An Etymological Drash from Rav Hirsch on Jewish vs. Pagan Priests

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Artwork: Shadal and Rav Hirsch having a debate in a library
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An Etymological Drash from Rav Hirsch on Jewish vs. Pagan Priests

There are two types of linguistic analysis of the Hebrew language found in Torah commentaries. The first type takes into consideration all available data as the basis for its conclusions and follows the evidence wherever it may lead. This approach may be described as “scientific,” “evidence-based,” or “academic.” The second type of analysis avowedly does not factor in all the data but is guided by a particular set of assumptions, philosophical beliefs, and rhetorical objectives. This approach may be described as “poetic,” “imaginative,” or “homiletical.” The first type of analysis is “bottom-up” whereas the second is “top-down.” The first is a necessity for “pshat” whereas the second is a valuable a tool in the arsenal of “drash.”

Shadal (Samuel David Luzzatto, 1800-1865) exemplifies the scientific approach, as Daniel Klein writes in his preface to Shadal on Genesis: “In his investigation of word meanings, Luzzatto drew upon every means at his disposal” including “comparisons with the later (Mishnaic) Hebrew of the rabbis and with languages cognate to Hebrew, such as Aramaic, Syriac, and Arabic” (p.22) Shadal’s commentary is replete with philological analyses based on his understanding of the evolution of the Hebrew language.

Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch (1808-1888), a grand master of the poetic approach, holds by a different set of premises from Shadal. According to Mattityahu Clark (ed. Etymological Dictionary of Biblical Hebrew Based on the Commentaries of Samson Raphael Hirsch), Hirsch believed that Hebrew “is not a language that has historically developed and grown by absorbing or adapting words and expressions from foreign sources. Rather, it is a single, integral unit with its own internal structure and grammar, its own logic and patterns, its own meanings and nuances” (p.x). Hirsch “states repeatedly that one should not look to foreign languages to find meanings of words in the Torah,” believing instead that “the Hebrew language is self-contained” (p.xi). Thus, “in his analysis, Hirsch makes no use of or references to other languages of the ancient Near East” (p.293), instead basing his conclusions on his idiosyncratic theory of three-letter roots.

Although there are hundreds of examples which illustrate the differences between these two approaches, the main reason I wrote this article is to showcase a single excerpt from Rav Hirsch’s commentary in Parashas Mikeitz. Yosef is overcome with emotion upon seeing his younger brother Binyamin. “Yosef hurried because נִכְמְרוּ רַחֲמָיו towards his brother, and he sought to weep; he went into the room and wept there” (Bereishis 43:30). The basic question is: What does נכמרו רחמיו mean in the context of this pasuk?

A second question arises from a more common use of this three-letter root in the word כומר, which is universally understood to mean “pagan priest,” as in “[Yoshiyahu] also dismissed the כומרים” (II Melachim 23:5), “for its people will mourn over it, as well as its כומרים” (Hoshea 10:5), and “I will cut off from this place any remnant of the Baal and the memory of the ministers with the כומרים” (Tzfanya 1:4). The second question is: What, if anything, is the relationship between the expression נכמרו רחמיו and the word כומר?

Shadal’s Italian translation of the pasuk in Mikeitz (rendered into English by Daniel Klein) reads as follows: “And immediately Joseph, pity having been kindled in him toward his brother, and wanting to weep, entered into the room and wept there.” Shadal elaborates on his reasoning in his commentary (43:30):

kindled (nikhmeru). Became hot and burning, as in, “Our skin is hot [nikhmeru], like an oven” (Eichah 5:10). In Rosenmueller’s opinion (and before him the Alexandrian translation), the original meaning of rahamim [here translated as “pity”] was “bowels,” just as [the singular form] rehem [means “womb”].

Shadal is not the first one to translate נכמרו as “hot and burning” Ibn Ezra, Avraham ben ha’Rambam, Ralbag, and others took the same approach, many of them citing the same pasuk from Eichah.

As for our second question, we – or at least, I – don’t have access to Shadal’s commentary on any of the three instances of the word כומר cited above. We do, however, have the commentary Hoil Moshe by Rabbi Moshe Yitzchak Ashkenazi (Moisè Tedeschi, 1829-1898), one of Shadal’s “informal” students, who employs a similar evidence-based linguistic approach to that of his teacher:

הכומרים. According to [Heinrich Wilhelm] Gesenius (1786-1842) in his lexicon, its meaning is “those who burn incense.” If so, one must assume that the letters ג,י,כ,ק were transposed and its origin is Aramaic or Syriac. Gachalei eish (fiery coals) is translated as gumrin d’iysha, and the priests raise up smoke with fiery coals on the firepan; accordingly, they are superior in rank to priests whose forms of service are not as significant.

Thus far the scientific approach of Shadal. Rav Hirsch’s poetic approach stands in stark contrast. He reads our pasuk as: “Yosef hastened, for his feelings toward his brother had been stirred up and he wished to cry, and he went into the room and wept there” (trans. Daniel Haberman). Rav Hirsch’s commentary begins with a pshat answer to our first question, then segues into a drash answer to our second question:

נכמרו רחמיו. For Yosef knew what he intended to do to Binyamin, the painful ordeal he intended to put him through, even if only briefly.

כמר, the stirring up of strong emotions, is also the root of מכמורת, a net. A כומר is a pagan priest. The Rabbinic term כמר של זיתים denotes laying fruit on top of one another so that they should heat up and ripen, or it denotes burying them in the earth for this purpose, sealing them off until they become ripe and tender. מכמר בשרא (Pesachim 58b) – initial spoilage in meat. ביב שהוא קמור תחת הבית (Ohalos 3:7) – a hidden drain.

The basic meaning of כמר, then, is to keep back something, shut it up and prevent it from going free, and thus to bring it to fermentation. Thus, on the one hand, a net, and on the other, the process of fermentation. Transposed to the emotional realm, כמר denotes pent-up feelings which, as a result of repression, reach an intense state of ferment. Compare  כִּי יִתְחַמֵּץ לְבָבִי (Tehilim 73:21), emotional ferment which can no longer be contained in one’s breast; intense emotional excitement.

For this reason, apparently, pagan priests are called כמרים as opposed to כהנים. The Jewish כהן is not dependent on devotion, emotion. Jewish Divine service is not designed to excite dark mysterious feelings. The Jewish Sanctuary appeals primarily to the intellect: התפלל means to rectify one’s judgment and to make clear to oneself one’s relationship to things in general, one’s duties. Feelings are very cheap. One can weep copiously before God in prayer, and then get up and be no better than one was before! The כומר counts on exciting the emotions. The כהן, however, has to be כן with himself and מכין, provide others with firm direction and a firm basis. Heathenism works on the emotions and thereby shackles the intellect. The emotions, however, are like a clock mechanism without hands, restless movement that knows not whence or wither, which can be exploited for any purpose. The כומר fans the flames of hell and arouses fanaticism; he celebrates his triumph when נכמרו מעים, when the innards of the believers reach a point of total ferment.

This is a beautiful example of what I call “etymological drash.” Rav Hirsch uses the Hebrew language to expound on a core idea about Judaism. The fact that his analysis of the root כ.מ.ר. may or may not be “scientifically accurate” by the standards of modern philology is immaterial. This is the way of drash.

Fortunately, we are not forced to choose between the approaches of Shadal and Rav Hirsch, just as we need not commit ourselves exclusively to either pshat or drash. Rabbi David Fohrman once likened the interrelationship between pshat and drash to that of melody and harmony: both play different roles – the parameters of which must be understood to be effectively used – but together, they result in beautiful music.

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Rav Hirsch on Bad Biographies

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Artwork: horrific AI attempt to produce a portrait of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch

Rav Hirsch on Bad Biographies

I recently started reading a book by Hillel Goldberg called, Between Berlin and Slobodka: Jewish Transition Figures From Eastern Europe (1989), featuring biographies of six towering intellects: R’ Israel Salanter, Harry A. Wolfson, R’ Isaac Hutner, R’ Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Abraham J. Heschel, and Rabbi Joseph Z. Lipovitz. I bought it because Amazon was selling it for only $6 (!) and I figured that it would be beneficial to learn about the impact these six influential men had on Jewry.

I enjoyed reading the book from the get-go. The author is a gifted writer with an engaging style. The blurb on cover testifies that he “spent two decades in research on this biography” – a claim bolstered by the extensive endnotes and bibliography, which fill a whopping 102 pages. I read through the biographies of the first three figures, about whom I had little prior knowledge, and felt like I was learning something … until my reading was brought to a screeching halt by a critical review.

Lawrence J. Kaplan is Professor of Rabbinics and Jewish Philosophy in the Department of Jewish Studies at McGill University. He has written extensively on a wide range of topics and is regarded as one of the foremost experts on the thought of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, whose Ish ha-Halakhah (Halakhic Man) he translated into English. When I posted an excerpt from Goldberg’s book on my Facebook wall, Professor Kaplan suggested that I read his critical review essay, published in Daat: A Journal of Jewish Philosophy and Kabbalah (no.35, pp. V-XXXIV, summer 1995).

Any attempt on my part to summarize Kaplan’s review would fail to do it justice. Its power comes from its thoroughness in exposing the gaps and prejudices in Goldberg’s treatment of his subjects. Instead, I will cite his closing paragraphs:

Two general points emerge from my lengthy examination and critique of Goldberg's treatment of his four central transition figures; the first is negative, the second, positive. First, to return to my starting point, while Goldberg claims to evaluate these figures in terms of their success at integrating the various clashing worlds within them, I believe I have shown that his evaluations cannot be sustained and that what he is really offering us is a purely theological judgment in a scholarly garb. Second, my own alternative analysis of the thought of these figures, while necessarily sketchy and incomplete, leads to the tentative conclusion that they, to use Goldberg's ostensible criterion, were, despite tensions and even contradictions, considerably more successful in integrating these worlds than Goldberg would have us think.

Have I been too harsh on Between Berlin and Slobodka? Did I not state earlier that it deals with a large and important subject and did I not concede to it many considerable strengths? Why then the sharpness of my tone?

If I have taken the book to task in so uncompromising and critical a fashion, it is precisely because I, like my old friend Hillel Goldberg, am simultaneously committed to the values of Jewish Orthodoxy and intellectual responsibility, and because I believe that Goldberg has, in writing this work, allowed, however unwittingly, the former value to override the latter. I am sure I need not remind Goldberg that the rabbinic tradition itself affirms, "Truth is the seal of the Holy one, blessed be He," and, that Rav Kook, whose strict Orthodoxy Goldberg would certainly not wish to deny, adds, "The truth is more beloved than everything, and precisely in it will the Exalted One, blessed be He, be praised.”

Anyone wishing to study the phenomenon of Jewish transition figures from Eastern Europe in the twentieth century will find much valuable data and many stimulating and incisive observations and insights in Between Berlin and Slobodka. The book as a whole, however, falls far short of its stated goals.

Kaplan’s review shook me on two levels. First, it reminded me of how dependent we are on experts in fields outside of our own expertise, and how easy it is to misplace our trust without realizing it. I had never heard of Hillel Goldberg, but I trusted him because he published a book which appeared to be based on copious amounts of research. I then shifted my trust to Kaplan based on the substance of his critique, strengthened by my small measure of firsthand familiarity with his scholarly prowess. But what would happen if another expert I trusted penned an essay defending Goldberg’s analysis? I would be left with compelling cases on both sides, and I would feel helpless to draw my own conclusions. The obvious “solution” of “go forth, study the collective works of Rav Hutner in light of all biographical data, and form your own conclusions” is not practical. This dilemma is not unique to intellectual biographies, and that’s what scares me. I realize this isn’t a new or profound insight. Just a rude reminder of an unavoidable limitation on the human intellect.

Second, Kaplan’s critique reminded me of how much subjectivity is involved in any attempt to capture the essence of a human life in writing. This, in turn, prompted me to recall Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch’s critique of Heinreich Graetz’s seminal work, History of the Jews. For those who are unfamiliar, here is an informational blurb excerpted from Collected Writings of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch: Volume V (1988, Feldheim):

The historian Dr. Heinrich Graetz (1817-1891) was a professor at the Judisch-Theologische Seminar in Breslau where he published his eleven-volume History of the Jews (1853-1870). He reflected the ideological tendencies of his academic institution by accepting Biblical criticism and by believing in the historical evolution, rather than the Divine origin, of the Oral Law … Although Graetz was personally traditional in practice (and a student of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch while the latter was Rabbi in Oldenburg), his work was used by those who wished to reform Orthodox Judaism. Recognizing its danger to Torah Judaism, Hirsch reacted strongly with a “critical examination” of Graetz’s fourth volume. In a series of twelve articles in his journal Jeschurun, Hirsch quoted the pertinent passages from Graetz’s History and then disproved his theses regarding the Oral Law.

Here is Rav Hirsch’s scathing critique of Graetz’s work, which I will present here in full. (Parenthetically, I hope you’ll be able to see why this ranks among my favorite written reviews of anything, ever.)

I once had a young friend who was a deaf-mute. He was a rather popular artist in one of the German provincial capitals. All his portraits looked very much alike, yet they were not truly alike. He had a habit – we called it a peculiarity – of painting all his pictures in colossal dimensions. All his paintings were much larger than life and therefore had a strange, spectral look. One could readily surmise that the subject had sat for the portrait, but one could not state with certainty that this was indeed the one. Recognition was not the result of a visual impression, but of reflection. The portrait hinted at the identity of the subject, but it was clear that the artist had not painted his subject in terms of objective reality. He had only captured the subjective impression made upon him by the personality of his subject.

When it comes to a human subject, the artist’s eye is not his only medium of perception; the portraitist is influenced also by his emotions. Any contemplation of a human subject entails the conception of an intellectual personality. The subjective image of a subject, which is largely influenced by personal likes and dislikes, will unconsciously guide the brush in the artist’s hand. Such an image may often be entirely inaccurate. In addition, it may be further influenced by accidental poses of the subject, or even by the subject’s – or the artist’s – momentary state of health or ill-health.

This should explain the many portraits which, though they cannot be dismissed out of hand as “bad,” show features so unlike the subject and are so much at variance with his true character, that those better acquainted with him – especially his closest friends and relations – will categorically reject the portrait. The artist has captured in his work a trait that is transient or accidental (and colored by the artist’s own subjective impressions) as if it were a permanent aspect of his subject’s personality. In fact, the portrait flagrantly contradicts the character of the person they know. Regarding our deaf-mute friend, it might be worthwhile to make a psychological study to establish whether deaf-mute artists see their human subjects in a light so basically different from normal portraitists that there must always be something unusual about any portrait painted by a deaf-mute. 

Now imagine an artist whose natural angle of vision causes him to see his subjects not larger, but smaller than life. Imagine further that, over many years, this artist created portraits for which his subjects never sat. He based his work on some isolated trait in his subjects that may have come to his attention by accident and that, in addition, may have been distorted by the artist’s hasty judgment or misinterpretation. This artist then brings his creative imagination into play, using this one trait as a basis for interpreting the personality of the subject as a whole. He portrays his subjects as he saw them once, in unguarded moods, positions or activities: the one in a playful mood, the other in a pensive state; the one laughing, the other weeping; the one angry, the other joking. Some of his subjects are made to appear indignant, arrogant or impudent, while others look depressed, anxious, humble or embarrassed. But in thus portraying a person, the artist has seized upon only one note in that person’s whole range of emotions, a note which, in fact, may have been played only once in the person’s lifetime, but which the artist has perpetuated as the keynote, the dominant character. 

Now let us imagine that, years later, this artist presents to us these sketches as true-to-life portraits, committing the error of explaining the transient moods in which he painted his subjects as typical of their character. “Look,” he says, “this one was always laughing; that one had an evil temper; this one was forever playing games; that one was always deep in thought.” Even worse, he passes off these products of his imagination not only as authentic character sketches of his subjects but as prototypes of all their contemporaries; thus, “during this period, people were laughing all the time; during this other period, they tended to be depressed; this era was one of arrogance; that era was an age of anxiety and timidity.”

Now let us say that, in reply to our look of disbelief, the artist cites ancient chronicles in support of his presentation: “During that year the cherries were sour; as a result, everyone alive at the time had a sour look on his face,” or, “During this year the future looked bright; as a result, everyone was in an unusually friendly mood.” Say, further, that this artist clings to his fancies as if they were absolute truth, so much so that wherever he needs a historical reference to authenticate his portrait he feels free to invent a reference to suit the portrait. Consider all these caprices of artistic fancy, and you have the History of the Jews by Dr. H. Graetz. 

These lines were written to a friend who wanted to hear my opinion of this History soon after its publication. They reflect the impressions which the book made upon me after I read it through only once, without subjecting the author’s views and descriptions to detailed tests in the light of the data and the sources he cites in their support. Even a superficial glance at this so-called “History of the Jews” should be sufficient for anyone with even a slight knowledge of the literature cited by the author as his source material to see that this work presents more fiction than fact.

Since then, I have examined this work in detail and checked it against the cited sources. Leaving aside the religious philosophy for which it is intended as an ideological basis and which its conclusions are meant to support, I have found it to be, even from a purely scientific point of view, a product of the most outrageous, irresponsible superficiality. I therefore consider it my sacred duty to present the results of my investigation to the public.

The main point of Rav Hirsch’s analogy is that, at the end of the day, a biography is a subjective portrait. The force of his analogy lies in its depiction of just how much the author’s subjectivity can skew the accuracy of the biography. According to Kaplan, Goldberg was a tragic victim of his own subjectivity. I say “victim” because his distortion was not intentional, and I say “tragic” because of how much he misrepresents the ideas of these individuals in his account of their contributions. Kaplan goes so far as to write: “In the case of Harry Wolfson and, perhaps also, Abraham Joshua Heschel what Goldberg presents us with are not so much portraits as caricatures.”

On a personal level, I am left with one question: Do I finish reading Goldberg’s book? One the one hand, my newfound awareness of its flaws will help me to take everything I read with a heaping tablespoon of salt. Additionally, Kaplan acknowledged at the end of his review that readers will still “find much valuable data and many stimulating and incisive observations and insights.” He even encouraged me on Facebook to continue reading and to share my thoughts when I’m finished. At the same time, I’m wary about knowingly allowing inaccuracies to enter my mind and take root. Reading the chapter on Rabbi Soloveitchik might not be so bad, since I already have a wealth of diverse biographical snapshots and enough firsthand knowledge of his Torah to form my own views. But do I really want my introduction to Abraham J. Heschel to be a biography that is so slanted by the author’s value judgments that it borders on caricature? 

Although I haven’t made my decision yet, I am inclined to finish the book. Considering what I wrote above about the unavoidable perils of relying on experts and the inherent hazards in every biography, I might as well lean into the process, exposing myself to as many different takes as possible. Theoretically, I will build up a healthy skepticism from the diversity of views while accumulating a core composite image where the differing accounts overlap. Errors will be unavoidable, but that’s par for the course of being a human being with a limited intellect.

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If you've gained from what you've learned here, please consider contributing to my Patreon at www.patreon.com/rabbischneeweiss. Alternatively, if you would like to make a direct contribution to the "Rabbi Schneeweiss Torah Content Fund," my Venmo is @Matt-Schneeweiss, and my Zelle and PayPal are mattschneeweiss at gmail.com. Even a small contribution goes a long way to covering the costs of my podcasts, and will provide me with the financial freedom to produce even more Torah content for you.

If you would like to sponsor a day's or a week's worth of content, or if you are interested in enlisting my services as a teacher or tutor, you can reach me at rabbischneeweiss at gmail.com. Thank you to my listeners for listening, thank you to my readers for reading, and thank you to my supporters for supporting my efforts to make Torah ideas available and accessible to everyone.

Be sure to check out my YouTube channel and my podcasts: "The Mishlei Podcast", "The Stoic Jew" Podcast, "Rambam Bekius" Podcast, "Machshavah Lab" Podcast, "The Tefilah Podcast"  Email me if you'd like to be added to my WhatsApp group where I share all of my content and public shiur info. 

The Insidious Nature of Metaphysical and Epistemological Premises

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The Insidious Nature of Metaphysical and Epistemological Premises

I recently started reading a book called Already Free: Buddhism Meets Psychotherapy on the Path of Liberation. The author is Bruce Tift, who has worked as a psychotherapist and has lived as a practicing Buddhist for over 40 years. The back cover of the book reads: “Buddhism and Western psychotherapy seek to provide freedom from suffering, yet each offers a completely different approach for reaching this goal. How can we know which one will help us the most?”

I’ve been interested in psychology for a long time but have only recently begun to explore meditation, mindfulness, and the other Eastern practices that have been recognized as beneficial by Western psychotherapists. My intellectual disposition makes me wary when it comes to investigating other religions, but that’s what makes Buddhism and Taoism so frustrating for a “Westerner” such as myself: it’s hard to tell which elements are “religious” and which are simply chochmah (wisdom). That’s why this book intrigued me: I hoped that the author would help me to clarify the distinction.

I’m only two chapters in, but towards the beginning of the book the author addresses my concern:

It’s said that the Buddha was asked about what happens when we die, whether other beings exist in other realms, and questions about the nature of reality. The Buddha responded: “If a man has been shot with an arrow and the doctor is called, does that doctor ask him who shot the arrow, what his motives were, what he was wearing, and so on? No. The doctor’s job is to remove the arrow and help the patient heal. My teachings are about the relief from unnecessary suffering. I teach about liberation, not about the nature of reality.”

This is a seductive anecdote. It promises practical results without theoretics. But is it really that simple? Are there not metaphysical and epistemological premises embedded within the anecdote itself? This anecdote presupposes that “liberation” has nothing to do with “the nature of reality.” It presupposes that neither the art of the doctor nor the art of the teacher need be concerned with anything but the experience of suffering. It presupposes that one can distinguish between “necessary” and “unnecessary” suffering without knowledge of reality. All of these presuppositions are made with subtlety.

This serves as a reminder about the insidious nature of metaphysical and epistemological premises. It is far too easy to pledge allegiance to such premises without even realizing it. This reminder is especially important for people such as me, who regularly read and learn non-Torah sources, both in order to better understand and practice Judaism, and in order to gain insight into the chochmah outside of Torah.

There are those who say that the risk is not worth the reward. They argue that it would be far safer to close ourselves off from all non-Torah sources of wisdom, for fear of “contamination.” This was the position of Rav S.R. Hirsch, as expressed in Letter #18 of the Nineteen Letters. He lambasted the Rambam for being influenced by foreign ideas, and advocated for a model of “developing Judaism from within” – an approach he ascribes to the Ramban, to R’ Yehuda ha’Levi, and to himself.

I hear where this approach is coming from. My response, in a nutshell, is: that ship has sailed. The belief that we can learn “pure Torah” by hermetically sealing ourselves off from foreign influences is a pipe dream. This may have been possible at various points in our history, but not today. The Ramban, who villainized Aristotle, was influenced by his ideas, as is evident from his commentary. Rav Hirsch thought and wrote like a German. The best hope we have is to “accept the truth from whoever says it” (Rambam, Intro to Perek Chelek) while striving to be aware of and to question our premises on a continual basis.

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If you've gained from what you've learned here, please consider contributing to my Patreon at www.patreon.com/rabbischneeweiss. Alternatively, if you would like to make a direct contribution to the "Rabbi Schneeweiss Torah Content Fund," my Venmo is @Matt-Schneeweiss, and my Zelle and PayPal are mattschneeweiss at gmail.com. Even a small contribution goes a long way to covering the costs of my podcasts, and will provide me with the financial freedom to produce even more Torah content for you. 

If you would like to sponsor an article, shiur, or podcast episode, or if you are interested in enlisting my services as a teacher or tutor, you can reach me at rabbischneeweiss at gmail.com. Thank you to my listeners for listening, thank you to my readers for reading, and thank you to my supporters for supporting my efforts to make Torah ideas available and accessible to everyone. 

Be sure to check out my YouTube channel and my podcasts: "The Mishlei Podcast", "The Stoic Jew" Podcast, "Rambam Bekius" Podcast, "Machshavah Lab" Podcast, "The Tefilah Podcast"  For the full guide to all of my Torah content, click here. 

The Month of Av: Unlucky or Misunderstood? (Part 2 of 2)

This is a sequel to The Month of Av: Unlucky or Misunderstood? (Part 1 of 2). I'm going to pick up right where I left off, without reviewing the facts or the questions.

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The Month of Av: Unlucky or Misunderstood? (Part 2 of 2)

Three Disclaimers

Disclaimer #1: I realize now that I really should have written two other posts before tackling this "The Month of Av: Unlucky or Misunderstood?" series, in order to establish certain premises in a more efficient manner. As it stands, I'm too deep into the writing trenches now, so I'll just have to incorporate all of the ideas into this one post. As a result, my explanation is going to be a bit more round-about than my usual style, but I promise it'll come together at the end. 

Disclaimer #2: For the time being, I'm going to ignore the question about the "good mazal" during the month of Adar and focus exclusively on the "bad mazal" during the month of Av. If I succeed in clearly presenting my idea about Av, then you'll see what direction I would take in addressing the question about Adar. I just don't have it clear enough yet to write out. Maybe I'll take it up at Rosh Chodesh Adar later this year.

Disclaimer #3: I said this in Part 1 but it bears repeating here: this article is intended to be theoretical - not normative. Consult your rabbi before making any changes to your halachic practice. 

Diminishing Rejoicing, Avoiding Court Cases, and Bad Mazal

Let's start with the question: What does the Gemara mean when it says that the month of Av has "bad mazal"? The Ritva raises an objection to the premise of this question from the Gemara in Shabbos 156a which states: "there is no mazal for Israel." This would appear to contradict our Gemara in Taanis 29b, which indicates that the mazal of Av is bad for the Jews and the mazal of Adar is good for the Jews. 

The Ritva offers two resolutions to this contradiction: 

Even though "there is no mazal for Israel," that [statement] is only true of other days, but during these two months there is mazal, for such was decreed upon us from Heaven. Moreover, it is possible that [the term] "mazal" [in our Gemara about Av and Adar] is only a reference to the [Divine] decree, which is called "mazal" in common parlance. 

Both of the Ritva's answers explain that the special mazal of Av and Adar have to do with the Divine decree: either the mazal of Israel changes during these months because of the decree, or the decree itself is being called "mazal." 

The Baalei Tosafos on our Gemara agree with the Ritva's approach. They explain:

Rav Pappa said: Therefore, a Jew who has a court case with a non-Jew should avoid it during the month of Av, because its mazal is bad - the meaning of this is what was stated above: "liability is scheduled (lit. "rolled") for the day of liability" (Taanis 29a).

The Gemara cited by Tosafos addresses the question of how we know that both Batei ha'Mikdash (Holy Temples) were destroyed on the same day. After establishing that the first Mikdash was destroyed on the 9th of Av, the Gemara says:

From where do we know that the Second [Temple was also destroyed on the 9th of Av]? It was taught in a braisa: "merit is scheduled for the day of merit, and liability is scheduled for the day of liability."

According to Tosafos, "the mazal of Av is bad" doesn't have anything to do with the month being "unlucky," as we explained earlier. Rather, it means that Hashem decreed that the destruction of the second Mikdash should be scheduled for "the day of liability," the same day that the first Mikdash was destroyed. Thus, the statement "the mazal of Av is bad" simply means "Av was divinely ordained as a period of time designated for punishment." 

The question is: Why? What is the purpose or advantage of "scheduling" Klal Yisrael's punishments for a specific time period? The answer lies in the Rambam's opening remarks in Hilchos Taaniyos:

1:1 - It is a positive mitzvah of the Torah to cry out and to sound the trumpets on every tzarah (catastrophe) that befalls the community, as it is stated, “[When you wage war in your land] against the afflicter who afflicts you, you shall sound the trumpets, [and you shall be remembered before Hashem, your God, and you shall be saved from your enemies]” (Bamidbar 10:9), meaning to say: anything that afflicts you - such as drought, epidemic, locusts, and the like - cry out on them and sound [the trumpets].  

1:2 - This principle is one of the darchei teshuvah (ways of repentance), that at a time of the onset of an affliction, and [people] cry out and sound the trumpets, everyone will know that it was because of their evil conduct that this bad occurrence befell them, as it is written, “Your iniquities have turned away these things [to you], and your sins have withheld good from you” (Yirmiyahu 5:25), and this will cause them to remove the affliction from upon them.  

1:3 - But if they do not cry out and do not sound the trumpets, but instead say, “This is a natural event which befell us, and this affliction is a chance occurrence” - behold, this is a derech achzarius (way of cruelty), and will cause them to cling to their evil conduct, and [this] affliction and others will increase. This is what is written in the Torah, “[And if, with this, you do not listen to Me,] and you walk with me with chance, then I will walk with you in the fury of chance, [and I will also chastise you, seven times for your sins]” (Vayikra 26:26-28), meaning to say, when I bring an affliction upon you to cause you to do teshuvah, if you say that it is chance, then I will increase upon you the fury of that “chance.”

Chazal teach us that five tragedies happened on Tishah b'Av: (1) it was decreed that the generation of the Exodus would die in the Wilderness for their role in the Sin of the Spies, (2) the first Mikdash was destroyed, (3) the second Mikdash was destroyed, (4) the city of Beitar was besieged, and the Bar Kochba revolt led to many Jewish deaths, and (5) Jerusalem was razed to the ground. 

Since then, other terrible events have occurred on Tishah b'Av: the expulsion of Jews from England in 1290; the start of World War I in 1914, which directly led to World War II; the commencement of the Nazi's "Final Solution" in 1941; the start of the mass deportation of the Jews from the Warsaw Ghetto to Treblinka in 1942. If we take into consideration the entire month of Av, more tragedies can be added to the list: the beginning of the crusades on the 24th of Av in 1096; the expulsion of Jews from France on the 10th of Av in 1306; the expulsion of Jews from Spain on the 7th of Av in 1492; and more.

According to the Gemara cited by Tosafos, these misfortunes could have happened at different times of the year. However, if they did, it would be far easier for us to dismiss these catastrophes as "natural events" and "chance occurrences." Therefore, Hashem-Elokim - the One Who is merciful even when executing judgment - decreed that the month of Av should have "bad mazal." According to Tosafos, this means that He "scheduled liability for the day of liability," causing all of these tragedies to happen during the same time period. This is "merciful" because it makes it easier for us to recognize that these events were orchestrated by hashgachah (Divine providence), and this recognition will (ideally) motivate us to do national teshuvah, thereby ending our exile and our suffering.

This explanation sheds a new light on the obligation to "diminish rejoicing at the onset of Av." We are not obligated to diminish our rejoicing as an expression of natural mourning over the effects of these tragedies, but rather, this halacha aims to promote national bemoaning of the causes of those tragedies - namely, the "evil conduct which caused these events to befall us" - as a catalyst for national teshuvah. 

I believe this is where Rav Pappa's halacha comes in. The mishnah said that we should diminish rejoicing at the onset of Av, and Rav Pappa added: "therefore, a Jew who has a court appointment at a non-Jewish court should try to avoid it during the month of Av because it has a bad mazal (i.e. because Hashem scheduled our punishments for Av in order to awaken us to do teshuvah)." Why did he single out this specific activity of avoiding court appointments with non-Jews? Because avoiding court appointments with non-Jews frames our recognition of the month of Av as a time period in which the non-Jews have historically prevailed over the Jews, not because of nature or chance, but because of the midas ha'din shel ha'Kadosh Baruch Hu (the meting out of Divine Justice). 

In other words, without Rav Pappa's halacha, it would be easy for us to enter the month of Av and diminish our rejoicing purely as an expression of national mourning over the losses suffered by the Jewish people at the hands of non-Jews during this month throughout our history. But when Rav Pappa comes along and says, "How should we diminish our rejoicing? By avoiding court cases with non-Jews," he is framing our conception of the interaction between Jew and Gentile, Israel and the Nations of the World, not in terms of chance, not in terms of social or psychological dynamics, not in terms of geopolitical trends and world events, but in terms of midas ha'din. The focus on the theater of the beis din shel mata (earthly court) reminds us of the reality of the beis din shel maalah (heavenly court). Rav Pappa's institution underscores the fact that our fate as a nation is determined by our standing vis a vis God's justice, and our only salvation lies in teshuvah. 

According to this explanation, there is no reason to avoid other "risky" activities specifically during the month of Av. To the contrary - the effort to do so would detract from the framework set up by Rav Pappa's halacha, which highlights the theme of midas ha'din.

Ketev Meriri: the Scourge of the Three Weeks

We will now turn our attention to the second halacha we cited from the Shulchan Aruch Orach Chaim 551, which cautions us during the Three Weeks not to walk alone between the 4th and 9th hours of the day, and not to strike talmidim, all on account of the "Ketev Meriri." 

There are three questions we must answer: (1) What is the Ketev Meriri? (2) Why does the dominance of the Ketev Meriri during this time period make these specific activities hazardous? (3) Why is the danger of the Ketev Meriri present or increased during the Three Weeks?

The term Ketev Meriri is from Haazinu (Devarim 32:24). Here it is in context:

Hashem will see and be provoked by the anger of His sons and daughters, and He will say: "I shall hide My face from them and see what their end will be - for they are a generation of reversals, children whose upbringing is not in them. They provoked Me with a non-god, angered Me with their vanities; so shall I provoke them with a non-people, with a vile nation shall I anger them. For fire will have been kindled in My nostrils and blazed to the lowest depths. It shall consume the earth and its produce, and set ablaze what is founded on mountains. I shall accumulate evils against them, My arrows shall I use up against them; bloating of famine, battles of Reshef, Ketev Meriri, and the teeth of beasts shall I dispatch against them, with the venom of those that creep upon the earth. On the outside, the sword will bereave, while indoors there will be dread - even a young man, even a virgin, a suckling with the gray-haired man."

The word "ketev" means "cutting," and it is clear from the context that "Ketev Meriri" refers to some harmful and destructive phenomenon, but that's about all that's clear. Since this is the only place in Tanach where this phrase appears, the meforshim (commentators) struggle to understand what it means. Some associate it with a pasuk in Tehilim, which is the only other place in Tanach which uses this form of the word "ketev": "You shall not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that walks in gloom, nor the ketev yashud tzaharayim (the destroyer who lays waste at noon)" (91:5-6), but there is no clear indication of what the meriri is, or how it "cuts." 

There are two places in the aggadic midrashim which expound on the Ketev Meriri at length. I'm going to cite both sources in their entirety before commenting on either of them, beginning with the Gemara in Pesachim 111b, which appears within the context of a larger discussion about sheidim (demons). Although I usually translate the Gemara myself, I decided to rely primarily on Artscroll this time, due to the obscure terminology:

"ketev meriri" - There are two ketev demons: one [that lurks] before noontime, and one [that lurks] after noontime. The name of the one that lurks before noontime is Ketev Meriri, and it appears, in a jug of kamcha (or "kutach"- a dipping sauce made of sour milk, moldy bread crusts, and salt), as a whirling mixing spoon. The name of the one [that lurks] after noontime is Ketev Yashud Tzaharaim, and it appears amidst the horns of goats as a whirling sieve.

Abaye was once going along and Rav Pappa went on his right side and Rav Huna the son of Rav Yehoshua on his left side. He saw a Ketev Meriri coming towards his left side. [Abaye] then switched Rav Pappa to his left side and Rav Huna the son of Rav Yehoshua to his right side. Rav Pappa said to [Abaye], "Why am I different such that [you] do not concern yourself with me?" [Abaye] said to him, "For you, the times are propitious (Rashbam: you are wealthy and blessed with good fortune and will not be harmed by the demon)." 

From the time of the first of Tammuz until the 16th, [the ketev demons] are certainly prevalent. From then on, it is uncertain whether or not they are prevalent. And they are found in the shadows of a chatzuva (a type of grass) that did not grow a cubit, and in the shadows of the morning and evening that are not a cubit long. And [they are found] predominantly in the shadows of a lavatory.

The second extensive aggadic treatment is in Midrash Eichah Rabbah 1:29:

Another interpretation of "all her pursuers have overtaken her trapped between the metzarim" is "days of misfortune," which are between the 17th of Tammuz and the 9th of Av, for during that time Ketev Meriri is prevalent, as it is said: "[you shall not fear] the pestilence that goes forth in the dark, nor from the ketev which lays waste at noon." 

Rebbi Abba bar Kahana and Rebbi Levi [discussed ketev meriri]. Rebbi Abba bar Kahana said: "It cuts down (i.e. wreaks havoc) during the passage of the noontime hours, from the beginning of the 6th hour [of daylight] through the end of the 9th hour." Rebbi Levi said: "It cuts down during the passage of the daylight hours, from the end of the 4th hour to the beginning of the 9th hour." It does not travel in the sunlight, nor in the shade, but in the shade that is adjacent to the sunlight.

Rebbi Yochanan and Rebbi Shimon ben Lakish [also discussed ketev meriri]. Rebbi Yochanan said: "It is full of eyes, made up of layers upon layers, and hair upon hair." Rebbi Shimon ben Lakish said: "One eye is situated on its heart, and if anyone sees it, he dies."

Rebbi Abahu was sitting and teaching in a certain synagogue in his place in Caesarea. He saw a man holding a stick about to hit his fellow man. He saw a demon standing behind him, holding a metal rod. Rebbi Abahu rose up and screamed, saying to the man, "Why do you want to kill your fellow man?" [The man] asked, "With [a stick like] this someone can kill his fellow man?" [Rebbi Abahu explained:] "But there is a demon right behind you holding a metal rod. If you hit your fellow with this [stick,] he (i.e. the demon) will hit him (i.e. you) with that [rod] and he (i.e. you) will die.

Rebbi Yochanan used to demand that the Scripture teachers and Mishnah teachers not hold up the strap to the children [to punish them] during these days [when ketev meriri is rampant]. Rebbi Shmuel bar Nachmeini used to demand that the Scripture teachers and Mishnah teachers release the youngsters [from school] during the four hours [when the ketev is rampant]. 

Instead of veering off on a lengthy tangent about Judaism's view of demons, I'll just quote the Meiri's commentary on: “A fool will believe anything, but a clever person will understand every step” (Mishlei 14:15). The Meiri writes: 

A fool will believe everything he hears, whether it’s possible or impossible, probable or improbable. But a clever person – one who investigates with his own mind – will understand every step. For example, if he hears something, he will investigate it with his own mind to see whether it is possible or impossible, probable or improbable. The Sages of Musar said: “If the speaker is a fool, then the listener should be clever.” Even though this is common sense advice, nevertheless, it is befitting for every intelligent person to analyze with his mind which ideas are proper to believe in.

The Meiri then goes on to provide examples in matters of Torah and in matters science which we are obligated to investigate in this manner, and not just blindly accept. As one of his examples of "scientific matters which are not contingent on matters of [Torah] belief," the Meiri lists "the existence or non-existence of demons." In other words, there is no "theological obligation" to believe in demons. Rather, each person must "investigate [the subject] with his own mind to see whether it is possible or impossible, probable or improbable." Similarly, Rav Hirsch wrote in his Letters on Aggadah:

In my opinion, the first principle that every student of Chazal's statements must keep before his eyes is the following: Chazal were sages of God's law - the receivers, transmitters, and teachers of His toros, His mitzvos, and His interpersonal laws. They did not especially master the natural sciences, geometry, astronomy, or medicine - except insofar as they needed them for knowing, observing, and fulfilling the Torah. We do not find that this knowledge was transmitted to them from Sinai.

Nowadays too it is enough for the non-specialist to know about any of these areas of knowledge whatever contemporary experts teach that is generally accepted as true. This applies to the lawyer vis-à-vis all other areas, to the mathematician and the astronomer regarding the natural sciences, and to the expert on flora regarding all other areas. We expect none of them to seek out the truth and satisfy his inclinations in any field other than his own specialty.

Moreover, even in the area where one is an expert, it is neither possible for him nor expected of him to know everything through personal investigation and experience. Most of his knowledge rests upon the investigation of others. If they have erred it is not his fault. It is sufficient and praiseworthy if his knowledge encompasses all that is accepted as true at his time and place and generation. The greatness of his wisdom is in no way belittled if in a later generation it is discovered that some of the things he maintained or accepted on the authority of others are unreliable. The same is true for Chazal in these areas. The greatest of them knew all the wisdom and science of all the great non-Jewish scholars whose wisdom and teachings became famous in their generations.

Having said that, there are three ways to understand these aggadic statements about the Ketev Meriri:

Approach #1: These statements of the Sages indicate their belief that the Ketev Meriri was a real physical threat, and they were correct. 

Approach #2: These statements of the Sages indicate their belief that the Ketev Meriri was a real physical threat, but we now know that they were incorrect.

Approach #3: These statements of the Sages were intended to be taken allegorically, and were written to teach us lessons in ethics, philosophy, psychology, metaphysics, etc.; they were never intended by their authors to be taken literally, as statements of scientific fact about a physical threat.

In my opinion, Approach #3 is the least likely. I have yet to see any meforshim who explain the Ketev references in Haazinu or Tehilim 91 allegorically, and I think it would be difficult to take most of the aggadic explanations of the Ketev Meriri in Pesachim and Midrash Eichah as metaphors. The fact that the Shulchan Aruch and Rema codify these precautionary measures as halacha show that they certainly didn't take these statements allegorically.

Approach #1 is also unlikely, but is more plausible than Approach #3. Don't worry: I don't think there's any basis for worrying about a demon "filled with eyes" who will kill you if you look at the eye in its heart, nor do I think there is a single scientist who believes that whirling spoon demons can be seen in sour dipping sauce or whirling sieve demons appear between goat horns.

However, there are grounds for saying that a person should take certain precautions when walking outside during the Three Weeks between the 4th and 9th hours. After all, these are the hottest days of the year, and the hottest times of day. Lest you think I'm being facetious, a number of Rishonim take this approach in their commentary on the reference to Ketev Meriri in Haazinu. The Ibn Ezra explains that Ketev Meriri refers to the damage caused "by the bitterness of the air." Ibn Caspi says that it refers to the severe sickness that comes about on account of "the unusually excessive heat that occurs during the summer days." The Ralbag provides a lengthy meteorological account of Ketev Meriri - one which I can't even claim to translate accurately. He says something about how "meriri" refers to "the lethal air that sometimes comes up from the earth at times of extreme heat." He theorizes how this air is a product of "the heat of the sun and stars combined with the phenomena in the belly of the earth which cause this harmful vapor to ascend." He also repeatedly mentions something about "putrefaction" or "mustiness," but I couldn't follow what he was saying.

Whether or not these proto-scientific explanations of Ketev Meriri are any more accurate than the belief in a literal havoc-wreaking demon, one thing is clear: these Rishonim understood the Ketev Meriri to be a reference to a natural, physical, environmental phenomenon, rather than as a spiritual force or supernatural creature (as most people think of when they hear the word "demon"). Moreover, they had no qualms about rejecting the validity of the Sages' descriptions provided in the aggadic midrashim cited above. One might argue that they weren't rejecting these statements, but merely interpreting them non-literally. Personally, I doubt it. It's a stretch to read those vivid and specific statements as referring to "hot air" or "musty vapor."

To my mind, Approach #2 is the most reasonable of the three. The Sages believed in the physical threat of something they called Ketev Meriri, which they associated with the references in Haazinu and Tehilim 91. Whether they thought it was a spiritual entity or a meteorological phenomenon, they genuinely believed that it could cause harm. They also thought that they had enough of an understanding of the nature of this threat to be able to lay down guidelines for how to avoid this harm. But they were wrong. After all, the Meiri said that we must investigate the question of whether such demons exist and reach our conclusions based on our own understanding. As far as I know, there is no scientific basis for believing in the reality of anything matching the Sages' detailed description of Ketev Meriri today. And, as Rav Hirsch said, this is not an indictment of the Sages' authority or intelligence. They were merely relying on the information that was available to them at the time, just as contemporary rabbis rely on the scientific data available to them today, even though today's science might be regarded as laughably false tomorrow.

Whichever of the three approaches you take, one thing is abundantly clear, and was the most shocking of my findings: the threat of Ketev Meriri has absolutely nothing to do with Tishah b'Av and the Three Weeks! The Gemara in Pesachim says that the threat of the Ketev Meriri is specifically during the first sixteen days of Tammuz, and it is uncertain whether we need to take precautions against the Ketev Meriri during the time period from the 17th of Tammuz until the 9th of Av. There is nothing in that Gemara or Midrash Eichah which makes reference to anything having to do with Tishah b'Av, Three Weeks, the destruction of the Beis ha'Mikdash, the prophecies of Yirmiyahu, or even the halachos of mourning and diminishing our rejoicing. The sole exception to this trend is the phrase "bein ha'metzarim," which is likely just a textual hook in the Midrash. Certainly the Rishonim who understood Ketev Meriri to be an environmental threat that is common during the hottest days of the year would not tie their explanations to the halachic institutions of the Three Weeks and Tishah b'Av. They would caution all people, Jews and non-Jews, to take these precautions against the Ketev Meriri, even before Tishah b'Av was instituted as a halacha. Likewise, they would tell people who live in colder climates not to worry at all about these guidelines.

Another thing is clear: according to the Gemara in Pesachim and Midrash Eichah, no matter which of the three approaches you take, there is no reason to avoid other "risky" behaviors. The Ketev Meriri works in very specific ways. The Sages even go so far as to identify the specific types of shrubbery and shadows in which the Ketev Meriri can be found. There is simply no basis in this original source material for claiming that other dangerous activities should be avoided - except, perhaps, other outdoor activities which might put you at risk for heat exhaustion or dehydration.

Conclusion

We initially set out to answer the question: Is there a basis for the widespread practice to avoid risky endeavors during the Nine Days or the Three Weeks, out of precaution?  The answer to this question is a resounding and unequivocal: NO!

Our findings may be summarized as follows:

At the onset of Av we diminish rejoicing, and the specific activity we avoid is scheduling court appointments with non-Jews. According to our explanation, this reinforces the proper teshuvah-framework (midas ha'din) for reflecting on the causes of the national tragedies which were scheduled to befall us during the month of Av.

Between the 17th of Tammuz and the 9th of Av, we refrain from walking alone outdoors between the halachic hours of 4 and 9, and we also avoid striking students - not because of anything having to do with the Three Weeks, the Nine Days, and Tishah b'Av, but because of the threat of the Ketev Meriri - a physical threat that is either real but limited to very specific parameters, or is not real at all.

Although I have stated in my disclaimer that this post is not intended to be normative, I can tell you that if you are the type of person who determines your halachic practice based on the rulings of the Shulchan Aruch and the Rema, then feel free to schedule your wisdom-teeth surgery during this time period without worrying about increasing your risk for harm. There's no need to further diminish your joy on account of baseless fear. 

Parashas Vaeschanan: Methodology Battle - Ibn Ezra vs. Malbim

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Artwork: Battle of Wits, by Edward Beard Jr.
Also, depiction of Ibn Ezra vs. the Malbim

Parashas Vaeschanan: Methodology Battle - Ibn Ezra vs. Malbim

The Battleground

In Parashas Vaeschanan, Moshe Rabbeinu reviews the Aseres ha'Devarim (Decalogue) for the generation that will enter the Land after his passing. The Ibn Ezra, in his introduction to the Torah's original presentation of the Aseres ha'Devarim in Parashas Yisro, acknowledges the glaring problem which confronts any student who carefully reads both parshiyos: the two versions of the Aseres ha'Devarim contain differences in wording! Some of these differences are major, such as:

Shemos 20:8-11 (Yisro): Remember the Shabbos day to sanctify it. Six days shall you work and accomplish all of your work; but the seventh day is Shabbos to Hashem, your God; you shall not do any work - you, your son, your daughter, your slave, your maidservant, your animal, and your convert within your gates - for in six days Hashem made the heavens and the earth, the sea and all that is in them, and He rested on the seventh day. Therefore, Hashem blessed the Shabbos day and sanctified it. 

Devarim 5:12-15 (Vaeschanan): Safeguard the Shabbos day to sanctify it, as Hashem, your God, has commanded you. Six days shall you do labor and do all of your work; but the seventh day is Shabbos to Hashem, your God; you shall not do any work - you, your son, your daughter, your slave, your maidservant, your ox, your donkey, and your every animal, and your convert within your gates, in order that your slave and your maidservant may rest like you. And you shall remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and Hashem, your God, has taken you out from there with a strong hand and an outstretched arm; therefore, Hashem, your God, has commanded you to make the Shabbos day.

In other cases, the differences are more subtle, such as:

Shemos 20:13: You shall not murder; you shall not commit adultery; you shall not steal; you shall not bear false witness against your fellow. 

Devarim 5:17: You shall not murder; and you shall not commit adultery; and you shall not steal; and you shall not bear vain witness against your fellow.

Also subtle:

Shemos 20:14: You shall not covet your fellow's house; you shall not covet your fellow's wife, his manservant, his maidservant, his ox, his donkey, nor anything that belongs to your fellow. 

Devarim 5:18: And you shall not covet your fellow's wife; you shall not desire your fellow's house, his field, his manservant, his maidservant, his ox, his donkey, nor anything that belongs to your fellow.

The Ibn Ezra notes the difficulties raised by these changes and addresses them. If you are interested in his answers, see his lengthy treatise at the beginning of Shemos Chapter 20. 

I'm not going to present any answers of any meforshim (commentators) to these difficulties in this post. Instead, I'd like to focus on a major methodological divide between the meforshim. I've wanted to write about this for a while, and since the Ibn Ezra states his shitah (position) in his introduction to the Aseres ha'Devarim, I decided to use this blog post as a springboard for the discussion.

Ibn Ezra's View: Meanings Matter Most

The Ibn Ezra [1] introduces his shitah prior to explaining the discrepancies between the Aseres ha'Devarim in Yisro and Vaeschanan:

As a general rule, the masters of the Holy Language will sometimes explain their words very clearly, and other times they will say what is necessary in a few concise words from which the listener can derive their meaning. Know that words are like bodies and meanings are like souls, and the body is like a vessel for the soul. Therefore, the general rule of all chachamim (wise men) in any language is to preserve the meanings without any concern about a change of words, so long as the meanings remain the same. 

In other words (ha! get it?), the words are merely the vessels for conveying meaning, and as long as the meaning is preserved, it doesn't matter if the words change. Therefore, when learning Tanach - even the text of the Torah itself - one need not obsess over the nuanced variations in wording which occur when the Torah repeats material. Instead, just focus on getting the main idea, and don't worry be nitpicky about the words.   

The Ibn Ezra then provides some examples:

Hashem said to Kayin: "You are cursed from the ground ... When you will work the ground, it will no longer give forth its strength to you. You shall become a vagrant and a wanderer upon the earth" (Bereishis 4:11-12). Kayin replied: "Behold! You have driven me out this day from upon the face of the ground!" (ibid. 4:14). Now who is so mindless as to think that the meaning [of these two descriptions of Kayin's punishment] isn't the same on account of the change in words! 

Behold! Eliezer said: "Let me sip, if you please, [a little water from your jug]" (ibid. 24:17). However, he [subsequently] quoted himself as saying: "Please give me a drink" (ibid. 24:45). 

Moshe said: "the firstborn of the captive that was in the dungeon" (Shemos 12:29). However, it is written earlier: "the firstborn of the maidservant that is behind the mill" (ibid. 11:5).  

In Devarim, Moshe quoted the prayer which he offered on behalf of Israel because of the Golden Calf (Devarim 9:26-29). Now to the person who lacks a mind capable of understanding, this prayer appears totally different from the one recorded in the Torah portion Ki Sisa (Shemos 32:11-14). 

The general rule is: any change in the wording - such as in the dreams of Paroh (Bereishis 41:1-17, 17-24) and Nevuchadnetzar (Daniel 4), and many other things - you will find the meaning to be the same, even if the words are different. 

The Ibn Ezra goes on to mention other types of cases which fall into this category. Sometimes a word will be lengthened or shortened, or a prefix will be added or taken away, or the spelling of the word will change - all without changing the meaning. 

On the basis of this approach, the Ibn Ezra explains - or brushes away - the differences between the two versions of the Aseres ha'Devarim. According to him, even Moshe Rabbeinu didn't care about changing Hashem's wording in the original Aseres ha'Devarim, so long as he successfully conveyed the Divine intent. (The Ibn Ezra does, however, admit that the radically different presentations of Shabbos requires an actual explanation.)

This approach may seem radical to a student who was raised hearing the standard premise that "there are no extra words in the Torah" and "every letter has a meaning." The Ramban takes the Ibn Ezra to task for his answer here. Apparently, the Maharal devoted an entire chapter of his book, Tiferes Yisrael (chapter 43), to challenging the Ibn Ezra's view. 

On the surface it might seem that Ibn Ezra lacks the reverence for the Torah's use of hebrew. However, one must remember that the Ibn Ezra is considered to be one of the leading authorities in the Hebrew language among the Rishonim, and was an ardent defender of a strictly textual approach to Biblical exegesis. In his introduction to his Torah commentary, [2] he characterizes his approach to Scriptural interpretation as "the grammatical approach," which focuses on the rules of the Hebrew language and the definitions of its words:

The fifth method [of Torah interpretation] is the one upon which I will base my commentary. It appears to me to be correct in the presence of God whom alone I fear. I will not show favoritism to anyone when it comes to interpreting the Torah. I will, to the utmost of my ability, try to understand grammatically every word and then to do my best to explain it. Every word whose meaning the reader desires to know will be found explained the first time the word is encountered. For example, the meaning of "shamayim" will be given in the first verse of Bereishis. This will apply to all terms.

When Ibn Ezra made the statement about "masters of the language" playing fast and loose with their wording, he was speaking as a "master of the language." 

We'll return to the Ibn Ezra's shitah in a moment. For now, let's look at his strongest opposition.

Malbim's View: Words Matter Most

It is safe to say that the Malbim was one of the most creative meforshim in recent times. Like the Ibn Ezra, the Malbim wrote a commentary on almost all of Nach which is grounded in a thorough understanding of the Hebrew language. Unlike the Ibn Ezra, the Malbim is not keen on the idea of glossing over any linguistic nuances in the Torah's repetition of material. Indeed, he holds that the Torah contains no repetitions or synonyms or anything extra whatsoever. 

The clearest summary of the Malbim's approach that I know of can be found in the introduction to his commentary on Sefer Yeshayahu. The Malbim introduces his own method by articulating its three foundational principles:

My commentary rests upon three central pillars: 

(1) Nowhere in the eloquent speech [4] of the neviim is there to be found any repetition of the same idea in different words, nor is there a repetition of ideas, statements, or allegories, nor are there two sentences with the same content, nor are there two mashalim (metaphors) with the same nimshal (interpretation), nor are there even two repeated words.

(2) Nowhere in the eloquent speech of the neviim – neither in their simple nor compound sentences – is there to be found words or verbs which are placed by chance without a specific intent, to the extent that all words, nouns, and verbs which constitute every sentence – not only is it necessary that they occur in that sentence, but it would not have been possible for a divine messenger to use another word in its place, for all of the words in the divine eloquent speech have been weighed on the scales of wisdom and knowledge, evaluated, preserved, counted, and recounted by the metric of Supreme Wisdom which alone is sublime enough to utter it.

(3) Nowhere in the eloquent speech of the neviim is there to be found a husk without content, a body without a soul, a garment without a wearer, a statement devoid of sublime thought, a statement in which understanding doesn’t dwell – for the living God resides in all statements of the living God, with the breath of life in their nostrils, the spirit of the Dreaded, Mighty, Glorious, and Awesome One.

In short, the Malbim maintains that every sentence, every word, and every nuance in the text of Tanach was chosen to convey a specific meaning. There is no repetition, there are no textual features which are there for purely stylistic reasons, and there is no room for multiple possibilities of what the pesukim could have said. According to the Malbim, every single pasuk had to say exactly what it said, in exactly the manner it said it - otherwise, the meaning would be lost. 

Perhaps the most salient feature of the Malbim's approach is his firm instance that there are no true synonyms in Hebrew. Every word means something different. Any two terms which appear to have the same meaning will, upon careful study of their usage throughout Tanach, reveal that they have different definitions. The Malbim's commentary on Tanach is comprised of two parts. One part of his commentary is a "beur ha'devarim" (commentary on the meaning of the pesukim, in context), and the other part is a "beur ha'milos" (glossary of terms). Even a casual glance through the Malbim's beur ha'milos will reveal that his favorite phrase is: "yesh hevdel bein ____ u'bein ____" (there is a difference between [this word] and [this synonym]), which he uses hundreds of times throughout his commentary to elucidate the definitions of these so-called "synonyms."

The Malbim writes that he labored intensively to figure out the definition of each and every Hebrew word in based on exhaustive research. He criticizes other chachamim who have arrived at speculative distinctions between these apparent synonyms by inferring universal definitions from isolated cases, instead of conducting a thorough analysis of every instance of every word in all of Tanach, as he did:

Before I approached this precious work – the holy work of explaining and elucidating the books of Hashem – I first set out to investigate, to explore, and to search for the definitions of the words and verbs that occur in the holy Scriptures until their essential definitions became clear to me with a clear knowledge … 

This path has been followed by all of the later chachamim, who have expounded and clarified the synonyms, and have been satisfied with themselves if they found one distinction in the entire sentence, and thought that the other different words in the two sentences are for beautifying the poetic speech [of the navi] or came about by happenstance; consequently, even the universal principles which [these chachamim] have produced and the distinctions they have made, they are unable to substantiate with proofs, since their words are nothing but guesswork rooted in imagination. 

I, however, have set a law not to be overstepped, for no words have entered into the counsel of Hashem by way of chance, but only with intelligent choice; therefore, the labor which I have taken upon myself is great and difficult, and I have surpassed the work of all others who have endeavored in this manner …

Here the Malbim warns those who attempt to emulate his approach. Unless one is prepared to undertake a complete survey of Biblical Hebrew, one risks falling into "guesswork rooted in imagination," which will inevitably lead to error and falsehood.

The Malbim also makes it clear that he was not relying on anyone else in developing his approach:

You should also know that even though I have been preceded by many chachamim who have distinguished between synonyms – some of whose books I own, such as Sefer Gan Naul and Sefer Yerios Shelomo – despite all of this, I have not relied upon the words of any man, but I have tested everything myself, whether all pesukim can be explained based on the path that I, myself, have paved. Therefore, [my work] has nothing to do with that of another person: I have neither built nor destroyed the words of anyone other than myself, because I analyzed every rule and universal principle myself and committed my own intuition to writing. And if you find that someone else established a universal principle which accords with my own statement, this is an indicator that anyone who possess intelligence will arrive at the same path regarding any matter which is simple and upright.

Suffice it to say, the Malbim would not - and does not - accept the Ibn Ezra's assertion that "the general rule of all chachamim in any language is to preserve the meanings without any concern about a change of words, so long as the meanings remain the same." The Malbim would certainly never accept the Ibn Ezra's general approach to explaining the differences in the Torah's two statements of the Aseres ha'Devarim. If Moshe reversed "you shall not covet your neighbor's wife" and "you shall not covet your neighbor's house" in his restatement, there must be a reason. If the Torah says "eidus sheker" (false testimony) in Yisro but "eidus shav" (vain testimony) in Vaeschanan, there must be a reason. The same goes for all other changes in wording and textual nuances throughout all of Tanach.

"Team Ibn Ezra" 

I view the Ibn Ezra and Malbim as existing along a spectrum, each at one end. The other meforshim throughout the ages - both Rishonim (medieval) and Achronim (post-medieval) - tend to fall on one side of the spectrum or another in this battle of methodology. 

I would argue that most of the classical Rishonim fall closer to the Ibn Ezra's side in their commentaries. This is indicated by their decision not to take up the types of questions about textual nuances which are the focus of the Malbim's commentary. If you compare the commentary of the Malbim side by side with the traditional meforshim, you'll find that many of the linguistic questions which bother him are completely ignored by them. This suggests that they had a different approach.

Granted, I am aware that absence of evidence doesn't always equal evidence of absence. One could argue that they did hold like the Malbim, but assumed that their audience was familiar enough with Hebrew that such questions didn't need to be addressed in their commentaries. One could also argue that they held like the Malbim, but didn't prioritize this type of explanation in their commentaries for some unstated reason. Personally, I don't buy such arguments. In the Malbim's introduction to Sefer Yeshayahu, he makes it pretty clear that the approach in his commentary is unprecedented among the commentators. That, combined with the drastically different content in their commentaries, has me convinced that most classical commentators did not share the Malbim's views on Biblical interpretation.

Moreover, we see a number of mainstream meforshim take stances which directly oppose the  three pillars of the Malbim's method. For example, when confronted with synonyms or repetitions in the pesukim, many meforshim will simply say: "kafal ha'davar b'milos shonos" (the pasuk repeated the same statement in different words) or "kafal ha'inyan b'milos shonos" (the pasuk repeated the same idea in different words). One of my favorite meforshim on Nach, the Radak, uses these phrases over 200 times in his Nach commentary. Metzudas David makes recourse to "kafal ha'davar" over 400 times. The Malbim wouldn't accept this even once.

Similarly, when the classical meforshim explain obscure words in the pesukim, they'll do so by making reference to more common synonyms - and they will do so without explaining the differences, suggesting that they believe the terms to be genuinely synonymous, and not just apparently so. In contrast, the Malbim will point out a synonym, and will then go on to explain how the two terms have subtly different meanings. To me this is a clear indication of a divergence in methodology. It would be a stretch to say that these other meforshim hold that there are no synonyms or repetitions in Tanach, but simultaneously feel so comfortable saying "the pasuk is repeating the same idea" or "this word means basically the same thing as this word." If they hold that the terms are different, they should explain how. And if, like the Malbim, they held that this difference in meaning is critical for understanding the main idea of the pasuk, they would be negligent not to give a full explanation.

Another category of opposition to the Malbim's approach can be seen in the classical commentators' treatment of the numerous allegories, parables and instances of figurative speech in Nach. The Malbim explicitly criticized chachamim who explain extra words and  phrases by claiming that these words serve only "in order to beautify the poetic speech" or that "they came about by happenstance," and serve no real purpose. And yet we find many classical meforshim who take precisely this approach. The Rambam [5] goes so far as to make this into an interpretive rule:

Know that the prophetic parables are of two kinds. In some of these parables each word has a meaning, while others the parable as a whole indicates the whole of the intended meaning. In such a parable very many words are to be found, not every one of which adds to the intended meaning. They serve rather to embellish the parable and to render it more coherent or to conceal further the intended meaning; hence, the speech proceeds in such a way as to accord with everything required by the parable's external meaning.

An example of the first kind of prophetic parable is the following text: "And behold - a ladder set up on the earth etc." (Bereishis 28:12-13). In this text, the word "ladder" indicates one subject; the words "set up on the earth" indicate a second subject; the words "and the top of it reached to the heaven" indicate a third subject; the words "and behold the angels of God" indicate a fourth subject; the word "ascending" indicates a fifth subject; the words "and descending" indicate a sixth subject; and the words "and behold - Hashem stood above it" indicate a seventh subject. Thus, every word occurring in this parable refers to an additional subject in the complex of subjects represented by the parable as a whole." 

An example of the second kind of prophetic parable is the following text: For I have looked out from the window of my house through my lattice, and I saw among the fools, I discerned among the youths, a lad who lacked [an understanding] heart passing through the marketplace near her corner, and he strode toward her house, in the twilight, as daylight wanes, in the blackness of night and darkness. Then behold, a woman approached him, bedecked as a harlot and with siege in [her] heart. She coos and she entices, her feet do not dwell at home. Sometimes in the courtyard, sometimes in the streets, she lurks at every corner. She seized him and kissed him; she thrust forth her face and said to him: "I had vowed to bring peace-offerings, and today I have fulfilled my vow. That is why I went out toward you, to seek your countenance, and I have found you! I have decked my bed with spreads; carved bed poles are hung with Egyptian linen. I have perfumed my bed with myrrh, aloes, and cinnamon. Come, let us sate ourselves with love until the morning; let us rejoice with acts of love, for [my] husband is not at home; he has gone on a distant journey. He has taken the money-pouch with him; he will come home at the appointed time." She sways him with her abundant sophistication; she thrusts him with the glibness of her lips. He follows her unsuspectingly, like an ox to the slaughter; rushing like a venomous snake to discipline the foolish one, until the arrow splits his liver; he is like a bird hurrying to the trap, unaware that its life will be lost" (Mishlei 7:5-20). The outcome of all this is a warning against the pursuit of bodily pleasures and desires. Accordingly he [Shlomo] likens matter, which is the cause of all these bodily pleasures, to a harlot who is also a married woman. In fact his entire book is based on this allegory. And we shall explain in various chapters of this treatise his wisdom in likening matter to a married harlot, and we shall explain how he concluded this book with a eulogy of the woman who is not a harlot but confines herself to attending to the welfare of her household and husband. For all the hindrances keeping man from his ultimate perfection, every deficiency affecting him and every disobedience, come to him from his matter alone, as we shall explain in this treatise. This is the proposition that can be understood from this parable as a whole. I mean that man should not follow his bestial nature; I mean his matter, for the proximate matter of man is identical with the proximate matter of other living beings. And as I have explained this to you and disclosed the secret of this parable, you should not hope to find some signification corresponding to every subject occurring in this parable] so that you could say: what can be submitted for the words, "I had vowed to bring peace-offerings, and today I have fulfilled my vow"? What subject is indicated by the words, "I have decked my bed with spreads"? And what subject is added to this general proposition by the words, "for my husband is not at home"?The same holds good for the other details in this chapter. For all of them only figure in the consistent development of the parable's external meaning, the circumstances described in it being of a kind typical for adulterers. Also the spoken words and other such details are of a kind typical of words spoken among adulterers. Understand this well from what I have said, for it is a great and important principle with regard to matters that I wish to explain.

The Rambam and the Malbim clearly disagree on this point! The Malbim would criticize the Rambam for saying that all of these details were included by Shlomo solely for the purpose of developing the external allegory, and convey no ideational content or significance. The Rambam, in turn, would criticize the Malbim for seeking an interpretation of these details and descriptions when no such interpretation exists. In fact, the Rambam goes on to voice just such a criticism:

When, therefore, you find that in some chapter of this treatise I have explained the meaning of a parable and have drawn your attention to the general proposition signified by it, you should not inquire into all the details occurring in the parable, nor should you wish to find significations corresponding to them. For doing so would lead you into one of two ways: either into turning aside from the parable's intended subject, or into assuming an obligation to interpret things not susceptible to interpretation and that have not been inserted with a view to interpretation. The assumption of such an obligation would result in extravagant fantasies such as are entertained and written about in our time by most of the sects of the world, since each of these sects desires to find certain significations for words whose author in no way had in mind the significations wished by them. Your purpose, rather, should always be to know, regarding most parables, the main idea that was intended to be known. 

Basically, the Rambam is warning us that if we follow the Malbim's approach, looking for deep significance in every detail, we'll end up missing out on major ideas and projecting our own fantasies onto the pesukim which have nothing to do with the meaning that the authors (or Author) intended to convey. 

To my mind it is clear that the Malbim's approach was not shared by many of the classical meforshim among the Rishonim and Achronim. This conclusion is supported by the lack of Malbim-esque explanations in their commentaries, and the abundant interpretations they do provide which violate the three pillars of the Malbim's approach.

"Team Malbim"

And yet, the Malbim is not alone in his methods. First and foremost, his approach - or at least, something like his approach - was shared by none other than Chazal (i.e. the Tannaim and Amoraim). In his book, Ayeles ha'Shachar, the Malbim [6] writes: 

Chazal strove to figure out the essential definitions of all borrowed terms … Similarly, they showed the relationship between homonyms … And each synonym has a unique definition on which they build their many drashos. The same is true of parallel expressions: after much study, [one can understand] when one expression is used and when another is used …

In other words, the approach that Chazal took in their drashos parallels the Malbim's own approach - so much so that the Malbim attempted to fuse the two in Ayeles ha'Shachar, and in his commentary on Torah. Anyone who has learned Gemara and the various collections of midreshei aggadah and midreshei halacha will be able to see that Chazal's approach to Tanach is far more similar to the Malbim's than the Ibn Ezra's. They clearly cared about textual nuances, apparent repetitions, and anomalous words and phrases. They clearly held that every feature of the text was there for a specific reason, to convey specific Torah content. They would never say, "The Torah repeated the same thing in different words" or "this description is just here to develop the allegory, and has no significance beyond that." (Of course, the Rambam would say that they actually held this, but just didn't say it.)

And since Chazal followed this approach, the meforshim who regularly integrate Chazal's explanations can also be included on "Team Malbim." Rashi would definitely be part of the group. So would the Torah Temimah and the Baal ha'Turim. Other commentaries accept this approach, even if they supplement it with other approaches, such as the Ramban, Rabbeinu Bachya, and even the Ralbag, in his own way 

But the Malbim's true kindred spirit was Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch, who was a contemporary of his. Like the Malbim, Rav Hirsch set out on an ambitious linguistic project to understand all the nuances of Hebrew, based on his own analysis and his own theories on etymology. Rav Hirsch would certainly agree with the Malbim that synonyms should be scrutinized for subtler shades of meaning, and he would also agree that the subtleties in the text are important. When reading Rav Hirsch's commentary one gets the feeling that he and the Malbim would make a great chavrusa (learning pair), having different ideas - owing to the differences in their creativity - but fundamentally sharing the same outlook in their interpretive methodology and linguistic framework.

Another group of people who would be in good company with the Malbim are those who are inclined to apply modern methods of literary analysis to Tanach. Like the Malbim, they strive to be in tune with the textual landscape, in all of its particularity. They also care about intertextuality, parallel phrasing, organizational schemes, and a bunch of other fancy shmancy literary devices - which I imagine the Malbim would appreciate (judging by my experience with his style).

Concluding Thoughts

Obviously I am in no position to decide which approach is “better” or “more correct.” There are advantages and disadvantages to each. 

If I had to choose, though, I would side with the Ibn Ezra. Our priority in learning must be to get the main idea, even if we don’t appreciate all of the details of how that idea is expressed in the pesukim. Furthermore, even the Malbim would admit that we cannot expect to do what he did, and that if we tried, we would be engaging in speculative guesswork. The only way to truly learn Tanach on the level of the Malbim would be to study the text with his commentary as the infallible (for all practical purposes) guide to Biblical Hebrew. The advantage of this approach is that we’d get to see all of the amazing insights that the Malbim’s approach draws out of the text. The disadvantage is that we’d be totally dependent on him for our learning. 

As a teacher, I default to the Ibn Ezra side. However, that doesn’t stop me from sharing with my students the ingenious, creative, nuanced interpretations offered by the Malbim in his monumental commentary.

[1] Rabbeinu Avraham ibn Ezra, Commentary on Sefer Shemos (Long Version) 20:1

[2] ibid. Commentary on Sefer Bereishis: end of Introduction

[3] Rav Meir ben Yechiel Michel (Malbim), Commentary on Sefer Yeshayahu: Introduction

[4] The term used here is "מליצות" which can mean "allegories," "figurative speech, "flowery speech," "poetic speech," "rhetoric," and the like. I've translated it as "eloquent speech," since I believe that the Malbim intends this to cover all the words of the prophets - not just select sections.

[5] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Moreh ha'Nevuchim: Introduction

[6] Rav Meir ben Yechiel Michel (Malbim), Ayeles ha'Shachar 30:248