Juifs en Franche-Comt6 m6di&vale." "Pour une gbographie historique des Juifs en Provence m6di6vale." "Quartiersjuifs en France: 12e, 13eet 14esiecles." "Cultivateurs et vignerons juifs en Bourgogne du 9e au Ile si cle." "Le 'si cle d'or' en Dauphin6 et en Provence." "Chemins d'un exil: 1306." "Les Juifs taBlois au moyen age: ta propos de la demographie historique des Juifs." "Les premieres implantations juives en France." "G6ographie historique d'un theme de l'iconographie religieuse: les representations de Synagoga en France." "La representation de Synagoga dans les Bibles moralistes franqaises du 13e au 15e siecle." "Un vitrail ou un bas-relief histori6 de l'abbaye de la Colombe?" "Sur le Tresor de la Langue des Juifs Francais au Moyen Age, par Raphael Levy." "A propos des Juifs dans les cahiers de dol6ances." "Les Juifs en France m6di6vale; "t propos d'une reimpression recente." "O60 est mort Hugues Capet?" Bernard Blumenkranz, ed. Les Juifs et la Revolution Francaise. R6impression de l'6dition premiere de 1976 avec des compl6ments non negligeables. Franco-Judaica 4. Paris: Commission Franqaise des archives juives, 1989. 240 pp. Franqois Delpech, "L'histoire des Juifs en France de 1780 "t 1840: Etat des questions et directions de recherche." Jacques Godechot, "La Revolution franqaise et les Juifs (1789-1799)." Ruth Necheles, "L'6mancipation des Juifs 1787-1795: Aspects intellectuels et politiques." Henri Tribout de Morembert, "Les Juifs de Metz et de Lorraine (1791-1795)." Roland Marx, "La r6g6n6ration conomique des Juifs d'Alsace atl' poque r6volutionnaire et napolkonienne." Freddy Raphael, "Juifs d'Alsace et la conscription au dix-neuvieme siecle." Rend Moulinas, "Les Juifs d'Avignon et du Comtat et la R6volution franqaise." H.-J. de Dianoux, "Les Juifs de Nice et la R6volution franqaise." Carlo Mangio, "La communaut6 juive de Livourne face ta la R6volution franqaise." CONTENTS:

Books Received Source: AJS Review, Vol. 15, No. 1 (Spring, 1990), pp. 143-149 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486470 . Accessed: 02/07/2011 16:33 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].



BOOKSRECEIVED Abramson,Glenda. The Writingof YehudaAmichai:A ThematicApproach. SUNY Series in ModernJewishLiteratureand Culture.New York: State Universityof New York Press, 1989. viii, 254 pp. Agnon, S. Y. Shira. A Novel.New York: SchockenBooks, 1989. 585 pp. Agus, Aharon. TheBindingof Isaac and Messiah.SUNY Seriesin Judaica: Hermeneutics,Mysticismand Religion. Albany:State Universityof New York Press, 1988.xi, 327 pp. Aminoah,Noah. TheRedactionof the TractatesSukkahandMoed-Katanin the BabylonianTalmud.Tel Aviv: ChaimRosenbergSchool of Jewish Studies, 1988. 407 pp. (Hebrew). Anderson, FrancisI., and A. Dean Forbes. Spellingin the HebrewBible. Dahood MemorialLecture.Biblica et Orientalia41. Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1986. xxi, 379 pp. Anderson,Mark,ed. ReadingKafka:Prague,Politicsand theFin-de-siecle. New York: PantheonBooks, 1989. 267 pp. Barr,James. The VariableSpellingsof the HebrewBible.SchweichLectures of the BritishAcademy,1986.Oxford:OxfordUniversityPress, 1989. 239 pp. Barton,John. Oraclesof God:Perceptionsof AncientProphecyin Israelafter the Exile. New York: Oxford UniversityPress, 1988. 324 pp. Birnbaum,David. GodandEvil:A JewishPerspective.Hoboken:Ktav Publishing House, 1989. xxi, 266 pp. Bletter,Diana. TheInvisibleThread:A Portraitof JewishAmericanWomen. Photographs by Lori Grinker. Philadelphia:Jewish Publication Society, 1989. 224 pp. 143

144

BOOKSRECEIVED

Bliss, Frederick Jones. The Development of Palestine Exploration: The Ely Lectures for 1903. America and the Holy Land. Reprint: New York: Arno Press, 1977. xvii, 337 pp. Bloom, Harold. Ruin the Sacred Truths:Poetry and Belieffrom the Bible to the Present. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1989. 204 pp. Bohlman, Philip V. "The Land Where Two Streams Flow": Music in the German-Jewish Community of Israel. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1989. xviii, 257 pp. Brenton, Sir Lancelot C. L. The Septuagint with Apocrypha: Greek and English. Reprint: Peabody, Mass: Hendrickson Publishers, 1987. vi, 248 pp. Breuer, Mordechai. Torah Nevi'im Ketuvim: According to the Text and Masorah of Keter Aram Zobah and Similar Manuscripts. Jerusalem: Mosad Harav Kook, 1989. 430 pp. (Hebrew). Carpi, Daniel. Between Renaissance and Ghetto: Essays on the History of the Jews in Italy in the 14th and 17th Centuries. Tel Aviv: University Publishing Project, 1989. 303 pp. (Hebrew). Cathedrafor the History of Eretz Israel and Its Yishuv,vol. 52. Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi, 1989. 190 pp. (Hebrew). Chazan, Robert. Daggers of Faith: Thirteenth-CenturyChristian Missionizing and Jewish Response. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989. vii, 226 pp. Chertok, Haim. Stealing Home: Israel Bound and Rebound. New York: Fordham University Press, 1988. 295 pp. Cronin, Gloria L., and L. H. Goldman, eds. Saul Bellow in the 1980's: A Collection of Critical Essays. East Lansing: Michigan State University Press, 1989. vii, 328 pp. Dagan, Avigdor. The Court Jesters. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1989. 180 pp. Davidson, Herbert A. Proofsfor Eternity, Creation and the Existence of God in Medieval Islamic and Jewish Philosophy. New York: Oxford University Press, 1987. xii, 428 pp. Day, Peggy L., ed. Gender and Difference in Ancient Israel. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1989. xiii, 209 pp. Elazar, Daniel J. Israel: Building a New Society; Jewish Political and Social Studies. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986. xi, 287 pp. The Other Jews: The Sephardim Today. New York: Basic Books, •-. 1989. xii, 236 pp.

BOOKS RECEIVED

145

People and Polity: The Organizational Dynamics of World Jewry. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1989. 520 pp. , ed. The New Jewish Politics. American Jewish Policy Agenda •- Resource Books, no. 1. Lanham, Md.: University Press of America, 1988. vii, 76 pp. and Chaim Kalchheim, eds. Local Governmentin Israel. Lanham, Md.: University Press of America, 1988. xxxiv, 426 pp. Ettenberg, Sylvia C., and Geraldine Rosenfield, eds. The Ramah Experience: Community and Commitment. Foreword by Alvin E. Gershen. New York: Jewish Theological Seminary and National Ramah Commission, 1989. xxii, 206 pp. Feldman, Louis H., and Gohei Hata, eds. Josephus, the Bible, and History. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1989. 473 pp. Flanders, Henry Jackson, Jr., Robert Wilson Crapps, and David Anthony Smith. People of the Covenant:An Introduction to the Old Testament. New York: Oxford University Press, 1988. xiii, 498 pp. Fredericks, Daniel C. Qoheleth's Language: Re-evaluating Its Nature and Date. Ancient Near Eastern Texts and Studies, vol. 3. Lewiston: Edwin Mellen Press, 1988. 301 pp. Ginsburg, Elliot K. The Sabbath in the Classical Kabbalah. SUNY Series in Judaica: Hermeneutics, Mysticism, and Religion. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1989, xx, 341 pp. Sod Ha-Shabbat: The Mystery of the Sabbath from the Tola'at .. Ya'aqov of R. Meir ibn Gabbai. SUNY Series in Judaica: Hermeneutics, Mysticism, and Religion. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1989. xvi, 264 pp. Goldfeld, Lea Naomi. Moses Maimonides' Treatise on Resurrection: An Inquiry into Its Authenticity. Texts, Studies and Translations in Maimonidean Thought and Scholarship, vol. 3. New York: Ktav Publishing House, 1986. 167 pp. Govrin, Nurit. Honey from the Rock: Studies in Eretz Israel Literature. TelAviv: Office of Security Press, 1989. 419 pp. (Hebrew). Green, Garrett. Imagining God: Theology and the Religious Imagination. San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1989. x, 179 pp. Greenberg, Irving. The Jewish Way: Living the Holidays. New York: Summit Books, 1988. 463 pp. Gutman, Yisrael, Ezra Mendelsohn, Jehuda Reinharz, and Chone Shmeruk, eds. The Jews of Poland Between Two World Wars. Hanover: --.

146

BOOKSRECEIVED

University Press of New England/Brandeis University Press, 1989. xi, 574 pp. Ha, John. Genesis 15: A Theological Compendiumof Pentateuchal History. Beiheft zur Zeitschrift ffir die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 181. xii, 244 pp. Hengel, Martin. The Zealots: Investigations into the Jewish Freedom Movement in the Period from Herod I Until 70 A.D. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1989. xxiv, 487 pp. Homans, Peter. The Ability to Mourn: Disillusionmentand the Social Origins of Psychoanalysis. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989. xiv, 390 PP. Horwitz, Rivka. Buber's Way to "I and Thou". The Developmentof Martin Buber's Thought and His "Religion as Presence" Lectures. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1988. viii, 247 pp. Hsia, R. Po-chia. The Myth of Ritual Murder: Jews and Magic in Reformation Germany. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988. viii, 248 pp. Hyman, Arthur. Averroes' De Substantia Orbis. Medieval Academy Books, no. 96. Cambridge: Medieval Academy of America, 1986. 156 pp. (English) and 76 pp. (Hebrew). Idel, Moshe. Kabbalah: New Perspectives. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988. xx, 419 pp. . Language, Torah, and Hermeneutics in Abraham Abulafia. SUNY •- Series in Judaica: Hermenuetics, Mysticism, and Religion. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1989. xvii, 212 pp. Janowitz, Naomi. The Poetics of Ascent: Theoriesof Language in a Rabbinic Ascent Text. SUNY Series in Judaica: Hermeneutics, Mysticism, and Culture. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1989. xv, 154 pp. Jewish History 3, no. 2 (Fall 1988). Haifa: Haifa University Press, 1989. 135 pp. Jospe, Raphael. Torah and Sophia: The Life and Thought of Shem Tov Ibn Falaquera. Monographs of the Hebrew Union College. Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 1988. 505 pp. Katz, Jacob. The "Shabbes Goy": A Study in Halakhic Flexibility. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1989. viii, 253 pp. Keil, Yehuda. The Book of Kings. Vol. 1 1 Kings 1.1-22:40. Da'at Miqra'. Jerusalem: Mosad Harav Kook, 1989. 225 + 442 pp. (Hebrew). The Book of Kings. Vol. 2, 1 Kings 22:41-54, 2 Kings. Da'at Miqra'. •-. Jerusalem: Mosad Harav Kook, 1989. 110 + 408 pp. (Hebrew).

BOOKS RECEIVED

147

Krdimer, Gudrun. The Jews in Modern Egypt, 1914-1952. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1989. x, 319 pp. Kreuzer, Siegfried. Die Friihgeschichte Israels in Bekenntnis und Verkuindigungdes Alten Testaments. Beiheft zur Zeitschrift fLirdie alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 178. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1989. ix, 301 pp. Krfiger, Thomas. Geschichtskonzepte im Ezechielbuch. Beiheft zur Zeitschrift ffir die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 180. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1989. xi, 521 pp. Lerman, Antony, ed. The Jewish Communities of the World: A Contemporary Guide. New York: Facts on File, 1989. ix, 206 pp. Levi ben Gershom (Gersonides). The Wars of the Lord: Book One: Immortality of the Soul. Vol. 1. Edited and translated by Seymour Feldman. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1984. viii, 256 pp. Levine, Baruch A. The JPS Torah Commentary: Leviticus. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1989. xlvi, 284 pp. Levine, Etan. The Aramaic Versionof the Bible: Contents and Context. Beiheft zur Zeitschrift ffir die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 174. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1988. xiv, 258 pp. Levy, Isaac Jack. And the WorldStood Silent: Sephardic Poetry of the Holocaust. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1989. xviii, 228 pp. Lowenstein, Steven M. Frankfurt on the Hudson: The German-JewishCommunity of WashingtonHeights, 1933-1983, Its Structure and Culture. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1989. 347 pp. Ehud. Parallels Meet: Religion and Nationalism in the Early Zionist Luz, Movement, 1882-1904. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1988. xix, 365 pp. Maimon, Arye, ed. GermaniaJudaica. Vol. 3, pt. 1, OrtschaftsartikelAachLychen. Tubingen: J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1987. xxx, 769 pp. Matthews, Victor H. Manners and Customs in the Bible. Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson Publishers, 1988. xxvi, 283 pp. Mintz, Alan. "Banished from Their Father's Table": Loss of Faith and Hebrew Autobiography.Jewish Literature and Culture. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1989. ix, 223 pp. Moskowitz, Yehiel Zvi. The Book of Numbers. Da'at Miqra'. Jerusalem: Mosad Harav Kook, 1988. 491 pp. (Hebrew). Pelli, Moshe. Struggle for Change: Studies in the Hebrew Enlightenmentin Germanyat the End of the 18th Century. Tel Aviv: University Publishing Projects, 1988. ix, 194 pp. (Hebrew).

148

BOOKSRECEIVED

Polzin, Robert. Samuel and the Deuteronomist: A Literary Study of the DeuteronomicHistory: I Samuel. San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1989. 296 pp. Robinson, Edward. Later Biblical Researches in Palestine, and in the Adjacent Regions. America and the Holy Land. Reprint: New York: Arno Press, 1977. xxx, 664 pp. Rosenberg, A. J., ed. The Book of Job: A New English Translation of the Text, Rashi and a Commentary Digest. Judaica Books of the Hagiographa-The Holy Writings. New York: Judaica Press, 1989. xiii, 249 pp. Ruderman, David B. Kabbalah, Magic, and Science: The Cultural Universe of a Sixteenth-Century Jewish Physician. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1988. viii, 232 pp. Sarna, Nahum M. The JPS Torah Commentary: Genesis. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1989. xxxi, 414 pp. Seitz, Christopher R. Theology in Conflict: Reactions to the Exile in the Book of Jeremiah. Beiheft zur Zeitschrift f/ir die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 176. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1989. xi, 329 pp. Shragay: Journal for the Study of Religious Zionism and Immigration to Eretz-Israel, vol. 3. Jerusalem: Mosad Harav Kook, 1989. 307 pp. (Hebrew). Simonsohn, Shlomo. The Apostolic See and the Jews. Documents, 492-1404. Studies and Texts, no. 94. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1988. xv, 549 pp. . The Apostolic See and the Jews: Documents, 1394-1464. Studies and •Texts, no. 95. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1988. 581 pp. Slobin, Mark. Chosen Voices: TheStory of the American Cantorate. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1989. xxv, 318 pp. Stanislawski, Michael. For Whom Do I Toil? Judah Leib Gordon and the Crisis of Russian Jewry. New York: Oxford University Press, 1988. 263 pp. Stillman, Norman A. The Language and Culture of the Jews of Sefrou, Morocco. Journal of Semitic Studies Monograph no. 11. Manchester: University of Manchester Press, 1988. xv, 184 pp. Strickman, H. Norman, and Arthur M. Silver. Ibn Ezra's Commentaryon the Pentateuch: Genesis. New York: Menorah Publishing Co., 1988. xxii, 456 pp.

BOOKS RECEIVED

149

TelA vivReview, vol. 1. Tel Aviv: Ah'shav Publishers, 1988. 360 pp. Troper, Harold, and Morton Weinfeld. Old Wounds:Jews, Ukrainians and the Huntfor Nazi War Criminalsin Canada. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1989. xxxv, 434 pp. Ullendorff, Edward. The Two Zions: Reminiscences of Jerusalem and Ethiopia. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988. 249 pp. Weiler, Gershon. Jewish Theocracy. Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1988. xiv, 332 pp. Whiston, William. The Works of Josephus: Complete and Unabridged. Reprint: Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson Publishers, 1987. x, 926 pp. Wirszubski, Chaim. Pico della Mirandola's Encounter with Jewish Mysticism. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1989. xi, 292 pp. Wisse, Ruth R. A Little Love in Big Manhattan. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1988. x, 279 pp. Zilkha, Avraham. Modern Hebrew-English Dictionary. Yale Language Series. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989. v, 305 pp.

Back Matter Source: AJS Review, Vol. 15, No. 1 (Spring, 1990) Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the Association for Jewish Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1486471 . Accessed: 02/07/2011 16:33 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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Ajs Review, Spring 1990

Ajs Review, Fall 1990

Ajs Review: Spring, No 1

Ajs Review 1987: Spring, No 1

Ajs Review 1986: Spring, No 1

AJS Review 1985: Spring, No. 1

AJS Review 17, 1 (Spring, 1992)

AJS REVIEW - VOLUME THREE

Ajs Review, 1995 No 2

Ajs Review, Volume Four (1979)

Ajs Review, 1984 No 2

Ajs Review, 1993, Part 1

Ajs Review, Volume Two, 1977

Ajs Review, 1992, Part 2

Ajs Review 1986: Fall, No 2

AJS Review: Vol. XXI, No. 1, 1996

Ajs Review 1995: Fall, No 1

Ajs Review, 1988: Nos 1 and 2

AJS Review 1985: Fall, No 2

AJSreview AJS Review (1980 Volume 5)

AJS Review Volume Seven-Eight 1982-1983

Ajs Review, Fall 1989, No 2

Ajs Review 1987: Fall, No 2

AJS Review: Vol. XXI, No. 2, 1996

October journal No.52 Spring (1990)

AJS REVIEW The Journal of the Association for Jewish Studies Vol. IX, No. 1 Spring 1984

1990)

1990)

1990)

1990

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