History and Folklore in a Medieval Jewish Chronicle: The Family Chronicle of Ahima'az Ben Paltiel

History and Folklore in a Medieval Jewish Chronicle

Studies in Jewish History and Culture Edited by

Hava Tirosh-Samuelson (Arizona State University) and

Giuseppe Veltri (Leopold-Zunz-Centre for Jewish Studies, University of Halle-Wittenberg)

VOLUME 22

History and Folklore in a Medieval Jewish Chronicle The Family Chronicle of Ahima "az ben Paltiel .

By

Robert Bonfil

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2009

This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Bonfil, Roberto. History and folklore in a medieval Jewish chronicle : the family chronicle of Ahima' ’az ben Paltiel / by Robert Bonfil. p. cm. – (Studies in Jewish history and culture ; v. 22) Includes a vocalized critical edition of the Hebrew text and an English translation of the chronicle. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-90-04-17385-9 (hard cover : alk. paper) 1. Ahimaaz ben Paltiel, 1017-ca. 1060. Sefer Yuhasin. 2. Jews–Italy–History–To 1500. 3. Jews–Genealogy. 4. Italy–Ethnic relations. I. Ahimaaz ben Paltiel, 1017-ca. 1060. Sefer Yuhasin. English & Hebrew II. Title. III. Series. DS124.A53B66 2009 929’.2089924–dc22 2009020897

ISSN: 1568-5004 ISBN: 978 90 04 17385 9 Copyright 2009 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

CONTENTS Abbreviations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vii List of Maps and Illustrations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xv introductory essay Chapter One The Text and Its Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Chapter Two Historical Setting and Narrative Structure . . . . . . . . . . 45 Chapter Three Frameworks of Communal Life and Images of Leadership . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87 Chapter Four Family . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129 Chapter Five Jews and Christians: Magic, Sorcery, Everyday Life, and Popular Piety . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151 Maps and Plates . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189 critical edition and annotated translation Preface to the Critical Edition and Annotated Translation. . . . . . . . . . 223 Hebrew Text and Translation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 226 Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 357 Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 383

ABBREVIATIONS AHR ANRW Ber. BQ Cant. Rab. DOP EI EJ EJ 2 Enc. Bibl. Enc. Tal. Enc. Univ. Eruv. Exod. Rab. Gen. Rab. Git. Hag. Hul. JQR JRS JSIJ Ket. Kid. Lev. Rab. M Me. Meg. Men. MGH SS MGWJ M.Q. Nid. PAAJR Pes. PG PL R.H. REJ San.

American Historical Review Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt Tractate Berakhot Tractate Baba Qamma Canticles Rabbah Dumbarton Oaks Papers Encyclopaedia of Islam / Encyclopédie de l’Islam Encylclopaedia Judaica, 1st ed. Encylclopaedia Judaica, 2d ed. Encyclopedia Biblica Encyclopedia Talmudica Encyclopedia Universalis Tractate Eruvin Exodus Rabbah Genesis Rabbah Tractate Gittin Tractate Hagigah Tractate Hullin Jewish Quarterly Review Journal of Roman Studies Jewish Studies Internet Journal Tractate Ketubbot Tractate Kiddushin Leviticus Rabbah Mishnah Tractate Me#ilah Tractate Megillah Tractate Menahot Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Scriptores Monatsschrift für Geschichte und Wissenschaft des Judentums Tractate Mo#ed Qatan Tractate Niddah Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research Tractate Pesahim Patrologia Graecae Patrologia Latinae Tractate Rosh he-Shanah Revue des études juives Tractate Sanhedrin

viii Shab. Sot. T Ta. Tan. TB TS TY Yev. Zav.

abbreviations Tractate Shabbat Tractate Sotah Tosefta Tractate Ta#anit Tanhuma Talmud Bavli (Babylonian Talmud) Taylor-Schechter Collection of Genizah Documents, Cambridge University Talmud Yerushalmi (Jerusalem Talmud) Tractate Yevamot Tractate Zavim

LIST OF MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS Map 1 Map 2 Map 3 Map 4 Pl. 1 Pl. 2 Pl. 3 Pl. 4 Pl. 5 Pl. 6 Pl. 7

Pl. 8

Pl. 9

The Geographical Setting of the Chronicle. Early Medieval Italy (IX–XI centuries). The Geo-Political Setting of Southern Italy (IX–XI centuries). The Geo-Political Setting of Southern Italy (first quarter of eleventh century). Chronicle of Ah. ima#az, MS Library of the Cathedral of Toledo, # 86–25, fol. 9v (proemium). Courtesy of the Archivo y Biblioteca Capitulares, Catedral de Toledo. Chronicle of Ah. ima#az, MS Library of the Cathedral of Toledo, # 86–25, fol. 10r. Courtesy of the Archivo y Biblioteca Capitulares, Catedral de Toledo. Chronicle of Ah. ima#az, MS Library of the Cathedral of Toledo, # 86–25, fol. 28v. Courtesy of the Archivo y Biblioteca Capitulares, Catedral de Toledo. Chronicle of Ah. ima#az, MS Library of the Cathedral of Toledo, # 86–25, fol. 29r. Courtesy of the Archivo y Biblioteca Capitulares, Catedral de Toledo. Chronicle of Ah. ima#az, 17th century Italian translation, MS Library of the Cathedral of Toledo, # 86–24, fol. 211r (proemium). Courtesy of the Archivo y Biblioteca Capitulares, Catedral de Toledo. Chronicle of Ah. ima#az, 17th century Italian translation, MS Library of the Cathedral of Toledo, # 86–24, pp. 90–91. Courtesy of the Archivo y Biblioteca Capitulares, Catedral de Toledo. Ordericus Vitalis, Historia Ecclesiastica, BNF MS Lat 5506 (presumably autograph) f. 49v. According to experts of manuscript medieval production, the singular way of displaying a number of special notations on top of capital letters together with unusual notations on the margins would testify to the author’s desire to indicate changes of pitches in the reader’s voice as well as to his musical skills. (Smalley, Historians, 12; Escudier, “Orderic Vital”). Courtesy of the Bibliothèque Nationale de France. Abse Mosaic detail, San Clemente, Rome (presumably executed during the first two decades of the 11th century (Riccioni, Il mosaico absidale di S. Clemente a Roma, 134). The image concretely visualizes the widespread symbolism of the four rivers of Eden (see § 2 and n. 42 to the translation of the Hebrew text). Facsimile of the original parchment document signed by Guaiamar IV in 1041 (thirteen years before the completion of the work of Ahi. ma#az) to bequeath to Grimoald, count of the palace of Capua,

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Pl. 10

Pl. 11

Pl. 12

Pl. 13

Pl. 14

Pl. 15 Pl. 16

list of maps and illustrations two Jewish families together with their possessions and their scolae (Tropeano, Codice Diplomatico Verginiano, 1:180–83, # 47). Courtesy of the Biblioteca Statale di Montevergine. Duchess Sikelgaita, wife of Robert Guiscard, together with her son Roger, bequeaths to the Archbishopric of Bari, headed by Archbishop Urso, all the Jews of Bari (March 1086). Parchment document, of the same kind as the one concerning the donation of the Jews of Capua to Grimoald (plate 9). Facsimile reproduction from: Colafemmina a.o., La presenza ebraica in Puglia, p. 7). Courtesy of the Archivio di Stato di Bari. (a) Capua. Northern gate of the Church of S. Marcello Maggiore. (b) Detail: the tombstone of Audoalt, removed as a relic from the sepulcher and relocated on the gate of the Church. The mention of the first comes associated with the family of Audoalt is clearly visible in the second line of the inscription. Photos courtesy of Maria Rosaria Marchionibus. Mosaic of a lion attacking an onager, work of unknown artist (about 150 C.E.), J. Paul Getty Museum, Villa Collection, 73.AH.75. The survival of such a decorative motif in the Greco-Roman area almost certainly testifies to the uninterrupted existence in the Mediterranean area of the symbolical meaning of the image inherited from Antiquity. The picture concretely visualizes the symbolical use of the motif in the narrative of Ahima#az (§ 3). Courtesy of the J. Paul Getty Museum, . Villa Collection, Malibu, California. Nüremberg Mah. zor, private collection of Dr. David and Jemima Jeselson, fol. 470v–471r. Like other Ashkenazi Mahzorim, this illuminated . monumental manuscript on vellum (50×37 cm), produced in southern Germany, c. 1330–31, contains a large section of piyyutim, among which are the two selih. ot by Shephatiah (incipit éðãàá òùåð ìàøùé— Davidson, Thesaurus, 2:454, # 4234 é) and Silano (incipit êéãìñî ú÷ðà—Davidson, Thesaurus, 1:311, # 6844 à), reproduced here as firm examples of the umbilical link between the socio-cultural traditions of the Jews of southern Italy and Ashkenaz. Courtesy of Dr. David and Jemima Jeselson. Painted arcosolium and tomb in a catacomb gallery recently discovered in Venosa by Cesare Colafemmina, who dates the tomb to the end of the 5th century. The front of the arcosolium was painted red and the back wall has a semicircular frame in red and blue containing a collection of Jewish symbols, all painted in gold except for the lulav. The elaborated decoration, placed in the most prominent position in the gallery, presumably indicated the importance of the person in the tomb. (Vetera Christianorum, 15 (1978); Noy, Jewish Inscriptions, 1:140–141). Courtesy of Prof. Cesare Colafemmina. Synagogue of Ostia: Early phase according to the reconstruction of Anders Runesson (Runesson, “The Synagogue of Ancient Ostia,”). Courtesy of Anders Runeson. Synagogue of Ostia: Later phase according to the reconstruction of

list of maps and illustrations

Pl. 17

Pl. 18

Pl. 19

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Anders Runesson (Runesson, “The Synagogue of Ancient Ostia,”). Courtesy of Anders Runeson). Below the plan is the Mindus Faustus tablet found aside the aedicula. The tablet mentions the construction of a κειβωτς (see below, p. 90). Courtesy of the Soprintendenza per i Beni Archeologici di Ostia. John Skylitzes’ Chronicle, illuminated, 12th cent., MS National Library of Madrid, vitr. 26–2, fol. 105v. (a) The upper image portrays a dinner banquet at the court of Basil I. Although the setting almost obviously fits the twelfth-century conventional representation of imperial banquets in western Europe, it can nonetheless convey the sense of hierarchical distancing between the emperor and his guests and concretely bring to mind Ahima#az’s narrative about Shephatiah’s participation . in such a banquet (§ 11). (b) The lower image visualizes the appointment of Leo VI as legitimate successor to Basil I. In this case, too, beyond the conventional details of the composition, one can presume that the caption on Leo’s head stating that he is Basil’s son also conveys the political message aimed at refuting gossip that Leo was an illegitimate offspring (cf. with the notes to § 18). Courtesy of the Biblioteca Nacional, Madrid. John Skylitzes’ Chronicle, illuminated, 12th cent., MS National Library of Madrid, vitr. 26–2, fol. 97r. According to the Byzantine historian, during the siege of Benevento Sawdan captured a messenger of the prince of Capua and Benevento, beseeching help from Basil I in Constantinople. The messenger was ordered to misinform his prince that the emperor does not intend to be of assistance. Should the ambassador acquiesce to bear such misinformation, that would obviously facilitate the fall of Benevento to Sawdan and he would have honor and riches bestowed upon him; otherwise he would immediately be executed. The resemblance to the story of Shephatiah’s mission to Sawdan (§§ 21–22) is manifest, although Skylitzes’ narrative lacks the miraculous resolution of the story of Shephatiah and has the faithful messenger cruelly executed. Beyond the conventional, yet almost realistic, representations of the city walls, the defending and assaulting soldiers, and of a ruler leisurely settled in a camp tent, the picture does visualize the practice of a king’s humiliating attitude towards the messenger in a way sharply recalling the reception of the Byzantine ambassador by Paltiel (§ 47). Courtesy of the Biblioteca Nacional, Madrid. Precious cups of the Fatimid period, examples of the new shapes, colors, and decorative patterns introduced by Islamic glassmakers in the 9th and 10th centuries. Notwithstanding the fact that not all of them were produced in North Africa, they can nonetheless concretely convey the idea of both the gifts handed over by imperial delegations, such as the Byzantine messenger to the king of Ifrikya, and the bowl broken by Paltiel in order to astonish the ambassador (§ 47). (a) Goblet of green glass, produced presumably in Iran (c. 9th or 10th century) or in Egypt (c. 10th or 11th century). Treasury of Saint

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Pl. 21

Pl. 22 Pl. 23

Pl. 24

list of maps and illustrations Marc (Procuratoria di San Marco), Venice, # 118. Courtesy of the Procuratoria di San Marco. (b) Jewel encrusted turquoise bowl (6×18 cm) produced presumably in Iran or Iraq (c. 9th or 10th century). Composed of opaque enamels framed by gold, golden-plated silver, and precious stones. Treasury of Saint Marc (Procuratoria di San Marco), Venice, # 117. This is a rare, indeed almost unique, example of this kind. Experts conjecture that it reached Venice as a gift of the Shah to the Signoria in 1472. Courtesy of the Procuratoria di San Marco. (c) Colorless glass with lustre decoration (6 ×15.8 cm) produced in Egypt in the 9th century. This is among the most extraordinary glass objects that have survived from the Islamic period. The decoration focuses on a small, plump bird, surrounded by five fish. Corning Museum of Glass, New York, # 99.1.1. Courtesy of the Corning Museum of Glass. Nave capital of the Benedictine Abbey Church of Sainte-MarieMadeleine at Vézelay (France), 1120–38. Music and the demon of impurity: At left, a man holding musical instruments and a woman gesturing towards a musician to her left. At center a man plays a flute-like instrument. A nude woman, mesmerized by the music, lets herself be embraced by a bloated demon with burning hair. (a) The Imperial Cathedral of Aachen. The Cathedral, usually described as a masterpiece of Carolingian architecture, was designed for Charlemagne by Odo of Metz, who based it on the Byzantine Church of San Vitale in Ravenna, in its turn based on Saint Sophia in Constantinople. The imperial image of Charlemagne was accordingly connected to the images of both the perfect king Solomon, the builder of the Sanctuary of Jerusalem (viewed by medieval Jews and Christians as a symbol of absolutely perfect architectonic magnificence), and Justinian, who restored the almost totally damaged Saint Sophia and according to Byzantine imperial propaganda exclaimed in the sight of the newly rebuilt Church “I prevailed over you, Solomon.” Hence the Carolingian propaganda portrayed Charlemagne as a new Solomon. (b) Church of San Vitale, Ravenna. (a) Church of Saint Sophia, Constantinople. (b) Church of Saint Sophia, Benevento. Earrings found in graves on the Hill of Minerva (near Otranto). Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Taranto. They concretely visualize the kind of jewelry produced by Byzantine goldsmiths in Apulia during the Early Middle Ages. Quite similar Byzantine specimens from the 9th century are owned by the Museo del Bargello, Florence, Inv. 102/OC, 108/OC, 109/OC. 110/C. Those displayed here are reproduced from D’Angela, “Le oreficerie bizantine,” plates I and II. Courtesy of Cosimo d’Angela. Dance of Myriam in Vat. gr. 752, f 449v (c. 1059). Though exceptional, the golden belts of the dancing women in the miniature

list of maps and illustrations

Pl. 25

Pl. 26

Pl. 27

Pl. 28 Pl. 29

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provide a vivid example of an expensive accessory to female aristocratic costume, which beyond fulfilling an aesthetic purpose served as a display of rank. (Parani, Reconstructing, p. 65). Courtesy of the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana. Marble inlay icon of Saint Eudokia, Empress of Byzantium. From the church of Lips Monastery, now Fenasi Isa Mosque. Location: Archaeological Museum, Istanbul, Turkey. (Permission: Erich Lessing / Art Resource, NY). According to Psellos, the young mistress of Constantine IX (1042–1055) wore a belt trimmed with gold and pearls, presumably quite similar to the one displayed by this marble inlay. Fragment of a majolica cup produced in Fatimid Egypt (10th century) displaying the figure of a dignitary (15.5 × 10.2 cm). Museo Bargello, Florence, Inv. Maioliche 2036. Inasmuch as the image may be held as portraying realistically the profile of a Fatimid dignitary, it concretely conveys a sense of how Paltiel may have looked. Courtesy of the Soprintendenza Speciale per il Polo Museale Fiorentino. Ivory graved plates for a case produced presumably in the 12th century around Baghdad. Museo Bargello, Florence, Inv. 80C. Inasmuch as the images may be held as realistically portraying a high ranking banquet, the scenes of the musicians and the dancing-girls concretely convey a sense of a feast in al-Muizz’s court or in Paltiel’s palace. Courtesy of the Soprintendenza Speciale per il Polo Museale Fiorentino. Fragment of early medieval bas-relief exposed at the exterior entrance of the Church of S. Crisogono (Rome). Photo R. Bonfil. Undated gravestone recently discovered by Cesare Colafemmina in Lavello. The text unmistakably testifies to the presence of the Babylonian Talmud in southern Italy. Courtesy of Prof. Cesare Colafemmina.

PREFACE

It has taken a very long time for this book to materialize. It somehow belongs to the category of things to which we are so deeply attached that we are reluctant to part from them. We can hardly conceive of life going on when we will no longer be around to ascertain that things are still where they used to be: plants and flowers at which we used to gaze in the garden where we often rested, books we have collected and lovingly organized on the shelves of our library, the PC in which we have stored all kinds of files that we like to know are there even though we are not likely to open them often, if at all. The ambiguousness of such a feeling of control, ownership, and loving care for it gradually becomes increasingly pervasive. Growing children convey, perhaps more intensely than anything else, such a frame of mind. As they grow up and have a life of their own we are forced to admit in our minds that life will continue to go on, whether or not we will be around to protect them. In more than one way does the nurture of a book resemble caring for a growing child. We constantly seek to correct its possible deficiencies, enhance its appearance, and preclude possible criticism. And yet, we must finally get used to the idea that sooner or later it will confront the outside world without us being around, and that such confrontation is even likely to display elements that we could not foresee and consequently could not prevent. The time always comes for readers to take possession of a literary creation. The time always comes for an author to step aside, for his or her personal understanding to get out of the way and leave the scene to the readers. If their work is not altogether dismissed and relegated to oblivion, as they step aside authors may sometimes perceive some glimpse of the fate of their product. While negative comments may at times still offer a feeble chance of re-entering the stage and trying to correct errors, gratifying comments are of course much more welcome as compensation for the inevitable definitive loss of control. The time has now come for this book to be sent out into the world and allow perceptive readers to react.

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preface

Unlike other contemporary works whose authors benefited from scholarly leisure and copious grants and research opportunities from numerous supporting academic institutions, mine was not fortunate enough to receive such generous support. Should I nonetheless try to acknowledge the debts I incurred during the long course of my research and writing, I would certainly fall into inexcusable forgetfulness. I beg the pardon of the friends and colleagues, in Jerusalem and elsewhere, who know how and when they came to my aid but will not be mentioned here due both to a reluctance to mention them as a sort of shield against criticism for my deficiencies, as well as imperfect memory. And yet, I must exceptionally mention my alma mater, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, and especially my colleagues on the research team on Byzantine Jewry in the Scholion Center for Advanced Studies, among whom I had the privilege to complete this book. In a sense, that extraordinary experience crowned the constant support of the University during the many years in which I was engaged in research and teaching within it. It is, therefore, to the people of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem that I owe an exceptionally deep sense of gratitude. Among them, special thanks are due to the students who participated in my seminars in which aspects of the work were preliminarily discussed and helped sharpen the arguments of the book. Those among them who contributed substantially to its actual shaping will be mentioned below in the preface to the English translation of the text (pp. 223–225). Special thanks and gratitude are due to the members of my family, who regrettably suffered through the years of work dedicated to this book. My wife Eva suffered more than anyone else as she strove to justify my retreats from housekeeping responsibilities in the eyes of our children, deprived of the fatherly care they deserved. Invaluable credit is due to her for having heroically borne the burden of raising this child of mine, too, for whose deficiencies she can at least completely clear her conscience. Equally, special thanks and gratitude are due to my grownup children who contributed substantially to the making of this book: to Ruhama and David, for their hard work in setting up the maps, and to Aliza for accompanying my daring incursion into the field of the reception theory of literary works. And, last but not least, thanks to my grandchildren—Idit, Yonatan, Shai, Noam, Amichai, Dan, Roni, and Nathan—who insistently keep reminding me in different charming ways that there are still things left for me to do in this world.

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Thanks are due, of course, to Hava Tirosh-Samuelson and Giuseppe Veltri for having graciously agreed to include the book in the Brill Series of Studies in Jewish History and Culture. I sincerely hope they will not be disappointed. Wholehearted thanks to my good friend Vera von Falkenhausen, who generously assisted me in my wanderings through the meanderings of the medieval history of southern Italy; to my colleague Peter Lehnardt, who no less generously assisted me in collating and setting up the critical edition of the Hebrew text; to my former doctoral student Alick Isaacs, who helped me with the first draft of the English translation; and last, but certainly not least, to Yohai Goell who took care of the English of the entire work. Finally, thanks to everyone who kindly and generously aided me in carrying out the production of the book: the librarians and curators of the collections who helped the research and assisted in getting the necessary permissions for reproduction, as duly acknowledged in the detailed list of plates; the publishing manager at Brill, Michiel Klein Swormink, acquisitions editor, Jennifer Pavelko, and production editor, Michael J. Mozina, for their invaluable support and assistance during all stages of production; the typesetters TAT Zetwerk who did a great job in properly and precisely setting the Hebrew text and the definitely difficult layout of the work. God bless them all. Jerusalem, April 30, 2009 Robert Bonfil The Hebrew University of Jerusalem

INTRODUCTORY ESSAY

chapter one THE TEXT AND ITS CONTEXT

The quite uncommon medieval Hebrew text presented here in English translation confronts the modern reader with several considerable challenges. To appropriately set the stage for the following discussion, let it be declared from the outset that our approach will be almost exclusively historical. And yet, since literary texts such as this are among the most important tools of the historian’s craft, being her or his paramount means of communication with the past, a preamble concerning the most suitable way to deal with and understand them is called for, notwithstanding the fact that to many, especially to students of literature, it may appear quite trivial. Theoreticians of literature usually refer to this matter as “reception theory.” Texts are produced by men or women usually labeled “authors.” One may reasonably assume that in producing a text an author did commonly take into consideration the potential addressee(s) of his work, the people intended to read or listen to it. It is therefore only natural that the anticipation related to that use would strongly affect the act of composition and ultimately the nature of the text. If the text were intended for the writer alone (for instance, a personal diary or memo note) it would be composed in an essentially different manner than one addressed to what we usually call an audience, for a text composed with an audience in mind entails expectation of some interaction between it and the author. Numerous variables may establish anticipations of possible reactions from presumed audiences, such as compatibility between the author’s body of knowledge or beliefs and that of the audience, the setting in which the encounter between author and audience takes place, the planned objectives of the text, and more. However, a text originally composed for a specific audience may reach very different ones, as in fact is the case of historians as readers of texts composed in distant epochs. The encounter between the author and the audience then becomes much more multifaceted, for in such cases the prospects are greater that the author’s language will be misunderstood by, or even completely incomprehensible to, the audience.

4

chapter one

Much valuable research has recently been conducted to better define what such an encounter may actually imply and mean.1 Theoreticians of the reception of literary texts may roughly be divided into two opposed camps, one claiming that the meaning of a text is almost entirely determined by the readers and the other positing that a text must be approached according to the author’s intentions and expectations from the potential audience in the contexts of both its production and reception.2 The debate, of course, is relevant for all kinds of texts, including historical writing. And yet, it seems—at least prima facie— to have so far been concerned mainly with how readers approach literary texts in order to enjoy them aesthetically. For such readers the author’s intention and the historical context in which the text was produced may indeed at times be of little importance; they might feel free to appropriate the text and assign to it meanings that the author may not have intended. Since it is admittedly quite difficult to reveal the social construct of emotional reactions to basic human feelings,3 one might even surmise that aesthetic pleasure is inversely proportional to knowledge of the contingencies related to the actual composition of a text. “Great” books are supposed to move readers at all times independently of the contingent situations in which they were written. Though admittedly legitimate, such an approach can hardly be shared by historians. Granted that few would not admit to the existence of all kinds of impediments on the road to contingent contextualization of texts nor of bias rooted in the context in which historical writing is carried out.4 Inasmuch as historians are unwilling to blur the borderline between reality and fiction5 or to reduce their craft to sophisticated political propaganda, they feel bound to address separately and on different levels questions concerning the threads connecting between the text and the

1

One may think of a number of functions, tightly or loosely connected, inasmuch as they are not mutually exclusive. Teaching, arousing emotion, entertaining, and causing aesthetic pleasure frequently coexist in most medieval literary genres. We shall return to this point later. 2 Among the influential works to which the above brief sketch is indebted, suffice it to refer to Blanchot, L’espace littéraire, 251–278; Ingarden, Literary Work of Art; Iser, Akt des Lesens; Jauss, Toward an Aesthetic of Reception; Skinner, “Meaning and Understanding.” Additional works will be listed in the following notes as the necessity arises. 3 See Nussbaum, Upheavals of Thought. 4 For a valuable critical survey of this topic see Thompson, “Reception Theory.” 5 The most influential representative of such a trend is Hayden White. One thinks, for instance, of his Tropics of Discourse.

the text and its context

5

context in which it was produced vis-à-vis those connecting between the text and the different contexts in which it is received. Viewed from the standpoint of the producer of historical writing and listed in the sequence in which they usually occur in the author’s mind at the moment he or she engages in his or her composition, such threads are: language (including literary style), technique of presentation, anthropological features, basic concepts and idioms of thought, and the underlying logic of the discourse. The literary product is accordingly given the form of a narrative structured as a fabula, a story. Viewed from the standpoint of the literary critic—or more generally the reader—however, those same threads commonly come to mind in a reverse sequence, ascending from the structured narrative through the logic of the discourse and the basic concepts and idioms of thought to the anthropological features, the technique of presentation, and finally the language of the discourse.6 The text can thus be conceived as the ground of the encounter between two different worldviews rooted in different cultures, one of the author and the other of the readers. In the historian’s mind, the meaning of the text consequently surfaces as some kind of middle road between the reader’s imagination, i.e., what the historian as reader thinks he or she understands, and what eventually occurs to the author’s mind. The only guarantee that such an encounter will indeed come near retrieval of the hidden reality relies on the historian’s credibility, knowledge, and critical awareness. No matter how naïve seems to be the positivist faith today in the historian’s capacity to represent the past exactly “as it actually was,” one has to acknowledge that the undertakings of positivist scholars of the past centuries, as published in the various collections of monumenta, remain the most important tools for the historian’s aspiration to successfully carry out historical-philological criticism of the sources. And no matter how biased by idiosyncratic or cultural predispositions, inasmuch as the historian’s aim will be to truthfully recapture past reality “as it actually was,” and he or she will accordingly reject intentionally manipulated representations, distortion will be reduced correspondingly. The text composed in 1054 in Capua (southern Italy) by a certain Ahima#az, that we are about to discuss, is no different in this . respect. Since it first surfaced from the dust of centuries it was variously approached, according to both idiosyncratic predispositions and changing cultural trends. Saluted axiomatically at first as a historical 6

Segre, Avviamento all’analisi, 131–159.

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monument to be scrutinized in search of hitherto unknown historical information, doubt was increasingly cast upon the literary genre to which it should be assigned. In addition, scholarly attitudes further changed according to changing perspectives on literary genres. In fact, to modern students of literary works, particularly to historians seeking to contextualize them, the question of the genre chosen by an author appears directly related to almost all the questions crucial for the understanding of his aims, not just to idiosyncratic choice of style. One may think, for instance, of the use of literary conventions, the ideological—or more simply the functional—message possibly concealed in it and closely related to the author’s expectations from his readers or listeners, and so on. Understanding the text in its historical context may thus somehow be considered as a concise definition of that complex set of questions.7 But before we go on to the specific text we are about to discuss, a brief survey of the state of scholarly research on the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az is called for. The Chronicle of Ahima#az . In 1868 the well-known Hungarian scholar Adolf Neubauer (1832–1907) carried out a succinct assessment of the Hebrew manuscripts held by the Library of the Cathedral of Toledo. In his report, published in 1869, he mentioned a miscellaneous volume including the until then 8 (Specimens of the ms. are reproduced unknown work of Ahima#az. . in plates 1–4.) The discovery went unnoticed for more than twenty years, until Neubauer offered brief samples of the work in two separate articles in which he labeled it a “chronicle called Sefer yuhasin whose subject matter are some communities of Southern Italy”9 or, more cautiously, “a chronicle important for the Jewish settlement in Southern Italy,”10 and announced its future publication in the second part of his forthcoming collection of Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles. This indeed 7 Fine examples of such recent scholarship drawing on medieval Jewish literary production include: Marcus, Rituals of Childhood; Einbinder, Beautiful Death; Baumgarten, Mothers and Children. 8 Neubauer, “Notes sur les manuscripts hébreux.” See also Millás Vallicrosa, “Los manuscritos hebraico,”: 396–397. 9 Neubauer, “Abou Ahron, le babylonien”: 236. 10 Neubauer, “The Early Settlement of the Jews in Southern Italy.” JQR o.s. 4 (1891– 1892): 614.

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appeared in 1895 and included the critical edition of the text, i.e., an edition in which the text displayed was slightly emended by the editor and the corrections annotated in footnotes.11 The work was almost immediately saluted by the leading scholars of the Wissenschaft des Judentums as a substantial contribution to the social and cultural history of the Jews in the early Middles Ages and particularly to the prosopography of hitherto almost unknown learned men and poets.12 Although there can be no doubt that the scrutiny of those scholars did provide the foundations for every subsequent study of the work,13 the positivistic approach characteristic of their erudite scholarship had to accordingly affect the parameters for its assessment. First of all, since sources were usually consulted primarily in search for historical information, the chronicle was approached as a major attestation of historical writing among medieval Jews, a medieval Jewish chronicle, as indeed Neubauer had suggested from the very outset.14 Second, since in 11

Neubauer, “Sefer Yuh. asin.” The history of the early reception of the work, carefully delineated by Salzman, needs no repetition here; see Salzman, Chronicle, 2–4. 13 Especially noteworthy among them are those of the prolific Moravian scholar David Kaufmann (1852–1899), associate editor for a number of years of the Monatsschrift für Geschichte und Wissenschaft des Judentums, the world’s leading journal of Jewish Studies published in Germany from 1851 to 1939; the much more prolific Moravian scholar Moritz Steinschneider (1816–1907), the indisputably towering figure of the Wissenschaft des Judentums who devoted his lifetime to the study of medieval Jewish literary production and particularly to the thorough and scientific bibliographical recording of all the available printed and manuscript materials; the Hungarian Heinrich Brody (1868– 1942), founder of the prestigious Zeitschrift für Hebräische Bibliographie, of which he was co-editor with Aaron Freiman; the Hungarian Wilhelm Bacher (1850–1913), appointed in 1877 by the Hungarian Government, together with Moses Bloch and David Kaufmann, to the professorship of the newly created Landesrabbinerschule of Budapest; the British Israel Abrahams (1858–1925), joint editor from 1889 of the prestigious Jewish Quarterly Review, and from 1902 head of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America, succeeding Solomon Schechter (1847–1915) after having served for a number of years as professor of homiletics at Jew’s College in London, where he had received his education in rabbinics; the Hungarian philologist and historian Samuel Krauss (1891–1948); and others who will be mentioned in the following notes inasmuch as it will be necessary for our discussion. The works of all of them are listed in the selected bibliography appended to this volume. 14 As a matter of fact, Steinschneider already had no doubt that the work belonged to the “Geschichtsliteratur der Juden”; see Steinschneider, “Die Italienische Literatur der Juden”: 239; idem, Geschichtsliteratur der Juden, 35–36. In the same vein, but misled by the fact that such a unique work surfaced in the library of the Cathedral of Toledo, far away from southern Italy, I suggested in an earlier essay that it be approached as testimony of the existence of much more consistent historical writing and dissemination among medieval Jews, regrettably lost following the numerous persecutions and 12

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those earliest stages of its inception in the scholarly world the most substantial contribution of the work appeared to relate to the Jewish communities of southern Italy under Byzantine rule from the mid-ninth to the mid-eleventh centuries, reference to hitherto unknown Jewish life in Byzantium became so intensely compelling that for many years to come all other topics and contexts were assigned a secondary, even marginal, consequence. Indeed, the enthusiastic feeling that the work was about to constitute a turning point in revisiting the history of Byzantine Jewry remained definitely pervasive in Marcus Salzman’s Introduction to his English translation of the work published in 1924,15 to the point that in Joshua Starr’s 1939 collection of sources for the history of the Jews of Byzantium nearly one-third of the passages are excerpts from the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az.16 As time passed, however, the close association with Byzantium could hardly leave the initial enthusiasm untouched, notwithstanding the remarkable efforts of those outstanding scholars to cope with the numerous problems raised by such a unique text. The peculiarity of the literary style of “rhymed prose” in which it is composed, the inaccuracy of several historical details, and the abundance expulsions such as the expulsion of the Jews from the Iberian Peninsula, to which I directly linked the possession of that specific Hebrew manuscript by the Cathedral library. However, a more diligent inquiry into the origin of the manuscript would have revealed that it was part of a collection bequeathed to the Cathedral by Francesco Saverio Zelada, a cardinal of Spanish origin (Rome 1712–1801), whose career in Italy was connected to both the Vatican Library and the Domus Catecumenorum, i.e., the institute in which Jewish candidates for baptism were held—often forcefully—and indoctrinated into the Catholic faith. My speculation concerning the specific path of the manuscript from Italy to Spain therefore proved to be basically wrong, as correctly stressed by Cesare Colafemmina in his Introduction to the Italian translation of the Chronicle (see Colafemmina, Sefer Yuh. asin, 9–13). I nonetheless remain firm in presuming that the transfer of the manuscript from the Roman Jewish family which presumably owned it into the hands of the cardinal who was familiar both with the Domus Catecumenorum and with another librarian of the Vatican, the fairly well known convert Giovanni Antonio Costanzi, who apparently penned a number of notes appended to the manuscripts owned by Zelada, must be adduced as testimony of the forceful loss of similar—admittedly scanty—works owned by medieval Jews. On Costanzi see Parente, “Di uno scritto antiebraico.” 15 For the enthusiastic reception of the work by scholars of previous generations as heralding a turning point in revisiting the history of the Jews of Byzantium, see Salzman, Chronicle, esp. 3–4, 29–32, 36–39, and passim. The literary features were accordingly almost instinctively correlated to Byzantine literature, the impulse to compose it was viewed as a “direct influence of the host of annalists, chroniclers and historians of the Byzantine world,” the information it offered as testifying “in all probability” to Byzantine sources of knowledge (ibid., 7), and more in this vein. 16 Starr, Jews in the Byzantine Empire.

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of legendary traits inevitably merged with the conventional negative image of Byzantium that centuries of Western political propaganda had developed and until very recently inevitably affected Western scholarly attitudes towards Byzantine Studies.17 First of all, doubt was cast upon the importance of the text as a chronicle. Salzman, though still strongly arguing in favor of the “exceptional worth” of the work, “by no means an arid chronicle of men and events as is usually suggested by that designation,” assigned responsibility for the inaccuracy in details to the rhymed literary style held in high esteem by “the public of those Byzantine Jewish communities that was distinguished for its encouragement of the sacred poetry of the Payetanim, and whose intellectual capacity Ahima#az, one of its poets, . must have known” (emphases mine—R.B.)18 Such an apology was presumably aimed at justifying Salzman’s often feeling at a loss when faced with what appears to be a redundant hyperbolic style almost impossible to translate faithfully. In the same vein Salzman suggested excusing the author for the lack of “discrimination between legend and history.” Thus, although he was prepared to admit that “from the standpoint of radical historical criticism, a document betraying such antiquated crudeness, thereby condemns itself as worthless in the service of modern historical study, doomed to be counted among the collections of garrulities and stupidities of the Dark Ages,” he urged that the author be judged “by the standard of his own time” and accordingly that his naiveté be justified, for as a matter of fact he would have been perfectly in line with the Byzantine writers of similar works characterized by “the marked contrast between the fullness and assurance with which the legends of the marvelous are told, and the brevity and indifference that obscure the stories of fact.”19 Needless to say, such evaluation of medieval historical writing was perfectly in line with the conventional attitude still en vogue when Salzman penned his verdict. Secondly, the conventional negative image of (poorly known) Byzantine Jewish scholarship as deeply marked by Byzantine legislation, according to which Byzantine Jewish practices were until quite recently 17 On this image, see Angelov, “Byzantinism”; Pontani, “A margine di ‘Bisanzio et la decadence’.” (Thanks to Vera von Falkenhausen for having brought the latter essay to my attention.) Both list a quite extensive bibliography. 18 Salzman, Chronicle, 4–7. 19 Ibid., 7–9. In this Salzman was presumably following Samuel Krauss, “our foremost authority in Byzantine Jewish studies,” who (as Salzman had previously noted, p. 3) labeled the text “die wundervolle Chronik.”

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labeled customs of abjuration,20 mandated in favor of evaluating the work by lower standards in comparison with better-known Western scholarship. We shall return to the role of the confrontation between the Babylonian and Palestinian outlooks in the shaping of that image in Jewish Studies. Suffice it to note here that once it was taken for granted that the framework in which Ahima#az should be placed was Byzantine, . i.e. Palestinian, and moreover that halakhah based upon the study of the Babylonian Talmud should be credited with absolute supremacy, the purported major components of the Palestinian cultural practices, such as aggadah and piyyut, were assigned to the realm of inferior intellectual occupations. The remarks appended by Benjamin Klar21 to his edition of the text, published in 1944, are typical in this respect: The halakhah flourished in Babylon [… while] in the Land of Israel houses of study were desolate … and the Torah was almost forgotten. In any case, we found that the Babylonian sages cried out loudly that the Jews of the Land of Israel “conduct themselves with relation to the religious commandments not according to the halakhah but in the manner of apostates […].” In the Land of Israel the [intellectual] powers were sufficient only for aggadah, which took upon itself not only to utter “blessings and words of comfort” but also to describe the wicked decrees of the kingdom of Edom-Rome-Byzantium and to prophecy its imminent downfall. In Babylon the Geonim composed responsa to questions of halakhah, continuing the activity of the sages of the Babylonian Talmud; in the Land of Israel the paytanim composed yotzroth and kerovoth and other piyyutim so as to include in them the content of the prayers and homilies they were forbidden to utter.

It was only natural, therefore, that Klar’s judgment of the intellectual profile of Ahima#az and the nature of his work followed straightfor. wardly: More than R. Ahima#az was a historian and biographer, he was a pay. tan and teller of tales. He describes historical episodes—even important ones—only incidentally and inconsequentially while legends and interesting episodes completely captivate his heart and pen.

20 It is perhaps not superfluous to stress that the negative image of Byzantine Jewry very much antedates the conventional attitude toward Byzantinism, for it was shaped during the Early Middle Ages. 21 Benjamin Menahem Klar (1901–1948) was a gifted scholar and teacher of Hebrew . language and grammar at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. On 13 April 1948 he was in a convoy comprised mostly of Hadassah Hospital personnel on its way through Arab-controlled territory to Mount Scopus. The convoy was attacked and 77 persons, including Klar, were murdered.

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One hardly needs more in order to assign our text to the lowly rated marginal literary production of the Jewish Middle Ages. The question of the literary genre to which it properly belongs thus came forcefully to the front, as an additional factor of perplexed negative assessment: if one could no longer consider it axiomatically a chronicle, and if even the fundamental unity of its narrative could be contested, as in fact was done by Klar who strongly stressed the novelistic character of the various episodes,22 then what was it?

Assessing the Literary Genre The nature of the literary genre of the text so strongly defied the usual generic definitions of individual genres that scholarly discussion could not reach a viable accord, even without taking into consideration the more recent trends in genre criticism.23 For modern scholars, the author’s declaration in the proemium (§ 1) that he intends to seek out his lineage and produce an ordered book of collected stories about his forefathers apparently did not satisfactorily set the issue of the book’s genre. Did Ahima#az intend to compose a genealogy? The result of the . author’s effort appeared so different from the modern concept of genealogy, i.e., from a thorough and as accurate as possible a study of individual lineages, including family relationships, and physical and moral as well as intellectual and social details as to urge exploration of other alternatives.24 Even Klar who, inspired by the classic term employed in rabbinical Hebrew to designate genealogical lists,25 coined the title by which the book is in fact widely known (Megillat Ah. ima #az, i.e., the Genealogical Scroll of Ah. ima #az) steered away from such a characterization. Lack of accuracy in reporting historical details and the legendary character of most of the stories interwoven into the text and, as noted, viewed by Klar as a sequence of novels, would rather suggest to him hagiography or epopee as more suitable candidates.26 Klar, Chronicle, 113, 117–118. For a succinct survey of arguments on this issue, the following may be helpful: Hernadi, Beyond Genre; Fowler, Kinds of Literature; Dubrow, Genre; Mullett, “The Madness of Genre.” 24 The point has aptly been stressed by Salzman, Chronicle, 4. A useful outline of modern concepts of genealogy may be found in Durye, “Généalogie.” 25 ïéñçåé úìéâî. See, e.g., TY Ta. 20b and Yev. 29a. 26 Klar, Chronicle, 111–113. 22 23

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Epopee, usually considered quite close to myth, would at first glance appear quite compatible with the legendary character of the stories. It would particularly fit our case since epopee is characteristic of traditional societies, having recourse mostly to oral transmission of memories; as we will see, such was most probably the case of the memories assembled by Ahima#az. Chanting the deeds of a hero or a hero. ine, epopee moreover unfolds the story of a complex cultural tradition, with all its socio-cultural and religious ideals and its moral and esthetic codes, as seems to be the case with our text. And yet, the tradition of great classic works usually characterized as epopees must have dissuaded Klar from straightforwardly assigning Ahima#az’s text to that lit. erary genre. Its modest features appeared to suggest hagiography rather than epopee. Hagiography, i.e., writing the life of a saint by focusing on his or her exemplary deeds, seemed more appropriate, for—as will also be seen later in greater detail—much of our text focuses on the exemplary deeds of the author’s ancestors. Moreover, inspired by the cult of a saint with the objective of its promotion, hagiography does not assign paramount importance to historical accuracy, since it is interested in what actually occurred solely inasmuch as it can offer matter for moral and religious edification. Following Klar’s insight, and stressing the strong literary constituent of the work, Joseph Dan simply suggested hagiography as a more appropriate term to characterize does not present this text.27 His opinion was contested, for Ahima#az . an articulate story of one individual but rather the history of one family; moreover, his work seems to be more interested in what happened to the families of heroes than in their birth or death, as is usually the case in hagiographical writing.28 One might perhaps add further that, at least at first glance, there are good reasons to question whether the category of sainthood and the term hagiography are really appropriate without qualification when referred to Judaism. We shall return to this point. Following modern trends that try to define genres according to style, can we expect the style of the text to help answer our question? As noted, the text of Ahima#az is composed entirely in “rhymed prose,” . the Hebrew literary style that followed the example of the ancient 27 Dan, The Hebrew Story, 153–156. See also ibid., 162–187 about similar stories among the Hasidei Ashkenaz. . 28 Yassif, “Art of Storytelling”: 19–22. On Lives of Saints as a literary genre, see below.

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Arabic sadj #,29 i.e., a kind of prose characterized by the use of short rhythmic units (usually 4 to 10 syllables) and variously closing clauses. From the tenth century onwards it was widely diffused among Arab literates having recourse to rhetorical devices of all kinds.30 As was the case with Arabic literature, this style also became predominant among medieval Jews in almost every written text whose importance the author intended to underline by rhetorical means: it was ubiquitous in letters, introductions to important books, historical writing, and more. But more than in any other genre, it was employed in popular kinds of poetry in which it sometimes combined with metrical verses, as in the case of the maqamat (pl. of maqama), a special kind of narrative in rhymed prose interlaced with short metrical poems.31 It stands to reason that the inception of sadj # in medieval Hebrew literature was eased by the fact that rhyme was not unknown in Hebrew poetry from much earlier times.32 Be that as it may, one can hardly recall a medieval Hebrew text of some importance which does not make use of “rhymed prose.” In the introductory paragraphs of important letters it very early became equivalent to the lofty style of the opening sentences written in sadj # or in stylus altus by the Arab secretaries of the administration or by their Latin colleagues who held rhetoric devices in high esteem in medieval letter writing, and as such it endured in Hebrew letter writing until quite recent times. Likewise the maqama won its way in medieval Hebrew literature.33 Can we then assume our text to be a maqama? The answer must again be in the negative. Several facts would testify against such a designation: it does not recount the adventures or encounters of a narrator and a wandering poet; it does not contain metrical poetry interlaced with the rhymed narrative; it systematically relates stories within stories;34 and its lofty style is hardly characteristic of the maqama.35 Above all. one should bear in mind the declared intention of its author to recount real history, not just an imaginary tale, as a maqama is supposed to be.

29 30 31 32 33 34 35

Cassuto, Storia della letteratura, 70. See Ben Abdesselem, “Sadj#.” Klar, “Four Titles”; Goitein, “The Maqama and the Mah. beret.” See, for example, The Liturgical Poems of Rabbi Yannai, 1:20–22. See, for instance, David Simha Segal, “Preface,” in Alharizi, Book of Tahkemoni, 13. See Dan, The Hebrew Story; Yassif, “Art of Storytelling.” Malakhi, Studies, 22.

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Why, then, should we not consider it a saga, as recently suggested by Eli Yassif ?36 Since this genre became part of current terminology, especially in connection with medieval Iceland, as recollection of various kinds of family memories, saga may indeed be perceived as a characteristic way of storytelling, a composition in which different literary genres coalesce according to the specific matters interwoven into the narrative: it may at once be history, a chronicle, hagiography, genealogy, mythical storytelling, or romance. As such, the term was indeed quite naturally applied within the Icelandic semantic sphere to a variety of works that in others would have been differently characterized: the translation of a part of the Book of Maccabees (saga of the Jews), a special version of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia regum Britanniae (sagas of the Britons), the Life of the Virgin Mary, and so on. But then again, where should one single out the substantial difference between a saga and a medieval chronicle, or even the historical books of the Bible, which can also be at one and the same time all these things and even more and were in fact considered by medieval people as historical writing par excellence?37 Why should we feel compelled to seek an answer outside the general category of historical writing because of the unmistakable flaws of the work according to modern conceptions of authentic historical writing? Why should we not return simply to “chronicle,” as did in fact Dan Pagis in his almost recent overview of the medieval secular literary production of the Jews?38 The work done in recent decades by several scholars did certainly dissipate much of our mistrust in the medieval practice of historical writing, notwithstanding the almost evident failings it displays. Gabrielle M. Spiegel quite aptly reviewed such failings in the opening sentences of a recent essay of hers, before introducing her suggestions “on the way in which the medieval historian approached his task and his texts and, as a consequence, on a way we might profitably consider medieval histories as both literature and fact, or more nearly, as literatures of fact.” She writes:

Yassif, “Art of Storytelling”: 20–21. A very helpful discussion concerning this point may be found in Alex Rofé’s study of at least sixteen eventually identifiable genres in the First Prophets: anecdotes, fairy tales, family stories, tribal stories, epical stories of heroes, legends, genealogies, sagas, and more. See Rofé, Introduction, 124–147. 38 Pagis, Change and Tradition, 255. 36 37

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… its philosophical alliance with theology, which evacuated from history its human purpose and meaning; its literary alliance with rhetoric, which made it inimical to the pursuit of truth; its exemplarist and stereotypical use of historical events and persons for moral teaching, denying them what a modern historian would consider their historicity, their relationship to a historical context; its concern with experience, custom and repetition, rather than reason, individuality, and process; even its absence from the curriculum of medieval pedagogy which meant, as V.H. Galbraith once remarked, that the serious study of history in the Middle Ages was ‘nobody’s business’. To the above failings, one normally adds its low level of literary achievement, approaching at times narrative unintelligibility, a weak notion of historical evidence, lack of sense of anachronism, propagandistic intentions, substitution of symbolic interpretation for causal analysis, and vulnerability to invasion by fiction, forgery, myth, and miracle, not to mention genuine demons. In short, medieval historiography, by all critical odds, is inauthentic, unscientific, unreliable, ahistorical, irrational, borderline illiterate, and, worse yet, unprofessional.39

We will not follow Spiegel here in her brilliant endeavor to grasp the spirit of medieval historical writing in the author’s commitment to record visibly perceptible events in the sequential order of their happening, one that she terms an “ethical commitment to mimetic accuracy.”40 Suffice it to say that, according to Spiegel’s scrutiny, such recording would not only affect the nature of the method and the style of the narration but would also help explain characteristic features such as its vulnerability to legend, fiction, and fable. This is due to its author essentially viewing himself as a compiler, to the almost unreserved absence of source criticism, its submission to additional perceptual “grids” rooted, for instance, in typology uttered in biblical modes of thought or in genealogy.41 We shall return to some of these features, inasmuch as they may help to achieve a better understanding of the text of Ahima#az. For the present it is sufficient to point out that in . stressing both the pervasiveness of biblical modes of thought and the fluidity of borderlines between medieval historical writing and other literary genres Spiegel substantially concurs with similar suggestions of other authors who also underscored those features from different standpoints. To name but one, medieval historical writing was likewise Spiegel, “Genealogy”: 43–44. Ibid., 44. 41 Genealogy was indeed of special interest for Gabrielle M. Spiegel, who enriched us with valuable studies on its importance in the shape of vernacular history in thirteenth-century France. 39 40

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approached more than thirty years ago by Roger D. Ray in a quite convincing essay.42 Recent discussions of genre criticism suggest qualifying such a conclusion slightly. First, though literary genres quite easily intersect and most literary works can often be assigned to more than one specific genre, one should not hastily conclude that genre classification should be totally dismissed. As one scholar put it, “genres are strikingly similar to human personalities. Like different personalities, different genres are distinguished from one another by which characteristics predominate.”43 Writing history will hardly coincide with writing a letter or a homily, epic poetry or religious hymnography, romance or hagiography, regardless of the amount of references to the past they contain. Second, genres, too, have a history: the ideas writers and readers have of them are cultural constructs tightly related to changing social realities and tastes.44 Writing history in ancient times was not like writing history in the Middle Ages or the Renaissance, not to mention modern and contemporary ideas of what history should truly be. Once one becomes sensitive to the fluidity of borderlines between literary genres and their changing character, one can feel more confident in dealing with the nature of our text from its author’s perspective, who would presumably not endorse any of our modern literary classifications but would nonetheless have a clear idea of the kind of work he was about to compose.

Reality or Myth? We are thus redirected to the author’s explicit statement that he collected the memories recorded in his narrative as part of an effort to establish the roots of his family from the time in which his ancestors first settled in Oria to their coming to Capua, where he lived and wrote his work, and to narrate them in an ordered book of stories that he defined as a midrash sefer (§ 1), definitely an unusual definition pointing to an idiom found only once in the Bible (2 Chr. 24:7). What possible association did midrash sefer arouse in his mind? To assess that we need explore a number of apparently loosely connected paths. 42 43 44

Ray, “Medieval Historiography.” Dubrow, Genre, 7. Fowler, Kinds of Literature, esp. 54–74; Dubrow, Genre, esp. 45–104.

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First of all, we need to consider the way in which his writing was carried out. Though he did not state that explicitly, one may nonetheless quite confidently assume, on the basis of the particular terminology of his report, that this was on the basis of oral testimonies ultimately recorded by Ahima#az in written form.45 The fact that at least one . major story included in his work is preserved in an almost differently adjusted form in a later Ashkenazi text together with the additional fact that, as far as we know, the process of changes being introduced into the story came to an end after it was written down, strongly substantiates an assumption that all this is in accord with the by now well-known pattern of transmission of oral traditions among primitive societies until their finally being put down in writing. In such frameworks, indeed, such changes which prima facie deprive the testimonies of trustworthiness are not only more frequent than in cases in which cultural activity is characterized by writing, but are even essential and organic components of every actual definition of cultural identity in the adaptation of tradition to changing social contexts.46 Such a conclusion takes for granted, a priori, two general methodological assumptions that will constantly accompany our following examination of the text. First, inasmuch as the difference in the contents of cultural heritage did not engender a normative (i.e., religious) commitment approach to life, Jews constantly and universally thought and behaved exactly like their non-Jewish neighbors. Therefore there cannot be any essential difference between Jews and non-Jews as far as the outillage mental underlying and governing mechanisms of cultural attitudes is concerned. According to this line of reasoning, even if we knew nothing about medieval Jews we could a priori assume that in relation to their mental apparatus, including attitudes towards oral and written matters, their generic approaches were no different from those of their neighbors. Any discussion concerning medieval Jewish cultural features may consequently safely rely on the findings of scholars who have 45

Writing the book is emphatically stated in the closing depiction of the composition (§61), at variance with the detailed description of the oral performance of storytelling in the opening paragraph (§1). See Yassif, “Popular Tales,” 44–45; Skinner, “Gender, Memory and Jewish Identity”: 288ff. For more cautious opinions, see Starr, Jews in the Byzantine Empire, 57; Zimmels, “Historiography,” 161; Salzman, Chronicle, 7. 46 This point was already made in Robert Bonfil, “Can Medieval Storytelling Help Understanding Midrash?” esp. 238–239. Much of what will be suggested in the following paragraphs reproduces parts of that essay. Additional insights and references may be found in the recent reading exercise of parallel recollections and reshapings of traditions by Baumgarten and Kushelevsky, “From ‘The Mother and Her Sons’.”

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investigated medieval non-Jewish features as socio-cultural constructs resulting from encounters between received traditional cultures with more or less pressing challenges arising from continuously changing contexts. This should not be assumed to apply exclusively to medieval settings. Indeed, it is a most general rule governing all kinds of worldviews resulting from situations that—following in the footsteps of sociologists, anthropologists, and ethnographers—we have become accustomed to designate as engendering acculturation. In all such cases, both sides to the encounter place themselves in dialogic situations of all possible kinds with their neighbors—situations of confrontation, clash, and struggle as well as of convergence, rapprochement, and fusion,47 and in so doing constantly engage in (re)defining perceptions of the Self vis-à-vis the Other. Both are challenged by the set of ideas of the Other to which they react critically, sometimes arguing and finally rejecting, but more often adjusting, and at other times simply borrowing.48 The cultural history of the Jews was (and still is) particularly affected by this kind of interplay, for the Jews were (and still are) continuously involved in such situations more intensely than other ethnic groups because of their being almost constantly powerless minorities exposed to the pressures of far more powerful majorities. As a matter of fact, this was true when the People of Israel still enjoyed national independence no less than it was in any other period, including the Middle Ages, as has been shown by an ever growing number of talented scholars and as will be elaborated upon in greater detail for some aspects that are particularly relevant to our present discussion. In any case, in what most directly concerns mythologization, which according to conventional positivist terms is undoubtedly distortion of factual truth and includes what to modern readers would appear to be sheer legend, it naturally follows that it must also be approached under that assumption, inasmuch as it affected medieval genealogies and medieval historical writing, including hagiography. As we have seen, the present text may share some important features with them. 47

See Leon-Portilla. “New World.” Since I first proposed to prefer such a manner of viewing acculturation to the conventionally accepted one which saw it as succumbing to the influence exercised by the “strong” upon the “feeble”, a similar perspective has variously found its way, more often than not independently, into recent works of Jewish cultural history. For my previous statements on the subject, see Bonfil, Jewish Life, esp. 2–7. Recent works with a similar perspective include Marcus, Rituals of Childhood; idem, Jewish Life Cycle. 48

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Second, assuming further that there exists a close relationship between the way in which knowledge is transmitted and the socio-cultural context in which messages are actually uttered, and assuming moreover that in every transmission of knowledge personal interests coalesce with those of the society to which the transmitter belongs, the only way to discover what are the functions of a tradition and the possible sources of distortion is to conduct a sociological analysis of the society in which the traditions are found. Though this rule applies to all kinds of societies, as can be easily verified in present times by comparing the information collected from different media, one can safely assume that distortion may less easily surface when for some reason comparison and critical assessment cannot effectively be carried out, as is usually the case with orally transmitted knowledge.49 The difficulty is even greater in contexts in which observation on the ground cannot be carried out, like those of ancient and medieval societies. Historians are then left alone with texts penned a long time ago according to the abovementioned rule and in contexts hardly familiar to them. Therefore, their ability to delve into them is by following the only reliable method at their disposal, historical philology, and through their capacity to get reasonable inferences concerning the consecutive stages of the process of mythologization before it came to an end after the story was set down in writing. Some suggestions made by anthropologists Jack Goody and Ian Watt in an article concerning oral societies written about forty years ago,50 which has by now become a classic in this field, are particularly relevant to our investigation. According to Goody and Watt, … what the individual remembers [in an oral culture] tends to be what of critical importance in his experience of the main social relationships. In each generation, therefore, the individual memory will mediate the cultural heritage in such a way that its new constituents will adjust to the old by the process of interpretation that Barlett calls “rationalizing” or the “effort after meaning”; and whatever parts of it have ceased to be of contemporary relevance are likely to be eliminated by the process of forgetting.

Goody and Watt called this kind of organization of cultural tradition, characteristic of oral societies, “homeostatic,” i.e., analogous to the homeostatic organization of the human body by means of which it 49 50

Vansina, Oral Tradition: A Study, 76–99; idem, Oral Tradition as History, 94–123. Goody and Watt, “Consequences of Literacy.”

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attempts to maintain its present condition of life through a continuous process of digestion and elimination.51 To students of midrash such a definition recalls Max Kadushin’s concept of organic thinking,52 a point to which we shall return shortly. Through the mechanism of forgetting or transforming those elements which cease to have contemporary relevance in a cultural heritage, a process of merging myth and history takes place. As is now widely known, the scholarly achievements of the study of oral traditions are no longer limited to primitive aboriginal societies, almost totally destitute of writing aptitudes, but are also suitably applied to ancient and medieval societies, in which writing was by no means infrequent, even though for the most part tradition was still transmitted orally. As far as the main traits of the processes of adjustment of transmissions of knowledge and their social implications are concerned, we may assume a basic similitude between all of them, including the difficulty of successfully tackling the field in which reality and myth merge organically.53 This assumption does not maintain that there is a substantial difference between the oral and the written in terms of impermeability to manipulation, and therefore of reliability:54 written sources can undoubtedly be no less “contaminated” than oral ones, and narrating the past, whether in oral or written mode, is a social occasion familiar to every society, including the medieval one.55 And yet, the possibility of checking when, where, and by whom did “contaminations” occur appears to be much greater in the case of written transmissions. How, then, should we visualize the concept of historical truth in the eyes of the transmitters in such a process? In this respect, anthropologist Jan Vansina, whose work has also become classic, writes: In their eyes, analysis of a testimony is meaningless. Sometimes there is a touch of ironical humor in the way they relate certain traditions, being aware that curious things are being told such as could not happen nowadays. But they say that perhaps they could have happened in former times, and it is not at all a sign of skepticism. It is a similar kind of amusement to what would be felt by a Westerner if, today, he happened to look at fashion engravings from the times of his grandparents. As a consequence of this attitude towards historical truth, informants will 51 52 53 54 55

Ibid., 30–31. Kadushin, Rabbinic Mind. Vollrath, “Das Mittelalter.” See Fentress and Wickham, Social Memory, 93–94. Van Houts, Memory and Gender, 5.

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sometimes give contradictory testimonies, all of which they declare to be true. … Another consequence of the attitude is that traditions are seldom, if ever, examined with any kind of critical judgment. The capacity of critical judgment among peoples without writing exists, but it is not applied to tradition. All that people do is to try not to change anything in the traditions handed down by the ancestors. But if changes are inadvertently introduced into a tradition, they in turn become true, for one or two generations at least. … This concept of historical truth tends to prevent the distortion of tradition rather than add to it, and it would seem therefore to have little effect on the content of the testimony.56

From this standpoint, Vansina’s conclusions are perfectly consistent with the elements previously quoted from the general model of Goody and Watt. Two further traits underlined by Vansina may be beneficial to our discussion. First, the historian’s caution when faced with manifestations of idealization of the past, constantly present in the transmission of traditions, somehow paradoxically finds a plausible corrective when features “do not correspond to those commonly attributed to an ideal type nevertheless persist in a tradition, they may usually be regarded as trustworthy.”57 Historians should therefore be constantly alert to such deviations from the ideal types. Secondly, in oral societies the corpus of traditional knowledge handed down from one generation to another displays three main varieties: first, the representation of the origin of the world, the creation of mankind; second, accounts related to the particular society and community to which the knowledge belongs; third, personal accounts of the transmitters. Let us once more quote Vansina verbatim on this point: When the whole body of such accounts is taken together there typically appears a three-tiered whole. For recent times there is plenty of information which tapers off as one moves back through time. For earlier periods one finds either a hiatus or just one or few names, given with some hesitation. There is a gap in the accounts, which I call the floating gap. For still earlier periods one finds again a wealth of information and one deals here with traditions of origin. … Sometimes, especially in genealogies, the recent past and origins are run together as a succession of a single generation. … The historical period begins with culture heroes who create order and invent or make institutions appear … in many, usually somewhat complex societies, historical causation is perceived as 56

130. 57

Vansina, Oral Tradition: A Study, 103. See also idem, Oral Tradition as History, 129– Vansina, Oral Tradition: A Study, 107.

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chapter one more complex. But causes are isolated. Complex chain reactions through time are not perceived. History is seen as a series of static states in which new items appear, but these are unconnected to each other. Each new appearance or invention is merely apportioned to a culture hero. … So history becomes a sequence of greater or lesser culture heroes.58

When it comes to reckoning of time or to genealogical materials, it thus appears only natural that temporal sequences and genealogical lists are among the most likely to be affected by such kinds of adjusting, be they intentional or unintentional. As we will see, these conclusions are of great importance for our reading of the chronicle of Ahima#az. . David P. Henige, who conducted an in-depth study of the issue of chronology in oral traditions, has documented many reasons for lengthening or shortening such lists while also stressing the above-mentioned fact that the early appearance of a culture hero in a list of kings can often be interpreted as signaling the advent of historicity—a feature that will also turn out to be highly significant for the reading of our text.59 Indeed, for what interests us here, Henige’s great merit is that he did not limit his conclusions to one particular temporal or special context but has rather argued for a recurring model, valid for all kinds of societies both in ancient and medieval times. The truth of the matter is that Henige’s remarks concerning genealogical tradition also hold true for the genealogical literary production that held the attention of medievalists during the second half of the last century, particularly concerning Germany and France.60 The most general conclusion of these scholars seems to be that such recording flourished among prominent families, close to the courts of kings or emperors, in order to legitimize claims for power, and—as with the genealogical lists studied by Henige—medieval lists did also quite frequently display lengthening or shortening, invention of mythical ancestors, and a wealth of legendary material.61 To a certain extent it seems that the way in which reality and myth mingle in individual or collective recollections of past happenings Vansina, Oral Tradition as History, 23, 131. Henige, Oral Historiography, 65–68. 60 One may profitably consult the following: Hauck, “Haus- und Sippengebundene Literatur”; Werner, “Untersuchungen”; Schmid, “Zur Problematik”; Duby, “Remarques”; Génicot, Les généalogies. 61 This kind of medieval narrative, based on inherited elements of culture and somehow a-critically mixing up history and legend, is extensively addressed by Eli Yassif, focusing on the literary and folkloristic aspects of the composition; see Yassif, “Popular Tales.” 58 59

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and in the ensuing shaping of narratives is by no means an ancient or medieval characteristic but is rather essentially a built-in trait of the processes universally implied by human recollection of memories. Imaginary features are naturally and organically doomed to be appended to genuine occurrences in the shaping of all kinds of memories. Again, modern readers, familiar with the dynamic shaping of information offered by the media, will presumably find it easier to come to terms with such practices than would rigorously positivist historians of former generations. After all, history and/or storytelling are analogous modes of imagining and narrating actual reality.

History, Storytelling, and Midrash The mechanism of transforming an already inherited element of culture into another, that we have succinctly outlined following the findings of the above-mentioned scholars, is essentially the same as that of hermeneutics. Viewed from a distinctively Jewish perspective, it is alike the one operating in that particular literary corpus called midrash, in all possible definitions of the term, and above all concerning the argument advanced by David Weiss Halivni when stressing the roots of orality in the evolution of the semantics related to the term midrash.62 The standard definition of the root drˇs, “to inquire”, “to seek out” and, derivatively, “to exposite [texts],” which is adequate for biblical, sectarian and Tannaitic literatures, is seemingly not adequate for Amoraic literature. There are numerous instances in both Talmuds where the root drˇs introduces fixed laws accompanied by neither biblical exposition nor logical inquiry. … It is generally assumed that the word drˇs preceding a fixed law means that the law was promulgated in public. … It is quite possible, therefore, that the use of the word drˇs preceding fixed laws in Amoraic literature was justified on the basis of its public posture. In Tannaitic times biblical exposition, Midraˇs, was taught in public either as part of worship in the Synagogue following the reading of the Torah, or in some other manner. In the course of time the root drˇs became attached not only to biblical exposition but to any teaching done in public, so that later on with the emergence of Miˇsnah, when fixed laws were also taught in public, the root drˇs was transferred to fixed laws announced in public as well. Thus in Amoraic times the root drˇs was employed both for scriptural exposition and for introducing fixed laws. The latter usage was 62 Halivni, Midrash, Mishnah, and Gemara, 15, 122 n. 21. For additional references by Halivni to literature on various definitions of midrash, see 123 n. 25.

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chapter one justified on the grounds that, like Midraˇs of old, it too was public. Paradoxically, … the Amoraim did not transfer the use of the root drˇs to the exposition of Tannaitic texts, apparently out of fear that a similar usage would blur the distinction between the two texts.63

Given the overwhelming specific weight of the Bible in Jewish traditional culture, it is only natural that most of this culture was rooted in biblical teaching. In view of the process delineated by Weiss Halivni, however, midrash gradually widened its semantic field to include all exposition of traditional knowledge not committed to writing, not just biblical inquiry and exposition. Focusing on that part of midrashic production which contains myth and history, Urbach’s suggestion, that in Jewish civilization midrash fulfilled functions analogous to those of history in Greek civilization,64 should therefore be considered as much more than an apologetic device intended to justify the absence of historical literary production among the Jews of the Talmudic epoch. In other words, following and extending Urbach’s idea, perhaps beyond its author’s intention, it can be argued that as far as some form of discourse on the past was concerned, within the “pastless” view of the past characteristic of societies committed to orality, midrash viewed as intellectual activity focusing on traditional knowledge included history.65 In fact, the etymology of midrash overlaps that of history, for both terms indicate seeking information, inquiry, and exposition. These meanings taken together include exegesis and exposition in all possible manners and by all possible techniques. But, as we have seen, with reference to oral societies they also include adjustments of meaning and even sheer invention of new meanings. The only limitation to this kind of activity seems to be logical plausibility, according to the critical awareness of the person actually performing it. The Ancients were perhaps more aware than modern historians of the fact that one cannot easily distinguish between mythopoiesis and historia. Indeed, Strabo (c. 64 bce–Twenties ce) listed them together in characterizing the Academy of Athens as the place where one might find frequent mythical accounts and histories (μυοποιας συχνς κα στορας).66 In any case, and as has been pertinently noted by students of the interface between fact and fiction, the Ciceronian theoretical 63 64 65 66

Halivni, Midrash, Mishnah, and Gemara, 73–75. Urbach, “Halakhah and History.” See Bäuml, “Varieties and Consequences,” 249. Strabo, IX, 1.17, quoted by Glucker, Antiochus, 242.

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distinctions between fabula, historia, and argumentum as different species of narration had already waned during the Middle Ages.67 Although diligently mentioned by Isidore of Seville (c. 560–636 ce) in his Book of Etymologies,68 were we to read his History of the Goths from our modern standpoint we would no doubt hardly agree with him as to the actual application of the distinctions he apparently accepted. Finally, should one be prepared to disregard the question of what precisely is the subject of inquiry and exposition and limit oneself to discourses relating what happened in the past, the identification of midrash with history would be almost self-evident. In sum, if we are prepared to refer to orality not just as an activity performed orally but as the socio-cultural setting properly pertaining to oral societies, namely to societies characterized by transmissions of knowledge like the one we have briefly described above, midrash, however narrowly or broadly defined, would be one of those kinds of transmission. As such, midrash would include history conceived as strictly linked to myth, as in fact it is in oral societies; it would embody the “mythical” heritage of Jewish society, in a variety of formulations, reflecting a variety of adjustments to different socio-cultural settings, sometimes impossible to define precisely but whose presence proper philological inquiry may at times uncover. Such a definition of midrash is certainly compatible with Isaac Heinemann’s definition of it as creative historiography.69 It suggests rhetoric rather than logic, inconsistency more than cogent argumentation, quite often even puzzling paradoxality, Ciceronian exhornatio rerum rather than plain narratio rerum, apodictic education more than critical search for knowledge. To some extent, and not surprisingly, inconsistency was even granted methodological legitimacy in an addendum to the Zohar, probably composed in the fourteenth century: äãâää ìò íéáéùî ïéà—one does not question aggadah, is indeed predicated as a rule that later authors tended to apply to the entire midrashic corpus.70 Significantly enough, that 67 Nelson, Fact or Fiction, 5. See also Landfester, Historia Magistra vitae, 47–92; Gureviˇ c, Le categorie della cultura medievale, 41–42. 68 Isidore of Seville, Etymologiarum sive Originum libri XX, 1:xl–xliv. 69 Heinemann, Methods of the Aggadah, 4–7 and passim. 70 The rule is apparently enunciated for the first time in Tikkunei Zohar Hadash 166a. . Rabbi Moses Isserles (Responsa, nº 100), listed a quite interesting variant, which is by now almost generally quoted: ùøãä ìò ïéáéùî ïéà. One should bear in mind however, that the late wordings are adjustments of the frequently quoted Talmudic rule (for instance, TB Men. 82b) ù÷éää ìò ïéáéùî ïéà: one does not question halakhic rulings based on hekkesh, i.e., verbal analogy, inasmuch as they can display an authoritative pedigree, that is, they were transmitted in the name of an undisputed authority.

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characteristic institution of Jewish civilization, the beth midrash, was at a certain moment translated into Greek by οκος παιδεας, for the term παιδεα indeed carries a great deal of the above-mentioned meanings. Out of the large set of implications structurally linked to those meanings, one seems to be of paramount importance for our discussion, namely the implication of entertainment, of ludicrousness, not rarely of “scandalous” joke—in brief, of ludic activity.71 It is not by chance that theaters and circuses were dubbed as opposites of synagogues and battei midrash when the nature of Jewish civilization was opposed to that of the Greeks and Romans.72 In sum, to the medieval mind, still shaped by orality as defined above, midrash was then “simply” a most general quest for meaning carried out in the sphere in which myth and history organically merged with the entire cultural heritage of Jewish society. As long as that mind, educated according to the classical rhetorical conception of historiography, was shaped in a socio-cultural setting characterized by orality, midrash would include history as a part of the transmission and adjustment of the entire corpus of inherited culture. The affinity between the contents and the mechanisms of medieval exposition of traditional knowledge committed to orality and midrash, as perceived by the medieval mind, would thus justify the view of the former as almost synonymous with the latter.73

Lacroix, L’historien, 189–191. We will return to this point in greater detail in chap. 3 of the introductory essay. 73 A more detailed scrutiny of the chronological sequence of the semantic evolution of midrash would require a lengthy digression, definitely unnecessary for the present discussion. Suffice it to say briefly that, according to our outline, at a first stage midrash would have included every kind of traditional knowledge transmitted orally, i.e., the entire oral law (äô­ìòáù äøåú), midrash halakhah (äëìä ùøãî), and midrash aggadah (äãâà ùøãî), as well as folk stories, edifying anecdotes, etc. As this corpus was gradually committed to writing, beginning with halakhah, midrash accordingly was affected by a process of gradual loss of its characteristics. As halakhah was committed to writing and therefore losing its former characteristics of being organically adjustable to changing socio-cultural settings, midrash came to be essentially dissociated from halakhah within the corpus of traditional knowledge. At this stage, midrash also signified books containing knowledge up to then transmitted orally and from then onward in writing, according to the criteria of selection and ordering typical of their editors. This phase engendered the most significant semantic splitting of the root drˇs: while the root itself, as pointing to intellectual activity, maintained the meanings of the usual practices of oral interpretation and teaching of written texts (including preaching), the output of such activity was carefully separated from midrash viewed as literary production, which came to signify more specifically the books in which the traditional knowledge was written 71 72

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In light of our exposition to this point, we may now quite confidently conclude that in having recourse to the term midrash sefer in order to define his work, Ahima#az was somehow pointing to the cumulative . meaning of the term, as it had entered common usage, not just to a specific well-defined literary genre. Indeed, some of the above-mentioned characteristics of the term are clearly stated in the proemium (§ 1), namely: the effort to seek out information about past occurrences and the enunciation of the findings in narrative form—all of them characteristics of the classical definition of history, στορα, particularly as it came to be practiced in the Middle Ages, as will be shown in greater detail below. That Ahima#az called his work midrash sefer is, then, a most . telling example of the application of the term to new literary compositions containing knowledge other than that bearing the crown of the sacredness of religious normative tradition. Yet, this was exceptional. In fact, so far it remains unique. It is therefore impossible to decide if we are confronted with an already outmoded terminology or rather with an unsuccessful attempt to create a Hebrew word for historical exposition within a cultural context in which history was still governed by the classical rhetoric tradition linking it to orality. Be that as it may, we are now fully justified to look into Ahima#az’s storytelling for addi. tional characteristic features of medieval narrative and/or writing of past occurrences.

“Historia magistra vitae”: Rhetoric and Preaching The modern outlines of medieval storytelling by a number of skilled scholars may help our search.74 Following, for instance, the brilliant sketch drawn by Beryl Smalley, we should first of all bear in mind the nature of that activity with reference to the encounter of the author with his audience: The medieval author also assumes that his audience will be familiar with the tradition in which he is working. His predecessors speak through his mouth, and his own reading has conditioned his ideas on what history down, and by synecdoche every single tradition actually included in them or which, by virtue of its contents, might have been included. Finally, the relatively rapid diffusion of writing from the twelfth century onward had, as an almost inevitable consequence, the rapid drying up of the productive vein of composition of new midrashim even in the sense of books. 74 Smalley, Historians.

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chapter one is and on how it should be written. We need to understand his presuppositions. They go back to antiquity and to the Bible and the Fathers. We shall have to make a long journey backwards in time, to Cicero and Moses, in order to grasp how a medieval historiographer approached his material and how he presented it to his audience. The ancient and Christian traditions intermingled, but it is possible to separate them to some extent when we consider their influence on the writing of history in the Middle Ages. … Medieval authors, in so far as they had a smattering of classical learning, observed or modified the ancient traditions. … The Bible and the Fathers, on the other hand, influenced the content, scope and purpose of medieval historiography.75

Keeping in mind the biblical model and modern biblical scholarship should convey to us that at the editorial stage storytelling according to such a model does combine all possible kinds of genres,76 no matter whether transmitted orally or in written texts, as well as all possible categories of historical testimonies.77 Since a model of this type was ultimately intended to achieve educational goals, it was perfectly compatible with the classical tradition in which historical narrative was conceived as part of rhetoric, the art of persuasion par excellence with the aim of persuading the listener or reader to shape her of his personality in the image of praiseworthy figures of the past or to avoid the example of blameworthy ones. As is well known, such classical tradition was incorporated in the Western cultural tradition until very recent times. In Cicero’s words, excerpted from a longer sentence, the idea firmly established itself in Western cultural tradition as a lapidary aphorism, promptly identified with some kind of self-evident covering law of educational practice: Historia magistra vitae, history is a teacher of life.78 But it was in the words of Roman historian Livy that history took on the classic form of an unequivocal reminder of paradigmatic behavior to be kept in mind by the well educated: There is this exceptionally beneficial and fruitful advantage to be derived from the study of the past that you see, set in the clear light of historical truth, examples of every possible type. From these you may select for Ibid., 13. See n. 37 above. 77 For instance, Elisabeth van Houts offered such a list of seven categories; see Van Houts, Memory and Gender, 19–39 (chap. 2). 78 M. Tullius Cicero, De oratore, 2.36. The entire sentence reads: “Historia vero testis temporum, lux veritatis, vita memoriae, magistra vitae, nuntia vetustatis, qua voce alia nisi oratoris, immortalitati commendatur?” 75 76

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yourself and your country what to imitate, and also what, as being mischievous in its inception and disastrous in its issues, you are to avoid.79

Mutatis mutandis, such an outlook is not essentially dissimilar from both the Jewish and Christian ways of justifying the conservation of literary traditions recalling past events. As far as Jews are concerned, this is already stated in a most general form in the rabbinic stance concerning the relatively few prophetic traditions which prevailed over neglect: though innumerable prophets rose and addressed our ancestors, only prophecies useful to the future generations were written down.80 For the purposes of the present discussion, prophets very much resemble historians. Prophets are indeed persons who receive or interpret divine messages and convey them to their surroundings. Like historians, their messages were intended to be edifying—i.e., designed to influence the future behavior of the audience in the desired direction— and may indifferently concern the past as well as the present or even the future in the sense already mentioned by Cicero or Livy. Like historians, their final purpose may be religious, ethical, political, or all of them together. Their incentive to act and source of inspiration may come from the holders of power or result from opposition to them, while for method they may have recourse to all kinds of tools, mainly rhetorical and theatrical, aimed at conveying that message as effectively as possible.81 Both prophets and historians face their audiences as holders of a unique authoritative knowledge that we may somehow improperly call “professional” and which they subjectively believe gives them the right to publicize their messages and influence the public. And yet, should one focus on the manner of the delivery, on what they did actually do to captivate the audiences,82 both prophets and historians should rather be compared to preachers, notwithstanding the fact that throughout the early Middle Ages historiography continued to be a marginal spare-time occupation, while preaching was increasingly gaining weight. To begin with, inasmuch as the above-mentioned tools are concerned, one can indeed say with much certainty that the most pervasive application of rhetoric in the medieval setting was in Livy, History of Rome, Preface to Book 1. See, for instance TB Meg. 14a and Rashi’s commentary in situ. 81 Bremmer, “Prophecy and History”; see also Kurze, “Prophecy and History.” 82 This particular aspect was recently dealt with by, Muzzarelli, Pescatori di uomini, though limited to the late Middle Ages. However, much of what is skillfully described for the later period can be equally applied to the earlier one. 79 80

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preaching. Though rhetoric did not abandon its secular role (in politics, drafting documents, letter writing, and in literature in general), its medieval characteristics indeed differed from those in classical Greece and Rome. As succinctly summarized by Jerold E. Seigel: … the salient features of the history of rhetoric in the Middle Ages are the loss of the art’s identity as a single coherent tradition, the diffusion of its various elements among other disciplines, and the failure of professional rhetoricians to retain Cicero’s conception of rhetoric as the doorway to general education and political life. The varied tasks performed by the classical orator either fell into disuse or were distributed among separate occupational and social groups, none of which was primarily identified with the art of rhetoric.

Among those, the preachers were prominent. If one presumed, as indeed medieval men and women were supposed to presume, that the contents of the preacher’s oration did coincide with God’s eternal wisdom and truth, there was no longer place for the classical question of the relationship between rhetoric and philosophy; that is, of joining eloquence to wisdom and truth. The question became rather a “technical” one of encoding, i.e., how to adjust the discourse according to the circumstances under which it was delivered—time, place, audience, and more—in order to fit the audience and produce the desired effect.83 It is within these terms of reference that we must envisage the medieval preacher’s search for the proper balance between handling his knowledge of the truth of the matter, on the one hand, and his use of flowery language in the rhetorical organization of his text, on the other. While to ancient and medieval minds, Jewish and non-Jewish alike, preachers would thus preferably be compared with prophets,84 the strong degree of affinity presented by storytelling and preaching would appear as no less self-evident. The objective of both historians and preachers was to teach perfect behavior; real or fictional examples of praiseworthy or deplorable deeds played a crucial role in the texts of both; both displayed a strong and quite complex ideological message

83 McKeon, “Rhetoric”; Seigel, Rhetoric and Philosophy, 173–199 (chapter 6), as may also be suggested by the fact that most medieval discussions of rhetoric are to be found in theoretical approaches to preaching or in introductions to collections of sermons. 84 The affinity of preaching to prophecy is quite clearly stated in medieval guidebooks for preachers, though admittedly belonging to later periods, as for example Joseph ben Shem-Tov, #Ein ha-Kore. This book is still in manuscript; see Bonfil, Rabbis and Jewish Communities, 299.

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conveyed in what the authors might presume to be the most persuasive rhetorical style; and finally, the messages of both were conceived as being delivered audibly. Beryl Smalley pointed out in this respect: From the very beginning of its composition, the writer had in mind what his book would sound like … Medieval writers address their audience as ‘readers’ or ‘hearers’ interchangeably, and their punctuation often supposes that the text will be read aloud: the text of Orderic Vital’s Ecclesiastical History, for instance, has symbols to indicate a change of pitch in the reader’s voice [see plate 7] … writers appealed to their public orally. This explains much that we find unfamiliar in medieval historians. A writer who appeals to the ear will try every trick of style at his command to please his audience and keep it on the qui vive, whether he addresses it directly or whether he imagines someone else reading aloud. The effect is ‘rhetorical’ (in our modern, bad sense of the word), as it was meant to be. Eleventh- and twelfth-century historians often use rhythmical prose and drop easily into verse … Modern students are told that they must ‘try to get into an author’s mind’. To understand a medieval historian they must also sit in his audience. The communication is oral. The author expects them to listen to his periods and to laugh when he makes a joke to amuse them.85

If the historian’s craft is paradigmatically addressing an audience, like a preacher, the entire range of the above-mentioned questions about the interplay between organizing the narrative and its reception by the audience would apply: organizing the material, choosing the place of the performance, choosing the proper style, the appropriate words, phrases, and images, and adopting the appropriate modes of delivery. We have already noted Gabrielle M. Spiegel’s remark that the spirit of medieval historical writing lies in the author’s commitment to record visibly perceptible events in the sequential order of their occurrence. This was also part of the self-image of medieval historiographers, who would hardly admit to pursuing dignity and fame through their enterprise. To quote Beryl Smalley once again, Christian humility forbad that the author should write in order to boost his good fame. Indeed the whole concept of authorship went by the board. An ‘author’ in medieval terms means ‘authority’. The biblical writers and the Church Fathers ranked as ‘authors’ in sacred literature; the classical poets and prose writers were their opposite numbers in profane literature. Their successors in the Middle Ages counted as mere ‘writers’ or ‘compilers’ who lacked the weight of ‘authority’.86 85 Smalley, Historians, 12–13. Cf. Vansina, Oral Tradition as History, index, s.v. “performance.” 86 Smalley, Historians, 10.

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Medieval Jews thought similarly; they simply substituted “Rabbis” for “Church Fathers.” Basically, medieval historical writing was conceived as compilation, the keywords of the historian’s craft being compilare, colligere, aggregare87— to compile, to collect, to assemble—and for Jews the correspondent Hebrew terms were øâà, è÷ì, øáç, ñðë, óñà, õá÷. Thus, for instance, did a thirteenth-century Jew introduce his work of universal history: For I saw many apocryphal works [those not included in the biblical canon] scattered and dispersed here and there. I said [to myself] truthfully that I would gather them and collect them all together in one book. And I collected and assembled the words of the wise and their riddles,88 and I wrote them down in a book … And that is why I called this book “The Book of Memories” that should [record] the memory of many and strange deeds that I collected … from among all the deeds that were done since the Creation of the world until this day … [emphases mine— R.B.].89

In addition to rhetoric, we have also noted the importance of theatrical techniques to enhance the effectiveness of the performance.90 Music, for instance, particularly as performed by popular troubadours in the streets, was explicitly listed among the devices in late medieval treatises concerning preaching. “Preaching should be like a chant and the preacher should be pleasant like a minnesinger,” theorized the thirteenth-century Dominican friar Humbert of Romans, while Franciscan friar Bernardine of Siena (1380–1444) skillfully employed all kinds of sounds and theatrical tricks to captivate his audience.91 Such theatrical aspects of preaching among Jews are already quite vigorously referred to in numerous rabbinic sources.92 It should therefore come as no surprise that narrative as compilation, as well as musical performance during its public delivery, are features easily discernable in Ahima#az’s work and repeatedly mentioned in the . author’s declaration of intent in the proemium and elsewhere.93 In fact, Lacroix, L’historien, 34–45. See Prov. 1.6. 89 Yerahmiel ben Shlomo. The Book of Memories, 69. . 90 See also Vansina, Oral Tradition as History, 46–47; Duby, “La diffusion du titre chevaleresque,” 40. 91 Muzzarelli, Pescatori di uomini, 46, 95, 96, 141 and the bibliography listed there. 92 See Herr, “Synagogues and Theatres.” We shall return to this aspect of theatrical performance within the synagogal space. 93 For historical writing as compilation in the Chronicle of Ahima #az, see §1, nn. 8 and 13, . §61, n. 585. 87 88

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there is much more than that. While it would be superfluous to insist further that preaching is the principal meaning of drˇs and midrash, on which enough has been said above, its association to the historian’s craft in the sense noted above should point quite clearly to the proper place for the performance—the specific space annexed to the synagogue and called, as we have briefly seen and will discuss in greater detail below, beth ha-midrash—as well as the elite audience typical of that space and for which the lofty literary style of rhymed prose was most appropriate.94 The nature of the content of the paradigmatic message which the author was anxious to convey, as well as the ways of establishing a viable ideal platform for its effective deliverance to the audience will be addressed in detail in the following chapters. But before bringing the present one to an end, we must linger further for a moment on the idea of the preacher’s practice as providing an actual connecting bridge between form and content in establishing that platform.

Paradigmatic History and Sainthood Viewed from such a perspective, the preacher’s practice does provide a very important link between rhetoric, paradigmatic history, and sainthood, since in medieval minds storytelling as paradigmatic narration of the past could almost naturally join the manner in which saints were represented as models for imitation. The cult of saints and sainthood and the manner of its representation in hagiographical models have recently attracted the attention of medievalists from

See Green, “Orality and Reading”: 272–273: “Any society with the sense of selfawareness has to store essential information about its past, and in an oral society this has to be done by memory rather than by writing, by professional remembrancers rather than by trained scribes. In the light of this need the poet in an oral society must be seen, not primarily as an entertainer or as a creative artist, but rather as one who possesses the skill of making language memorable and can thus fulfill the task of mnemonic preservation of what his society needs to retain of its past, of acting as what Havelock has called ‘a tribal encyclopaedia’, helping his society to preserve its group consciousness. Even though they make no explicit reference to the American classicist, it is significant that two recent surveys of Germanic and early oral literature see their object in terms of the same genres and social functions as Havelock suggests for Homeric Greece (songs celebrating ethnic origins, tribal history, rulers’ genealogies, praise songs, and lays extolling heroic exploits).” See also idem, Medieval Listening and Reading. 94

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various interdisciplinary perspectives, ranging from conventional philology and history to anthropology, especially with reference to the miracles allegedly performed by the saints and their meaning in terms of mentalités.95 Situated at the meeting point between reality and its representation by both the reporter and his or her addressees, hagiography offers interesting actual insights into how public opinion may take shape and be diffused.96 As a result, we learn how skillful investigation of stereotypes and other literary and rhetorical tools can enhance historical and sociological study, underscoring the complex interplay between verba and res gestae; in other words, how in order to achieve exemplary edification, dexterous use of literary genre and rhetorical performance never loses priority over accurate representation of truth. And yet, the construction of the text remains subordinate to its potential receptivity by as large an audience as possible.97 Furthermore, in Michel de Certeau’s words, res gestae arise as a mere lexicon by means of which each life of a saint appears as a set of miracles and virtues organized in a system.98 Exempla widely used in preaching fulfilled a similar

95 The bibliography on hagiography is so extensive that any attempt to summarize it in a note is doomed to failure. References will therefore be limited to the following items that have been particularly helpful for our exposition: Agiografia Altomedioevale; Sallman, “Il santo”; Hagiographie culture et sociétés; Boesch Gajano, “Il culto dei santi”; eadem, “La tipologia dei miracoli”; Brown, Cult of the Saints; idem, “The Saint as Exemplar”; Saints and Their Cults; Les saints et les stars; Saints and Virtues; Heffernan, Sacred Biography; Goodich, Lives and Miracles of the Saints; the essays assembled in Les saints et leur sanctuaire à Byzance, especially Déroche, “Pourquoi écrivait-on des recueils de miracles?”; the essays assembled in Les Vies des saints à Byzance, especially Kaplan, “Hagiographie.” Additional studies will be referred to below as needed. 96 See Delehaye, Legends of the Saints, 11–12, who notes: “Hagiographic literature has come to be written under the influence of very distinct factors. First, the anonymous creator, called the people. Here the work is that of a mysterious and manyheaded agent, uncontrolled in his methods, swift and unfettered as the imagination always is. Beside him there is the man of letters, the author” (p. 11). “The development of the legend is the outcome of an unconscious or unreflecting agent acting upon historical material. It is the introduction of the subjective element into the realm of the fact” (p. 12). 97 Heffernan, Sacred Biography, 3–6. Thus, in studying thirteenth-century French Hagiographic texts composed predominantly in verse, as were most of the works of imaginative literature in the vernacular, Brigitte Cazelles quite convincingly showed how “hagiographic literature evolved across the centuries and inspired a variety of responses consistent with the changing nature of society, thus constituting a privileged source of documentation for our understanding of the values and ideals that epitomized medieval culture at a given moment of its history.” See Cazelles, “Introduction,” 3. 98 Certeau, “Hagiographie.”

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function of obliquely reflecting the society in which they were uttered as the locus in which social behavior and ideological discourse met.99 Of great importance for the present discussion is the exemplar character of the Christian saint, as quite recently portrayed by Peter Brown. Following the work of Edward Shils on the nature of charisma, Brown did actually refine his previous depiction of the Christian saint as a holy man whose main function would have been one of “rural patron” and “charismatic Ombudsman” and suggested “to present him less as a deliberately distanced judge, counselor and arbitrator, more as a moral catalyst within a community,” thus dwelling “more on the more intangible bonds of love and esteem that bound the holy man, as exemplar, to his disciples and clients.”100 The Christian saint would thus be the ideal representative of the ultimate values of the society, what is revered by its members, a mirror of sorts in which every individual in that society would, in special moments of introspection, see oneself and contemplate already shared parameters of comparison and emulation. As such, the saint’s cultural function would be complementary to that of the ideal preacher, to which society turns for edification, to be reinforced in those spiritual values it might have suspended amidst the distraction of concrete tasks.101 The saint would even be more effective than the preacher, for while the preacher would edify through rhetoric the saint would do that by exemplary action. Jews did not have saints in the usual sense of the institutional canonization known from Christian practice.102 And yet they did hold images of men and women as ideal and worthy of high esteem, and set parameters of comparison and emulation for one’s perception of the self in the sense pointed out above. Roughly speaking, in terms of Christian lore one could characterize such Jewish figures as bearing characteristics analogous to those that in Christian contexts would suggest initiating a process of canonization. In attaining a reputation of being worthy of being held up as models of virtue, such men and women did fulfill

99 Talented scholars have quite thoroughly focused on exempla, both as literary genre and as mirrors of society. See Brémond, Le Goff, and Schmitt, L’exemplum; Tubach, Index exemplorum; Johnston, “Do exempla illustrate everyday life?” 100 Brown, “The Saint as Exemplar,” 9. The work by Shils referred to is Shils, Center and Periphery. See also Brown, “Rise and Function.” 101 The phrasing follows Edward Shils as quoted by Brown, “The Saint as Exemplar”: 7. On this point, see further Coakley, Women, Men, and Spiritual Power, 1–24 (Introduction and chapter 1). 102 Cohn, “Sainthood on the Periphery.”

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a function much beyond the stereotypical image conveyed by the literary texts. They lived among real social groups and as such reflected those groups’ ambitions and antagonisms.103 Every characteristic trait of their personality can thus offer precious hints for the historian’s search for representations of reality among such social groups. For instance, just as stereotypes of social origins and of the saint’s breaking with them usually point to ongoing socio-cultural preoccupations in Christian contexts,104 the same can be expected to be true, mutatis mutandis, in Jewish contexts. Just as stereotypical representations of saints (including figurative drawings of suffering and death) may be telling about Christian ways of mirroring human perfection and imitation of Christ and the Virgin Mary in portrayals of saints as mediators between all kinds of opposites such as the normal and the exceptional, the real and the ideal, heaven and earth,105 the same can be expected to be true for Jewish exemplar figures described as resembling God’s attributes, as reflected in the rabbinic image (䧧á÷ä ìù åéúåãéîá úåîãéäì). Such perception is undoubtedly only a particular segment of what may be called the set of categories of medieval thought or the cognitive structures through which Christians and Jews alike understood the world and shaped their paradigm of knowledge.106 Scholars have suggested various ways of viewing the shaping of such structures and have highlighted specific causes of conditioning influence, such as the sources of learning and the commonly held attitude towards them, the effect of education, social needs, the nature and constraints of cognition in producing views and expectations, and more.107 Among other things, widespread See Sallman, “Il Santo”: 595. Ibid.: 596. One can think, for instance, about the quite frequent case of Jewish origin of Christian saints and martyrs during the Early Middle Ages or of the wealthy family origin of saints such as St Francis of Assisi who chose poverty as a way of life in the High Middle Ages, and so on. And yet, while the latter aspect of correspondence between social concerns and saintly representations has been thoroughly investigated, the former still calls for further research. 105 See Sallmann, “Il Santo”: 596–598. See also the stimulating insights of Cazelles, “Introduction,” 48 on the mediating function of the exaltation of virginal martyrs in French hagiography between the Christian ideal of female perfection and the actual worldview which would, among other things, dictate “a conventional perception of the female as an imperfect, incomplete, and defective version of the male—hence the typical description by the medieval Church of woman as the source of all evil, a door to Satan, and the gender of inferior intelligence.” 106 The term “paradigm of knowledge” is, of course, borrowed from Kuhn, Structure of Scientific Revolutions. 107 A most powerful drawing of the character of medieval culture according to such 103 104

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belief in the supernatural and the miraculous was, for instance, both cause and effect in individual understandings of the world with which medieval men and women had to cope. Inherited from pagan Antiquity, that is, from texts of pagan authors, it was harmoniously incorporated into the religiously oriented paradigm of knowledge shaped according to additional texts produced by Jewish and Christian authors in the wake of the most authoritative one, the Bible, conceived as the repository of eternal truth revealed by God to men and set up against the backcloth of directly observable reality. Just as most of us believe in the solar system or in medical theories as hermeneutic models of observable reality, medieval men and women believed in angels, demons, and other causes of earthly happenings.108 In the minds of Christians and Jews alike, the modes of thought triggered by biblical concepts, of which the perception of storytelling according to the model of biblical history was part, did thus almost naturally point to the exemplary images of saintly figures.109 For all of them, particularly for illiterate Christians who could only mull over the icons displayed in the churches,110 the examples of the saintly figures were much more accessible than the distant God of the Bible. Hagiographic texts, conveniently introduced into the homilies inserted in the elements remains C.S. Lewis’s characterization of medieval culture as “overwhelmingly bookish,” by which he meant dependent upon the authority of all kinds of books and intensely oriented towards constructing a systematic harmonious model of the universe. See Lewis, Discarded Image. We shall return to the implications of these elements for our discussion. See also, among others, Le Goff, La civiltà; Gureviˇc, Le categorie della cultura medievale; Radding, A World Made by Men. 108 The phrasing of this sentence follows Lewis, Discarded Image, 2. 109 This paragraph is especially indebted to Van Uytfanghe, “L’hagiographie.” 110 Although Jews had no icons in their synagogues, they certainly could view sculptures and pictures produced for Christians which, therefore, can also assist us in reconstructing the actual reality in which Jews were immersed together with their Christian neighbors. To that end, images must be addressed keeping in mind what is said here about literary texts, for images should not be correlated to reality in a manner different from literary texts. Like the latter, images reflect actual reality to the degree that artists intended to represent it for their viewers, that is, by using conventional codes and conveniently dressing it in appropriate garb, as called for by the messages encoded in them and the ideological objectives pursued by their creators or patrons. Just as literary texts do not necessarily express what they appear to mean and just as they can mean different things to different readers, so do images exposed to viewers. It follows that in their effort to understand the meaning of images modern viewers must approach them following rules quite similar to those discussed above relating to the meaning of literary texts. For the present discussion, suffice it to refer to Parani, Reconstructing and Belting, Pour une anthropologie. And see below note 42 to the English translation of the text and plate 8.

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liturgy in the vernacular rude style appropriate for the general public attending churches and synagogues, conveyed to all, according to their intellectual capacities, didactic messages wrapped in the narrative garb of deeds or gesta, precisely as the classical conception of history would suggest. The programmatic teachings of the Bible were thus variously transposed in innumerous sermons following the taste and the trends of innumerous contexts, as were real deeds, conveniently adjusted, as we have seen, by oral traditions prior to reaching the final form of written compositions in which modern historians can read them. Such were among the Jews the homiletic practices of association of hagiographic texts with biblical ones in the various liturgical frameworks. In such practices a number of contextual factors could further enhance or weaken the resemblance of Jews and Christians in their respective relationships to the Bible. This was the case, for example, of Christian hagiography of the Early Middle Ages, which was strongly inspired by the Old rather than the New Testament because of a number of convergences with the biblical history of Ancient Israel (for instance, perception of kingship and society in theocratic terms of reference, the religious self-perception of ruling classes, and so on). For, as a rule, it was through typological lectures of both the biblical and post-biblical examples of saintly lives retrieved from the vast storehouse of their respective traditions that Jews and Christians set up parameters of actual evaluation of the real actors variously responsible for their fate. To be sure, as will be shown further in greater detail, Jewish and Christian relationships to the teachings of the Bible display very complex comparable sets of perceptions, for medieval Jews and Christians did constantly perceive themselves in antagonistic terms of opposed interpretations of the foundation texts of their faith, and consequently of many of the basic concepts crucial for connecting with the world around them and for orienting thoughts and practices. But not everything was a matter of antagonistic perceptions. On the contrary, when crucial topics of differing faiths were not at stake, Christians and Jews would read the Bible in much the same way. Biblical concepts and images would then occur to the minds of Jews much as they would to those of their Christian neighbors. One should at this point especially bear in mind that symbolical and typological reading of the Bible was one of the most resourceful ways of interpreting the biblical text as bearing actual relevance. Although Christian reading of the Hebrew Bible as prefiguring the narrative of the Gospels might have

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discouraged medieval Jews from engaging in symbolical and typological hermeneutics,111 traditional midrashic exegesis very much resembled the patristic readings publicized by Christian preachers. Many of them may even have developed from original midrashic exegesis. Indeed, some of the typological images of biblical heroes are still part of the JudeoChristian legacy in current Western terminologies. Such, for instance, is the image of Job as a model of patience, Joseph as one of virtuous resistance to temptation, Moses as typifying modesty, David and Solomon as types of virtuous kings, Elijah and Elisha (Saints Elias and Eliseus to Christians) as models of healers and performers of miracles, including resurrections, and more. Inasmuch as one can judge from the ongoing scholarly analysis of hagiographical writings from the Christian West, in earlier medieval centuries saints appeared to their admirers preeminently as the loci or media of Divine power that was expressed in wondrous foreseeing of future events, miraculous healings, and great deeds of charity or asceticism. The same traits appear to have characterized Byzantine hagiography of the Early Middle Ages.112 In this respect, exorcisms and resurrections can undoubtedly be considered as varieties of miraculous healings, like those performed by Elijah or Elisha. On the other hand, when crucial differences of faith were involved, the typological images of biblical heroes were shaped in structural opposition. As shall be shown later, such is, for instance, the image of Jonah. For the moment, let us just note that the “biblical channel” was one of the most effective channels through which Jews and Christians maintained a complex discourse displaying both closeness and opposition. On the one hand Jews had recourse through that channel to their own worldview concepts and images borrowed unintentionally, in fact almost automatically, from the Christian ones, inasmuch as they did not clash with basic theological principles of their faith, while on the other hand they became aware of Christian interpretations opposed to their faith with which they established a fairly polemical dialogue in a number of allusive manners, that perceptive scholars have recently been engaged in decoding.

See Funkenstein, Perceptions, 98–121. Déroche, “Pourquoi écrivait-on des recueils de miracles?,” 117; Coakley, Women, Men, and Spiritual Power, 9. For foreseeing of future events (προρασις) as a characteristic trait of saints, especially female saints, see Kaplan, “Hagiographie” 41. 111 112

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The literary production of both Jewish and Christian authors would therefore naturally display the confluence of biblical language and motifs with elements drawn, on the one hand, from their respective specific traditions (including adjustment of the classical heritage) and, on the other hand, from a vernacular, often popular, tradition of the authors’ time and place.113 A brief glance at how that “biblical channel” actually operated beyond the iconic gallery of biblical heroes on the more extended linguistic plane will help visualize its role in the shaping of cultural communication and the resulting interplay between Jews and Christians, and must therefore be constantly kept in mind when decoding the meaning of words and idioms in any medieval text. One indeed must remember that medieval Jews, wherever they might be, communicated orally in the immediate surrounding space in the vernacular language used by their non-Jewish neighbors, while Hebrew was the language of communication—mostly written unless foreign voyagers were concerned—with their coreligionists everywhere else. In Christian Europe it was also almost exclusively the language of Jewish literary production, at variance with the areas under Islam in which Judeo-Arabic was no less widespread than Hebrew.114 Among European Christians, the almost exclusive language of literary production, learned communication, and liturgy was Latin. The Bible was also known, read, and referred to in liturgy and sermons in the Latin version of St Jerome, commonly known as the Vulgate. On the other hand, Latin was also the root from which sprouted most European vernaculars of the countries in which Jewish communities existed. We must therefore assume that when biblical concepts or images found their way into the communication channel between Jews and Christians, the latter would refer to them in Latin or in a vernacular rooted in Latin while Jews would have to refer to them in the corresponding Hebrew form, to the extent that they were able to establish such correspondence. Actually, that took place almost automatically, since Jewish primary education, based mainly on the mechanical recitation of every Hebrew word followed by its vernacular translation, in what

113 See, for instance, Dronke, “Learned Lyric”: 4–5, who writes: “[In the] most authentic poetry of the Latin Middle Ages where we can see the confluence of classical and biblical language and motifs with elements that the poet draws from a vernacular, often popular, tradition of his own time and place.” 114 The reasons for this have been the subject of noteworthy scholarly discussion with which I have dealt elsewhere. See Bonfil, “Change in the Cultural Patterns.”

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has been called the calque system of interpretation, was very helpful in establishing an overall system of lexical correspondences between biblical Hebrew and the current meaning of words and idioms. Jews knowledgeable of Hebrew lived in regimes of diglossia, as may be easily grasped by occurrences of errors typical of such regimes in their writings: the use of masculine instead of feminine predicates and vice versa, improper translations of idioms, and so on. In fact, such errors almost unequivocally reveal the primary and immediate language of their authors. Hebrew texts almost invariably and unmistakably show that the language containing the errors was Hebrew. In other words, concepts and images first occurred to the minds of authors of Hebrew texts according to their usage in the surrounding milieu, while the Hebrew literary compositions were executed following the system of biblical references.115 To understand the meaning of words and idioms in such texts one must, therefore, constantly refer to their meaning in the surrounding cultural context, as they would also be used in an effective homily before an audience in a synagogue or a beth midrash. It is, therefore, justifiable to ask what biblical term could possibly occur to a Jew as corresponding to the current concept of saint. A quick perusal of the correspondences between the Hebrew text of the Bible and the Vulgata immediately reveals two major ones: kadosh (pl. kedoshim) and h. asid (pl. h. asidim). While the first normally points to God’s sanctity or the sacredness of the Sanctuary and characterizes human behavior as referred or compared to God, the latter more properly portrays human virtuous behavior, though indirectly conceived in terms of imitation of God. As a matter of fact, the Septuaginta almost constantly translates h. asid as σιος while the Vulgata translates it as sanctus. It therefore stands to reason that in characterizing his ancestors as hasidim (§ 2), Ahima#az thought of them in terms of exemplar Christian saints . and that the full characterization of the “saint” in the socio-cultural context to which he belonged should consequently be construed considering the virtues of the men designated by him as “saints.” The unmistakable display of hagiographic traits in the portrayal of his ancestors, justly noted by some scholars, must therefore have been rooted in the

115 As will be seen in the detailed annotation of the Chronicle, and as some eloquent symptomatic examples of errors will unmistakably confirm, the text of Ahima#az typi. cally followed this model. See, for instance, §§ 17, 28, 33, 45.

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contextual encounter of the traditional image of the saintly Jewish figure with the peculiar reflection of the contemporary concept of Christian sainthood. One can hardly underestimate the paramount importance of this conclusion for the decoding of the meaning of our text and its implications for the understanding of the evolution of Jewish thought in medieval Europe. In fact, it is reasonable to assume that inasmuch as such a perception of sainthood subsisted in the cultural tradition carried beyond the Alps by the Jews of southern Italy during their migration movement in the tenth and eleventh centuries (to be addressed later in greater detail), it would essentially contribute to shaping the worldview of the Ashkenazi Jewish communities of the regions in which they settled and should consequently echo in their literary production. Conversely, one would thus be justified in expecting to find in the chronicle of Ahima#az the major characteristics of sainthood dis. played by the exemplary image of Hasidei Ashkenaz. One would, . moreover, be correct in expecting to find among the characteristics of the saintly ancestors of Ahima#az traits typical of an old-fashioned . image of leaders superseded by the different kind resulting from the deep restructuring of the paradigm of knowledge that was part and parcel of medieval European Jewry. And last, but not least, in drawing the picture of socio-cultural life in both regions, however distant in space and time, one would be justified in filling gaps of hitherto poorly known details by assuming as a reasonable presumption that the umbilical cord connecting southern Italy and Ashkenaz may be illuminating in both directions. The truth of the matter is, for instance, that the traits of wondrous foreseeing of future events and of cunning, characteristic of the ideology of Hasidei Ashkenaz, is clearly underscored in . Ahima#az’s description of the images of his saintly ancestors. The same . holds true for their portrayal as paytanim learned in hidden mysteries such as those displayed in all kinds of esoteric books, this, of course over and above the standard qualities of traditional Torah wisdom appropriately transmitted to decent students, and as performers of wonderful deeds.116 We shall return to these issues in greater detail. For the present, it is enough to have drawn a first general conclusion: although the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az hardly fits any of the modern definitions of literary genre, it

116

See §§2, n. 49, 45, n. 427.

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can safely be said to be medieval storytelling, focusing on the author’s ancestors. As such, beyond the characteristic features of medieval historical writing, it displays the basic components of medieval Jewish mentalités, including socio-cultural and/or political messages, at a time of momentous change.117

117 Works written in the Early Middle Ages in southern Italy to which the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az can usefully be compared include: the tenth-century Chronicon Salernitanum (see the bibliography listed in Repertorium Fontium Historiae Medii Aevi, 3:434 and Oldoni, Anonimo salernitano); the eleventh-century Chronica monasterii casinensis by Peter the Deacon (see the bibliography listed in Repertorium Fontium Historiae Medii Aevi, 11/1–2:124–125).

chapter two HISTORICAL SETTING AND NARRATIVE STRUCTURE

We can now embark upon decoding the socio-cultural and/or political claims borne by the collection of stories about his ancestors that Ahima#az was fortunate enough to retrieve and was anxious to recount . to his fellow coreligionists in eleventh-century southern Italy. To further place the text in context, we must now draw a rough picture of the contemporary scene and disclose as many as possible ways in which the medieval mind looked at and represented reality.

Historical Setting Since the ninth century, southern Italy presented a very unstable and fluid political and military picture, under the continuous threat of Arab incursions.1 (See maps 1–3). Subsequent to the devolution by Pepin of the exarchate of Italy to the Pope (754) and to the subjugation of the Lombard kingdom of Pavia by the Franks (774), the ruling powers in southern Italy were the Byzantines and the Lombards. The Byzantines ruled Sicily and Calabria through their directly appointed officials.2 1

The detailed history of the region may conveniently be found in the following valuable works: Gay, L’Italie méridionale; Falkenhausen, La dominazione bizantina; eadem, “I bizantini in Italia”; Musca, L’emirato di Bari; Papagna, I Saraceni; Kreutz, Before the Normans; Skinner, Family Power; Martin, “Les thèmes italiens.” See also Efthymiadis, “Chrétiens et Sarrasins.” Further titles will be referred to as called for. 2 The definition of Calabria underwent various changes before the period under consideration here. Prior to the seventh century Calabria indicated the southern region of Apulia (i.e., the peninsula of Salento), while the region actually known as Calabria maintained the Roman denomination of Brutium. During the seventh century the peninsulas of Salento and Brutium were unified, presumably as part of Byzantine policy to strengthen the administrative structure of the territories that remained under their rule, including Sicily. Until the mid-tenth century Sicily and Calabria were indeed fully connected both administratively and commercially. However, following the fall of most of Sicily to the Arabs and of the Salento to the Lombards, Calabria was finally established between 938 and 956 as a new military and administrative framework theme with distinct boundaries covering approximately the region that actually bore

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From the last decades of the ninth century this also held true for Apulia, which had been under Lombard rule since the seventh century, then partially (as shall be seen in greater detail below) under the Arab emir of Bari, but was recovered in the 870s by the Byzantine emperors and could thus be considered as united with Calabria, although the two regions cannot be said to constitute a homogeneous territory, for the populated areas of Apulia—the costal zones around Bari—and those of Calabria, around Reggio, were more than 200 miles distant from each other with vast mountain areas between them, and their populations spoke different languages and followed different laws and religious rites.3 The Byzantine emperors were also the nominal rulers of Amalfi, Gaeta, and Naples while the Lombards retained the lordship over the principalities of Benevento and Salerno. In fact, however, though nominally Lombard or Byzantine vassals, most local rulers acted as independent sovereigns, striving to enhance their prestige and expand their dominions to the best of their ability, so that it is often unclear where borderlines should actually be drawn. They manifested their independence by various means, such as styling themselves with titles that were not conferred upon them by the kings or the emperors, minting money, dating official documents with distinctive formulas, and concluding alliances which were often in clear dissonance with the policies of their nominal sovereigns. At times they even did not hesitate to join forces with the Arab Aghlabites of Qairawan, who since 827 had set in motion a full-scale attack on Sicily and southern Italy, particularly against the Byzantine territories that were more vulnerable because of their distance from the Constantinopolitan center of power. In 831 Palermo capitulated and became the capital of Arab Sicily. Syracuse, capital of the island under Byzantine rule, resisted until 878, when it finally capitulated following a nine-month siege. Using Sicily as a bridgehead, the Arabs launched recurring raids of plunder against the coastal cities of the southern regions of the peninsula. They even succeeded in sacking Rome in 846 and in maintaining, for a while, an almost independent emirate in Bari (847–871). The Arab raids had fatal consequences for the Jewish population in southern Italy.4 Among other things, as shall be seen below in greater that name. See Falkenhausen, “Tra Occidente e Oriente,” 24–26; Di Gangi and Lebole, “La Calabria bizantina.” 3 Martin, “Les thèmes italiens,” 518–519. 4 For a general survey of the Jewish population in southern Italy in the early

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detail, the Jewish community of Oria,5 of momentous importance for the history of the family of Ahima#az, was completely annihilated in . the course of the destruction of that city in 925. The campaign of reconquest in the 870s, noted above, which restored part of the coast— including Bari, Taranto, and other maritime cities and minor fortified castles in Sicily—to Byzantine rule, failed to bring Sicily once again under the rule of Byzantium and to secure control of Calabria and Apulia. It also had a fatal effect on the Jewish communities, for, as will be discussed below in greater detail, it brought with it such intense pressure to convert to Christianity that the Jews considered it an almost overt campaign of persecution. Some stability was finally brought to that stormy scenario by the arrival of the Normans, who began their career as mercenaries of local princes but very shortly became aware of the possibility of establishing a kingdom of their own by pushing the Byzantines out of the region. For many Jews, however, emigration and settlement in new places had by then become an option much more promising than accommodating themselves to changing conditions in their original places of residence. Indeed, many Jews of the former Byzantine dominions, particularly from Apulia, moved to more secure locations. Moreover, there were additional catalysts for this population movement, such as the migration trend evident during the second half of the tenth— and even more during the eleventh—centuries throughout western Europe which overturned the existing order of things and called for new arrangements in the new places of settlement, or growing individualism, rooted in the self-confidence engendered by successful enterprises, and more.6 Be that as it may, many took to the road toward the

Middle Ages, see Toch, “The Jews in Europe, 500–1050” and the works listed in the bibliography there. Among them, of special importance is the miscellaneous collection of essays Gli Ebrei nell’Alto Medioevo, particularly Colafemmina, “Insediamenti” and Colorni, “Gli ebrei nei territori Italiani.” See also Taviani-Carozzi, “Les juifs.” Further titles will be referred to as called for. 5 The history of the Jews in medieval Oria is still awaiting its historian. For helpful glimpses, see Marsella, Da Oria viene la parola di Dio; Colafemmina, “Tende”; idem, Nozze nella Oria ebraica; idem, “Note su di una iscrizione.” Additional references will be listed as called for. 6 A detailed bibliographical note dealing with such well known developments, as found in almost every general survey of European medieval history, would unnecessarily overburden our brief outline. Suffice it to refer to, among others, Haskins, Renaissance; Lopez, Birth of Europe; Duby, L’an Mil; Renaissance and Renewal; Steifel, Intellectual Revolution.

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northern regions of Italy and even more towards the highly attractive Rhineland, where emigrants from Italy were among the most prominent new settlers in that period.7 And yet, many hesitated to risk such a long-distance adventure and preferred rather closer destinations, where security appeared to be less jeopardized than in their places of origin or in distant northern regions. Lombard Capua, where Ahima#az lived . and composed his work, already a princedom at the beginning of the tenth century, was one of those more nearby locations. By the tenth century the entire region of Capua appeared to have recovered from the Saracen attacks suffered some decades earlier. The city was in its most glorious period under the rule of Pandolf Ironhead (Pandolfo I Capo di Ferro), who supported Emperor Otto’s attempt to assert his authority in the entire region, acting almost successfully as mediator between him and the Byzantine emperor. Although not all his successors, who often engaged in internecine strife, displayed such remarkable capacities, they nevertheless almost continuously succeeded in maintaining the independence of their territory and even expanding it. However, a few years before the Lombard princedom of Capua surrendered to the Norman counts of Aversa and ceased to exist (1059), it was subjugated in 1038 by Guaiamar IV, Prince of Salerno, who thereafter would style himself as Prince of Capua, Prince of Salerno, and Duke of Amalfi and Sorrento. Although Capua was a major urban center in Roman times, and as such it must have been attractive for Jews,8 it is unclear how appealing it still was to them in the crucial years of turmoil prior to the Norman conquest. Unfortunately, the Lombard archives of Capua are no longer extant, so much of the story of the period must be reconstructed from later regests and quotations from lost documents, all of them unmistakably biased by the tendency to stress the rights of ecclesiastical institutions and not surprisingly unconcerned with Jewish destinies.9 And yet, we can infer from one single document, signed in 1041 by

7 For a brief survey of the history of that Jewish migration see Grossman, “Migration of Jews”; idem, “Migration of the Kalonymos Family.” For a more detailed overview, see idem, Early Sages of Ashkenaz. 8 An arcon arcosynagogos is recorded in a Latin funerary inscription from Capua (Noy, Jewish Inscriptions, 1:37–38, # 20) and a Maria, wife of Alexander π Καποης is recorded in an undated ossuary from Jerusalem (Corpus inscriptionum judaicarum, # 1284; Noy, op. cit., loc. cit.). 9 See Le pergamene di Capua, xiv–xvi.

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Guaiamar IV (pl. 9),10 that at least two conspicuous Jewish families resided in Capua, for in that document the prince “bequeathed” (“concedimus et confirmamus”) to Grimoald, count of the palace of Capua, those two families together with their possessions and their scolae, a term generally understood to mean “synagogues.”11 The privilege, formulated in terms customary in subsequent widespread medieval practice (pl. 10) that has become the subject of much scholarly discussion,12 almost surely means that all the taxes raised from these Jews were allocated to Grimoald. Among Jewish possessions, in addition to the scolae, the document lists land, canals, and buildings (“terris et presis13 et casis fabritis et infabritis”). Although some uncertainty may arise concerning a few details,14 the document unmistakably testifies that a noticeable group of Jews resided in Capua in 1041, thirteen years before the completion of the work of Ahima#az—whose family is not mentioned in that . document and must therefore also be taken into account when evaluating the demographic and socio-economic importance of that Jewish community. Although it may be unwise to follow the speculations of some modern scholars on this issue,15 one can confidently assume that the community numbered no less than twenty prominent heads of households who owned valuable possessions, to whom can probably be added a number of less wealthy and influential individuals. One can, then, feel quite justified in assuming that at the time Ahima#az sat .

The document has been mentioned repeatedly. See Dito, La storia calabrese, 59 quoting Archivio storico per le province napoletane 12 (1887), App.: 757. The most recent and up-to-date edition, with a facsimile of the original parchment and references to earlier publications, is Tropeano, Codice Diplomatico Verginiano, 1:180–183, # 47. Recent scholarship related to it includes Palmieri, “Mobilità etnica”: esp. 51–56; TavianiCarozzi, “Les juifs”; Bova, La vita quotidiana a Capua, 19–29; idem, Tra Capua e Oriente, 31–41. 11 Actually, considering the manner in which these institutions are mentioned (scole eorum hebraice), one can perhaps also be justified in interpreting this as “schools of Hebrew learning.” 12 The allusion is to the discussion of the significance of the concept of servitus camerae in its various mentions prior to Frederic II’s charter of 1235. See, for instance, Colorni, Legge, 43–66, esp. 58–59; Langmuir, “ ‘Tanquam Servi’.” 13 For the meaning of presa, see Du Cange, Glossarium, 6:486. 14 One of the Jews “bequeathed” to Grimoald is said to have converted to Christianity; unless we suppose that the taxes paid by Christians were also allocated in the same manner, it is therefore not absolutely clear what the Prince of Salerno’s “bequest” meant in this case; see Taviani-Carozzi, “Les juifs,” 275–276. 15 Some of Bova’s conclusions (see n. 10 above), for instance, seem to me quite unwarranted. 10

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down to compose his work the Capuan Jewish community was a most conspicuous entity, and growing steadily. One is thus almost immediately prompted to draw a parallel between the work of Ahima#az and the chronicling of local history that flour. ished in western Europe among prominent families in order to legitimize claims for power in those centuries of accelerated socio-cultural change. The eagerness of Ahima#az to investigate the lineage of his . family should thus be viewed as an almost clear symptom of the confrontation of veteran residents with the efforts of newcomers to penetrate existing networks of socio-cultural leadership and bring about their restructuring.16 As noted, changing social structures naturally generate fresh legitimizing statements by elites aspiring to secure their attainment of power or in connection with such attempts.17 Though, as also noted earlier, scholarship concerning medieval genealogical recording has so far focused particularly on Germany and France, records of lineages are not rare in southern Italy too. They may, for example, be found in chains of family names registered in all kinds of documents, as is the case with those recorded in numerous documents whose provenance is tenth-century Amalfi.18 In that case, as an almost general rule, the first elements of such chains bear the title of comes (pl. comites) and the records belong almost exclusively to the time span of 850–950, i.e., to the period of the very origins of the Amalfitan nobility. Since from 839 onwards Amalfi was ruled by pairs of leaders elected every year by the citizens, also called comites in contemporary sources, it stands to reason that styling the heads of lineages as comites was tantamount to ascribing those individuals to the leading elites of the city. As a matter of fact, most Amalfitan judges and notaries were descendants of comites, as were the first two archbishops and even the members of the ducal dynasty which ruled Amalfi for almost a century before the Normans. Unfortunately, analogous findings concerning other neighboring localities are not available; we can, nonetheless, definitely presume that socio-cultural dynamics of the same kind were also at work elsewhere,

16 Contra Skinner, “Gender, Memory and Jewish Identity”: 287, who writes that “the general atmosphere of insecurity which must have pervaded the Capuan Jewish community at this time [at the time of the arrival of the Normans in southern Italy] … was the primary motivation for him [Ahima#az] to record in writing the deeds of his . ancestors.” 17 See above p. 22. 18 Schwarz, “Alle origini della nobiltà amalfitana.”

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including Capua.19 Moreover, since Ahima#az mentions in his chronicle . the diplomatic services purportedly rendered by two of his grandfather’s brothers to the Prince of Amalfi (§ 48), one is justified in presuming that he was fairly well acquainted with the practices of that city, even to the point of being inspired by them. Yet, if banal records in official documents can actually serve as effective claims for legitimizing socio-political status, family traditions handed down orally and finally made known through a variety of historical narratives aim at much more complex goals. The work composed by Ahima#az does indeed point to such a greater scope (§ 1).20 To . begin with, it must be noted that almost all the events that Ahima#az . deemed significant enough to be recorded in his book, especially those concerning periods in the distant past, are in fact inscribed within the framework of major events preserved in the collective memory of Jewish society but quite loosely connected to his family’s memories. However, Ahima#az does not recall those major events simply as points of . chronological reference, as is often customary in oral recording of individual memories, but rather relates them in extenso, as if they actually were within his main area of interest. Such a manner of writing, at first glance conveying the impression of a cluster of unrelated tales,21 justifies the inference that those events still had contemporary relevance in Ahima#az’s days and consequently were not eliminated from collective . memory by the process of forgetting, nor were they replaced by other events of greater contemporary significance. All of them contain legendary material demanding the reader’s or the listener’s interpretation;

19

Thus the tombstone of one Audoalt, removed as a relic from the sepulcher and relocated on the gate of the Church of S. Marcello Maggiore in Capua, recalls the prominence of Audoalt’s family by stressing that the first comes of Capua was a member of the family; see Di Resta, Capua medievale, 40–42, and pl. 11. 20 See Yassif, “Popular Tales,” 43. 21 As we have seen (above p. 11), such was indeed the characterization of the book of Ahima#az by Klar; cf. Yassif, “Popular Tales,” 44–46. This feature seems to have . been particularly influential in persuading Yassif that Ahima#az was actually elaborating . upon material received through oral transmission, and that the various units of the final composition should consequently be addressed separately, following the standard methodology of analysis of popular tales. Yassif consistently pursued and refined his approach in a subsequent series of essays, rich in hermeneutic insights, but to my mind ultimately unable to persuasively set such unrelated tales that, he admits, did originate in real events, into a structured narrative framework beyond some generic Sitz im Leben of social meetings within synagogal environments. See Yassif, “Art of Storytelling”; idem, “Legend and History.”

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all of them display symbolic allusions, literary conventions and constructions, stereotypical stories picked up from the storehouse of traditional knowledge and represented as contemporary occurrences; all merge organically with allegedly factual events to provocatively challenge the historian’s skillfulness. It is therefore from these that our analysis should begin.

Symbolism and Typology As seen in the previous chapter, the “biblical channel” and the perception of sainthood were particularly effectual in the shaping of attitudes, concepts, and images shared by both Jews and Christians in their distinctive worldviews. We must now add to these factors a particularly pervasive one of paramount importance for our present discussion: the symbolical and typological state of mind. The symbolical and typological manner of viewing the world was so widespread among medieval authors that it actually became an integral part of reality. To medieval minds, every material object was considered the image of something else which corresponded to it on a superior level. Symbolism was universal; symbolic thought was the continuous discovery of hidden meanings, the keys capable of opening up the world of ideas.22 As Michel Pastoureau, who highlighted the main traits of such a view, very aptly wrote: The medieval symbol is almost always built following an analogical correlation, that is, it points out a resemblance—more or less conspicuous— between two words, two notions, two objects, or a correspondence between a thing and an idea. More precisely, the medieval analogical way of thinking endeavors to establish a link between an observable thing and a concealed one, particularly between something existing in this lower world and its correspondent among the eternal ideas of the afterworld. A word, a form, a color, a material, a number, a gesture, an animal, a vegetable, even a person, can thus have a symbolic function and consequently signify something else than what is apparently manifest. Exegesis is therefore looking for this relationship between the material and the non-material and analyzing it in order to discover the hidden truth of beings and things. To explain or to teach means in the Middle Ages to research and to unveil these hidden meanings [emphasis mine—R.B.].23

22 23

Le Goff, La civiltà, 354–362. Pastoureau, Une histoire symbolique, 17–18 [my translation—R.B.].

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We will not follow Pastoureau in his perceptive quest for significant examples of such manners of thinking and narrating. It is enough to have underscored the wide-ranging omnipresence of this important trait. In what follows it will indeed be argued that this is a trait of crucial importance for decoding the meaning of a number of constitutive elements of the stories recollected in the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az. Since, as we also have seen, symbolical and typological reading of narratives, viewed by Jews as part of their traditional midrashic exegesis, was one of the most resourceful ways of interpreting ancient texts as bearing contemporary relevance, it will be no surprise if the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az, conceived as midrash sefer, will reflect such a mode of viewing the world and interpreting the stories of past events. Though of indisputable historical importance, inasmuch as the text is viewed as a document that represents the historical memory of a culture, the question whether the events narrated really happened or not can consequently be considered of minor importance. And yet, since as we have seen all sorts of medieval historical narrative (including “lives of saints” and exempla within sermons) were meant to fulfill a recreational function combined with didactic and sociological ones, the situations described had to be somehow realistic—i.e., characters had to behave according to the rules of the real society so that listeners could learn what manner of behavior they should adopt and which they should avoid. In that sense, therefore, to modern eyes medieval historical narrative can be viewed as obliquely reflecting the society it purportedly describes, and as such it will be approached in what follows.

The Story of Aharon The first major story recollected by Ahima#az is the narrative of the . adventures of a Baghdadite scholar named Aharon or Abu Aharon.24 He is reported to having been exiled from his country for subduing a lion that had devoured a mule which turned the family’s grindstone

24 Uncertainty about the name may suggest that the story of the man who came from Baghdad was collated from two different reports, one in which he was named R. Aharon and another in which the name was Abu Aharon (§ 24). Even greater uncertainty is reflected in the wording of R. Eleazar b. Judah of Worms (see below, p. 57).

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and as a result forced the lion to turn it in place of the mule. When Aharon’s father became aware of this, he chastised him saying: “What have you done, you’ve brought in the lion, you sought to subdue its strength, though the Lord made him a king, to [walk erect]; you have deployed him in your labors, to serve you”. He then ordered him to go away into exile to amend his “foolish” act (§ 3). The hero’s sojourn in southern Italy is thus narrated as the story of a journey of atonement, marked by extraordinary deeds. In Gaeta,25 the first station on the journey, Aharon restored to his previous form and returned to his father a young man whom a sorceress had transformed into a donkey and bound to a grindstone (§ 4); in Benevento,26 he returned to the state of death a deceased man kept magically alive by means of a miraculous writ containing the Name of God inserted under the flesh of his arm (§§ 5–7); in Oria, where the distant ancestors of Ahima#az had . lived, he established a yeshivah and presided over judgments following a procedure akin to that of the Sanhedrin before the destruction of the Sanctuary, including death sentences and the ordeal of the So.tah (§ 8). With the beginning of the Arab invasion of southern Italy he moved to Bari, where the Arab commander Sawdan had taken up residence, and served him as counselor until “the spirit of the Lord” informed him that time had come to return home (§§ 24–26). Into this framework Ahima#az inserted three stories which purport. edly occurred in those same years. The first, which took place in Venosa, tells the story of Silano the paytan who scoffed at a Palestinian scholar’s ineptitude, was consequently put under ban by the scholars of the Palestinian yeshivah of Jerusalem, and was finally restored to his previous status following the intercession of a pilgrim named Ahima#az, . like our author, perhaps one of his distant ancestors (§§ 9–10). Another relates Shephatiah’s successful intercession with Byzantine Emperor Basil I (867–886) on behalf of the Jewish communities of southern Italy which were threatened by the Emperor’s efforts to impose baptism on 25

Gaeta was not a notable center of Jewish life in the Middle Ages; see Capobianco, Gli ebrei a Gaeta. In the twelfth century it was not recorded among the places visited by Benjamin of Tudela, though he may have done so since it is on the route leading from Rome to southern Italy. The status of the community appears to be supported by the wording of Ahima#az in §4, from which one can infer that the Jew whom Aharon met . in Gaeta was the only one living there at that time. The picture emerging from the text must of course be evaluated against the representation of the Jewish community in Benevento. 26 The history of the Jews in Benevento is also awaiting its historian. See, for the present, Colafemmina, “Gli ebrei in Benevento.”

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all the Jews of Byzantium (§§ 11–18). The final story tells of Shephatiah’s service as faithful messenger of the prince of Oria to Sawdan and about the felicitous deliverance of Oria from the Arab threat as a result of Shephat.iah’s sagacity on that occasion (§§19–21). This format, which accounts for more than 30 percent of the entire chronicle, leaves no doubt that the major narrative preserved by the collective memory of the Jews of Oria, where Ahima#az assembled . the recollections inserted into his work, was that of Aharon and that the stories about the ancestors of Ahima#az were incorporated into . the framework of that major event.27 Does that story offer more than

27 The story of Aharon is extensively addressed by Eli Yassif in the above-mentioned essays (above, n. 21). In “Legend and History”: esp. 200–211, he unequivocally took issue with my approach to this matter as presented in previous essays of mine, focusing precisely on the story of Aharon. Though some overlapping of individual details will be inevitable, such as references to folkloristic motifs or cultural symbols, I will not append here detailed references to such points, assuming that readers (who in any case can check through careful scrutiny of the relevant bibliographical references) would be less eager to record meticulously “who published what first” than to ascertain where the differences of approach actually lie. As Yassif himself clearly states (209), historians (like myself) primarily seek for contextual cultural frameworks with which texts may be connected or in which they eventually may be inscribed, while scholars of folklore (like himself) would seek first to interpret the text per se, as a literary unit, and only subsequently try to reveal possible connecting links with the adjacent stories of the cycle. Therefore, Yassif ’s perspective from the standpoint of folklore research rejects the argument that the story of Aharon constitutes a structured and culturally meaningful narrative within which the other single tales, only partially referring to the ancestors of Ahima#az, are organically intertwined. Notwithstanding . the fact that the story of Aharon is narrated by Ahima#az with interruptions hardly . accountable in a cycle of popular loosely connected stories, Yassif prefers to interpret it as a standard hagiographic popular tale drawing on widespread folkloristic motifs, such as saints taming lions or miraculously healing people possessed by demons; he then speculates about possible connecting links between the tales grouped in the cycle, such as the debate opposing Hai Gaon to unidentified rivals, concerning the legitimacy of having recourse to magic in miracles performed by saints (and see on this point below, p. 164). Though it would of course be senseless to deny the validity of widespread cultural symbols and popular motifs, such as those recalled by Yassif and, in fact, also by myself, I obstinately maintain that positively and organically connecting texts with the environment in which they were composed should be preferred to quite arbitrarily drawing from the immense storehouse of motifs and symbols, according to which one can say almost everything and the contrary about anything. For instance, according to Yassif ’s interpretation of the story of Aharon and its relationship to the other stories of the cycle, the relevance of Hai Gaon’s opinion concerning magic is not at all evident, not to say self-evident. Yet, I am pleased to notice that Yassif ’s approach did in fact come sensibly closer to my own in his most recent analysis of another remarkable medieval story (see Yassif, “Virgil in the Basket”).

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a cluster of legends hardly worthy of the historian’s attention?28 For more than a century, historians have been puzzled by that question. In 1891, when Adolf Neubauer sketched a first summary of the textual evidence of the relevant traditions relating to Aharon,29 the inventory was already quite remarkable. As can easily be seen from perusing the bibliography appended to the present volume, further findings have recently added more references to Neubauer’s list. Yet, all in all, the issue does not appear to present itself in substantially different terms than it did a century ago: did this individual really exist or was he merely a legendary figure? How did the contemporaries of Ahima#az . interpret the events in which he was purportedly involved? And how are we to interpret the narrative of Ahima#az and evaluate the factual . truth it contains? So far, the dominant trend has been to try to reconstruct the sequence of events as near as possible to historical truth, though such an effort has long been recognized as being almost Sisyphean.30 Following the good old Herodotean method of assuming legends to contain kernels of truth and allowing for some degree of corruption or uncertainty in the transmission of texts, scholars have suggested a variety of solutions.31 Even the recent attempt to interpret the story as a popular hagiographic tale, drawing on standard folkloristic motifs, would assume the occurrence of some real event as a necessary premise for the subsequent gradual literary shaping of the tale, notwithstanding the fact that the positivistic hypothetical reconstruction of events necessary to substantiate such a premise would not be its primary purpose.32 But if we now approach the text following the general assumptions summarized in the previous chapter,33 and if we are correct in assuming that its objective is to bestow legitimacy on the socio-cultural status of leading elites, discovering the real events recalled in the story turns out to be less important than unraveling the symbolical meaning of those events within the socio-cultural settings in which they were Such was indeed the opinion of Salzman who, as noted (above p. 8), attributed the work to the Byzantine sphere. 29 Neubauer, “Abou Ahron”: 230–231. 30 Heinrich Graetz: “Die Genealogie der Kalonymiden aufstellen … heisst den Sisyphusstein wälzen …”; quoted in Fleisher, The Poems of Shelomo Ha-Bavli, 29. 31 Exhaustive bibliographical references are to be found in the works of Avraham Grossman referred to above (above, n. 7). See also Arugat Habosem, ed. Urbach, 4: Fleisher, The Poems of Shelomo Ha-Bavli, 29. 32 See Yassif ’s essays listed in n. 20 above. 33 See above, pp. 15–16. 28

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transmitted.34 Since the hero of the story is reported to have performed acts in which the body of knowledge common to him and the aristocratic elites is of paramount importance, it follows that the fundamental questions to be asked should rather concern the nature of that body of knowledge and of the role purportedly fulfilled by the hero of the story in establishing it among those groups. To address these questions, the horizon of our discussion must be broadened. In fact, the textual evidence of the traditions relating to Aharon offers different versions concerning both the hero’s role and the nature of the body of knowledge purportedly shared with the ancestors of the persons who preserved those traditions until they were recorded in the written form in which it reached us. Besides the story as recollected by Ahima#az, our hero is mentioned in a number of texts stem. ming from the circles of Jewish Pietists in Medieval Germany (Hasidei . Ashkenaz), quite probably interrelated, and dealing with the transmission of “secrets” vaguely related to liturgy and liturgical poetry (piyyut). In two genealogical passages found in the commentary on the prayer book by R. Eleazar b. Judah of Worms (d. ca. 1230), the author refers to him as “Aharon or Abu Aharon or Ibn Aharon”35 son of R. Shemuel the Patriarch (Ha-Nassi) “who came from Babylonia because of an event that occurred and was compelled to go around wandering.”36 According to these passages, Aharon transmitted his secret knowledge in Lucca “where he met” R. Eleazar’s ancestor Moses b. Kalonymus the Poet (R. Mosheh ha-Paytan) who was “the first to emigrate from Italy,” together with the prominent sages settled by Charlemagne in Mainz. Other texts originating from the same circles make additional mention of other “Babylonian” individuals such as the poet R. Shelomoh (R. Shelomoh ha-Bavli) who is purported to have handed down his “secrets” to “the Great” R. Meshullam (R. Meshullam ha-Gadol) [b. Kalonymus b. R. Moses the Poet] after having received them from our hero, who in turn is said to have received them from his father 34

Actually, should we follow Vansina’s typology of traditions, the story would belong to the less trustworthy category, for a distorting bias should in this case be taken for granted and the narrative should consequently be assigned to the realm in which reality and myth merge organically. 35 It may not be superfluous to stress here that the three forms of the name pointing to three subsequent generations (Aharon, his father Abu Aharon, and his son Ibn Aharon) may be quite significant in this context, for they may bear witness to the contraction of time familiar to cultural anthropologists in similar frameworks at the passage from mythical to real time. 36 MS Paris BN 772, fol. 60; MS Moscow Günzburg 511.

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R. Shemuel the Patriarch, the last of a “chain of reception” going up to R. Hai Gaon and from him up to Simeon the Just.37 In all these variants it is easy to discern a number of the folkloric motifs associated with the transmission of knowledge (translatio scientiae) in contexts characterized by orality.38 These are moving from one place (the center of knowledge) to another (the new center); sharing the body of knowledge with a small highborn group claiming prominence and authoritative exercise of power; connecting such a claim to that knowledge and characterizing it as eminently elitist, even secret (knowledge is not in the public domain and not everybody is entitled to use it, only the leaders or, alternatively, those who are apt to use it deserve to being leaders); connecting the idea of transmission of knowledge to jealousy rooted in fear of subversion of the socio-cultural hierarchical order that at times was explicitly uttered in allegations of sinful or otherwise subversive behavior (if knowledge is to be secretly handled, its very delivery to whoever was not initially intended to receive it is a sin to be atoned). The latter is perhaps the most significant motif for our analysis. In Ahima#az’s time and place, at least one account of transmission of . knowledge was reported in terms of purported jealousy, suggesting fear of subversion: the transmission of medical knowledge to the school of Salerno by Constantine the African. Constantine, was born in Tunisia in the early eleventh century and died at Monte Cassino. By the age of 39 or 40, after many adventures, he found his way to Italy. In his Chronicle of the Monastery of Monte Cassino, Peter the Deacon asserts that prior to Constantine’s arrival at the monastery he had traveled to various countries, learning on the way numerous sciences and languages. His great talents aroused such jealousy upon his return to Tunisia that he felt compelled to leave the country for Italy. There he is said to have been introduced to the reigning prince who greatly honored him and encouraged him to convert to Christianity and become a monk in the Benedictine monastery of Monte Cassino, where he spent the rest of his life translating medical works into Latin.39 37 Gross, “Zwei kabbalistische Traditionskellen”; Grossman, “Migration of the Kalonymos Family,” 172–174; Fleisher, The Poems of Shelomo Ha-Bavli, 29–30. 38 I should note once again that medieval contexts characterized by orality are here conceived according to guidelines suggested in Bonfil, “Can Medieval Storytelling Help Understanding Midrash?” 39 Chronica monasterii casinensis, Book III, §35 (Migne PL, 173, col. 767). Peter’s text reads as follows: “This man [Constantine the African] departed from Carthage (Tunisia), his place of origin, to Babylonia where he became fully learned from the

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Stories of the same kind related cases of the replacement of ruling authorities and institutions by new ones. In Ahima#az’s period and . surroundings, such was the account given for the inception of the Normans in southern Italy.40 According to two traditions of uncertain origin, which had apparently not been set down in writing prior to the last third of the eleventh century, the initial emigration from Normandy to Italy in 1017 resulted from a previous sojourn of Norman pilgrims on Italian soil, and precisely in Capua. Needless to say, the variety of narratives concerning the same event resembles very much the variety of narratives about Abu Aharon. For what interests us here, one detail is of particular importance: the information that the emigrant knights left Normandy because they were discontented with the rule of their duke, and one of them had been threatened with punishment for murder. In other words, the foundational element of the migration of a ruling group was once more identified with rivalry among the elites in the place of origin and the subsequent emigration viewed by the local rulers as fleeing punishment for a sin. It stands to reason that according to the current mentality of people in those days and in that region, Jews would also report analogous matters in similar terms. Since, as will repeatedly emerge in what follows, there can be no doubt that the major cultural change worthy of being recorded by Jewish collective memory—not just of southern Italy but of the entire Mediterranean area—was the gradual substitution of the existing body of authoritative knowledge rooted in Palestinian traditions by the one emerging from the Babylonian academies, we are prompted to ask whether the story of Aharon recorded by Ahima#az could possibly be related with that . process, notwithstanding the fact that nowhere in the Chronicle is the Baghdadite said to have transmitted hitherto unknown knowledge. Chaldeans, Arabs, Persians, Egyptians, and Indians in grammar, dialectic, geometry, mathematics, astronomy, and physics. Upon completion of these studies he returned to Africa when he was thirty nine years old. When the Africans saw him so fully learned in the sciences of all the nations, they meditated to kill him. Upon becoming aware of that, Constantine entered furtively a ship and came to Salerno, where he hid for a while disguised as an impecunious man. Afterwards he was recognized by the brother of the king of Babylonia who happened to come there and was raised to great honor by Duke Robert. Getting then out of there, Constantine came to this place [Monte Cassino] and became a monk. Settled thus in this monastery, he translated numerous books from various languages …”. Other sources present variants of details that are irrelevant for our present discussion. See Boubaker. “Constantinus Africanus,” where up to date additional bibliography is listed. On Constantine, see also Constantine the African. 40 Joranson, “Inception.”

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The allegation of sinful behavior will assist us in our research. To that end, it may be helpful to recall that the most widely known reports of the delivery of the written text of the Babylonian Talmud to the Mediterranean area were articulated in terms of sinful or subversive behavior and consequent exile. The transmission of the written text of the Babylonian Talmud to the West was attributed to a Gaon named Natronai who was said to have been obliged to leave Baghdad for exile. We know of two Geonim bearing that name: Natronai ben Habibai, who was candidate for the exilarchate and was purportedly obliged to leave for the West in 773,41 and Natronai ben Hakhinai, who more or less at the same time was deposed from the exilarchate, journeyed to the West in a miraculously short time, and wrote down the memorized text of the Talmud for the Spanish Jews.42 Learned scholars have referred to this chronology as trustworthy and have consequently attributed the arrival of the Talmudic text in the West to the fourth quarter of the eighth century.43 There is, however, no need to endorse the almost impossible assignment of the events to the first years of the Abbasid caliphate and to dismiss the theory that will consistently be proposed throughout the present discussion: that the available multifaceted evidence points rather to the first half of the ninth century. According to our methodological assumptions, a coalescence of events in the collective memory of European Jews, analogous to the one that will be mentioned later regarding the chronology of Silano’s literary activity,44 would indeed seem much more plausible. And just like the stories of Constantine the African and the Normans, and even more like that of Aharon, the traditions concerning the story of Natronai’s See the sources and references listed by Lazarus, Die Häupter der Vertrieben, 176. It should however be noted that the West mentioned in the sources may also mean the Land of Israel, though for the motif of the exile the difference would be irrelevant. 42 See the sources and references listed by Zuckerman, A Jewish, 80–81 and index, 470–471, s.v. Natronai b. Habibai (Hakhinai, Zabinai, Zabibai). It must be stressed that, for what interests us here, there is no need to endorse Zuckerman’s entire farfetched speculation concerning the role of this Natronai in the purported establishment of a Jewish princedom. The relevant text reads as follows: “And it is a clear and well known fact to the [Jewish] people of Spain, and a tradition handed down to them by their forefathers, that Natronai Gaon, of blessed memory, came to them by miraculous means from Babylon and taught them Torah and returned [to Babylon], that he did not come in a convoy nor was he seen on the road … Natronai Nasi bar Hakhinai, and it is he who wrote down the Talmud for the Jews of Spain from memory, not from a written text.” See Judah ben Barzillai, Sefer ha-Ittim, ed. Schor, 256. 43 Dimitrovski, “Is There a ‘Jewish Middle Ages’?” 263–264. 44 See n. 106 below. 41

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journey to the West mention an allegation of challenging the ruling establishment subsequently punished by exile. The tradition concerning Natronai ben Hakhinai goes even further and describes a miraculous journey, the delivery of the text, and the subsequent return to Baghdad. In the story of Aharon, as reported by Ahima#az, the offense is sym. bolically represented by the image of the subdued lion. The lion as a symbol of power and kingship hardly needs elucidation. Yet, since stories about taming lions indeed formed part of the conventional wisdom as standard examples of heroism or saintly power, it is presumably to avoid misrepresentations of that image that Ahima#az’s text . expands on its real nature of laesa majestas against the natural order of things, deserving of punishment and atonement, by having recourse to another almost universally folkloric motif in which the right of kings to rule as well as the craving of pretenders to seize power was likewise represented by images of subdued lions. Suffice it to recall the biblical images of Samson and David, the Greek myths about Hercules and Lysimachus,45 or the endless mentions of the motif in epic and popular storytelling, drawings, sculptures, engravings, bas-reliefs, and seals throughout the centuries and all over the globe. In addition, it should, of course, not be forgotten that rabbinic tradition, omnipresent in the visual symbolism of Divine power in synagogal art, refers to the lion as to the “most proud among the animals,”46 or the “king of the animals.”47 Association of the leonine symbol with the opposite one of donkeys or mules was no less widespread, though attracting less scholarly attention. Take, for instance, the references to donkeys and mules as adversaries of lions in popular tales the world over, as in Aesop’s and Phaedrus’s fables or in the legends of La Fontaine. (And see pl. 12.) Though donkeys did not always come out second best in such stories, there is no doubt that the most common perception of donkeys and mules has consistently been one of fundamental stupidity, subservience, and capitulation.48 To an educated person familiar with Apuleius’ Golden Ass 45 One of the commanders of Alexander the Great; see Plutarch, Life of Demetrius, chap. 27. 46 Cant. Rab. 3, 19. 47 TB Hag. 13b. 48 A shortlist of references is in the notes appended to Bonfil, “Myth, Rhetoric,” 108–109 [= “Mito, retorica,” 103–104]. The erudite encyclopedic compilations of examples, from the Renaissance onward, and directed to all kinds of audiences, are

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and Lucian’s The Ass, donkeys would signify humiliation. Riding a donkey exhibits social inferiority and powerlessness in rituals of capitulation and would therefore almost naturally become a visible symbol of inferior social status. Muslim and Christian medieval ordinances quite often required Jews to ride donkeys rather than horses. By perceiving lions as belonging to the higher echelon of society and donkeys to the lower one, and by assuming such a condition to be the natural order of things, a medieval worldview would thus almost unequivocally assume that donkeys should stick to their natural condition and submissively accept their status as the lions’ servants, however burdensome and irritating such docility might appear to them. Should they refuse to accept the lions’ right to be given what is almost universally referred to as “the lion’s share,” this would be perceived as being subversive of the natural order of things and deserving of appropriate action being taken. The memory of Hanno, a Carthaginian of uncertain date mentioned by Pliny and Plutarch as having been condemned to banishment because he appeared in Carthage in public accompanied by a lion he had subdued and his behavior was interpreted as a sign of subversive intentions to usurp the ruling power, was undoubtedly still alive in southern Italy in Ahima#az’s time, at least among edu. cated people familiar with Pliny.49 In sum, in the story of Aharon, as reported by Ahima#az, the hero is represented as having acted sub. versively in his place of origin and accordingly sentenced to exile, the conventional means of restoring the social order that had been dealt a blow. Having begun due to an allegedly subversive sin towards the Babylonian Geonic leadership,50 Aharon’s journey of amend would thus ultimately have enhanced the authority of that leadership: inasmuch as southern Italy (and by extension all of western Europe) was concerned, that would mean subordinating the region to the Geonic

legion. On the lion, consult, for instance, Mexia, Silva, 2:3, who lists most of the examples mentioned here. 49 See Pliny the Elder, Natural History, Book VIII ch. 21 and Plutarch, Moralia, Praecepta gerendae reipubblicae, 799E. It may be useful to refer once again to the characterization of medieval culture by C.S. Lewis as basically “overwhelmingly bookish” (see above, pp. 36–37, n. 107). It is unnecessary to add that to maintain our assumptions we do not have to presume that Ahima#az did read either Pliny or Plutarch. . 50 As we shall see later, it would not be unreasonable to speculate that this is a possible allusion to the emergence of Karaite challenges vis-à-vis the Babylonian Geonic establishment.

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center in Baghdad and consequently triggering the restructuring of the local socio-cultural configuration according to the Babylonian body of knowledge. The precise nature of such restructuring is, of course, not explicitly described since actually it finally gave place to the structure current in the Jewish society to which Ahima#az belonged. What Ahima#az was . . interested in stressing was, above all, that the highborn group of his ancestors was in fact associated through Aharon with the leadership framework established by him according to the paradigm of knowledge that his Babylonian origin, albeit indirectly, clearly defined, and that therefore there was solid ground for the family’s claim to socio-cultural prominence according to that paradigm. As we have seen, according to the recollection set down by Ahima#az, Aharon had brought nothing . from Baghdad. Neither his body of knowledge nor his wondrous performances appear to oppose the knowledge or the miraculous deeds of the ancestors of Ahima#az among whom he settled in Oria. Read. ers or listeners are thus led to believe that Aharon’s role was rather the smooth establishment of contact with these people while at the same time emerging as their leader. In other words, he is portrayed neither as initiating revolutionary change nor as claiming legitimacy for such a change. And yet, rising as their leader in that context could but unequivocally define anew the center to which the Italian periphery subordinated itself: Baghdad, instead of Jerusalem. Contemporary readers or listeners could hardly miss the meaning of that new definition as engendering a radical restructuring and would undoubtedly understand better than we possibly can what the previous structure was and the true nature of the change. We are thus left with the residual traits of the past that persisted unintentionally in the orally transmitted tradition and which, according to our conclusions in the previous chapter, should therefore be considered as basically trustworthy.51 We shall discuss these traits in detail shortly. Comparison with the form of the story among the Hasidei Ashkenaz . can help further elucidate the matter. Indeed, the normative commitment of Jewish society as a whole to the Babylonian body of knowledge, drawn mainly from the written text of the Babylonian Talmud that people usually designated more simply as “our Talmud,” was already almost self-evident in the eleventh century. It followed that the legitimacy

51

See above, pp. 19–23.

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of several socio-cultural practices rooted in the former paradigm of knowledge that the Hasidei Ashkenaz maintained more zealously than . others was inevitably challenged. The “Italian” roots of many such practices surface clearly from a number of traditions of those circles and would therefore lend support to the hypothesis of a genetic correlation with the story of Aharon narrated by Ahima#az. However, . 52 these aspects will not engage our attention here. We shall limit ourselves to one particular trait of paramount importance for our discussion, and it will repeatedly be mentioned in what follows: the focusing upon liturgy, liturgical poetry, and “secrets” mostly (but by no means exclusively) connected with prayer. While such a viewpoint would of course almost naturally maintain that socio-cultural leadership was in the hands of the holders of those “secrets,” it was inevitable that the new trend of the Babylonian body of knowledge, now firmly installed in the area, would demand a narrative supporting their legitimacy. In other words, sin and atonement such as those that made sense in the Italian context of the ninth and tenth centuries in order to support the new definition of the center of authority could no longer make sense in the Ashkenazi context of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, now definitely committed to the Babylonian Talmudic outlook. The Ashkenazi setting of indisputable commitment to Babylonian authority now called for special support of the legitimacy of old practices, no matter whether they were really or only apparently contrary to the body of knowledge according to which the Babylonian Geonim were supposed to exercise their authority. Appropriate adjusting of the received narrative would therefore stress the legitimacy of such old practices and invent for them a “Babylonian” pedigree. Inasmuch as the narrative was associated with the hero who purportedly came from Baghdad, it had to tell a different story of translatio scientiae. It comes therefore as no surprise that while Ahima#az could wrap it in the symbolical, easily . understood tale that we have seen, the traditions of Hasidei Ashkenaz . would say no more about the cause of Aharon’s displacement than that he “came from Babylonia because of an event that occurred and was compelled to go around wandering” and—even more significant—that he was to transmit the hidden secrets to the knowledgeable Hasidei Ashke. naz, especially to the paytanim among them. In sum, whatever may have been the factual origin of the story of Aharon, recounting it played 52 In fact, there are grounds for inferring that the traditions which do not highlight “Italian” roots hint at some different provenance, such as Catalonia or Provence.

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different roles in different contexts. Therefore, while underlining various details it overlooked, or even deleted, others to the point of becoming a totally different story.53 The literary structure of the narrative in the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az may further support our hypothesis. Aharon is said to have disembarked in Gaeta, a quite unusual place for a traveler arriving from the east. Why should a man whose intended scene of activity was Oria disembark on the opposite side of the peninsula and make a lengthy journey from west to east? From a simply positivist standpoint, one may of course call to mind the political situation of Gaeta during the ninth century, a city that is recorded as having a fleet from at least the early part of that century. There is, moreover, reason to believe that the man who became the new ruler of Gaeta in 867 is also known to have on occasion allied with the Saracens, then quite firmly settled at the mouth of the Garigliano River, in order to defend the Gaetan ships from Saracen pirates and raiders, though such arrangements may have been very helpful in military campaigns against Gaeta’s neighbors as well. Hence there would be sufficient reason to presume that this state of affairs may have also been influential in spreading the belief that traveling for east to west was more practicable and secure on Gaetan ships than on Byzantine ones.54 Disembarking at Gaeta may thus have been quite simply a fact of life and therefore not deserving of further consideration. However, it seems more probable that such a possibility constitutes the realistic background against which the story could be more effective in conveying its more complex message, in the sense we have stressed above. Indeed, a quick glance at the story makes that immediately clear, for it reveals a structure almost totally opposed to the one about the taming of the lion. In Gaeta Aharon is said to have performed a magic act analogous to that accomplished in Baghdad, but in the absolutely 53 It is not clear to me whether Yassif, who purportedly read and commented upon Yuval Harari’s article (Harari, “Scroll of Ahima #az”: esp. 198–199) actually shares Harari’s understanding that both the Italian and the Ashkenazi tradition concerning Aharon, told the same story in different ways, and that in fact it focused upon the secret magic knowledge of Aharon and the legitimacy of magical performances. Be that as it may, our perspective holds that the legitimacy of magical performances by saintly spiritual leaders was definitely not at stake, for it was a standard, common undisputed view that saintly charismatic men (and sometimes women) would be capable of such performances. 54 Delogu, “Il ducato di Gaeta”; Falkenhausen, “Il ducato di Gaeta”; Skinner, Family Power, 27–56 (chap. 2).

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opposite sense. Whereas in Baghdad he inappropriately reversed the natural order of things in a situation having to do with a mule or a donkey turning a grindstone, in Gaeta he suitably restored it in a perfectly analogous situation intended to counter the dreadful use of magic by a sorceress.55 The correlation between the two situations leaves little doubt that readers or listeners were expected to draw the obvious conclusion that the process of atonement did indeed begin there. The setting of his accomplishment is further most revealing, for that process in fact substituted the normative assumptions held by local Jews according to the Palestinian worldview concerning the proper way of observing the Sabbath with absolutely opposed ones rooted in the worldview of the Babylonian Geonim. We shall return in the following chapters to this and other details concerning the change that was set in motion. For the moment, it is enough to have assessed here that a symbolical reading of the story, according to which Aharon performed in Gaeta an act structurally opposed to the sin perpetrated in Baghdad, would represent Aharon’s atonement as a reversal of the subversive action taken in Baghdad against the authority of the Babylonian Geonim, i.e., as promoting the substitution of a Palestinian doctrinal teaching by a Babylonian one.

The Story of Paltiel The second major story remembered by the Jews of southern Italy and recorded by Ahima#az is that of Paltiel. In fact, it also amounts to about . 30 percent of the entire chronicle, as did the story of Aharon. From the standpoint of Ahima#az, however, Paltiel was perhaps “the most con. spicuous figure in the chronicle,”56 for (as we will see shortly below) his own family did purportedly descend from him. The story itself is tightly meshed with the vicissitudes of the entire Mediterranean area against the background of the Fatimids’ successful effort to replace the Aglabites in Ifriqiya (910) and to extend their dominion over Egypt (969).57 During that same time Sicily was also brought under Fatimid 55 Evidence concerning familiarity in southern Italy with similar stories of bewitched people will be discussed below in chap. 5 of the introductory essay. 56 Salzman, Chronicle, 21. 57 Needless to say, the history of the events is variously summarized by the authors who have dealt with the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az. We have almost nothing to add to their masterful outlines. Our depiction differs only slightly from the cautious account of

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rule with the assistance of Berber and other opponents of the Aglabites.58 It seems that as early as the second and third decades of the tenth century such pro-Fatimid, Ifriqyian—presumably Berber—troops were already actively involved in the military raids mounted by the Saracens of Sicily along the Adriatic coast of southern Italy (Reggio in 918, Bruzzano and Oria in 925). Be that as it may, from 948 onwards the emirate of Palermo was seized by allies loyal to the Fatimid ruler of Ifriqyia, al-Mu"iz (953–975), who were also among the most effective supporters of his conquest of Egypt. Raids and military operations against territories still under Byzantine rule were accordingly conducted under al-Mu"iz’s banner, though in fact carried out by others such as Abu Ja#far Ahmad ibn #Ubayd, the commander of the raid against Oria in 925, or the Emir of Palermo, Ahmad ibn al-Hasan, who conquered Taormina in 962 and renamed it al-Mu"iziyya.59 The raid against Oria had fatal consequences for the Jewish community of the city. In addition to copious Arab and Christian sources,60 its fate is also quite uncharacteristically recorded in a number of Hebrew ones, such as a report of the events included in a letter found in the Cairo Genizah and published almost a century ago61 and the autobiographical note of the famous physician Shabbetai Donnolo who was born in Oria in 913, enslaved by the Saracens in that event, and subsequently rescued by the Jews of Byzantine Taranto.62 As a matter of

Salzman, Chronicle, 21–29, who also offers a meticulous survey of the literature on this point. Additional literature that appeared subsequent to Salzman’s publication will be referred to in the following notes as will be deemed necessary. 58 Rizzitano, “Gli arabi di Sicilia,” 404–411. 59 Ibid., 411. 60 For Christian and Arab sources, see Annales Barenses, 52: “Hoc anno [925] Oria capta est a gente Saracenorum mense Iulio”; Lupus Protospatarius, ibid., 53: “[a. 924] capta est Oria a Saracenis nense Iulii, et interfecerunt cunctos mares, reliquos vero duxerunt in Africam, eos venundantes”; Ibn #Idhari, Histoire, 271: “En 313 (28 mars 925), le chambellan Abou Ah"med Djafar ben #Obeyd dirigeant contre la Sicile une expedition ou il fit de nombreuses conquètes, entre autre la ville de Wa#ri (Oria) ou il massacra six mille combattants et fit dix mille prisonniers.” 61 The document (now in the Jewish Theological Seminary of America, ENA 4009.5 olim Adler 2156) was first published by Adler, “Un document” and subsequently discussed by various authors in different contexts. For what is of interest here, suffice it to refer to Cassuto, “Una lettera ebraica”; Golb, “Letter.” 62 The autobiographical note of Donnolo is included in the preface to his commentary to Sefer Yetzirah entitled by him Sefer Hakhmoni; see Donnolo, Sefer Hakhmoni, 1–6. Donnolo was related to the family of Ahima#az through his grandfather (English . translation, n. 359). Scholarly interest in Donnolo and his literary legacy has recently

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fact, Donnolo’s testimony bears remarkable resemblance to the story of Paltiel, of the progeny of Hananel, the brother of Shephatiah, for . according to the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az Paltiel was also deported in that event, but unlike Donnolo he was assigned to the service of al-Mu"iz, the purported commander of the Saracen raiders, though al-Mu"iz himself was not personally involved in the expedition nor ever set foot in Italy. The numerous accurate details of histoire évenementielle included in the story, as it is retold by Ahima#az, confirm beyond any reasonable . doubt both the veracity of its main components as well as of its broad context: the foundation of the Fatimid caliphate by al-Mu"iz, the role of “Sicilian” supporters of al-Mu"iz both in the Saracen raids in Calabria and Apulia and in the campaign against Egypt, the success of the campaign, al-Mu"iz’s interest in astrology, and other minor details that will be mentioned in due course.63 On the other hand, it is quite evident that both the sequence of the events and the naming of the protagonists in Ahima#az’s account . suffered much distortion, typical of similar recollections of historical events.64 In view of what has been said in the previous chapter, it is easy to understand how it definitely made sense to later storytellers to identify al-Mu"iz both with Abu Ja#far Ahmad ibn #Ubayd, the commander of the expedition which took Oria in 925, and with the Emir of Palermo al-Hasan ibn #Ali who, following the death of Khalif alMansur in 953, left the government of Sicily in the hands of his son, the above-mentioned Ahmad ibn al-Hasan (called his brother in the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az), and journeyed to Ifriqyia to support the succession of al-Mu"iz. However, this apparently confusing conflation of contrasting details should not induce us to belittle the fact that those events that were significant for the Jews of southern Italy to link the recollection of their past experiences with the historical context in which they occurred correspond beyond reasonable doubt to factual truth. And yet, the most important element of the story, the rise of Paltiel as a Jewish vizier from the depths of slavery to the heights of power in terms vividly reminiscent of the biblical story of Joseph in Pharaoh’s

witnessed a remarkable efflorescence. See Sharf, Universe of Shabbetai Donnolo; Sermoneta, “Il neo-platonismo”; Lacerenza, “Il sangue” and the quite extensive bibliography listed there. 63 This point was very aptly stressed following a similar line of reasoning by Salzman, Chronicle, 22–24. 64 See the notes appended to §§ 44–46 of the English translation.

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court, has so far not been substantially confirmed from a positivist perspective that seeks the conventional “kernel of truth” in that ostensibly legendary account. Although eminent scholars have ventured to suggest possible identifications with known figures who offer a number of the traits of Paltiel as portrayed in the chronicle, none of them is really satisfying.65 The puzzle becomes even more intriguing as one recalls that the memory of the story of Paltiel was not exclusive to the close family of Ahima#az. A quite different account of the events . is also reported in Sefer Hasidim, the ethical “Volksbuch” of the Hasidei . . Ashkenaz already mentioned above as holders of another version of the story of Aharon.66 The major divergences between the two versions were pointed out elsewhere and need not be repeated here.67 Suffice it to recall what seems of importance for our discussion: both recount a story stemming from the Islamic area according to which, following the Saracen raid against Oria, a Jew named Paltiel, a native of Oria, reached a position of remarkable influence in the court of a Muslim ruler, and that in both versions the initial phases of the stories are roughly chronologically assigned to the reign of al-Mu"iz. After that a remarkable splitting of the ways occurs and the stories follow different paths. According to Sefer Hasidim, the narrative is played out in . Jerusalem and is shaped as an exemplum conveying a message of ethical content, presumably relevant to the social context reflected in Sefer Hasidim; according to the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az, Paltiel’s son Hananel . . remained for a while in southern Italy, inter alia establishing a yeshivah

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Thus De Goeje, “Djaubar = Paltiel,” suggested Jauhar, a captive from southern Italy with various names in Arabic chronicles, who ultimately converted to Islam; Kaufmann, “Die Chronik des Achimaaz von Oria”: 536, argued for Yacub Ibn Killis, who served al-Mu"iz for a considerable length of time but was also a convert to Islam; Bernard Lewis suggested Mussa b. Eliezer, physician to al-Mansur, al-Mu"iz, and al#Aziz, see Lewis, “Paltiel”; and most recently, Gil, History of Palestine, 360–364, added to the list the name of Fasal b. Salah. However, as Gil remarks, one wonders why Ahima#az would choose to conceal the real name of the protagonist under such a . pseudonym. Salzman’s cautious suggestion of a man who is not mentioned by the Arabic sources seems more plausible. In his view, Paltiel may indeed “have been the caliph’s specially trusted adviser, a sort of power behind the throne, not generally counted among the officials in power,” a sort of eminence grise “practically serving as vizier” (Salzman, Chronicle, 26–27). 66 One should nonetheless bear in mind that since Sefer Hasidim includes traditions . related to Shabbetai Donnolo (see Sefer Hasidim, 151–152 [§545]) and since Donnolo’s . family was somehow related to that of Ahima#az (see n. 62 above), one should also . presume a relationship between the sources of both accounts. 67 Bonfil, “Can Medieval Storytelling Help Understanding Midrash?”

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in Benevento and marrying a woman of the progeny of Shephatiah, and was ultimately instrumental in establishing the connection between the Ifriqyian and Italian branches of the family including residents in Capua, where Hananel’s son Shemuel, the grandfather of Ahima#az, . . settled (§ 48). The puzzle becomes even more complex by the intriguing recollection of the story of another Paltiel, vizier of the heir of al-Mu"iz in Egypt but son of Cassia, the daughter of the first Paltiel and therefore a nephew of Hananel (§§ 56–58), while simultaneously another Paltiel is . said to reside in Qairawan, to where Hananel and his son Hassadiah . . purportedly came from Benevento to visit him (§ 48). The recurrence of the names Paltiel and Shemuel in the family tree, as well as some uncertainty in the textual transmission, add considerable difficulty to any endeavor to satisfactorily resolve the quandary. It seems that we have once more reached the extreme limit of positive knowledge, where history and myth merge indissolubly. We can, nonetheless, draw some solid conclusions, quite relevant for our discussion. First, since the historicity of several among the personages mentioned in the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az—particularly the author’s direct ancestors—is beyond doubt, one can assume the same to hold true for Paltiel, whatever the biographical details may have been. That this is correct is even more underlined by the fact that the father of Ahima#az was named after Paltiel, his alleged grandfather. Second, . since Sefer Hasidim links the story of Paltiel with that of Shabbetai Don. nolo, it may safely be assumed that the story narrated by Ahima#az in . his chronicle reached the Rhineland from Italy where it was developed along different lines. Third, since the significant differences between the versions refer to the period following the death of al-Mu"iz, it may also be concluded that the branches of the transmission must have sprouted from the same trunk some time after his reign (953–975), i.e., the split must have occurred some time between the last decades of the tenth and the first decades of the eleventh centuries. Needless to add, this conclusion is in perfect accordance with all the positive evidence so far collected on the Jews of the Rhineland.68 What can positively be said about the story of Paltiel the vizier as related by Ahima#az? First, as already pointed out by Moshe Gil, . al-Mu"iz’s vizier Djauher ibn-Abdallah Abu Hussein, to whom the

68

See n. 7 above.

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non-Jewish sources ascribe most of the accomplishments attributed by the Jewish sources to Paltiel, displays remarkable elements of similarity 69 Djauher, with the biographical sketch of Paltiel drawn by Ahima#az. . a former Sicilian-born Christian captive, converted to Islam and was raised by al-Mu"iz’s father Mansur. He commanded al-Mu"iz’s troops, particularly during the campaign in Egypt. In fact, it was he who organized the expedition, about which Arab historians offer a wealth of detailed information, including al-Mu"iz’s visits to the camp before it set out, in a way that recalls very much the visit of the caliph to Paltiel’s tent, as related by Ahima#az. (§ 55)70 Not surprisingly, he was . the object of contentious jealousy and litigious intrigue as well as of keen admiration and passionate praise. Last but not least, Ahima#az’s . sketch of the reception of the Byzantine ambassador by Paltiel in the court of al-Mu"iz (§ 47) is very much in line with Djauher’s activity, for it was Djauher who carried out the diplomatic negotiations sealed by the truce of 967 which marked the beginning of a delicate phase of rapprochement between the Fatimid caliph and Byzantine Emperor Nicephoros. Nicephoros, aspiring to restore Byzantine power in southern Italy, had just suffered a disastrous defeat there in the course of which the learned commander of the Byzantines was captured and sent in chains to Qairawan. On the other hand, both Nicephoros and al-Mu"iz had good reason to be concerned by Otto I’s ambition to extend his authority to southern Italy and to eagerly seek a common strategy of resistance. We have quite detailed reports of the negotiations conducted by Djauher and the Byzantine ambassador Nicolaos which, among other things, resulted in the release of the prisoner, as well as about the ritual of the reception of the ambassador and the gifts exchanged on that 69 See Gil, History of Palestine, 360–364, who also provides an exhaustive list of bibliographic references. The other possible candidate, Abulfaraj Iakub ben Iussuf ben Kilis, can hardly be compared to Paltiel. Although he was a Jew, he was not a former captive but a wealthy merchant and entrepreneur, a native of Baghdad who was appointed vizier in Egypt by the ruler of Fustat, Kafur-Ischkidi, following his conversion to Islam. The appointment caused much resentment in court and he was compelled to flee to al-Mu"iz in Qairawan, who took him into his service. According to some sources, he was the man who convinced al-Mu"iz to plan the campaign against the ruling dynasty of Egypt, of which he was deeply knowledgeable. 70 Cf. Quatremère, “Vie du khalife”; Schlumberger, Un empereur byzantin, 356–385 (ch. 9); and Klar’s note (Klar, Chronicle, 51). According to these sources, the visit to the commander’s tent is said to have taken place before departure for the campaign (Quatremere, “Vie du khalife”: 433–434).

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occasion.71 The ceremonial details of the event, conducted according to the usual strategy of impressing foreigners with a wealth of sumptuousness and exchange of gifts, left a deep impression. As we will see later, in southern Italy they could quite easily be compared with details of the unsympathetic treatment reserved by the Byzantine court for Liutprand, bishop of Cremona, who at almost the same time was charged by Otto with a delicate mission to the Byzantine court. Actually, this was standard diplomatic practice. Similar events are recorded, with a wealth of detail, in the Book of Gifts and Rarities, composed by an unknown author, apparently an employee of the Fatimid state during the reign of al-Mustansir (1036–1094).72 As there can be little doubt that from a Muslim standpoint this practice contributed greatly to fostering the sense of Muslim pre-eminence vis-à-vis Christian hegemonic claims,73 it is not unlikely to have also fostered among some Jews an inclination to align themselves with the Muslims, just as did the Lombard rulers of Capua and Benevento who also pursued, as noted earlier, an ambiguous relationship with the Saracens to support their policy of securing local independent pre-eminence vis-à-vis imperial aspirations. We can quite safely presume that as reports spread out from Palermo to the mainland and reached Capua and Benevento, whatever the Christians might have learned about the encounter between the vizier and the Byzantine ambassador also became known to the Jews. There is no need to conclude that Paltiel and Djauher are one and the same person, or to be troubled by the fact that a man called Paltiel and fitting the portrayal by Ahima#az and Sefer Hasidim is not . . mentioned by any other source, whether non-Jewish or Jewish.74 As will 71 Schlumberger, Un empereur byzantin, 356–385; Stern, “An Embassy”; Miller, “Studies in Byzantine Diplomacy,” 193–207; and compare with the description of Shephatiah’s reception at Basil’s court (§13). 72 Book of Gifts and Rarities, for instance §§31, 82, 85, 97, 98, 99 and more. It may be of interest to note that this work recalls the envoy sent by the Byzantine Emperor to al-Mu"iz (ibid., 114, §99), However not in 967 in Qairawan but in 969 in Cairo, as well as one to al-Mustansir in 1033, when “administrator of the State was Abu Sa#ad Ibrahim b. Sahl al-Tustari the Jew” (108–109, §82). In the entry devoted to the Byzantine envoys to the court of al-Muqtadir in Baghdad (917) the work notes that “they were accommodated for some time outside the city and were kept secluded there until permission for them to enter was requested. Then they were granted permission to enter Baghdad” (148, §161). 73 Rizzitano, “Gli arabi di Sicilia,” 404–411. 74 Contrary to customary scholarly practice to append the title Nagid to Paltiel’s name on the basis of the wording of § 54, in order to avoid misunderstanding I have

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be stressed over and over again in what follows, the same holds true for most personages mentioned in the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az, including the author himself—all of them unquestionably real figures yet totally ignored by non-Jewish narratives. Should we apply to the story of Paltiel, the founding father of the Western branch of leading figures associated both with the family of Ahima#az and with the emigrants to . the Rhineland from southern Italy, the same rules we applied to the story of Aharon, we must redirect our curiosity from the identity of Paltiel to the nature of the events symbolically sketched in the story and adduced by the author to support the claim for the socio-cultural prominence of his family. In the context of the narrative of Ahima#az, . the following would be such events calling for interpretation. The first event worthy of mention is the compulsory displacement of the protagonist from Oria to Ifriqyia and Egypt, where he purportedly served as a loyal servant of the caliph. In other words, one remarkable characteristic trait of the prominence of the family stemmed from the nature of the connections of some of its members with the non-Jewish rulers who really accounted for the fate of the Jewish communities. We will return to this trait in greater detail.75 Secondly, we should bear in mind Paltiel’s role in belittling the image of the Byzantines while enhancing that of the Arabs in the episode of the reception of the Byzantine ambassador. This means that among these people’s activities, the most valuable in terms of Jewish interests would be the influence they exercised behind the wings on the rulers. From such a perspective, the fate of the Jews would be inextricably intertwined with the destinies of the non-Jewish political setting. Viewed from the standpoint of the Jews of southern Italy, instead of interpreting the report in terms of an almost exclusively Islamic literary context, as some scholars have suggested,76 it would seem more appropriate to look first at the Lombard context of Capua and Benevento and to the broad

preferred using the predicate vizier, given that it is almost certain that the assertion that the predicate Nagid in § 54 would mean that Paltiel was the first to have been appointed to the office later known by that title in Fatimid Egypt is totally groundless. See English translation, n. 510. 75 See the next chapter. 76 Moshe Gil, for instance, suggested correlating that story with the report about Abu Talib Faslalah b. al-Hassan who allegedly refused to sit together with the Jew Fasal b. Salah, and to enlist it as further evidence of the identification of Paltiel with Fasal; see Gil, Palestine, 360–364; Colafemmina, Sefer Yuh. asin, 168, n. 265. See also Ben-Sasson, “Italy and Ifriqia”; idem, “Communal Leaders”; idem, Emergence, 355–357.

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political message outlined above, including the chronological framework of the events.77 Finally, we should take account of Paltiel’s being indirectly instrumental in the foundation of the yeshivah in Benevento by his son Hananel. In establishing the connection between the Italian . and Ifriqyian branches of the family, Hananel son of Paltiel would thus . play a role analogous to that of Aharon in strengthening the connection between the centers of Jewish learning in Italy and those in Babylon, for at that time Qairawan was already definitely under Babylonian hegemony. Would it be really unreasonable to hypothesize some relationship between Hananel, the ancestor of Ahima#az who is said to have founded . . the yeshivah in Benevento, and the famous talmudic scholar R. Hananel . 78 As already aptly stressed by Moshe Gil, both Hushiel ben Hushiel? . . and Hananel, who at that time were prominent scholars in Qairawan, . developed a typical dualism vis-à-vis the Babylonian-Palestinian antagonism.79 They were both “Palestinians” by their traditions and customs and maintained solid relationships with the Babylonians. Tradition had Hushiel coming from Bari (then Byzantine territory, as noted) as cap. tive, though documentary evidence would have him coming there of his own free will from Christian (i.e., Byzantine) lands. As for Hananel, . who spent considerable time in southern Italy, there has survived an appeal on behalf of one of his relatives from the “Land of the Rum” (southern Italy) in addition to solid evidence of his contacts with Hai Gaon. Hananel’s work was based both on the Babylonian and Palestinian Talmuds. On the other hand, for two reasons we cannot identify Hananel, the son of Paltiel the vizier, with the famous Hananel . . ben Hushiel: first, it would appear impossible that, writing in 1054, . Ahima#az would confuse the two of them; and second, such identi. fication would require far-fetched speculations to overcome the glaring contradiction between the testimony of Abraham ibn Daud, who recorded Hananel ben Hushiel as having only daughters (nine), and . . 77 With this in mind, and assuming a transfer of characteristic traits of the kind suggested above concerning Paltiel and Djauher ibn-Abdallah Abu Hussein, it would not appear unreasonable to read in Ahima#az’s record of Hananel’s role in Ben. . evento a somehow pallid reflection of the role purportedly played by Sawdan in the same context according to local tradition (see below the discussion of the story of Sawdan). 78 Ta-Shma, “Hananel ben Hushi"el”; Ben-Sasson, Emergence, index s.v. ïá ìàððç ìàéùåç; Gil, “The Babylonian Yeshivot”, esp. 97–99. 79 Gil, “The Babylonian Yeshivot.”

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that of Ahima#az who writes that Hananel ben Paltiel had four sons. . . And yet, the recurrence of the name Hananel can hardly be con. sidered totally insignificant in this context. It is not unreasonable to infer that memories regarding Paltiel the vizier of al-Mu"iz and his son Hananel conflated with memories regarding Paltiel the son of Cassia in . Qairawan and his son Shemuel for all of them must have been prominent courtiers in the service of local Muslim rulers, either in Egypt or in Qairawan, and must have been connected by family ties, as the documentary evidence quoted above unmistakably evinces. Furthermore, the reference to the anti-Karaite activity of Hananel son of Paltiel the . vizier makes much greater sense in the context of North Africa than in that of southern Italy. Be that as it may, according to Ahima#az Paltiel’s actual connection . with Capua occurred when Hananel’s son Shemuel, the grandfather of . 80 was brought there by the city’s rulers who appointed him Ahima#az, . minister of their treasury to control the river area, the tolls in their markets, and coinage according to Capua’s laws and customs (§ 48). As with the other personages in the story, there is no mention of that in the extant historical documents nor in the non-Jewish chronicles related to the city.81 The only positive reference to contemporary Jewish residents in medieval Capua consists in the document noted earlier that in 1041 records two families, among which the family of Ahima#az is . not included. And yet, if we were correct in conjecturing a confrontation between former residents and recent comers attempting to penetrate the existent structure of socio-cultural leadership, the memory of Shemuel as the first constituent of the local chain of family tradition would definitely suggest a most complex claim to socio-cultural prominence. In other words, situated, as it were, at the threshold between mythical and historical time of Capuan Jews, Shemuel would fulfill some of the more significant roles that conventional wisdom would at that time associate with the local Jewish leadership. Most particularly, through his father and brothers he would ensure the organic connection to the most authoritative contemporary source of traditional Jewish

80 For this and the other details concerning the family tree of Ahima#az, see the . reconstruction below p. 86. 81 See Skinner, “Gender, Memory and Jewish Identity”: 287: “Since relatively few documents survive from this period of Capuan history, we should not be unduly deterred by the fact that he is not otherwise recorded.”

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knowledge and actually establish a channel of permanent transmission of knowledge from Ifriqya to southern Italy. To put it another way, the story of Paltiel and his European descendants would lend support to the story of Aharon in conveying the idea that the connection with the Babylonian source of knowledge and authority should be assumed to be the only really significant one, despite the emotionally charged uninterrupted relationship with the Palestinian center and persistent adherence to Palestinian ritual practices. Following tortuous paths, the Jews of southern Italy would thus be assigned a significant place both in the network of valuable knowledge—a necessary prerequisite for socio-cultural prominence and leadership— and in the dynamics of its dissemination throughout the Mediterranean area. In that network, the family of Ahima#az would consequently have . very good reason to claim a considerable rank of social prominence. If our reading is correct, we are thus presented here with one more variant of the folkloric motif associated with the transmission of knowledge, though with one major difference: the connection of the idea of transmission to one of sin and atonement is here remarkably absent. But this may quite easily be explained by taking into account that towards the end of the tenth century knowledge was no longer supposed to be secretly handed down as it was before, and that therefore there was no longer reason to correlate its delivery with sin.

The Story of Shephatiah The story of Shephatiah is the third major narrative recorded by the Jews of southern Italy. In great part intertwined with the story of Aharon, it merges—if our reading is correct—with the foundation story concerning the installation of the Babylonian body of knowledge in the region and embodies, first and foremost, the supporting element of the prominence of the family of Ahima#az. As was the case with . the stories of Aharon and Paltiel, the historical context within which it is purportedly placed is beyond reasonable doubt. This refers to: (a) the rule of Emperors Basil I, founder of the Macedonian dynasty, and Leo VI in Byzantium and in extensive areas of southern Italy; (b) the rising Saracen threat throughout southern Italy that culminated in the conquest of Bari by Sawdan. And as was the case with the stories of Aharon and Paltiel, here too the specific details of the episodes, whose purpose is to shape the image of the protagonist, contain a good deal

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of stereotypical anecdotes, sometimes quite clearly in contradiction one with the other.82 The truth of the matter is that the anecdotes concerning Rabbi Shephatiah place such exceptional emphasis on the “Byzantine connection” of the memories evoked by Ahima#az, that the dominant ref. erence to the Byzantine context which, as noted earlier, was characteristic of the earliest stages of scholarly interest in the Chronicle appears to have been definitely justifiable. As we repeatedly stressed above, our perspective is radically different. But our different orientation should not lead us to the other extreme: the memory of Byzantium was indeed vigorously present in the recollection of the traditions of Ahima#az’s . ancestors, given that Oria, where they dwelled, was restored to Byzantine rule during the reign of Basil I (867–886) and remained so until the fatal raid of 925. It is regrettable that, unlike other localities in southern Italy, Oria is very poorly represented in the surviving epigraphic monuments of the region. Only one undated bilingual (Latin and Hebrew) epitaph of a five-year-old girl is attested.83 However, a letter reporting the consequences of a tragic raid carried out in the first half of the tenth century, probably against Bari, supplies a first glimpse of local Jewish intellectual life, for it mentions among the survivors a certain R. Abraham ben Yehoshaphat, formerly leader of the “dispersed community of Oria,” as well as R. Hodijah and his son R. Amittai, who may have been somehow related to the ancestors of Ahima#az bearing the same names.84 . The picture is further confirmed in an autobiographical note introducing one of the works of the famous physician Shabbetai Donnolo, born in Oria in 913 and taken prisoner during the same raid of 925. We can thus join Andrew Sharf and rely quite safely upon the description of Jewish Oria by Ahima#az as “a firmly established and well organized .

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Contradictions should not give rise to any special concern, for they can easily be dismissed by assuming that diverse stories coalesced in the collective memory of the Jews of Oria, as usually happens with tales transmitted orally over a period of time. Such, for instance, is the case of the content of Basil’s dispatch: what the reader would expect following the introductory statement of the section, i.e., referring to the edict ordering conversion to Christendom, when compared with the text of the one allegedly received by Shephatiah—an invitation to Constantinople, motivated by the emperor’s desire to make the acquaintance of such a valuable person. See §§ 11–12. 83 Noy, Jewish Inscriptions, 1:176–177 (#137). 84 See n. 62 above.

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community with the resources to survive the heavy misfortunes that occasionally befell it.”85 The historicity of Shephatiah, the remarkable ancestor of Ahima#az, . as well as of the precise period of his activity, is positively confirmed by other traditions relating to his surviving poetical compositions. Shephatiah is indeed known as a paytan in southern Italy. A selih. ah signed “Shephatiah,” survives in the liturgy of Ashkenazi Jews.86 In addition to the testimony of Ahima#az, later Askenazi authors recount traditions . which similarly situate Shephatiah in the time of the missionary pressure of Basil I and credit him with the deliverance of five Jewish communities of southern Italy from the Emperor’s persecution. Two such traditions report the events in terms quite similar to those in the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az (§ 14), i.e., as a reward to Shephatiah for having released the Emperor’s daughter from the possession of a demon, and attributing to him the composition of a selih. ah87 supposedly correlated with the Byzantine emperor’s anti-Jewish policy.88 These Askenazi traditions, however, both run contrary to a third one, which attributes (correctly, it would appear) the composition of the above-mentioned selih. ah to Shlomoh ha-Bavli. According to this variant, deliverance took place following a weird and wonderful miracle that occurred during the torture of an old man who refused to abjure Judaism, which brought upon the persecutors involved in the torture the type of death decreed for stubborn Jews, and finally led to the withdrawal of the decree.89 Given that all these traditions which surfaced in Ashkenazi circles are almost certainly correlated to immigrants from southern Italy and are connected to the practice of piyyut, and specifically to the composition of a selih. ah purportedly related to Basil’s missionary pressure, we can safely apply to them the same rules we applied to the various traditions relating to Paltiel in southern Italy and beyond the Alps. We may Sharf, Universe of Shabbetai Donnolo, 2. Incipit: íéîìåò úòåùú ééá òùåð ìàøùé; Davidson, Thesaurus, 2:454, # 4234 é; Schirmann, “Zur Geschichte”: ’96; Mah. zor le-yamim nora"im, ed. Goldschmidt, 2:774; Fleisher, The Poems of Shelomo Ha-Bavli, 24–25. 87 Incipit: àøéà íåé éðà; Davidson, Thesaurus, 1:304, # 6696 à. 88 The sources that are reproduced in Klar’s appendices (Klar, Chronicle, 47) are: (a) a tradition reported by R. Judah b. David; (b) a similar tradition reported by Abraham b. Azriel, the thirteenth-century author of the commentary to the Ashkenazi and French liturgy Arugat ha-Bosem, (Arugat ha-Bosem, ed. Urbach, 2:181–182). 89 This variant tradition surfaces, apparently for the first time, in the writings of the twelfth-century biblical commentator R. Yosef Kara. See the detailed discussion in Fleisher, The Poems of Shelomo Ha-Bavli, 24–32, where additional bibliography is listed. 85 86

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then conclude that the image of Shephatiah was first shaped against the Byzantine background, and as such was transmitted to the subsequent generations, although these were no longer under Byzantine rule and indeed could have only a pallid and distorted image of the events reflected in the edificatory tales handed down to them. We are moreover prompted to take for granted a wholesale transfer to the image of Shephatiah of well-known stories concerning famous personages; consequently we can focus on the meaning of the events narrated in these anecdotes in the minds of the Jews of southern Italy, both in the context of their first formulation in relation to Shephatiah as well as in that of their recollection by Ahima#az. Such events calling for interpreta. tion would be the chrysobull allegedly dispatched by Basil I to Shephatiah, his doings in the court of Constantinople, and above all his efforts for deliverance of the Jewish communities of southern Italy from the Emperor’s persecution. The factual truth of the account concerning these efforts was altogether rejected by renowned scholar Isaiah Sonne,90 on the basis of what he believed to be a clear mention of the succumbing of Oria’s Jews to the forceful conversion ordered by Basil in a piyyut of Shephatiah’s son, Amittai.91 According to Sonne, should the story of the deliverance contain some truth, it would stand to reason that following Shephatiah’s action the rulers of Oria would have been satisfied by a simple outward acceptance of the dogma of the Trinity and would not have insisted on further violation of Jewish Law. In support of his argument, Sonne quotes the characterization of Amittai by Ahima#az, as having “desolately mourned the ravage all his days on . earth” (§ 40). And yet, careful scrutiny of the entire episode of Basil’s order leads to the conclusion that it did not depart from the traditional pattern of imperial policy which sought to achieve more rigid missionary pressure by means of (public) disputations matched by promises of dignities, exemption from discriminating taxation, and restitution of full-fledged citizenship—but definitely avoiding the use of violence. A detailed discussion of the evidence leading to such a conclusion is

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Sonne, “Note sur une keroba.” As aptly pointed out by Lehnart, “Studies,” 38, in the absence of further details, such as the addition to the signature of the name of his father or of his son Abdiel, there is no certain way to distinguish between the paytanic production of this author and that of his homonym grandfather. Lehnart has also exhaustively listed the up-todate relevant bibliography related to Amittai ben Shephatiah (ibid., 38–42). 91

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provided elsewhere.92 For the present, let me emphasize that the most significant account of Basil’s alleged action to forcefully baptize the Jews, as penned in the panegyric depiction of Theophanes Continuatus,93 does not go beyond the means of pressure listed above, and the recollection of Shephatiah’s encounter with the emperor in the narrative of Ahima#az definitely substantiates our conclusion. Disputations, . socio-economic enticements, and threats were all within the rules of the game and were conveniently applied upon Shephatiah who, according to the memories of the Jews of Oria, successfully resisted them and thus brought about the deliverance of the community. Nor does the tradition of Ashkenazi Jews go beyond the variances usually found in similar cases. Further details will be dealt with separately in the following chapters and in the notes appended to the relevant paragraphs of the narrative of Ahima#az. . We should not pay as much attention to the lack of accuracy in the chronology of Basil’s endeavor to bring the Jews of Byzantium to the baptismal font as did earlier authors. First, even Byzantine chroniclers show some degree of vagueness concerning the actual date of the purSecported event,94 though admittedly not as great as that of Ahima#az. . ond, one can feel justified in presuming that Christian memories related to the events would also link the year 868 mentioned by Ahima#az . with popular expectations for some messianic occurrence in that year,95 no matter whether Basil I might have been aware of them. Third, as we have seen, genealogical recollections of memories usually tend to adjust chronological settings to make them compatible with the message they intend to convey. In this case the most meaningful message from the standpoint of Ahima#az would be that the story of Shephatiah . amounted to the first concrete link of the Jewish scholars of Oria with the body of Babylonian knowledge brought to Italy by the Baghdadi sage Aharon (§ 8). As such, the bulk of the tradition joins the main message of the work: the replacement of the Palestinian doctrinal system by the Babylonian one.

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Bonfil, “Continuity and Discontinuity.” Theophanis Continuati Chronographiae, ed. Bekker, 341–342 (PG 109, 357). Copious ˇ cenko in the notes appended to references to parallel sources are listed by I. Sevˇ ˇ cenko, 302–304 (§95). I thank prof. Theophanis Continuati Chronographiae Liber V, ed. Sevˇ ˇ cenko for having allowed me to consult his work prior to publication. Sevˇ 94 See the sources listed by Sevˇ ˇ cenko, referred to in the previous note. 95 See Gil, “Judios y Cristianos.” 93

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Minor Stories The Story of Silano The story of Silano, included as a digression within that of Aharon, is one of the few which do not bear an overtly discernible connection to the family of Ahima#az, nor even with the story of Aharon itself. If we . are not inclined to dismiss it altogether as a wonderful entertaining novella,96 we are prompted to seek some indirect relationship with the general message of the work. And in fact, such a relationship surfaces quite clearly, since the story relates how a Palestinian visiting scholar was humiliated in Venosa by Rabbi Silano, a local scholar who presumably filled the function of h. azzan97 in that city. The Jewish community of Venosa is perhaps the best known from the surviving epitaphs,98 as is also the occasional presence of Palestinian envoys, almost certainly charged with keeping open the communication channels with the Palestinian Geonim. Indeed, the still surviving trilingual epitaph of Faustina, a fourteen-year-old daughter of prominent Jewish citizens of Venosa, records the dirges recited by two such envoys (“duo apostuli”).99 Although the dating of the epitaph is still an open issue, there does not seem to be any doubt that it is earlier than the ninth century. Mention of the Palestinian scholar in the synagogue of Venosa by Ahima#az can testify to a certain degree of continuity, . though admittedly quite elusive as can also be inferred from the quite recently discovered additional archeological remains (see pl. 14). Be that as it may, the aforementioned Silano is also well known as composer of piyyutim in the first half of the ninth century.100 No less than five compositions of his have surfaced so far, one of which was included in the 96 Since such has indeed been the almost general attitude of the scholars who dealt with it, a detailed bibliography is superfluous. 97 The nature of the function of hazzanim will be discussed later. . 98 Noy, Jewish Inscriptions, 1:61–149 (##42–116). 99 Ibid., 1:111–114 (#86). 100 The relevant bibliography is conveniently listed in Beeri, “Completion of the Piyyut.” Beeri assumed that Silano’s lifetime should be determined following the mention in his poem of the number of years elapsed from the destruction of the Sanctuary as well as the chronological sequence of the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az, i.e., during Basil’s reign (second half of the nith century), and suggested that Schirman’s assigning it to the first half of the century may be a lapsus (see Schirmann, “Beginning of Hebrew Poetry in Italy”). According to our reconstruction, however, Schirmann’s dating should be retained as the correct one.

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Ashkenazi Mahzor, as were compositions of Shephatiah and other pay. tanim from southern Italy (see pl. 13). Among the variety of details incidentally describing patterns of everyday life, which will be addressed in due course, the reader is presented with a story borrowed beyond doubt from the arsenal of popular anecdotes referring to the acknowledgment of socio-cultural and political authority following the testing of knowledge. An almost identical story may be read in the Life of Bishop Meinwerk of Paderborn (d. 1036), founder of the Abbey of Abdinghof, composed in the twelfth century, and still extant in the Abbey, by a monk of Abdinghof from old, now lost, chronicles.101 Among those chronicles must have been a Life of Henry II, who almost probably did not like the bishop very much, and must therefore have portrayed the antagonism between the two on matters concerning the respective spheres of authority from the emperor’s standpoint.102 He thus learned from his source and reported in his work how the emperor, who knew that the bishop was overtly engaged in secular matters and would consequently not dedicate sufficient effort to enrich his mastery of Latin, decided to embarrass him by asking his chaplain to delete from the text of the prayers for the dead in the missal used by the bishop one single syllable, which would cause a shameful change. When asked to recite the prayer for the dead of the imperial family, the bishop found written mulis and mulabus (mules and shemules) instead of famulis and famulabus (kinsmen and kinswomen) and thus did he indeed erroneously read. Unable to keep such a disgraceful ending in his Life of the bishop, the good monk quite clumsily added: “Once aware of his error, he repeated the sentence and corrected what he had previously said mistakenly.”103 If our working hypothesis is correct, then, the literary topos, which must have been greatly significant during the so-called “Renaissance of the Twelfth Century,” was already handy long before and appears to have inspired the story of Silano, although no substantial evidence of Vita Meinwerci Episcopi, 150. One must of course relate the narrative to the rivalry between bishops and emperors and the stage being set for the so-called “Conflict of Investitures.” 103 Sciens autem imperator, episcopum saecularibus negotiis multipliciter occupatum, tam in latinitatis locutione quam in lectione barbarismi vitia non semel incurrere, de missali in quadam collecta pro defunctis fa de famulis et famulabus cum capellano suo delevit, et episcopum pro requie patris sui et matris missam celebrare rogavit. Episcopus igitur ex improviso missam celebrare accelerans, ut scriptum reperit, mulis et mulabus dixit; sed errorem recognoscens, repetitis verbis, quod male dixerati, correxit. 101 102

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that has yet been found. Be that as it may, the story of Silano fits very well into the overall emerging picture, for its function is quite transparent: it evinces in a clear-cut manner to the people of Venosa the insufficient knowledge of the Palestinian sage. Following our hypothesis, the story must consequently be understood as part of the competition between the Palestinian Academy, whose relationship with the Jewish community of Venosa is well documented, and the newly established connection with the Babylonian center of Baghdad. It moreover quite efficiently substantiates that public mockery is the most powerful mean of socio-cultural critique, for it strikes directly at the basis of socio-cultural prominence: honor.104 The Story of Sawdan The story of Sawdan (§§ 19–26)105 is also a digression within the story of Shephatiah which, as noted, is itself a digression within the story of Aharon. As such it appears to fill a quite complex role. On one hand, it fits in naturally with the general framework of praise for the memory of both Aharon and Shephatiah, as will be seen in greater detail in the following chapter. On the other hand, it anticipates in a very ambiguous and sophisticated manner the relatively positive value judgment of Islam vis-à-vis Christianity, which is about to play a crucial function in the shaping of the ideological message expounded by Ahima#az. . As is evident from Arab and Latin chronicles, the historical framework of the narrative is quite accurate.106 Sawdan ruled as the powerful emir of Bari between ca. 857 and 871, from where he led repeated devastating assaults against the entire region, including Benevento (whose ruler, the Lombard prince Adelchi, was forced to come to terms with him and sign a humiliating peace treaty), Capua, and Montecassino. Ahima#az is definitely correct in recording that Sawdan’s greatest ambi. tion was to conquer Benevento. During Sawdan’s emirate Bari emerged as a kind of frontier between Italy and the Arab world on the other side of the Mediterranean. Aharon’s decision to embark from Bari rather than from Taranto therefore nicely fits the facts, and so does Aharon’s 104 105

loco. 106

See also below p. 184. For the historicity of the events recalled in the story, see the explanatory notes in The following outline is indebted to Musca, L’emirato di Bari, 61 ff.

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vaticinium ex eventu announcing Sawdan’s defeat and capture by Adelchi and the Frankish King Louis II, who finally entered Bari in 871. We will not address the convoluted story of the relations between Emperor Basil, who in those days began the offensive aimed at restoring his rule over southern Italy, and Louis, who pursued his own program of extending his authority over the same region, in addition to the Lombard dominions. Suffice it to recall that Louis granted Adelchi his consent to spare Sawdan’s life and bring him to Benevento where, according to contemporary Latin sources, he became famous as a knowledgeable physician and sagacious man. Moreover, he was appointed a close advisor to the prince, who finally liberated him as part of an act of rebellion against Louis, who at last gave up the campaign and returned to northern Italy. Once free, Sawdan resumed his former assaults on the region but was unsuccessful in his campaign to recover Bari: the Lombard commanding officer of Bari turned for help to the Byzantine commander of Otranto, who at last resumed Byzantine rule in Bari in 876. Sawdan’s career following that event is of no interest for our present discussion. The Story of Tophilo The story of Tophilo has recently been the subject of attention as a further example of the migration of stories from southern Italy to the Rhineland and of the shaping of narratives according to the different socio-cultural contexts in which the various messages were expected to play significant roles. However, the focus of scholarly attention has been the narrative reshaped as the story of Rabbi Amnon, held by subsequent popular belief to be the author of the famous poetic composition íåéä úùåã÷ ó÷åú äðúðå107 included in central parts of the liturgy of the High Holy Days such as the concluding section (÷åìéñ) of the special kerovah (äáåø÷) preceding the kedushah of the additional prayers (óñåî) of Rosh ha-Shanah and Yom Kippur. Though the meaning of the story of Rabbi Amnon is definitely important for reconstruction of the sociocultural setting in which it played a significant role, and will hopefully be addressed in a separate essay, it will not retain our attention here.108 Davidson, Thesaurus, 2:199–200, # 451 å. The relevant bibliography is conveniently listed by Marcus, “Sanctification of the Name”; Yassif, “Legend and History”: 192–200; Fraenkel, “R. Amnon”; Mack, “And on the Day of Judgment.” 107 108

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For the present, we will study its role in the framework of the general message of the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az. The bulk of the story is a tale of expiation for a severe sin, the nature of which can, however, be misleading. In the tale, as it was recollected by Ahima#az, Tophilo’s was a twofold sin. First, he committed adultery . with a married woman and was sentenced to death by Rabbi Aharon. Second, he succumbed to the tempting proposal of the Christian prince to have his life spared in exchange for his abjuration of Judaism in favor of Christianity. In fact, however, he secretly remained faithful to Judaism, and upon discovering Tophilo’s crypto-Judaism the prince cruelly punished him, cut off his hands and legs and put him in jail, where another Jew, one of low social standing, took devoted care of him, bringing him food of his own and assisting him in all his needs. As a token of gratefulness, Tophilo did then betroth his daughter to him, notwithstanding the difference in social status. The unique event took place on the eve of the Day of Atonement, following which Tophilo miraculously disappeared, as he had predicted to the poor Jew who from then was his son in law (§ 32). In the framework of the Chronicle, the story is significantly removed from the context of the story of Aharon, within which it was at first mentioned somehow en passant (§ 8), and situated as a flashback among a series of stories related to others of Ahima#az’s ancestors. Hence, . although it may have had a genetic link with which we shall not deal here, we may quite safely assume that it was intentionally dissociated from the general message of the story of Aharon,109 in order to convey a message of its own. If this is the case, it does not seem unreasonable to presume that such a message should refer to the traditional structure of Jewish society as envisaged by Ahima#az. Put more simply, the kind . of sin originally committed by Tophilo was one which could have had dreadful destructive consequences for the firm standing of the paternalistic upper class of Jewish society,110 and consequently for Jewish society as a whole, about which the consensus is that it was essentially dependent upon that class. The sin was fortunately amended by an inversely parallel act bearing profound symbolical meaning,111 i.e., by striking a blow at the established class structure of society by allowing

109 110 111

Contra Yassif, “Legend and History”: 196. This point was already made by Colafemmina, Sefer Yuh. asin, 132–133. See also below, p. 137.

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social mobility, yet not without strongly emphasizing how extraordinary was the act. Viewed from such a perspective, and following the general hypothesis suggested above, it would not be unreasonable to speculate further that such a claim in favor of an extraordinary, yet quite temporary, opening of the social ranks might bear very profound significance 112 We shall in the social context of Capua in the time of Ahima#az. . return to these points in greater detail. These remarks on the structure of the narrative of Ahima#az and its . historical setting will now be concluded with the genealogical tree of the family according to our reading and understanding of the text. Needless to add, such reconstruction differs quite substantially from those suggested by the scholars who dealt previously with this complex issue. Exhaustive justification for this revised frame is given in the notes appended to the paragraphs quoted in the note below.113

112 For additional remarks concerning the socio-cultural milieu surfacing from the story of Tophilo, see chap. 4 of the introductory essay. 113 I: §2. II: §§ 2, 8, 11–17, 21–23, 27–39. III: §§35, 40–43. IV and V: § 42. VI: §§43-57. “Paltiel the vizier” is the official in the court of the Fatimid ruler al-Mui"z (973–975) currently mentioned in scholarly literature as “Paltiel the Naguid” (see §43). VII and VIII: §48. IX-XIII: §§48, 58, 60–62.

chapter three FRAMEWORKS OF COMMUNAL LIFE AND IMAGES OF LEADERSHIP

We may now approach the complex issue of communal frameworks according to the socio-cultural heritage shared by the Jews of southern Italy and how they developed down to Ahima#az’s time. Although the . history of the Jews of the entire Mediterranean area in the early Middle Ages remains quite elusive,1 recent valuable studies can help us draw a fair, though admittedly approximate, picture. This is done assuming, as a general rule, that from antiquity to the early Middle Ages the communal structure of the Jews of southern Italy must have been similar to that of the so-called Hellenistic Jews of the Mediterranean as it is emerges from the recent work of talented scholars.2 Communal frameworks are here viewed as sets of collective values and activities: how people acted collectively and perceived their activities.3 To begin with, we can state that, as a most general rule, people constantly acted according to custom shaped by both written and oral traditions, the overwhelming majority of which were ultimately rooted in basic religious beliefs variously related to biblical concepts. 1 The six volumes of Goitein, Mediterranean Society, are the richest portrayal of the entire region as it emerges from Genizah documents; Gil, History of Palestine, complements Goitein in relation to the Land of Israel; vol. 1 of Hirschberg, History of the Jews in North Africa, remains the most general overview of conditions in North Africa; Cohen, Jewish Self-Government aptly describes Fatimid Egypt; Ben-Sasson, Emergence offers a rich picture of western North Africa; Blumenkranz, Juifs et Chrétiens, remains the fundamental work on western Europe; Sharf, Byzantine Jewry, completes the series of helpful general works. 2 The number of studies dealing with Hellenism and Mediterranean Jews is so great that it would be risky to attempt to draw up a satisfactory listing. We will limit ourselves to some among the most recent outlines, all of them providing rich bibliographies: Levine, Judaism and Hellenism; Rajak, “Judaism and Hellenism Revisited.” See also the essays assembled in: Jews, Christians and Polytheists. 3 As knowledgeable readers will readily recognize, some wordings are pretty much indebted to Susan Reynolds’ challenging picture (Reynolds, Kingdoms and Communities), especially inasmuch as the similarity of different geographical settings is concerned, even though she left Jews out of her discussion (p. 3). A similar “global” approach to the Jewish communities of western Europe in the early Middle Ages may be found in Bonfil, “Cultural and Religious Traditions” and is implicitly adopted here as well.

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Traditions were constantly subject to adjustment and reshaping, not necessarily coherent but always triggered by the idiosyncrasies of the prominent interpreters of the traditions, the pressure of changing situations, and the appeal of worldviews of their non-Jewish neighbors—in line with what has been suggested in the previous chapter. Law and custom were thus so inextricably bound together in the current Jewish outlook that one can hardly distinguish between them. It is therefore only natural that reshaping adjustments quite often engendered opposing conceptions and practices, particularly during the period in which written transmission of textual traditions was still quite fluid, that is, roughly prior to the twelfth century. Although local developments did affect the characteristics of specific communities in various manners, both in the Land of Israel and in the Mediterranean Diaspora, there is little room for doubt that throughout the entire relevant period the bulk of communal life was conducted within synagogues and contiguous spaces. A considerable body of research, mainly by archaeologists and art historians, has in the last decades remarkably enriched our knowledge on this issue.4 We must of course constantly bear in mind the danger of anachronism while referring synchronically to archaeological remains geographically and chronologically distant one from the other, such as the synagogues of Delos, Capernaum, Dura Europos, Sardis, Hamam-Lif, Elche, Ostia, or Bova Marina. And yet, we can quite safely assume that throughout the entire period covered by the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az the synagogues of the entire Mediterranean area maintained the general traits bequeathed to the Middle Ages from Antiquity. Regrettably, no archaeological findings of medieval synagogues have surfaced in southern Italy to date. However, inasmuch as one can judge from the available 4 Levine, The Ancient Synagogue, is the most extensive survey of ancient and early medieval synagogues. Especially relevant for the present discussion are chapters ten and eleven (pp. 357–428). It goes without saying that all the works listed in the previous notes contain extensive sections concerning the place of the synagogue and its role in communal life. We will specify shortly what is meant by “contiguous spaces.” Following more or less recent archaeological discoveries, Second Temple period and Late Antiquity synagogues were addressed in an exceptionally rich array of works, though still quite lacking complete agreement on a number of points that will not retain our attention here. See Hachlili, Ancient Jewish Art and Archaeology in the Land of Israel; eadem, Ancient Jewish Art and Archaeology in the Diaspora; Ancient Synagogues: Historical Analysis; Binder, Into the Temple Courts; Jews, Christians and Polytheists; Fine, Art and Judaism. The epigraphic evidence was also comprehensively surveyed by Noy, Jewish Inscriptions; idem, “Jewish Inscriptions …: Addenda and Corrigenda.”

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evidence, especially from Ostia and Bova Marina,5 we can presume that beyond the diversity that reigned in synagogue architecture and art, the overall structure of the sites and the activities carried out in them in the early Middle Ages were not substantially different from those of Antiquity, once adjusted according to contextual requirements. No matter what may have been the details of the architectural layout, “synagogues” were compounds of variable dimensions comprising one or more spaces and bearing quite clear signs of having served as places of worship alongside diverse other public activities. In addition to reading and explicating the Torah, preaching, study, and prayer, synagogue complexes served as community assembly halls for handling of congregational affairs, fund-raising, communal meals, and judicial matters. Schools, guesthouses, ritual baths and other dwellings were often annexed to the place of worship.6 As art-historian Richard Krautheimer suggested long ago,7 there is no doubt that synagogues underwent a radical change with the passage of time from Antiquity to the Middle Ages. Whatever may have been the nature and function of synagogues during the stage of their first appearance, in Late Antiquity they increasingly bore elements of sanctity, some of them almost clearly detectable in the architectural evidence presently available. Worship was oriented towards Jerusalem. At variance with what Krautheimer would call earlier contexts (i.e., contexts which displayed a prominent chair or podium from which the communal leaders executed their public functions, whatever these might have been), appropriate aediculae, niches, or apses were installed along the Jerusalem-oriented wall providing for what is actually known

5 The state of the art and the literature on the synagogue of Ostia is almost exhaustively listed in the essays included in Synagogue of Ancient Ostia; see esp. Runesson, “The Synagogue of Ancient Ostia.” On the synagogue of Bova Marina see Costamagna, “La sinagoga di Bova Marina nel quadro degli insediamenti tardoantichi”; eadem, “La sinagoga di Bova Marina (secc. IV–VI)”; Noy, Jewish Inscriptions, 1:180–181 (# 140); idem, “Jewish Inscriptions …: Addenda and Corrigenda,” 130. 6 The wording follows almost exactly the description provided by expert archaeologist Rachel Hachlili; see Hachlili, Ancient Jewish Art and Archaeology in the Diaspora, 22–24. 7 Krautheimer, Mittelalterliche Synagogen. The wealth of recent discoveries and scholarly discussions has somehow eclipsed this great scholar’s work, which was a pioneering study in this field as in many others and certainly not unaware of the danger of anachronism. It is quite symptomatic that this work is not listed in the bibliographies appended to the books by Lee Levine, Rachel Hachlili, and Donald D. Binder (n. 4 above).

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as the Torah Shrine or Holy Ark. A different kind of podium, recalling the sacrificial altar of the Sanctuary, was then added in front of the apse, though not in a fixed location, most probably for both reading the Torah and leading the worship office. It was called a bemah, a term probably combining the biblical bamah with the Greek βωμς (altar), or tebah, as it is usually called in rabbinic literature, meaning case, wooden box, chest, or coffer,8 and corresponding to the Greek κιβωτς.9 The archaeological evidence from the synagogue of Ostia, where a mosaic was found beneath such an aedicula, appears to confirm the hypothesis that at least in that case the aedicula was built at a later stage and therefore involved a change in praxis/ideology, i.e., a 180 degree rotation of the direction of attention of the public, seated on benches all around the tribuna (situated in the west) to the aedicula (situated in the east, towards Jerusalem). In fact, an inscription found aside that aedicula (i.e., not on the aedicula itself) very significantly mentions the construction of a κειβωτς (plates 15–16). In view of this finding, archaeologist Anders Runesson has persuasively argued that the inscription does not refer to the aedicula, but rather to some other “ark” belonging to a different community. Yet, if that is so, one can equally feel justified in presuming that the inscription did rather refer to a portable tebah introduced into the architectonic layout following the construction of the aedicula, according to the above-mentioned outline. We shall return shortly to this point. Be that as it may, the destruction of the Sanctuary did undoubtedly add significantly to the idea that, in its absence, liturgy is a substitute for sacrifices.10 Notwithstanding unmistakable signs of early rabbinic trends, variously handed down to later generations and rejecting the concept that synagogues are replacements for the Sanctuary, public opinion in fact gradually oriented itself towards the idea that synagogues and study houses were indeed “little sanctuaries.”11 Amoraic utterances stressing prohibition of disrespectful behavior inside See Runesson, “The Synagogue of Ancient Ostia,” 40, 54, 86, and passim. See Liddel-Scott, Greek-English Lexicon, s.v. As a matter of fact, the Septuaginta translates the Hebrew äáéú as κιβωτς. 10 In fact, the biblical verse åðéúôù íéøô äîìùðå—Instead of bulls we will pay [the offerings of] our lips (Hos. 14:3) came to express the general attitude of all ritual liturgies. 11 The reference is to R. Isaac’s saying that the biblical verse “I will be to them as a little sanctuary in the countries where they shall come” (Ezek. 11:16), alludes to “the synagogues and batei midrash of Babylonia” (TB Meg. 29a). 8 9

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synagogues matched the architectural changes in gradually underscoring the resemblance with the Sanctuary.12 By the sixth century ce the process was almost completed. And yet, synagogues did not develop into almost exclusively holy places as thoroughly as did churches. As often happens with complex historical phenomena, many—not necessarily interconnected—reasons are responsible for such diversity. Among these are the essential difference between Judaism and Christianity concerning the nature and function of the mediators between the community and the divine (consecrated priests versus lay leaders of liturgical rituals); the demographic diversity of the communities, for tiny localities which could not afford functional differentiation like large ones were compelled to concentrate all kinds of activities, including such that our modern sensibility would characterize as “profane,” in one and the same place; and finally, the idea that just as the compound of the Sanctuary itself was the scene of the entire range of public activities that the nation considered essential for a viable social life, the same could be said of the compounds of synagogues and study houses (batei midrash). Granted that synagogues and study houses were not necessarily one and the same,13 they were both part of the same complex and could eventually coalesce in the same space. Indeed, although most known archaeological remains display complexes of several halls variously connected to the one presumably used for worship, literary evidence clearly confirms that during the early Middle Ages private dwellings belonging to wealthy members of the community served as synagogues for the entire community;14 and it stands to reason that, beyond inevitable situations dictated by the demographic dimensions of the communities, such phenomenon must also be somehow correlated to the restrictive regulations included in the Roman Law concerning synagogues.15

Krautheimer, Mittelalterliche Synagogen, 55; Fine, This Holy Place, 159–162; idem, Art and Judaism, 206–209 (chap. 13). 13 Urman, “House of Assembly.” Within the medieval context almost contemporary with Ahima#az, it seems that Rashi (in his commentary to TB Ber. 24b) almost naturally . identifies the house of study (ùøãî úéá) with the site of the community assembly (úéá ãòååä), though one can logically maintain that the assembly would be the assembly of the sages (íéîëç ãòå). 14 See for instance the story of Samuel the neophyte from Lentini (Sicily) as summarized by Strazzeri, “I giudei di San Fratello,” 651. 15 See below p. 154. 12

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These themes were extensively addressed in recent valuable interdisciplinary studies, increasingly oriented (and rightly so) toward anthropology.16 This was also already presaged by Krautheimer’s pioneering insight concerning the tension between what he labeled as rationalistic postures symbolized by the lecture about and exegesis of Holy Scripture and concretely visualized in the Torah Shrine, located in one extremity of the space (as was the case with the aedicula in the synagogue of Ostia), and mystical-magic postures signified by liturgical acts and concretely symbolized by the bemah/tebah located at some distance in front of the Torah Shrine. Though certainly superseded by recent discoveries and studies, Krautheimer’s work should not be forgotten when attempting to represent the medieval evolution of ideas and practices. One basic statement of his will here be assumed as an enduring general rule: synagogue architecture is not a special field in the history of building; it displays buildings constructed for Jewish worship, not Jewish buildings.17 In fact, it seems that almost all the art-historians’ concerns about the nature and intensity of Jewish acceptance of non-Jewish cultural ideas and motifs within synagogues can be quite satisfactorily allayed by adding that rule to our general methodological premises and eventually integrating it with Stephen S. Kayser’s definition of Jewish art as art which serves a Jewish function,18 no matter who were the artists and the actual sources of their inspiration. Synagogues may have resembled (and in fact did resemble) Roman basilicas, Christian churches and cathedrals, or Muslim mosques, inasmuch as their structures fulfilled the needs of the Jews and uttered discourses variously significant for the socio-cultural definition of the Jews. Since there were no specific halakhic norms dictating how to build a synagogue, inasmuch as the application of non-Jewish restrictive policies did not impose limitations to the Jews’ aspirations and imagination, two main things were the decisive factors in determining what a synagogue would look like and how it should be decorated. These were, on one hand, local tastes and proclivities19 appropriately adjusted to such discourses and, on the other hand, the impact

16 Such a remarkable contribution was recently made by Isaacs, “An Anthropological and Historical Study.” 17 Krautheimer, Mittelalterliche Synagogen, 142. 18 Kayser, “Defining Jewish Art.” Cf. Hachlili, Ancient Jewish Art and Archaeology in the Land of Israel, 1: “By the term Jewish art is meant an art that was created specifically for the Jewish community.” 19 Levine, The Ancient Synagogue, 299.

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of received practices and literary traditions in the process of such adjustments. The change that, according to Krautheimer, had taken place in praxis/ideology after the Torah shrine became the ultimate focus of religious activity at the Jerusalem-oriented wall of the synagogue, and the transformation of the bemah/tebah into a wooden portable asset constitute a typical example of such complex interplay. The architectonic setting did thus evolve from the type of Roman tribunal or theater displayed in the earlier phase, in which the heads of the community took the place of the tribune, seated on the podium at the extremity of the wall, towards one in which the center of attention was transferred toward the Torah shrine and the seats of the communal leadership did accordingly move aside. Yet, the now portable bemah/tebah which substituted for the stage that served actors in theaters or orators in tribunals was still placed on a level lower than the public seated on benches all around,20 as the wording äáéúä éðôì ãøé (“went down before the tebah”), still current to indicate the movement of the conductor of the office towards the place from which the office is to be conducted, concretely testifies. One may quite reasonably assume that such a setting would kindle in the public various mental associations, according to individual levels of education, knowledge, and idiosyncratic inclinations. We can, for instance, almost naturally think about the stereotypical view opposing the nature of Jewish civilization to that of the Greeks and Romans, hence viewing theaters and circuses as opposites of synagogues and batei midrash.21 In other words, the movement of the conductor of the office towards the bemah/tebah could be concretely visualized as a kind of Jewish counterpart of the movement of actors or orators towards the stage. Within the Christianized milieu, the liturgy in the synagogue could later also be visualized as a Jewish counterpart of the Christian liturgy in church, with the Torah Shrine filling the role of the apses,

20 One should furthermore recall here that, as we have seen, tebah corresponds in the Septuaginta to κιβωτς (see n. 9 above) and cf. with the remarks of Kraable, “The Diaspora Synagogue,” 499. 21 A remarkably typical formulation can be found in Pesikta de-Rab Kahana, tr. Braude, 433 (Piska 28): It is the way of the nations of the earth when Thou increasest holidays for them, that they eat, drink, and carouse and attend their theaters and circuses and provoke Thee with their utterances and their deed. But it is the way of Israel when Thou increasest holidays for them, that they eat, drink, and rejoice and attend synagogues and schools and increase the number of their prayers, etc. [emphases mine—R.B.].

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and the bemah/tebah that of the altar on which the priest conducted the mass and especially the rite of the Eucharist. Krautheimer’s conception that liturgical acts conducted from the bemah/tebah should be conceived as mystical-magic postures calling to mind parallel acts performed by the priests at the altar of the Sanctuary can then be further refined by recalling that the liturgical compositions of the early Middle Ages make considerable use of the terminology of the Heikhaloth and the Merkavah literature, and perhaps also that those acts may be typical of mystical-magic ecstatic experiences.22 The use of the terminology of the Heikhaloth and the Merkavah literature in liturgical compositions according to the Italian and Ashkenazi rites of the early Middle Ages is a well-known trait hardly needing further elaboration here.23 It will surface again and again in these introductory chapters as well as in our annotated translation of the text. For the present, let us stress that it constitutes one of the most striking manifestations of the substantial connection between the conventional biblical and Talmudic—basically rationalist—worldview, which advocated the absolute transcendental essence of God, and the esoteric mystical worldview of activist elites, which maintained the possibility of a physically perceptible anthropomorphic revelation of God to humans, no matter to what extent these elites were dissenters to the established religious leadership in Antiquity and how their activity in the first centuries ce may have been related to the destruction of the Sanctuary, or in what different manners such ideas and images may have been disseminated in both the eastern Mesopotamian-Persian or Mediterranean areas.24 By the ninth century the two sources of ideas, images, and terminology were inextricably woven into paytanic practice and the general outlook of the Jews, who would of course interpret them in various manners according to their particular idiosyncrasies and cultural background. 22 See Ithamar Gruenwald’s suggestion on the basis of the resemblance between the wording äáéúä éðôì ãøåé (go down before the tebah), indicating liturgical performance, and äáëøîì ãøåé (go down on the Chasist [Merkavah]), indicating trance postures of visionaries in ecstatic contemplation of the divine spheres; Gruenwald, “Song of the Angels.” 23 It is enough to refer to the scholarly notes appended by Daniel Goldschmidt and Menachem E. Artom to the piyyutim included in the Mahzor according to the Italian . and Ashkenazi rites. See Mahzor of the Italian Rite ed. Artom; Mah. zor le-yamim nora"im ed. Goldschmidt. 24 See Elior, Heikhaloth Literature. A previous short version in English of her outline is eadem, “The Concept of God.”

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Beyond liturgical practices, which will be further addressed below, synagogues and contiguous study houses can thus be considered as constantly being the main locales for all kinds of assemblies concerning the entire community, including judicial proceedings executed by men whose authority and leadership were recognized by the influential members of the community, who were generally present and could be held as representing the entire community. Among these, the most visibly associated with the synagogue, the archisynagogos, “head of the synagogue,” emerges quite constantly in the epigraphic remains of the earlier period (roughly up to the sixth century) as a prestigious official filling a clearly prominent role as a leader and representative of the entire community. Although some records clearly indicate that titles and appointments could be impermanent, inasmuch as local traditions could persist and support claims for social prominence they were often hereditary.25 The same holds true for other titles inscribed in epitaphs as testifying to high civic or communal status, yet not all of them unequivocally recorded in documentary and literary sources nor unambiguously associated with the synagogue: pater (Hebrew: áà av, pl. úåáà avoth) but sometimes more specifically pater synagoges; archon (Hebrew: ùàø rosh), but more often archisynagogos, i.e. archon synagoges, presbyter (Hebrew: ï÷æ zaken, pl. íéð÷æ zekenim).26 These men were undoubtedly the most socially and culturally prominent among their fellow coreligionists, no matter whether they held formal appointments or not.27 It stands to reason that they strove to maintain their prominent status alongside changing attitudes concerning the relationship of the sacred and the profane within the synagogue, as indicated above.

25 See Rajak and Noy. “Archisynagogoi”; Levine, The Ancient Synagogue, 400–401 and passim. 26 Women, usually but not always wives or widows of these officials, as well as infants are equally recorded as holding similar titles. Each of those titles would deserve a detailed scrutiny that is outside the scope of the present study. The ambivalent wording “civic or communal rank” was dictated by awareness of the complexity of historical contextualization, not only for Jews. For a rich overview of the meaning of pater in the terminology related to Roman law, see, for instance, Biscardi, ‘Auctoritas patrum’. In any case, with the passage of time medieval views would increasingly exclude women from public activities. Reluctantly, therefore, our discussion will leave women aside. 27 Besides, formal appointments are indeed a very elusive, even baffling matter, in which, as we shall see shortly, local variations met the aspirations of distant Palestinian and Babylonian institutions to impose their influence by means of bestowing titles and, occasionally, formal appointments upon already incumbent communal leaders and functionaries.

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For a better understanding of this process, a few words are in order about the greatly significant change in the characteristic traits of the archaeological evidence referred to earlier that occurred in the sociocultural profile during the transition over a span of hardly definable length from late Antiquity to the early Middle Ages. The most discernible characteristic of the new profile is the advent of Hebrew, first sporadically alongside Greek or Latin funerary inscriptions attributed to the fifth or sixth centuries and then massively and exclusively in dated inscriptions of the first half of the ninth century. It is unclear exactly when and why Hebrew replaced Greek or Latin. Some suggest the fifth or sixth centuries, in which case a few trilingual epitaphs, quite plausibly belonging to that time, would testify to the inception of gradual change; others stress the fact that a significant number of Hebrew epitaphs, all of them from southern Italy, display dates ranging from the third decade of the ninth century onwards and seem to suggest that the change took place around that period. The same process of gradual surfacing of Hebrew occurred in other regions of the Mediterranean area—northern Spain and southern France.28 Be that as it may, while precise definition of the chronology and the causes of the revival of Hebrew in the entire area remains an open question, there can be no doubt that towards the mid-ninth century it was steadily implanted in southern Italy. From then on it was matched by a growing series of Hebrew literary works by poets, Talmudists, physicians, and even chroniclers.29 Both phenomena constitute unmistakable indication that a wide-ranging change of the cultural configuration was taking place, one that would inevitably affect all of Jewish life including the communal structures and the hierarchy of public figures, which are of special interest for our present discussion. As noted earlier, the impressive installation during that very same period of the Babylonian body of knowledge, and particularly of the Babylonian Talmud as the almost fixed legal written text at the center of Jewish intellectual practice and normative conduct, was undoubt28 Though published more than three decades ago, Simonsohn, “Hebrew Revival” is nonetheless the most recent overview of the status quaestionis. 29 A bibliographical survey of the literary production of the Jews in southern Italy during the ninth to eleventh centuries would require an extraordinarily lengthy note, hardly necessary for the present discussion. Suffice it to refer to the bibliographies appended to Lehnardt, “Studies” (poets); Geula, “Lost Aggadic Works” (Talmudists); ˇ .tay Donnolo (physicians); finally, for what concerns chroniclers and Lacerenza, Sabbe historical writing, Book of Josippon, ed. Flusser and pp. 23–27 above.

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edly the major constituent of the changing cultural configuration, for it inevitably affected the entire sphere of intellectual relationship to law and custom in a framework of academic debate virtually unknown in the previous period. Although the inception of the Babylonian Talmud into the Mediterranean area significantly antedates the development that took place in western Europe under the impact of the growing interest in Roman and canon law, it must nonetheless be correlated with it and evaluated accordingly. A thorough analysis of such a correlation has unfortunately been delayed by various hindrances, first and foremost the application of categories of legal thought considered as being almost refractory to the compelling forces of changing times.30 Be that as it may, there can be little doubt that the change which occurred in the paradigm of knowledge and practices consisted in the gradual replacement of the pre-existent body of authoritative knowledge rooted in Palestinian traditions with the Babylonian one basically inspired by the distant Babylonian center located in Baghdad, with which local scholars very soon established close personal connections. We have already noted how the literary style of the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az unmistakably shows borrowing of cultural contents and literary style from the Arab milieu to which Baghdad belonged. Such practice, which must undoubtedly be associated with the shifting of the paradigm of knowledge and practices, was not exceptional. And yet, that very same style displays remarkable residues of lexical terms and forms typical of the Palestinian linguistic tradition, no less unmistakably testifying to the inertial force of endurance of the replaced cultural system.31 As students of medieval mentalités have repeatedly stressed, lexical characteristics are quite often indicative of deeper, yet less manifest, realities. As pointed out in the previous chapter, the full replacement of the Palestinian outlook by the Babylonian one in the Christian West almost 30 Again, it seems that much of the argument of Susan Reynolds concerning the importance of understanding medieval realities in terms appropriated to medieval society and not in those of later professional or academic law (Reynolds, Kingdoms and Communities, 12–13), can almost unreservedly be endorsed here. A detailed discussion of such a complex matter must, however, be left out of the present discussion, not only because of limited expertise but mainly because the subject is too extensive to be dealt with appropriately in this framework. 31 On borrowing of contents and style from the Arab milieu see above pp. 12–13. On the scarcity of Babylonian Aramaic in the literary production of the Jews of southern Italy, see Sokoloff, Dictionary of Jewish Babylonian Aramaic, 131. For an example in the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az, see §41, n. 413.

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certainly occurred during the ninth century, for in the second half of the eighth century the Babylonians were still struggling to impose their hegemony in the area under #Abbasid rule.32 Opposing practices between Palestinian and Babylonian outlooks, systematically displayed in detailed lists, have already been thoroughly discussed by competent scholars.33 For example, as has been shown elsewhere, ritual slaughtering was still performed according to the Palestinian normative system in Agobard of Lyon’s city of residence (i.e., in the first half of the ninth century).34 Other examples have been sporadically mentioned in relation to medieval Italy and Ashkenaz. Two examples are the Palestinian prohibition of milk taken by non-Jews when there was no supervision by a Jew, even if it could be presumed with a high degree of certainty that milk taken from impure animals could not have been added and the prohibition of oil produced by non-Jews.35 We will return to other examples emerging from the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az. Since the Babylonian outlook quickly turned out to be the indisputable victor, much of the subsequent views, down to very recent scholarship, were inevitably influenced by the Babylonian propaganda which characterized Palestinian customs as rooted in ignorance caused by Byzantine legislation aimed at stifling Jewish scholarship and ultimately forcing the Jews to convert. Palestinian practices were labeled as customs of abjuration. Although one could easily present sound rational arguments in favor of these practices,36 such characterization was almost generally endorsed by subsequent academic scholarship until it was proven false by the fairly recent discovery of documents in the Cairo Genizah. On the basis of similar phenomena throughout history, we can reasonably assume that a socio-cultural confrontation of such magnitude could not have taken place without producing tremendous strain. However, much remains unknown, particularly in relation

See the literature listed in n. 87 below on Pirkoi ben Babui’s epistle. The Differences between Babylonian and Palestinian Jews; Thesaurus of Halachic Differences. 34 Bonfil, “Cultural and Religious Traditions.” 35 For milk, see the references in “Halav shel goi,” Encyclopedia Talmudica, 15, coll. 171–172; Differences between Babylonian and Palestinian Jews, 112–114; Thesaurus of Halachic Differences, 26–28. For oil, see Differences between Babylonian and Palestinian Jews, 47–48; Thesaurus of Halachic Differences, 107–109. Other examples may be found in Ta-Shma, Early Franco-German Ritual. 36 A striking example is the Babylonian characterization of the Palestinian custom of standing during the reading of the Ten Commandments as senseless. For this and other examples, see Hoffman, Canonization. 32 33

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to the rationale of the differences and the clash between the newly imported worldview and customs and the old ones. We have still to unveil the results of the alienation caused by the characterization of the Babylonian Talmud as our Talmud; for indeed such categorization implicitly portrayed the Palestinian tradition, cherished until then, as belonging to the other. It thus authorized the constant exercise of force to achieve acculturation following the Babylonian paradigm of knowledge, according to R. Hai Gaon’s clear-cut statement: “one cannot contrast what has been decided in our Talmud with the Palestinian Talmud, for the Palestinian tradition suffered interruption during many years, while here [i.e., in Babylonia] a clear tradition developed.”37 The main obstacle to proper (re)appraisal of the subject seems to stem from the fact that, as is often the case, the recording of such differences in the sources provided fertile ground for discrediting propaganda on the part of competing leaderships. And indeed, as R. Hai Gaon’s statement clearly shows, that is precisely what occurred with the differences between the Palestinians and the Babylonians. We can nonetheless get some indication of the intensity of the tension engendered by the process of substitution from the fact that the final outcome was definitely not univocal. Many existing customs were discarded, but a not insignificant number somehow survived covertly until it became possible to apply the spirit of intellectual independence that began to make headway in the West during Ahima#az’s times, and . find ways to overcome the Babylonian opposition in order to practice them overtly. It stands to reason that where the roots of Palestinian customs were deep and strong, as was the case in southern Italy, survival would be less difficult than in places of recent settlement. R. Jacob ben Meir, the famous twelfth-century Tosafist known as Rabbenu Tam who was credited with the famous dictum “the Torah will come out from Bari and the word of God from Otranto,” was also the man who wrestled to keep alive the customs which contrasted with Babylonian practice, “for we hold many customs according to a tradition of old, as the rules of the calendar or the canonical blessings … all of them according to the Midrashim and the Palestinian Talmud.”38 In any case, the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az provides a significant number of such examples. But before we turn to them we must add a few more details of the changes Twersky, Rabad of Posquières, 208. See Jacob ben Meir, Sefer ha-Yashar, Questions and Responsa, ed. Rosenthal, 81 (§45, 3), 85 (§45, 6), 98 (§48, 5) and more. 37 38

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induced by the substitution process into the socio-cultural and institutional frameworks of the Jewish communities. Unfortunately, almost all that can be said about such frameworks does not refer to the rural population, even though it must have been quite considerable throughout the early Middle Ages. It should nonetheless be borne in mind that although the appeal of the cities was so compelling that almost everywhere the socio-economic profile of the Jews very early became predominantly urban, this was not a sudden development, nor did it take place everywhere at a similar rate.39 We know now that in western Europe, and perhaps also in Byzantium, it occurred with considerable delay in comparison to the area of Islamic domination, where it was already a fait accompli by the second half of the eighth century. It is not unreasonable, therefore, to presume that during the entire period covered by the narrative of Ahima#az the Jew. ish population was rural no less than urban. As far as southern Italy is concerned, the documentary evidence indeed fully confirms land ownership in the countryside in addition to the cities. We have already mentioned the document concerning such ownership in Capua, and a systematic perusal of the various studies devoted to specific localities would add many similar examples. And yet, although it is of course hardly possible to draw a clear-cut line between land ownership and agriculture in the cities and the countryside on the basis of the extant documentary evidence, from the second half of the tenth century onwards—roughly in the period of the deep change engendered by the events mentioned in the previous chapter—the Jews increasingly surface as vendors of land.40 It can, therefore, be safely concluded that during that period the process of urbanization entered upon a more accelerated phase. One can also quite safely assume that during that period the synagogues of the urban settlements functioned as centers of communal activity for all, including the more-or-less isolated rural population. We shall return to the vivid picture portrayed in the Chronicle of such rural Jews who lived in villages, engaging extensively in agriculture and related occupations, and on the other hand of wealthier landowners who dwelt in the cities and owned land in peripheral villages, all of them portrayed as belonging to social ranks of remarkable prominence and as being variously associated with synagogues.

39 40

Toch, “The Jews in Europe, 500–1050,” 557. Numerous examples are found in Blumenkranz, Juifs et Chrétiens.

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In what relates to communal structures and the hierarchy of public figures, the most visible aspect of the socio-economic and cultural change already noticeable from the ninth century onwards is that medieval epitaphs no longer include the typical titles mentioned earlier, while the literary sources, for their part, mention almost exclusively officeholders associated with judicial, educational, and liturgical activities, such as wise connoisseurs of the Law (the Torah) and traditional knowledge, rabbis, teachers, and h. azzanim. True, although rarely or never mentioned in ancient epitaphs, rabbis, teachers, and h. azzanim do appear frequently in the literary sources of the previous period too. It would therefore not be surprising to find such persons among the distinguished constituents of later Jewish society. Moreover, as normally happens with wide-ranging socio-cultural phenomena, the extent of continuity appears to have been rather significant beyond the visible signs of change. However, it is not at all clear how we should understand the categorizations of those personages in the medieval context, how they were integrated within the institutional framework of the communities, and what happened to officers holding titles such as archon, archisynagogos, or pater, so frequently mentioned in the archaeological evidence from the earlier period but which apparently disappeared in the later one. Nor is it really clear how, in the changed medieval context, one became a person of consequence among his fellow coreligionists. It stands to reason that the overall process was analogous to those triggered at all times in all societies by clashes between established social hierarchies and demands for social mobility. Following the loss of autonomous power in 70 ce, and even more following the downfall of the Palestinian patriarchate with the death of its last head in 335 and the ensuing significant reduction of governmental and judicial functions exercised by Jewish officials with the permission of the Roman emperors, the frameworks of social prominence and authority had to adjust by assigning increasing weight to intellectual achievements not necessarily associated with formal governmental appointments, i.e., to proven expertise in traditional knowledge as a mark of social status. While the titles of “rabbi” or “teacher of the Law” would, for instance, no longer imply formal appointment to precise public functions, they would nonetheless maintain the prestige rooted in the knowledge presumably held by the person bearing them. As in so many other fields in which Roman antecedents intertwined with the ethical teachings of the Judeo-Christian heritage to shape attitudes towards reality, medieval

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Jews and Christians of southern Italy, whether under Byzantine or other rule, also perceived cultural excellence as one of the most notable signs of belonging to the upper social ranks.41 Beyond the changes eventually recorded in this matter from Antiquity to the early Middle Ages, particularly among Jewish communities in the Diaspora, whose institutional authority was necessarily restricted by the non-Jewish rulers, the fundamental connection between social prominence validating claims for leadership status and cultural excellence was constantly perceived (a constante de longue durée, one would say) as a primary attribute of a suitable Jewish leader—though not necessarily the first and foremost among other important ones—and apparently more than among contemporary Christians.42 However, since, as noted earlier, titles and appointments tended to be hereditary, this inevitably ran against the identification of cultural excellence as a necessary precondition of the right to hereditary social prominence. The most effective way of combining the demands of the actual holders of hereditary social prominence with those of individuals who claimed prominence due to their outstanding knowledge was, of course, to combine in single individuals the different sources of the claims to prominence. In other words, should already socially prominent persons display outstanding knowledge and intellectual capacities they would naturally be recognized as quite legitimate communal leaders. Otherwise, some way to neutralize the element of contest should be found in order to maintain the efficiency of the system. The remarkable ambiguity of the title “rabbi” throughout the entire period under consideration is a very eloquent example of a way in which this was done. A person called “rabbi” could owe the title to social prominence not at all matched by remarkable knowledge, just as he could owe it to knowledge not really matched by hereditary social prominence. Such semantic duality would thus indicate both contrariety and mediation aiming at neutralizing it: on one hand opposition between the holders of hereditary social prominence and those aspiring to replace them because of their knowledge, and on the other hand as a force of mediation between the holders of social power and 41 For the Roman legacy, see Veyne, “L’Empire romain.” The Jewish view, as it has been canonized by rabbinical literature, hardly requires bibliographical references. 42 Such at least is the unwarranted conventional opinion variously, though unsystematically, supported by scanty evidence. As a matter of fact, however, both Byzantine and Western worldviews held cultural excellence in high esteem and portrayed accordingly the images of the rulers and their counselors.

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those who do not.43 Although as a predicate noun for an individual the title “rabbi” would thus not signify more than generic honor, as a substantive it would assume the connotation of knowledgeable person, quite often associated with judicial or educational functions such as pronouncing judgments according to Law (the Torah), teaching, or preaching. As a substantive the word is in fact attested in southern Italy as early as the seventh century in the well-known trilingual epitaph of young Faustina in Venosa, over whose grave two emissaries and two rabbis recited eulogies (dixerunt threnus duo apostoli et duo rebbites).44 Shabbetai Donnolo likewise reports that during the sack of Oria in 925, ten rabbis (rabbanim, pl. of rav) were killed, alongside other zekenim h. asidim who were members of the community and communal leaders and students of rabbis.45 We may, therefore, safely assume that in Donnolo’s time the substantive “rabbi” would unequivocally denote knowledgeable persons fulfilling public functions. And yet, mentions of rabbis would not necessarily mean disappearance of other prominent members of the communal framework who held old titles, just as they certainly did not mean that kohanim (pl. of kohen, i.e., member of the progeny of Aharon the priest) and leviyim (pl. of levy, i.e., member of the progeny of Levi) lost their special status. The process was given further momentum by the already mentioned attempt of the Palestinian and Babylonian yeshivot to achieve ecumenical hegemony by intervention in local structures of leadership, i.e., by gradually putting into practice the habit of bestowing honorific titles, not unambiguously denoting socio-cultural prominence, upon members of existing communities, and even by appointing or confirming the appointments of particular officers, such as dayyanim (pl. of dayyan, i.e., judge, as a rule a communal arbitrator) or h. azzanim. It stands to reason that as a rule such appointments followed agreements between the heads of the distant yeshivot and representatives of the local leaderships. Nevertheless, every such agreement did visibly strengthen the authority of the appointing rosh yeshivah in the eyes of the local members of the community, paving the way for further significant interventions 43 The logical consequence of this statement, quite well documented by the histories of specific communities, is that following specific migrations—all other parameters remaining unchanged—the eminence of hereditary status would inevitably be weakened while that of learned men would be enhanced. 44 Noy, Jewish Inscriptions, 1:114–116 (#86). 45 See his introduction, Donnolo, Sefer Hakhmoni, 3: íé÷éãöå íéîëç íéðéáø äøùò åâøäðå … íéðáø íéãéîìú øåãä éâéäðîå ìä÷äî íéãéñçå íéð÷æå …

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in the shaping of communal life.46 One such honorific title was alluf, frequently bestowed by the yeshivot of Baghdad during the tenth and eleventh centuries, and unequivocally attested in the acronym of the signature of the Italian author of a piyyut discovered in the Cairo Genizah and published by Hayyim Schirmann over half century ago.47 As noted, the perception of cultural excellence as one of the most notable signs of belonging to the upper social ranks followed the traditional path in which Roman antecedents intertwined with the ethical teachings of the Judeo-Christian heritage. However, cultural excellence had to be matched by additional qualities, also fairly impermeable to basic change. Progeny and wealth were primary additional preconditions for a person laying claim to a leadership role among his fellows.48 To have any real value, then, cultural excellence had to be supplemented by lineage and riches. In other words, in order to be rightly expected to fill a socially prominent role a man should have been a decent pater familias, i.e., the head of a faultless configuration characterized by immaculate lineage, orthodoxy, and orthopraxy, and including a wife and children—especially males capable of guaranteeing the continuity of the family framework, as well as property and the personnel to administrate it, for such was the medieval religiously oriented transformation of the Roman concept of what a pater familias should have been.49 According to the common worldview, to the extent that we can grasp it from the idealized picture presented by canonical writers and displayed in the public sphere, no matter to what extent it actually reflected behavior in private, ethical and hierarchical relationships correctly and sagaciously handled within the “nuclear” family were the necessary premise for the proper working of the communities held together by group solidarity and common faith. The idea that social prominence implied wealth followed almost naturally from the fact that it was inextricably intertwined with financial duties. Since the poor nobility is hardly able to keep up the standards Goitein, Mediterranean Society, 2:5–23. Schirmann, “An Aramaic Piyyut.” 48 On the basis of the extant documentary evidence, in his study of the communal structures of Qairawan, Menahem Ben-Sasson suggested a chronological sequence in the dynamics of matching learning by additional qualities. See Ben-Sasson, Emergence, 192 ff. In my view, however, such a sequence is unnecessary. 49 For the Roman ideal, see Veyne, “L’Empire romain.”; for the change following Christianization, see Biondi, Il diritto romano cristiano, III. For a general overview of the perception of family bonds in medieval Christian society, see Le Goff, La civiltà, 303– 311. 46 47

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of life required by people of their inherited status for any length of time, safeguarding the “natural order of things” necessarily engendered contrasting kinds of socio-cultural intervention. As often happens in such cases, the holders of power might, for instance, see to it that men holding inherited high social status be allocated special financial revenues, unrelated to their actual merit, so as to avoid any damage to the “natural order of things,” a state of affairs that incidentally might also potentially jeopardize their own holding of power.50 In addition, holders of inherited high social status might contract marriage alliances with rich people of lower status and thus contribute indirectly to social mobility, notwithstanding the conventional hostility to such behavior;51 while persons of low social status might do the same in the opposite direction: poor men of learning may, for instance, seek marriage alliances with noble rich families unable, for whatever reason, to find a proper match for their children. The Roman legacy and biblical tradition both concurred further in sanctioning the absolute supremacy of the pater familias over his family’s fate and bearing responsibility for its social distinction. Both therefore asserted the commitment of all members of the family to preserve and safeguard the social dignity of fathers as symbolically representative of that eminence. For Jews and Christians alike, patriarchy was supported by enduring custom, religious tradition, and law, at least inasmuch as the Roman concept of patria potestas could eventually be invoked in courts of law.52 To be sure, patria potestas did no longer imply the absolute right of fathers to kill or sell their offspring if they deemed it appropriate, nor even to coerce marriage upon both male and female children (ius noxae dandi). And yet, by transferring the concept from the strictly juridical sphere of right to the ethical and social one of duty to 50 Examples on the part of both Jews and non-Jews are host. Suffice it to refer to the Babylonian system of leadership, particularly in the ecumenical yeshivot, as described by Nathan ha-Bavli (see Ben-Sasson, “Structure, Goals, and Content”), itself an almost predictable version of the feature described in the Mishnah, Avot 6, that will be discussed below. The hereditary nature of offices is variously stated in the rabbinical sources and almost universally considered normative among Jewish communities, for instance Sifri on Deut. 17, 20, Piska 162 (and see Finkelstein’s note in loco in his edition of Sifre on Deuteronomy, 212–213, as well as Enc. Tal. vol. 14, s.v. äøøù ú÷æç, esp. col. 346). A most eloquent example of a late non-Jewish governmental attitude is the ordinances of the Venetian senate concerning financial support for impoverished nobles; see, for instance, Finlay, Politics, 71–72. 51 We will encounter remarkable examples of this kind in the Chronicle of Ahima #az. . 52 Biondi, Il diritto romano cristiano, III, 1–57, esp. 2, 35–38.

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educate and take care of children for the good of the family, much of the former view of the fathers’ authority maintained its validity as a constante de longue durée down to the modern epoch. Though from a Christian perspective Roman concepts were loaded with more palatable ones, the classic definitions and perceptions of family and paterfamilias remained basically unchanged: familiam dicimus plures personas quae sub unius potestate aut natura aut iure subiectae; pater autem familias appellatur, qui in domo dominium habet [we call family various persons subject to the power of one of them; paterfamilias is he who has the dominion in house].53 The same held true for the Jews, particularly the father’s right to betroth his daughter,54 notwithstanding the fact that the rabbinic interpretation of the law had variously limited this right (for instance, fathers were allowed to betroth daughters under the age of twelve or twelve-and-ahalf, but daughters had the right to refuse the match upon reaching the age of twelve-and-a-half, and so on). Enduring custom and social conventions would definitely not agree that a girl who reached adulthood could decide for herself, going against her father’s will; if she did so she should be banned as a deviant. Assuming, self-evidently, that a girl who reached puberty should be married, it followed that it was her father’s duty to arrange a match. As a Palestinian tradition, adopted in the Babylonian Talmud, relates, a man who purportedly left his family and spent thirteen years in Rabbi Akiba’s yeshivah was thus informed by his wife: your daughter has reached adult age, come back and arrange a marriage for her.55 In sum, although people had different conceptions of what social dignity should be according to the many variables forming their worldview, outlooks would ultimately not differ radically. And for all of them, the hierarchical order advocated within individual families, to which all members of the family were supposed to be totally committed, would symbolically reflect both the cosmological order headed by God and the political order on Earth at whose pinnacle stood the emperor or the king. As is well known, from such a perspective the emperor or the

Ulpian in Digest 50, 16, 195. One can even say that, from a strictly juridical standpoint, the Christian adjustment of the Roman law did not apply to Jews or other aliens; see Biondi, Il diritto romano cristiano, III, 35. 55 Gen. Rab. 95 (Genesis Rabbah, edited by Theodor and Albeck, 1232 and loci paralleli quoted there). The entire issue is addressed in great detail by Schremer, Male and Female, esp. 108ff. 53 54

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king, situated at the top of the hierarchy, symbolized within the limited socio-political context subordinated to his rule the image of God viewed within the cosmic context. Just as God would assure the harmonious functioning of the cosmic system and protect his creatures, so would the emperor or the king guarantee the harmony of the sociopolitical system of his realm and protect its citizens—and fathers should similarly be responsible for the good fare of their families. Any prejudice to the harmonious functioning of the social system, perceived thus as hierarchically ordered, would consequently convey a message of the same type we have previously encountered in discussing the symbolical meaning of Aharon’s subduing the lion. More will be said below on this issue. We can get a glimpse of how such ideas were visually conveyed through some remarkable examples of official iconography that have survived the ravages of time. According to the conventional opinions of the artists, such scenes were indeed supposed to conform to the typology of imperial symbolism; therefore, they concretely represented the fact that each member of the imperial family shared in the divine nature of the emperor.56 All would thus agree that the utmost parameters according to which social dignity should be measured would be religious orthodoxy and orthopraxy, seen by medieval people as combining belief with ethical behavior. Husbands and wives who care about the social dignity of their families should therefore be equally committed to what orthodoxy and orthopraxy would entail: avoiding all kinds of religious sins—above all, adultery—and respecting each other according to their actual hierarchical status within the family (i.e., assuming “correctly” that men were superior to women, boys to girls, firstborn boys to cadets, the elderly to youngsters, and masters to servants and serfs). Husbands would be masters of wives and girls just as they were masters of serfs and sons

Grabar, L’Empereur dans l’art byzantin, 27, 100. It is unfortunate that the reference for the example quoted by Grabar as depicting the Emperor Basil I surrounded by the entire imperial family (MS 510, Bibliothèque Nationale de France) is mistaken, as my good friend Prof. Gerard Nahon definitely ascertained while perusing the huge work of Omont, Fac-similés des miniatures des plus anciens manuscrits grecs. Grabar possibly had in mind the picture in that manuscript depicting Empress Evdokia and her two sons, Alexander and Leo (plate XVI), or more probably the mosaic of the Kenourgion Palace, also mentioned by him in this connection (quoting Vita Basilii by Constantinus Porpyrogenitus, PG 109, 349–350). One can nonetheless most simply refer to the famous mosaic portraying Giustinian and Theodora in Ravenna. 56

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still below the age of legal independence. Jewish and Christian canonical texts set down in great detail what orthodoxy and orthopraxy were supposed to mean. All this notwithstanding, Jews viewed sexual orthodoxy and orthopraxy quite differently than did Christians. Jews, for instance, would not consider virginity or sexual abstinence of married couples as praiseworthy in the way this was conceived by Christians; they encouraged sexual gratification, provided it was procured within religiously permitted circumstances. Furthermore, in accordance with the general paradigm of knowledge, supported by medical learning, which held that properly conducted sexual relationships would be providentially rewarded, Jews even taught that women who achieved orgasm before their partner would almost deterministically conceive male children,57 as would couples who ensured that the conjugal bed be rightly positioned.58 Conversely, both Jews and Christians likewise believed that sinful sexual relationships were doomed to result in defective, even monstrous, offspring.59 Additional qualities were to be taken into account for a man to be deserving of a high social rank. According to a well-known maxim, attributed in the Mishnah by R. Shimon b. Menassia (a contemporary of R. Judah ha-Nasi, towards the end of the second century ce) to R. Shimon b. Yohai . (a sage of the previous generation and pupil of R. Akiba) a righteous man (tsaddiq) would be characterized by seven good qualities: beauty, strength, wealth, wisdom, elderliness and old age, good reputation, and progeny; R. Simon b. Menassia added that R. Judah ha-Nasi, the ultimate example of a perfect Jewish leader, possessed them all.60 In addition to cultural excellence, progeny, and wealth, the ideal model of Jewish manhood should thus also display beauty and strength, the classical attributes of the Roman ideal of perfect masculinity, as well as a good reputation and old age. Since, according to a widely diffused tradition (TB Git. 59a) “from Moses to rabbi Judah ha-Nasi no one did display equally perfect matching of doctrine, torah, and grandeur, gedullah,” we are justified in assuming 57 See, for example, TB Ber. 60a, Nid, 25b. As seemingly following plain exegesis of Lev. 12:2, this was in fact endorsed almost unanimously by conventional Jewish moralizing literature. 58 See, for instance, TB Ber. 5b. 59 See the bibliography listed in Niccoli, “Menstruum quasi monstrum.” 60 M Avoth 6, 8: íéðáäå äáéùäå äð÷æäå äîëçäå ãåáëäå øùåòäå çëäå éåðä. Cf. TY San. 55b.

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that torah and grandeur could in fact include all the above-mentioned good qualities and even more. Torah would indicate the entire set of guidelines for a perfect individual nature, wisdom, and conduct, while gedullah would point to the matching set of public qualities as perceived by public opinion. Moreover, Palestinian and Babylonian traditions alike preserved the memory of the relations established between R. Judah and the contemporary roman ruler as the most telling example of such grandeur.61 The ultimate grandeur of a Jewish leader was rated by the kind and quantity of acknowledgement obtained from the non-Jewish powerful ruler; it would therefore somehow enter Jewish circles from outside and affect accordingly, though paradoxically, the socio-political status of the Jewish leader within his own social group. We may take that as an almost universal sociological rule, according to which the socio-political status of the leader of a minority group is basically molded within the group by his accomplishments outside it. It was altogether obvious to all that appropriate utilization of these good qualities would benefit the communities led by such outstanding men. To begin with, proper use of wealth for philanthropic activities was, for instance, almost self-evident and in any case abundantly alluded to in both the Greco-Roman and Byzantine legacies62 as well as in the Judeo-Christian tradition. For Christians and Jews alike, the same held true for the use of wealth for the glory of God: just as Christians considered donations to monastic orders or churches to be virtuous acts of the highest level, Jews praised donations to synagogues or yeshivot. The proper characterization of a prominent man deserving of leadership status went much further than the features briefly mentioned above would indicate. On one hand, the expected close relationship with the non-Jewish ruler engendered two corollaries of paramount importance. First of all, since the Jew was supposed to frequent the non-Jewish court and eventually be at the service of the ruler, he was expected to intercede on behalf of his fellow coreligionists whenever that might be necessary. Secondly, the Jew was supposed to be totally faithful to the ruler, even in cases in which the latter would apparently 61 See Samuel Krauss, Antoninus und Rabbi; Tropper, “Yohanan ben Zakkai,” 9, and the bibliography listed in n. 21. 62 For the Greco-Roman and Byzantine tradition, see Veyne, “L’Empire romain”; Constantelos, Byzantine Philanthropy.

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be ill disposed towards the Jews.63 On the other hand, his outstanding cultural excellence and his religious and moral merits were also expected to produce all kinds of positive effects for the welfare of his fellow coreligionists in two additional, particularly delicate, spheres. First, they were expected to guarantee the necessary active connection with the authoritative centers of up-to-date learning;64 and second, the righteousness of the prominent leader was expected to produce, in circumstances of distress, a benevolent attitude on the part of God, as innumerous biblical examples unmistakably taught.65 It follows that the perfect leader would almost constantly be portrayed as filling a multifaceted role of mediation: (a) between the local internal Jewish sphere and the external world, both Jewish and non-Jewish; (b) between the local internal non-Jewish sphere and the external Gentile one, in the course of diplomatic missions on behalf of non-Jewish rulers; and (c) between the divine and the human space. As a corollary, it also follows that the resultant image of perfect Jewish leaders would somehow match that of non-Jewish kings, construed in medieval minds as carrying out such mediation in all the above-mentioned spheres.66 In each of these three spheres the idea of mediation associated with the leader was essentially intertwined with that of a no less multifaceted danger that leaders were expected to be able to cope with and overcome. Such a conclusion follows almost immediately from the basic conception of the existential and social space as separated by barriers clearly defining between the inside and the outside, and consequently pointing to the most immediate among the implied series of structural contrarieties between inside and outside. Intercession on behalf of an endangered community is perhaps the most concrete example of such contrariety sensed in terms of danger, for it points almost immediately 63

Faithfulness to the ruler was a constante de longue durée in the political thought of medieval Jews, rooted in the belief of non-Jews and Jews alike that royal authority stemmed from the will of God. We shall return to this point in greater detail. 64 This is most eloquently testified in the titles bestowed by the heads of the ecumenical centers of learning, both Palestinian and Babylonian (see p. 104 above), as well as by countless laudatory intitulationes in epistles addressed by them to the leaders of the communities. 65 For instance, the case of the intercession of Abraham on behalf of Sodom (Gen. 18:23 ff.) or of Moses on behalf of the sinful people in the desert (Exod. 32:11ff.). 66 Once combined with the view that public offices should be hereditary, this idea developed into a surrogate of the concept of monarchic hereditary transmission of power. As a matter of fact, the rise of holders of authority is characterized in terms of the rule of kings in numerous medieval texts such as the Epistle of Rav Sherira Gaon or Ibn Daud’s Chain of Tradition.

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to the feeling of security as associated with inside against the feeling of danger as associated with outside. In applying such a spatial metaphor to socio-cultural realities, one must of course bear in mind that the medieval mentality would undoubtedly be perturbed much more than the modern one by the implications of venturing outside the secure urban space; modern people living in insecure contexts, such as violent neighborhoods or warfare situations, may perhaps have a better understanding of that than those living in secure contexts. If venturing to move outside implies exposition to all kinds of dangers, it necessarily follows that such a venture should be reserved to qualified people who do so for appropriate reasons, and that should these people fail to properly confront the dangers, their failure may have all kinds of unpleasant consequences not just for themselves but for the entire group. Qualification should therefore entail specifically demanding requirements, beyond the set of standard good qualities listed earlier. First of all, being qualified for the mediating mission of a leader would indeed mean the capacity to correctly weigh how appropriate are the reasons for exposure as well as to resist the wide range of easily imagined temptations to put aside the requirements of the group’s ideology (to a medieval Jewish mind, that would be tantamount to neglecting religious precepts) in order to accomplish the mediating mission more effortlessly. The perfect leader should be capable of successfully carrying out his mission while remaining absolutely faithful to the group’s ideology. Such a requirement would inevitably introduce complex components of tension into the resulting image of the leader. As a rule, tendentious, basically unfriendly representations could, for instance, question the “real” motivations of the close relations of courtiers with non-Jewish rulers, and criticism could arise in the form of allegations of religious laxity, while the shaping of ideal images would consequently strive to show the opposite. The term courtier itself would therefore be loaded with basic ambivalence: in the eyes of critics, it would be assigned a definitely negative meaning, while in the eyes of the courtiers themselves and of their supporters the opposite would be the case. In any event, since the accomplishments of such mediators were always deemed necessary, criticism was inevitably restricted and only exceptionally voiced. Moreover, since the surviving literary monuments usually reflect the point of view of the influential elites, i.e., almost generally that of the courtiers, it does not come as a surprise that criticism is very rarely overtly uttered. It surfaces between the lines, quite often conveniently clothed in eulogizing garb, and almost

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constantly implying the second basic characteristic of the ideal Jewish courtiers, i.e., their being absolutely faithful servants of the non-Jewish rulers in the course of diplomatic missions.67 And yet, beyond the quite transparently veiled polemical nuances of the various narratives that at first glance seem to refute the conventional anti-Jewish accusation that Jews were as a rule suspected of unfaithfulness, there almost constantly surfaces a more ambiguous stance testifying to the complexity of real life. At a deeper level, apologetic declarations of faithfulness in texts addressing exclusively Jewish audiences must indeed be interpreted as programmatic political statements designed essentially for internal use. Otherwise said, the political worldview of medieval Jews tended as a rule to advocate faithful subordination and service to the non-Jewish rulers, however hostile, as long as they did not violate the rules of the game and attempt to eradicate the distinct Jewish presence in their dominions, for that would convey the necessary feeling of stability in view of the basic precariousness of Jewish life under non-Jewish rule. Such a worldview would thus define, from a Jewish perspective, the proper setting of the stage for coexistence of Jews and non-Jews. As we will see, the other side of the same coin would state the non-Jewish commitment to allow coexistence, i.e., to avoid forced conversion and consequent extermination of the Jews from the non-Jewish space. This being the case, ideal Jewish courtiers were expected to overtly declare their readiness to enter the service of non-Jewish rulers. However, in so doing they would also indirectly justify an otherwise not readily confessed feeling that their true capacities could fully be brought to bear only in non-Jewish milieus. Their willingness to enjoy the pleasures of those milieus, no matter how much they might be criticized by their fellow coreligionists, could thus ultimately find some justification. In a remarkable poetic dialogue with a fictitious critic of his activity in the service of the Andalusian Omayed ruler, Samuel ha-Nagid, the famous Jewish courtier almost contemporary withf Ahima#az, offers a . rare example of overt confession of feelings of this kind. He describes how his natural military and political capacities could be fully satisfied only in performance of what he chose to do in the service of his master, far away from his family and the Jewish traditional atmosphere, 67 The literature on Jewish courtiers or “court Jews” throughout history is extensive. For a brief outline of the phenomenon in the period under discussion, see Kaplan, “Court Jews.”

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notwithstanding the criticism of his fellow coreligionists; how Jews should rightly see his success as reflecting a praiseworthy achievement of the Jews as a whole, and should therefore be rather proud of him; how in fact such success could finally be put at the service of the Jews, for successful courtiers could be very helpful in convincing their masters to be “good for the Jews.”68 In sum, their proximity to the non-Jewish powerful rulers should rightly be perceived both as a source of pride and as means of doing good for their brethren. Hisday ibn Shaprut, a . no less famous Jewish courtier in the service of an Andalusian khalif, offers further examples of how men of his kind might perceive their vocation to take advantage of their prominence to assist their fellow Jews. A conspicuous number of documents that have fortuitously survived in the Cairo Genizah reveal part of the complex network of connections with Jews of different countries who might need his help. As a matter of fact, he extended his interest far beyond the neighboring Mediterranean lands, to countries such as France and southern Italy, and to Constantinople where he sought to establish contacts with the Khazar kingdom.69 Above all, this type of evidence clearly evinces the widespread feeling that Jews formed a unified national body, no matter how scattered they might be under different rulers, and that the local Jewish leaders constituted the mediating links among the disconnected members of that body. Danger was an equally fundamental element in the concept that mastery of the knowledge necessary for a properly conceived Jewish worldview was an essential component of the mediating function of the leaders between local and distant Jewish communities. First of all, since traditional knowledge was assumed to establish the necessary system of Jewish self-government according to the dictates of halakhah, it demanded constant connection with the most authoritative sources of knowledge of this kind, and the danger of making the wrong choice in this matter was omnipresent whenever alternative choices were available. As we have seen, in the recollection of the local memories by Ahima#az, such was certainly the choice between the Palestinian and . the Babylonian centers of authority. But that was just one face of the coin. The other was exposure to non-Jewish knowledge, deemed necessary for the proper fulfillment of the mediating role between the Jewish internal sphere and the non-Jewish external one. To be sure, in 68 69

See the bibliography appended to Habermann, “Samuel ha-Nagid.” See the bibliography in Ashtor, “Hisdai (Hasdai) ibn Shaprut.”

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the time of Ahima#az the debate over that issue already had a lengthy . history. And yet, on the practical level of implementation of received traditions and decisions, exposure to non-Jewish knowledge had to be taken contextually and the leaders were therefore constantly exposed to the possibility of making the wrong decision. In both cases, this dangerous situation was automatically perceived as being deeply perilous for the spiritual fate of the entire community, for both orthopraxy and orthodoxy could be fatally jeopardized. The concept of mediation between internal and external spaces of human knowledge would thus almost naturally affect the entire relationship between the divine and the human space. Among the crucial aspects of the idea of mediation between the divine and the human are acts of intercession with God on behalf of men. Such acts could be carried out by leaders of consequence in two main ways: first, in actual performance of miracles; and second, as representatives of the community in activities connected with all kinds of religiously oriented practices, for instance within the framework of synagogue ritual practice, as educators and preachers of the Divine Word and as judges applying Divine Law. Both ways were unmistakably perceived as being deeply perilous for the leader and the community alike. Beyond the self-evident intimate connection with the saintly character of the Jewish leader mentioned above, one must indeed keep in mind the component of danger entailed by the activities of saints, for, as will be discussed below in greater detail, it was obvious that improper use of the faculty for doing wonders could have very dreadful consequences. This was even more true for improper accomplishment of the function of h. azzanim-paytanim. This function, rightly allocated by Krautheimer to the magic-mystical domain of activities carried out in the synagogue,70 would thus bestow upon them a halo comparable to that of the priests in the course of offering sacrifices within the Sanctuary. Therefore, just as inappropriate behavior of priests or formal errors of sacrificial procedure were conceived as having dreadful consequences, the same held true for improper behavior or procedural errors by leaders of liturgies within the synagogue. As a matter of fact, unlike our modern understanding, in ancient and early medieval times up to the transitional period under scrutiny here the function of the h. azzan coalesced with that of spiritual leader of the community. If he was

70

See above, p. 94.

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sufficiently skilled, he was expected to compose and insert original compositions (piyyutim) of his own at appropriate points of the standard text of prayers, and to enlighten the listeners to the reading of the Torah with appropriate complementary sermons. In that particular mediating function between the human and the divine, his responsibility was therefore perceived as a paramount one, as one can easily detect in the proemia of notable compositions of that genre that have survived, such as the introductory passages to the selih. ot for Rosh ha-Shanah and Yom Kippur.71 For indeed, faulty compositions would inevitably cause detrimental effects and arouse God’s fury rather than benevolence towards the entire community, which relied on that h. azzan’s liturgical achievement. Educational activity was also carried out by men of this status in the two substantially different institutional frameworks connected with the synagogue: the house of study (beth midrash, pl.: batei midrash), in which the more or less knowledgeable adult members of the congregation learned, and the primary school (beth ha-sefer) for young children. Finally, judicial activity was performed within the synagogues in the presence of the community by the same men of consequence, though not necessarily as formally appointed officials in well defined institutional frameworks, as modern scholars, accustomed to definitions and distinctions appropriate to societies in which judicial functions are carried out by precisely defined institutions and formally appointed officials, would believe on the basis of the ambiguous terminology of the sources. As a Genizah document from Syracuse (1020) quite clearly indicates,72 judicial acts were performed in the synagogue itself, in the presence of the entire community which acted as a formally sovereign juridical person, unlike learning, done in the beth ha-midrash or the beth ha-sefer that could be separate halls, if such were available.73 As will 71

On the nature of the function of the h. azzan in ancient times, see Lieberman, “The Hazzanuth of Yanai.” On the proemia known as reshut (i.e. [soliciting] permission), in which the tremendous responsibility of the representatives of the public is underlined, see n. 1 in our annotated translation of the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az. A detailed outline of the nature of these piyyutim is far beyond the scope of our present study. 72 The document (Oxford Bodl. MS Heb. d 79 fol. 36r) was included in Ben-Sasson, Emergence, 104–106, where an extensive bibliography is conveniently provided. 73 Ben-Sasson’s endeavor to interpret the sources (including the Syracuse document and many others that he discusses in detail) as providing a clear-cut image of a judicial institution (beth din) acting as a “juridical person” by virtue of formal appointment, and essentially distinct from the collective judgment carried out in the synagogue, seems unwarranted (see Ben-Sasson, Emergence, 104–106, n. 48). Inasmuch as the picture

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become clear, the picture emerging from the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az will definitely confirm this conclusion. But in order to fully evaluate that picture we must first briefly delineate the effect of the replacement of the pre-existent Palestinian outlook on the institutional structure of the community by the Babylonian one. The most important implication of that change was that adoption of the Babylonian model that focused on learning carried out in an exclusive framework to which only scholars would be admitted (now called yeshivah, i.e., an academic institution resembling the homonymous Babylonian ones, distinct from the synagogue), introduced a momentous pole of competition with the synagogue for supremacy within Jewish society. Moreover, in the final tally it subordinated the activity of worship in the synagogues to that of learning in the yeshivoth. In other words, by the end of the process the most prominent members of the community would no longer be the heads of synagogues, the archisynagogoi and the h. azzanim, but rather the heads of yeshivoth. We have already seen that in what relates to archisynagogoi this is precisely what the epigraphic evidence seems to indicate. To be sure, in the transitional phase learned heads of synagogues and h. azzanim could still aspire to be heads of yeshivoth and vice versa; that is, learned heads of synagogues, h. azzanim and heads of yeshivoth could somehow aspire to fill both roles simultaneously. It was inevitable, however, that by the final stage of the process h. azzanim would be degraded and the production of piyyutim in support of a claim to socio-cultural prominence in the synagogal space would consequently gradually fade away. The period covered by the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az represents precisely such a transitional phase. Notable heads of yeshivoth, such as Meshullam ben Kalonymos and Gershom Me"or ha-Golah, were then still among the prominent composers of piyyutim, as a superficial perusal of the Mahzor immediately confirms, notwith. standing the fact that they were definitely connected with the Babylonian Geonim. But, as we now know for certain, from the twelfth century onwards the composition of piyyutim was also definitely well on the way to disappearing. There can be no doubt that such a development matched the gradual decay of homiletic production at that same time as a consequence of the replacement of the aggadic-mystical stance, congenial to the Palestinian outlook, by the rationalistic philosophical one drawn by Reynolds, Kingdoms and Communities, holds true for the Christian communities of western Europe, it is highly unlikely that that it could have been fundamentally different in the Jewish ones. See also Bonfil, “Giustizia, giudici e tribunali.”

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of Babylon. The devaluation of rhetoric and of the activity of preachers was another aspect of the same development. Though it certainly calls for more detailed discussion, this development must be left out of our present outline, for it would lead us far beyond its scope. If we are correct in our hypothesis that the specific memories upon which Ahima#az built the image of the prominence of his family were . registered within the socio-cultural experience of the medieval Mediterranean Jewish communities, we are justified in expecting his Chronicle to reflect further the experience of the Jews in southern Italy. This holds true both for stereotypical references to images presumed to be familiar to the potential contemporary audience and in the residual traits of the past that were unintentionally preserved in the orally transmitted tradition that survived in the aftermath of the replacement of the body of authoritative knowledge rooted in Palestinian traditions by the paradigms of the Babylonian academies. As a matter of fact, the predominantly agricultural lifestyle, the fundamental function of the synagogue in all kinds of public activities, and the major traits of the prominent people who had a say and played a role in such activities surface pretty much in the Chronicle as they have been described in the general outline drawn above. First of all, in the story of the trick perpetrated by Silano to ridicule the Palestinian emissary in Venosa (§ 9), the Jewish population appears as being profoundly connected to landed property and to agriculture. The narrative does indeed draw an unmistakable picture of Jewish country people who, like the Christian peasants of the region or the Jewish ones portrayed in the agricultural background of the Mishnah and the Talmuds, visited the city from time to time to sell their merchandise and procure other goods in the city market. On such occasions they had an opportunity to join their urban coreligionists in the Sabbath services in the synagogue and listen to the hymns and homilies of the h. azzanim and the preachers, quite often one and the same person. The case portrayed by the story, in which the preacher was a Palestinian visiting scholar and the h. azzan a local person quite troubled by the unwelcome challenge to his customary standing and eager to counteract it, was thus perfectly suitable to convey a message of Palestinian ineptitude at a time in which the institutions of Palestinian learning and knowledge were under attack. Ahima#az leaves little doubt that his prominent ancestors were . wealthy owners of land property both urban and rural. Amittai, the h. azzan, son of Shephatiah, is naturally portrayed as a wealthy man who owned vineyards and estates out of town (§ 41), and Paltiel the vizier is

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likewise depicted as owning outside the town a field, orchard, and garden, “which the king had given him as his gift” (§ 54). Thus ownership of land conveys a sense of being a most important component of high economic, and consequently of high social, status,74 whereas commercial and other activities appear rather insignificant, though not entirely inexistent. We have, for instance, already mentioned how R. Shemuel, the grandfather of Ahima#az, was allegedly appointed minister of the . treasury by the rulers of Capua, to control the river area, the tolls in their markets, and the coinage according to the city’s laws and customs (§ 60). Nor would it be entirely farfetched to assume that the connections between Amalfi and Ifriqya, mentioned in relation with the alleged embassy of Shabbetai and Papoleon to Paltiel (§48), might have included commercial activities as well. Needless to say, Ahima#az’s prominent ancestors are portrayed along . the lines of the conventional model of paterfamilias as briefly outlined earlier. We shall return to this aspect in greater detail. The synagogue and the beth midrash, represented as natural settings for various significant activities mentioned in the Chronicle, are likewise perfectly compatible with the brief sketch drawn above. First of all, Aharon the Baghdadite purportedly found in Oria a number of houses of study, presumably as many as the number of synagogues, with which the ancestors of Ahima#az were affiliated and where they carried out the academic . activity underlying the public display of their skills, i.e., addressing the congregation with homilies and constantly enriching the liturgies by composing hymns (§ 8, 36). In other words, in Oria they filled the public function of h. azzanim, as did Silano in Venosa.75 Contrary to the Palestinian emissary scorned by Silano, however, Aharon the Baghdadite not only associates with them but also transforms their beth midrash into a yeshivah. Such a transformation justifies the new trend of judicial activity, very much resembling the full-fledged adjudication conducted in the high court (the Sanhedrin) situated within the Sanctuary of Jerusalem. The function of the local synagogue was thus implicitly equated to that of the Sanctuary, so that the synagogue would emerge as a “little 74 Contra Toch, “The Jews in Europe, 500–1050,” 568, who categorically maintains that “the high social rank of some Jews does not derive from ancient lineage as claimed by medieval Jewish legend, or from late antique landed property as asserted by some modern scholars.” 75 The poetic activity of both Shephatiah and Silano was pointed to in the previous chapter and must constantly be kept in mind as basically substantiating the factuality of the narrative.

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Sanctuary” (miqdash me #at), following Ezekiel 11:16, and would ultimately stress the fundamental importance of the synagogue as a surrogate unifying center of Jewish life instead of the lost Sanctuary. The Holy Ark of the synagogue would thus replace the Holy Ark of the Sanctuary, the holiest asset symbolically representing the presence of God among the believers, as in fact vividly illustrated by Aharon’s action in the trial of the woman accused of adultery (§ 8). The juxtaposition of the lore of the Sotah, as described in the Genizah document recently discussed anew by Yuval Harari in connection with our text, with the judicial activity of the community emerges as absolutely devoid of tension, notwithstanding the fact that on a purely academic level such judicial activity might raise some difficult questions. For what interests us here, suffice it to stress that no substantial change was introduced in the communal setting of the performance: judiciary investigations and trials were carried out “in the board of the congregation” and before the assembled community (§§ 8, 41). In sum, during the transitional phase of the inception of the Babylonian paradigm of knowledge, old and new types of communal leaders were brought together in the portrayal of the ancestors of Ahima#az. His presumed audience would likewise be the learned . elite of men meeting in the synagogue and deserving of leadership positions among their fellow coreligionists (§1). The portrayal of the most noteworthy ancestors of Ahima#az does, . indeed, immediately recall the characteristic traits of the above-mentioned “royal” model of courtiers and mediators. The first among them, Shephatiah, is portrayed as a man of almost equal status to the Byzantine emperor (§§ 11–16). Basil I would indeed have dispatched him a chrysobull, the kind of document signed by the emperor himself and sealed in gold that Byzantine diplomacy reserved for kings or for edicts of outstanding importance. Its form and content could have recalled to educated people a similar forgery, allegedly dispatched by another Byzantine emperor to Charlemagne, with the proposal of far-reaching honors should he be willing to come to Constantinople and subordinate himself to the emperor. In the chrysobull purportedly addressed to Shephatiah, Basil even implicitly deemed it likely that Shephatiah might refuse to accept the summons, and therefore added imperial assurance that he would be brought back safely to his place of residence—a promise that knowledgeable people could quite easily compare with the tragic fate of the pope’s envoys who were taken captive by Slav corsairs because Basil I did not provide a proper imperial guard to escort them back to Rome. In the Chronicle Shephatiah was

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invited to dine at the imperial table, a definitely implausible occurrence, and yet profoundly significant in our case for it adds important insights concerning the way contemporary public opinion would ideally represent the participation of Jewish courtiers in Byzantine public rituals and ceremonies. Given the relatively great attention afforded that point in the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az, it deserves to be looked at in greater detail. We are quite well informed about the ceremonial order of priorities at the Byzantine court and particularly at imperial banquets.76 The social status of important people was very carefully registered in such lists of priorities, a literary genre that flourished in the ninth and tenth centuries and appears to reflect the interests of the emperors of that time. The chance that the presence of a foreigner, especially an unbeliever, would be allowed at the imperial table was definitely non-existent. Even ambassadors of very important rulers would not be granted such an honor: they would be accommodated according to a very careful order of priorities which, not surprisingly, could sometimes be the cause of embarrassment and consequent special arrangements. A basic idea of the layout of solemn imperial banquets can be gained through the rituals performed at Easter in the mid-tenth century, as described in Constantine’s Book of Ceremonies. The best known imperial banqueting hall was the so-called “Triclinium” of the Nineteen Couches, or more simply “Magnaura,” an abbreviated form for the Magnaura Palace. The couch, variously called sigma, stibadium, or accubitum, was semicircular in shape, the first name being inspired by the later form of the Greek letter Σ resembling the Latin C, while the other two pointed to the act of reclining, for the first of them derived from the Greek στιβ ς or στιβ διον originally denoting a bed of leaves and the other from the Latin accubare, to recline. The couch was covered with a mattress and had along its inner edge a long, cylindrical cushion on which the diners could lean their elbows. A U-shaped table, also called sigma, was placed in the central space of the couch. At imperial banquets the couches were luxuriously decked in purple and gold cloth, while the tables were sheathed in silver and gold and decorated with ivory inlays, or even gems. Hangings were drawn on the sides of the hall. The use of curtains was important in all solemn occasions, as a sign of mysticism and festivity. In the banqueting hall of the Nineteen 76 For the followings details I am indebted to Treitinger, Die Oströmische Kaiser, esp. 32–33, 62–63, 102–103, 136, 197–202; Oikonomides, Les listes; Malmberg, Dazzling Dining, chap. 4.

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Couches, the imperial couch was placed on the podium while the other eighteen were in two rows of nine couches each, located at “each side” of the hall. The tables in each row closest to the emperor were reserved for guests of higher rank, since the ranking of the guests was naturally reflected in their location in relation to the host. Sitting on a chair indicated lower status than lying on a couch and could therefore be variously interpreted as a distinctive sign. Women, for instance, would normally be seated while men would lie. A quite satisfactory concrete idea of such a layout surfaces from a relatively rich quantity of visual evidence, such as mosaics or murals (see plate 17a). Another hall in the imperial palace was of even greater importance: the Chysotriclinos built by Justin II (565–578). This was the Hall of the Imperial Throne, shaped as an octagonal domed space symbolically recalling sacred spaces of the same type, luxuriously decorated with wall hangings and golden candelabra. Complex engines located in hidden balconies and set in motion by hydraulic drives (the so-called mangana μ γγανα, presided over by a special imperial official, the prepositus on the mangana) accomplished amazing performances: two lions, situated on both sides of the throne roared, moved their tongues, and beat the ground with their tails, artificial birds perched on a gold plane-tree situated in front of the throne issued all kinds of exotic sounds, and more of the same The chief accomplishment of such impressive choreography came in the course of imperial reception of foreign ambassadors: while the ambassadors were prostrated on the ground, a special engine elevated the throne on high, most concretely underscoring the superior, almost divine, nature of the emperor. Similar engines played out scenes of the same kind—not only in the Hall of the Throne—such as bronze she-goats making rasping sounds in the gardens while a shepherd milked them, the sprinkling of cool water during summer days or spiced mellow wine on special festive occasions,77 handing down bowls from on high with food to be served on the dining tables, and others. The Chronicle of Ah. ima #az leaves little doubt that people of southern Italy, Jews and Christians alike, had a quite accurate idea of all that. They might undoubtedly have heard or even read the report of Liutprand, bishop of Cremona, who was charged by Otto with a delicate mission to the Byzantine court of Nicephoros, the emperor whose ambassador was purportedly received by Paltiel (see pl. 19) and who 77

The famous κνδιτον, the memory of which survived in rabbinical terminology as and is still current in modern Hebrew, denoting a special kind of sweet wine.

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had allegedly granted Paltiel’s son the charter permitting the retrieval of property lost by his family during the taking of Oria in 925 (§ 48). There is also sufficient reason to presume that the Jews of southern Italy were familiar with the image of Solomon as Basileus, displayed in midrashic compositions such as the text published more than a century ago by Perles from MS. Monac. Hebr. 222 and analyzed by Evelyne Patlagean.78 Although, as we have seen, it certainly was standard diplomatic practice, we may therefore feel justified in presuming that not only the description of the reception of Shephatiah in Constantinople, but also that of the reception of the Byzantine ambassador by Paltiel, were shaped according to the conventional representation of Byzantine ceremonial practice in southern Italy. Yet, what is apparently not included by Ahima#az is no less impor. tant. By ranking Shephatiah as a relative of the emperor, and consequently having dining at the emperor’s table, the impressive choreography of the Chysotriclinos Hall and its engines that made so great an impression on Liutprand has no place in the recollection of Ahima#az. . Consequently, Shephatiah is exempted from the duties of the proskynesis, which would have posed enormous problems for shaping his image in resemblance to the ideal biblical courtier as depicted in the Book of Esther. The amazing effect of the engines is thus restricted to the serving bowls descending on the dining table from above, which incidentally could be exploited to add one more essential trait to the image of the perfect Jewish leader. The detailed account of Shephatiah dining at Basil’s table thus emerges as a remarkable example of preventing criticism of the courtier, of the kind noted above. In this case, the ideological message is even overtly stated by stressing that “he could eat in purity as commanded in the Torah” (§ 13), a point that can only be understood as a veiled apology against an undeclared argument. Since the declared purpose of the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az is to praise the author’s ancestors, additional allusions of the same kind must be interpreted in the same manner. Having learned in the course of a diplomatic mission in Bari, only shortly before the Sabbath, that Emir Sawdan was about to launch an assault on Oria, Shephatiah purportedly had recourse to magic to instantaneously cover the distance between Bari and Oria and alert his fellow citizens, yet avoid desecration of the Sabbath (§ 21). (And see pl. 18). The narrative must, of course, be

78

Ville-Patlagean, “Une image de Salomon.”

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interpreted as stressing both the second basic characteristic of ideal Jewish courtiers noted earlier, i.e., loyalty to their non-Jewish masters, and the commitment of the Jews as a whole to faithful subordination to the non-Jewish rulers, however hostile—as in fact was the case with the Byzantines in Shephatiah’s time—as long as they would not break the rules of the game and attempt to put an end to the distinct Jewish presence in their dominions. Further examples of mediating efforts of this kind on the part of such ideal figures are the story of the alleged diplomatic mission of Shabbetai and Papoleon on behalf of the prince of Amalfi (§ 48). As we draw nearer to the inner Jewish space, we can easily detect clear hints of the restructuring of the concept of socio-cultural prominence following the replacement of the Palestinian paradigm of knowledge by the Babylonian one. The highborn group of Ahima#az’s ances. tors is unmistakably described as closely connected with the new paradigm, while Shephatiah is portrayed as establishing in Oria the first basic connection with the Babylonian representative, and Paltiel is represented as establishing the channel of permanent transmission of knowledge to southern Italy from North Africa. The degradation of the Palestinian paradigm, as depicted in the story of the stratagem adopted by Silano to ridicule the Palestinian emissary in Venosa, therefore also functions as a rhetoric device to enhance the grandeur of the ancestors of Ahima#az, who successfully harmonized both paradigms, as in fact . would later became canonical. And, as has been indicated, the purported event must almost probably be assigned to the first half of the ninth century, the earliest phase of the change in the socio-cultural configuration under that is the subject of our discussion. Much more noteworthy for the present inquiry are the residual traits of the past that were unintentionally preserved in the orally transmitted tradition. That change in the socio-cultural structure of the Jewish communities surfaces almost immediately from the series of attributes used to characterize the dramatis personae of the narrative. While, for instance, the profile, in the proemium, of the author’s audience as being wise, intelligent, and honest (§1) does not point to a precise social hierarchy but is rather a most generic one of wise and virtuous people, the characterization of Aharon the Baghdadite as archon and pater (§ 2) must undoubtedly be understood as alluding to the titles of social prominence typical of Jewish society in the earliest period recorded in the Chronicle, yet quite obsolete when Ahima#az undertook the composition . of his work. The same holds true for the predicates or titles listed in the

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address of the artificially resuscitated youth (§ 5), in which we are further confronted with a most eloquent example of heterogeneous mixture of inertial residues with newly imported marks of distinction. If our basic hypothesis is correct, it would not be unreasonable to speculate that such a mixture may also somehow reflect (though perhaps unintentionally) the ongoing juxtaposition of the local and Babylonian worldviews, as reflected in Aharon’s self-confident imposition of his authority upon the local high-ranking men. The most significant among the traits of the changing image of ideal Jewish leaders relates to both the locus of their primary exposure to the judgment of public opinion and the nature of the accomplishment that the public would presumably hold in great esteem. On more than one occasion Ahima#az portrays his ancestors as perfectly knowledgeable . Talmudic sages, but also skillful poets, composers of rhymed verses, that is, virtuosi h. azzanim-paytanim (§§ 2, 8). However, as we approach the eleventh century this trait seems to lose ground (§§ 59–60), though still without overt signs of tension between the two types of sociocultural prominence within the community. Ahima#az himself displays . great skill in traditional paytanic composition, attested by the repeated occurrence of terms and idioms typical of several such compositions still surviving in the liturgy of both the Italian and Ashkenazi rites, particularly for Rosh ha-Shanah and Yom Kippur.79 Furthermore, as we have seen, a considerable number of such terms were rooted in the ideas and terminology of the Heikhaloth and Merkavah literature,80 which would remain popular among the heirs of the traditions of Hasidei Ashkenaz for a long time to come and would continue to show . up in the surviving paytanic production. The mediation of Ahima#az’s saintly ancestors between the physi. cal and the metaphysical world, eloquently illuminated by the story of Shephatiah being the most experienced shofar blower on Rosh haShanah (§ 39), may perhaps add one more—admittedly quite speculative—example of the persistent observance of customs opposed to the Babylonian normative. The truth of the matter is that Italian Jews jealously preserved a manner of blowing the shofar that was contrary to the one strongly predicated by the Babylonians, including—not

79 Readers are referred to the notes appended to our translation, as, for instance, nn. 79, 96, and 140. 80 See, for instance, nn. 68, 79, and 552.

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surprisingly—R. Hai Gaon.81 If so, it would not be totally far-fetched to conjecture that in portraying the people’s insistence on having the shofar blown by Shephatiah, notwithstanding the fact that he was sick and feeble, Ahima#az seems to be suggesting such an additional inference to . sensitive readers or listeners. Be that as it may, the fact is that the lengthy poem in praise of the most illustrious ancestors of Ahima#az (§ 59) displays one more . significant connection with the socio-cultural context in which his work was produced. The way he ultimately shaped his work was in perfect accordance with the manner in which the anonymous author of the Chronicon Salernitanum and the authors of his sources inserted epical verses in praise of their protagonists in their prose.82 Since there is hardly a more eloquent example of concordance of contextual literary taste, this should be added to our previous remarks concerning the literary genre of the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az. We shall return to an equally significant parallel in the portrayal of the detailed list of the qualities required by Shephatiah’s wife of the man whom she would consider an appropriate match for her daughter. Suffice it to stress for the present that the image of the ideal communal leader in the period of transition from one socio-cultural paradigm to the other as it emerges from that list, which rather meticulously mentions all kinds of texts of Talmudic expertise, does not include composition of hymns. Among the residual traits of the past that affected the everyday life of all Jews and remained open to controversy, the most remarkable one apparently mentioned by Ahima#az was fasting on the Sabbath. . It has convincingly been argued that the current custom of feasting on the Sabbath, known as Oneg Shabbath and consisting of the enjoyment of material pleasures—food, drink, and repose, was not universally accepted during the first centuries ce. Logically, it could indeed quite cogently be argued that fasting, prayer, and study could be equally, or even more, appropriate. In fact a number of pagan and Christian authors of the first centuries ce unequivocally declare that spending the Sabbath in fasting and prayer was a widespread custom among Jews.83 See Bonfil, “Mito, retorica,” 114–119. Compare the verses in §59 with Chronicon Salernitanum, 482 (verses of Paul the Deacon in praise of Romoald) and 486 (in praise of Grimoald). 83 Thus Pompeus Trogus, who during the rule of Augustus wrote a now lost universal history entitled Historiae Philippicae of which an epitome produced more than two centuries later by a certain Iustinus has survived, is reported to have written that Moses “for all time consecrated the seventh day, which used to be called Sabbath by the cus81 82

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Though numerous scholars have interpreted such statements as erroneous, putting them down to the authors’ ignorance or misunderstanding of their sources, it seems that some Jews did practice that custom in ancient Rome.84 Although definitely opposed to fasting on Sabbaths, the Talmudic tradition (almost certainly adjusted according to the view that finally prevailed) has preserved traces of an ideological controversy on this issue between Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrkanos and Rabbi Yehoshua (two prominent tannaim of the first and second centuries ce constantly portrayed as being ideological rivals).85 A detailed discussion of the sources would lead us far beyond the scope of this overview. Suffice it to mention that on the basis of those sources it has been suggested that the Jews who did fast on the Sabbath followed the opinion of Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrkanos who advocated fasting on holy days and Sabbaths (at least Sabbaths occurring during the penitential days). This he did out of an idiosyncratic tendency towards asceticism or inflated evaluation of the importance of study to which, he believed, the day should be dedicated rather than to material pleasures, or even of adherence to the worldview of the School of Shammai, famous for its strict observance of religious rituals, and in which it is not improbable that a Sadtom of the nation, for a fast day, because that day had ended at once their hunger and their wanderings” (septimum diem more gentis Sabbata appellatum in omne aevum ieiunio sacravit, quoniam illa dies famem illis erroremque finierat); see Stern, Greek and Latin Authors, 1:334–342 (no. 137). Other pagan writers of the Augustan age also mention the Sabbath as a day of fasting (see Stern’s note, ibid., 341). Thus, Greek geographer and historian Strabo of Amaseia, whose works, now partly lost, were among the sources for Josephus’ Antiquities, believed that the Sabbath was a fast day, and accordingly wrote that the capture of Jerusalem by Pompey (63 bce) occurred “in the third month, on the fast day”; see ibid., 276–277 (no. 104) and 296–297 (no. 115 [40]), and Stern’s notes, ibid., 277 and 307 in which exhaustive literature is listed. For further references to pagan authors portraying the Jews as fasting on the Sabbath see ibid., 444 (no. 195, Petronius) and 523–524 (no. 239, Martial). 84 Josephus (Ant. 14.66), apparently relying upon Strabo, also records that the taking of Jerusalem by Pompey occurred on a fast day. Since it is definitely improbable that Josephus was referring to “the Day of Atonement,” for he certainly would have detected the inconsistency inherent in dating that day in “the third month,” we must conclude that he might have had in mind an established celebration of the Sabbath by fasting. The first to have argued for the credibility of such portrayals of Jews celebrating the Sabbath by fasting was Goldenberg, “The Jewish Sabbath.” The topic was addressed in detailed essays by Gilat, “On Fasting”; Williams, “Being a Jew in Rome”; Katzoff, “In the Matter of Fasting on the Sabbath”; idem, “Regulations of Rabbi Eliezer.” 85 The relevant references are quoted and discussed in the essays by Gilat and Katzoff noted in the previous note.

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ducee custom held by members of a Dead Sea sect may have been rooted.86 In the context of the aggressive campaign launched in the second half of the eighth century in the epistle known as Pirkoi ben Babui and aimed at imposing Babylonian hegemony over all Jewish communities, fasting on the Sabbath was pointed out as a deeply deplorable custom, typical of the Palestinians who tolerated it during the penitential days or in particularly distressing situations, such as such as following a bad dream.87 Furthermore, there is a possibility of correlation between the virulence of Pirkoi ben Babui’s censure and the inception of Karaism, which maintains that fasting on Sabbath should be considered praiseworthy.88 Since the tendency to tolerate fasting on Sabbath on particular occasions, such as following a bad dream, did persist among Italian Jews until very late, notwithstanding strong opposition from renowned religious authorities, it is not unreasonable to surmise that it should be listed among the residues of popular piety of Palestinian origin still existing among European Jews, yet fiercely opposed by the Babylonians in the context of their strife for hegemony precisely because of that. The story of Aharon’s endeavor to dissuade the Gaetan Jew from following that custom, despite his distressed state of mind due to the disappearance of his son (§4), may therefore logically be correlated with such a context. The emphasis laid on the fact that the Gaetan Jew was of Spanish provenance might thus also have symbolic meaning, for Spanish Jews were among the last to have adopted Babylonian customs instead of the preexisting Palestinian ones.89 Another similar example can perhaps be found in the story of the fight between the villagers and the women, which brought to Silano’s mind the idea of ridiculing the Palestinian emissary in Venosa (§ 9). According to that story, “the women came out of their houses, and with long staves used for scraping the oven and charred by fire, with these the men and women did beat one another.” There is no reason to contest taking this text at face value, as a faithful realistic portrayal of what in the recollection of the storyteller could really have happened or eventually did happen. If so, that depiction would unintentionally 86 For the custom of fasting on the Sabbath among members of the Dead Sea Sect, see also Sharvit, “The Sabbath.” 87 The text of Pirkoi ben Babui may be found in Ginzberg, “Pirkoi ben Baboi,” 541. For Pirkoi ben Babui, see also Spiegel, “On the Pirkoi ben Baboi Controversy,” where comprehensive bibliography is listed. 88 See Hoffman, Canonization, 72–89. 89 Spiegel, “On the Pirkoi ben Baboi Controversy,” 247.

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attest that Jewish women of Venosa baked bread in their homes, which means that Jews did not consume bread baked by Christians nor did they avail themselves of the public oven used by Christians. Such a detail can be highly significant for our discussion, for according to the norm displayed in both Babylonian and Palestinian halakhic systems bread baked by non-Jews is not permitted, even in cases in which there is no reason to suspect that it may contain ritually forbidden (i.e., nonkosher) ingredients. Ritually permitted bread should therefore be baked with the active participation of a Jew in that process. According to the Babylonian system, however, such participation can be reduced to a minimum, to an almost symbolical gesture such as lighting the fire of the oven or even throwing a minuscule sliver into the fire, whereas according to the Palestinian system such an artifice would be absolutely unacceptable. The archaeological remains of an oven, contiguous to the hall that presumably served for communal feasts in Ostia, may substantiate further our reading between the lines of the story of Silano.

chapter four FAMILY

In a work in which kinship is the point of departure for claiming socio-cultural prominence, one can certainly expect that not only will the recollected family memories support that claim but that they will also be gendered, i.e., construed according to the conventional ideas connected to the social roles of men and women. Readers are therefore definitely justified in expecting this introductory essay to take that into account. Indeed, in the wake of the recent extremely rich production of feminist and gender studies,1 such research has also had a remarkable efflorescence in the field of Jewish studies.2 However, this endeavor bears the risk of producing seriously flawed results. The increasingly intricate terminology used by specialists of gender literature and the ongoing debates over changing theoretical paradigms of gender history (not easily intelligible to old-fashioned historians) convey to the present writer, whose sensitivity to related issues owes more to his students’ stimulating work than to his own professional training, an odd feeling of uneasiness oscillating between a vague sense of triviality and a no less vague one of inadequate professional updating. Furthermore, the political commitment introduced by feminist and gay-lesbian activism into the historian’s agenda makes things even more baffling. Whatever the form and intensity of male domination and patriarchy, on the one hand, and of feminine coping with and adapting to them, on the other hand, historians may, for instance, instinctively perceive as quite trivial the viewing of such topics as interrelated structures of oppression and response. Some, though, may be attracted by the distinctive traits of any of these issues and perceive in-depth, separate treatment of them as being undoubtedly legitimate. Historians convinced (as I am) that—despite the rather devastating criticism of skeptics—Lévi-Strauss’ 1 The literature on the subject is so overwhelmingly extensive that any endeavor to list an exhaustive bibliography is doomed to remain unsatisfactory. In the following notes readers will find only the limited number of studies that I have been able to peruse and found stimulating enough to be pointed to for the topics under discussion here. 2 See, for example, Feminist Perspectives on Jewish Studies.

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structural anthropology offers a powerful key to reading and interpreting texts and cultures,3 may even find it impossible to understand what numerous debates concerning the relationships of feminism and gender and to history and anthropology may be about.4 A brief digression may help clarify the consequence of this point for what will follow. As is well known, according to Lévi-Strauss a given culture can be envisaged as a kind of enormous structured text, the culture’s language, exhibited in the words individuals use in speaking, writing, and acting, as well as in the (basically consensual) behavior of society as a whole. Such language is normally conducible to a series of binary (antithetic) couplets such as good/bad, life/death, darkness/brightness, and the like, while the set of norms regulating the grammar, i.e., the use of language of different societies, is immutable. The observer capable of defining (by inspired intuition, i.e., by an insight ranging from almost total arbitrariness to conviction supported by some mechanism of controlling criticism) such binary couplets within the context of one culture (for instance, one’s own) would thus be facilitated in his/her task of systematically describing and explaining other (ad limitem: all) cultures by referring to the regulating norms of grammar. For example, for every inversion of connotation in binary couplets in a given worldview, one should conjecture analogous corresponding inversions in other worldviews. Two completely opposite worldviews would thus exhibit corresponding inversions of all the binary couplets that are the basis for those worldviews—for instance, what is perceived as good in one would virtually be perceived as bad in the other. On the other hand, the perception that reality constantly implies actual mediation between opposites such as good and bad, freedom and necessity, belief and disbelief, or ideal and real, leads to its representation in narrative necessarily entailing a dialectic synthesis between those very same opposites. As a matter of fact, Lévi-Strauss did not really take this conclusion beyond the analysis 3 The literature on Lévi-Strauss’ structural anthropology is no less vast than that on gender and so is the sense of frustrating uneasiness it may engender in historians. 4 One can think, for instance, of the debates concerning the relationship between feminism and what may be roughly called ethnographic descriptions, that is, between feminism and the proper way of representing male or female worldviews separately or jointly, women’s specific attitudes and customs, the nature of power and the relationship between it and knowledge, and so on—particularly in the wake of postmodern contentions hardly reducible to unambiguous statements. A useful survey of the various theoretical approaches that have influenced historians of gender may be found in Downs, Writing Gender History, on which see also Satter, “Writing Gender History”; Gordon, “Unhappy Relationship.”

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of myths; and yet, his looking at myth as the continual attempt to reconcile the irreconcilable and the likeness of myth and history as sorts of narration, should definitely justify viewing history as akin to myth inasmuch as structural analysis of the elements of the narrative are concerned. The inspired intuition that constitutes the main tool of Lévi-Strauss’ cultural analysis may certainly be criticized as lacking in method and criteria for practical application. Yet, the introduction of an elaborated Durkheimian notion of structure in social anthropology and sociology, conceived in the image and resemblance of the linguistic model suggested by Roman Jacobson, may be of tremendous help to historians of culture, for it may assist them in revealing previously unperceived details.5 Such a notion of structure implies first of all that all the elements of the structure are dynamically interrelated, i.e., that there is no such thing as separate spheres, notwithstanding the fact that every element has a distinctive individuality of its own; second, that the representation of the whole may indifferently and arbitrarily start from any individual element; and third, that comparative observation of structures requires an analysis of the binary couplets underlying the definitions of their constitutive elements.6 Female or male sense of solidarity, the attitudes and customs of men or women, the nature of power and the relationship between it and knowledge, and so on, cannot but be interrelated at any given moment though the rules of relationship cannot be easily discovered and are furthermore generally unknown to the 5 In fact, I fully endorse Louis Dumont’s conviction that Lévi-Strauss’ idea constitutes the major event of present time, whose essential problem is to retrieve the sense of ensembles or systems beyond an epoch dominated by a radical individualistic trend. Dumont seems absolutely correct in suggesting that the convergence with electronic procedures and modern mathematics must not be accidental. See Dumont, Homo hierarchicus, 61. 6 In applying such considerations to gender, that would mean that there is no such thing as separate male or female worldviews, even though both have distinctive individualities of their own, since they are strictly interrelated to all the other elements of the social structures to which they belong and are constantly being restructured under the impact of contingent changes occurring to them. Moreover, a comparative observation of both should begin from the discovery and analysis of the binary couplets underlying the definitions of their constitutive elements. It follows, first, that in any given historical time female or male worldviews do indeed have distinctive individualities of their own, though no one of them can be set up without taking into account the nature of the other, which functions as an adjusting mirror of the individual perception of the self; and second, that historians are definitely free to follow their instinct in choosing to describe overall structures or distinct individual segments of any one of them, inasmuch as they constantly keep in mind the nature of their choices and their limitations.

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individuals who behave unconsciously according to them, just as people use a particular language though they are unaware of its rules of grammar. Such a manner of analyzing structures as totally synchronic may convey the impression of leaving little room for historical change. And yet, the assumption that the elements of the structure are dynamically interrelated with each other implies that a change in a single element must necessarily have a repercussion on all the others and ultimately trigger the transformation of the entire structure, in a way that the image of shifts of Kuhnian paradigms of knowledge has by now made quite familiar.7 As perceptive readers may already have grasped, our reading of the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az owes much to these ideas of Lévi-Strauss, viewed chiefly as a most valuable heuristic tool for investigation of historical narrative. Beyond the conventional ideas concerning the respective roles of men and women in terms of structural opposition, we expect to uncover in the narrative of Ahima#az hidden clues of the above. mentioned (dialectical) mediation between opposites in real life. Reading between the lines of the utterances related to social hierarchies and gender is therefore of tremendous importance, for in our case real life did actually imply a crucial mediating synthesis between the opposite constituents of the concepts of men and women bequeathed from classical Antiquity to the Middle Ages, i.e., men as superior and women as inferior, men as active and women as passive, and more of the like. We are especially prompted to evaluate from that standpoint all kinds of references that may surface in the author’s narrative, in search of those undeclared conventions and characteristics which undoubtedly shaped the respective images of men and women and the interaction between them within the social network of everyday life.8 7 Historians may therefore be indifferently attracted by synchronic or diachronic pictures of reality, just as they may choose to describe separately the Ptolemaic cosmological system or the Copernican one, or both comparatively, while focusing on the element that triggered the substitution of the former by the latter. 8 To the best of my knowledge, the only essay on the Chronicle of Ahima #az specifically . conceived from the standpoint of gender studies is Skinner, “Gender, Memory and Jewish Identity.” Yet, according to her, it “has little in common with the Latin family histories of the French or Iberian aristocracy … many of which were concerned to legitimize a family’s hold on power, land or both … If there is a parallel to be drawn in Christian, Latin texts, the Scroll of Genealogies has more in common with those texts by royal servants that incorporate their own family histories as part of the text, such as Thietmar of Merseberg’s Chronicon or, perhaps even more closely, the Dialogue of the Exchequer of the Englishman Richard fitzNigel, who provides a genealogy of his kin to

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We must constantly keep in mind that the narrative of Ahima#az . was variously and not unambiguously biased: first of all, because the images of his ancestors were intended to delineate a gratifying genealogy; second, because the ancestors represented were primarily male, as he was himself, and his discourse had naturally to be male-oriented; third, because Ahima#az’s sources of information were presumably no . less biased, according to their kind and provenance (since such sources are unknown to us, we are in fact unable to guess how the oral and written ones interrelated in his recollection, how he amended the collected material in his compilation, or what role did women play in the supposedly oral transmission of the family memories he collected); last—but certainly not least—because in his case the prominence of his family would be engendered by the feminine segment of the family pedigree.9 How are we to expect this contradiction to be reconciled? The answer seems to lie in the specific manner in which Ahima#az . exploited the traditional idea of ambiguity attributed to women, constantly viewed as “ambiguous evil.” As Eva Cantarella has aptly shown, this medieval concept was part of the Greco-Roman heritage, according to which ambiguity would cover exclusion and power (albeit indirect power), marginalization and centrality (depending on the situation), inferiority (cultural) and strength (sexual).10 The rabbinic outlook to a great extent agreed with that. Rigorous respect for the division of roles, obedience, modesty, and fidelity were typical virtues expected of women. Weak, fickle, opportunistic—perhaps even incapable of lasting feelings, a woman was destined for marriage. Her interests and emotions were bound up with this destiny. It therefore comes as no surprise that she was taught to put marriage above everything else. If the Greek city represented the perfect realization of a political plan to exclude women,11 the Jewish community (no matter whether focusing on the synagogue or on the yeshivah) was no different. In the Greek city, the social positions possible for women were as wives, concubines, hetaerae, or prostitutes. Which one of these a woman held in the Greek city was determined exclusively by her reflect their and his own importance” (p. 285). As the reader will easily perceive, the perspective suggested here is different. See also p. 50 above. 9 See the reconstruction of the family tree above, p. 86. 10 Cantarella, Pandora’s Daughters, xiv. 11 Ibid., 38.

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relationship, whether stable or occasional, with a man. And given that this relationship was created for the purpose of responding to male needs, the condition of women could not have been other than it was: regulated by a series of laws that established their inferiority and permanent subordination to men. This inferiority, already expressed in fact and perceived as traditional by the social consciousness, found a theoretical mantle in the Aristotelian classification of (freeborn) humans composed of men (“spirit” and “form”) and women (“mothers” and “matter”). With Aristotle, codification of the essence and role of women found a theoretical status destined to last for centuries.12 But even according to Plato’s Laws, in which he theorized that all citizens are obliged to contract marriage and to dissolve it in case of ten years of sterility, in a state of marriage the woman must be under the control of the husband.13 All this holds equally true for the Jewish community, especially from the eleventh century onwards, i.e., after the Aristotelian outlook was canonized as almost indisputable science.14 As we have seen in the previous chapter, the Roman heritage and the biblical tradition concurred in shaping the idea of the eminence of the paterfamilias and the commitment of all members of his family to preserve and defend the social dignity of the father as symbolically representative of that eminence. We have also seen how the classic definitions and perceptions of family and paterfamilias remained basically unchanged as a constante de longue durée, even as the basic concepts of those definitions and perceptions were transferred from the strictly juridical sphere to the ethical and social ones. But contrary to what one might presume at first glance, such a transfer did not weaken them but rather strengthened them, for the fact is that societies in general (that is, not just conservative ones) tend to conceive socio-cultural conventions as even more binding than legal restrictions. Whereas legislation can hardly and rarely introduce changes in socio-cultural conventions, the opposite is generally true: changes in legislation are generally triggered by changes in socio-cultural conventions. The Chronicle of Ah. ima #az displays a remarkable instance of reconciliation of opposites. In Ahima#az’s narrative representation of events, . two parallel stories appear to carry the most explicit references to the Ibid., 50–51, and 59ff. for a more detailed outline of Aristotle’s views. Ibid., 58. 14 For a first general introduction to this extremely vast subject, see Grossman, Pious and Rebellious. 12 13

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shaping of the images of the male ancestors of the family in relation to the conventional idea of the role of women and children. In both stories the paterfamilias appears to act contrary to the conventional cast of mind that called for matrimonial strategies concerning daughters to be directed towards enhancing the family’s prominence. One is the story of Tophilo, who betrothed his daughter to a man of inferior rank as recompense for the care he took of him in jail (§ 32); the other is the story of Shephatiah who, against the wishes of his wife, betrothed his daughter Cassia to his nephew (§ 35). In both stories, the most overtly stated principle is that of the father’s right to exercise unrestricted authority over his children. In light of what has been said earlier, that principle, uttered naïvely as a legal right, must of course be understood as a customary norm rooted in socio-cultural conventions that it would be unthinkable to oppose, no matter how unreasonable its actual enforcement might be from the legal standpoint or how reasonable the opposing arguments might appear. In both cases, however, the widely shared socio-cultural convention concerning the right of fathers was not as simple as its naïve mention in the narrative can suggest. For, as a matter of fact, in betrothing their daughters to men of lower social rank, both Tophilo and Shephatiah were violating other no less compelling conventional norms concerning social hierarchies and social mobility.15 We are therefore naturally prompted to ask whether this fact may suggest additional, more complex, layers of meaning. Such a possibility surfaces quite immediately, for—contrary to what one might presume at first glance—the deeply deplorable situations in which both acts occurred could but prompt the readers of or listeners to the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az to wonder whether the application of the principle in those cases was indeed undisputable and, moreover, whether their representation as edifying examples was really appropriate. Some, perhaps many, could in fact contest that application of the principle of paternal right in such extremely atypical situations was most inappropriate, for it violated the preservation of the social dignity of prominent families. How, then, should one evaluate the repeatedly, yet ambiguously, stressed idea of the paterfamilias as undisputable master

15 In the case of Tophilo, the lowly status of the groom is presented in clear and straightforward terms, while in the case of Shephatiah one has to infer that from unrelated sporadic allusions, such as the fact that the groom showed no remarkable sign of scholarly excellence, and the subsequent evolution of the history of that branch of the family.

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of the house? It seems that the answer should somehow be correlated to the fact that in both situations application of the principle of the right of fathers filled the function of atoning for real or purported sins. Tophilo was imprisoned because he was guilty of real sexual sin, for he had formerly committed adultery with a married woman. Shephatiah’s guilt was less obvious, actually almost ambiguous, for while he would overtly admit one kind of debatable guilt, reading between the lines of the narrative of Ahima#az may eventually reveal a very different one, . undeclared and conveniently repressed. Shephatiah overtly confesses to have transgressed the rabbinical recommendation to provide a spouse for a daughter who had reached marital age, though he subtly excused himself, claiming to have done so somehow inadvertently while acquiescing to his wife’s demands. Medieval, as presumably also modern male-oriented readers or listeners, would undoubtedly sense much sympathy for such an excuse, which would indirectly depict Shephatiah as a truly pious scholar, constantly devoted to prayer and study, and even more as an indulgent husband unwilling to displease his wife, while at the same time admitting that after all she was more firmly standing on the ground of socio-cultural reality than was her husband. Others might be less generously disposed towards that woman, who quite accurately fitted the trite cliché of assertive, arrogant, and jealous mothers and wives seeking unreasonable gratification and thus causing their daughters and husbands to feel miserable. This cliché would moreover undoubtedly be compatible with the male-oriented worldview of Jews and Christians alike in southern Italy concerning the role of women in acquiescing in the matrimonial strategies of their aristocratic husbands, as the example of Radelchis’ wife in the anonymous Chronicon Salernitanum unmistakably shows.16 Other, much less generously disposed, observers could however feel quite justified in suspecting darker motives hidden behind the apparently legitimate disinclination to marry off a girl of nuptial age. Would not sexual perversion be equally possible? The case of Charlemagne’s refusal to allow his daughters to marry, surely well known in southern Italy, would undoubtedly have been sufficient to inflame the popular imagination. It does not seem unreasonable to assume that the straightforward apology provided by the narrative of Ahima#az was directed towards such insinuations that challenged . the socio-cultural prominence of Shephatiah in a context exactly the

16

See Chronicon Salernitanum, 54–55; Oldoni, Anonimo salernitano, 221.

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same as that of the story of the miraculous journey on the eve of the Sabbath (§§ 21–23). Since in the case of Tophilo the sexual sin was considered real, the act aimed at restoring the injured integrity of the Jewish social network, purportedly impermeable to such sinful perversions rather characteristic of Christian society,17 was straightforwardly presented in terms of what rabbinic terminology calls “measure for measure” (äãéî ãâðë äãéî) as causing the deterioration in the social status of one family—that of the sinner. At the same time, the story reaffirmed the belief that death following martyrdom was the most manifest demonstration that expiation was indeed obtained. Actually, according to the Mishnah ordinary death would have been sufficient, i.e., martyrdom would not have been necessary.18 The apparently unnecessary motif of martyrdom in the story is therefore in need of appropriate explanation. Since the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az records two different accounts of that martyrdom, we may feel justified in speculating further that, as often happens in such recollections, two different accounts of atoned sin coalesced in the story of Tophilo as it is portrayed by Ahima#az: one about plain sexual sin and the other . about acquiescence to the temptation of Christianity. Indirect, admittedly debatable, support for such a hypothesis may perhaps lie in the fact that in that very same story, as it was recollected by the Ashkenazi circles of paytanim in the famous legend of Rabbi Amnon and the composition of the hymn ó÷åú äðúðå, there are absolutely no traces of sexual sin.19 As for Shephatiah, the insinuation of sexual sin appears to have been hidden behind a sophisticated array of biblical allusions so as to be subtly replaced by the real formal transgression of the rabbinical recommendation to provide a spouse for a daughter of marital age and thus contribute to the strengthening of the Jewish social network.20 The 17

See Amittai’s poem on the occasion of his sister’s marriage, incipit ãéâî ïåãà (Davidson, Thesaurus, 1:28, # 558, à). 18 See M San. 6, 2. 19 The divergence of the versions is perfectly analogous to the that which occurred with the story of Paltiel, as previously pointed out in Chap. 2, n. 108 and the bibliography listed there. 20 It may perhaps not be too far-fetched to further speculate that the allusion to such a transgression in terms of the Babylonian rabbinical heritage carry additional weight when viewed in the general framework of “sins” needing atonement on the part of a man portrayed as having only recently become associated with the Babylonian framework of normative knowledge.

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atonement, shaped accordingly in terms of a real decline in the social status of the hero’s family, does therefore providentially achieve an almost paradoxical and unpredictable wishful result. Although Cassia’s marriage to her cousin was a match with a man of low consequence, and although the family’s distinction was further weakened to the point that Cassia’s granddaughter, who bore her grandmother’s name, was married to a man whose name was not even considered worthy to be remembered (§ 43), it nonetheless gave rise to a branch of the family that would ultimately be of fundamental importance for Ahima#az. . The literary structure of the story appears thus to effectuate a double inversion: on one hand the suspected real transgression, a very evil one indeed, is replaced by a much less dreadful one, that from the standpoint of Shephatiah’s wife would even be considered the right thing to do; on the other hand, the negative effect of the marriage in terms of family history is positively transformed in terms of the unpredictable positive result. A similar veiled statement occurs in relation to Shephatiah’s purported restoring to life of a boy abducted by she-demons, a narrative presumably implying hints of guilt either of infanticide or sexual sin on the part of the parents, who happened to belong to the same sociocultural class of Shephatiah (§ 33). In the narrative of Ahima#az, actions . that from an unsympathetic point of view would be suspect of being true transgressions are veiled by rhetoric and hence represented as definitely unreal, while their consequences are attributed to invisible, yet real, evil forces that an unsympathetic observer would of course consider imaginary. Here, too, the literary structure of the story appears to effectuate a significant inversion of real into imaginary and vice versa. In both cases, the unthinkable in terms of socio-cultural ideals emerges as a definitely possible allegation, something that in actual life could certainly occur, and presumably did at times. If so, infanticide was a reality among Jews,21 just as it was among Christians, as were adultery and homosexuality, overtly admitted by Ahima#az. . As it turns out, it is Shephatiah’s wife who enunciates the correct socio-cultural conventions according to the hypothetical Weberian ideal type of society or—perhaps better—according to what Thomas Kuhn would call the current paradigm of knowledge of that society: that girls should have a well-defined role in the implementation of appro-

21

Baumgarten, Mothers and Children, 169–178.

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priate matrimonial strategies aimed at enhancing the socio-political prominence of the family. If among Christian nobility marriages were alliances of the powerful, among Jews marriages were equally intended to create such alliances, but in line with the conventional image of the appropriate Jewish leadership outlined in the previous chapter. Shephatiah’s wife, therefore, would be truly fulfilling the role of guardian of the family’s social status. But it was her unsuccessful attempt that in fact permitted the denouement of the family’s story as it actually unfolded. In other words, from the standpoint of Ahima#az the desired denoue. ment of the story implied a positive assessment of Shephatiah’s role and correspondingly a negative one of the wife’s role, though from a different viewpoint the opposite would have been the case. Contrary to the case of Tophilo, as yet to be confirmed by independent sources, the factual truth of the story of Cassia’s marriage is beyond doubt. The piyyut composed for that occasion by her brother Amittai22 has survived and can therefore confirm the details of the narrative of Ahima#az (§ 35). Furthermore, it offers additional elements . for the reconstruction of the mosaic of contemporary daily life—first and foremost, of course, the ritual of the main ceremony, the symbolic bringing together of the couple under the h. uppah (literally: covering; generally translated as canopy) and recitation of the set of seven traditional blessings.23 As is the case with most religious rituals, the wording and sequence of these blessings eloquently suggest the linkage between the moment of the actual wedding and the primeval time of the creation of the world. The former is constantly represented as symbolically reiterating the first marriage of Adam and Eve, that is, any later marriage is the most recent link in the generational chain initiated by that marriage. By that conventional pattern Amittai’s recollection of the biblical story of the creation of the world is portrayed as a prefiguration of all the subsequent nuptial ceremonies of God’s children.24 Creation of the world, and particularly of light, on the first day prefigures arranging the wedding hall and the festive lights to illumine the magnificent dinner following the ritual ceremony; creation of the firmament on the See n. 17 above. See TB Ket. 8a. The wording is almost identical in all the known rites; Enc. Tal., 4, coll. 644–648. 24 úéøçà úéùàøî ãéâî ïåãà ll. 8–10: íéã÷ä íúøéöé íãå÷ / íéðúç úàøáì äìòë æà åúáùçîá íéðáì äôåç éñéñëè ìë ãîìì / íéðå÷éú ìë—When it entered His [God’s] mind to create grooms /He first made all the arrangements /so as to teach his [man’s] progeny all the nuptial ceremonies. 22 23

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second day, which divided inferior from superior spaces, prefigures arranging separate areas for the musicians and the preparation of food; separation of dry land from the seas on the third day and the creation of grass, herbs, and fruit trees prefigures arranging the stage upon which the actors perform; creation of the sun and the moon on the fourth day prefigures the predisposition of two candles to avoid accidental extinguishing of lighting by stormy weather; creation of living creatures in the waters and winged fowl on the fifth day prefigures the purchase of fish and poultry for preparation of delicate food for the elderly and the frail; finally the creation of beasts and cattle on the sixth day prefigures the supply of meat for the mass of less delicate diners. The ensuing creation of Adam and Eve is then skillfully depicted as sumptuously dressing the couple in anticipation of the ceremony: first, Adam / the groom, received under the h. uppah by the angels / bystanders with the greeting íåìùì êàåá (“come in peace”); then Eve / the bride, no less sumptuously dressed, perfumed, and with combed hair, is escorted by innumerous singing people and servants standing in lines, while the sun and the moon dance next to them as young girls; and finally, once the traditional set of seven blessings had been recited by the person conducting the ceremony all the bystanders would answer “may the groom take pleasure with the bride” (äìë íò ïúç çîùé or ïúç çîùé äìëå).25 Then the groom orders his attendants to set the table, the benches, and the chairs and serve meat and wine. Finally, at the conclusion of the banquet, the guests take leave wishing “may [pleasure be taken] like this day in Jerusalem” (íéìùåøéá äæä íåéäë). In portraying the nuptial ceremony of Adam and Eve as a paradigmatic theatrical performance in which the entire world serves as spectators, the fantastic primordial nuptial ceremony that Amittai paints can be read as a virtual reproduction of the real ceremony actually attended by the entire community and can therefore serve to retrieve hitherto unknown details of that ceremony. First, as is also still customary according to the Italian rite, in the week of the wedding special hymns (such as the yotzer composed for Cassia’s wedding) were included in the Sabbath service attended by the groom and his family. Second, the ritual “betrothal” (ïéùåãé÷), which according to almost all rites is today an integral part of the nuptial ceremony, constituting its first part, was then done separately just after the engagement (ïéñåøéà), as in fact 25 There are variants in the text of the hymn that, as shall be indicated, may be correlated to variants in the wording of the seventh blessing.

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was customary according to the Italian rite until quite recently. We can thus add this detail to the narrative of Ahima#az who also describes . 26 “betrothal” as taking place separately. Third, the benediction “may the groom take pleasure with the bride” echoes the concluding formula of the seventh and last blessing recited under the h. uppah, according to almost all known rites (äìëä íò ïúç çîùî), or of both the sixth and seventh blessings according to few exceptional occurrences in which the closing phrase is the same: äìëå ïúç çîùî.27 We may then infer that in Amittai’s time and place äìë íò ïúç çîùé or äìëå ïúç çîùé was indeed the wording of the benediction uttered by the bystanders at the closing of the ceremony.28 Finally, the aforementioned description explicitly states that the guests took leave wishing that “may [pleasure be taken] like this day in Jerusalem.” This formula, already mentioned in a different context in one of the so-called minor tractates,29 is also attested as additional wording following the seventh blessing in Seder Rav Amram Gaon (ninth century);30 we can therefore infer that it was indeed customary in Amittai’s time and place. Additional details concerning the wedding ceremonies and several other aspects of family life and paradigms of thought can be gathered from a kedushata composed by Amittai for the Sabbath service attended by the groom and his family, and preserved in a unique manuscript.31 Although there is no compelling reason to presume that it was composed on the occasion of Cassia’s wedding, it is not unreasonable to assume that it was included in the Sabbath service on the week of her marriage. A thorough analysis of this and similar texts can greatly assist in integrating the emerging evidence into the fabric of the picture of

For the Italian custom on this point, see Weinstein, Marriage Rituals, 154–212. Enc. Tal., 4, col. 647 and n. 21o. And cf. especially Mah. zor Vitry §472. 28 It is unfortunate that the adjustments undergone by the hymn to the customs actually followed by the various communities in which it was preserved prevents us from being more precise on this point. And cf. Mah. zor Vitry §87 where the benediction uttered by the bystanders at the closing of the ceremony is: çîùú äìë äìëá ïúç çîùé ìàøùé úåöî éîéé÷îå äøåú é÷ñåò íéðáá íéñëðáå øùåòá íéðá éðáå íéðáá ïúçá—May groom and bride rejoice, may the bride rejoice with the groom, [may she have] male children and great-children dealing with Torah and observing the precepts of the people of Israel. 29 Massekhet Soferim 19, 7. Cf. Mahzor Vitry §527. . 30 Amram Gaon, Seder Rav Amram Gaon, 181–182: äæä íåéäë 䧧ã ïéàåùéðå ïéñåøéà øãñ. 31 The composition, êéúåðù åîúé àìå àåä äúà, is in Oxford MS. 2740 and was published by several scholars, first by Israel Davidson, (see Davidson, Thesaurus, 4:125, # 2297, à); then by Klar, Chronicle, 86–94; and finally by Yonah David (Amittai ben Shephatiah, The Songs of Amittai, ed. David, 5–24). 26 27

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the Mediterranean Jewish family drawn by S.D. Goitein.32 However, since such an endeavor is far beyond the scope of the present study we will limit ourselves to a few elements capable of making the point and encouraging further research. First, if the text has not been altered by later adjustments, as may have happened with the hymn previously considered, we learn that the ritual “betrothal” (ïéùåãé÷) of Cassia was performed with a ring,33 as is now customary in all Jewish communities. Though at first glance such a detail may be considered absolutely trivial, it is nonetheless important because in Amittai’s time the practice was not as widespread as it is today. In fact, it seems that it was practiced by Jews following Palestinian traditions, like other ancient customs variously received and practiced by the Mediterranean populations— first pagan and subsequently Christian, but that among the followers of the Babylonians, perhaps more generally among the Jews of Islamic areas, it was still unusual in the ninth century and began to be introduced there in the next one.34 We cannot trace here the complex evolution of the acceptance of this custom and its transmission over more than a millennium.35 Suffice it to stress that if our proposal to read Amittai’s compositions as reflecting contemporary practice is correct, mention of the performance of kiddushin in this manner should be considered both as the earliest testimony of this Jewish custom in western Goitein, Mediterranean Society, vol. 3. l. 225: åúòáèá äùã÷î íéãò éðôìå (and in the presence of witnesses consecrates her [in marriage] with a ring) according to the correct reading of Klar, Chronicle, 94, l. 12, as one can verify by consulting the manuscript and as is actually required by the rhyme. 34 Differences between Babylonian and Palestinian Jews, §25. The custom is not mentioned in the Talmud, nor in Seder Rav Amram Gaon, Maimonides’ Codex, and earlier halakhic compendia. Yet, Hai Gaon (969–1038) appears to testify that it had already been adopted in Khorasan “a century earlier” (see Responsa of the Geonim, ed. Harkavi, Part 1, §113 and the editior’s additional notes to § 65). In western Europe it is attested in Rashi’s times (and Mah. zor Vitry, §586) while tosafist R. Jacob ben Meir, Rabbenu Tam (to TB Kid. 9a, incipit àúëìä) indirectly confirms that it was current in twelfth-century Ashkenaz (ïáà äá ïéàù úòáèá ùã÷ì íìåòä åâäð êëéôì—that’s why people used to betroth with an unjeweled ring). 35 The entire topic, usually dealt with as a minor detail in works devoted to the rituals and customs of the Jewish life cycle, deserves fresh thorough investigation of the symbolical and folkloric meanings and adaptations of the practice among Jews, Christians, and Muslims alike. As we do not have the results of such thorough research, the uninterrupted diffusion of the practice among all Mediterranean peoples from pagan Antiquity onwards and its reception and adjustment to the religious outlooks of the three different cultural traditions prescribes much caution before proceeding to generalizations. The rich bibliographies appended to the most authoritative general works can undoubtedly serve as points of departure. See Sperber, Customs of the Jews, 4:143–148; Marcus, Jewish Life Cycle. 32 33

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Europe and further confirmation of the Palestinian origin of European customs in the early Middle Ages.36 One more characteristic practice emerging from that piyyut is deserving of mention: that of exposing the sheet tainted with the bride’s virginal blood and adding to the ketubbah a certification appropriately signed by the witnesses.37 On the one hand, it has indeed been noted that belated evidence of such practice may be found in eighteenthcentury Romaniote ketubbot from Janina which display an additional sentence that reads: “We undersigned witnesses testify that the aforementioned groom confirmed in our presence that he found his bride “a garden closed a spring sealed” [i.e., a virgin after Song of Songs 4:12] as is customary with well-behaved and decent Jewish maidens. May our heavenly Father accord them progeny and long life. And in their lifetime and ours may the Redeemer come and redeem us soon, Amen.”38 On the other hand, the practice is abundantly attested in the entire Byzantine area and is still current in some places.39 Though it may be superfluous to insist further that the wedding week included festival banquets with the consumption of quantities of meat and wine, without which—according to a well-known rabbinical dictum—one would not really enjoy the feast,40 we should nonetheless emphasize that in specifying that the groom “would order his attendants to set the table, the benches, and the chairs” (emphasis mine—R.B.), Amittai seems to implicitly testify that, just as we have seen concerning Byzantine imperial banquets, among Jewish elites it would also be customary to emphasize socio-cultural prominence by highlighting the 36 One should however constantly bear in mind that there is sufficient reason to suspect that texts were artfully manipulated in order to rationalize actual behavior. Such was apparently the case of the text presented by the printed edition of the Responsa Shaarey Tsedek, 44 (iii, 3, 16) in which attribution of the custom is manifestly inverted: ïéùåãé÷ úòáè ïéàåø ïéà ìàøùé õøà éðáå ïéùåãé÷ úòáè ïéàåø çøæî éùðà (“the people of the East consider a ring as kiddushin while those of Eretz Israel do not consider a ring as kiddushin”). 37 ll. 229–230: äîìù úåùòìå åúáåúëá íéãò íåúçì éåìú ùàøá åúùà éìåúá úøäè úåàøäì åúçîù—“To point with pride to the pure virginity of his wife and have the witnesses undersign his ketubbah so as to make his joy perfect.” 38 ìåòð ïâ úøëæðä åúâåæì àöî êéà íééçì ìãáéé øëæðä ïúçä äãåä äèî íéîåúçä íéãò åðéðôá òøæ åàøéù íéîùáù åðéáà éðôìî ïåöø éäé .úåòåðöäå úåøùëä ìàøùé úåðá ìë êøãë íåúç ïééòî øéøáå øéøù ìëäå .ïîà áéø÷ ïîæáå àìâòá åðìàâéå ìàåâä àåáé íäéîéáå åðéîéá .ïîà íéîé åëéøàé íéé÷å. See, Sabar, “Romaniote Ketubbot”; Yahalom, Poetry and Society, 270–271.

Koukoules, Byzantinon, 4:116–118. See the rabbinic aphorism ïééáå øùáá àìà äçîù ïéà (“There is no joy without meat and wine”). 39 40

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kind of seating at the table. In fact, the resemblance with Byzantine practices is manifest in almost all the details related to the ceremony listed above: the sumptuous dressing of the couple in anticipation of the ceremony; the pageant of escorting the bride from her parents’ home to the church, then to the groom’s house throughout the city’s streets accompanied by young torch-bearing women, musicians, composers of epithalamia, and mimes;41 the sumptuous banquets during the days following the wedding (as a rule seven days, like among Jews), and more of the kind.42 The banquets would in fact so greatly intensify the intimate mixture of sacred and profane that the audacious metaphor of the theater used by Amittai in his epithalamion for Cassia’s wedding does not appear to be exaggerated. Actually, such a metaphor was not entirely unknown in earlier literary tradition. Portrayal of the natural world as a theater in which humans should marvel while observing God’s work had already been presented by Philo in his treatise De opificio mundi 78: Just as those who give a banquet do not invite their guests to the meal until all the preparations for the feast have been completed, and those who organize athletic or dramatic contests, before they assemble the spectators in the theaters and the stadiums, first have a vast number of competitors and spectacles and sound effects to get ready, in the same way the Director of the Universe too, like an organizer of games and a holder of a banquet, when he was about to invite the human being to a lavish feast and a spectacle, first brought into readiness what was required for both kinds of entertainment, so that, when the human being entered into the cosmos, he would immediately encounter both a festive meal and a most sacred theater, the former replete with all the things that earth and rivers and sea and air supply for his use and enjoyment …43

However, Amittai’s use of it seems quite innovative. First of all, because Philo’s work was almost certainly unknown to Amittai; and second, because in Amittai’s hymn the theater does not refer to the entire natural world but rather to the stage on which actors perform in order to please the people gathered for the ceremony. It therefore seems that Amittai’s presentation should rather be correlated to two things with See also p. 177, below. Koukoules, Byzantinon, 98–119. A careful comparison of the ceremonies would lead us far beyond the scope of the present study. It will hopefully be addressed in greater detail in the future. 43 Philo of Alexandria, On the Creation of the Cosmos, 67 and the notes on 250–251. 41 42

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which he was certainly familiar: the practice at contemporary Christian and Jewish celebrations of weddings and the resemblance of both Jewish and Christian liturgical celebrations to theatrical presentations. We have already pointed to the analogy between Greco-Roman theatrical performances and Jewish liturgical celebrations. Things were not different among Christians. The synagogue and the church respectively appeared as theaters in which the conductors of the celebrations would play the roles of the histrionic actors and the believers that of the spectators. In both, classical theatrical practices were dressed in palatable sacred garb capable of satisfying both the religious impulse of the audience and the enjoyment produced by a delightful audio-visual performance. Christian celebrations, particularly the Mass which, it has been suggested, marked the emergence of medieval drama,44 offered even stronger analogies. According to E.K. Chambers, a pioneer in this field, the antiphon presumably originated in Antioch “possibly not altogether uninfluenced by the traditions both of the Greek tragic chorus and of Jewish psalmody” and introduced into Italy by St Ambrose of Milan, “lent itself naturally to dialogue, and it is from the antiphon that the actual evolution of the liturgical drama starts.” The choral sections of the Mass were stereotyped about the end of the sixth century in the Antiphonarium ascribed to Gregory the Great. In the ninth century, however, began a process, which culminated in the eleventh century, of liturgical elaboration. “Splendid churches, costly vestments, protracted offices, magnificent processions, answered especially in the great monasteries to a heightened sense of significance of cult in general, and of the Eucharist in particular. Naturally ecclesiastic music did not escape the influence of this movement.” New melodies were inserted at the beginning, end, or even in the middle of the old antiphons. The earliest of such melodies, known as neumae, were sung not to words but to vowel sounds alone. “Obviously the next stage was to write texts, 44 The accepted view of the origin of European drama is that put forward by Chambers, Medieval Stage, partly modified in several details by Young, Drama of the Medieval Church. More recent authors, such as Hardison, Christian Rite and Christian Drama or quite lately Goldstein, Origin of Medieval Drama., have criticized such a view on several grounds hardly relevant for the present study. As a matter of fact, Hardison, who would not deny that The Medieval Stage and The Drama of the Medieval Church are “compediums of texts and information essential to the subject and difficult or impossible to obtain elsewhere” (p. 1) concedes that the Mass is indeed drama (pp. 35–79) while Young does not deny that its choreography and actions do recall “the circumstances of the theatre” (p. 80); see Swanson, “Medieval Liturgy as Theater.” See also Nagler, Medieval Religious Stage; Axton, European Drama.

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called generically ‘tropes’ to them; and towards the end of the ninth century three more or less independent schools of trope writers grew up,” one in northern France, one at the Benedictine abbey of St Gall, and the third in northern Italy. Remarkable examples of this genre are the tropes of the Introit, the antiphon and psalm sung by the choir at the beginning of the Mass, as the celebrant approaches the altar, and the Quem quaeritis for Easter (a dialogue of the interview between the three Marys and the angel at the tomb of Jesus).45 There is no need to adhere devoutly to Chambers’ anti-clericalist effort to organize the evidence chronologically so as to show that medieval liturgical drama, though indebted to the “mimetic instinct” of the populace that continued to manifest itself in various kinds of folk dramas despite Church hostility, emerged sporadically in the ninth century according to the evolutionary scheme outlined above. More recent studies have greatly refined our knowledge concerning the definition and origin of the “tropes,”46 the introduction of the Quem quaeritis dialogue in the Easter Mass,47 and its relationship to the evolution of medieval drama. Hardison has persuasively shown that “religious drama was the drama of the early Middle Ages and had been ever since the decline of the classical theater,” and that Amalarius of Metz, who died around 850, consciously interpreted the Mass as drama.48 The importance of Amalarius of Metz, who served as a teacher at Charlemagne’s palace school from 809 to 813, was further stressed by scholars such as Carol Heitz and Timothy J. McGee who suggested correlating the composition of the Quem quaeritis with the Carolingian revival of the ninth century, possibly under the influence of Byzantine liturgy in which, moreover, such tropes presumably originated.49 Be that as it may, for what interests us here it seems that we may safely assume that towards the end of the ninth century, in Amittai’s lifetime, the Christian Mass displayed—in a fairly wide geographical area ranging from Byzantium to northwestern Europe—a considerable array of common features, among them the antiphonal chant of the Introit and 45 46

166. 47

Chambers, Medieval Stage, 2:2–9. Huglo, “Aux origins des tropes.”; Wellesz, Eastern Elements in Western Chant., 153–

McGee, “Liturgical Placements.” Hardison, Christian Rite and Christian Drama, viii. The entire second essay in his book is devoted to this theme. 49 McGee, “Liturgical Placements”: 23–27; Cantarella, Poeti bizantini, Introduction, esp. 1:54–68. 48

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the Quem quaeritis dialogue; moreover, as already stressed by the late Ezra Fleischer,50 such features display a “surprising resemblance” to those of the piyyut among Jews. There is no need to speculate here concerning the possible relationships between the evolution of the piyyut and the tropes in Byzantium or western Europe. In Amittai’s time and place both genres were firmly established and, inasmuch as Christian practice is concerned, it registered a growing efflorescence displaying remarkable histrionic characteristics. Writing almost a century later, Honorius of Autun put it in most remarkable words: It is known that those who recited tragedies in theaters presented the actions of opponents by gestures before the people. In the same way our tragic author [i.e., the celebrant] represents by his gestures in the theater of the Church before the Christian people the struggle of Christ and teaches to them the victory of His redemption ….51

True, Metz, Autun, St. Gall, and southern Italy are not all the same. And yet, in liturgical matters, both among Jews and Christians of western Europe, “we cannot afford to be students of German or English or Romance matters alone.” Not only must the geographical boundaries fall,52 but the Byzantine involvement must be particularly stressed, especially in Oria, still under Byzantine rule in Amittai’s time. In this respect it is perhaps not by chance that several among Amittai’s liturgical hymns were preserved in the Romaniote Mah. zor, including one for the Sabbath service on the occasion of a wedding feast,53 that displays a striking resemblance to the Quem quaeritis and similar Byzantine dialogues. In this composition, still awaiting a thorough analytical study, the dialogue is between Moses, the agent of God instructed to liberate His “bride” and bring about the “conjugal union” according to the widespread metaphorical representation of the promulgation of the Torah, and Putiel, the angel of Egypt, struggling to retain the bride in the house in which she was brought up. The extraordinary portrayal of Cassia’s wedding as a grandiose theatrical performance reflects the medieval situation in which weddings Fleischer, The Yozer, 26–27. Latin text in PL, ed. Migne, 172:570; English translation in Hardison, Christian Rite and Christian Drama, 39–40. 52 I borrowed the wording from A.M. Nagler’s “Prelude” (see Nagler, Medieval Religious Stage, xii). 53 äìë úåéäá æà (Davidson, Thesaurus, 1:98 #2096 à), published by Klar, Chronicle, 64–66. See also Amittai ben Shephatiah, The Songs of Amittai, ed. David, 86–90, for additional bibliographic references. 50 51

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were among the very few events that disturbed the monotony of everyday life. As such, they were planned a long time ahead, every detail was carefully considered—particularly inasmuch as it might have social implications, and the entire socio-cultural space was organized in view of the event as a kind of stage for the show that should remain in everyone’s memory for a long time to come. As wine and meat were abundantly served, the borderline between the sacred and the profane became blurred, as well as the one between the holy language of liturgy and the vernacular of epithalamia recited by all kinds of minstrels and entertainers. The composers of the hymns recited in the synagogues were certainly the same as those who composed the epithalamia, and the melodies that accompanied their performances were of the same kind, except that in Sabbath services music would almost certainly not be played on instruments as it might have been in the churches that the Jewish performances emulated. This fact further accentuated the profane, nearly luxurious, character progressively assumed by the marriage feast, for—as medieval art visually shows on occasion—the medieval mentality quite easily connected between music and luxury.54 (See pl. 20). That would help Christians represent Jewish marriages as gatherings of debauchery, and Jews would of course do the same in describing the Christian celebrations. Such utterances by both sides would naturally be part of the constant endeavor of the respective leading authorities to restrict improper exhibits of opulence, sumptuousness, and depravity, according to rules dictated by the socio-cultural values current at that time. The people, however, would no less naturally endeavor to avoid restrictions and give way to pomp and ceremony. In the narrow confines of medieval towns, the pre-modern tendency to blur the borderline between private and public could on those occasions only be amplified, particularly when Jews, usually expected to remain invisible as much as possible, were celebrating. On such occasions the limited space normally allocated to them would inevitably encroach upon the Christian public space and provoke attention and rejoinder according to the complex set of conditioning preconceptions and actual perceptions of everyday life side by side—at times friendly, sometimes hostile, mostly a paradoxical mixture of both. We will return 54 Frugoni, “L’iconographie de la femme”: 182. See also the capital of the Benedictine Abbey Church of Sainte-Marie-Madeleine at Vézelay (France) which clearly draws the connection between a woman, the demon, the serpent of luxury, and a young musician playing the flute.

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in greater detail to this point, one that we may nevertheless axiomatically assume here as being the rule of the day.55 If the extraordinary character of such events triggered a temporary inversion of attitudes towards the visibility of women in general, both among Jews and Christians, it did so with special emphasis, and often with contradictory results, when it came to Jews. But pursuing this line of reasoning would take us far away from the main subject matter of this essay. Nevertheless, we cannot avoid noting briefly that a close reading of Amittai’s piyyut for the Sabbath service definitely reiterates the idea that the central figure in the family is the paterfamilias, around whom all other persons would gather in order to enhance his prominence. The world that was created, according to the rabbis, as a suitable frame to situate Adam and his appropriately subordinate assistant Eve, is represented as a prefiguration of each single birth of a boy to which, at the appropriate time, the bride will be brought as an appropriately subordinate assistant. We will not trace here the entire set of ideas, received almost unchanged from Antiquity in the traditional texts and echoed in such ritual compositions, sometimes borrowing with typically medieval insouciance older ones that learned audiences could not miss. Suffice it to mention first that, as neatly stated both in Amittai’s hymn and in the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az, the circumcision ritual would be the second extraordinary event to interrupt the everyday routine of the entire community and assemble it around the newborn and his family in a socio-cultural happening deserving to be remembered. Second, that occasion would be used to enhance the social standing of the family establishing appropriate alliances through the widespread institution of co-parents (§ 32), recently highlighted by valuable studies.56 The conventional denomination of the Sabbath service as ïúç úáù (Bridegroom Sabbath) and of the set of blessings under the canopy as íéðúç úëøá (Blessing of the Bridegrooms) did emblematically stress how the entire worldview precisely defined the gendered hierarchy of a patrilineal society and the place of women in it. If all this is kept in mind, one will perhaps be better equipped to evaluate more properly the effort made by Ahima#az to represent his . recollection of family memories in a way that would nonetheless justify his claim to social prominence by virtue of his female ancestor. See p. 177, below. See Baumgarten, Mothers and Children, 58–59, 76, 80–83, 100; Neumann, “Sandak and Godparent.” 55 56

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Besides births and marriages, funerals were the only other events of consequence in which Jewish public and private spaces merged in some exceptionally noticeable manner. The proximity of funerals to weddings as social occurrences of the same kind is indeed striking, for the very concepts of marriage and burial were not as antithetic in both the Greco-Roman and Jewish traditions as they may be to modern minds. A first indication of such proximity already surfaces in the Greek terminology that almost immediately linked attending to the dead with relationship by marriage; similarly Jewish imagery—later inherited by Christians—associated death with marriage on a number of levels.57 But since the care of the dead was more than anything else an outstanding expression of popular piety that symbolically mediated between the real world and the imaginary afterworld, it will be addressed in the next chapter.

57 In fact the Greek word for funeral, κηδεα, can also mean alliance or parenthood; the verb κηδεω means to tend (a bride or a corpse) or to contract an alliance by marriage, and the noun κηδεστ"ς means relation-in-law; hence it has been suggested that the linguistic relationship may be rooted in original mutual obligations implied by intermarriage, more specifically, the protection of marriage rights and attendance to the funeral ritual. See Alexiou, Ritual Lament, 10–11.

chapter five JEWS AND CHRISTIANS: MAGIC, SORCERY, EVERYDAY LIFE, AND POPULAR PIETY

Inasmuch as evidence of the existence of certain ideas can unequivocally be found in the paradigms of knowledge current among the social groups under scrutiny, we are justified in assuming axiomatically that they would be immediately grasped by their readers or listeners, just as modern readers or listeners understand allusions in contemporary discourses. Just as we have assumed as an axiom that medieval Jews and Christians could almost instinctively comprehend allusions to biblical texts and ideas because the currency of the Bible in the Middle Ages can be assumed a priori, we may justifiably assume that they could equally grasp other ideas whose currency can be shown with similar plausibility.1 Quite naturally, Judeo-Christian confrontation is one of the easiest elements that can be comprehended as being heavily present in the perception of Jewish life in the medieval context of a Christian milieu. Since Jews were constantly and everywhere a demographic minority living in the midst of a majority of non-Jews, yet resisting total assimilation with them and striving to maintain a distinct character of their own, they constantly found themselves in dialogic situations with their neighbors. As a rule, medieval Judeo-Christian dialogue meant hazy encounter, implying both challenge and response in which the two parties constantly sought confirmation of their beliefs. For Christians such confirmation would eventually be hallmarked by the conversion of their Jewish adversaries who would finally recognize the superiority of vibrant Christianity vis-à-vis fossilized Judaism. For Jews, successful resistance of Christian temptation would unequivocally prove the superiority of Judaism. Although everyday life might quite exceptionally degenerate into violence that could jeopardize coexistence, usually a prerequisite for the dialogic encounter to take place,2 1 Such, for instance, was the the case of symbolic allusions in the previously discussed story of Aharon. 2 This does not mean that a seemingly dialogic reaction cannot take place in

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challenge and response would constantly be subtly implied in a variety of both conscious and subconscious perceptions of the surrounding world. One can therefore hardly underestimate how the concrete perception of the surrounding world according to the basic categories of time and space would be variously projected onto the actual perceptions of the respective Other and translated correspondingly into behavioral tendencies, ranging from plain contempt to virulent violence. Though somehow hesitantly in earlier endeavors, more recent research has indeed significantly substantiated several aspects of the opposition resulting from Judeo-Christian antagonistic perception of the Self visà-vis the Other in the field of religious beliefs. The most immediately detectable component of such perceptions was a basically hostile one. One can quite easily put together a huge dossier of negative characterizations of the respective Other. Christians almost instinctively depicted nearly every aspect of Jews and Judaism in negative and offensive terms as did the Jews with respect to Christians and Christianity. Focusing upon the vitriolic offensive mentions of Christianity displayed in the Hebrew chronicles of the First Crusade,3 Anna Sapir Abulafia has persuasively argued that such invectives do not constitute a feature peculiar to the Crusade chronicles but are an element in all types of Jewish literature throughout the Middle Ages and that they consequently had a specific function to play in determining the attitudes of medieval Jews towards the Christian world in which they lived.4 People would of course generally use such expressions almost inadvertently; and yet, one should not underestimate the enormous conditioning effect of their endless repetition, particularly in the common Judeo-vernacular jargons. Just as in Yiddish one would call a Christian man or woman shekets (õ÷ù) or respectively shikse (äö÷ù) (which, incidentally, is a barbarism in Hebrew), in Judeo-Italian one until very recently, for instance,

the absence of a concrete Jewish “other” as interlocutor. The history of anti-Jewish utterances in works of Christian authors who may hardly have encountered a real Jew in their entire lives can offer many such examples, conceived as disguised responses to socio-cultural challenges with which the Jews and Judaism really had nothing to do. But this is generally not the case in which Jews and Christians were actually sharing the same living space. 3 Baptism is called their stench, Christians the unclean uncircumcised, Christianity simply error, Jesus trampled corpse, their detestable thing, the son of whoredom, and so on. 4 Sapir Abulafia, “Invectives against Christianity,” where previous works are conveniently listed. See also Cunningham, “Polemic and Exegesis.”

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normally called a Church abomination (äáòåú) or building of impurity (ïééðá äàîåèä), and so it is referred to in the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az (§ 13). Church vs. Synagogue More attentive consideration, however, can quite easily discover powerful components of implied tension, fundamentally contrasting such a basically one-dimensional portrayal. To begin with, for Jews living in Christian areas the architectonic presence of churches within the urban space can hardly be considered to have been so exhaustively sensed as one could infer from the vulgar expressions mentioned earlier. Churches almost ubiquitously dominated the urban landscape in the semantics of the city’s topographic division into neighborhoods. Cathedral churches and adjacent squares marked the undisputable center of urban life: public gatherings took place in front of them, under the dominant sign of the cross. In the early Middle Ages, the unique political and institutional function of the bishops as defenders of the city (defensores civitatis)5 found concrete visible expression in the adjacent Bishopric and even in the cathedral itself. Beyond summoning the faithful to prayer, church bells broadcast to the entire urban population all kinds of extraordinary messages—sudden danger, remarkable happy or sad events, and the like. In the eyes of medieval Christians the majesty of the church signified the majesty of the men somehow associated with it, for the church designated a visibly mediating link between the earthly and the celestial spheres, and the men associated with it were naturally perceived as human mediators of the same kind. Kings, princes, and bishops, who attributed to themselves such socio-cultural mediatory roles, would consequently strive to satisfy their longing for grandeur by associating their name with the erection of magnificent churches, thus eliciting the praises of chroniclers and poets. The process was so intensely accelerated after the fatidic year One Thousand that eminent historian Georges Duby suggested characterizing Western Europe as “Europe of cathedrals.”6 In sum, the church was an indispensable and essential element for the definition of the medieval Christian Self.

5 6

Bury, History of the Later Roman Empire, Ch. 22, esp. 2:361–362. Duby, L’Europe des cathedrales.

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It would be unreasonable to assume that the Jews could ignore all that. Just like their Christian neighbors, Jews spent their lives in the shadow of the city’s churches. For them, however, the magnificence of the cathedrals could not reinforce their self-esteem. On the contrary, it turned out to be a source of frustration, since it was impossible for Jews to compete with Christians on the architectonic level: not only was it forbidden by law to build new synagogues,7 but they were also compelled to suppress, as much as possible, all kinds of manifestations of their cultic activity in order to avoid the destructive wrath of their fellow citizens. Experience had taught them that even popes, profoundly bound to respect the law, which did not forbid Jewish religious practice, found it extremely difficult to protect synagogues from eruptions of popular Christian zeal.8 It was therefore only natural that an almost neat structural opposition would oppose the sacred Jewish space of the synagogues to the Christian one of the churches. In other words, opposition extended to the whole surrounding space and influenced the entire perception of the Self vis-à-vis the Other: while the church was characterized by a dynamic of tri-dimensional expansion and a tendency towards outward demonstration, the synagogue was characterized by just the opposite—a dynamic of repression and a tendency towards inward closure and effacement. It cannot be a matter of simple chance that, as noted above in Chapter 3, not even one synagogue’s archaeological vestiges from the early Middle Ages have been unearthed up to now and that even for the subsequent medieval period the remains of synagogal buildings are extremely rare and almost insignificant throughout the entire European area. This phenomenon must be seen as a constante de longue durée in the history of the relations between medieval Jews and Christians. For those Jews who made the conscious decision to persist in remaining Jewish, the almost inevitable way out of such a frustrating confrontation was to project the competition between Church and Synagogue onto a plane where conditions might be inverted, i.e., beyond actual time and space, in the unreal contexts of past history or future expectations. In both such unreal contexts, the unique Sanctuary of the See Linder, Jews in the Legal Sources, 49–50 and index s.v, úñðëä úéá. The case of Gregory the Great (7th cent.), as it emerges from his epistle to the Bishop of Terracina (PL 77:458), is exemplary in this respect. A much more radically anti-Jewish stance is presented by the angry epistle of Ambrose, bishop of Milan (4th cent.), concerning the synagogue of Callinicum (PL 16:1113–1119). 7 8

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Jews—built by King Solomon, destroyed by Titus, and expected to be rebuilt in messianic times—could indeed compete with the magnificent cathedrals and even defeat them. The pervasive impact of the Bible on medieval minds, Jewish and Christian alike, could confer on this virtual competition a gist of timeless actuality, for the biblical examples offered to medieval minds a unique parameter against which human nature and activity could be measured. Just as the idea of unrestrained faith was linked by both Jews and Christians to the image of Abraham, the concept of perfect regality was tied to the images of David or Solomon, according to what the medieval mind chose to prefer, i.e., the image of the warrior or rather that of the sage legislator. From such a standpoint, the biblical Sanctuary of Solomon became in Christian eyes, no less than in Jewish ones, a symbol of absolutely perfect architectonic magnificence, an enviable model for emulation, and above all a conceptual topos easily recognizable by all. In that vein, people would rhetorically ask if Eusebius, bishop of Tyre (4th cent.) should properly be called a new Bezalel or Solomon, Alcuin (d. 804), from a similar perspective saw Charlemagne as a new Solomon, and Notker (d. 912) compared the cathedral of Aachen to the Jerusalem Sanctuary. (See pl. 21). Furthermore, popular opinion—skillfully fed by imperial propaganda—could have Justinian exclaim in the sight of the newly rebuilt Hagia Sofia: “I prevailed over you, Solomon.” When Basil I uttered the same exclamation when facing the so called “New Church,” he was therefore having recourse to a well-established idiom of thought rooted in the Bible.9 It would be unreasonable to assume that to the extent that critical attitudes towards the Byzantine formation of imperial images through the edificatory policy of constructing monumental churches influenced public opinion, Jews would remain unaware of them. We can safely assume, then, that inasmuch as the record of Basil’s obsessive effort to be remembered by posterity through the New Church was successful, it did so by conflating the idea of Justinian’s oeuvre in Hagia Sofia with the memory of Basil’s contention that his Church prevailed over both Justinian’s and Solomon’s buildings.10 And yet, by the time that Ahima#az was composing his chronicle, the memory of Basil’s con. tention had almost entirely faded away while the idea of the emulation of Hagia Sofia was gradually gaining favor in the minds of local Dagron, Constantinople imaginaire, 303–305. For a brief bibliographical survey on this issue, see Bonfil, “La visione ebraica di Daniele”: 41, n. 74. 9

10

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rulers, not just emperors or kings. A remarkable example of the currency of this idea in the immediate proximity of Ahima#az is presented . in the Church of Saint Sophia in Benevento, whose construction was completed by Duke Arichis in 762, presumably as a national Lombard church. (See pl. 22). This church turned out to be the most audacious and imaginative construction effort in southern Italy in the early Middle Ages. The Benedictine abbey that Arichis annexed to it became the most notable in that region, reaching its apex in the twelfth century, especially because of its scriptorium which developed the famous script named after it. This “Hagia Sophia,” which attained a tremendous reputation much beyond the immediate area, hosted a number of illustrious personalities, such as the famous historian Paul the Deacon, Emperor Lothar, and the Norman King Roger II.11 The dispute purportedly conducted between Basil I and Shephatiah must therefore be understood as part of this kind of thinking. Although it would appear more likely that Basil I may have based his argument with the Jews on a comparison between the New Church and the Sanctuary of Solomon, it is definitely not unreasonable to presume that in the recollection of Ahima#az the dispute centered on Hagia Sophia, . and that the Hagia Sofia of Constantinople would coalesce in his mind, as well as in those of his contemporaries, with the Hagia Sophia of Benevento. Nor would it seem unreasonable to Jewish and Christian minds alike that the Bible could actually offer “objective” proof of what was the “truth” of the matter. Yet, viewed from the standpoint of the Jews, their superiority in this field was totally projected from the past to the messianic future, in which God was expected to restore the lost glory of Israel. The present was artfully skipped over. From such a perspective it would therefore not be mistaken to maintain that the Jews managed to situate their actual life beyond time so as to make the actual confrontation with the non-Jewish world quite irrelevant and neutralize the impact of the arguments that accompanied missionary pressure. Shephatiah’s supposedly successful dispute with the emperor, as recollected by Ahima#az, suitably summarizes additional aspects of that . confrontation as they were constantly perceived by medieval Jews. The most outstanding among them was already mentioned when emphasis was placed upon the political worldview of medieval Jews that, as a rule,

11

Belting, “Studien zum beneventanischen Hof ”; on Paul the Deacon: 164–169.

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advocated faithful subordination and service to non-Jewish rulers, however hostile they might be, inasmuch as they would attempt to remove the surviving distinct Jewish entity from their dominions. Relying upon random statements by theologians and rulers, historians have variously tried to explain why, as a rule, the Jews did not share the lot of other religious dissidents. It seems that, at least in what concerns Christian manner of thought, that it was (and perhaps still is) a psychological need similar to that experienced by children choosing a way of life different from that of their parents. In order to avoid feelings of guilt, parents have to be convinced of the right of children to choose. Jews had likewise to be convinced, by no means forced, to convert, for only thus would Christianity be ultimately offered irrefutable proof of the truth of its belief.12 In any case, be the rationale underlying such an apparently incoherent resolution whatever it may, it was taken for granted, together with its additional side-effects: continuous exposure to disputation aimed at providing the Christian side with the arguments supporting their claim of being right, seductive offers of socio-economic advantages, and finally all kinds of menacing threats, though not forceful coercion to accept baptism.13 The rare exceptions to the rule fully confirm this, as does the description of the encounter of Shephatiah with the emperor in the version of Ahima#az: the emperor purportedly . forcefully led Shephatiah into a Judeo-Christian disputation, tried to persuade him with seductive offers, and finally fiercely threatened him, but refrained from crossing the line of coercion (§ 15). Shephatiah’s dispute with the emperor highlighted his superior knowledge, a quality that to the readers or listeners of Ahima#az would . appear self-evident. However, superiority of scientific knowledge was not as self-evident in the self-perception of medieval Jews vis-à-vis Christians as widely held conventional wisdom would have it. In fact, at least on one occasion Shephatiah’s brother, clearly less skilled than him, exhibited great inadequacy when confronted with the scientific knowledge of the local bishop (§ 29). As with the other details almost unintentionally collected and recorded in the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az, we can almost certainly presume See Parente, Les Juifs et L’Église, 93–95. Any attempt to append a full bibliographical listing concerning this point is impossible. The general concept underlying the medieval attitude and corresponding policy towards the Jews was enunciated by Gregory the Great at the beginning of the seventh century and subsequently repeatedly formulated in Pontifical Bulls known by their incipit as Sicut Judaeis. 12 13

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that the bishop of Oria in the period of Shephatiah and Hananel, that . is, during the reign of Basil I, was the Theodosius—a man of great capability and consequence—charged by Pope Adrian III (884–885) with a delicate mission to the emperor, most probably concerning the restoration of icons. The imprint of Theodosius is concretely visible in the remains of churches allegedly constructed by the bishop to safeguard the relics of revered martyrs, particularly of St. Barsanofrius. The remains of this latter edifice, erected in proximity to the city’s wall, “near the Jewish gate” (apud portam Hebraicam), are still visible, and almost certainly testify to Thedosious’ endeavor to convert when compared with Theodosius, the Jews.14 According to Ahima#az, . Hananel’s skill was unmistakably inferior, a trait that indirectly pointed . to his being inferior to Shephatiah, who so successfully confronted the emperor. The consequences of that confrontation could have been tragic had not Divine Providence miraculously altered the natural order of things, just as It had delayed the sunset in Gibeon (Jos 10:12–14), and thus spared the unfortunate Jew disastrous humiliation. In other words, although learning and erudition were considered basic good qualities characteristic of a prominent Jewish leader, in comparison with Christian men of knowledge Jews would not feel insuperable. On the contrary, the assumption was that Christian men of knowledge could eventually be much more knowledgeable, among other things in virtue of their rich collections of books. We shall return to this point. Suffice it to stress here that this would also be the ultimate justification for a Jewish courtier to frequent Christian libraries so as to bring knowledge to their own community. Indeed, the most remarkable Jewish literary works of the early Middle Ages were the product of such scholarly incursions into the non-Jewish literary space.15 But, should one classify leadership merits, Jews probably held in greater esteem religious righteousness, which would render the leaders deserving of miraculous intervention. In other words, piety was more valuable than being knowledgeable, for being pious most effectively substantiated the nature of the Jewish leader as an effective mediator between his fellow coreligionists and God, while being knowledgeable would rather indicate his being a 14 For these details see Falkenhausen, La dominazione bizantina, 10; Falla Castelfranchi, “Note preliminari”; Colafemmina, Sefer Yuh. asin, 128–129. 15 For instance, Sefer Yosippon [The Book of Josippon] composed towards the end of the ninth century in southern Italy or Vision of Daniel, composed in Byzantium during the first half of the tenth century.

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mediator between humans—between local and distant Jews or between Jews and gentiles. These considerations should be added to what we have said above in Chapter 3 concerning the ambiguous nature of the Jewish courtier.

Magic and Sorcery Differentiation between the sacred Jewish space of the synagogues and that of the Christian in the churches was obviously just one aspect of the structural differentiation between the opposing worldviews of the believers of the two conflicting faiths. Few other matters may be adequately represented in terms of binary antithesis: the apparently neutral true/false antithesis was naturally associated with a considerable set of other ones, all of them heavily loaded with deeply emotional and frightening connotations resulting from its association to the opposition of divine to satanic. Both Christians and Jews considered the other as being under the dominion of satanic evil forces.16 Inasmuch as Jews are concerned, one can therefore also hardly underestimate the visual impact of Christian processions carrying revered relics, icons, and statues and possible reactions on the part of Jews who by chance observed them. The un-iconic essence of their God needed to be substantiated over and over again by the recurrent representations of His attributes uttered with full assurance by the spiritual leaders who thus offered some alternative concreteness to His abstract nature. Such utterances, that later kabbalistic innovative elaborations identified with the Sefirotic appellations of the Divinity, would make—or even be—the essential might of God.17 Such a predisposition came together with the Judeo-Christian attitude rooted in the biblical view and ultimately concurred with the Roman pagan heritage on another point remarkably crucial for definition of the Self: magic.18 According to an almost general consensus of opinion, magic was not only illicit and against the law, it was above all foreign.19 Sorcerers were accordingly characterized as foreigners while

16

See Bonfil, “The Devil and the Jews.” Cf. Eikha Rabbati, (éúåîöò ìë òìá), quoted by Nathan ben Yehiel, Aruch completum; Jastrow, Dictionary, s.v. íåöéò. See also the English translation of the Chronicle, n. 23. 18 Dickie, Magic and Magicians. 19 Cardini, Magia, 8; Levinson, “Enchanting Rabbis”: 296–297. 17

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saints performing miracles would be thought of as sharing one’s social space. Crossing the virtual border line between the spaces allocated to the Other and the Self would therefore have also implied active dissociation from the world of illicit magic and sorcery and association with the commendable world of good spirits. How far-reaching the implication of such associations of ideas could be from the perspective of the structural opposition resulting from Judeo-Christian antagonism, may further be realized from recent studies which, relying among other things upon the work of social and cultural anthropologists, have persuasively pointed out the complex relationships between naive popular representations of reality (including of course storytelling) and paradigms of social and cultural structure: virtue vs. sin, hence, appropriate vs. inappropriate behavior, piety vs. impiety, grace vs. wickedness, articulate vs. inarticulate power, orthodoxy vs. heresy, social and political order vs. subversion, and so forth.20 Hence, it comes as no surprise to find the Judeo-Christian confrontation regularly present in the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az, both in overt allusions as well as in sophisticated insinuations that only trained minds would comprehend. In all cases, reports of magical performances calling to mind the Judeo-Christian confrontation thus functioned as effective parameters of defining the Self vis-à-vis the Other. Such are the messages conveyed by the story of the young attendant of Ahima#az the . elder, kept alive artificially by the sages of the Jerusalem yeshivah and restored unto dust by Aharon in Benevento (§§5–7), and of the brother of Rabbi Hananel, similarly and temporarily kept artificially alive (§ 27). . As one can immediately see, both the sages of the yeshivah and Rabbi Hananel performed the very same magic act attributed to Jesus by . the Jewish “counter history” of the Gospels. Although performed with clearly praiseworthy intention, it was nonetheless a reproachable misuse of the Name, a sinful formation of illusion whose only result could be distancing the faithful from God, for in fact it transformed virtuous deeds (the prayers of the faithful community) into authentic sin by substituting polluting death for pure life. In order to grasp the full implication of this idea, one should bear in mind that to average medieval Jewish minds the structural antithesis life / death almost instantaneously recalled a set of notions diametrically opposed to those evoked by contemporary Christian minds. To the 20 Peters, The Magician, Appendix 3: “The Magician, the Witch, and the Historians,” 203–212.

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Christian believer, Christ’s death (and subsequent resurrection) immediately called to mind the redemption of mankind. As an eloquent emblem of material death transformed into spiritual life, the image of the Crucifix symbolizes the transposition of the basic binary couplet death / life from the material sphere (associated with carnal Israel, untruly claiming to persist in being the Chosen People of God) to the spiritual one (associated with spiritual true Israel, verus Israel), and its consequent inversion: rather than ordinary material death, Christ’s death thus evokes eternal life, divine sanctity, and purity. To a Jewish mind, however, that very same image remains one of the ordinary material death of a human being, an idea essentially contradictory of the concept of divinity, and consequently of whatever such a concept would call to mind: sanctity, cult, sacred space, purity. The practice of burial inside the sacred space of churches, so vividly pointed out by the pioneering work of Philippe Ariès,21 appears thus to be definitely antithetic to the Jewish concept of divine sanctity, of the Living God as opposed to the Dead God of the Christians, of the saintly purity of Jewish worship and places of worship as opposed to the polluting impurity of Christian worship and churches, and so on.22 It is therefore quite understandable that magic and sorcery carry considerable weight in the narrative of Ahima#az, in accordance with . the commonly held medieval concept of both. In other words, though it would not have been easy to draw a clear-cut distinction between the 21

Ariès, The Hour of Our Death. Inasmuch as Western Christendom is concerned, this aspect has recently very aptly been highlighted by Jean-Claude Schmitt in his book on Hermann the Jew. Focusing, inter alia, on a splendid miniature of the Stammheim missal (realized in Hildesheim around 1170), now in the Paul Getty Museum, Schmitt emphasized how such structural opposition could take visible shape, the symbol of the barrier separating Jews from Christians being the image of the Crucifix, around which the entire picture is organized. Synagoga, representing the Jews, clearly recognizable by the characteristic Jewish hat, is located on Christ’s left, together with the moon, death, and night, while Ecclesia, representing the Christians, is located on Christ’s right, together with the sun, life, and day. Ecclesia holds a napkin with a script from Paul’s Epistle to the Galateans (3:13) “Christus nos redemit de maledicto legis,” while on Synagoga’s napkin we may read a quotation from Deuteronomy (21:23) in the standard Latin translation: “Maledictus omnis qui pendet in lignum.” The illustration of the Stammheim missal thus vividly illustrates how crossing the borderline between the Jewish and the Christian configurations entails for Jews and Christians alike, an inversion of signs not only of the couplet death /life but also of other variables essential for socio-cultural definitions of the Self as related to the Other. The Jews were assigned to the realm of night (and, naturally, of the moon), whereas the Christians would fit into the realm of day (and, naturally, of the sun). See Schmitt, La conversion d’Hermann Le Juif. 22

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two, medieval men and women were nonetheless generally presumed to be capable of distinguishing between sorcery, always bad, and magic, not always evil. Both were supposed to bring about extraordinary acts by beseeching or coercing preternatural powers.23 Medieval Jews and Christians, just as Greeks and Romans before them, did not doubt the existence of such powers, which the revered teachings of the Bible fully confirmed, as they prohibited numerous practices associated with them and consequently enhanced their elusiveness. Correct assessment of a wondrous act should have taken into consideration a complex combination of all its efficient causes: who did it, how he or she performed it, with what intention, and what was the result. Should all four causes be definitely negative, there would be no doubt that improper magic— indeed sorcery—had been activated; should they all be praiseworthy, ordinary people would quite probably push aside any possible doubts rooted in the well-known biblical prohibitions. Sorcerers intentionally coercing evil spirits to do their bidding would thus unquestionably be considered demonic, while well-intentioned men or women beseeching divine powers in order to ameliorate the circumstances of earthly life would be revered as admirable saints.24 However, such a state of affairs was rather rare. It was indeed equally conceivable that commendable results could be obtained by means of evil spirits or malefic practices, just as malevolent results could be obtained through improper use of divine power. Both Christians and Jews could quote innumerable examples from their sacred traditions.

23

Stuart Clark has written wonderful pages about the “daunting problems” that the use of language poses to moderns who are inclined to maintain that beliefs in witchcraft were essentially incorrect, after the so-called “linguistic turn,” i.e., the “fundamental shift away from the realist assumption that truths are discovered lying around in the world by sufficiently adept observers who then represent them in language,” towards “the anti-realist idea that they are made by language itself and then commended by members of speech communities who find them good to believe.” See Clark, Thinking with Demons, 3–10. By adopting here an outwardly “romantic approach” (cf. Monter, “The Historiography of European Witchcraft”), i.e., one that assumes subjective persuasion as substantially inherent in the historical reality which is the subject matter of the historian, we consciously choose an eclectic (hence hybrid) line of description, striving to avoid as much as possible the question of what magic and sorcery “really” are. 24 The bibliography on the subject is extremely vast. I am particularly indebted to the following: Thomas, Religion and the Decline of Magic, esp. the first chapter (“The Magic of the Medieval Church”); Manselli, “Le premesse medievali”; idem, Magia e stregoneria nel Medioevo. Torino: Giappichelli, 1976; Cardini, Magia; Kieckhefer, Magic; Kors and Peters, Witchcraft in Europe.

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Ordinary people would thus hardly find a straightforward pathway out of the dark forest of doubt. Granted, for instance, that natural magic was not distinct from science (i.e., it was science that dealt with “occult virtues”—or hidden powers—within nature), and granted that demonic magic was not far removed from religion but rather a perversion of it, for it turned away from God towards demons for help in human affairs, how then could one straightforwardly appraise the doing of healers using charms or amulets of proven power? And how could one unambiguously decide whether coercing supernatural powers to achieve a praiseworthy goal was laudable or rather worthy of censure? The less people who were wont to attribute extraordinary events to the hidden will of God felt that they were in control of events, the more they might be inclined to leave room for wondrous intervention of preternatural forces. Of course, religious belief and practice did help. Indeed, focusing upon the advent of Christianized society, Peter Brown has convincingly shown how religious belief and practice may have operated as defensive weapons against feelings of anxiety rooted in loss of control over the normal course of life, in which sorcery played its usual role, generating danger and evil.25 And yet, between the “rationalist” rejection of magical events and the diametrically opposed belief in all-powerful sorcery capable of coercing God, one comes across a host of intermediate beliefs eluding precise categorization.26 St. Augustine’s discussions and subtle endeavors to make sense of magic practices in his De civitate Dei vividly convey the compelling force of such perceptions of the world, notwithstanding the no less compelling wish to dismiss them altogether as outrageously challenging the omnipotence of God: For if we should say these things are not to be credited, there are not wanting even now some who would affirm that they had either heard on the best authority, or even themselves experienced, something of that kind … But it is to be most firmly believed that Almighty God can do whatever He pleases, whether in punishing or favoring, and that the demons can accomplish nothing by their natural power (for their created being is itself angelic, although made malign by their own fault), except

25

Brown, “Sorcery, Demons.” Valuable surveys of different outlooks among Christians can be found in the works of Raoul Manselli, Franco Cardini, and Alan Charles Kors and Edward Peters (see n. 24 above). Similar surveys of outlooks among Jews are still highly desirable. Cf. Salzman, Chronicle, 64 citing Blau, Das altjüdische Zauberwesen, 23; Lenormant, La magie, 70. 26

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chapter five what He may permit, whose judgments are often hidden, but never unrighteous. And indeed the demons, if they really do such things as these on which this discussion turns, do not create real substances, but only change the appearance of things created by the true God so as to make them seem to be what they are not. I cannot therefore believe that even the body, much less the mind, can really be changed into bestial forms and lineaments by any reason, art, or power of the demons; but the phantasm of a man which even in thought or dreams goes through innumerable changes may, when the man’s senses are laid asleep or overpowered, be presented to the senses of others in a corporeal form, in some indescribable way unknown to me …27

Almost six centuries later, the Babylonian Hai Gaon, who altogether dismissed practices supposedly producing wonders, such as hindering criminals from carrying out their intentions or calming storms, as idle chatter (íéìèá íéøáã) unequivocally testified in a famous epistle to the sages of Qairawan28 that similar reports had been heard from a number of Palestinian and Byzantine sages, and that knowledgeable sages were of different opinions about them: “Some would say that it is possible that God has the righteous perform miracles similar to the wonders accomplished by the prophets.” Among other things, Hai Gaon mentions there some texts belonging to the so-called Heikhaloth and Merkavah literature, particularly the Book of Righteousness in which could be found “some Names and Names of angels and forms of seals” purportedly used to perform wondrous deeds. The fragments of the Book of Righteousness found in the Cairo Genizah unequivocally confirm that it contained specific instructions for the magical use of the Names recorded in the Heikhaloth and Merkavah literature in amulets, seals, or in other wondrous acts.29 Recent scholarship has discovered other texts of this kind, one of them clearly shedding light on the enactment of the ordeal of the so.tah by Aharon of Baghdad (§ 8) and definitely supporting the view that in the entire Mediterranean area such practices were not at that time considered incompatible with Talmudic lore.30 27

Augustine, City of God, Dods translation, Book XVIII, Ch. XVIII. Cf. De spirito et anima, cap. xxvi (PL 40, xxx). 28 This epistle, published in Geonic Treasure, vol. 4: Tractates Yom-Tov, Hagigah …, 16– 17, is discussed extensively by Ben-Sasson, Emergence, 275–280, whose notes contain an exhaustive bibliography. 29 See the bibliography in Harari, “Scroll of Ahima #az”: 190. 30 Harari, “Scroll of Ahima #az.” It should however be added that Harari’s subtle distinction (p. 200, n. 56, apparently contradicted on p. 199, n. 54) between events (that may or may not have occurred) and their recollection (that would testify that people maintained the memory of their occurrence) seems a rather unnecessary modern vari-

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Hence, while the Gaon pretended to be adamant in his rejection of such unbelievable reports, other knowledgeable people were less skeptical, making sense of wonders by attributing them to some mysterious will of Almighty God. Others could be inclined towards a different intermediary opinion. For instance, R. Hananel ben Hushiel, who . . spent at least part of his life in southern Italy, suggested (like St. Augustine) an explanation based upon the idea of illusion.31 Paraphrasing Richard Kieckhefer, one can say that the history of attitudes and representations of wonderful deeds is above all a crossing point where a multitude of components crucial for the definition of the Self variously intersect.32 Again, the Judeo-Christian biblical and “biblically oriented” heritage was fundamental among such components, and miracles were among the most convincing arguments for God’s powerful intervention in human affairs through His saintly agents. Just as the Pentateuch taught the miraculous stories of Moses, and the Book of Kings those of Elisha, the Gospels taught the miracles of Jesus and the Apostles. On the other hand, one could also draw from the immense storehouse of the biblical heritage the idea that, although prohibited, magical practices were nonetheless absolutely effective, even at the hands of evil sorcerers. In most post-biblical reports of such miracles, probably related (though admittedly in hardly explicable ways) to pre-existing pagan beliefs and practices, one can discern standard magical practices that were current in Hellenistic environments.33 It has also been shown that among the most powerful techniques capable of producing wonderful effects—not just at the hands of the righteous but even of evil magicians—was the use of the hidden Name of God or of certain powerful angels.34 Jews believed that Moses killed the evil ety of the Isidorian distinction between historia and argumentum (Isidorus, Etymologiarum, liber I, xliv, 5: “Nam historiae sunt res verae quae factae sunt; argumenta sunt quae etsi facta non sunt, fieri tamen possunt”). Be that as it may, the question of the actual provenance of the magical practices mentioned in the texts, whether Babylonia and Persia or the Mediterranean area, seems to me quite irrelevant for our discussion; see also ibid., 200–202. 31 Geonic Treasure on Tractate Sanhedrin, 557. See also Idel, Golem, 100. 32 Kieckhefer, Magic, 16: “the history of magic is above all a crossing point where the exploitation of natural forces and the invocation of demonic powers intersect.” 33 Smith, Jesus the Magician. 34 This idea concurred with the one found in other ancient writings that retained the traditions of the centuries before the Common Era, i.e., the sacredness of a form of the Ineffable Name composed of 22, 42, or 72 parts, words, or letters. It is still doubtful what those 22, 42, or 72 were—either different words expressing the various attributes of God, or letters in a mystical combination. But whatever these may have been,

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Egyptian (Exod. 2:11–12) using the hidden Name.35 Mathew (26:53) likewise thought Jesus could control spirits by invoking his Father, who, if Jesus only pronounced the word, would send him twelve legions of angels,36 just as Simon Magus, mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles (8:9–29) and unequivocally labeled by patristic traditions as the heretic founder of Gnosticism, was reported to have made reproachable use of the magic power of the Name. Both saints and evil sorcerers could likewise fly, instantly cross lands and seas, calm storms, and do many other extraordinary things by using the Name of God. Few clichés had greater success in the Middle Ages than a ship on a stormy sea, and no other miracle was more widespread than intervention of a saint to calm a storm or resuscitate a man drowned in a shipwreck.37 The Chronicle of Ah. ima"az includes several instances of such magical utterances. Demons, witches, and brooms are an integral part of the worldview of both the author and his readers or listeners, as are various magical operations. Witches are described as capable of abducting infants and eating them (§ 33); demons are sealed in vessels and thrown into the sea (§ 14); saintly virtuosi perform wonders by dexterous use of sacred books (§ 42), above all by adroit magical use of the Name of God that Jewish saints, as portrayed in the Heikhaloth and Merkavah literature, were supposed to know and use when mediating between the earthly and heavenly spheres.38 Books like these were revered in ways recalling reverence of Christian relics (§ 42). We have already discussed the enactment of the ordeal of the so.tah by Aharon the Baghdadite. We have also pointed out the symbolic meaning of substituting a subjugated lion for a mule in Baghdad as opposed to restoring the human condition of a bewitched youngster transformed into a dondid not make clear exactly how key in Gaeta.39 In that case Ahima#az . they were credited with the selfsame astounding powers. The heavens were moreover peopled in a very early age with numberless angels arranged in a hierarchical order, each endowed with a special name, the knowledge of which was no less desirable for working miracles. See Gaster, Sword of Moses, 78. 35 Exod. Rab. 1, 29. 36 Twelve legions numbered 72,000, i.e., one thousand times the number of the components of the most sacred Ineffable Name (see n. 34 above); Smith, Jesus the Magician, 109. 37 Le Goff, La civiltà, 153. 38 Elior, Heikhaloth Literature, esp. 77–84. 39 According to Saint Augustine, stories about bewitched persons transformed into donkeys were already current in southern Italy in his time. In his discussion of magic acts (Augustine, City of God, Dods translation, Book XVIII, Ch. XVIII) he wrote:

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Aharon operated, but from the other mentions of the rabbi’s wonderful deeds one can almost certainly infer that what he had in mind was a particular numerological use of combinations of letters, namely the letters of one or more words occurring in biblical verses and somehow symbolizing the Name. Thus, Aharon is said to have operated “with the power of the mighty arm,” apparently a proper manipulation of Exod. 14:31 (§ 25). According to the “counter-history” of Jesus’ life and death, greatly popular among medieval Jews,40 the miracles that Christians attributed to Jesus were also performed by having recourse to the Name of God that Jesus succeeded in removing from the Sanctuary where it was most scrupulously safeguarded. The Name was said to have been guarded near the so-called “Foundation Stone” by two dogs (in some versions: two lions). According to some versions the dogs (or lions) were made of copper and the Name was placed inside their mouths so as to artificially bring them to life. In the event that anyone would try to memorize the Name, the animals would roar so fiercely that he would be terrorized and instantly forget it. But Jesus adopted a stratagem: he wrote the Name on a piece of parchment, hid it within an incision under his flesh, and was thus capable of gaining possession of its magic power. This is the first instance in which use of the Name appears together with the motif of a magic parchment inserted under the flesh as a means of producing artificial life.41 To medieval Jewish minds this idea offered, among other things, a conceivable explanation not only for the

“Indeed we ourselves, when in Italy, heard such things about a certain region there where landladies of inns, imbued with these wicked arts, were said to be in the habit of giving to such travelers as they chose, or could manage, something in a piece of cheese by which they were changed on the spot into beasts of burden, and carried whatever was necessary, and were restored to their own form when the work was done.” Furthermore, besides the obvious allusion to Apuleius’ metamorphoses, and following Scobie’s essay dealing with the theme of ass-men in folktales (Scobie, “AssMen”), Colafemmina very aptly called attention to additional themes that might also be relevant for a correct assessment of the story, such as the fact that the Circeum, where according to the Latin tradition the witch Circe transformed her lovers into pigs (Aeneid 7, 10–20), was situated near Capua, or that the Arab Gospel of the Savior’s Infancy (20–21) reports a story about Mary who restored a lad transformed into a donkey by putting the infant Jesus on the donkey’s back (see Colafemmina, Sefer Yuh. asin, 69). 40 Krauss, Das Leben Jesu, 280–281—one can already find in this remarkable piece of erudite scholarship a quite extensive bibliography on the magical use of the Name of God. 41 Needless to say, the idea is basic—though in different forms—in the stories about the golem. See Idel, Golem, passim.

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wonders reported in the Gospels but also for the central Christian belief in Resurrection—everything was the result of sorcery. It is against such a background that we must read the above-mentioned stories about the young attendant of Ahima#az the elder, kept artificially alive by . the sages of the Jerusalem yeshivah and restored unto dust by Aharon in Benevento, and of the brother of Rabbi Hananel, similarly kept . temporarily alive. As already pointed out, the same kind of magical act could one time be categorized as evil and another time as commendable. In other words, readers or listeners were supposed to be familiar with the possibility that saints might also occasionally use magic power in some inappropriate manner, since they were supposed to grasp the differences by comparing the effects and speculating about the executor’s intentions. Viewed from the standpoint of the “economy” of punishment and reward, such actions could then be considered as a “waste” of merits leading to consequent postponement of salvation. In some cases, the ambivalence implicit in the act of magic is strongly insinuated by inter-textual readings familiar to learned audiences. Such is undoubtedly the case of the miracle that saved Hananel from disgrace in his . unsuccessful confrontation with the learned bishop of Oria (§ 31). And although no distinction seems to have been made between possession and other kinds of bewitchment through witchcraft,42 the story of Shephatiah and the deliverance of Basil’s daughter (§ 14) could not but recall to such audiences the story of R. Shimon bar Yohai . having recourse to the demon ben Themalion’s services to deliver the emperor’s daughter from demonic possession and obtain the annulment of the imperial decree against the Jews. 42 Such distinctions have been put forward concerning early modern Europe. See, for instance, Harley, “Calvinist Psychology”: 309–310, who, focusing on phenomena related to early modern England, recalls Richard Weisman’s definition of possession and bewitchment as subsets of affliction, which would be the name of a set consisting of all instances of an individual’s thoughts and actions being controlled by preternatural forces: in possession, control would have been exercised directly by “Satan or his representatives” while in bewitchment, demonic power would have been mediated by witchcraft. And see there for Carol F. Karlsen’s rejection of Weisman’s definitions in her The Devil in the Shape of a Woman. For early modern France, see Sluhovsly, “A Divine Apparition”: 1043, who defines possession as an involuntary interaction between a human being and a possessing entity and its termination upon a successful ritual of exorcism, while witchcraft would involve a voluntary pact with the devil, usually signed not by the possessed person but by a third participant, and its termination with the end of the diabolic pact, usually through the physical elimination of the culprit. See there for additional bibliographical references.

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It is needless to add that the entire set of gender prejudices, like the conventional idea of sorcerers as whores, was almost naturally appended to the representation of the performers of magical actions, such as the sorcerer who transformed the boy in Gaeta into a mule (§4). In all cases, readers or listeners were supposed to establish instinctive relationships between such popular representations of reality and the paradigms of knowledge associated with their social and cultural frameworks. At times they would thus perceive allusions to Judeo-Christian confrontation, at other times insinuations of unsettled points of contention within society, and sometimes complex support for the current worldview astutely intertwined with sophisticated moralizing encouragement, and so on. When reading or listening to the wondrous stories of Aharon or Ahima#az the elder, the average medieval Jew would thus immediately . perceive in the background a dual set of indirectly related opposed instances: on the one hand, denial of basic Christian beliefs, and on the other, confirmation of equally basic Jewish convictions. A momentous case in point is the reference to the Christian concept of Jesus as Teacher of Humanity instead of the fossilized Law of the Jews, opposed by the Jewish metaphorical reference to the Torah as everlasting pedagogue. In referring to such opposition drawn from the midrash, Ahima#az (§§ 9 and 29) does not appear to feel that further explanation . is needed: he assumes that the readers or listeners immediately understand it as naturally integrating the structural opposition between the Torah—the Law of the Jews, the unchanged Word of God—and Jesus, the Verb. For Torah and Verb are both viewed in inverted terms from the opposite side of the barrier separating Jews from Christians, and both fundamentally and polemically declare the characterization of the Jews as continuously subject to the Word of the Law, vis-à-vis the Christians as having replaced it with Christ.43 Other insinuations would be less overt and more subtle. In the rhetorical depiction of Basil’s missionary pressure as aiming “to silence acknowledgment of the Unity” (§ 11) some, for instance, might quite easily perceive a polemic allusion to the Christian credo of the Trinity. If our suggestion that the purpose of the entire cycle of the stories of Aharon was aimed at legitimizing replacement of the authority of 43 For the idea of Torah as pedagogue see Gen. Rab. 1, 1. For the opposite view of Jesus as pedagogue, see Simon, Verus Israel, 73 and 447, n. 45. See also Boyarin, Carnal Israel.

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the Palestinian sages by that of the Babylonian ones is correct, one could feel justified in perceiving the improper act performed by the Palestinian sages as analogous to the blameworthy act performed by Jesus. This would be a tortuous confirmation of the Babylonian insulting characterization of the Palestinian set of guidelines as ãîù ìù äøåú, i.e., a doctrine deeply influenced by Byzantine missionary pressure. In other words this is a subtle insinuation that the Palestinian guidelines are flawed by Christian influences. Therefore, there is a serious need of the corrective action of Aharon, and this would consequently be more effectively categorized as part of his atonement for the sin he committed in Baghdad. One such subtle allusion in the description of the opening section of the beginning of Aharon’s journey of atonement in Jaffa (§ 4) may be a case in point. Inasmuch as magic is concerned, Aharon’s performance is indeed quite ordinary for, as already noted, calming storms was among the most common magical practices. Jesus was reported to have calmed one (Mark 4:35–41), most probably as a statement of divinity, immediately calling to mind the frequent mentions in the Bible of God Who commands the winds and the sea. This was a standard wonder performed by magi in Antiquity, still widely popular in Pliny’s time (63–ca. 113). It was so important for agriculture that in the fourth century magic intended to prevent rains and hail was excluded from the list of practices banned by the law as being incompatible with Christianity.44 We have already mentioned Hai Gaon’s acknowledgment that similar reports had been heard from a number of Palestinian and Byzantine sages. So far, then, there is nothing exceptional in the story. And yet, one coming from Baghdad who boarded a boat in Jaffa in order to sail towards Italy on a journey of atonement would immediately call to mind the biblical story of Jonah and consequently evoke complex associations of ideas. While in both cases the hero is portrayed as embarking on a journey in a framework of avoidance of obedience to God’s will (Jonah in order to escape obedience, Aharon after having already been disobedient) Jonah’s boarding the ship causes stormy weather and is an impediment to navigation (in order to restore obedience), while Aharon causes a miraculous contraction of navigation time (in order to carry out atonement as smoothly as possible). In other words, a structural reading of the story as told by Ahima#az should both . 44 For all this and more, see Smith, Jesus the Magician, 119 where an extensive bibliography is also provided.

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associate and contrast Jonah’s boarding the boat at Jaffa with Aharon’s similar action. At this point it should be borne in mind that the biblical narrative of Jonah was (and, in fact, still is) a very elusively ambivalent one in the Jewish exegetical tradition, in addition to being a quite controversial example of the common Judeo-Christian cultural heritage. While Christians, at least according to particular patristic views, represent Jonah as typologically prefiguring Jesus, the repentance of the people of Nineveh as alluding to the conversion of the gentiles to Christianity and implying the threat of damnation for the Jews who refuse to convert,45 Jews would accordingly refer to such exegesis the other way around. As E.E. Urbach has convincingly argued, contrary to Babylonian Jews, who would not feel uncomfortable interpreting the repentance of the gentiles of Nineveh as being strongly critical of the behavior of the Jews who refused to do God’s bidding, the Jews under Byzantine rule would adopt the opposite viewpoint and consider the repentance of the people of Nineveh as insincere, even hypocritical.46 Jonah’s flight due to his reluctance to deliver the Divine message to Nineveh would correspondingly be interpreted in a manner deeply critical of the prophet’s behavior. And in order to fully grasp the impact of such ideas on medieval Jews, one has to constantly keep in mind that the text of Jonah is read by Jews everywhere as part of the ritual of Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. (And see pl. 28). Other, even more subtle, allusions may have been made by means of wording alluding to known invectives included in familiar piyyutim. In the phrasing referring to avoidance of putrefaction accruing from the magical insertion of the Name under the flesh of a dead person, sensitive ears may have identified the recurring invective referring to Jesus as a putrefied body (§ 27);47 the story of the boy restituted by Aharon of Baghdad to his father (§ 4) may then be assigned an additional component referring to the context of the Judeo-Christian encounter.

45 For the Christian exegetical attitude, see Duval, Le Livre de Jonas, and the more recent fascinating book of Yvonne Sherwood on the transfigurations of the image of Jonah in Western culture: Sherwood, Biblical Text. 46 Urbach, “Repentance of the People of Nineveh.” 47 For examples of such utterances, see Zunz, Synagogale Poesie, 465–470. The oblique allusion in § 27 may thus have been the idea overtly expressed in the piyyut çúôà êéà by Eliyya bar Shemaya of Bari (Davidson, Thesaurus, 1:130 #2763 à) in which the Christians are said to worship a putrefied corpse. See also Poems of Elya bar Schemaya (ed. David), 45.

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Fasting on Sabbaths, discussed above as related to the opposed customs of Babylonians and Palestinians, could also—albeit tortuously—imply a critical stance towards a similar controversy that opposed the Roman Catholic Church to the Byzantine Orthodox Church.48

Everyday Life and Popular Piety As we move on to topics less relevant for connecting Ahima#az’s claim . to socio-cultural prominence with the events that the collective memory of his fellow coreligionists perceived as vital, the importance of the Chronicle as an historical source decreases. And yet, it is not totally useless. The glimpses it provides of everyday life enable us to add to the sketchy emerging picture and may serve as a starting point for more thorough investigation.49 We have already noted that although Jews at that time still lived in a considerable number of rural settlements, Jewish society was rapidly becoming increasingly urban. Actually, beyond a single reference to rural population in the story of Silano, Ahima#az portrays Jews as resid. ing in cities. As we may easily conclude from the available documentary evidence, despite living side by side with their Christian neighbors the Jews nonetheless displayed some visible signs that distinguished them from Christians, particularly in matters to a greater or lesser extent related to religious practices. We have already discerned one such possible case in the story of the Jewish women of Venosa who apparently refrained from using the public oven in which Christians prepared their food (§ 9). A less immediately visible sign, but more than likely quite obvious in tiny medieval cities, was certainly connected with practices relating to frequenting public baths. Roman public baths, as places of entertainment, most probably had disappeared by then. But we should not jump to the conclusion that baths almost completely disappeared, or that most baths still operating in Italy in late Antiquity belonged to churches to serve the needs of the poor and the clergy. It has indeed persuasively been argued,

48 On the custom of the Roman Catholic Church to fast on Saturdays, see Colafemmina, Sefer Yuh. asin, 68 who quotes PL 146, 936–937 and the Vita of St. Nilus, PG 120, 129–132. 49 The following paragraphs should be read as complementing the picture drawn in Bonfil, Jewish Life,215–232.

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first, that it would be unreasonable to suppose that only the poor and the clergy did bathe, and second, that there does exist fairly copious archival and literary evidence indicating that the public at large bathed in establishments, some of which were operated by churches but others also by various lay people or organizations.50 As a matter of fact, some archival evidence has surfaced indicating that even Jews could own baths: in 1153 two Jews owned a bath in Naples.51 Baths for ritual immersion (mikva"ot, sing. mikveh) usually (though not exclusively) associated with women’s purification from menstrual impurity, were of course among the standard requirements of Jewish religious life. Archaeological remains from both Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages leave little doubt that organized communal life included such a bath among the facilities annexed to the synagogue.52 One can hardly imagine that such structures were not exploited for regular cleansing bathing if possible, that is, if hot water could also be provided when necessary. Such possible combinations may indeed have survived from medieval Syracuse and Palermo.53 The vivid description of Shephatiah bathing and anointing his body in preparation for the Sabbath (§ 22) may thus be added to the literary evidence on this issue. No stretch of the imagination is necessary to assume that while Christians included bathing as part of their preparations for Sunday, the Jews did so on Fridays, at a time which ordinary Christians would hardly consider appropriate for that kind of body care. One can thus add this small detail to the emerging picture of the visibly detectable differences between Christians and Jews living side by side in medieval cities. It is impossible to truly assess the sense of maintaining distance mixed with closeness felt by men and women living under the shadow of churches that they could not emulate but could concretely sense. Their eyes perceived the churches and ceremonies, their noses smelled the fragrance of incense emanating from inside that combined with the Ditchfield, La culture matérielle médiévale, 174–177. See Capone and Feniello, “Bagni monastici,” 102; Feniello, “Un aspect du paysage napolitain,” 77, noted in Ditchfield, La culture matérielle médiévale, 176. One cannot conclusively say that one Moses recorded in a document of Bari dated 1075 as the owner of a bath (balneo de Moisi) was really a Jew, for at that time Christians also bore such biblical names (see Ditchfield, op. cit., loc. cit.). 52 For central and southern Italy mention may be made, for instance, of the ritual baths attached to the synagogues of Ostia, Bova Marina, and Trani. For Ostia, see Runesson, “The Synagogue of Ancient Ostia”; idem, “Water and Worship.” 53 However, the real function of those facilities is still a topic of scholarly debate. See Scandagliato and Mulè, La sinagoga e il bagno rituale. 50 51

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ordinary odors arising from urban filth, and their ears heard the sound of the bells and would be able to distinguish between a summoning to prayer or warning of some imminent danger. We may imagine how upon Shephatiah’s hurried entrance into Oria to notify of the imminent danger of which he became aware in the course of his diplomatic mission to Sawdan’s court in Bari (§ 22), his warning could only be broadcast by means of church bells. Although in this respect ordinary weekdays were not really different from days of collective celebration or mourning, one can nonetheless surmise that the difference between Christians and Jews was more intensely perceived when religious services were more prolonged and widely attended. On these extraordinary days, such perception reached greater peaks of intensity, for Jewish feast days were not the same as Christian feast days; moreover, most holiday activity was carried out in churches or synagogues where coreligionists would feel a collective cohesiveness that excluded unbelievers. It is against this basically ambiguous background that the worldviews of Jews and Christians were molded into different structures displaying various kinds and degrees of complex relationships on the scale between antagonism and cooperation, distancing and closeness, diversity and uniformity. Our assumption is that the elements of the structures are dynamically interrelated to each other and that, consequently, a change in any single element must necessarily have a repercussion on all the others and ultimately trigger the transformation of the entire structure. Moreover, we assume that representation of the whole may indifferently and arbitrarily begin from any single element whatsoever.54 This being the case, we may now look into the apparently disconnected additional traces of the differentiation between Christians and Jews that can be identified in the Chronicle. Let us first consider how socio-cultural hierarchies and implied opposing positions were narrowed in abnormal situations and how such alterations affected the overall structures. One remarkable example emerges from the already discussed story of Tophilo’s imprisonment (§ 32). Beyond the realistic picture of public executions or the deplorable living conditions of prisoners, that we may somehow visualize by looking at the still extant archaeological remains of medieval jails and infer from other places and periods for which textual documentation

54

See above, pp. 129–132.

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and valuable research is available,55 and beyond the already discussed implication of the story for the socio-cultural claim of Ahima#az, we . may grasp how the extraordinary situation which brought together two allegedly criminal Jews in a Christian jail and produced the inversion of the social status of the dramatis personae obliquely revealed the force of conventional habits and religious commitments of both. In fact, that inversion would not have been possible without the specific commitment to consume kosher food. In undertaking the task of providing food to the prisoner, a duty that during the Middle Ages fell upon his family, the stranger was therefore indirectly fulfilling a role that eventually justified his adoption into the family network. To put it differently, kosher food ultimately arose as a particularly vivid characteristic trait of definition and evaluation of the Self vis-à-vis the Other on more than one level—not just Jews vis-à-vis Christians, but also Jews in relation to other Jews. This characterization should therefore be added to our knowledge about the hardly controllable emotional effects of nonkosher food—particularly of pork—on Jews and even on Jewish converts to Christianity, as well as to what has been said concerning the depiction of Shephatiah’s orthodox behavior at the emperor’s table.56 We should, of course, integrate these findings into the overall idea of the significance of food for the definition of the Self, not just of Christian women in relation to Christian men, as suggested by the seminal works of Caroline Bynum.57 Otherwise said, the Jewish attitude offers a precious litmus test to assess the overall impact of food upon the definition of the Self.58 Analogous inversions of social hierarchies could occur in other extraordinary situations. Natalie Zemon Davis, in a now classic essay,59 has suggested that gender discrimination of women could be projected

For public executions the standard reference is of course Huizinga, Waning, 22–24. Among recent works on medieval prisons and imprisonment particularly noteworthy are: Cohen, Peaceable Domain; Dunbabin, Captivity and Imprisonment; Geltner, “Medieval Prisons”; Baraz, Medieval Cruelty. 56 The appeal of traditional food, though no longer necessarily kosher, as a significant constituent of affiliation with Judaism confirms the persistence of that trait over the centuries. An exhaustive discussion of this fascinating topic would deflect us far from our main object of scrutiny here. 57 Bynum, Holy Feast and Holy Fast; eadem, Resurrection of the Body. 58 See John F. Benton, “Consciousness of Self and Perceptions of Individuality,” 291 and n. 89 [quoting Goitein]. 59 Davis, “Women on Top.” 55

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from opposing religious spaces onto profane spaces into an inverted gendered differentiation of opposition. If it is true that the contrast between the Jews and their Christian neighbors was less noticeable on common working days than on feast days, because people were less involved in public religious activities, it seems natural that such contrast would be constantly (i.e., not just on working days) sensed less among women, who were less active than men in public religious activities. Such an inversion of structure seems at first glance paradoxical, for it would apparently run contrary to the accepted idea that in times of crisis women adhered more fervently than did men to their religious faith. And yet, at closer sight it almost perfectly fits the other known details. As a rule, for instance, women did not have Hebrew names, but this would be considered less reprehensible than it would for men. A female ancestor of Ahima#az was named Cassia, a quite common . feminine name among Byzantine women of that time. The bride mentioned in a ketubbah penned in Mastaura in 1022 is called Evdokia, a no less common Byzantine feminine name of that period.60 The practice was even more widespread among Jews mentioned in the documents of the Genizah in Ahima#az’s times. As pointed out by S.D. Goitein, . who made an exhaustive study of such documents, biblical and other Hebrew names were completely absent among Jewish women of Egypt. According to him, this startling deficiency would seem to demonstrate a chasm between the popular local subculture of the women and the worldwide Hebrew book culture of the men. The dichotomy is even more emphasized by the purely secular character of the female names, which, with very few exceptions, confined to the upper class, mostly Karaite, do not contain any reference to God or other religious concepts.

Goitein added that he had made the same observation with regard to the Jewish women of Yemen, among whose husbands religious learning was more diffused than had been so with the Jews of Egypt in the Geniza period. One must therefore reckon with the possibility that the absence of biblical and theoforic names among women was originally not a matter of free choice but was a taboo imposed by males, and became an accepted custom only in the course of time.

60 TS 16.374, repeatedly published and annotated. See the bibliography listed by De Lange, Greek Jewish Texts, 1–10.

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With the remarkable caution that characterized him, he concluded: “But this is mere surmise.”61 Someone less cautious would consider such findings to be local varieties of a more general phenomenon, presumably correlated with the fact that while men were called up by their Hebrew names to the Torah reading in the synagogue, Hebrew names given to girls at birth would shortly fall into desuetude.62 Goitein’s ante litteram “feminist” remark could thus be added to our perspective: since synagogue public practice and book culture were the sole prerogative of men, it purposely excluded women whose business was restricted to the private domain and would consequently be manifested in a tendency to keep women away from book culture. All these components thus fit the structure of pre-modern attitudes towards religion perceived as a matter belonging predominantly to the public domain while the private one consequently engendered various aspects and degrees of secularization.63 From the same perspective it is not difficult to imagine how, even in synagogues and churches, the profane aspects would be more intensely perceived than religious ones in almost all areas of social life, most notably in marriage ceremonies. Vernacular epithalamia and mime performances, hardly palatable from a strictly doctrinal point of view, increasingly invaded the physical areas of celebration, allowing for the participation of women as well as the intermingling of Jews and Christians. Though we do not have explicit evidence of this in Jewish sources, Christian sources are more instructive on that point, at least inasmuch as prescriptive texts are concerned.64 One can hardly underestimate the contribution of such expressions of closeness between Jews and Christians to enhancing the feeling of

Goitein, Mediterranean Society, 3:315. Bonfil, Jewish Life, 240–241. 63 Passage from the pre-modern to the modern worldview consequently displayed a gradual inversion of structure: while religion was perceived as a matter belonging almost exclusively to the private domain it would correspondently eliminate, as much as possible, secular aspects and increase sacred traits. In addition, book culture gradually lost its characteristic of a male occupation and the process of integrating women into synagogue practice is already a fait accompli among Liberal, Reform, and Conservative Jewish congregations, though still in the making among Orthodox ones, and more examples of the kind. 64 See the texts assembled by Linder in his Jews in the Legal Source, index s.v. Prohibitions on Christians in relationship with non-orthodox /eating at banquets of Jews. See also the previous chapter of this introduction. An example of a later epithalamion was recently discussed by Fudeman, “ ‘They Have Ears, But Do not Hear’.” 61 62

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organically belonging to the local context which, among other things, implied further distancing from the Land of Israel that the inception of the Babylonian worldview had triggered. On this plane too, however, the process was far from being a straightforward one; rather it followed tortuous paths to overcome deeply emotional drives and adopt proper attitudes towards old practices and patterns of standard behavior. To begin with, two patterns of popular piety definitely rooted in the inherited lore were not discarded by the introduction of the Babylonian worldview, notwithstanding the fact that they both run against the Babylonian aspiration to divert the point of attraction from Jerusalem to Baghdad: the practice of pilgrimage to Jerusalem and financial support for the tiny groups of Jews in the Holy City.65 First of all, such support obviously diverted funds towards Jerusalem that could otherwise have been sent to the Babylonian academies. Secondly, and far more important, this was direct support for the Palestinian Academy of scholars and indirect aid for the subversive Karaite community which defied Babylonian authority since, among other things, the Karaites interpreted opposition to the Babylonian establishment in terms of settling in Jerusalem and embracing there ascetic practices with messianic purposes. They were called there Mourners of Zion because of the most noticeable aspect of these practices, mourning the destruction of the Sanctuary and Jerusalem. As a Karaite author put it, “they removed their good clothing and put on sackcloth, sighing and groaning and shouting about the destruction of Zion”; they abstained from meat and wine, and expressed their grief in liturgy by unremitting recitation of elegies and lamentations. Though their presence in Jerusalem is already attested during the last decades of the ninth century, the epoch of greatest efflorescence of the Karaite community there coincides with the period of the bitter controversy between Sa#adiah Gaon and the Palestinian Academy about the calendar, in the first half of the tenth century.66 However, in defining themselves as “Mourners of Zion” the Karaites were also clearly opposing Palestinian authority, for they claimed to be the authentic heirs of the tradition of constantly keeping alive the sense of loss of the Sanctuary and the hope of prompt messianic Redemption. Indeed, such a tradition, rooted in a familiar verse of Isaiah (61:3), is conspicuously attested in the funerary epigraphy, the liturgy, and 65 66

For a more detailed discussion, see Bonfil, “Il pellegrinaggio,” 45–50. Erder, “The Mourners of Zion”; the quote from the Karaite author is on p. 216.

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the midrashic production current in southern Italy and Byzantium. First of all, on dated tombstones from southern Italy years are quite usually given “since the destruction of the Sanctuary.”67 Secondly, the accompanying wish for restoration “in our lifetime, soon in our days” has a remarkable parallel in the formula of a prayer for the Mourners of Zion mentioned in Halakhot Ketsuboth (a halakhic work presumably composed in southern Italy in the first half of the ninth century), and added to the customary blessings recited according to some rites of that area in the homes of mourners and on the Ninth of Ab.68 Finally, the Pesikta Rabbati (a collection of homilies composed in a Palestinian environment, perhaps in southern Italy)69 contains a remarkable homily (# 34) in praise of the Mourners of Zion, that elaborated on Isaiah 61:3. But since Pesikta Rabbati is certainly a Rabbanite work, this homily does not necessarily mean that some unique group of Mourners of Zion existed in southern Italy.70 As aptly pointed out by Moshe Gil, it does not seem plausible that even following its appropriation by the Karaites the name Mourners of Zion would be immediately excluded from the vocabulary of the Rabbanites.71 And yet, it stands to reason that once adopted as a standard characterization of the Karaites, the idiom “Mourners of Zion” specifically indicated the members of a socio-cultural group definitely distinguished from Rabbanites, no matter how deeply rooted might be the practice of keeping alive the sense of the loss of the Sanctuary. Viewed from distant Italy, where no evidence of Karaites has as yet turned up, the animosity of the Palestinian Academy towards the Mourners of Zion could only be blurred, for both were, in their own way, seen as representatives of sort in the Holy Land of the Jews dispersed throughout the world. As such, both were worthy of praise and encouragement. And indeed, the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az displays clear evidence not only of the persistence of pilgrimage to Jerusalem but also of support of both the Palestinian Academy and the Mourners of Zion. First of all, Ahima#az, the homonym of our author who is hereafter . referred to as Ahima#az the elder, the protagonist in two significant . 67 This point has been forcefully made by Cassuto, “Ninth-Century Hebrew Inscriptions.” 68 The evidence has recently been summarized by Geula, “Lost Aggadic Works,” 328–329. 69 The most recent scholarly study on the Pesikta Rabbati is Elizur, “Pesiqta Rabbati.” 70 Geula, “Lost Aggadic Works,” 328. 71 Gil, History of Palestine, 620–623.

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episodes of the Chronicle, is portrayed as an assiduous traveler from Benevento to Jerusalem, who also bore there remarkable sums of money “to fulfill vows” (§ 6). Secondly, Paltiel, the great courtier at the court of al-Mu"iz, is described as supporting the Palestinian Academy and the Mourners of Zion no less generously than he did the Babylonian Geonim (§ 51), and so is his son Shemuel (§ 58). Furthermore, Ahima#az . portrays the grieving of his ancestors over various vicissitudes in terms strongly reminiscent of the customary blessings recited in the houses of mourners noted earlier (§ 17), and the illustrious paytanim among them are depicted as perpetually mourning the destruction of the Sanctuary (§ 40). Close scrutiny of the text reporting the second of the episodes concerning Ahima#az the elder (already discussed in Chapter 2), nonethe. less reveals awareness of the intricate complexity of such ambivalent support. In reporting the pardon bestowed by the members of the Palestinian Academy upon Rabbi Silano, our author stresses both the continuity of support for the Academy and the intellectual inferiority of the Palestinians. Ironically enough, the members of the Academy are portrayed as being misled by a subtle stratagem of the same kind as the one practiced by Silano to trick the Palestinian emissaries in Venosa. By the substitution of a different line for the original one, the Jerusalem members of the Academy were misled to believe that Silano’s piyyut was anti-Karaite.72 Through the usual literary device of inverted structures, the nature of the connection with Jerusalem was thus unmistakably assigned to the realm of religious piety while the connection with Baghdad was associated with learning and mastery of the Law. This ambiguous manner of expressing dual allegiance to both centers is also attested in a tombstone discovered less than two decades ago. On it the deceased is eulogized in a lengthy text that almost accurately reproduced a passage from the Babylonian Talmud. However, in an additional line not found in the Talmudic text he is also said to

72 Although the presence of the Mourners of Zion is firmly attested one or two generations after Silano, following our methodological guidelines it is reasonable to hypothesize that in the narrative of Ahima#az chronological accuracy may again have . been distorted, i.e., time may have been contracted according to the typical shortening of time occurring in oral transmissions of cultural traditions. Be that as it may, there is no need to identify Ahima#az the elder, the protagonist of the episode that purportedly . occurred in Jerusalem, with anyone of his later homonyms, nor to unnecessarily multiply the number individuals bearing that name, which, after all, was quite rare among Jewish names. On this point see also below §7, n. 126 to the translation.

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have kept alive in his heart the memory of the Sanctuary and to have actually journeyed towards it in pilgrimage73 (see pl. 29). Although this tombstone is not dated, it stands to reason that it should be associated to the dated ones found in the same region, i.e., to the first half of the ninth century, more or less in Silano’s lifetime. Fulfilling a vow by pilgrimage or transferring money to Jerusalem gave to medieval pilgrimage the image of and resemblance to pilgrimage in the Bible; then the pilgrims brought with them terumot and ma #aserot (heave offerings and tithes) for the Priests and Levites of the Temple. Thus, in the Middle Ages the offerings are depicted as surrogates of terumot and ma #aserot presented to the sort of vicars of the Priests and Levites—the scholars of the Palestinian Academy of Jerusalem and the Mourners of Zion. In other words, both scholars and Karaite settlers in Jerusalem were portrayed as surrogates for the Temple service. In the collective mentality of the Jews of southern Italy in the time of Ahima#az, the image of the two distant poles of authoritative inspiration . was drawn as an almost harmonic combination of what the medieval mentality was, to the contrary, gradually perceiving as clear-cut opposite poles of socio-cultural activity: the synagogue as the locus of religious worship and the yeshivah of Talmudic study. One is thus justified in expecting to find that such an odd twofold perception of spiritual allegiance would almost immediately irradiate into other spheres of their worldview. On one level, we have already seen how it was the inception of the Babylonian worldview which triggered the splitting of socio-cultural activity between the synagogue and the yeshivah, and how that division set in motion the gradual decline in the socio-cultural status of hazzanim-paytanim and the corresponding rise in the status of the heads of yeshivot. The Chronicle of Ah. ima #az offers an almost clear-cut link between the three above mentioned facets of reality. The truth of the matter is that the date of persecution by Basil I was registered in the collective Jewish memory as collected and recorded by Ahima#az with . reference to the destruction of the Sanctuary (§11), and Shephatiah, his brother Hananel, and his son Amittai were praised for also hav. ing “wept in anguish over the exile and the destruction of the Sanctuary” (§§ 36, 40), but the eulogy of Paltiel (§ 59) no longer contains such praise.74 73 74

Colafemmina, “Una nuova epigrafe ebraica.”. This detail, of course, may be assigned to the fact that Paltiel and his son are not

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On a second level it reconnected and refined the projection of the confrontation between Church and Synagogue to the realm of the imaginary. Viewed from distant southern Italy, real Jerusalem and the Land of Israel were of course associated with messianic expectations, but the sense of loss was gradually fading away while the actual bond with the local setting was gaining strength. As Judah Halevi poignantly confessed, the formula “And let our eyes behold Thy return to Zion,” recited thrice daily, became no more than a stereotypical ritual hardly reflecting true feelings.75 Such formulas are not absent from the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az,76 just as they are repeated constantly to this very day, particularly as standard concluding sentences in religious compositions, sermons, and letters. A tangible sign of such an evolution is the fact that calculation of dates from the destruction of the Sanctuary gradually disappears from tombstones between the ninth to the twelfth centuries.77 One might add several other traces pointing in the same direction: the gradual waning of expressions of sadness when faced with the prosperity of Italian cities as compared to Jewish misery, the gradual disappearance from the medieval flowery epistolary style of stereotypical allusions to exiled Jews as being in a state of slavery, and so on. In sum, the sense of an umbilical bond to the Land of Israel vanishes, to be replaced by a growing perception of it as the Holy Land. Thus, the sense of veneration and idealization of the Land of Israel acquired an additional component of actual detachment from it and a corresponding element of greater involvement in the local context.78 This development should be added to the above mentioned one indicating ambiguous allegiance to both the Palestinian and the Babylonian sources of inspiration attested in the tombstone noted above. In fact, one can hardly imagine a more telling example of the complex set of ambiguities typical of the existential situation of those medieval Jews in that specific era. Attitudes towards the dead in that transitional period also attest quite impressively to the strength of inherited traditional lore vis-à-vis remembered as hazzanim-paytanim. However, the fact that—as noted—he is resolutely praised for having equally supported the Palestinian scholars and Mourners of Zion as well as the Babylonian Geonim should not be dismissed as insignificant for our discussion. 75 Judah Halevi, Kuzari, II, 24. 76 For instance, §62. 77 A point made and stressed by Cassuto, “Ninth-Century Hebrew Inscriptions.” 78 This is briefly discussed in Bonfil, “Gli Ebrei d’Italia e la Terra d’Israele.”

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the inception of the changing paradigm of knowledge. It is a wellknown fact that attitudes and behavior towards the dead are among the most powerful manifestations of resistance to change. The glimpses provided throughout the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az are no exception to the rule. It comes as no surprise that nih. um avelim (comforting the mourners) is noted as a standard duty that does not require any particular elaboration.79 Nor is it surprising that throughout the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az the borderline between the world of the living and that of the dead is hardly noticeable. Indeed, it was actually nonexistent in the minds of medieval men and women, and that was but one more segment of the categories of medieval thought, complementary to the belief in the supernatural and the miraculous. One may get a vivid idea of that tendency throughout Sefer Hasidim that, as we have seen, displays . several traits reminiscent of the mentality characteristic of the Jews of southern Italy.80 The belief that the prayers of the living can mitigate the torments of the dead was (and still is among believers, no matter to what degree) common to Christians and Jews alike.81 Of greatest relevance to the present discussion, however, is the fact that this trait underscores even further the mediating function of saintly persons, such as the ancestors of Ahima#az, between the two worlds, while at the . same time impressively projecting it onto the plane of the contingencies of socio-cultural complexities. A most illuminating example is offered by the practice of reciting poetic eulogies and dirges. Though this custom is based on the almost universal idea of the traditional duty of the living to eulogize the dead, it is also constantly depicted in both Greco-Roman and Jewish traditions82 as an indispensable part of the rite of passage of the deceased.83 It almost naturally had to be performed by knowledgeable

§§27, 33. See, e.g., Sefer Hasidim, 48 (# 63), 86, (# 271), 86–87 (# 272), 101 (# 321), and more. . 81 On the “obsessive use of the mass for the dead” in medieval France, see Chiffoleau, “Sur l’usage obsessionnel”; Martin, Mentalités médiévales, 47–48. For the same idea among medieval Jews, see Wieseltier, Kaddish. 82 On the evolution of the ritual lament in Greek tradition—particularly significant for our discussion, i.e., “how poets of different ages were able to draw on a common fund of ideas, themes and formulae, frequently investing an old and well established convention with a new significance and contributing something of their own,” see Alexiou, Ritual Lament. On poetic eulogies and dirges in Talmudic literature, see Feldman, “Rabbinic Lament”; Rubin, Life’s End; Mandel, “Eulogizing and Mourning Customs.” 83 For the Greco-Roman tradition see Alexiou, Ritual Lament, 4–6. 79 80

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professional eulogizers (íéðãôñ) and most specifically by h. azzanim-paytanim capable not just of recycling standard formulas but of offering appropriate original compositions. As long as these men were, as we have seen,84 at the highest level of the communal hierarchy according to the classical Palestinian pattern, their mediating function between the world of the living and that of the dead was almost naturally part of their leadership role, much beyond carrying out the stereotypical religious ritual to which we are accustomed. Funerals were thus transformed into arenas in which the socio-cultural status of the composers onto the actual performance of religious duties in public and provoked almost immediate associations of thought between the status of the composers involved in the rite, their actual performance, and the assessment of how perfectly the duty was carried out.85 In ideal terms, it is only natural to presume that such a duty would have been performed most appropriately if the men reciting the dirges were the most prominent personages of the community and if their dirge was rhetorically perfect. It is therefore natural that socio-cultural competition also found its way into that arena, as the episode of Moses the teacher’s mockery of Amittai (§ 41) clearly evinces. In that case too, as with Silano (§ 9), public mockery is portrayed as a most forceful means of socio-cultural critique and, as in the case of Abu Aharon, social order is restored through punishing the improper challenge to socio-cultural prominence by exile.86 At this point, it is worth noting that the testimony of Ahima#az is extremely important for assessing the transmission . and transformation of the ancient—mainly Palestinian—practice onto European soil, for the dirge composed by Amittai is apparently the first undisputable example of a composition of this kind in early medieval times.87

See above pp. 114–118. In a most general form, such ideas—that will not receive our attention in the present study—are already present in the traces of poetic dirges preserved in Talmudic literature, such as the notable fragment listing recollections of remarkable funeral occurrences (TB M.Q. 25b). 86 See chap. 2 of this introductory essay. 87 Lehnardt, “Studies,” 282–284. See further Lehnardt’s interesting discussion (pp. 284–304) concerning other dirges authored by Amittai as eloquent illustrations of the transmission via southern Italy and contextual adjustments in early medieval Europe of the classical tradition. A detailed analysis of the evidence surfacing from such texts about the socio-cultural frameworks in which the texts were received and adjusted is, however, much beyond the scope of the present study. 84 85

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The extraordinary importance of eulogizing the dead,88 though not necessarily by reciting poetic dirges, is even better highlighted by the episode of Hananel’s deceased brother who was kept alive by the . usual means of a magic parchment inserted under his tongue, until the proper conditions for eulogizing were met.89 But beyond indicating once again how ambiguous the use of that specific magical practice could be, the episode also clearly shows how the perception of a religious duty might be no less ambiguous. The overt rebuke allegedly conveyed from heaven in a dream shows, from a different vantage point, that this practice could be interpreted as possibly being improper manipulation, i.e., that it was employed not only to honor the dead but rather for the social aggrandizement of the living. From that standpoint, funerals were perfectly analogous to marriages, for both offered a possibility of manipulation for display of socio-political status, and as such they were almost everywhere subject to restrictive ordinances. And needless to say, the practice of inscribing the praises of the dead on the tombstones erected over their graves almost naturally projected such ephemeral preoccupations beyond the actual context in which they came into being. No remains can convey the sense of how people always combined emotional drives with social claims better than graveyards. The absence of a borderline between the physical and the metaphysical world in the minds of medieval men and women was but one particular aspect of the role of God as mediator between the two and consequently between concepts that modern agnostic minds would allocate to definitely opposed camps, such as profane vs. sacred, real geographical space vs. religious-mythological space, abstract vs. concrete, private vs. public, human vs. nature, and so on. It is not surprising, therefore, that the absence of such a borderline, accompanied by belief in the Bible as the repository of eternal truth, was reflected in many other aspects of their worldviews, and that moreover all of them display deep mental similarities and behavioral attitudes between Jews and Christians. Among the examples particularly noticeable throughout the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az, the perception of the nature of dreams is one of the most remarkable. 88 The literature on the practice of eulogizing the dead before burial is extremely huge. See, for a first approach to this topic, Enc. Tal. s.v. ãôñä. 89 §27. For further details on the practice of inserting a magic parchment under the tongue of a dead person in order to restore him to life, above pp. 167–168.

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During the last few decades scholars have devoted much attention to medieval perceptions of and attitudes towards dreams.90 Ambiguously situated on the threshold between prophetic foresight and unconscious projection of ordinary concerns, dreams were perceived by both Jews and Christians as part and parcel of the usual means of the miraculous prophesying by saints that has been discussed earlier. Thus it comes as no surprise that this trait is unmistakably present in the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az (§§ 27, 29). After all, the Bible does unambiguously relate remarkable cases of foreseeing by famous saintly individuals such as Joseph, and nobody would really doubt that, as the repository of the word of God, what is written in the Bible is the truth. Perhaps the most telling example of shared attitudes rooted in belief in the absolute veracity of the Bible, no matter what different interpretations might be put forward by Jews and Christians, stems from the certainty that no one, Christian or Jew, would dare take a false oath on the Bible. Jews and Christians alike did swear on the Holy Scriptures, generally by touching them, holding them, or putting their right hand upon them, as is still customary in many countries.91 Christians elaborated special formulas for the oath that Jews had to take to establish proof in lawsuits with Christians. Though an extensive study of the history of what has been called the “Jewry oath,” its linguistic development, and its legal significance remains a desideratum, there is nonetheless no doubt that both Christians and Jews felt assured that the solemn invocation of the name of God, enumeration of miraculous events from biblical history in which the omnipotence of God is especially manifest, and the curse that would fall upon a person committing perjury would have the desired deterring effect. One may sense how strong were such expectations from the odd fact that Christians held such curses to be effective in deterring Jews from insincerely converting to Christianity. Indeed, such special curses were included in all known formulations of abjuration, both in Byzantine and Western Christendom.92 The effectiveness of curses was but one particular aspect of the belief that rituals could really be effectual in assigning irrevocable concrete Le Goff, La civiltà, 366–367. Cohen, “The Testimonial Oath.” 92 The best overview of the topic remains Kisch, Jews of Medieval Germany, 275 ff. and the bibliography listed in the notes, 506–515. For the formulas of curses in Byzantine rituals of abjuration, see Eleuteri and Rigo, Eretici. 90 91

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force to words pronounced in the presence of God, Who would, as it were, guarantee their magic implementation. Beyond the efficacy of excommunication, that very same belief supported the trustworthiness of ordeals and fostered the irrevocable commitment of rulers to all kinds of vows, promises, charters, or treaties out of fear of heavenly punishment presumed to follow inadequate implementation of pledges.93 Odd as it may appear to readers accustomed to oppose the barbarian dark Middle Ages to the enlightened modern era, trust in the liability of medieval rulers was definitely more reliable than placing confidence in commitments guaranteed by the signatures of modern rulers on official documents. The considerable effort of learned lawyers, Christians and Jews alike, to define the cases in which authorization to break oaths and vows should be justified or to suggest procedures of virtual compliance in order to escape the implications of perjury, can but cast additional light on that characteristically medieval attitude. A remarkably impressive example, presumably well known in southern Italy during the lifetime of Ahima#az, was the story reported by the . anonymous author of the Chronicon Salernitanum about Charlemagne’s alleged oath not to desist from the war against Arichis, Duke of Benevento, until he would strike the chest of Arichis with his scepter. To the churchmen of Benevento, sent by Arichis as envoys to Charlemagne to negotiate peace, the emperor allegedly demurred: “How can I stray from my path, bearing in mind my vow?” The envoys kept on arguing with him, quoting biblical examples from which one should infer that observing the vow would have been worse than breaking it. But the emperor was not satisfied until the churchmen suggested a stratagem: they would bring him to a place where he would be able carry out his vow. They led him to a desert church, showed him an icon of Arichis, and suggested that he strike it. After a short display of fury by the emperor, who claimed that he had been tricked, the churchmen convinced him that striking the icon would in that case be an absolutely correct manner of being released from his pledge. Thus was the way paved to embark on peace negotiations.94 We have already noted Ahima#az’s ability to handle the tools of . traditional paytanic composition, rooted inter alia in the Heikhaloth literary corpus and similar mystical texts typical of the inherited Radding, A World Made by Men, esp. 4–17, 95–97, 143–150. Chronicon Salernitanum, 15–17. For a detailed discussion of the topic, see Oldoni, Anonimo salernitano, 62–66, 118, 173–176. 93 94

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Palestinian outlook.95 Traces of this heritage are particularly detectable in the imagery related to otherworldly realities, part of them not surprisingly similar to corresponding Christian images, though quite foreign to modern mentalities. The absence of a dividing line between the physical and the metaphysical worlds quite naturally implied the characterization of the first as being “short” and the other as “extended.”96 The latter was a place identified with the biblical Eden where the souls of the just, conveniently concealed under God’s cloak, engaged relentlessly in study of the Torah and inhaled the aroma of potions and spices sealed in storehouses which had lain dormant there since antiquity, while the souls of the wicked were constantly tormented in the fire of Hell until Judgment Day. The two places are thus not surprisingly characterized by sets of antithetic ideas, such as light vs. darkness, a residence of angels vs. that of demons, harmonious music vs. strident cacophony, and so on. God is accordingly visualized as sitting among the angels on the Throne of Glory, so called because Glory is conceived in the image of an imperial cloak wrapping His footstool, where the souls of the just are hosted in Abraham’s bosom.97 The heavenly configuration itself was conceived as consisting of seven hierarchically ordered firmaments inhabited by the angels of God’s court. By such imagery Ahima#az shares the outillage mental of his contem. poraries, as a quick perusal of the parallel ideas in, for instance, Sefer Yosippon, can easily confirm. The idea of the souls of the just stored in God’s treasury until Judgment Day is even more visibly detectable in the formula still constantly inscribed on Jewish tombstones: åùôð äéäú íééçä øåøöá äøåøö (äùôð)—“May his/her soul enjoy eternal life.” We can now conclude this introductory essay and turn to the text.

See above p. 94. See §5 and n. 106 to the translation. 97 God in the Light: § 4 and n. 80 to the translation; God sitting among the cherubim on the Throne of Glory: §5 and n. 105 to the translation, §35 and n. 356 to the translation; the souls of the just inhaling the aroma of potions and spices in Eden: §37 and n. 390 to the translation; the souls of the just concealed in God’s treasury houses: §32 and n. 322 to the translation. 95 96

MAPS AND PLATES

Map 1. The Geographical Setting of the Chronicle.

Sites Mentioned in the Chronicle Other Sites

Legend

Ruhama Bonfil, Institute of Archaeology, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem

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Ruhama Bonfil, Institute of Archaeology, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem

Legend Major Sites Mentioned in the Chronicle Minor Sites Mentioned in the Chronicle Other Major Sites Other Minor Sites Map 2. Early Medieval Italy (IX–XI centuries).

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Ruhama Bonfil, Institute of Archaeology, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem

Legend Major Sites Mentioned in the Chronicle Minor Sites Mentioned in the Chronicle Other Major Sites Other Minor Sites

Byzantine Rule Duchy of Benevento Duchy of Naples

Map 3. The Geo-Political Setting of Southern Italy (IX–XI centuries).

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Ruhama Bonfil, Institute of Archaeology, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem

Legend Major Sites Mentioned in the Chronicle Minor Sites Mentioned in the Chronicle Other Major Sites Other Minor Sites

Byzantine Rule Lombard Rule Arab Rule

Map 4. The Geo-Political Setting of Southern Italy (first quarter of eleventh century).

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Pl. 1. Chronicle of Ah. ima #az, MS Library of the Cathedral of Toledo, # 86–25, fol. 9v (proemium). Courtesy of the Archivo y Biblioteca Capitulares, Catedral de Toledo.

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Pl. 2. Chronicle of Ah. ima #az, MS Library of the Cathedral of Toledo, # 86–25, fol. 10r. Courtesy of the Archivo y Biblioteca Capitulares, Catedral de Toledo.

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Pl. 3. Chronicle of Ah. ima #az, MS Library of the Cathedral of Toledo, # 86–25, fol. 28v. Courtesy of the Archivo y Biblioteca Capitulares, Catedral de Toledo.

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Pl. 4. Chronicle of Ah. ima #az, MS Library of the Cathedral of Toledo, # 86–25, fol. 29r. Courtesy of the Archivo y Biblioteca Capitulares, Catedral de Toledo.

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Pl. 5. Chronicle of Ah. ima #az, 17th century Italian translation, MS Library of the Cathedral of Toledo, # 86–24, fol. 211r (proemium). Courtesy of the Archivo y Biblioteca Capitulares, Catedral de Toledo.

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Pl. 6. Chronicle of Ah. ima #az, 17th century Italian translation, MS Library of the Cathedral of Toledo, # 86–24, pp. 90–91. Courtesy of the Archivo y Biblioteca Capitulares, Catedral de Toledo.

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Pl. 7. Ordericus Vitalis, Historia Ecclesiastica, BNF MS Lat 5506 (presumably autograph) f. 49v. According to experts of manuscript medieval production, the singular way of displaying a number of special notations on top of capital letters together with unusual notations on the margins would testify to the author’s desire to indicate changes of pitches in the reader’s voice as well as to his musical skills. (Smalley, Historians, 12; Escudier, “Orderic Vital”). Courtesy of the Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

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Pl. 8. Abse Mosaic detail, San Clemente, Rome (presumably executed during the first two decades of the 11th century (Riccioni, Il mosaico absidale di S. Clemente a Roma, 134). The image concretely visualizes the widespread symbolism of the four rivers of Eden (see § 2 and n. 42 to the translation of the Hebrew text).

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Pl. 9. Facsimile of the original parchment document signed by Guaiamar IV in 1041 (thirteen years before the completion of the work of Ahima#az) to bequeath to Gri. moald, count of the palace of Capua, two Jewish families together with their possessions and their scolae (Tropeano, Codice Diplomatico Verginiano, 1:180–83, # 47). Courtesy of the Biblioteca Statale di Montevergine.

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Pl. 10. Duchess Sikelgaita, wife of Robert Guiscard, together with her son Roger, bequeaths to the Archbishopric of Bari, headed by Archbishop Urso, all the Jews of Bari (March 1086). Parchment document, of the same kind as the one concerning the donation of the Jews of Capua to Grimoald (plate 9). Facsimile reproduction from: Colafemmina a.o., La presenza ebraica in Puglia, p. 7). Courtesy of the Archivio di Stato di Bari.

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Pl. 11(a). Capua. Northern gate of the Church of S. Marcello Maggiore.

Pl. 11(b). Detail: the tombstone of Audoalt, removed as a relic from the sepulcher and relocated on the gate of the Church. The mention of the first comes associated with the family of Audoalt is clearly visible in the second line of the inscription. Photos and courtesy of Maria Rosaria Marchionibus.

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Pl. 12. Mosaic of a lion attacking an onager, work of unknown artist (about 150 C.E.), J. Paul Getty Museum, Villa Collection, 73.AH.75. The survival of such a decorative motif in the Greco-Roman area almost certainly testifies to the uninterrupted existence in the Mediterranean area of the symbolical meaning of the image inherited from Antiquity. The picture concretely visualizes the symbolical use of the motif in the narrative of Ahima#az (§ 3). Courtesy of the J. Paul Getty Museum, Villa Collection, . Malibu, California.

Pl. 13. Nüremberg Mah. zor, private collection of Dr. David and Jemima Jeselson, fol. 470v– 471r. Like other Ashkenazi Mahzorim, this illuminated monumental manuscript on . vellum (50×37 cm), produced in southern Germany, c. 1330–31, contains a large section of piyyutim, among which are the two selih. ot by Shephatiah (incipit éðãàá òùåð ìàøùé— Davidson, Thesaurus, 2:454, # 4234 é) and Silano (incipit êéãìñî ú÷ðà—Davidson, Thesaurus, 1:311, # 6844 à), reproduced here as firm examples of the umbilical link between the socio-cultural traditions of the Jews of southern Italy and Ashkenaz. Courtesy of Dr. David and Jemima Jeselson.

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Pl. 14. Painted arcosolium and tomb in a catacomb gallery recently discovered in Venosa by Cesare Colafemmina, who dates the tomb to the end of the 5th century. The front of the arcosolium was painted red and the back wall has a semicircular frame in red and blue containing a collection of Jewish symbols, all painted in gold except for the lulav. The elaborated decoration, placed in the most prominent position in the gallery, presumably indicated the importance of the person in the tomb. (Vetera Christianorum, 15 (1978); Noy, Jewish Inscriptions, 1:140–141). Courtesy of Prof. Cesare Colafemmina.

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Pl. 15. Synagogue of Ostia: Early phase according to the reconstruction of Anders Runesson (Runesson, “The Synagogue of Ancient Ostia,”). Courtesy of Anders Runeson.

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Pl. 16. Synagogue of Ostia: Later phase according to the reconstruction of Anders Runesson (Runesson, “The Synagogue of Ancient Ostia,”). Courtesy of Anders Runeson). Below the plan is the Mindus Faustus tablet found aside the aedicula. The tablet mentions the construction of a κειβωτς (see above, p. 90). Courtesy of the Soprintendenza per i Beni Archeologici di Ostia.

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Pl. 17. John Skylitzes’ Chronicle, illuminated, 12th cent., MS National Library of Madrid, vitr. 26–2, fol. 105v. (a) The upper image portrays a dinner banquet at the court of Basil I. Although the setting almost obviously fits the twelfth-century conventional representation of imperial banquets in western Europe, it can nonetheless convey the sense of hierarchical distancing between the emperor and his guests and concretely bring to mind Ahima#az’s narrative about Shephatiah’s participation in such a banquet . (§ 11). (b) The lower image visualizes the appointment of Leo VI as legitimate successor to Basil I. In this case, too, beyond the conventional details of the composition, one can presume that the caption on Leo’s head stating that he is Basil’s son also conveys the political message aimed at refuting gossip that Leo was an illegitimate offspring (cf. with the notes to § 18). Courtesy of the Biblioteca Nacional, Madrid.

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Pl. 18. John Skylitzes’ Chronicle, illuminated, 12th cent., MS National Library of Madrid, vitr. 26–2, fol. 97r. According to the Byzantine historian, during the siege of Benevento Sawdan captured a messenger of the prince of Capua and Benevento, beseeching help from Basil I in Constantinople. The messenger was ordered to misinform his prince that the emperor does not intend to be of assistance. Should the ambassador acquiesce to bear such misinformation, that would obviously facilitate the fall of Benevento to Sawdan and he would have honor and riches bestowed upon him; otherwise he would immediately be executed. The resemblance to the story of Shephatiah’s mission to Sawdan (§§ 21–22) is manifest, although Skylitzes’ narrative lacks the miraculous resolution of the story of Shephatiah and has the faithful messenger cruelly executed. Beyond the conventional, yet almost realistic, representations of the city walls, the defending and assaulting soldiers, and of a ruler leisurely settled in a camp tent, the picture does visualize the practice of a king’s humiliating attitude towards the messenger in a way sharply recalling the reception of the Byzantine ambassador by Paltiel (§ 47). Courtesy of the Biblioteca Nacional, Madrid.

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b

a

c Pl. 19. Precious cups of the Fatimid period, examples of the new shapes, colors, and decorative patterns introduced by Islamic glassmakers in the 9th and 10th centuries. Notwithstanding the fact that not all of them were produced in North Africa, they can nonetheless concretely convey the idea of both the gifts handed over by imperial delegations, such as the Byzantine messenger to the king of Ifrikya, and the bowl broken by Paltiel in order to astonish the ambassador (§ 47). (a) Goblet of green glass, produced presumably in Iran (c. 9th or 10th century) or in Egypt (c. 10th or 11th century). Treasury of Saint Marc (Procuratoria di San Marco), Venice, # 118. Courtesy of the Procuratoria di San Marco. (b) Jewel encrusted turquoise bowl (6×18 cm) produced presumably in Iran or Iraq (c. 9th or 10th century). Composed of opaque enamels framed by gold, golden-plated silver, and precious stones. Treasury of Saint Marc (Procuratoria di San Marco), Venice, # 117. This is a rare, indeed almost unique, example of this kind. Experts conjecture that it reached Venice as a gift of the Shah to the Signoria in 1472. Courtesy of the Procuratoria di San Marco. (c) Colorless glass with lustre decoration (6 ×15.8 cm) produced in Egypt in the 9th century. This is among the most extraordinary glass objects that have survived from the Islamic period. The decoration focuses on a small, plump bird, surrounded by five fish. Corning Museum of Glass, New York, # 99.1.1. Courtesy of the Corning Museum of Glass.

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Pl. 20. Nave capital of the Benedictine Abbey Church of Sainte-MarieMadeleine at Vézelay (France), 1120–38. Music and the demon of impurity: At left, a man holding musical instruments and a woman gesturing towards a musician to her left. At center a man plays a flute-like instrument. A nude woman, mesmerized by the music, lets herself be embraced by a bloated demon with burning hair.

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a

b Pl. 21. (a) The Imperial Cathedral of Aachen. The Cathedral, usually described as a masterpiece of Carolingian architecture, was designed for Charlemagne by Odo of Metz, who based it on the Byzantine Church of San Vitale in Ravenna, in its turn based on Saint Sophia in Constantinople. The imperial image of Charlemagne was accordingly connected to the images of both the perfect king Solomon, the builder of the Sanctuary of Jerusalem (viewed by medieval Jews and Christians as a symbol of absolutely perfect architectonic magnificence), and Justinian, who restored the almost totally damaged Saint Sophia and according to Byzantine imperial propaganda exclaimed in the sight of the newly rebuilt Church “I prevailed over you, Solomon.” Hence the Carolingian propaganda portrayed Charlemagne as a new Solomon. (b) Church of San Vitale, Ravenna.

maps and plates

Pl. 22(a). Church of Saint Sophia, Constantinople.

Pl. 22(b). Church of Saint Sophia, Benevento.

215

216

maps and plates

Pl. 23. Earrings found in graves on the Hill of Minerva (near Otranto). Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Taranto. They concretely visualize the kind of jewelry produced by Byzantine goldsmiths in Apulia during the Early Middle Ages. Quite similar Byzantine specimens from the 9th century are owned by the Museo del Bargello, Florence, Inv. 102/OC, 108/OC, 109/OC. 110/C. Those displayed here are reproduced from D’Angela, “Le oreficerie bizantine,” plates I and II. Courtesy of Cosimo d’Angela.

maps and plates

217

Pl. 24. Dance of Myriam in Vat. gr. 752, f 449v (c. 1059). Though exceptional, the golden belts of the dancing women in the miniature provide a vivid example of an expensive accessory to female aristocratic costume, which beyond fulfilling an aesthetic purpose served as a display of rank. (Parani, Reconstructing, p. 65). Courtesy of the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana.

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maps and plates

Pl. 25. Marble inlay icon of Saint Eudokia, Empress of Byzantium. From the church of Lips Monastery, now Fenasi Isa Mosque. Location: Archaeological Museum, Istanbul, Turkey. (Permission: Erich Lessing/Art Resource, NY). According to Psellos, the young mistress of Constantine IX (1042–1055) wore a belt trimmed with gold and pearls, presumably quite similar to the one displayed by this marble inlay.

maps and plates

219

Pl. 26. Fragment of a majolica cup produced in Fatimid Egypt (10th century) displaying the figure of a dignitary (15.5 × 10.2 cm). Museo Bargello, Florence, Inv. Maioliche 2036. Inasmuch as the image may be held as portraying realistically the profile of a Fatimid dignitary, it concretely conveys a sense of how Paltiel may have looked. Courtesy of the Soprintendenza Speciale per il Polo Museale Fiorentino.

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maps and plates

Pl. 27. Ivory graved plates for a case produced presumably in the 12th century around Baghdad. Museo Bargello, Florence, Inv. 80C. Inasmuch as the images may be held as realistically portraying a high ranking banquet, the scenes of the musicians and the dancing-girls concretely convey a sense of a feast in al-Muizz’s court or in Paltiel’s palace. Courtesy of the Soprintendenza Speciale per il Polo Museale Fiorentino.

maps and plates

221

Pl. 28. Fragment of early medieval bas-relief exposed at the exterior entrance of the Church of S. Crisogono (Rome). Photo R. Bonfil.

222

maps and plates

Pl. 29. Undated gravestone recently discovered by Cesare Colafemmina in Lavello. The text unmistakably testifies to the presence of the Babylonian Talmud in southern Italy. Courtesy of Prof. Cesare Colafemmina.

PREFACE TO THE CRITICAL EDITION AND THE ANNOTATED TRANSLATION

The English translation hereby offered to the reader departs considerably from the widely known translation of Marcus Salzman in that it intentionally adheres to the wording of the source, avoiding paraphrases and shortcuts, notwithstanding the fact that it is admittedly almost impossible to accurately render rhymed medieval Hebrew prose into other languages. Its preparation underwent several phases. A first draft, which owes much to the efforts of Alick Isaacs, at that time a doctoral student of mine, was drawn by rendering as systematically as possible the biblical locutions used in the Hebrew text according to their usual English wording (as a rule following the King James version), in order to help detect possible inter-textual allusions. Repeatedly revised by myself, this first draft was passed on to the expert handling of Yohai Goell, who carefully edited it following, on the one hand, the introduction and the notes and, on the other hand, the valuable insights of Salzman’s translation. It has seemed necessary to add the critical edition of the Hebrew text for a number of reasons, and not just in order to facilitate access to readers knowledgeable of Hebrew. As a matter of fact, besides unsystematically disregarding variants of øñç áéúë (“defective” spelling without vowels) instead of àìî áéúë (“plene” spelling with additional vowels) and vice-versa, Adolf Neubauer’s edition, in which, as we have seen, the text displayed was occasionally amended by the editor, presents a number of unnoticed variants from the Toledo manuscript worthy of being taken into consideration, as readers will easily verify by perusing our apparatus. A definitely accurate diplomatic reproduction of the text, yet hardly accessible to the wider public, was set up in 1965 by Reuven Mirkin and others under the supervision of Zeev Ben-Hayyim as preliminary material for the historical dictionary in preparation by the Hebrew Language Academy and the Bialik Institute. As such, while still awaiting further exploitation, it can of course not be considered as the ultimate critical edition of the text. It was taken into consideration in 1974 by Moshe Spitzer for the corrected edition of the text

224

preface to the critical edition

originally published by Benjamin Klar in 1944. In adding vowel notation, however, Klar’s text departs from the manuscript in that it systematically adopts øñç áéúë instead of àìî áéúë. Klar moreover abstained from registering systematically the corrections introduced into the text, in part following speculations of David Kaufmann, who actually did not see the manuscript. Our text, collated as carefully as possible with the manuscript and the above mentioned text set up for the historical dictionary in preparation by the Hebrew Language Academy, lists the variant lectures of these authors, with the exception of variants of øñç áéúë instead of áéúë àìî and vice-versa, which would unnecessarily have weighted down the apparatus with insignificant details. Readers accostumed to vocalized critical editions of unvocalized texts will easily discern the exact appearance of the manuscript, beyond the admittedly unfriendly nature of such hybrid displays. Lacunae in the manuscript are conventionally indicated in the text with [….]. Since the manuscript appears to have been written by a youth, errors should not be considered improbable, and in fact in some cases the text makes no sense without some appropriate correction. Corrections of the text by the editor as well as hypothetical filling in of lacunae are also indicated with square brackets. As a rule, therefore, square brackets indicate editorial interventions and should direct readers desiring to clarify the nature of such interventions to the apparatus. Variant sources are indicated in the apparatus by the following notations: 駧ë ð ÷ 1÷

signifies the Toledo manuscript signifies Neubauer’s edition signifies Klar’s revised edition signifies David Kaufmann’s suggestion. It must be stressed, however, that since Kaufmann had not seen the manuscript and his suggestions were hypothetical, we have omitted registering them when it appeared with absolute certainty that the suggestion was groundless.

As a matter of fact, the layout of the manuscript is reminiscent of the layout of a Torah scroll, i.e., sections are separated by small blank spaces (see plates 1–4). According to the standard medieval practice, only one type of punctuation mark is almost constantly used (·), following scansions of rhyme, though with some exceptions. The division into sections as well as the notation of punctuation in our display of the text

preface to the critical edition

225

consequently follows as meticulously as possible the manuscript, with the sole addition of a colon (:) to indicate the end of sections. Since, as a rule, sections are relatively brief, reference to them in the introduction and the notes was accordingly limited to the number of the section, though in some cases it may be somewhat difficult to locate the exact point to which reference is being made.

1 In the name of He1 who dwells in the glorious2 heavens, I shall start declaiming3 and recounting—to investigate, to expose,4 to disclose5 an ordered pleasant6 book-of-tales,7 a book of collected stories8 of the forefathers; to expound9 matters10 and recite in tunes,11 seeking12 to

1 As was customary in all medieval writing, the first paragraph of the work opens with an invocatio, i.e., a formula in praise of God, corresponding to similar Christian or Muslim formulas such as in nomine sanctae et individuae trinitatis or bismillah, and is featured as the typical propitiatory introduction to the paytanic compositions that h. azzanimpaytanim recited in the liturgical services they conducted. Formally, such introductions resembled the classical exordia of orators aiming at capturing the benevolent attention of the audience (captatio benevolentiae) and introducing the matter of the speech (propositio). In later medieval practice the exordium developed into a typical introductory section of all kinds of literary production, known in Latin as accessus ad auctores and in Hebrew as hitnatzelut ha-meh. abber (øáçîä úåìöðúä), and structured following the four Aristotelian causes of being. A detailed discussion of such evolution is far beyond our present scope. For what interests us here, suffice it to stress that, as a rule, the exordium is a special kind of apology displaying the stereotypical performer’s concern for lacking the virtues necessary for a perfect accomplishment, yet at the same time hinting at the contents of the address, its raison d’être, the orator’s expectations, and more of the like. Transposed to the framework of paytanic recitation in religious worship, the exordium to paytanic compositions inserted in the ritual of special Sabbaths and festivities is known as reshut (i.e., [soliciting] permission), and is intertwined with prayer invoking the successful effect of the performance, both on the heavenly and the earthly planes, that is, pleasing to God and humans. The Italian ritual preserves several compositions of this kind, as part of its Palestinian liturgical heritage. It is according to this model, familiar to the fellow coreligionists of Ahima#az, that the proemium is skillfully featured . here. Its configuration, rich—as we will see—in sophisticated allusions and loaded employment of wordings familiar from the Bible and the synagogal liturgy, undoubtedly justifies including Ahima#az among the paytanim of his time.—On the exordium and . captatio benvolentiae in classical and medieval rhetoric, suffice it to cite here Curtius, La littérature européenne, ch. 4, p. 86 and ch. 5, pp. 103–110; Murphy, Rhetoric in the Middle Ages, index, s.v. “captatio benevolentiae.” On the introduction as an Arabic literary genre, see Freimark, “Mukaddima.” On the prologue as a literary form in the Latin West, see Minnis, Medieval Theory of Authorship, 9–72. On the accessus ad auctores in medieval Latin and Hebrew literature, see Quain, “The Medieval Accessus ad Auctores”; Lawee, “Introducing Scripture.” On the relationship of prayer to exordia, see Boswell, “Note.” On the varieties, the emergence, and the development of the reshut in paytanic literature, see Fleisher, “Emergence.” On the Palestinian compositions of this kind received by and preserved in the Italian ritual, see Lehnardt, “Studies,” esp. 143–168. And see below, n. 23. 2 Glorious translates the Hebrew øôù which conveys the sense of goodness, beauty, and perfection. Cf. the Targum of áåè­éë (Gen. 1:4): ïé÷ú øôù íåøà and TB Sot. 11b:

ïe÷é!z ÖVô"ì

·

øtç"ìe ÖÇøE!ìå øÇ÷#çì

·

íéðééð!ò"a òé!aä"ì

·

·

øtñ"ìe õé!ìä"ì ìé!ç"úà

íéðÇÖàXä úÇáàî

·

·

1

øôÖ éî"Ö ïëÇÖ íÖ"a

íéðÇøâé!àä øôñ

·

øôñ ÖUE!î

§é§î§ò §å§ð§é§á ñçéä øôñ éáúëá ùçé àìå éúìàù àìîé ìàä :÷éúòîä íùø øåáéçä ùàøá

.......

øôñ áåúëì

·

íéñð äùåò

....

íéðåãàä éðåãà íùá [§ä íòî éøæò çéìöðå äùòð §ä úøæòá

* =]

ïéñçåé äáéúä éðôì ïéèéùä ïéá äôñåð 姧å

– øôñ(å) :駧ë øôñ 2

Why was she called Shifrah? Because she [cleansed and] made the baby good-looking (ãìååä úà úøôùîù äøôù äîù àø÷ð äîì). 3 To declaim translates the Hebrew õéìäì which conveys the meaning of rhetorical discourse, in the Ciceronian sense of lofty oration in court as well as of a discourse making ample use of metaphors and other poetic devices, therefore necessitating explanation or even translation. Cf. Gen. 42:23; Job 33:23; Hab. 2:6; Prov. 1:6. See also BenYehudah, Thesaurus, 6:3041–3043, s.v. äöéìî and 5:2674, s.v. õéì. In medieval Hebrew halatzah (äöìä) assumed the meaning of rhetoric. The connection between the idea of historical writing and rhetoric in Ahima#az’s view is thus alluded in the opening setting . of his contact with the audience while subtly alluding to hidden meanings necessitating decoding. 4 To expose stands for ùåøãì, from which (ùøãî), meaning inter alia traditional tale, homily, exegetical exposition. For the complex meaning of ùøãî and its possible correspondence to στορα (historia) as well as for the details that will be noted in the following notes about Ahima#az’s idea of historical writing, see chap. 1 of the introductory essay. . 5 The Hebrew verb øôçì translated here as to disclose means literally to excavate, to dig out, to unearth. This would particularly emphasize the idea of history as laborious research, also implied by the etymology of στορα (historia). 6 Ordered pleasant stands for ïå÷éú which conveys the idea of ordered beauty. Cf. Nathan ben Yehiel, Aruch completum, 8:264–265 s.v. 7 Book-of-tales stands for midrash-sefer (øôñ­ùøãî) which is a biblical apax (2 Chr. 24:27). According to the biblical text, its author was Iddo, a prophet and contemporary of Ahima#az, who was High Priest in Rehoboam’s time. This would make even more . precise Ahima#az’s concept of historical writing as related to prophecy. . 8 The Hebrew sefer ha-eggeronim (íéðåøâéàä øôñ) corresponds almost literally to liber collectaneus, a book of collected stories (see chap. 1 of the introductory essay). And cf. with the similar wording in § 63. 9 To expound stands for òéáäì, which conveys the idea of flowing utterance. 10 Matters stands for the Hebrew equally multi-faceted íéðééðòá, which in the Bible conveys the idea of matters calling for explanation (see, for instance, Eccles. 1:13, 5:2, and elsewhere), as in fact will also be stressed in our text. 11 Higgayyon (ïåéâéä) in the sense of a musical tune is attested in biblical Hebrew (cf. Ps. 92:4) whereas as recitation, mostly of memorized texts, it is attested in rabbinic Hebrew; see Jastrow, Dictionary, 331, s.v. Therefore it very aptly fits a compound merging of both the medieval idea of historical narrative and of paytanic composition. 12 Our interpretation disagrees with Klar, who assumed that the text is corrupted (see the apparatus appended to our critical edition). As for the use of the infinitive in a similar way, it is attested in biblical Hebrew (cf. Rashi on Num. 6:23).

228

the chronicle of ahima #az .

collect,13 to seek the genealogy, without being snared by [my] seeking.14 In advance and from the outset I shall glorify, praise, and magnify15 the Mighty in deeds,16 His holy name shall I glorify, His eternal memory shall I magnify, His praises shall I intone17 in awe and trepidation. As in days of yore, I shall exalt His magnificence, and shall not be sluggish in exalting with the words of my mouth the lofty dwelling place of the Eternal God.18 I shall open with discourse and responses,19 to pleadingly urge,20 in truth and in faith, He who inhabits the lofty dwelling place,21 to recite by rote, to intone melodious airs, to jubilate with melodies, before the Lord of Lords, in an assize of elders,22 in a gathering of the wise; to firmly praise23 the Eternal living One,24 to tell the magnificence of His frightening actions, to glorify the lofty who is above all lofties, to crown with crowns25 He who dwells in the heavens—in

13 The Hebrew øåâà is the same root of íéðåøâéàä øôñ (see n. 8 above); once again the idea of history as collectanea. 14 Cf. Deut. 12:30 (íäéøçà ù÷ðú ïô êì øîùä—Take heed to thyself that thou be not snared by following them). Our interpretation disagrees with Klar, who interpreted “without being confused by the one who seeks my destruction” (cf. Ps. 38:13: åù÷ðéå åâäé íåéä ìë úåîøîå úååä åøáã éúòø éùøãå éùôð éù÷áî—They also that seek after my life lay snares for me: and they that seek my hurt speak mischievous things, and imagine deceits all the day long). Klar’s interpretation would require emending the text (see the apparatus appended to our critical edition). Should one agree with such correction of the text, the meaning could also allude to the rival elites who would contest the claim to prominence that the work of Ahima#az was meant to support. . 15 äìåãâå çáù ïúà echoes the wording of the midrash (Mekhilta de-Rabbi Yishmael, Chap. 20 and loci paralleli): éîì … äìåãâå çáù øéù íéðúåðå íéçáùîå íéîîåøî ìàøùé ìáà åìù äîçìîäù—But the Israelites were exalting, praising, giving songs of praise and magnitude … of the One who possesses war [Translation mine—R.B.; cf. Mekhilta according to Rabbi Ishmael, tr. by Neusner, 142] That wording was incorporated into the Yotzer of the Sabbath morning liturgy: §åëå äçåðî øöåé êìîì åðúé äìåãâå çáù—They [the Israelites and the angels] give songs of praise and magnitude to the King Creator of rest [Translation mine—R.B.]. 16 After Jer. 32:19. The entire verse (ìë ìò úåç÷ô êéðéò øùà äéìéìòä áøå äöòä ìåãâ åéììòî éøôëå åéëøãë ùéàì úúì íãà éðá éëøã—Great in counsel, and mighty in deeds: for thine eyes are open upon all the ways of the sons of men: to give every one according to his ways, and according to the fruit of his doings) was incorporated into the ïéãä ÷åãéö, the funerary hymn of acceptance of one’s fate and as such we can safely presume that it was firmly present in the minds of the entire audience, not just of the learned ones. Its insertion in the proemium here constitutes a first hint at praise of the author’s ancestors since, as will be stressed shortly below, God “performed for his ancestors miracles and wonders, signs of benevolence.” The composition of the ïéãä ÷åãéö, according to the ritual of Italian Jews, was recently analyzed by Lehnardt, “Studies,” 261–304 (ch. 7). 17 The Hebrew root ìñìñ conveys the idea of loftiness as well as of harmonious melody; cf. Nathan ben Yehiel, Aruch completum, 6:56, s.v. ìñìñ and Kohut’s annotation in situ.

the chronicle of ahima #az .

229

ïzà

· älé!ç"z!îe Öà]îe · Öwa!î · ÖLp!ä"ì é!ì"a · Öwá"ì ñçiä · Öwa øÇâà · íéðÇéâé!ä"a Çç"á!Ö · äì"câ#à Çø"ëæ çöð · äì"ìä#à ÇÖEJ íÖ · äìé!ì#òä áU"ì · älåHâe çáÖå · älé!ä"z · íBÇø äé"äà àÀå · ícK#à ÇzYà"ô!z · íCw!îe æàî"k · äìé!ç"áe àTÇî“a · äì"ñ"ìñ#à úî$àa · íéðeð#çz òéb"ôä"ì · íéð#òîe çé!×"a ìçà · íCM éäÀ$à äðÇò"î · ícK"ì é!t éV"áD"a éðÇã#àì · íéððY!a ñlò"ì · íéðebéð"a ïbð"ì · íéðepé!Ö"a ïpÖ"ì · íéðÇò"î ïëÇÖ éð"t · íéðeî$àáe 5 · íé!îìÇòä éç"ì · íé!îevé!ò"a çaÖ"ì · íéðÇáð úUeá#ça · íéðéLæ áÖÇî"a · íéðÇã#àä õeaéN"a · íé!îÇø"î áÖÇé"ì · íé!îelé!ç"a øé!z"ëä"ì · íé!îT ìk ìò íT"ì · íé!îei!à"a øàô"ì íéé÷ì :ð íã÷ì

4

1 (íéîåìéçá :駧äë çñåðì ïåéö äøòäáå) íéîåìéäá :ð íéîåìéçá 7

äöé÷à :ð íã÷à

3

Öwá"n!î :÷ ù÷áî

||

Öwìå :÷ ù÷ë :1÷ [ù÷á

18 The Hebrew words translated as “the lofty dwelling place of the Eternal God” are a verbatim quotation from Deut. 33:27, whose meaning is far from crystal-clear. 19 The expression would apparently hint at liturgical performance, such as paytanic recitation met by the audience’s responding refrain. For this kind of paytanic performance in liturgy, see Fleisher, “Emergence,” 361–362. 20 For the Hebrew verb here translated as “urge,” see Isa. 59:16. It conveys the idea of insistent solicitation and prayer and is frequently found in paytanic practice. 21 The phrasing (íéðåòî ïëåù éðô) echoes the very ancient opening formula of the kerovoth of special Sabbaths (éðô ììäì … éô äçúôà íéðéáî úòã ãîìîå íéðåáðå íéîëç ãåñî íéðåòî ïëåù); see Davidson, Thesaurus, 3:158 # 1923 î. The plural form íéðåòî, repeatedly used by Ahima#az (see further §§ 2 and 60) for God’s residence, follows the traditional . imagery which configured the heavenly world as consisting of seven firmaments (see chap. 5 of the introductory essay). 22 “Elders” are seniores, in the compound sense of aged, sagacious, prestigious, and powerful. 23 “To firmly praise” stands for íéîåöéòá çáùì—to pronounce with assured, certain arguments the praiseworthy nature of God. For the meaning of íéîåöéò in the sense of surety or guarantee, see Jastrow, Dictionary, 1073–1074, s.v. íåöéò. Such an unusual term should convey the complex idea, variously recurring in medieval Jewish thought, that the certainty of the Jewish faith is rooted in the authority of its witnesses and that the un-iconic essence of the Jewish God is substantiated in the physical world by the compelling force of the pronouncements referring to God. In a sense then, such pronouncements should confer concreteness to the abstract God of the Jews. Later kabbalistic adjustments of the idea did further innovatively apply the term atzmut (úåîöò) to indicate the hidden essence of God embodied, as it were, in the sephirotic predicaments of the Divinity. And see further chap. 5 of the introductory essay. 24 “The Eternal living One” (íéîìåòä éç) as a divine attribute is frequently found in ancient prayer formulas. 25 The Hebrew term here translated as “crowns” is dubious. Our translation follows Salzman’s suggestion, accepted by Klar, Chronicle, 141, who reassumed the relevant references.

230

the chronicle of ahima #az .

a gathering of pure souls, in an assembly of sages.26 Day and night I shall chant melodious praises to the performer of great deeds, the maker of thunderous sounds, the Lord of Hosts, the marvelous worker of wonders, the creator of great and terrible things, who performed for my ancestors miracles and wonders, signs of benevolence.27 I shall sing praises to Him who dwells in heaven, play a melody,28 a glorious plea for mercy, with fear and prudence,29 trepidation and [cautiousness],30 a well-chosen [word] in the valley of the lily.31 To recount His mighty acts, to [reveal] His wonders, the strength of His awesome deeds, and the measure of His praises, the strength of His great acts, the song of His praiseworthy deeds, the firmness of His terrible acts, the strength of His dominions, which He has wondrously devised to enhance His dignity. He who shows His power to create mountains, who reveals to man His thought,32 He who makes the earth in His wisdom, orders the universe in His intelligence. Who can be compared to Him in the heavens? His dominion extends to all ends of the earth, He makes the sea flee by His roar, the dwellers on the earth tremble for fear of Him, the mountains

26 The portrayal of the framework in which the performance is supposed to take place as one of elders and wise men, honest and sagacious, unequivocally underlines its distinction as a learned élite of virtuous men apt to rise to leadership positions. 27 The sentence forms the link between the invocatio (see n. 1 above) and the conception of the exemplary genealogical narrative as one aspect of “telling the deeds of God,” yet one that stresses the prominence of those ancestors who were blessed with the signs of divine benevolence (cf. Ps. 9:17). The didactic function of historical narrative is thereby fulfilled by stressing both the concurrence of universal history (from “The Beginning”) and family history (“human” history), as well as the appropriate way of its telling (as a series of collected exempla related to the dramatis personae, here the author’s ancestors). Mythical time is thereby linked to historical time without a hiatus. 28 The Hebrew turn of phrase äðéâðá ïâðì unquestionably conveys the meaning of music. 29 Although hakham (íëç) and navon (ïåáð) seem to be almost synonymous terms in . the Bible, they quite early acquired distinctive meanings, the first indicative of wisdom (sapientia) and the second of perspicacity, discernment, intelligence (prudentia). One may already find in the Vulgata quite clear indication that intellegens and prudens did arise as equivalent to navon and correspondently intellegentia and prudentia to tevunah (äðåáú; cf. Deut. 4:6; 1 Kings 3:12; Isa. 3:3; Hos. 14:10; Prov. 1:5, 15:14, 16:21, 18:15). The question of the difference between the two is precisely posed in a Tannaitic source in which one finds already a hint of the standard stance that the prudent man is the one who is able to perceive something concealed in something else (cf. Sifri Deut. 13 and Rashi on Deut. 1:13). The subsequent acceptance of Aristotelian philosophy among medieval Jews and Christians alike did further apply Aristotle’s definition of prudent men to the received body of biblical and post-biblical notions as respectable and prestigious, experienced— and therefore sagacious—ones, for correct advice is always the result of experience, and

the chronicle of ahima #az .

231

íé!òYî"ì

· úÇìÇãâ ä×Çò"ì · úÇlé!ä"z íé!òðà · úÇìéìå íé!îéå · íé!îë#ç ãòåå"a · íé!îé!î"z · úÇàYä"ì ééîeãO · úÇàTÇð ä×Çòå · úÇàì"t àé!ì"ônä · úÇàá"ö íé!äÀàì · úÇìÇ÷"a øôÖ"a · äðéâð!a ïbð"ì · äðÇò"î ø@"ì · äððY!a ìlä#à · úÇà äáÇè"ì · úÇàì"ôðå íé!qð ãébä"l · äpÖÇÖ ÷îò"a · äðÇëð äl[é!î"a] · [äðeá"ú]!áe äîéà"a · äðé!á"áe äàYé"a · äpé!ç"z · åéúÇøeáb õîÇàå · åéúÇç"a"Öå%z øJéå · åéúÇlåHb óMÇúå · åéúÇà"ì"ôð [úÇlâ]"ì · åéúÇøeáb 5 ìcâ"ì · Ççevéð"a àé!ì"ô!äÖ · åéúÇì"Ö"îî ÷æÇçå · åéúÇàYÇð íöÇòå · åéúÇlé!ä"z íòÇðå ïé!ëî · Çúî"ëç"a õWà ä×Çò · Ççér äî í@à"ì ãébîe · ÇçÇë"a íéXä ïé!ënä · Çç"á!Ö ñéðî íiäå · íéNT#à éå"öK ìë"a Çz"ìÖ"îîe · íéNç"ga Çì _Çø#òé é!îe · Çúðeá"ú!a ìáz øéùé êùîä ïééöì íééôàøâ íéðîéñ ÷éúòîä íùø äøåùä óåñ ãò ÷éø øúåðù íå÷îá :駧ë äùåòå óåñ ãò ÷éø øúåðù íå÷îá :駧ë ééîåã÷

||

úåàøì :ð úåàøåð

|| [-------]

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äùåòå :ð äàáä äøåùä íò

÷éúòîä ïúåà ïîéñ ¬úá÷åòä äìéîä ìù úåðåùàøä úåéúåàä ùîç úà íùåø ìçäù éøçà ¬äøåùä øéùé êùîä ïééöì íééôàøâ íéðîéñá àìéî äøåùä øúé úàå ¬úåà ìë ìòî äãå÷ðá ä÷éçîì úåéåàøë äì[çìç]áå :1÷ äì[ ]áå :ð äì[éîá]

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prudence differs from wisdom in that it is not knowledge but rather considered opinion, correct evaluation of the various possibilities and choice of the most appropriate (cf. Aristotle, Ethica Nicomachea 6). The cumulative amassing of meaning on one basic biblical term is undoubtedly a significant example of a socio-cultural construct resultant from the encounter between traditions transplanted from distant places and times into different contexts. In this respect it may be of some interest to note two further things: first, how apparently following 1 Kings 3:12, prudentia came to denote military virtue in medieval Latin; see Du Cange, Glossarium, 549, s.v. prudens: bellicosus, armis et bellica virtute valens. And second, how apparently following the above-mentioned Talmudic distinction of intelligence from wisdom, intelligence came to mean more specifically foreseeing and thus to match the capacity of προρασις characteristic of saints, especially female saints (see chap. 1 of the introductory essay, n. 112). It may then be not quite accidental that according to the Talmudic lore (TB Nid. 45b) “God accorded more intelligence to women than to men” (ùéàáî øúåé äùàá äøéúé äðéá àåä êåøá ùåã÷ä ïúðù). Be that as it may, given such wealth of nuances, it has been impossible to adopt a consistently univocal translation of the term. 30 Dots or words in square parentheses here and hereafter are in place of a damaged part of the manuscript. Here half a word is missing (see the apparatus appended to our critical edition). 31 The lily of the valley is a widely used metaphor for the People of Israel, following Song of Sol. 2:1. Although the inverted order of the words of the couplet in the text may well have been dictated by the rhyme, our translation has maintained that order, for one may also imagine a subtle allusion to the place of the performance, i.e., to the usual place of gathering of the congregation (the synagogue = the valley) as an implicit sign of the virtuous qualities of its members. 32 Amos 4:13.

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echo His majesty,33 and the hills crumble before His gaze. His power and strength will increase in all His dominions, and the splendor of His magnificence will be exalted and elevated. Praised be His name and the name of His glorious kingdom. 2 I shall glorify with praise,34 Him who dwells in the heavens,35 who for [their] good feats and talented acts,36 leads37 along straight paths my exiled ancestors, who came with the exiles, exiled from Jerusalem. He saved from dismay, juniors and seniors,38 the elderly and the suckling infants, for the sake of His great mercy and the merits of the ancestors.39 By Him who dwells on heaven,40 they were protected at all times; shield and buckler, from days of yore, He has always been, to my ancestors, and forever will be, to their children and grandchildren, unto their last descendants. Now I will set out, to arrange properly, in peace and quiet, and set down [—]41 how my forefathers were brought, in a boat along the River

Joel 2:5. The Hebrew word translated almost improperly as praise (íéìåìä) was generally taken to mean festival hymn of thanksgiving (cf. Lev. 19:24 and Judg. 9:27; and see for example, inter alia, TB Ber. 35a, R.H 32a, and loci paralleli). 35 Though it may well be that the plural zevulim (íéìåáæ) is here used because of the rhyme, one should bear in mind that rabbinical representation of the heavenly structure visualized “seven heavens” (see n. 21 above). 36 The Hebrew words translated as “talented acts” (íéììòî øùëáå) offer a clue to an understanding of the entire couplet as referring to Ahima#az’s ancestors, for they . allude to Ps. 68:7 according to a midrash that may have been composed in southern Italy: åéäù íéøöîå íúåáà øùåëá íàéöåä íéøöîá íéøåñà åéäù ìàøùé—úåøùåëá íéøåñà àéöåî äçéçö åðëù íéøøåñ—He bringeth out the prisoners because of good works—that is the children of Israel who were prisoners in Egypt. God brought them forth because of the good works of their fathers. But the Egyptians who were rebellious remained dwelling in a parched land (Midrash Tehillim, tr. by Braude, pp. 1:539–540). By such sophisticated insinuation, Ahima#az applies the general sense of the midrash, which interprets the . verse as alluding to the deliverance of the Jews from Egypt as a reward for the good feats of their ancestors and to the exodus of his own ancestors from the Holy Land following the defeat of Judea at the hands of Titus. The exile of his ancestors and their 33 34

the chronicle of ahima #az . äðèeî"z úÇòábäå

· ÇúT#òâ"a · ÇúTEä åéæ àrð"úéå älò"úéå · Çz"ìÖ"îî úÇîÇ÷"î ìë"a · ÇúTeáâe Çç&k ìcâéå · Çúèaä"a :Çúeë"ìî ãÇá"k íÖå Çî"Ö _Ua"úéå ·

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· íé!ìì#òî øÖÇë"áe · íé!ìò"ô!î áeè"a øÖ#à · íé!ìeáæ!a ø@"ì · íé!ìelé!ä"a øàô#à 2 · íé!ìâéð í!ìgeøé!a øÖ#à · íé!ìÇbä í!ò íé!àaä · íé!ìâå%nä ééúÇá#à · íé!ìé!á"Ö øÖÇé"a 5 · íé!îeö#òä åéî#çU ïòî"ì · íé!ììÇòå íé!á× · íé!ìÇãâe íéXé!ò"ö · íé!ìeäé!a!î ìé!v!äå · íépéâîe äpé!öå · íéðbå%î"î úò ìë"a · íéðÇò"î ïëÇÖ úàîe · íé!îeã"wä úÇáà úeëæe íéðá"ì · íéðc!ò ìë"a äé"äéå · íéðÇîEwä ééúÇá#àì · íépîæ ìë"a äéä · íéðô"l!îe æàî èMÖ"a · äëì#äk øcñ"ì · äëÇø$òà ïë"áe · [íéðÇ]ø#çàä íäéð"á éð"á!ìå · íéðá éð"á!ìå âäÇð

íéìöð :ð íéìâéð

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settling in Oria is thus portrayed as deliverance analogous to the exodus from Egypt and settling in the Land of Israel. In this manner, southern Italy rises to the rank of a Promised Land for the exiles. 37 Sic, in present tense (âäåð). This is presumably intentional, as a kind of emphasis on the continuity between past and present. Of the “three-tiered whole” of the body of the tradition (see chap. 1 of the introductory essay), only the second and third are represented, while the distant past (from the Creation of the world to the defeat of Judea, the destruction of the Sanctuary, and the forced exile) is left in the background. The “floating gap” between the event of the exile and the appearance of the first constituent of the family genealogy (corresponding to the “cultural hero” in similar ancient and medieval lists) is indeed bridged in one short leap. 38 If the following couplet, mentioning elderly and infants, is not redundant repetition, juniors and seniors should be understood as alluding to socio-cultural rank, as usual in pre-modern metonymic mention of age to mean social status, in the sense shown by Philippe Ariès, Centuries of Childhood. And see further chap. 3 of the introductory essay. 39 The identity of the ancestors alluded to here is intentionally blurred, for the term may typically allude to both the ancient Patriarchs and the ancestors of Ahima#az. . 40 For the Hebrew wording íéðåòî ïëåù here translated as heaven, see n. 21 above. 41 One word is missing (see the apparatus appended to our critical edition).

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P[ishon], the first river of Eden,42 with the exiled people, whom Titus ex[iled43 from] the city of perfect beauty,44 and they came to Oria,45 and congregated there, and [—] became great and excelled in good deeds, and they multiplied and increased, and grew in strength and might. [—] arose from among them, from the descendants of their grandchildren, a wise man [—] in Torah, a poet and logician,46 who mastered the Law of God, an intelligent person47 among his people—his name was Rabbi Amittai.48 And he had sons fair and honest, wise and intelligent, learned persons and poets, educators and teachers to

42 Some recent authors have understood the corrupted text following Neubauer’s suggestion to identify Pishon with the Po. Klar even suggested amending the text in that sense (see the apparatus appended to our critical edition). If such completion of the lacuna (on the presumed basis of the rhyme) is correct, the identification of the river Po with the biblical Pishon would be quite intriguing. As is well known, two of the four rivers of Eden have been definitely identified with the Tigris and the Euphrates, while the identification of the remaining two (Pishon and Gihon) is still a matter of scholarly . controversy. In the midrashic sources Pishon is identified with the Nile, and, as pointed out by Saul Lieberman (“Zenikhin”: 44, n. 15), at least one additional Jewish source holds that the Nile flows down from the Tree of Life, in a way strongly reminiscent of a number of Christian traditions, for, as is also well known, Christian exegetical tradition, almost universally holds the view that the four biblical rivers should be understood as symbolizing four basic virtues of Christian behavior (prudentia, temperantia, fortitudo, iustitia) that stem from the ultimate source of divine knowledge (fons sapientiae, Jesus Christ). According to such hermeneutical argumentation, present in numberless medieval visual representations showing four rivers flowing from Christ’s feet, the river Pishon would signify prudence. A similar figurative allusion to Pishon may perhaps be found in a Hebrew verse written by a poet from Apulia, almost contemporary with Ahima#az, and asking for “intellect and science like the river Pishon” (øäðë äîëçå ìëù . ïåùéô) (see Schirmann, “Zur Geschichte”: 95–147, esp. 141). If this be the case, we would have here a convoluted example of a Jewish rejoinder to the Christian attitude relating to figurative interpretation of biblical images, though not without sophisticated, mostly obscure, allusions to other layers of symbolic meaning. And yet, the relationship to the Po would in any case remain obscure and finally unwarranted. In fact, both Jewish and Christian exegesis do not seem to have ever identified Pishon with the Po. For the biblical motif of the four rivers of Paradise, widely present in Christian iconography, see Paul A. Underwood, “Fountain of Life”; Maguire, “The Nile”; and most recently the comprehensive essay of Alessandro Scafi, Il paradiso in terra. There is no reason, therefore, to assume that the Po was mentioned in the text of Ahima#az. As a matter of . fact, the Italian translator of the work in the Toledo manuscript did not read Po, but rather Euphrates, though one can not be sure that the text was not already corrupted. Besides, such a reading would contradict the biblical characterization of Pishon as

the chronicle of ahima #az . ïCò øäð [àeä

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· eìò ïWÇà"áe · äìeì"k é!ôÇé"a øé!òä [ï!î · äì]âä ñeèé!è øÖ#à äìÇbä í!ò · ïÇÖàX · íäî ãîò [.... · eø]áâå eî"öòå · eøôe eáTå · elò"úð íé!×#òî"áe · eìEb [....] · eì#äOð · øáb ìà úA"a · øañå èéit · [.... ä]TÇza · íëç Öé!à · íäéð"á éð"a!î · íäéðép!î íéðz"òc · íéðÇáðe íé!îë#ç · íéðeâ#äå íé!àð íéða äéä Çìå · Çî"Ö ééz!î#à §øå · Çnò"a ïÇáð 5 [ · äì]âä :ð [ïî · äì]âä 2 ïåùéô àåä · å]àô :÷ [ïåù]ô :ð [ àåä · ïåùé]ô | | [øôñ] :÷ [....] 1 [ä]øåúá 4 [íù] · eøáâe :÷ [ ]áâå :ð [.... · åø]áâå || [äTÇza] :÷ [....] 3 éXéeà"áe :÷ [ïøåàáå || [ík%ç"î] äTÇza :÷ [ ]øåúá :ð [.....]

the first river of Paradise. On the other hand, in the Jewish midrashic tradition the Pishon is characterized as a big river encompassing the Holy Land. A late text that we can reasonably presume as bearing older traditions has it wide as the sea so that only ships can cross it: “And this country is surrounded by a big river which issues from Paradise and which is called Pishon and it is so big that they cannot cross it except in boats”—àåäå ïåùéô åúåà ïéøå÷ù ïãò ïâî àöåéù ãçà øäðî úááåñî àéä úàæä õøàäå úåéðàá àìà åéìò øåáòì íéìåëé íðéàù ìåãâ êë ìë (see the version of the letter allegedly sent by Prester John to the Pope in: Ullendorf and Beckingham, Hebrew Letters of Prester John, 48–49). Like Salzman, Chronicle, 61, n. 2 (who nonetheless would keep the reference “to the Euphrates that the exiles crossed on their way to Italy”) we have therefore chosen to exclude the allusion to the river Po, and retain simply Pishon, to be identified with the sea encompassing the Holy Land and including therefore the Mediterranean, or perhaps more simply and conventionally with the Nile, a metonymy of the Mediterranean into which it flows, crossed by the ships that brought the exiles to southern Italy. See also Colafemmina, Sefer Yuh. asin, 60, who on the basis of the above-mentioned amendment of the text hypothesizes that Ahima#az may somehow . have identified the Po with the Mediterranean. 43 Cf. Ezek. 2:1 and Neh. 7:6. 44 Jerusalem. Cf. Lam. 2:15. 45 See chap. 2 of the introductory essay. 46 The Hebrew word payyat (èééô) translated as poet unmistakably refers to paytanic activity, as will also be underscored below in the characterization of Amittai’s sons. On the other hand the word sabbar (øáñ) translated as logician refers to the dialectic activity conducted according to the categories of Talmudic logic sevarah (äøáñ). Amittai is thus portrayed as both a paytan and a trained logician capable of being a Head of Yeshivah. It should be noted that the same characteristic trait is attributed in § 3 to Aharon the Baghdadite who is portrayed as an expert in Talmudic dialectics. 47 For the complex meaning of the Hebrew term navon (ïåáð) translated as intelligent person, see n. 29 above. 48 Amittai emerges here as the first link in the genealogical chain, on the borderline between mythical and historical time, as often happens in the genealogical chains of primitive societies studied by anthropologists (see chap. 1 of the introductory essay).

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decent pupils.49 Princes and lords, who understand mysteries,50 composers of rhymed verses,51 adept in the mysteries,52 wise watchers, intelligent observers, astute authors of prayers,53 learned in the Book of Righteousness,54 observers of the Mystery of the Chariot.55 The first was Rabbi Shephatiah, who engaged in the salutary Law;56 the second was Rabbi Hananel, who meditated on the Law of God, brought down57 by Yeku. 58 tiel; third was Eleazar, who speculated on that which was given in the third.59

49 The wording subtly alludes to the midrash preserved in Yalkut Shimoni 961 on Prov. 26:8 which viewed teaching unbefitting students as a kind of idolatry. 50 The qualities that will be listed now put the complementary touches on the image of the ideal sage, who blends Talmudic with mystical knowledge, characteristic of the Heikhaloth and Merkavah Literature. Such knowledge made them especially valuable in carrying out, through liturgy, a mediatory function between humans and God analogous to that of the priests in the Sanctuary; see Elior, Heikhaloth Literature, chap. 3. 51 I.e., composers of piyyutim. 52 If the wording is not redundant, we must understand it as a further quality of the saintly sage: the capability to perform magic acts through his mastery of the mysteries and to grasp the Divine Essence and influence God’s attitude toward humans. Thus, the sequence of capacities, typical of the Heikhaloth and Merkavah Literature, completes the portrayal of the ideal sage in terms of a perfect combination of Talmudic proficiency and sanctity characteristic of the Ashkenazi pietists. See Elior, Heikhaloth Literature, chap. 4. 53 The Hebrew root tzafah (äôö), here translated as “to watch,” corresponds to the Greek εωρ#ω i.e., to contemplate, to consider, to observe, that is, to engage in philosophical or astrological speculation, which is at the origin of εωρα (Latin theoria, theory). See Liddell-Scott, Greek-English Lexicon, sv. εωρ#ω I/2. The corresponding idea is thus one of dealing with cosmic mysteries, akin to the activity of prophets also characterized as íéôåö (cf. for instance, TB Meg. 2b and Rashi in situ: éàéáð—íåøîà íéôåö úåøåãä [the watchers uttered them—the prophets]). Thus the sophisticated tripartite phrasing of Ahima#az alludes at the specific speculation characteristic of saintly Jewish . sages proficient in the secret knowledge: wisdom (äîëç) and intelligence (äðéá) are thus both conveying the idea of skilful discernment and foreseeing of the future which, as we have seen, equally characterized Christian saints, while the root óöôö conveys finally the idea of shrieking prayer (cf. Jastrow, Dictionary, s.v. óöôö ii) and clearly alludes to the unique trait of shrewed sanctity characteristic of the Ashkenazi pietists. See also below § 45.

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54 The Book of Righteousness, øùéä øôñ, fragments of which have been found in the Cairo Genizah, contained specific instructions for the magic use of the Names recorded in the Heikhaloth and Merkavah Literature. See further chap. 5 of the introductory essay. 55 Unless it is the title of a lost book, the Mystery of the Chariot, äáëøîä ãåñ, is a generic name for a typical portrayal of the heavenly imagery as described in the body of literature mentioned in the previous note. 56 Though quite frequent in the Bible, the word translated as “salutary Law” (äéùåú) has various corresponding meanings, as one can realize by perusing the Latin translations of the Vulgata which, among other things, renders it also as salus (Mic. 6:9: “et salus erit timentibus”): it conveys the meaning of wisdom, astuteness, perceptiveness, guidance, etc. Hence, in rabbinical literature it was almost naturally associated with Torah, conceived as the ultimate source of all those qualities for faithful Jews (see, for instance, TB San. 26b where various reasons are suggested for such correspondence). Since all of Amittai’s sons are praised for their knowledge of Torah, we have assumed äéùåú in this case to be both a synonym for Law (Torah) and an oblique allusion to the salutary reward accorded to Shephatiah for his faithfulness (as will be related in § 16). One can finally feel justified in imagining an additional oblique contrasting allusion to the Jewish Law vs. the Christian Verb, typically characterizing the opposite views held by Jews and Christians concerning the path toward salvation (and see n. 225 below). 57 From Mount Sinai. 58 Yekutiel is one of the many names of Moses. 59 Our translation follows the suggestions of Salzman and Klar. “That which was given in the third” would thus mean the Torah that was given in the third month following the exodus from Egypt (cf. Exod. 19:1). And yet, the Toledo ms. Italian translation interestingly suggests adhering to the literal construction of the phrase and to interpret “the Torah that was given to three,” i.e., to Moses, Aaron, and Miriam. Be that as it may, there is no doubt that the Torah is alluded to as the object of Eleazar’s speculation.

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And in the days of these saints,60 descended one of the dearest ones,61 a greatly beloved man,62 from the land of the Baghdadites, Head and Father,63 from the lineage of Yoav;64 his name was Aharon, a brilliant logician,65 able to forestall Heavenly wrath,66 great-grandson of the dormants in Hebron,67 a close intimate68 of King Adiriron.69

For the translation of ãéñç as “saint,” see chap. 1 of the introductory essay. The Hebrew word yedid (ãéãé), here translated as “dearest one,” is an intriguing one. In this case, too, our translation roughly follows the practice of traditional translations, such as the Septuaginta which translates it as γαπητς (cf. Isa. 5:1) or γαπημ#νος (cf. Jer. 11:15), and the Vulgata which has it as “dilectus.” One might also add that Christian practice of late Antiquity would associate to the basic meaning of this concept one of charity (cf. Du Cange, Glossarium, 2:172, s.v. caritas; Liddell-Scott, Greek-English Lexicon, s.v. γ πη). 62 “Greatly beloved” translates íéãåîç ùéà—instead of úåãåîç ùéà, as the prophet Daniel is characterized in the Bible (Dan. 9:23; 10:11, 19)—because of the rhyme. úåãåîç ùéà (translated in the Vulgata as vir desideriorum) is an obscure idiom, generally interpreted as a pure man of desirable virtues (cf. Rashi on Dan. 10:11). And yet, in having recourse to such uncertain locution our text does presumably suggest a comparison between the images of Daniel and Aharon. 63 If one is to interpret the terms as titles, what comes to mind are archon ($ρχων) and pater (πατ"ρ), both widely testified in the tombstones of southern Italy, as may easily be seen by consulting the index of Noy, Jewish Inscriptions. One may more specifically think of the honorary title πατ%ρ τ&ς πλεως (major civitatis), which in the fourth century had been transformed into a function and presumably persisted as such in the memory of the Jews of southern Italy, though the function itself did not necessarily endure in the time of Ahima#az (see Lifshitz, “Prolegomenon,” 48). In the eleventh century $ρχων . was used in Byzantium in the sense of an important person upon whom emperors and patriarchs bestowed monasteries; see Lemerle, “Un aspect”: 9–28, esp. 15. Weinstock’s suggestion (Studies, 247, n. 15) that av (áà) may hint at av beth din (ïéã úéá áà) seems definitely implausible to me. 64 According to some aggadic traditions, “the Tachkemonite” mentioned in 2 Sam. 23:8, “is said to refer to Yoav who bore this name, the wise, because of his having been the head of the Academy”; see Ginzberg, Legends, 4:97 and 6:258, nn. 75 and 76. According to Ginzberg (who quotes a number of sources, including PseudoHieronymus to 1 Kings 2:34), our text alludes precisely to these legends. Others suggest more generic meanings, such as “a lineage of righteous men such as Yoav” (Kaufmann, “Die Chronik des Achimaaz von Oria”: 466 and n. 2; Klar following TB San. 49a) or even far fetched gematrioth (Weinstock, Studies, 247, n. 14). But see Urbach, “Death of Joab.” The ambivalence of Yoav’s figure in Midrashic literature, especially concerning its political implications, may have played a role in the memory of the man who came from Baghdad. Be that as it may, it must be also borne in mind that the name Yoav, usually translated as Dattilo or Dattolo, was quite common among medieval Italian Jews; see Cassuto, Gli Ebrei a Firenze, 237–238. 60 61

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65 The Hebrew wording sabbar be-sibbaron (ïåøáéñá øáñ) is also quite intriguing and calls to mind similar linguistic innovations by classical and medieval paytanim. As a matter of fact, the term sabbar, here translated as logician, is repeatedly used by Ahima#az . in that sense (see n. 46 above), while according to the Responsa Project of Bar-Ilan University, the word sibbaron, apparently a derivative of the same root, occurs only once in Sefer Or Zaru #a (I, § 779), a book stemming from the cultural tradition of the Hasidei . Ashkenaz. 66 As aptly noted by Weinstock, Studies, 247, the idea is deliverance of believers from dreadful Divine decrees, quite plausibly through mediating prayer. According to our general methodological premises, Scholem’s critique of Weinstock’s work concerning Aharon the Baghdadite and the secrets purportedly transmitted by him to the West has no relevance for this particular trait, in itself profoundly illuminating concerning the nature of the concept of the Jewish saint that Ahima#az might have had in mind (and . see further chap. 1 and chap. 3 of the introductory essay). 67 The dormants in Hebron are, of course, the Patriarchs buried in the Cave of Makhpelah. Although it may well be that mention of the Patriarchs here is without further implications, it is not impossible that in stressing the link with the “dormants in Hebron” the author is also emphasizing the Palestinian origin of the lineage of the Babylonian leadership, placing it on equal footing with the rival Palestinian leadership. 68 “Close intimate” translates the intriguing wording ki-benei maron (ïåøî éðáë) that occurs in M Rosh (1, 2) but also in the well-known piyyut ó÷åú äðúðå in the Mahzor . for Rosh ha-Shanah and Yom Kippur in both the Italian and Ashkenazi rites (see Davidson, Thesaurus, 2:199–201, # 451 å). Following the conventional understanding of the Mishnah, apparently reflected in the piyyut, the unusual wording would hint at the judgment of God visualized as a shepherd counting (and examining) his sheep one by one. In that vein, the Toledo ms. Italian translation interestingly translates “come figlio di agnello” as son of a lamb. According to such translation, the text could thus include a convolute polemical contrasting allusion to the main symbol of Christian sanctity, Jesus, the Lamb of God. According to Klar, the meaning in the piyyut, and here as well, may be “as angels.” We have preferred a more straightforward, though admittedly quite poor, translation. 69 Adiriron is one of the “Names of God” in the Heikhaloth Literature (Zunz, Synagogale Poesie, 499). As also noted by Weinstock, Studies, 247–248, the allusion is to the unique capacity of the saint to make magical use of the “Names of God” and thus obtain wonderful mastery over the world. (And see further chap. 4 of the introductory essay).

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3 Before his departure from the land of his birth, his father owned a grindstone for his subsistence, and the mule which turned it, the lion came and devoured it.70 At that time Aharon was away. When he returned to the place,71 he could not find the mule. In place of his mule, he brought in the lion and subdued it,72 forcing it to turn the grindstone [to grind] for him. When his father became aware of this, he approached him,73 screamed at him, raised his voice, and said unto him, “What have you done, you’ve brought in the lion, you sought74 to subdue its strength, though the Lord made him a king, to [walk erect];75 you have deployed him in your labors, to serve you. Now, I swear, you will not stand before me, you shall go out into exile, [because of your stupidity and foolishness],76 and for three years, you shall make amends for your silly acts; [after that you will return] to your land, and the Lord your God will restore you to His favor.” 4 He came to Jaffa77 and found there [ships] from here and from there. He said to the sailors, “Companions and loved ones, [let me enter] among you,78 and I shall travel with you, I shall ensure by command,79 in the name of Him who dwells in light,80 that the boat in which we sit, will have no fear of enemies, nor of a stormy wind, with the help of the awesome God.” He stepped in among them and sat with them. By the time of repose they were already in the city of 70 The symbolic meaning of this tale is discussed in detail in chap. 2 of the introductory essay. 71 The Hebrew term mehitzah (äöéçî) literally means “partition” and in that sense it is translated by the Toledo ms. Italian translation (quando ritornò alla parata / partizione). 72 Since the root ãâð, chosen here to indicate taming of an animal, hints at political power (cf., for instance, the occurrences of ãéâð in the Bible), it naturally alludes almost explicitly to the allegation brought against Aharon in Baghdad. 73 The unusual, indeed incorrect, form ùéâä was apparently almost certainly dictated by the rhyme. 74 Our translation follows the Toledo ms. Italian translation (e di abbatter la sua forza speraste). Such a meaning, which presupposes reading úøáé× (you hoped, you aspired) instead of úøáéÖ (you broke), would further point to the purported political aspirations of Aharon alluded to in the tale. 75 The text is damaged. As in the previous paragraphs, the square brackets here and hereafter in this paragraph indicate a lacuna in the text (see the apparatus appended to our critical edition). 76 Our translation follows the Toledo ms. Italian translation (con stoltizia e pazzia) reading úeììå[ä] instead of úåì[é]ìå, upon the presupposition that the translation antedates the creation of the lacuna in the Hebrew manuscript. Moreover it fits more adequately the rhyme úeììå[ä] / úeìâ.

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íé!áeä#àå íé!òV íé!çlnì øîà

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· íëéðéa · íäéðéa ñð"ëð · àTÇð ìà úUæò"a · äTò"ñ çeøî àÀå · íé!áééÇàî úÖÖÇç äðéà · íé!á"ÖÇé 10 ãçà Öé!à · éDé!çé!a íÖ àöî · äðéD"nä äèéàâ"a íäå · äðé!lä úòÖ"áe · íän!ò áÖéå ·

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6 &ïç"è!ì º÷ ïåçèì 1÷ ïåòèì :ð ¬é§§ë [ïåçèì] 3 [ñðkà] :÷ [....] || [úÇið(àå] :÷ [ ] :ð [úåéðåàå] 8

77 Nothing is said about the previous stage of our hero’s journey. His coming to Jaffa almost immediately brings to mind the biblical story of Jonah, yet, in a most complex way, strongly calling for structural reading, as we have discussed in chap. 5 of the introductory essay. 78 The text is damaged and cannot be easily emended. Klar’s emendment ([ñðëà]) must be rejected because it cannot accommodate the rhyme in any way. In any case it is obvious that the wording is borrowed from Jon. 1:3 (íäîò àåáì äá ãøéå). 79 “Command” translates the Hebrew gezerah (äøéæâ). The root øæâ conveys the idea of indisputable binding constraint and may apply to law or law-like ordinances as well as to all kinds of magic or magic-like operations, such as intervention by skillful virtuosi in the natural order of things. 80 God (cf. Dan. 2:22). Light is the biblical garment of God in an oft-quoted biblical verse (Ps. 104:2). As opposed to darkness, it is the characteristic of God’s environment in the world of eternal bliss for the righteous. The phrase “He who dwells in light” (êìî àøåäðá øã) appears in the piyyut äøåáâ øåæà êìî, attributed by some to the famous Elazar b. Qalir, and included in the Mahzor of Rosh ha-Shanah (see Davidson, Thesaurus, . 3:139, # 1529 î) according to the rites of both Italian and Ashkenazi Jews. Needless to say, light is a characteristic trait of the perceptible essence of God in the Heikhaloth and Merkavah Literature (see, for instance, Elior, Heikhaloth Literature, 107).

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Gaeta.81 There he found a solitary man,82 a Jew; he was a Spaniard83 who took him along and personally waited upon him.84 When came the time for eating, the Spaniard would not eat, although that day was the Sabbath, consecrated to God. The Master asked him, so as to comprehend his conduct, “Today is the Sabbath,85 consecrated to the awesome and terrible One,86 why don’t you delight in this day which is called delight?”87 The poor man replied and said, “Please, my lord, do not punish me,88 for I am of bitter spirit,89 grieving for my son, who has been concealed from me, for my many sins. And in truth I know not, if he is alive or if he is dead.” He replied affectionately,90 “Do honor unto the Sabbath, and then show me the streets and lanes, which he was wont to go up and down; if he is still alive, I will bring him to you, and if he has been severed from earth, I shall tell you straightforwardly.” The following day, he did not delay, and they walked together along a certain path, to the house of friends of theirs,91 whom his son used to visit. And there lived92 a woman, a sorceress she was, the cursed one, and with her sorcery she cast a spell, transformed the lad into a donkey, and bound him to the grindstone, to make him grind as long as he lived.93 When the sage saw him, he understood and recognized him, and to his father he proclaimed “Here is your son [restored], whom you took for dead.” “Oh you,” he called out to the woman, and said to her face, “Why are you not ashamed, because you caught [him] in your net?94 Restore to his parent his son, his own flesh.” But the

81 Gaeta is on the western coast of the Italian peninsula near Naples. (see Map 1, opposite page xx). As noted, there begins the atonement phase of our hero’s journey back home. See chap. 2 of the introductory essay. 82 “A solitary man” translates the Hebrew be-yehidi (éãéçéá) that is quite frequent in . post-biblical Hebrew as opposed to ba-merubbin (ïéáåøîá) i.e., “numerous people” (for instance M Zav. 4, 5; T Yev. 12, 7; TB Rosh 25b). The meaning here might then be “a man who dwelt in Gaeta by himself,” i.e., the only Jew living in Gaeta, therefore indicating that Gaeta was not a notable center of Jewish life. 83 For the possible meaning of these details see chap. 3 of the introductory essay. 84 The Spaniard’s manner of hosting clearly calls to mind Abraham’s reception of the angels in the Bible (Gen. 18:1 ff.). 85 The Hebrew wording draws upon Exod. 17:25. 86 The wording íåéàå àøåð, at first sight an inverted form of the biblical àøåðå íéà (Hab. 1:7) because of the rhyme, appears, perhaps not insignificantly, in a familiar piyyut (incipit ìåçì ùãå÷ ïéá ìéãáîä, Davidson, Thesaurus, 2:147–148, # 741 ä) for the end of the Sabbath, preserved in almost all rites, including the Italian. 87 Cf. Isa. 58:13: âðò úáùì úàø÷å. 88 I.e., the Spaniard acknowledges that it is wrong to fast on the Sabbath, yet believes that in his particular stressing situation it could be tolerated, even advisable.

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é!cUô"qäå

· ìëÇàä úò àa · Çî"öò"a Çã"aé!ëå · Çn!ò Çëé!ìÇä · é!cUô"ñ äéä àeäå · éDeäé · Çìelé!î ïé!áä"ì · Çìà"Ö áUä · dé"ì ÖCÇwä úaÖ · äéä íÇiä ÇúÇàå · ìëÇà äéä àÀ é!à øîàå · éðòä äðò · âðÇò éeàøJ"a · âpò"ú!ú àÀ änìå · íÇéàå àTÇð"ì · íÇiä úaÖ · éðÇå#ò áÇøî · éðn!î äñ"ëpÖ · éð"a ìò ìaà"ú!îe · éð#à Öôð øî é!k · éðÖéð#òz ìà · éðÇã#à éðàYäå · úagì ãÇák ïz · úaé!ç"a Çì áé!Öä · úî í!à àeä éç í!à · úî$àa òBÇé éðéàå 5 · eäàé!á#à ^"ì"öà · eäBÇò íéiça í!à · úÇì#òìå ãVéì ìéâT äéäÖ · úÇìb"òîe úÇçTå(à · ãçé"a eë"ìäå · øçéà àÀ · øçî íÇé"ì · õWç"a ^"ì ãébà · õWàî àeä øeæâ í!àå úéðô"Ök · äT@ äg!à íÖå · íäéì#à úëìì âeäð Çð"aÖ · íäéòéV úéa ìà · ãçà _WC"a · Çãé!î$òä íéçéVáe · äô"l[é]!ç øÇî#çì øòpäå · äô"g!k äéôÖ"ë!áe · äTeø#àä äúéä ^ð!a äp!ä · áÖO!ä åé!áà"ìe · eäàYî øé!k!äå ïa · eäàT"k íëçä · ÇãÇò éîé ìk ïÇç"è!ì 10 àÀ änì · úÖW#àa dì øîàå · úÖàì àTJ [_ì é!à] · áÖ$çð únk øÖ#à · [áÖeî] · äçk"Öð äðÇfäå · Çø×"áe Çð"a · ÇøÇä"ì é!áé!Öäå · úÖW"a "zEëì øÖ#àî · úÖÇá"a é!î"ìk!ú äî ÷é!cvä · äáéà"a àÀå · äá#äà"a àÀ · äáé!Öä àÀ øá@å · äçéb"Ö!ä [àÀ åéT]áE!ì 4 åùôðë = åîöòë :1÷ åîöòá 1 :ð ¬é§§ë [êì éà] || [áùåî] 11 áù÷ä :1÷ áù÷ä 10 1 àÀ åéTáE!ì :÷ [åéø]áãì : ÷ [àì íéø]áãì :ð [àì åéø]áãì 13 _ì-é!à :÷ (?êìä :äøòäá

äô"l!ç :÷ äôìéç :1÷ äôìåç :ð ¬é§§ë äôì[é]ç

:ð)

êìéà

89

9

éùôð :ð ùôð

áÖeî :÷ áùåî :1÷ áùåéî :ð ¬é§§ë

The particular wording, well known to worshipers familiar with the haftarah of the first day of Rosh ha-Shanah, may perhaps have been chosen because of the allusion to the state of mind of a person longing for a child (cf. 1 Sam 1:10). 90 úáéçá instead of äáéçá because of the rhyme. 91 If the Gaetan Jew was indeed the only Jew living in the city, then the friends’ house mentioned here would necessarily be a Christian home. 92 It is not entirely clear whether the woman was an integral part of the household or simply lived there, as a tenant or servant. One may thus feel free to speculate that the ambiguity may have been intentional, i.e., notwithstanding the friendly relationship between the Jew and the Christian, one should always bear in mind that sorcery was nonetheless inherent in Christian space, particularly among Christian women. 93 Mention of the grindstone is undoubtedly aimed at establishing the structural contrast to Aharon’s sinful binding of the lion to his father’s grindstone in Baghdad. For the popularity in medieval Italy of stories concerning witches who could transform humans into beasts of burden, particularly into donkeys, to do their work, see chap. 5 of the introductory essay. 94 Catching in the net (snare), binding, and the like are all wordings typical of the sorcerers’ craft.

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long forgotten whore,95 did not heed his words, not a word did she reply, whether in love or in hatred. What did the righteous man do? He caught the donkey in his grip, led him out, and transformed his shape and appearance, restoring him to his own form, as he had formerly been, and returned him to his father, giving praise to his Creator. And they praised their Creator, He who created them. 5 And after this he put to use his visionary powers,96 to work powerful wonders,97 difficult and bold. When he went to Benevento they came out to greet him, the entire community together, all of them as one man.98 And on the Sabbath stood up one fine youth to chant the prayers99 before Him Who dwells on high.100 He sang the prayers sweetly with melodious voice and when he reached the phrase “Bless the blessed Lord”101 his voice lingered sweetly, but the Name he did not pronounce. Hence the Rabbi understood and discerned that the cantor was a dead man, for “the dead do not praise God.”102 Immediately did he cry out and yell loudly: “Sit, do not glorify, for you are not fit to praise, and to stand before God in prayer.” Then he began to appease him and call upon him to swear before his Maker: “Tell me, do not fear, do not conceal from me your deeds,103 confess the truth to the

The wording follows Isa. 23:16 (äçëùð äðåæ). I assumed that the first verb (ïéáä) denotes placing himself in the condition by which he could execute the action denoted by the second verb (úåæçì). The meaning would then be: he activated his äðéá tevunah according to the conventional rabbinical stance that we have seen (n. 29 above) in order to discern by visionary power (úåæçì) something concealed from ordinary people. 97 “Powerful wonders” translates ‘azizot (úåæéæò), a quite unusual term (cf. Ekha Rabba 3, 22). Significantly enough, it appears in a selih. ah by Hillel b. Yaakov, the brother of rabbi Ephraim of Bonn, (íä&Ö"k íúTæb ìàT"×é éîeì"Ö éðeî$à) for the 20th of Sivan (Davidson, Thesaurus, 1:256, # 5616 à). One can therefore presume that it was part of the traditional vocabulary of the paytanim. If so, such use in the text of Ahima#az would . further corroborate our remarks (chap. 3 of the introductory essay) about the skill of Ahima#az in traditional paytanic composition. . 98 As opposed to Gaeta, where the Jewish community was nearly inexistent, Benevento is described as a most numerous one, in perfect accordance with our knowledge concerning this locality (see chap. 2 of the introductory essay). 95 96

the chronicle of ahima #az . Çáé!Ö$äå

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Çúé!àYîe Çúeî"c ólé!çå

íT"öÇé"ì eç"aé!Öå

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ÇúÇà àé!öÇä äöeçå

Çø"öÇé"ì çáÖ ïúðå

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245

ä×é!ô"ú!a ×ôz øÇî#çä

· [ÇúîÇ÷"a]

äéäÖ"k

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ä×ò

ÇúTeö"ì

:íàT"a øÖ#à · Çz"ëì"a Çèðéáéðéá"a · úÇfòå úÇÖJ · úÇæéæ#ò úÇ×#òì · úÇæ#çì ïé!áä · úàæ éV#çàå 5 ãçà øeça · ãîò úagä íÇé"áe · ãçà Öé!à"k ílå%k · ãçé"a ìäwä ìk · ÇúàT[O]!ì 5 òébä"áe · íé!òð ìÇ÷"a · íé!òð!ä älé!ô"zäå · äì"òî ïëÇÖ éð"ô!ì · älé!ô"z úÇ×#òì · ãî"çð · øé!k!äå ïé!áä áUäå · øé!kæ!ä àÀ ígäå · _Uà íòÇð"a ÇìÇ÷ · _TÇá"nä ééé úà eëYá"a áÖ · ÷òö ìÇãb ìÇ÷"áe · ÷òæ ãi!î · dé eì"läé íé!únä àÀå · äéä úî ìlt"ú!näÖ Çòé!a"Öä"ìe · Çñéiô"ì ìé!ç"ú!ä · ìlt"ú!ä"ì ìà éð"ô!ìå · ìlä"ì éeàT ^ðéàÖ · ìlä"ú!z ìà ìà"ì · øöÇiì ú$îàä äBÇäå · ãçë"z ìà épî ^é×#òîe · ãçô"z ìàå é!ì ãbä · Ç×Çò"a 10 äðOe · ä@òå ìäJ êÇú"a · ä@Çú Çì ïúå · ãÇákä ìà"ì · ãÇák àð íé!×å · øöÇð çeøä eà"öé

äé åììäé

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5 ÇúîÇ÷"a :÷ [åúîã]÷á :ð [åúîå÷á] 2 || ïåéìéâá óñåð :駧ë øöåéì 10 äéåììäé :ð ¬é§§ë (ìàì= ì úçú äàá ïåéìéâá

ÇúàTO!ì :÷ åúàø[÷ì] :ð åúàø[÷]ì

äôñåðù øöåéì úáéúù øéáñä äøòäáå) àúéì :ð ìàì

99 “To chant the prayers” translates the almost unusual wording äìôú úåùòì. From what follows it is clear that the young man was serving as conductor of the service, h. azzan. It is therefore possible that the phrase refers to the recitation of a prayer specially composed by him, according to the ancient liturgical custom common among both Palestinian and Babylonian communities. 100 “Who dwells on high” translates the almost rare wording äìòî ïëåù. It appears in the opening verses of R. Tuvia ben Eliezer’s “Leqah. Tov.” Although the circumstance may be fortuitous, one should not altogether dismiss the possibility that both authors were in fact using an expression current among contemporary Jews of Byzantium and southern Italy. 101 This is the introductory formula of the central section of the public prayer. 102 Ps. 115:17. The verse is interpreted literally, i.e., only living men can praise God. As we have seen in chap. 5 of the introductory essay, this is a clear allusion to the Judaeo-Christian controversy over this issue. 103 The entire exhortation of the Master is constructed following Josh. 7:19. The reader or listener is thus induced to consider the young man’s crime bearing in mind Akhan’s transgression narrated in the biblical text.

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Creator, to God keeper of the spirit, give glory to the God of glory,104 confess105 in public, in the midst of the congregation, thus be worthy of the world to come and in this [world] be without blame, so you shall be spared from liability and earn for yourself good favor, and the extended good world106 designated for the righteous of His people, for those who fear God and esteem His name.”107 At once he replied: “Indeed, I have sinned, against God have I trespassed,108 I have rebelled and transgressed and done evil;109 will you bear the transgression which your servant has committed?” And they all accepted all that he placed upon them.110 Then he confessed and before God he admitted his guilt and related what he had done and all that had been done to him: “Hear me, people of God, my lords,111 my masters,112 my seniors,113 my elders, my wise and intelligent men,114 my noble gentlemen, my great and small, I shall relate to you explicitly, to explain the whole matter.”

104 The almost unusual Hebrew wording ãåáëä ìàì ãåáë àð­íéùå translated as “give glory to the God of glory” unmistakably calls to mind Josh. 7:19 (“And Joshua said unto Akhan, My son, give glory to the Lord God of Israel, and make confession unto him; and tell me now what thou hast done; hide it not from me”). To the knowledgeable among the audience the allusion was loaded with the rich associations of ideas evoked by both the theological, yet quite popular meaning of kavod (ãåáë) as a terminus technicus denoting the Divine Essence detectable through prophetic vision, and the midrashic elaborations appended to the story of Akhan (Midrash Aggadat Bereshith, ch. 58, ed. Buber, 54–55). On one hand, the Divine Essence, characterized as metaphysical light (see n. 80 above), was represented in the physical world by the presence of the righteous, capable of interceding in desperate situations. On the other hand, kavod would hint at repentance and Joshua’s appeal would have been: repent as long as you are given the possibility to do so, for otherwise you will be damned for eternity (cf. Midrash Aggadat Bereshith, ch. 55, ed. Buber, 110: R. Berekhia said: when the righteous are present in the world there is light in the world, as it is written [Ps. 97:11] “Light is sown for the righteous.” Likewise Jeremiah said [Jer. 13:16] “Give glory [kavod] to the Lord your God, before He causes darkness,” i.e., repent; for kavod means repentance, as Joshua said to Akhan [Josh. 7:19]: My son, give, I pray thee, glory to the Lord, the God of Israel ìàøùé éäìà §äì ãåáë [àð] (íéù éðá) before He causes darkness,” i.e., before He causes the light to depart from you by causing the departure of the righteous from the world—.[àé æö §ìäú] §åâå ÷éãöì òåøæ øåà §ðù íäîò äøåàä íìåòá íé÷éãöäùë äéëøá ø§§à äáåùú àìà ãåáë ïéàù åéðôì äáåùú åùò [æè âé §éîøé] §åâå ãåáë íëéäìà §äì åðú øîåà åäéîøé ïëå àìù ãò .(íù §éîøé) §åâå êéùçé íøèá [èé æ òùåäé] §åâå ãåáë [àð] íéù éðá ïëòì øîåà òùåäé ïëù … íé÷éãöä úà ÷ìñéå íëî äøåàä úà ÷ìñé). 105 äãåú stands here for äàãåä, i.e., confession, as in Josh. 7:19.

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· äáÇè ^"î"öò"ì äðO!úå · äáÇçî ìöpé!úå · äáÇç ^"ì é!äé ìà äæáe · àaä íìÇòä · äðò ãi!î · Çî"Ö éá"ÖÇç"ìe ééé éàYé"ì · Çnò éLé!cö"ì · _eøòä áÇhäå · _Çøàä íìÇòäå í!àå · é!úé!×ò òUäå · é!z"òÖôe é!zEUîe · é!úéåò éééìå · é!úàèç é!ëÇð#à · äð"îà øîàå æàå · íäéì#ò í× øÖ#à ìk · íä"lå%k eì"aéN íäå · òÖt íë"c"áòÖ · òÖtä eì"aK"z · ééé íò éðeòî"Ö · ä×#òð Ça øÖ#à ìëå · ä×òÖ ãéb!äå · ä@Çz ïúð íé!äÀàìå · ä@Çä 5 ãébà · éépèOe ééìÇãb · ééðæÇøå ééðé!öO · ééðÇáð ééîë#ç · ééðéLæe ééÖé!Öé · ééðaU éôelà :ÖÇø"ô!ì ä×#ònä ìk · Öeøéô"a íëì

106 The “extended good world” is the afterlife, as opposed to the “short” one of human life (T Hul. 10, 16: êåøàä íìåòá íéîé úëøàäå áåèä íìåòá êì áèéé ïòîì—So that it will be good for you in the world of good and your days will be prolonged in the extended world [Translation mine—R.B.]. 107 Cf. Mal. 3:16. 108 Cf. 2 Sam. 24:17. 109 Cf. Ps. 51:6. 110 I.e., whatever action would be required of them as a consequence of what he was about to confess. 111 “My lords” translates éôåìà. Alluf (óåìà), translated in the Latin version of the Bible as dux and in the Septuaginta as (γεμ)ν, was a title usually accorded in the Babylonian yeshivoth to the scholars who were third in rank after the Gaon. In addition, it was sometimes granted as a special distinction to foreign scholars, particularly Palestinians. Saadia Gaon signed his name with this title for the first time in 922 (Malter, Saadia Gaon, 64). The title is attested in Bari in the tenth or eleventh century (see further in chap. 3 of the introductory essay). 112 As opposed to the previous title, that was formally bestowed by the Babylonian Geonim, Rav (rabbi) denoted rather generic socio-cultural prominence characterized by knowledge; see Bonfil, “Le savoir et le pouvoir,” 116–129. 113 As far as one can ascertain from the epigraphic evidence, yashish (ùéùé) was not a formal title but rather denoted age. If we are not confronted with redundancy, it should therefore not be considered a synonym of the immediately following zaken (ï÷æ), here rendered as elder, but should rather indicate the well-known title of hereditary social prominence within the community, like presbyteros or gerousiarches. 114 The couplet ïåáðå íëç is quite frequent in the Bible (for instance Deut. 4:6) and is here translated accordingly. But see also n. 29 above.

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6 “Once there was a Jew whose name was Master Ahima#az; to Jerusa. lem, the glorious city, he journeyed115 twice or thrice to fulfill vows, and on each journey he took with him one hundred gold coins, as he had vowed to the Rock of his Salvation, to benefit those who engaged in His Torah and the mourners of the dwelling of His magnificence.116 On his third journey, he requested me from my mother, with this request: ‘Give him to me to be with me, to journey with me, to satisfy me, and to do my service; I will conduct him and from me you shall ask for him;117 and if I do not bring him then have I sinned unto God, me and my sons’. Thus we set out cheerfully, without sorrow or sighing. As we were sitting to eat at the table of the head of the academy,118 the scholars of the curia119 began to chant: ‘Let us engage in praise, lovely singing and pleasant hymn, with love and devotion, to Him Who is preeminent among a myriad’.120 They cast their eyes upon their disciples, who sat before them, and their head of the academy looked at them and said to them: ‘The young man who sits among us, who came with our colleague Master Ahima#az, will cheer us and gladden our hearts with . the flow from his springs [of knowledge]121 with his sensi’ble discourse’. Then I began with hymn, with melody and chant, to praise in awe Him Who is clad in light.”122 7 “There sat a man, one qualified and aged,123 who, listening to my song, meditated in his heart and began to weep, his eyes poured bitter tears. Master Ahima#az looked at him and discerned124 his deeds; he . rose from the meal, came before his feet and made him vow in the

115

The Hebrew äìò (going up) denotes a journey from everywhere in the world to the Holy Land and from everywhere in the Holy Land to Jerusalem. The underlying assumption is that the Holy Land is the highest land of the world and Jerusalem the loftiest place in the Holy Land. The journey is thus clearly a pilgrimage in the widely accepted sense of the word. 116 The scholars of the Palestinian Academy of Jerusalem and the Karaite “Mourners of Zion.” For the meaning of the term and its significance here see chap. 5 of the introductory essay. 117 The Hebrew phrasing echoes Reuben’s commitment to Jacob (Gen. 43:9) in the sense of “you may hold me responsible for him.” 118 Head of the Academy = äáéùéä ùàø. 119 The Hebrew term pointing to the setting of the scholars of the Academy (äáçøä) is quite intriguing. The author of the Toledo ms. Italian translation, presumably perplexed, translated literally “discepoli della largura.” It may indicate the meeting place of the assembly, somehow calling to mind the Roman curia. In my view, In my view, this rendering must be preferred to other admittedly no less tortuous

the chronicle of ahima #az . ÖÀÖ íéî#òt

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· ÇzYà"ô!z ìeáæ éìéá#àìå · ÇúTÇú"a éL"ñÇò"ì áé!èä"ì · ÇúòeÖé øeö éð"t úàð#äì · é!n!ò úÇì#òì · é!ì"öà úÇé"ä!ì · é!ì eäéð"z · äìéà"Ö!a éðìà"Ö é!n!à"ì · äìòÖ · epàé!á#à àÀ í!àå · epÖ"wá"z éDi!îe · epëé!ìÇà éð#àå · é!úeøéÖ úÇ×#òì [.........] · é!î"öò 5 íé!á"ÖÇé eðééäÖ"k · äçð#àå ïÇâé é!ì"a · äç"î!×"a e[ð]"ëìä æà · ééðáe éð#à · éééì é!úàèçå ïzéð · äçé!ö"ô!a eç"öt · äáçYä éBé!î"ìúå · äáé!Öiä Öà] í!ò íé!aå%ñ"î · äcå%ò"ñ!a eð"úð · äááYî ìeâA"ì · äaé!ç"áe áäà"a · äáéV#ò äTé!Öå · äáé!á#ç äT"îæå · äçá"Ö · íäéì#à èé!a!ä · íälÖ äáé!Öiä Öà]å · íäéð"ô!ì íé!á"ÖÇiä · íäéBé!î"ìú"a · íäéðéò · eðéç"n×é àeä · eðéVéá#ç õòîé!ç#à §ø í!ò àaÖ · eðéðéa áÖÇiä øeçaä · íäì øîàå 10 ìlä"ì · äT"îæå ïebéð"a · äTé!Ö"a é!z"ìç"ú!ä · åéðÇéâä çé!×"a · åéðéé"òî õeô"a · eðéaé!ì áé!èééå :äTÇà äèÇò"ì · àTÇî"a

é!Öé!ì"gä íòtáe

· úÇë"ôÇÖ åéðéòå · úÇk"á!ì ìé!ç"ú!ä · áÖç Çaé!ì"áe · áÖJ ééUé!Öå · á×å ïLæ · áÖé íÖå 7 åéìâU éð"ô!ìå · äaé!ñ"nä ï!î íJå · åéìì#òî ïé!áäå · åéìà èa õòîé!ç#à §øå · úÇë"a øî"a íà :駧ë íàå

|| éãéî :ð éãéîå || úÇ×#òì[å] :÷ úåùòì || [é!z"ëàì"î ïé!ëä"ì] :÷ àúéì :ð ¬é§§ë [........] 5 eð"ëìä :÷ åëìä :駧ë [å[ð]ëìä 6 .ïéèéùä ïéá äôñåð å§§å –

possibilities, such as a metonymic allusion to the Torah (Salzman: “the teachers of the Law”) or to the Land of Israel, called “large and fat land” (Neh. 9:35), since Babylonia is also called similarly (Jer. 51:58). 120 Cf. Song of Sol. 5:10. 121 I.e., his knowledge. Cf. Prov. 5:15, traditionally interpreted as diffusion of knowledge through numerous pupils (see, for instance, Rashi in loco). 122 See n. 80 above. 123 “Qualified and aged” translates zaken ve-sab (áùå ï÷æ). It is not clear whether the two predicate nouns should be understood simply as synonyms pointing to the respectability of the person because of his age, or whether one denotes age and the other hereditary honorable status, such as presbyteros or gerousiarches. Be that as it may, it should be noted that the couplet zaken ve-sab is definitely not frequent in medieval literary works. 124 For the complex meaning of this term, see n. 29 above. The text makes unmistakably clear that Master Ahima#az understood that the man’s weeping was related to the . fate of the boy.

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name of God to reveal his crying to him. He made his reply and informed him clearly that a harsh decree had been issued by Mighty God, that it was certain and true that this young man soon would die. When the pious one heard this, his eyes filled with tears, he tore his clothes and disheveled his head,125 and told them all: ‘I have no longer life in this world, for I have sworn to his mother to restore him to her without calamity and evil; how can I return to my home and the boy not be with me?126 The oath which I have sworn shall destroy my hope and expectation’.127 When they saw his sorrow and mournful tears, they wrote the Holy Name which was written in the Sanctuary, they made an incision in the flesh of my right arm and in the place where they cut the flesh there they placed the Name;128 so I came safely from there, I returned to my home and my mother, and as long as Master Ahima#az . lived129 I fled from isles unto isles.130 Now I live on ever since those days, if I so desire, forever, for no man can know the place where the Name is, unless I reveal it. But I shall show you and here I am in your hands, do with me as you see fit.” Then they brought the shroud, he got up onto it and showed them the place of the incision, the Master made there an incision and extracted from within the Name, and the body was left without soul and the inanimate body131 fell decayed as if it had been decaying for many years and the flesh returned to dust. 8 And from there he132 journeyed and on to Oria he strode. There he found tents pitched like streams and rooted like trees which grow by the water,133 houses of study134 standing like cedars planted and

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I.e., his hair. These are traditional ritual acts of mourning. Cf. Gen. 44:30. 127 In the world to come. For the perception of oaths and their breaking, see pp. 186– 187, above. 128 On the meaning of the story within the context of Judaeo-Christian confrontation, see chap. 5 of the introductory essay. 129 Should one take this sequence of events at face value, the episode of Rabbi Aharon’s unveiling the truth of the matter would have occurred after—perhaps much after—the death of Ahima#az the elder, which means somehow later than the episode of . Silano (§ 9), reported in the Chronicle as having occurred prior to the death of Ahima#az . the elder. According to our methodological guidelines, however, such a discrepancy should not constitute any problem. 126

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· äTéV"á!a Çò"céå · äTé!î#àa äðòå · ÇòéDÇä"ì Çúié!ë"a · Çòé!a"Ö!ä íé!äÀàáe · àa ãé!ñçä àeä · úî àeä äTä"î äfä øòpäÖ · úî$àáe éàcå"a · äTeábä éð"ô!l!n · äTéæâ é!ì ïéà · ílå%ë"ì áé!Öäå · òUt ÇÖà]å · òUJ åé@â"a · òîc eò"îc åéðéòå · òîÖ"k áeÖà _éàå · äòTå ïÇñà é!ì"a äéìà Çáé!Ö#äì · äòeá"Ö Çn!à"ì é!úé!×òÖ · íìÇòa íéiç · é!z"ìçÇz øáñå · é!úååO!z ãaàé · é!z"òa"ÖpÖ äòeá"gäå · é!z!à epéðéà øòpäå · é!úéá"ì 5 éX×"á!áe · ÖcO!na áeúk äéäÖ · ÖcOpä íÖ eá"úk · Çúié!ë"a ìáàå · ÇúTö"a eàTÖ"k íÇìÖ"a íg!îe · eëTò íÖä änÖ · eëúç ø×aäÖ íÇ÷"î!áe · éðé!îé òÇøæ!a · éðeëú#ç · íéi!à"ì íéi!àî é!z"çUa · íéiça õòîé!ç#à §ø äéäÖ ãòå · é!z"áÖ é!n!à"ìe é!úéá"ìe · é!úàa · òBÇé í@à ïéà ígä íÇ÷"î é!k · íé!îìÇò"ì äöÇø éð#à í!à · íé!îiä íúÇàî éç éð#à äzòå · íëéðéò"a áÇhk é!ì e×#ò · íëEé"a éðð!äå · íëì äàYî éð#à ìá#à · òéDÇà éð#à í!à ÷U 10 àé!öÇä ÇëÇz!îe · òUJ íÖ áUäå · òUwä íÇ÷"î äàYäå · äìò äéìòå · äì"î!rä eàé!áäå äáÖ ø×aäå · áJYð úÇaU íéðg!î"k · áJT íìÇbä ìôðå · íÖð àÀ"a øà"Öð óebäå · ígä :dTô#òì íé!öò"ëe

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6 ãaà"z :÷ ãáàé 5 14 (27 § óåñá åîë) [äðúð øùà

øùááå :ð éøùááå

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130 The scanty resemblance of the motif to that of the Wandering Jew was cogently rejected by Salzman, Chronicle, 66, n. 2. And yet, there is room for further speculation upon taking into consideration the strongly anti-Christian allusions of the tale, and especially the quite unusual wording “from isles unto isles” (íééàì íééàî), calling to mind Dan. 11:18. On the motif of the Wandering Jew, see Glikson, “Wandering Jew.” 131 íìåâ. On the development of the idea of the golem from antiquity to the early modern period, see Idel, Golem 299 and 303, nn. 18–19. 132 Aharon. 133 Cf. Ps. 1:3 and Jer. 17:8. 134 úåùøãî. It is here assumed that the wording is elliptic and stands for úåùøãî éúá. See chap. 3 of the introductory essay.

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growing near the water, as willows by the water sourses,135 and powerful warriors with the enemies in the gate,136 discoursing in public on the loving hind, and on the pleasant roe137 debating and discussing. These are the illustrious scholars, the beloved138 brethren, sons 139 both of R. Amittai, my ancestors, R. Shephatiah and R. Hananel, . servants of the Lord, who firmly praise140 the God of Israel, and pour out pleas of mercy,141 present [chants of] homage and offer [hymns

135 The Hebrew wording, opportunely elaborated because of the rhyme, alludes to Isa. 44:4 (íéî éìáé ìò íéáøòë), upon which the midrash presented the claim of the willows, in concurrence with other trees and plants, to symbolize the entire People of Israel (see, for instance, Midrash Abba Gorion, VI, ed. Buber, 60: úà ïúà éðà äøîà äáøò íéî éìáé ìò íéáøòë øîàðù ìàøùéì äìùîð éáù éùôð—The willow said I will sacrifice myself because the people of Israel is compared to me, as it is written ‘as willows by the water sourses’ [Translation mine—R.B.]) One can further assume that this particular midrash would almost immediately be associated by any audience in the times of Ahima#az with . the also widely known symbolic interpretation of the four species of plants required for the ritual of the Feast of Tabernacles, based on Lev. 23:40: (“And ye shall take you on the first day the boughs of goodly trees [citrons, ethrogim], branches of palm trees, and the boughs of thick trees [myrtle branches], and willows of the brook …”). According to such an interpretation, the citron, which produces both fruit and fragrance, symbolizes those who have knowledge and do good deeds; the palm, which produces fruit but no fragrance, symbolizes those who do good deeds but have no knowledge; the myrtle, which produces fragrance but no fruit, symbolizes those who have knowledge but do no good deeds; and the willows, which produce neither fruit nor fragrance, symbolize those who neither have knowledge nor do good deeds. Thus, in a most general way, the willows would symbolize the most common Jews of the community within which the righteous and knowledgeable sages of Oria were prominent and active. 136 The wording alludes to the widely diffused image of Talmudic discussion as waging “the war of the Torah” in battles transforming the discussants into “enemies in the gate” (see Ps. 127:5: “they shall speak with the enemies in the gate”; TB Kid. 30b and loci paralleli: What does it mean “enemies in the gate”? R. Hiyya said: even a father and a son, a teacher and a pupil, as they discuss Torah issues in one place

the chronicle of ahima #az . úìià"a

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become enemies of each other and they do not get out from there until they become lovers of each other—áøä ,åðáå áàä §éôà :àáà øá àééç éáø øîà ?øòùá íéáéåà úà éàî íéáäåà íéùòðù ãò íùî íéææ íðéàå ,äæ úà äæ íéáéåà íéùòð ãçà øòùá äøåúá ïé÷ñåòù ,åãéîìúå äæ úà äæ; TB San. 42a and loci paralleli: [What does it mean] “expert in war” (Song of Sol. 4:3)? The war of Torah—§§äøåú ìù äúîçìî åæ—äîçìî éãîåì). 137 The image, borrowed from Prov. 5:19 (“Let her be as the loving hind and pleasant roe,” etc.) alludes to the study of the Torah (see TB Eruvin 54b and loci paralleli: R. Samuel b. Nahmani said: What does it mean “loving hind and pleasant roe”? Why . is hind a metaphor for the words of Torah? Because the uterus of the hind is narrow and always pleases the one who has intercourse with her as if it were the first time; likewise the words of Torah continually please those who study them as if it were the first time; “and pleasant roe”? Because they make pleasant those who study them—øîà øîåì ?úìéàì äøåú éøáã åìùîð äîì §åâå ïç úìòéå íéáäà úìéà áéúëã éàî :éðîçð øá ìàåîù éáø ïéáéáç äøåú éøáã óà—äðåùàø äòùë äòùå äòù ìë äìòåá ìò äáéáçå ,øö äîçø äìéà äî :êì äéãîåì ìò ïç úìòîù—ïç úìòéå .äðåùàø äòùë äòùå äòù ìë ïäéãîåì ìò). 138 The textual allusion to 2 Sam 1:23 (íéîéòðäå íéáäàðä) quite unmistakably, though typically, assigns to the family of Shephatiah the characteristic traits of ideal brotherhood. 139 See supra § 2. 140 “Firmly praise” stands for ììä íéîéöòî, that is, to pronounce with assured, certain arguments the praiseworthy nature of God. For this complex meaning of the root íöò, see n. 21 above. 141 The Hebrew term ïçú is quite frequently found in early Italian hymnology; see, for instance, the piyyut by Binyamin min ha-Anavim, incipit äùçú àì éîò úá (Davidson, Thesaurus, II, 87 # 1931 á).

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of] sanctity,142 [hymns of] veneration143 [chants of] kingship, like the angels,144 to the King who is the King of Kings. He settled among them and established there his academy.145 There did his wisdom flow, there was his knowledge of Torah sown, there did he reveal his might [in the Law], and pronounce legal decisions, as was done when the Urim existed146 and the Assise of the Sanhedrin. The ritual of the Sotah147 he enacted there and carried out,148 and instead of earth from the ground of the Tabernacle149 he decreed use of earth from the base of the Holy Ark. And one Tophilo150 who behaved treacherously and came unto a married woman, in the assembly of the congregation151 he was condemned to death by strangulation.152 And one man who jumped and seized the legs of a woman and killed her, to him he applied a sad sentence and condemned to death [by the sword]. And another who came unto a male, behaving like a worshiper of a foreign

142 Klar has correctly pointed out, on the basis of these characterizations, that they both were paytanim. As a matter of fact, indeed, íéëéñðî äùåã÷å, here translated as “offer [hymns of] sanctity,” almost certainly assumes äùåã÷ to be the terminus technicus for that most important part of the service, featuring the triple declaration of the sanctity of God (ùåã÷ ùåã÷ ùåã÷, sanctus, sanctus, sanctus), that the h. azzanim-paytanim used to introduce with the special hymns known as kedushatot (pl. of kedushata). Therefore, since the verbs translated as “present” (íéëéñðî) and “offer” (íéëøåò) are commonly used to denote acts of special offerings in the Sanctuary, the matching couplet íéëøåò çáùå must also allude to composition of hymns of worship, on the basis of the conventional concept that the prayers are substitutes for offerings. It follows that the h. azzanimpaytanim could be viewed as substitutes of sorts for the priests in that very special function of mediation between the community and Heaven that was an integral part of their being portrayed as leaders of the community. See chap. 3 of the introductory essay. 143 The action here translated as offering “hymns of veneration” (íéöéøòîå) immediately calls to mind the familiar opening formula of the äùåã÷ according to all rites: Let us santify and venerate You—êöéøòðå êùéã÷ð. 144 According to the conventional concept familiar to all possible audiences of Ahi. ma#az, the chanting of the äùåã÷ by humans in the synagogal service is matched by a corresponding chanting by the angels. 145 Academy translates äáéùé, as above. 146 The Urim were special objects incorporated into the High Priest’s breastplate, which according to the Bible enabled him to interpret God’s will; see Exod. 28:30; Num. 27:21. And see § 24. 147 The “ritual of the Sotah” is the ordeal of the woman accused of adultery by her suspicious husband as described in Num. 5:11–31. According to the procedure, she was to drink a potion containing sacred water (íéùåã÷ íéî), the ink of the letters of the above-mentioned section from the parchment of the Torah scroll immersed in that water, and earth taken from the floor of the Tabernacle while accepting an adjuration from the High Priest, stating that if she was in fact guilty the potion would cause her

the chronicle of ahima #az .

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· íé!ëé!ñðî ägåHOe · íé!ëYÇò çáÖå · íé!ë"ôÇÖ ïçúå · ìàT"×é éäÀàì · ìlä Çúá[é]!Öéå · òaOð íäéðéáe · íé!ëì"nä éë"ìî _ìî"ì · íé!ëà"ìnä _Wò"k · íé!ëé!ì"îîe · [íéðé!c] úKñ"ôäå · íéðÇà äàYä íÖå · äò"hð íÖ ÇúTÇúå · äò"áð Çúî"ëçå · òáJ íÖ øô#ò úçúå · ähé!äå ìäé!à [íÖ] · äèÇqä úUÇúå · ïéXEäðñ úáé!Öéå · íéXeàä úÇé"ä!á"k äg!à ìò àáe · äìé!ò"î ìòî Çìé!ôÇz [ãçàå] · ïëéä ïÇøàä ãÇñé øô#ò · ïk"Ö!nä òKYK 5 · dìâU"ì õôJ [ãçà] Öé!àå · äìë"ì úÇé$ä ÷ðç"a · älé!äO [éð"a] ãòåå"a Çð@å · äìeò"a · øëfä ìà àa øçàå · äâéV#ä [åéìò] äeé!öå · äâeú"ì Çðé!c ÷ñôe · dâT#äå úçà äg!à ìò íÖ º÷ íùå :ð ¬é§§ë [íù]

[åéìò] 7

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3 Çúáé!Öéå :÷ åúáùéå :ð ¬é§§ë åúá[é]ùéå 2 || éð"a º÷ ïéá :ð ¬é§§ë [éðá] 6 ãçàå º÷ úçàå :ð ¬é§§ë [ãçàå] 5 åéìò º÷ äéìò :駧ë

íéðééã :ð ¬é§§ë [íéðéã]

ãçà º÷ úçà :駧ë [ãçà]

belly to distend and her thigh to sag. According to the Babylonian Talmud, the ordeal was abolished almost in ancient times, as were judicial executions like those that will be described below. As quite persuasively argued by Yuval Harari, the recollection of the enactment of the ordeal testifies to the persistence of such practices among medieval Jews in southern Italy who apparently did not perceive any contrast between the magic use of Names by charismatic men and normative Talmudic lore. On the other hand, Harari’s insistence on reinforcing his argument by rejecting the amendment of the text suggested by Klar and adopted here seems definitely unwarranted, especially in view of the fact that he unreservedly assumes a copyist’s error a few lines later; see Harari, “Scroll of Ah. ima #az,” esp. 186–187, n. 5 and 189, n. 10 respectively. 148 The quite unusual Hebrew wording ìäéà is also found in the familiar vocabulary of the paytanim, for instance in the piyyut êìî íéîçøá íåéäë ìäéà åãåáë by Elazar b. Qilir (Davidson, Thesaurus, 3:464, # 61 ë) adopted by both the Italian and Ashkenazi rites for Rosh ha-Shanah and Yom Kippur. 149 See n. 147 above. 150 Hebrew transliteration of Teofilo, Theophilos. And see infra § 32. 151 Although literally ãòå means “meeting” and might here be interpreted as simply indicating the convocation of the congregation within the synagogue, it seems more plausible that it refers to the prominent representatives of the congregation, as an elliptic form of ãòå úéá, i.e., the scholars’ meeting place, the Beth-ha-Midrash (see Jastrow, Dictionary, 374–375, s.v. ãòå), in the sense commonly assumed in later medieval Hebrew to indicate the council of the community. And see further chap. 3 of the introductory essay. 152 The rabbi then adopted the procedure of dealing with the Sotah and pronounced capital punishments, assigning to himself and the congregation a mimetic role of the Sanhedrin and its Head. Viewed in early medieval terms, in this case as well as in the following ones the assembly of the community played the role of a plenary session of the äáéùé and Aharon that of äáéùé ùàø. As Klar, Chronicle, 142–143, has aptly noted, Yoseph ben Abitur (tenth century) also recorded that his great grandfather applied úåúéî òáøà ïéã úéá (four methods of judicial execution).

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god, his punishment was publicly known and notorious to be painfully and sorrowfully stoned to death.153 Another had intercourse with his mother-in-law, transgressing God’s law and his Torah, and on the Rabbi’s command they154 assembled and put him to death by fire. 9 And by the mercy of Him who created the earth with His power,155 He who forgives crime and pardons sin,156 I shall rehearse and recollect the incident which took place in Venosa.157 A man came from the Land of Israel, learned and knowledgeable in the Law of God, well versed in the enchanting pedagogue.158 And he remained there for days and weeks, and would deliver a homily159 every Sabbath, addressing the people of God in the synagogue—the scholar would lecture and R. Silano would translate.160 One day the men came in wagons from the villages into the town; then the men stirred up a fight between them and the women came out of their houses, and with long staves used for scraping the oven and charred by fire, with these the men and women did beat one another.161 Then R. Silano erred and made a mistake, he searched his soul and committed a fault. He took the midrash on the week’s portion of the Law which the scholar was to expound on the subsequent Sabbath162 and erased two lines from the letters which were inscribed there and in their place he wrote about the incident recorded above. And such was the text, that R. Silano set down: The men came in a carriage, and the women came out from their ovens, and they struck the men with their forks. When on the Sabbath the scholar came to these words, he held his tongue and uttered not a word; he stared at the letters, trying to comprehend and understand, and perused them time and again, then innocently read them out, expounding the matter as he found it written. Then

The unusual Hebrew wording øëòð points to the biblical term used in Josh. 7:24– 25 to indicate the stoning of Akhan. 154 The congregation, or more plausibly the prominent representative members of the community as n. 151 above. It should be noted that the Hebrew root ãòé, from which åãòåðå is derived, is also the root of ãòå. 155 Following Jer. 10:12. 156 Following Mic. 7:18. 157 For medieval Jewish Venosa and the meaning of the episode, see chap. 2 of the introductory essay. 158 According to the midrash elaborating upon Prov. 8:30, the pedagogue is the Torah as opposed to the Christian concept of Jesus as pedagogue. And see further chap. 5 of the introductory essay. 153

the chronicle of ahima #az . ìà àa ãçà

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øk"òðå áà"ëð äìéN"ñ!ìå

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:ÇúÇà eôY×å åéìà eã#òÇðå · Çúàeö"a áUä äe!öå · ÇúTÇúå ìà úc ìò øáò · ÇúÇî#ç ·

ä×#ònä øé!kæàå õé!ì"îà

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ä×Çò õWà ÇçÇë"a éî#çU"áe

ïÇîà"a ìé!k"×îe

· ìà úUÇú"a òBÇéå ïé!áî · ìàT"×é õWàî àa Öé!à · é!ñÇðéá"a òUéà øÖ#à úñð"kä êÇú"a · äÖT"c úaÖ ìë"a ä×Çò äéäå · íé!òeáÖå íé!îé íÖ ääÖå · íé!òeÖ#òÖ 5 íé!Öð#àä eàa ãçà íÇéå · ÖVô"î äéä Çðìé!ñ §øå · ÖVÇc äéä íëçäå · dÖY@"ì ééé íò"a äðàözå · íäéðé"a íé!Öð#àä äáéX"î e×òå · úÇì#òì äðéD"nä ìà íéXô"kä ï!î · úÇìâ#òa · íé!ëTÇç"î Öàä ï!îe · íé!ë"kç"î øepzä øÖ#à · íé!kå\#àä íé!öòáe · íäéza!î [íé!Öpä] · äòT ä×òå áÖç Çaé!ì"a · äòèå ââÖ Çðìé!ñ §øå · íé!kî íé!Öpäå íé!Öð#àä eéä íäa ï!î úÇøeÖ éú"Ö ÷çîe · dÖYô"ì ãé!úò íëçä úaÖ dúÇà"aÖ · äÖTtä ï!î ÖTE!nä àé!áä 10 · áz"ëð äì"òî"ì øÖ#à ä×#ònä · áúk íÇ÷nä ÇúÇà"áe · úÇúeø#ç eéä íÖ øÖ#à · úÇi!úÇàä · ïÇðYet!î [íé!Öpä] eà"öéå · ïÇøJ"a íé!Öð#àä eàa · úUç Çðìé!ñ §øÖ · úT$çpä áú"k äæå ÇðÇÖ"ì íé!ñ"çä · íé!lé!nä íúÇà"a íëçä òébä"a úagä íÇé"áe · ïÇ÷Yeô"a íé!Öð#àä ek!äå · øáò íééî#òôe íòt íäéì#òå · øáñå ïé!áäå úÇi!úÇàä èé!a!äå · íé!ì$àä Çúlé!îe ìë"ì · ÷çöå ïÇöì"a Çðìé!ñ §øå · äTÇä íé!áeú"k àönÖ íéXá"cäå · àTJ Çnå%z é!ô"ìe 15 íé!Öpä :÷ íéùðä :1÷ íéùðàä :ð ¬é§§ë [íéùðä]

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à×Çð ïÇòå :÷ àùåðå

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øëðáå :ð øëòðå

íé!Öpä :÷ íéùðàä :ð ¬é§§ë [íéùðä]

159 As will later become clear the homily consisted of reading and expounding upon the written text of the midrash. 160 Since the scholar would not be able to address the audience in a language they understood. 161 The elements of this scene are discussed in greater detail in chap. 3 of the introductory essay. 162 Not the text of the sermon, as Beeri, “Completion of the Piyyut”: 255 anachronistically assumes. This element of the scene is also discussed in detail in chap. 3 of the introductory essay.

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R. Silano laughing and mocking, all those assembled he addressed mirthfully: “Hear what the rabbi expounds to you concerning the fight that was stirred up yesterday among you, when the women struck the men with the oven staves and chased them away in all directions.”163 When the scholar saw and understood what had happened, his face fell and he turned pale. He went to the scholars164 engaged in study in the academy and told them of the unfortunate event which befell him, and what had occurred. Then they were all deeply saddened, painfully distressed and depressed, and placed a ban on the astute R. Silano. 10 And he bore his ban for many days and years, until R. Ahima#az . journeyed there [because of his] vows and sagaciously lifted the ban from him. Hear what he did in his wisdom. When he came it was during the Ten Days of Penitence. And the scholars and the Head of the Academy entreated him to stand before the podium and lovingly chant the prayers,165 before the Lord Who is greatly revered in the assembly of the saints.166 And so he did humbly, with fear and reverence of Heaven in his heart. He started with penitential hymns167 and pleas, until among the supplications he came to one composed by the faithful R. Silano, whose incipit is Aloh ve-kahesh ve-ratzoah ve-nahesh168 and when he reached [the words] Our ancestors were worthy he replaced with rabbis169 and the idolaters caused he replaced with heretics.170 When he completed the prayer, they asked him whose were the revering lips that so cherished the rabbis, whose were the holy lips which prayed with such sanctity, who so loved and venerated the rabbis while distancing and despising the heretics. Then he replied to them: the revering lips

163 The Hebrew wording íéøáò ìëî is quite unusual. It is found in that meaning in Tanhuma. ed. Buber, 139 which according to recent scholarship may have been edited . in ninth-century Italy. Given that Ahima#az uses it twice with the same meaning (here . and in § 25) we may presume that it was current in medieval Italy. 164 The Hebrew text has here haverim, i.e., the members of the yeshivah. . 165 “Chant the prayers” translates äìôúä úåùòì. This is the same wording used above in § 5 (see n. 99 above) and below. As will become even clearer in what will follow, the leader of the office was not supposed to recite hymns from an already fixed formulary but rather original, though not necessarily extemporaneous, compositions. 166 The wording, after Ps. 89:8 (äáø íéùåã÷ ãåñá õøòð ìà), was widely used in liturgical compositions of all rites and especially in piyyutim, following the common imagery that attributed it to the angels (see Lev. Rab. 39, 4 and cf. with the Vulgata which also translates the verse in similar vein: “Deus qui glorificatur in consilio sanctorum magnus”). Playing upon the word ãåñ, meaning “assembly” but also “secret” or “mystery,” the wording came to express the idea of the correspondence between the

the chronicle of ahima #az .

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· íëéðéa äú"×$òð ìÇî"úàÖ äáéX"nä · íëì ÖVÇc áUäÖ eò"î!Ö · ÷ç×"a áé!Öä íé!á"ÖÇiä íëçä · íéXá#ò ìk!î íeçéX"á!äå · íéXepzä éö#òa íek!äå · íé!Öð#àä úà · íé!Öpä ek!äÖ"k · íéXeá"ñ äáé!Öéa øÖ#à · íéXéá#çä ìà äìòå · ïé!a"ì!äå åéðô eî"kYk"úð · ïé!áäå äàT"k ïÇâé"a eâ#à@å · ïÇávé!ò"a ílå%k eá"vò"úðå · òUéàå òbå%ä åéìà øÖ#à · òU òâtä íäì øt!ñå :ïÇápä Çðìé!ñ §ø eëYáe · ïÇáàE!áe 5 ·

íéX@pä í!ò õòîé!ç#à §ø íÖ úÇì#ò ãò

éîé úW×"ò eéä äìòÖ"k

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íéXçå%à"î íéðÖå íé!îé Çéecéð"a ãîòå

Çúðeá"ú!a ä×òÖ äî eò"î!Ö

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Çúî"ëç"a éecépä Çì øé!z!äå

· äáézä éð"ô!ì ãÇî#òì · äáé!Öiä Öà]å íéXéá#çä eäeñié!ôe · äáeÖ"ú Çaé!ì"a äéäÖå · Çúeðúååðé!ò"a ä×ò ïëå · äaU íé!ÖÇãO ãÇñ"a õT#òð ìà éð"ô!ì · äaé!ç"a §ø["ì] äéäÖ ãçà"a · íéðepé!ça [ãò] · íéðeð#çúå úÇçé!ì"ñ!a ìé!ç"ú!ä · Çúîéàå íéîÖ úàYé 10 óé!ì$çä · íéðÇîEK eëæ"a òâ"ëe · Öçðå ç&öTå · Öçëå äÀà Çúìç"úäÖ · íéðeî$à Öé!à Çðìé!ñ é!î · äìéà"Ö!a eäeìà"Ö · älé!ô"zä íé!ì"Ö!äÖ"k · íéðé!nä ólé!ç · íéðnç eîYâå · íéðaU älé!ô"z ä×ò _kÖ · äÖÇã"wä ät äéä é!îe · áaé!ç _k ìk íé!îë#çäÖ · áaç"îä ät äéä àeä · äáeÖ"ú!a íäì áé!Öä · íéðé!nä áòé!úå ÷çéXå · íéðaUä älé!òå áäàÖ · ägåHO!a · íäéìâU ìò ílå%k eã"îò ãi!î · äáòÇú"ì àeä íëéðéa øÖ#à · äáé!á#çä ätä Çðìé!ñ §ø 15 älé!ô"zä úÇ×#òìå

(åúéáì òéâäå 26 § ïìäì åîëå ,[26 :짧ö] 28 ,è øúñà ô§§ò) òéâä :1÷ òâåä 4 [ùçðå 11 é!aU"ì :÷ §ø :ð ¬é§§ë §ø[ì] || íéðåðéøá :ð [íéðåðéçá || òéb!ä [ãò] :÷ ãò :ð øò 駧ë [ãò] 10 øëæá :ð [åëæá | | ùçëå :ð íäì :ð åì

7

glorification of God in the kedushah pronounced by humans and angels simultaneously. Thus, the formula of the kedushah of all the rites refers to such glorification with minor variations. The meaning of “saints” is also filled with ambiguity, for it refers equally to the assembly of the Jews on earth as well as to the angels in heaven. Finally, the conductor of the service consequently emerges, as we have seen, as the functional mediator between the two worlds. 167 Selihoth. . 168 “He who curses and denounces murderer and sorcerer.” Silano’s selihah, first . published by Joseph Marcus (“Studies”), was included by Klar among the appendixes to his edition of the Chronicle. Four additional strophes were recently identified in a Genizah fragment retrieved in St. Peterburg; see Beeri, “Completion of the Piyyut.” 169 “Rabbis” improperly translates íéðáøä, i.e., the Rabbanites as opposed to Karaites, the heretics. 170 “Heretics” translates (also improperly) íéðéîä, alluding in this context to the Karaites.

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are R. Silano’s, who to you is an abomination. At once they all rose to their feet and repealed the ban which they themselves had cast upon him and recited for him a great and lengthy benediction, well arranged and composed and they all responded in one voice: “Blessed be R. Silano for ever to come.” 11 At this time and in those very days, there reigned a king over the Edomites,171 a man of evil, a treacherous murderer;172 in his heart he plotted to silence acknowledgment of the Unity173 of the Rock whose deeds are perfect174 by the progeny of the holy and pure. In the 800th year after the destruction of the holy city,175 the exile of the people of Judah and Israel, the destruction of the Sanctuary of the celestial Residence, rose a worshiper of idols176 to destroy the unforsaken people;177 a king whose name was Basili178 was about to make my path crooked, to efface the name and residue of the remnant of Israel, to extirpate, to divert them from the Torah179 and to mislead them in a hopeless faith. He commanded that couriers be sent in all the lands and horsemen he dispatched to the very ends of his dominions that lie far off to make the Jews deviate from their belief and force them to follow vanities. The couriers journeyed as far as the Strait of Otranto and there they boarded a ship and entered the land of Apulia.180 And when the tidings came the land was in tremor. They went round the land from one end to the other and came to the city of Oria and brought with them a sealed document, sealed with the royal seal, a chrysobull181 which the king sent to R. Shephatiah. 171 For Edom as corresponding with Rome, including Byzantium, see Cohen, “Esau as Symbol.” 172 It seems plausible that this is an allusion to the fact that Basil mounted the throne after having murdered Michael III. 173 I.e., the proclamation of the Unity of God in the well-known ritual recitation of Deut 6:4: “Hear O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one” (åðéäìà §ä ìàøùé òîù ãçà §ä). Besides being a metonymic allusion to the potential result of the missionary pressure of Basil, i.e., elimination of the Jews from Byzantine territory, one may also see this as a polemic allusion to the Christian credo of the Trinity. 174 Cf. Deut. 32:4. The quotation forms the incipit wording of the ritual declaration of acceptance of the death of beloved ones (ïéãä ÷åãéö), on which see n. 16 above. Its inclusion here can point to readiness to accept harsh rule by Gentiles as part of the conventional political ideology of medieval Jews. On this, see further in chap. 3 of the introductory essay. 175 I.e., in 868 ce. For the problematic chronology and related issues, see chap. 2 of the introductory essay. 176 For the biblical word used here (íéðîç), cf. Lev. 26:30.

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· äkå\#àå äìÇãâ · äëT"a Çì eî×å · íäé!ô"a Çì eî× øÖ#à éecépäå íWçä eøé!z!äå :íìÇò"ì Çðìé!ñ §ø äé"äé êTÇá"î · ílå%k ãçé"a eðòå · äëeø#òå íé!îÇã#à ìò _ìî _ìî

äîY!îe äìååò Öé!à

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íé!ÖÇãO òUæ é!t!î

íé!îú Çìå(òt øevä ãeçéé

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íé!îiä íúÇà"áe ïîfä ÇúÇà"áe

íé!îEä"ì íîæå Ça!ì"a áÖç

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íé!î@"a

· íéðaYç úåàÀ"î!ì ÖCÇwä øé!ò"ì · íéðÖ úÇà"î äðÇî"Ö úð"Ö!a · íé!îé!î"úe 5 àÀ íò úé!ç"Öä"ì · [ïnç] ãáÇò íJ · íé!ìeáæ úéa Ö@O!nä ïaYå%ç"ì · íéìàY"×éå ìàT"×é úèéì"t · úéXà"Öe íÖ úÇç"î!ì · é!ìé!á"Ö íwò"ì ãîò · é!ìé!ña Çî"Öe _ìî · ïî"ìà ìë"a · úÇöeø"î!a äe!öå · äÖeàé ú@"a íúÇò"èä"ìe · [.....] äTÇz!î úÇhä"ì · úéX"ëä"ì áé!Öä"ì · Çcâð íé!á"ÖÇiä · Çãé úìÖ"îî"a · íé!ñô#à ìë"a çìÖ · íé!ñeñ éá"ëÇøå · úÇöT#à øá#ònä ãò · eè"è[Ç]Ö íé!çeì"gäå · íúÇò"èä"ì ìáää øçàå · íúðeî$àî íéDeäéä 10 õWàäå · äòeî"Öä òébä"áe · äéé"ìet õWà"a eø"áòå · äið(àa [e]ñð"ëð íÖå · ÇèðUEÇà"a í!ò áú"k eàé!áäå · äðéD"nä éXéeà ãò eàáe · äpé!ô"ì äpé!t!î õWàä eá"áñå · äò#òÇø"ú!ä §ø"ì _ìnä çìgÖ · äéä áäf!î ÇìeaÇñeø"k íúÇçäå · ízå%ç"î _ìnä úîúÇç"a · íúÇç :äé"èô"Ö íéDeäé úeìâ"ì

úåöåøîá

|| [äÖTÇî] :÷ [....] ||

íúÇhä"ì :÷ [í]úåèäì :ð úåèäì

8

ïnç :÷ ïîä :ð ¬é§§ë [ïîç]

íéìî ùåìù ìù çååø íå÷îá äîìùä øåúá ïåéìéâá íùøð :駧ë íúåèäì ìáää øçàå

:ð ¬é§§ë [å]ñðëð 11

eè"èÇÖ :÷ åèèù :ð ¬é§§ë åèè[å]ù

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úåöéøîá :ð

|| äøåæðö éîòèî äàøðä ìëë ¬íéðôá ÷éø øúåðù eñð"ëð :÷ åñðëð 1÷ ñðëð

Jer. 51:5. Though the form Basili may be a consequence of the rhyme (éìéáù—éìéñá), it is also possible that it echoes the Greek form of the name. 179 Klar emended the text here, adding a word that is apparently missing to properly complete the rhyme (cf. Deut. 33:4). See n. 187 above. 180 That was the usual connection between Greece and southern Italy under Byzantine rule. 181 Chrysobull is the metonymic term for a diplomatic document sealed by a golden seal (from χρυσς = gold and βολλα = bulla, seal). The practice of using golden seals originated in Byzantium, where it was typical of imperial documents of outstanding importance, such as decrees, peace treaties, epistles to emperors or kings, and the like. Thus, while Ahima#az portrays Rabbi Shephatiah as being on a par with addressees of . royal rank, he unintentionally also leads us to conjecture that the document actually referred to Basil’s missionary pressure, as it was recalled by the local traditions collected by him. In fact, it immediately meets the eye that there is a clear contradiction between the content of the royal dispatch the reader would expect here according to the introductory statement of the section and that presented by the text of the document allegedly received by Rabbi Shephatiah, compatible with the subsequent section. See further in chap. 3 of the introductory essay. 177 178

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12 And these are the words of the letter which were penned therein:182 “I, King Basili, have sent for you R. Shephatiah, to have you brought swiftly. And you shall come to me, do not refrain from coming,183 for I have heard of your wisdom, of your great sagacity, of your deep knowledge of the Torah, and I am anxious to see you, and I have sworn upon my life and upon the crown on my head that your coming shall be safe and likewise I shall return you safely to your home.184 And I shall receive you with honor as I would receive my relative185 and one request you ask of me, I shall fulfill your wish with great love.” 13 Then he boarded the ship and came to Constantinople, the city built by King Constantine,186 may God shatter its majesty and its people in its entire multitude. And the Lord God presented him before the king who tested him,187 and he found favor with him and all his people. Then he engaged him on matters of the Torah188 and queried him about the Sanctuary189 and about the impure building called Sophia190—on which of these two constructions was more money

182 As has been indicated elsewhere, the structure of this document is almost identical to the epistle allegedly addressed by a Byzantine emperor to Charlemagne. For the various versions of the forgery and a critical contextual assessment of its contents, see Cilento, “Un falso documento.” For a textual comparison with the text of Ahima#az, . see Bonfil, “Cultura ebraica e cultura cristiana,” 139–140 [= Tra due mondi, 37] and appendix, ibid., 160 [= Tra due mondi, 64]. 183 The epistle purportedly addressed to Charlemagne contains a more explicit sentence: “If you will come to me, I will award you one thousand gold coins,” etc. Although this might have been the most suitable place to insert a promise concerning the future denouement of the journey with the deliverance of the Jewish communities, Ahima#az refrains from doing so here. The text of the epistle should therefore be con. sidered as reflecting quite faithfully the record in the collective memory of the Jews of an account concerning the imperial summons of Shephatiah as praise of his superior knowledge. Cf. with nn. 181 above and 185 below. 184 Educated people, who could have been aware of the vicissitudes suffered by papal envoys to Basil’s court who were captured by corsairs because they were not given a proper imperial guard to escort them back to Rome, might draw a flattering comparison with the imperial assurance to Shephatiah; see Dvornik, Les Slaves, 220– 224. 185 This wording, definitely curious to modern eyes, has a dual aim in this context: first, it states the legitimacy of the portrayal of Shephatiah in royal terms; secondly, it anticipates in the right place the denouement of the journey with the deliverance of the Jewish communities, as a kind of transitional sentence to the bulk of the following narrative. 186 Though basically incorrect, this phrasing faithfully reflects the almost general opinion, variously bequeathed to posterity by Constantinopolitan Christian self-

the chronicle of ahima #az . é!z"çìÖ

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_ìnä é!ìé!ña éð#à

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úWç"a íé!úeø#ç eéä íÖ øÖ#à

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263 úWb!àä éV"á!c älàå

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é!z"òîÖ é!k

· àÇa!î òðn!ú àÀå · àÇáz éìà äzàå · [_ìä"a] ^#àé!á#äì äé"èô"Ö §ø ^éìà øúë"áe · é!Ö"ôð"a é!z"òa"Öðå · ^"úÇàY"ì é!úåå#àúå · ^"úTÇz áWäå ^"úðé!a áÇøå · ^"úî"ëç Çî"k · ä×$òà ^"ì ãÇáëå · ^úéá"ì ^Yéæ#çà ïëÇî"ëe · ^úàé!a äé"äé íÇìÖ é!k · é!Öà] äá#äà"a ^"ö"ôç àlî#à · äìéà"Ö!a épn!î ìà"Ö!zÖ úçà äÖwáe · ä×Çò é!úééä é!áÇøO!ì 5 :äìÇãâ · äða _ìnä Çðé!èðè"ñÇ÷ øÖ#à · àðé!èðè"ñÇ÷"ì äìòå · äðé!ô"qä ìà ñð"ëð æà 13 ïç àöîe · Çpé!ç"áe _ìnä éð"ô!ì · Çðúð íé!äÀ$à éééå · dðÇî#ä ìëå dnòå · dðÇàb øaÖé · äTé!çaä úéa ïééð!a!î Çìà"Öe · äTÇú éV"áD"a Çn!ò ñð"ëð æà · ÇðÇî#ä ìk ïéò"áe · Çðéò"a _ìnä · ïÇîî øúÇé ñð"ëð · ïÇîYà äæ éà"a · äàeøO äàé!ôÇñ øÖ#à · äà"îå%hä ïééð!a!îe 10 íé!äÀ$àä

ïë Çî"ëe º÷ ïë åîëå

: 1÷ ïëåîëå 4

_ìä"a :÷ êìçá :ð ¬é§§ë [êìäá]

2

representation, which preferred to ignore the city’s pagan past and instead stress the enterprise of Constantinian reconstruction. See Dagron, Constantinople imaginaire, esp. ch. 2, 61 ff. 187 Klar read Çp!ç"áe but it seems preferable to read Çðç"áe which rhymes more suitably with Çðúð and introduces the series of tests successfully sustained by Rabbi Shephatiah in his encounter with the Emperor. Such a meaning of ïçá, already extant in rabbinical Hebrew, was current in the lexicon of medieval Jews in general and of Italian Jews in particular. Cf., for instance, Book of Josippon, ed. Flusser, vol. 1, ch. 12, l. 13 and Flusser’s note in loco. 188 “He engaged him on matters of the Torah” translates äøåú éøáãá åîò ñðëð, literally: “entered with him in the words of the Torah.” The context clearly points to a polemical discussion focusing on a biblical text, but such an elliptic and metaphoric use of ñðëð is non-existent in Hebrew. The barbarism may however easily be understood as a literal calque-translation of ingressus est, meaning adgressus est, i.e., he attacked him. Such a meaning of ingredior is fairly well documented both in classical and medieval Latin; see, for instance, Du Cange, Glossarium 4:363, and Thesaurus Linguae Latinae vol. 7,1, fasc. x, col. 1570, s.v. ingredi, ingressus. Among the examples quoted by the Thesaurus, particularly noteworthy is a translation of Num. 27:3 that differs from the Vulgata, in a sixth- or seventh-century manuscript (qui ingressus est contra dominum). 189 “The Sanctuary” improperly translates äøéçáä úéá, literally the Chosen Place. As a matter of fact, the more straitforward synonym ùã÷îä úéá would have better conveyed the idea of the sanctity of the Jewish place of worship as opposed to the impurity of the Christian church, but was presumably rejected because of the rhyme. 190 The mention of the church is in Hebrew transliteration of the Greek σοφα, yet in a curtailed manner suppressing +γα typical of the vitriolic Jewish attitude vis-à-vis Christian worship (see chap. 5 of the introductory essay).

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expended.191 The king took the offensive, and questionably argued that it was in the building of Sophia, for that building was set up without acquisition.192 And he responded with conquering calm speech,193 with well-chosen and neat words: “If this is my lord’s order, let the Bible194 be brought before him: there you shall find the basic evidence195 which of the buildings was more costly.”196 He immediately did so, and found that the entire amount which David and Solomon had expended was in excess of the amount reckoned for Sophia by one hundred and twenty golden talents,197 and by five hundred silver talents. Then said the king: “R. Shephatiah defeated me by his wisdom!”198 Thereupon he replied saying: “My lord, it is the Bible that has defeated you, not me.”199 And after this he invited him to eat at his table,200 to offer him delights and fruits,201 in salvers of gold laid out before him, so that he could eat in purity, as commanded in the Torah: with magnificent chains of silver the salvers would descend and the place wherefrom they descended no man’s eyes could see.202

191 As we have seen in the chapter referred to in the previous note, to Jewish and Christian minds alike it made perfect sense that the Bible could actually offer “objective” proof of what the “truth” of the matter would be. 192 The meaning of this expression is quite obscure. Should one be ready to assume a corruption of the text, a possible correction might be to read ïééðî instead of ïééð÷, thus meaning that the expense was countless, infinite. Yet, as aptly noted by Dagron, it is not impossible that allusion is made to the difficulty of converting the respective costs of St. Sophia and of Solomon’s Temple into comparable figures. According to Dagron, although one must admit that unfortunately “la bataille des chiffres faisait appel à des estimations en partie inconnues de nous,” it would not be far-fetched to assume that such a comparison may have actually been carried out, on the basis of the text of the Septuaginta. The figures reported by the tale of the building of St. Sophia might then have been constructed in such a manner that the cost of Solomon’s Temple would be slightly less. If so, we should conclude that “la Chronique d’Ahima"atz invente, ou se fonde sur un document disparu qui s’inspirerait lointainement du Récit et en modifierait la teneur pour que Rabbi Shefatiya ait le dernier mot” (Dagron, Constantinople imaginaire, 308–309). Following this line of argumentation, we may recall that the actual figures may also have been disputable because part of the ground on which the church was erected was not purchased but rather donated (ibid., loc. cit.). What has here been translated as “questionably argued” might then allude to the difficulty of cogently carrying out the king’s argument “for that building was set up without acquisition” (äù÷úî äéä êìîä should then be understood almost literally as “the king found it difficult to carry out his argument”). This conclusion would also hold true if, as has been suggested elsewhere, we were to assume that instead of St. Sophia, the actual term of reference of the discussion was the Ν#α .κκλησα, built on expropriated ground (Bonfil, “La visione ebraica di Daniele”). Attention should then also be called to the possibility that the Greek equivalents of the Hebrew key terms in the sentence point to a quite significant play of words: κτσις (founding, foundation, building) as

the chronicle of ahima #az .

· ägK"ú!î äéä äàé!ôÇñ ïééð!á"áe · äÖOî äéä åéðô"ì eàé!áé · äTéæâ éðÇã#à éð"ô!l!î í!à · äTeã"ñe äðÇëð älé!î · äT"aéD"a Çáé!Öä àeäå ìk àöîe · ïë ä×ò ãi!î · øJé äéä ïééð!a äæ éà · øwé!òä àö"î!z íÖå · àTO!nä áäf!î · ä@"c"îð äàé!ôÇñ"a øÖ#à · äc!nä ìò øúÇé · ïké!z ä&îÀ"Öe ãåc øÖ#à · ïëÇzä _ìnä øîà æà · óñÇú"a úÇàî Öî#ç íéXk!k óñkä ï!îe · íéX"×òå äàî · íéXk!k 5 àÀå àTO!nä ^#çvéð · éðÇã#à øîàå äðò àeäå · Çúî"ëç"a äé"èô"Ö §ø éðç"véð · ÇúT"î!à"a áäf!îe · úÇøéôe íéDâ"î · úÇø"áä"ì åéðô"ì · Çðç"ìå%Ö ìò ì&ë$àì · Çð"néæ ïëéV#çàå · éðà óñklÖ úÇàì"Ö"ìÖ"áe · äTÇzä éeeé!ö"k · äT(äè"a ìÇë$àì · úÇøeã"ñ eéä åéðô"ì · úÇøòO äàÇø Öé!à äéä àÀ · åéðô"ì úÇãYÇé úÇøò"wäÖ íÇ÷n!îe · úÇãYÇé úÇøò"wä eéä · úÇãeî#ç :åéðéò"a 10 ·

ïééðN àÀ"a íÖ ñð"ëð

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opposed to κτ&σις (acquisition)—one more element of the structural opposition of the Jewish and Christian heritages: a non-building (because essentially set up on improper foundations—forceful expropriation, inappropriate for a sanctuary, and therefore justly deserving the attribute of impure, an antonym of sacred) as opposed to the right one. 193 “Conquering calm speech” translates dibberah (äøáã). The author plays on the double meaning of the root (øáã), “to speak” but also “to conquer,” thus alluding to the biblical characterization of the sages’ words as persuasive by their calmness (cf. Eccles. 9:17: íéòîùð úçðá íéîëç éøáã—words spoken softly by wise men—as well as to the Talmudic saying, TB Shab. 63a: dibbur (speech) can only mean [with] gentleness, for it is written, Ps. 47:4, “He shall subdue the people under us.”—úçð àìà øåáéã ïéà åðéúçú íéîò øáãé øîàðù). Dibberah thus comes to mean the “conquering calm speech” of the sage. 194 As far as I was able to ascertain, this is the first occurrence of àø÷î to designate the Bible as an artifact (a codex or a scroll). 195 For this meaning of ø÷éò, see TB San. 88b: A matter of which the fundamental law is biblical—äøåú éøáãî åø÷éòù øáã. 196 The Hebrew word ø÷é conveys here the same equivocal meaning of costly as precious, valuable, and cherished (by God). 197 We have followed the common translation of the biblical kikkar (øëë). 198 The king’s exclamation is clearly an inversion of that attributed by Byzantine Christian tradition to both Justinian and Basil upon the completion of the building of St. Sophia and the Ν#α .κκλησα: “ ’Ενκησ σε, Σολομ)ν” (see Dagron, Constantinople imaginaire, 309, 313; Bonfil, “La visione ebraica di Daniele”). 199 Rabbi Shephatiah’s answer echoes Joseph’s reply to Pharaoh in Gen. 41:16. 200 Inasmuch as information concerning the ceremonial of the Byzantine court could be available in southern Italy, people would be amazed by this most implausible invitation. See further in chap. 3 of the introductory essay. 201 For Rabbi Shephatiah would eat only vegetables and fruit at a Gentile’s table, as will immediately be stressed by the author himself. 202 A concise reference to the famous imperial engines (mangana).

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14 Now Basili had a daughter whom he greatly adored and a demon made her miserable and he was unable to cure her.203 He summoned him secretly and implored and supplicated: “Help me Shephatiah and cure my daughter of her sickness.” He replied: “So shall I do most certainly with the help of God Almighty.” Then he asked: “Have you any special place where there will be no place of abomination?”204 The king answered: “Bokaleon205 the fair, I have a garden there.”206 He looked here and there207 and Bokaleon seemed suitable to him, [whose name] means the mouth of the lion.208 He brought there the maiden, and exorcized the demon in the Name of “He who dwells high aloft,”209 and in the Name of “He who functions in heaven and in earth,”210 in the Name of “He who created the earth with His wisdom,”211 in the Name of “He who created the mountains and the sea,”212 and in the Name of “He who suspends earth upon emptiness.”213 And the demon screamed: “Why do you bring relief to the daughter of this evil man, who prevailed evilly214 and has done so much evil to the delivered nation?215 She is given to me by God to humble and break her. Now go away from me, for I shall not come out of my place.” Then he replied to the demon: “I pay no heed to your words; come out in the Name of God and he216 will know that there is a God in Israel.”217 At once he exited and fled hastily, but he seized him and placed him in a

203 The following story about deliverance from the demon is shaped after the Talmudic narrative of Rabbi Shim#on bar Yohai . who would have acted in the same manner in an almost identical situation and would consequently have caused Emperor Adrianus to revoke analogous persecutory decrees (TB Me. 17b). See further in chap. 5 of the introductory essay. 204 I.e., is there any palace that does not contain a chapel? 205 This was a relatively small palace, situated on the seashore of Marmara. It was built by Theophilos (829–842) atop the sea walls that had been thickened in this region some decades earlier, and was metonymically named after a statue of a bull being attacked by a lion that survived until the earthquake of 1532: βο0ς (bull) κα (and) λ#ων (lion). Nikephoros II Phokas (963–969) made it part of the new fortifications of the Great Palace. In that palace the imperial bedroom had a golden ceiling. In another hall, entirely decorated with porphyry, the empresses gave birth to their children, who were accordingly called porphyrogenetoi, i.e., “born in porphyry.” Its ruins are still extant. See the literature cited in History of Leo the Deacon, 138, n. 69. 206 Since in Basil’s time the palace was not yet part of the Great Palace, the tradition recollected by Ahima#az may, albeit unintentionally, reflect reality. Contrast with the . contrary view of Klar, Chronicle, 144. 207 I.e., Shephatiah examined the various options. Shephatiah’s image is here clearly shaped in resemblance to Moses who, according to the midrash, would not implore God to deliver Pharaoh from inside the city (Exod. 9:29) because it was filled with idols.

the chronicle of ahima #az . àÀå

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úa äéä é!ìé!ñá"ìe

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· øúò"a Çì ïpé!çå · øúqa ÇàTOe · dúåà&tU"ì ìÇëé äéä · ìeâñ íÇ÷î ^"ì Öé Çìà"Ö · écÖ ìà úUæò"a · éàcå"a ä×$òà ïk Çì áé!Öäå · déé"ìåçî · àeäå àeä äàT · ïbä é!ì Öéå · ïbå%ä"î ïàé!ìK(a _ìnä äðò · ìeb!t íÇ÷"î íÖ äé"äé à`Ö òé!a"Ö!äå · äî"ìòä íÖ àé!áäå · eäðééðé!ò"a éX#à é!t ÇðÇø"ú!tÖ · eäéðéò"a ïàé!ìK(a øÖéå 5 íÖ"áe · äî"ëç"a õWà ãñé íÖ"áe · äîÇã#äå íeø ìòÇt íÖ"áe · äîÇø ïëÇÖ íÖ"a ãgä äzà äî ìò · çå&ö äéä ãgäå · äîé!ì"a ìò õWà äìÇz íÖ"áe · änéå íéXä øöÇé àé!ä é!ì éééîe · òÖÇð íò ìò · òÖYä"ì äaY!äå · òÖW"a øábÖ · òÖTä úá"ì · çeU"î ãgä ìà àeäå · é!îÇ÷"n!î àöà àÀ é!k · é!n!òî _ì äzòå · dT"aÖ"ìe dòéð"ëä"ì · äTeñ"î ãi!î · ìàT"×é"a íé!äÀ$à Öé é!k òAéå · ìà íÖ"a àö · áé!ÖOî épðéà ^éVáE!ì · áé!Öä 10 · Çqé!k Çt!îe Çt!î é!ì"käå · Çñéð"ë!ä øá#àlÖ é!ì"ë!áe · Ç×ô"ú àeäå · äöeø"î!a çUáe · àöé ·

§ð :駧ë äøåñî

äé"èô"Ö éðVæò

9

ïÇàéìJÇa ÷ êë ã÷åðî :駧ë ïàéì÷á

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ïÇàéìJÇa ÷ êë ã÷åðî :駧ë ïàéì÷á øá#à ìÖ º÷ øáàìù

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4

ïåéìéâá

208 The erroneous etymology according to the vernacular bocca (mouth) and leone (lion) may reflect a popular opinion based on reports of travelers who might in fact have seen the statues situated on the balcony of the palace. One of them is conserved to this day in the Istanbul Archaeological Museum. 209 This and the following mentions of appellations of God through allusions to biblical verses hint at magical procedures apparently akin to those practiced later by the kabbalists, as we have seen in chap. 5 of the introductory essay. Several biblical verses might have been appropriate for the particular appellation alluded to here, for instance, Isa. 57:15. 210 I follow here Klar’s suggestion that the allusion is to Isa. 60:1. 211 Cf. Isa. 51:13. 212 Cf. Ps. 95:5. 213 Job 26:7. The word here translated as “emptiness” is a biblical apax. As such it was variously interpreted from all kinds of perspectives, among which one must here keep in mind the mystical tradition reported by Sefer Yetsirah, in which it appears as an attribute of the ten sefiroth with which God created the world. 214 It does not seem unreasonable to hypothesize an allusion to the assassination of Michael III. 215 The wording follows Deut. 33:29. 216 The king, Basil. 217 Cf. 1 Sam 17:46.

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leaden vessel218 and wrapped the vessel on all sides and sealed it in the Name of his Creator and cast it into the sea, sinking it in deep waters. Then the maiden went in silence and calm and in peace to the king and the queen. 15 And then he came to the king to receive permission to leave and the king came out towards him and placed his arm around his neck,219 led him to his chambers and set about enticing him to disavow his faith,220 trying with many gifts to make him follow a vain god. Then he went out with him, threatening to beat him setting upon him a surprise snare enumerating the troubles he would cause him. When he saw that fury and ill intent221 he cried out in a striking voice: “My mighty lord, are you doing me violence?”222 Then arose the king from his chair, elevated him from among the people,223 gave him permission to leave and sent him to the queen so she would give him a present and a blessing. The queen inquired of him about various matters, “have you daughters and sons,”224 and he replied with appropriate responses: “Your servant has a son and two daughters.” Then she gave him the rings from her ears and the girdle from her waist and bid him swear in the name of his Torah: “Give them to your two daughters for they are most precious and priceless like no others”—the rings weighed a libra in gold, and the girdle too was valuable. 16 When he was about to leave, the king summoned him personally and said to him: “Shephatiah make your request of me, and I shall give you of my fortune, and if it is not money that you desire, I will bestow upon you villages and towns, for so did I write to you that I shall grant your request and desire.” And he replied humbly, in misery and in See chap. 5 of the introductory essay. Since it was typically performed by operators of exorcisms, hugging Shephatiah’s neck was a deeply symbolic gesture in this context, for as viewed by Christians conversion to Christianity would free the Jew of the demonic impulse that was supposed to drive him away from Christ (see Parente, “La controversia,” 545–546). The king was thus unsuccessfully engaging in an act analogous to that performed successfully by Shephatiah upon the princess. 220 In what follows, the conventional Christian policy aimed at converting the Jews is summarized in the standard three points: conviction through disputation, temptation through promises of gifts (usually relief from taxes), and threats of persecution, yet definitely excluding forceful conversion. 221 Here too Klar emended the text, adding three presumably missing words to properly set up the rhyme (ïåãàä áì åàéùä = had overcome the sovereign’s heart). 218 219

the chronicle of ahima #az . ·

äë"ìä äT#òpäå

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Ç×Çò íÖ"a Çîú#çå

:äk"ìnä ìàå _ìnä ìà íÇìÖ"a · äëë"Öe èMÖ"a · ÇúàTO!ì àöé _ìnäå · ÇúeÖY ìaK"ì _ìnä ìà àa æàå 15 øçà · Çúð"zî áÇø"a · ÇúÇqð"ì äðeî$àä ï!î · ÇúÇzô"ì ìé!ç"ú!äå · åéT@#ç ìà Çëé!ìÇäå íé!òTå · ïî"ë!î"a åéìò àáe · Çî"ìåä"ì àTJ åé!ôe · Çn!ò àöé äöeçå · ÇúÇò"èä"ì ìáää 5 · øé!aà éðÇã#à · øé!a"ëä"ì ìÇãb ìÇ÷"a çåö · [......] · ïÇãfäå ñòkäÖ äàT"k · ïnéé åéìò úeÖY Çì ïúðå · Çà"rð íòä _Çz!îe · Çà"ñ!k!î _ìnä ãîò ïë"a · øé!á#òî éìò "zà äi!a · íéðééðé!ò"a Ç[z]ìà"Ö äk"ìnäå · äëT"áe äðzî Çì ïzé!ì · äk"ìnä ìà Çç"lé!Öå · äëìéì · úÇða éz"Öe ãçà ïa _c"áò"ì Öé · úÇðëeî úÇáeÖ"z [dáé!Ö$ä] àeäå · íéðáe úÇða ^"ì Öé ïz · ^úTÇz ïòî"ì e[z]òé!a"Ö!äå · äéð"úî"a øÖ#à øÇæàäå · äéðæà"aÖ íé!îæpä Çì äð"úðå 10 ìK"Ö!î äéä áäæ àT"èé!ìå · íäì ïéà ê]#òå · íäéî"c äååÖ"a é!k · ^éúÇð"a éz"Ö!ì íúÇà :íé!î@"a äååÖ äéä ïk øÇæàäå · íé!îæpä ·

åéTàeö"a ÇòÇøæ ïúðå

· épn!î ìà"Ö äéé"èô"Ö Çì øîàå · _ìnä ÇàTO åé!ô"a · _ìéì ìèpÖ øçàîe 16 · ^únå%ò"ì é!z"áúk ïkÖ · úÇðéD"îe úÇiXO ^"ìé!çðà · úÇðÇîî"a õôç ^ðéà í!àå · éðÇäî éðI#à õôç í!à · äéé"ëé!á"áe éX"î!a · äiéð#òa Çì áé!Öä àeäå · ^úìéà"Öe ^"ö"ôç úåà`î"ì 15

^"ì ïzàå

øåúá ïåéìéâá íùøð :駧ë åúåèäì ìáää øçà

[.......] 6 íéðééðéòá

5

íiä-ìàå :÷ íéä ìàå :ð íéäìàå :駧ë [íéä ìàå]

1

äøåæðö éîòèî äàøðä ìëë ¬íéðôá ÷éø øúåðù íéìî ùåìù ìù çååø íå÷îá äîìùä

||

|| [ïÇãàä áì eàé!g!ä] :÷ 9 íéðééðòë :1÷ (åðéðôì åðéàå ¬é§§äëá êë :äøòäáå) êúøåú :ð êúøåú ||

ezìà"Ö :÷ åìàù :ð ¬é§§ë å[ú]ìàù

ezòé!a"Ö!äå :÷ åòéáùäå :ð ¬é§§ë å[ú]òéáùäå

10

8

øé!a"ëî"ì :÷ øéáëäì

dáé!Ö$ä :÷ åáéùä :ð ¬é§§ë [äáéùä]

from the greek βα, is already attested in postbiblical Hebrew (see Jastrow, Dictionary, 160, s.v. àééá). The phrasing here is reminiscent of Gen. Rab. 93 (äúà äéá åðéìò øéáòî), where it complains about unjust treatment meted out to the Jews by God. The standard Jewish interpretation of the above-mentioned imperial policy is thus articulated in an analogous cry of complaint against inappropriate (i.e., unjust, illegal) action carried out by the sovereign ruler. 223 I.e., he publicly acknowledged Shephatiah’s prominence. Such confirmation by the Christian ruler is the highest peak of social excellence. 224 Though the order in which they were mentioned may have been dictated by rhyme, it must nonetheless be stressed that the queen displays primary interest in Shephatiah’s daughters, for whom she sends the gifts, while altogether ignoring the son. For concrete examples of such accessories see plates 23–25. 222 äéá,

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tears: “If my lord cherishes Shephatiah, desist from those who engage in the salutary Law,225 do not take them away from God’s Torah, do not force them out to the wilderness, in sorrow and sighing226 and if in these you do not want to such a degree to satisfy my desire, do something on my behalf, let there be no forced conversion in my town.” Then the king called out in hoarse fury, “Had I not sent you my seal and myself made an oath, I would do you harm right now at this very moment; but what can I do to you, since I have written you and I cannot renege on what I have inscribed in my dispatch.” Then he provided him with a precious golden seal,227 so that conversion should not be enforced in the town of Oria. And he sent him with honor on his way, safely to his home and to his residence. 17 Then228 the evil man sent couriers to all his provinces and agents to do violence and coerce them to abandon their faith, to convert them to his vain god and to join in his futile error. And the moon and the sun darkened229 for twenty five years,230 until the day of his death, may his descendants be cursed, let his sin and evil be remembered and his crime never be blotted out, let fitting recompense be meted out to the kingdom of Edom for his wrongdoing and wickedness, may its guardian angel be toppled from on high,231 may its monarchy be destroyed from Heaven, to bring joy to the miserable and give due comfort to the mourners, to mercifully reveal to us shortly the End of Days.232 18 Indeed after his days arose King Leon,233 his son of his own flesh,234 the Lord God chose him, may his memory be blessed. He annulled the decree which was ordained in the days of his father, restored the Jews to their faith, to their statutes and their Torah, to keep their Sabbaths 225 For the meaning of the word here translated as “salutary Law” (äéùåú) see n. 56 above. The polemical implication of the terminology (cautiously suggested in that note) is here much more manifest. 226 Cf. Isa. 29:2. 227 A chrysobull (see n. 181 above), as was in fact necessary to invalidate the decree of forced conversion previously dispatched. 228 Here surfaces once again the coarse fusion of what we have previously presumed to have been two different traditions related to Shephatiah’s contact with the emperor. 229 Though the Hebrew word used for “moon” is masculine (çøé), the declination of the corresponding verb is here in the feminine, as would be required by the vernacular luna. See also chap. 1 of the introductory essay, near n. 90. 230 Since Basil did not reign for more than twenty years, we must assume that the period of persecution was vaguely recollected in Jewish collective memory, which in any

the chronicle of ahima #az . äið#àú"a

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· äi!Öeú éL"ñÇò"ì çpä · äé"èô"Ö!a ãî"Ö äé"äé àÀå · éXeá#òa ä×#ò · àlî"ì éðÇöY _k ìk · älàa äöÇø ^ðéà í!àå · äið#àå é!úééä · é!î"öò"a é!z"òa"Öðå · é!îúÇç é!z"çìÖ éìeì · ïÇøç"a àTJ · ïÇøâ"a _ìnäå · éXé!ò"a · ^"ì"öà é!z"áúk éð#àÖ · ^"ì ä×$òà äî ìá#à · äòÖä Çæ"áe úòä Çæ"a · äòT ^"n!ò ä×Çò èÇì"Öé à`Ö · ãî"çð áäæ íúÇç Çì ä×òå · é!áú"ë!a é!z"èUçÖ än!î · é!a øÇæ#çì ìÇëé éðéàå 5 :Çnìeà"ìe Çúéá"ì íÇìÖ"ì · ÇîÇ÷"î ìà ãÇáë"a Çç"lé!Öå · ãî"gä éXééeà øé!ò"a çÇë"a

íé!ñð(à úÇ×#òì

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dé úUÇz!î íàé!öÇz ìàå

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úÇöT#à ìë"a

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· Çúeì"áä"ì íáé!Ö#äì · íñð#à äðeî$àä ï!î · íqò"ì ÇðÇå#ò øëfé · ÇúéX#çà àäé äììO!ì · ÇúÇî íÇé ãò · Öîçå íéX"×ò íéðÖ · Öîgäå · Çìe÷"ìéNå ÇúòTå · Çìeîb íì"Öåé íÇã$à úeë"ìî"ì · Çúàhç çné!z ìàå · Çúò"ÖXå 10 íé!ìéá#àì ílÖ"ì · íé!îeâ#ò çn×"ì · íé!îÇã#äî Çúeë"ìî ãaà"ìe · íé!îÇø"n!î dT× ìé!tä"ì :íé!îiä õL äTä"î · íé!î#çU"a eðúÇàYä"ì · íé!îeçéð àäé äëT"á!ì

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case associated the beginning of that persecution with the first years of the emperor’s reign. 231 According to the popular worldview, variously uttered in rabbinical literature, there is in heaven a guardian angel for every nation. The destruction of a nation must therefore be preceded by overcoming its guardian angel. See, for instance, Exod. Rab. 21, 5: God does not lay down a nation unless He has first layed down its guardian angel (äìéçú ïøù ìéôî àåäù ãò äîåà ìéôî 䧧á÷ä ïéàù). 232 For the wording reminiscent of customary blessings recited according to some rites of southern Italy in the houses of mourners, see p. 179, above. 233 Leo VI the Wise, or the Philosopher (886–912), according to the Greek spelling Λ#ων. 234 This underlines the legitimacy of the royal kinship, contradicting rumors that Leo was not really the son of Basil. And see plate 17b.

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and all the details of their precepts and their laws and their covenant, as of old.235 May the name of their protector be blessed, who left them not unto the hands of their enemies, saved them from their plunderers, and rescued them from their tormentors. Blessed be the name of God on high for ever and ever. 19 After this236 the Ishmaelites began to advance with armies, to encroach upon the borders in the kingdom of the uncircumcised,237 in the land of the idolaters,238 worshippers of idols239 who bow down to statues.240 They devastated Calabria,241 terrified their cities, made desolate their lands, seized their castles, passed through Apulia, there they were victorious, and combined forces, shattered their strength, captured many cities, pillaged them and spoiled them. 20 In those days in Bari was Sawdan,242 king of the Ishmaelites he was at that time, and he ruled over the whole land. He sent couriers to Oria the outstanding [city],243 to arrange with them [its residents] the terms of a charter,244 and conclude a peace with them that he would

235 The account of Ahima#az is compatible with the tradition recorded in the tenth. century Vision of Daniel (see Bonfil, “La visione ebraica di Daniele”). Any endeavor to interpret conflicting evidence and assess the nature of Leo’s allegedly anti-Jewish policy should therefore take into due account the remarkable concordance of these two almost certainly independent sources. 236 Although, as we have seen (chap. 2 of the introductory essay), the chronological setting of the history of the Arab emirate of Bari during Basil’s reign is certainly inaccurate, it does nonetheless fit the overall framework of the narrative, for the Arab raids in southern Italy became really significant at that time, following the fall of Syracuse in 867. The conflation of the two different chronological settings does not pose any particular problem, for it follows the usual manner of recollection of oral traditions. 237 I.e., Christians, as opposed to Ishmaelites, who are circumcised. Since the narrative focuses on the conflict between the Arab emirate of Sawdan in Bari and the Byzantine dominions in southern Italy, the kingdom of the uncircumcised is unquestionably Byzantium. 238 For this and the following invectives against Christianity, see chap. 5 of the introductory essay. It seems nonetheless worthwhile to stress that the accentuated nuance of hostility does—no matter how intentionally—cast positive light on Islam. See Efthymiadis, “Chrétiens et Sarrasins.” 239 The plural form íéìòá is frequent in the Bible as plural of the idol Baal and as a generic denomination of idols (see for instance Hos. 9:12; 2 Chron. 24:7 and elsewhere). Yet, used metonymically to refer to Christian artifacts of worship, it would seem to allude to the statues and icons of the saints, usually patrons of towns or guilds.

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240 Though quite vaguely, a sensitive Jewish ear could here detect an echo of the ancient prayer Aleynu le-shabbeah. (çáùì åðéìò). The corresponding section (íéååçúùî íäù òéùåé àì ìà ìà íéììôúîå—÷éøå ìáäì—íéìéìàì—“for they bow before idols and address their prayes to a helpless god”), was severely mutilated in the Ashkenazi ritual to the point that its sense is gravely obscured, but remained substantially untouched in the Spanish and Italian prayer book, notwithstanding the fact that during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries it became the target of vigorous censorship. 241 Calabria and Apulia are here mentioned together, for in fact most of the time since the last decades of the ninth century they were under Byzantine rule and could be viewed as constituting a continuous, somehow unified, region. For the geographical setting and the history of the events mentioned here, see chap. 2 of the introductory essay. 242 For the history of Sawdan’s rule as emir of Bari in 857–865 and its recording by Ahima#az, see chap. 2 of the introductory essay. . 243 “Outstanding [city]” translates äîåùøä, literally “marked” or “sealed,” taking into consideration the possible allusion to Dan. 10:21 translated by the Septuaginta τ πρ2τα i.e., “the fate marked/sealed at first” (see Jastrow, Dictionary, 1500–1501, s.v. íùø and the midrashim quoted there) moreover bearing in mind the compound meaning of insignitus (prominent) rooted in signare (to mark). 244 In later centuries íåé÷ is attested to mean a charter issued by local governors to the Jews with the detailed terms of the agreement to permit their residence. In Renaissance Italy it was normally used as correspondent to the condotta. Here it is assumed to mean analogously a charter of surrender, as usually practiced by Muslims with the dhimmis.

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not wreak desolation upon their land, only a tax would he impose upon them, and he would not destroy their territory. But he acted cunningly,245 so as to attack it by surprise and destroy it, and wreak upon it desolation and devastation. 21 And the Prince of Oria sent to him R. Shephatiah, to listen to his words and his discourse, to receive the terms of the charter and his sealed document, so as to be assured by his certified writ.246 King247 Sawdan received him honorably and spoke cordially to him, exalted him and praised him before all the courtiers who sat there to welcome him, and he delayed him until the Sabbath; he did that on purpose, so as to prevent him from returning to his city;248 he did not wish to send him out, so that he would not go with tidings to his master. When he saw and discerned his cunning, [he said to him]:249 “Give me leave to go with your permission, for you have beguiled me250 by your cunning.” And he replied to him: “Where will you go at this hour, when the Sabbath is about to commence?” He said to him: “Give me permission my lord, do not refuse it to me.”251 Then he gave him permission, and he left. And when he had distanced himself from him [Sawdan],

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Cunningly translates äîøòá, a quite ambiguous word in this context. On the one hand, it expresses one view embracing the stereotypical image of the Arabs as fraudulent, that was widely diffused among Christians; on the other hand, viewed as a pillar of the ideology of h. asidey Ashkenaz, underscored in the description of the images of the saintly ancestors of Ahima#az, the term would convey the compound, yet ultimately . positive, attitude of men (or women) in problematic situations. In that sense it would be almost synonymous with äîøîá, which in the Bible denotes the trickery of Jacob toward Esau (Gen. 27:35) and of the sons of Jacob toward the Sichemites (Gen. 34:13). In those cases äîøî is rendered by the Aramaic Targum as àúîëç (wisdom, astuteness) and as such is it constantly interpreted by Rashi, who in fact compares the action of the sons of Jacob with that of the Gibeonites in Josh. 9:4: äîøòá á÷òé éðá åùòù åîë. And see below n. 249. 246 “Certified writ” translates åîåùéø áúë which echoes the wording of Dan 10:21 (íåùø áúëá) quoted in n. 243 above, and conveys the meaning of “document bearing the guaranteeing seal of the ruler.” 247 Sawdan was of course not really a king, but for Ahima#az (who did not distinguish . between kings, princes, and other types of rulers) an emir could rightly be called a king, since he exercised absolute power over his domain. Should one be tempted to speculate more, it could be recalled that it was customary to call the emir of Bari “sultan,” for Mofareg ibn Salem, the emir who built a magnificent mosque in that city, did

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5 éXéeà :÷ åøééåà :駧ë [é]øééåà 4 10 [Çúî#ça Çì øîà] §ð :÷ §åúîçá åì øîৠóéñåäì êéøö àîù :ð åúîøò 8 dë"gç"î :÷ äáùçî :ð ¬é§§ë ä[ë]ùçî | |

§íéååìÖ§ àîùå

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(Friede)

íéîåìù :1÷ íéîéìù

indeed apply to the Khalif in Baghdad asking to be granted that title. See Hartmann, Geschichte Italiens, 235. Indeed, in reporting the history of Sawdan and his captivity in Benevento, the continuator of Theophanes’ Chronographia repeatedly calls him σολδ νος (Theophanes continuatus, ed. Bekker, 294–297). 248 Oria. 249 Although there is no lacuna in the text, it seems almost certain that the copyist omitted a segment (quite probably rhyming with åúîøò or åúîøî—see n. 245 above). Klar’s amendment (following Neubauer’s suggestion) by filling the gap with åì øîà åúîçá (he said to him in anger), does not seem plausible, first because it seems more probable that the omission was much more substantial (for instance, one entire line erroneously skipped because of homoioteleuton) and second, because display of fury would definitely be inappropriate in that context. 250 “Beguiled me” translates éðúéîéø as in Gen. 29:25. It has been preferred to “deceived me,” for a straightforward accusation of trickery would also appear highly inappropriate. 251 Our translation assumes the copyist’s substitution of á instead of ë following Klar’s suggestion to amend äëùçî to äáùçî. It may perhaps not be superfluous to add that the learned owner of the Toledo manuscript (which maintained the unamended text and translated literally “e non aver penziero di me”) glossed in Latin “et non sit tibi cogitatio de me,” i.e., “do not care about me.”

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he turned to the Almighty,252 placed his trust in the Name of his Creator,253 and following God’s helping guidance inscribed letters on the hooves of his horse, so that he may move quickly, and he invoked the Name vigorously and the earth leapt before him.254 22 When he reached the limits of his own land255 he called out in all the pathways, and declared in his voice: “Rush away, flee from these borders,256 for Sawdan the King of the Ishmaelites is upon us with all his soldiers, to take the goods257 and inflict casualties, to spoil and prey.” As he approached, the Prince of the city came out towards him and he reported to him what he had read258 and found out, and they held a consultation to make up their mind on the matter. And he entered the town before nightfall and went to bathe,259 to wash and anoint himself; thus did he receive the Sabbath260 in the appropriate and proscribed manner,261 celebrating it with food, drink, and study of the Law, dressed in handsome clothes, with all sorts of pleasing delights.262 23 And Sawdan and his entire army made urgent haste, advancing with them proudly and audaciously, but he found the land evacuated, the entire area up to the gates of the city. And on the Sabbath, when the time came for the afternoon prayers, unable to gain any satisfaction, he remained saddened and gloomy. Then he approached the city

252

“The Almighty” translates Shaddai (éãù), an attribute widely used in Jewish folklore on various types of amulets against all kinds of perils. Such wording may possibly allude to the specific magical operation which will be described in what follows, i.e., that the letters inscribed on the hooves of Shephatiah’s horse were those of that attribute. A similar operation to cause shortening of travel time is described below in § 48; for more details on this topic see pp. 159–172, above. 253 I.e., trusted the use of the specific “Name” mentioned above in the magic operation he was about to perform. 254 “The leaping of the earth” (êøãä úöéô÷), is the conventional term quite frequently used in rabbinical texts to denote the magical shortening of journey time. Cf. for instance, TB San. 95a: For three did the earth leap: Eliezer, Abraham’s servant, our father Jacob, and Abishai the son of Zeruiah—íäøáà ãáò øæòéìà :õøàä íäì äöô÷ äùìù äéåøö ïá éùéáàå åðéáà á÷òéå. 255 I.e., the city of Oria. As a matter of fact, the text would appear to be missing here for the rhyme would require a verse terminating with a word matching åöøà. And yet, the fact was overlooked, for no plausible suggestion for amendment did surface. 256 The Hebrew wording íéìåáâî åçøá íéìåäéáá åàö is a play on the words of Isa. 48:20: íéãùëî åçøá ìááî åàö. 257 “Take the goods” translates ùåëøä úç÷ì, a wording that could recall the words of the King of Sodom to Abraham following the war in which the help of Abraham was

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· íé!ìéé#çä ìk í!ò · íé!ìàò"î"Öé _ìî ï@åñ äp!ä é!k · íé!ìeáb!î eçY!a · íé!ìeäé!á"a · àöé ÇúàTO!ì øé!òä ø× ÇáYJ"áe · íé!ìì"Ö ìÇì"Ö!ìå æa æÇáìå · íé!ìì#ç ìé!tä"ìe ÖeëYä 5 øé!òä ìà àáe · äö#òé"ú!ä"ì øácä ìò · äöéò"a eñð"ëðå · àöîe àTJ ÇúÇàÖ Çì øté!ñå âðÇò"a · äëì#äëå éeàTk úagä ìaéNå · äké!ñå äöé!çY!a õé!çYä"ì _ìäå · äëéÖ#ç íWè íéðecé!ò ìë"a · äë"ëÇz"ñ!ä"ìe óôÇç"ú!ä"ì íé!àð íéDâ"áe · äëì#ä ïepé!Ö"áe äz"Ö!î"áe ìë#àî"a :äë"kU"ú!ä"ì ïBòä"ì · äp%ô"î àöî õWàäå · úeæòå äå#àâ"a íän!ò àáe · úeæéXæ!a õé!çðé!ä Çìéç ìëå ï@åñå 23 10 íeì"k àöî àÀ"ëe · äçð!nä úò òéb!ä"k úagä íÇé"áe · äðéD"nä éV#òÖ ãò õWàä ìk eð"z · äé"èô"Ö §øî ìàÖå · äééYé!wä ìà Öbéð æàå · äçð#àå áöò"a øà"Öð · äçååY ,è §çðá åîë) ïãòúäì :1÷ ïãòäì 9

äø÷ :1÷ àø÷

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1 11 (åðãòúéå :25

éô"ìè"a :÷ 駧äëá êë :äøòäá :ð éôéìèá òéâäá :ð òéâäë

crucial for the victory against the enemies: êì ç÷ ùëøäå ùôðä éì ïú (Gen. 14:21). It could thus indirectly imply “understanding” for Sawdan’s aggression notwithstanding the inevitable harm it was about to cause to the entire population, including the Jews, and add further insight to the ambiguous attitude of the Jews vis-à-vis the Arab-Christian confrontation in southern Italy. 258 I.e., figured out, understood. 259 According to the Babylonian way of viewing the Sabbath, bathing with warm water came to be considered an obligatory practice of preparing oneself to honor the Sabbath and the feasts, following the examples of Hillel the Elder and Rabbi Judah [the Prince] as reported in TB Shab. 25b; the path of transmission and subsequent slight adjustments of the relevant sources may be traced perusing the Enc. Talm., vol. 27, coll. 1 ff., s.v. úáù ãåáë. For further details on bathing among medieval Jews in southern Italy, see chap. 5 of the introductory essay. 260 Terminus technicus for the ritual proclamation of the beginning of the Sabbath. 261 The Hebrew wording (äëìäë) alludes to perfect adherence to the ritual details of observance of the Sabbath (and implicitly contrasts critical comments of rivals, such as those discussed in chap. 3 of the introductory essay). 262 These details may also allude to perfect compliance with the Babylonian way of observing the Sabbath.

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and asked for R. Shephatiah: “Give him to me, the man who transgressed his faith, and desecrated the Sabbath, for their law ordains that he be put to death.” And R. Shephatiah replied with a speech, with the bravery of a man whose God is with him: “Why do you continue to talk, when what you say is baseless; behold the heavens are my witnesses, all my townsmen are my eyewitnesses, I arrived here in daylight, I returned while the sun still shone, to the bathhouse I went and washed and anointed myself, and to my home I returned and received the Sabbath in sanctity, as is fitting and appropriate for me, as commanded by my Lord and Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel, my Lord.” 24 And Abu Aharon was still there, the same Aharon mentioned above.263 Then he went to the city of Bari which is situated on the coast—the metropolis which is built facing the sea. And King Sawdan264 came out to receive him and did him great honor, and he stayed with him for about six months, and his love for him was wonderful, more than the love of women.265 And during his entire sojourn there he [Sawdan] did not deviate from his advice, and everything that he asked of him he answered with clarity, as if he were consulting with the Urim.266 Thus everything he advised materialized,267 for as long as he stayed there.268 25 One day, when he awoke from his slumber, the spirit of the Lord began to urge him269 to return to his [own] land and place. He went down to the sea, searched in all directions270 and found a cockboat271 ready to sail for overseas.272 He immediately boarded and sat within it and the boat swiftly began to sail. Then Sawdan rushed down in panic and dispatched ships to the boat to damage it; but the Master 263 The special wording suggests that the story of the man who came from Baghdad was collected from two different sources, one in which he was named R. Aharon and one in which the name was Abu Aharon (see further chap. 2 of the introductory essay for the uncertainty concerning the name in the tradition reported by R. Eleazar b. Judah of Worms). 264 See n. 246 above. 265 2 Sam 1:26. (íéùð úáäàî éì êúáäà äúàìôð “Your love was wonderful to me more than the love of women”). And cf. with the reception of Shephatiah by Basil I, supra §§ 13–15. 266 See § 8 and n. 146 above. 267 As noted in chapter 1 of the introductory essay, the portrayal of the perfect Jewish communal leader included the greatly appreciated virtue of foreseeing the future that was characteristic of Christian saints.

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· [í]éU"ö!î"ì úëìì äëeø#ò äi!ì#à àöîe · íéXá#ò ìë"a äðôe íiä ãWiå · ÇîÇ÷"î ìàå · äìeäé!á"a ãUé ï@åñå · äëéìì äìé!ç"ú!ä õçð"a äið(àäå · dëÇú"a áÖéå äìò ãi!î eì"ëé àÀå · äìÇãbä ãiä ç&ë"a íÖä áUä øé!kæ!äå · dì"aç"ì äiéð(àä ìà úÇðé!ô"ñ çìÖå 15 äéðà :ð äéìà

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3 || äéðà :÷ (äéìà 駧äëá :äøòäáå)

^éWî#àî"ì :÷ (úåàéø÷ ïðéà úåðåøçàä úåéúåàä éúù) øîàîì :駧ë [êé]øîàîì íéU"ö!î"ì :÷ äîéøöîì :ð ¬é§§ë [í]éøöîì

268 As will become clear below, the image of Paltiel at the court of al-Mu"iz will be portrayed so as to resemble that of Aharon at the court of Sawdan. Both Arab rulers would thus rely on their Jewish courtier for the successful administration of their kingdom. 269 After Judg. 13:25. (åîòôì §ä çåø ìçúå—“The spirit of the Lord first moved him”). 270 For the corresponding, quite unusual, Hebrew wording, see n. 163 above. 271 Neubauer and Klar emended the text to read äéðà (boat), but this is unnecessary. Indeed one can think of translating the word as caudica, a small boat capable of carrying four to ten persons on board. 272 Following a suggestion of Peter Lehnardt, whom I thank, the text was amended as required by the rhyme (see the apparatus to the critical edition of the Hebrew text). Thus “overseas” translates íéøöîì in the sense of “sea routes” or “sea straits”, perhaps alluding to the Strait of Otranto, mentioned above in § 11.

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invoked the Name endowed with the power of the mighty arm,273 the ships were unable to draw near it, and though the sailors wished to return to the shore, the boat could not come close to land.274 When the king saw that, his anger almost completely subsided,275 for he was aware of the miracles that the Master did perform and recognized the wonders which were done by the Master. 26 Then the king called out: “My Master, my Master, my father, my father, my horseman, my chariot,276 why did you abandon me, why have you rejected me;277 accept my prayer278 and return my lord, take my money, my treasures, my fortune, do not reject me, do not leave me by myself.” And he [Aharon] answered him properly: “My path is laid out before me by He who is brave and bold, I am powerless to retrace it; ask of me what you will and I will tell you what you ask279 before I take leave of you.” Then he asked him a number of things and he told him everything as it should be.280 And after that he asked: “Will I enter Benevento?” And he answered him: “You will enter, yet not of your own free will but out of necessity.” And everything he told and informed him happened to him.281 Then he went gladly to the rest and to the inheritance282 which he had left in his native land; he reached his home and rested amidst abundance and wealth, in relief and deliverance283 and gave praise to his Creator, to his Maker, to Him who brought him forth [from the womb],284 his Creator, who restored him safely to his residence and with joy returned him to his home.

I.e., by having recourse to the mystical Name emerging from Exod. 14:31 (àøéå Israel saw the mighty arm which the Lord had wielded against the Egyptians”). That verse refers to the rescue of the Children of Israel when crossing the sea from the danger of being captured by Pharaoh’s army—a situation quite similar to the one reported in our story. And see next note. 274 As Klar, Chronicle, 146, aptly notes, one of the magic names listed in äùîã àáøç (Gaster, Studies and Texts, 3:80) was supposed to “arrest a ship” (äðéôñ øåñàì). 275 After Esther 7:10 (äëëù êìîä úîçå—“and the king’s fury abated”). 276 The wording, after 2 Kings 2:12; 13:14 (åéùøôå ìàøùé áëø éáà éáà—“Oh father, father! Israel’s chariots and horsemen!”), indicates outstanding respect. 277 After Ps. 43:2; and cf. with Jesus’ cry on the cross, Matt. 27:46 and Mark 15:34. 273

íéøöîá §ä äùò øùà äìåãâä ãéä úà ìàøùé—“And

the chronicle of ahima #az .

281

áVJ"ú!ä"ì äiéð(àäå

· älé!ç"zá"k õWàì áeÖì íé!çlnä eáàå · dì"öà áVJ"ú!ä"ì úÇðé!ô"qä · éqépa ïé!áä é!k · äëëÖ èò"î!k Çúî#ç · äëk _ìnä úÇàY!k · äìÇëé äúéä àÀ õWàa :úÇ×#òð áUä éBé­ìòÖ · úÇqna øé!k!äå · äÖÇò äéä áUäÖ · éðz"çðæ äîìå · éðz"áæ#ò äîì · é!a"ëXå é!ÖTt · é!áà é!áà · é!aU é!aU _ìnä ÷òö æà 26 · éðçépä"ì ã@a · éðéçéðæz ìàå · éðÇäå ééúÇø"öÇàå · éðÇîî çKå · éðI#à äáeÖå · éð#òî ìaK 5 úìÇëé é!a ïéàå · äTeáâ!a õé!nà úàî · äTgåé"î ééðô"ì é!kYc · äTeÖ"k Çáé!Ö$ä àeäå epn!î ìàÖå · ^"z!àî êìà íWè · ^"úÖwa ^"ì ãébàå · ^"úìéà"Ö épn!î ìà"Ö · dTéæ#çä"ì Çèðéáéðéa"a Çìà"Ö øçàå · ïééðé!òä é!ô"ì ì&kä Çì ãéb!ä àeäå · ïééðé!î"a änk íéXá"c ïk · ÇòéDÇäå Çòé!î"Ö!äÖ Çî"ëe · ñðÇà"a í!à é!k ïÇöT"a àÀ · ñðké!z Çáé!Öä àeäå · ñðkà òéb!äå · dçép!ä ÇöYà"a øÖ#à äì#çpä ìàå äçeð"nä ìà · äç"î!×"a _ìä àeäå · Çòéb!ä 10 ÇçÇâå Ç×Çò"ì · Çø"ö[Çé]"ì çáÖ ïúðå · äçì"öä"áe çååW"a · äçååY!áe òt"Öä"a · äçðå Çúéá"ì :Çøéæ$çä ïÇ××"a Çúéá"ìe · ÇøéD"ì íÇìÖ"ì Çáé!Ö$äÖ · Çø"öéå Çø"öÇé"ì ÷ åøö[åé]ì

11

278 ïòî with the meaning of “prayer” is very rare. I was able to come across only one such usage, in Sha #ar Naphtali, by R. Naphtali ben Yitzhak Katz (Bruenn, 1757). And yet, there is no basis for Colafemmina’s translation “lamento,” apparently borrowed from the unknown translator of ms. Toledo. 279 I.e., will advise you on what you ask. 280 I.e., informed and advised him in each case accordingly. 281 For the details of the history of Sawdan alluded to here, see chap. 2 of the introductory essay. 282 The wording, after Deut. 12:9 (äìçðä ìàå äçåðîä ìà), may suggest re-establishment to his former position, following the successful atonement of the sin. 283 The wording, after Esther 4:14, may lend support to what was suggested in the previous note. 284 For the wording, see Ps. 22:10 (ïèáî éçâ).

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27 I will utter my knowledge285 to relate the wonders performed by R. Hananel. He had a younger brother,286 whose name was Papoleon, and . he was parted from him at an early age: when his day came and he died and his fate was sealed,287 his brothers288 were away in Benevento delayed bringing him to burial in on their business289 and R. Hananel . the ancestral tomb, awaiting his brothers until they came to grieve and weep over their deceased brother, to cry, to eulogize, to lament.290 And to prevent stench and putrefaction, so the flesh of his brother should not putrefy,291 he inscribed the Name of God, his Creator, on a piece of parchment and placed the parchment under his tongue and the Name resurrected him292 and he raised him up and he [Papoleon] sat in his bed, and placed a book before him and he contemplated it, gazing with his eyes. And that very night preceding [the day of] his brothers’ arrival, they beheld a great wonder in their dream; an angel of God in a mirror image appeared to them as in a vision, and told them strange things: “Why do you vex the Lord God by doing unworthy things, the Lord brings about death and you restore life. Do not do this, do not try the Lord your God.”293 But they knew not what had been done, what R. Hananel had done. When they arrived at their home, he came . out to greet them, and they went to see their brother and found him sitting in his bed; they were unaware of the deed and of the Name under his tongue they knew not. They heard the whole story in detail and cried in a wailing and bitter tone, and to their brother they cried

After Job 36:3 (÷åçøîì éòã àùà). According to the recollection of Ahima#az, the only surviving brothers of Hananel . . would be Shephatiah and Eleazar, about whom nothing more is known nor is said by Ahima#az. There is however no need to presume that “young brother” should mean . “cousin,” as hypothesized by some (cf. Salzman, Chronicle, 77; Klar, Chronicle, 146), for such a hypothesis would burden the text with unnecessary speculations. Neither should one wonder why Shefatiah would have been mentioned here almost in passing, for as will immediately become clear, §§ 27–32 originate from the family of Hananel, the . direct predecessors of Ahima#az. . 287 The wording is definitely unusual. In medieval sources it occurs once in a line of äéãîåìå äøåúä éìá÷î øãñ (“Order of the recipients of the Torah and its scholars”) included in Mah. zor Vitri, 483: íúñðå äàøåä óåñ àðéáø óñàð ১éúú úðùá. As the editor points out in loco, some would prefer to correct the text and read ãåîìúä íúçðå, as in fact did R. Shimshon of Chinon in Sefer Keritut. Indeed, it may well be that the wording must be understood as being elliptic, i.e., that the word ãåîìúä should be added after íúñðå. And yet, the wording in our text may also suggest that the lectio difficilior of Mah. zor Vitri is preferable, i.e., that íúñð should be understood as a synonym of óñàð. In that case it would also be understood as elliptic, instead of ììåâä íúñðå, which appears very frequently in rabbinic literature. 285 286

the chronicle of ahima #az . ·

Çì äéä ïèJ çà

åéä åéçà

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úÇée×#ò eéä ìàðð#ç §ø éBé ìòÖ

íz"ñðå óñ$àðå ÇîÇé òâ"ëe

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úÇàé!ì"t úÇeç"ì é!ò"c àrà

Çn!òî ãU"ôð íé!îé øöÇ÷"áe

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Çî"Ö ïÇàéìÇtte

· Çø"áJ"ì åéúÇá#à úUeáO!a Çëé!ìÇä"ì · Çøçéà ìàðð#ç §øå · íz"ëàì"î úÇ×#òì Çèðáéðéa"a · ïðÇ÷"ìe ãÇt"ñ!ìå úÇk"á!ì únÖ íäé!ç#à ìò · ïðà[ä]"ìe ïâòä"ì íàÇa ãò åéçà"ì ìçÇiå · ÇðÇ÷å äÇì$à íÖ óìO!a áúk · Öé!à"áé àÀ Çôeb ø×"áe · Öé!à"áéå çéX"ñé àÀ øeá#òáe 5 í× øôñå · Çúhé!î ìò áÖéå Çãé!î$òäå · ÇúÇà äéé$çä ígäå · ÇðÇÖ"ì úçz óì"wä í×å ìÇãb dîz · eàa øçî"ì åéçàÖ äìélä ÇúÇàå · åéðéò"a èé!aîe Ça äôÇö äéäå · åéðô"ì íéXá"c íòé!î"Ö!äå · äàYð"k ïÇæça íäéì#à · äàYna ééé _à"ìî äp!äå · eàT íÇì#ça úé!îî ìàä · íééeàY íðéàÖ íéXá"c e×#òúå · íé!äÀ$àä ééé úà eçéX"èz änì · íé!äéî"z øÖ#à úà eòEé àÀ íäå · eqð"ú àÀ íëéäÀ$à ééé úà · e×#òz ïë àÀ ízàå · íéiç"î ízàå 10 ìà eë"ìäå · íúàTO!ì àöé · íúéá"ì íòébä"áe · ä×ò ìàðð#ç §øÖ ä×#ònä ï!î · ä×#òð ígäîe · íé!òEÇé eéä àÀ ä×#ònä ï!îe · Çúh!î ìò áÖÇé · ÇúÇà eà"öîe · ÇúÇàY!ì íäé!ç#à ìòå · øWîå äììé ìÇ÷"a eëáe · øWá"a ä×#ònä ìk eò"îÖå · íé!òEÇé íðéà ÇðÇÖ"ì úçzÖ ÇäÀ$à :÷ äåìà

|| ùàáéå :ð ùéàáéå 5

ïðàä"ìe :÷ ¬ð ïðàìå :駧ë ïðà[ä]ìå

4

See n. 285 above. After Gen. 39:11. Perceptive readers might detect here a double meaning according to the Talmudic discussion related to that verse (TB Sot. 36b), that is, the possibility that the journey of Hananel’s brothers to Benevento on business could be a cover for . less innocent matters. But there is no way to ascertain that on the basis of our present knowledge. 290 The sequence of verbs follows the order of ritual stages preceding and accompanying burial: first ïâòì, to feel the sense of loss, as does a woman whose husband has disappeared but cannot yet be declared a widow; second, ïðàì, to enter the liminal status preceding the burial, characterized by almost total exemption from religious duties; third, to cry, during the burial ceremony; fourth, to deliver eulogies during the burial ceremony; and finally to have lament executed formally (i.e., ritually, by women professionally trained for that purpose) during the burial. 291 It stands to reason that sensible Jews would perceive here an oblique allusion to the recurring invective referring to Jesus as a putrefied body. 292 Rabbi Hananel performs here the same magic act as did Rabbi Aharon in . restituting the young man of Benevento to a state of death (§ 7). 293 The wording follows Deut. 6:16. 288 289

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out “You were able to bring him to life, you must also able to put him to death.” Then R. Hananel went crying, morose, and bewailing, . and moaning he said to his brother: “Give me your mouth and I will kiss you.” And the dead man opened his mouth and he kissed him, and he placed his hand under his tongue and removed from there the Name inscribed on parchment. Immediately the Name was removed from him, his inanimate body294 fell onto the bed, and it returned to dust and putrefaction, and the spirit went to God Who had bestowed it. 28 I shall give thanks to God and proclaim the deeds of the Lord,295 an episode296 worth telling, which happened in the city of Oria, in the the building of impurity297 called the Bishopric,298 to R. Hananel . brother of Shephatiah, who was on the verge of death, and He who dwells on high brought him relief and delivered him from darkness to light.299 So his sons in the land of oblivion300 must give praise and thanks to His name and sing before Him at all times, Hallelujah. 29 One day the Bishop301 asked him about matters written in the Pedagogue,302 and from this they arrived at calculations connected with the rising of the new moon. And that very day was the eve of neomenia, that [the People of] Israel ought to proclaim.303 He [the Bishop] asked him about the moon, in how many hours would it first appear and he [R. Hananel] responded naming a certain hour, but he was . mistaken and erred. And the Bishop challenged him, arguing: “If thus you compute the neomenia you are not proficient in its calculation.”

“Inanimate body” translates golem (íìåâ.); see n. 131 above. After Ps. 118:17. 296 äòøéàù äéåàø ãéâäì øùà äùòîä. Since äùòî is male, its feminine predicate should point to some Latin or vernacular correspondence, possibly to res gesta, the usual term for a remarkable event or deed in historical writing. And see further chap. 1 of the introductory essay, n. 112. 297 For such characterization of the Christian Church see see chap. 5 of the introductory essay. 298 àéðåîâä Although the term, borrowed from the Greek (γεμονα, is already attested in rabbinical terminology in the sense of “commandership” or “court” (see Jastrow, Dictionary, 331, s.v.), it seems quite probable that it is here used in the sense later acquired by (γουμενε3ον in Byzantine terminology, i.e. the “residence of the abbot” (see Lexicon zur byzantischen Gräzität, 650, s.v.). 294 295

the chronicle of ahima #az .

285

ìàðð#ç §ø _ìä æàå

· Çúé!î#äì ìëez äzàå · ÇúÇé#çä"ì zYáb äp!ä · Çúnå%ò"ì e÷#òæ íäé!ç#à çút únäå · äJ"gð#àå ^é!t é!ì ïz åé!çà ìà øîàå ÷ð$àðå · äJòæ!áe úeøéX"î!áe äéé"ëé!á"a ãi!î · íg!î àé!öÇä óì"wa áeúkä ígäå · í× ÇðÇÖ"ì úçz Çãé àeäå · äJé!Öð!a Ç÷Öðe åé!t Öôpäå · dðÇáOX"ìe dTô#òì áÖ íìÇbäå · Çî"ìåb ìôð äh!nä ìà · Çn!òî çK"ìð ígäÖ :dðúð øÖ#à íé!äÀ$àä ìà äë"ìä 5 · äééeàY ãébä"ì øÖ#à ä×#ònä ï!î · dé ä×#òî øtñ#àå ééé äCÇàå 28 òéb!äÖ · äéé"èô"Ö é!ç#à ìàðð#ç §øì · àééðÇîâä àTOpä [äà"îå]%hä ïééð!á"a · äééYé!wä åéða ïé!áéiçå · äéé"ìt#àn!î Çäéb!ä øÇà"ìe · äéé!ì#ò øc äçååY"ì Çàé!öÇäå · äééì"ë!ì Çî"öò :déeì"ìä úò ìë"a åéðô"ì ønæ"ìe · äéé@Çäå çáÖ Çî"Ö!ì ïzé!ì · äéi!Öð éLeö"î éXééeà"a äòYé!àÖ

· ïÇîà"a íé!áeú"kä íéXá"c éL"ñ!ò"a · ïÇîâää Çìà"Ö ãçà íÇé 29 10 íééeàY ìàT"×iÖ · ÖCÇç äéä øçî"ì íÇiä ÇúÇà"áe · úÇðeë"z úÇãìÇî"a øÖ#à · úÇðÇa"Öçä · äògä é!ô"ì Çì áé!Öä àeäå · äðÇÖàX àé!ä úÇòÖ änë"a · äðá"lä ï!î Çìà"Ö · ÖcK"ì ïéà · äðá"lä äðÇî äzà äëk í!à øîàå · äð#òè"a åéìà äÖO!ä ïÇîâääå · äòèå ââÖå

ìà eàa íg!îe

äééìôàî :ð äééìôàîî

8

äà"î%hä :÷ [äàîå]èä

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299 The phrasing echoes a well known expression, which entered the Passover Haggadah from Hellenistic popular fiction; see Pines, “From darkness.” 300 After Ps. 138:13. 301 This bishop must almost certainly be identified with Theodosius, bishop of Oria during the reign of Basil I. For further details, see chap. 5 of the introductory essay. 302 The Pedagogue is here a metaphor for Torah (see n. 158 above), a clear allusion to the opposing Christian view referring such attribute to Jesus (the Verb, the pedagogue par excellence) and as such a suitable introductory hint to the story which is about to follow. For further details, see chap. 5 of the introductory essay. 303 “Ought to proclaim” translates ùã÷ì íééåàø according to the usual meaning of ùãåçä ùåãé÷ as a terminus technicus for the official proclamation by the appropriate body of the precise beginning of the new month following the testimony of witnesses that they observed the rise of the new moon.

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Indeed R. Hananel had not correctly assessed the rise of the new . moon,304 the hour at which it should emerge, and the Bishop understood this, for he had already calculated it and knew it. Thus did he [the Bishop] spread his net and would have caught him [R. Hananel] . in his net were it not for the help of the God of his salvation. The Bishop said to him: “Hananel my wise one, if the rise of the new . moon will occur as I have calculated, [you shall] do as I bid and embrace my law, which is in my evangelic book,305 leave your faith and the laws of your Torah and embrace my religion, believe in my faith, my empty doctrine of error. But if it is as you have calculated I will fulfill your wish and I will give you my horse with all its trappings as it was decorated on the day of my elevation to the See, worth three hundred pieces of gold.306 But if you do not wish the horse, take the money in its stead.” And they concluded this agreement between them and resolved to honor all that they had uttered, before the judges and their magistrates and before the Prince who governed them. Then that very night the Bishop ordered men to mount the walls and towers to watch for the exact hour, the very moment of its rising, when a bit of it would appear visible and shining. And R. Hananel, when . he returned to his home estimated the time of the new moon according to his calculation, discovered the error which he had made in his reckoning and his heart became faint and melted within him, and he was left with no spirit in him. He prepared his heart to beseech God his benefactor, the ancient Assistance since the beginning of time, to show him His wonders and rescue him from the depths of this pit.307 He went to his brothers and to all his family and related to them his distress because of the event which had befallen him, so that they should pour out before the Lord their pleading for mercy, perhaps He will hear their cry and perform all His wonders and miracles just as He showed His marvels in Egypt for the sake of his ancestors.308 At

304 “The rise of the new moon” translates ãìåîä, the conventional terminus technicus indicating the precise instant of the appearance of the new moon. 305 éðåéìâ øôñá is a play on evangelion = ïåéìéâ ïååà (cf. Rashi on TB Shab. 116a). 306 According to the data assembled by Morrisson and Cheynet, “Prices and Wages,” 840, between the eighth and tenth centuries the price of a horse could be around twelve nomismata, a figure definitely inferior to the 300 pieces of gold mentioned here. But taking into account the rich trappings which covered the horse in the enthroning ceremony, the figure would seem to make perfect sense.

the chronicle of ahima #az . ïÇîâääå

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ãìÇð àeä øÖ#à äòÖ"a

äéä éìeì

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ãìÇnä ágé!ç àÀ ìàðð#ç §øå

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dðÇa"Öç"a éNa äzà

· ïé!áî äéä · éðÇa"Öç"k ãìÇnä í!à · éðÇî"ëç ìàðð#ç · éðÇîâàä Çì äðòå · ÇúòeÖ"ú éäÀ$à · ÇúT[æ]ò"a áeÖå · ^úTÇú éwå%çîe · ^úðeî$àî àöå · éðÇé"ìb øôñ"a · éðéD"ì áeÖå · éðÇöY ä×#òz ïzàå · ^ðÇöY àlî#à · ^ðÇa"Öç"k àeä í!àå · é!úeòè éì"áä"áe · é!úðeî$à"a ïî#àäå · [é!ú@"ì] 5 · ÇúëéX#ò íé!áeäæ úÇà"î Öì"Ö éî"c · ïwå%ú"î é!ì àq!kä íÇé"a øÖ#à · ïwå%ú"î é!ñeñ ^"ì úà íéiK"ì · íäéðéa íé!àð"zä eì"aéNå · ÇúTeî"z íé!îcä çw!z ñeqa õôç ^ðéà í!àå äe!öå · íäéì#ò ìÖÇnä ørä éð"ô!ìå · íäéðéiAå íé!è"ôÇgä éð"ô!a · íäé!t!î àöé øÖ#à ìk dúòÖ ïéeë"ì · úÇìcâ!nä ìòå äîÇçä ìò íé!Öð#à · úÇì#òì äìélä ÇúÇà"a ïÇîâää ãìÇnä øòé!Ö · Çúéá"ì ÇáeÖ"a ìàðð#ç §øå · dúçéXæe dúié!àY ÷ìçå · dzEìÇî òâW 10 àÀ äîÖðe · ÇaYN"a ñniå · Ça!ì âôiå · Çúá"öN"a ík!qÖ · Çúeòè àöîe · ÇúTé!ô"ñ!a älé!ç"z!nÖ · äðÖiä äTæò ìà · Çáeè ìàå ééé ìà ÖÇøE!ì · Çáá"ì ïé!ëäå · Ça äT"úÇð ìë"ìe åéçà"ì _ìäå · ÇúÇì#òä"ì øÇa éú"kYi!îe · ÇúÇàYä"ì åéúÇà"ì"ôð · äðÇÖàXîe · íúpé!ç"z _Çt"Ö"ì ééé éð"ô!ì · ÇúÇà òUéàÖ ä×#ònä ï!î · ÇúTö íäì øté!ñå · Çz"çt"Ö!î íéU"ö!î"á!k · åéúÇúÇà"áe åéúÇqî"a · åéúÇà"ì"ôð ìë"a ä×#òéå · íúJ#òö ìÇ÷"a òî"Öé éìeà 15 Öà]"a àeäå · äìélä àáe _ÖçÖ"k · åéúÇá#àì ä×òå àé!ì"ô!ä øÖ#à · åéú"ôÇî äàYä ||

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øôñë :1÷ øôñá ìëë :ð ìëá

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ïé!áäå ágé!ç øá"k ãìÇnä

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ïåéìéâä ïî §ð :駧ë íéáåäæ

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é!ú@"ì :÷ éðéãì :ð ¬é§§ë

After Ps. 30:4 (øåá éãøéî éðúééç). The reference to the rescue from Egypt is a recurrent topos in Jewish prayers for salvation in times of distress, typically uttered in phrasings reminiscent of the Passover Haggadah (see n. 299 above). And yet, such a reference was also doomed to impress Christian ears used to motifs present in the Christian Bible, such as the additions to Esther. It must therefore be interpreted keeping in mind all possible intertextual allusions relevant to the dialogical Judeao-Christian confrontation, as suggested by the context of the narrative here. 307 308

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dusk, as the night approached, he climbed up to his roof and looked out on high, towards Him who is worthy of praise and honor, and when the hour of rising arrived and the moon emerged shining, he cried out calling to Him who hears cries, with bitter crying and screaming, weeping and moaning, and addressed Him who resides among the cherubim, who hears the beseeching of His beloved. And these are the words of his prayer to the God of his hope: 30 “Lord and Master of the whole universe, from whom nothing is concealed, my thoughts are revealed before Thee. I did not act wantonly; I have been thoughtless, I have erred, and did what I did by mistake. And now, O God of my praise, let my prayer come before Thee and rise to my assistance, O God of my salvation, pardon my error, pardon the guilt of my sin, may I not see my distress, for death would then be dearer to me than life. Do not destroy the work of Thy hands, do not divert Thy mercy away from Thy servants, overlook offence in the abundance of Thy mercy and benevolence, forgive my iniquity in Thy great benevolence, listen to my prayer and my plea, accept my words and my imploring, my impassioned cry, the outpourings of my plea for mercy, hear my outcry for help, for Thy sake Lord. And I shall elevate You in the assembly of elders and revere You in the assembly of the saints.”309 31 And He Who is enthroned upon the praises,310 listened to the prayers, and the moon disappeared from sight, till the other night it was not visible. Then in the morning he went to receive what was agreed upon, and the Bishop summoned him before all the people and said to him: “You know as well as I that the rise of the new moon was as I had reckoned and as I had calculated, that I have not spoken falsely and have estimated accurately, that I did understand correctly and I was right. But who can subjugate you,311 you who show yourself off blameless before your Master like a son who longingly shows himself

309 See n. 166 above. One has of course to refer the idea to the particular context in which Hananel fulfilled, like his brother, a role of h. azzan-paytan within the community . (as we have seen supra § 2). 310 The wording after Ps. 22:4 (ìàøùé úåìäú áùåé ùåã÷ äúàå).

the chronicle of ahima #az .

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· äçé!î"vä úòÖ òébä"áe · älåHbäå çágä Çì é!î"ì · äì"òî"ì äôÇö äéäå · äìò Çbb · äçåå"ö!áe øWî"a · äJò"ö òîÇÖ éð"t · äJòæ!a ÷òö àeäå · äçéXæ!äå äàa äðá"läå · Çúlé!ô"ú!a øîà ïëå · íé!áé!á#ç úK#òö òîÇÖä · íé!áeø"k ø@"ì älé!çå · äçð#àå äéé"ëé!á"a :Çz"ìçÇú éäÀ$à éð"t · íì$òð àÀ ^"n!î øác ìk · íìÇòä ìk ìò ïÇãà ìà 30 5 · é!úé!×ò ïÇãæ"a àÀ é!k · é!z"áÖ#çî äééeìb ^éðô"ì · é!úé!×ò é!úââ!Ö"áe · é!úé!òèå é!z"ìkz"ñðå · é!úl!ô"z ^éðô"ì àð ìt!z · é!úlé!ä"ú éäÀ$à äzòå · é!úòeÖ"ú éäÀ$à · é!úTæò"ì äîe÷å · é!úàhç ïÇ#ò àð à×å · é!úââ!Ö ìò íçp!äå 10 · é!úÇî áÇè éiçî é!k · é!úTö"a äàYà ìàå · ^éCáòî óWz ìà ^"c"ñçå · ^éCé ×òî ãaà"z ìàå · ^éCñ#ç ìCÇâ"k éðÇå#òì àð çì"ñe · ^éCñ#çå ^éî#çU úcé!î"k òÖt ìò øÇá#òå · ééð#òî ïçúå é!çé!× ìaKå · ééðeð#çúå é!úlé!ô"z äðéæ#àäå é · é é ^ðòî"ì é!úòåÖ òî"Öe · ééðepé!ç _ôÖå é!úÖâX úK#òöå 15 :íé!ÖÇãO ãÇñ"a _öéX#òàå · íé!Öé!Öé ãòåå"a ^#à"rð#àå äìélä ãò

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äú#àYð àÀ úWçàä

· é!úTé!ô"ñ ïÇa"Öç"áe · é!úá"öéN"a äéä ãìÇnäÖ · é!úÇî"k òBÇé äzà Çì øîàå äzàå · ^[ðé]â#òä"ì ìëeé é!î ìá#à · é!úàöî úî$àå · é!zðáéä ïëå · é!z"ágé!ç äôéå · é!z"áfé!k 20 àÀ éð#àå

^ðéâ#òä"ì :÷ êúâòäì :ð ¬é§§ë ê[ðé]âòäì

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éúáöé÷ë :1÷ éúáöé÷á

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311 Although the reading appears quite corrupted, the proposed amendment seems almost certain. The root ïâò, frequently employed in rabbinical Hebrew to characterize the situation of a deserted married woman (äðåâò), conveys the sense of both, helpless subjection and distress.

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blameless by prostrating himself before his father?”312 And he gave him three hundred pieces of gold, and he [Hananel] distributed them . among the poor and the miserable, to his own house he did not bring even one. And his brothers and friends gathered together and gave praise and thanksgiving to the One God Who saves His servants from distress, Who delivered them from darkness unto light,313 Who is their assistance at all times and an eternal shield and asylum for His people. 32 I shall relate the episode that I put aside, which I wrote above in part,314 of Tophilo who failed sinfully and was sentenced to death by strangulation. When he was brought out to be strangulated all the people came out at the sound of the scream,315 and the Prince of the city pounced upon them and the crowd dispersed from him. And he said to him: “If you will quit [your] faith and convert to believe in our faith, I will save you from unnatural death.” Then he bowed his head before him [the Prince] for he [Tophilo] cared about his life316 and at once he had him carried and brought to his palace.317 Later, they investigated the matter and found that he stood steadfast in the faith of the Hebrews.318 Then he said to him: “I helped you, I delivered you from the hands of the executioners, I rescued you from death, but you have deceived me and made a mockery of me. I shall inflict tortures upon you, dreadful and cruel, unnatural and foul.” He commenced thrashing him, beating him with cruel blows, cut off his hands and did the same to his legs, put him in prison and there made him miserable. Another Jew was with him, who lifted up his eyes towards God—he brought him his food and drink every day, and if he did not have any, he brought him of his own,319 and served him devotedly for an entire year. On the eve of Yom Kippur, when the sins of the People of God 312 The wording unmistakably recalls the rebuke of Rabbi Shimon ben Shatah to . Honi ha-Me#agel, who took advantage of his privileged nature of virtuoso and inap. propriately “forced” God to cause rain during a year of severe drought (M Ta. 3, 8): Shimon b. Shatah. sent him a message: If you were not Honi I would have excommu. nicated you. But what can I do? You implore God as a child implores his father and makes what he [the son] desires—éåãéð êéìò éðøæåâ äúà éðåç àìîìà çèù ïá ïåòîù åì çìù

åì äùåòå åéáà ìò àèçúî àåäù ïáë êðåöø êì äùåòå íå÷îä éðôì àèçúî äúàù êì äùòà äî ìáà åðåöø. Thus the text ambiguously conveys the sense of improperly taking advantage of

one’s saintly nature, quite akin to improper use of magic Names, that we have already seen as a characteristic trait of Hananel (supra § 27). And as noted (chap. 5 of the . introductory essay), viewed from the standpoint of the “economy” of punishment and reward, such actions would be considered a “waste” of merits and consequent postponement of the reward expected by a virtuous community.

the chronicle of ahima #az . úÇà"î Öì"Ö Çì ïúðå

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· íé!òeâ"òâ"a àhç"ú!î ïá"k · ^ðÇ÷"a àhç"ú!î eö"aéNå · [ãçà íäî] àé!áä àÀ Çúéá"ìe · íé!áeì#òìå íéið#òì íðúð àeäå · íé!áeäæ · äTv!î åé@á#ò ìé!vnä · ãçåé"nä ìàì äé@Çäå çáÖ eð"úðå · ãçé eã#òÇðå åéá#äÇàå åéçà :äT"ú!ñå ïâî Çnò"ì äìñå · äTæò"ì í[ä]ì àeä úò ìë"áe · äTÇà"ì äìéôàî íàé!öÇäå ·

íé!òeté!Ö"a åé!áà éð"ô!ì

· ÇðÇå#òa ìÖkÖ Çìé!ôÇz!î · é!z"áúk äì"òî"ì úöO!î øÖ#à · é!z"çpé!äÖ ä×#ònä øàá#à 32 5 íäéì#ò øé!òä ø×å · äJò"vä ìÇ÷"ì eà"öé íòä ìk · äJéð#çì àöé"ëe · Çðé!c øîâð ÷ðç"áe eðéúðeî$à"a áeÖúå · äðeî$àä ï!î àöz í!à Çì øîàå · õôð åéìòî ïÇîääå · õôJ · ÇÖ"ôð ìò ñç é!k · ÇÖà] Çì óôk àeäå · äpå%Ö"î äúé!n!î ^"ìé!và · äðé!î#àä"ì úðeî$àá ïÇëð eäeàö"îe · íéXá"cä úà eøOç øçàå · Çàé!á#äì ÇðÇîYà"ìe · Çà×ð ãi!îe · ^é!z"ìv!ä úånä ï!îe · ^é!z"çK"ì íé!zî"îä ãi!îe · ^é!zYæ#ò éð#à Çì áé!Öäå · íéX"á!òä 10 · íéXæ"ëàå íé!òT · íéXeqéé"a ^Yqéé#à éð#à · äz[âòì] épn!îe · äz"áfé!k éìà äzàå øÖ#à åé@é õvKéå · ÇúÇkä"ì úeiXæ"ëàå èeaé!ç"áe · ÇúÇ÷"ìä"ì ìé!ç"ú!ä · íéXeë#òå íépå%Ö"î · Çn!ò éDeäé øçàå · Çîbé!ò än[Ö]å · Çî× íéXeñ#àä úéá"áe · åéìâU"ì ä×ò ïëå · åéìò àeä · Çì äéä àÀ í!àå · Çì"öà àé!áî íÇé ìë"a · Çìë#àîe eäz"Ö!î · Çðéò à×ð ìà ìà · íéXeté!kä íÇé áWò"áe · äîé!î"ú äðÖ Çì úàÀ"î ãò · äî"öò"a Çãá#òå · Çlg!î àé!áî 15 çlñå :1÷ äìñå

:駧ë

äî[ù]å

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íäì :÷ íëì :ð ¬é§§ë í[ä]ì

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ãçà íäî :÷ íäî ãçà :ð ¬é§§ë [ãçà íäî]

äzâòì :÷ äúòâì :ð ¬é§§ë äú[âòì]

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íé!úé!î"nä :÷ íéúéîîä :1÷ íéúîîä

änÖå :÷ äîéòå

See § 28 above. § 8. 315 The meaning is unclear, probably on purpose. The wording simultaneously conveys the idea of the town crier announcing the execution and of people screaming around the man about to be executed. 316 Cf. Jon. 4:10–11. 317 The Prince acts according to the expected behavior vis-à-vis the converted, i.e., granting material compensation. 318 I.e., he lived as a crypto-Jew. The point has been aptly stressed by Yassif, “Legend and History”: 194–195. 319 From the wording it is clear that prisoners were provided with food from outside. See also see chap. 5 of the introductory essay. 313 314

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are atoned, he brought him drink and food and he, the Jew, dined with him. He [Tophilo] had a young320 daughter and he said to him: “Go and bring witnesses and I will betroth her to you.” He replied: “You, sir, are a man of consequence and I am one of the wretched; if your family were to hear [of this] they would tear me up like a fish.”321 To this he answered: “No man governs my house and no man has authority over my daughter not even the members of my family, only I have that power.”322 He went and fetched three witnesses and in their presence he betrothed his daughter and said to him: “Go forth from me in peace for from this day on you will not find me.” After the fast he [the son-in-law] sought him and looked for him in the prison, but could not find him dead or alive, for God concealed him. God will pardon his sins and forgive him all his transgressions. May his soul rest among His treasures.323 33 Once R. Shephatiah was passing through the square of the city. It was nighttime and he heard a wailing sound in one house, of a friend of his who was co-parent with him,324 and he heard a woman speaking, talking with her companion, the one above saying to the other below:325 “Sister take the child, receive him, and you and I together we will eat him.” And he gave ear to her speech and listened to her words and suddenly went to her and took the child from her hands. These women were not daughters of human beings but demons326 which move by night. He brought the child to his home and showed him to his wife and they recognized him, and he hid him in his bedroom. His327 father and mother shrieked all the night, weeping and wailing they moaned, with a bitter cry they screamed, and in the morning they brought him to the graveyard and buried him.328 When they returned from the cemetery and went up to their house, R. Shephatiah came to them to see them, as is the custom of the comforters who comfort

320 “Young” translates äðè÷, which is a terminus technicus for a girl less than twelve years old, for whom the father was entitled to carry out the legal practices of betrothal. 321 The idiom is taken from TB Pes. 47b. 322 This is the most straightforward assertion of patria potestas! See chap. 4 of the introductory essay. 323 I.e., in God’s storehouse of souls, under His Throne of Glory. 324 åúéøá­ìòá. For the social role of co-parents in medieval Jewish practice, see chap. 4 of the introductory essay.

the chronicle of ahima #az .

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· ìëà Çn!ò éDeäiä àeäå · ìë#àîe äz"Ö!î Çì àé!áä · íéX"tk"ú!î Ça ééé íò úÇðÇå#òÖ ï!î éðÇã#à äzà Çì äðò · äpð"zà ^"ì é!k íéDò àáäå _ì Çì øîàå · äpèO úçà úa Çì àeäå · eòTOé â@"k é!úÇà · eòî"Öé ^"z"çt"Ö!î í!à · íé!áeì#òä ï!î ãçà éð#àå · íé!áeÖ#çä í!à­é!k · é!z"çt"Ö!î éð"á!ì àÀå · é!úéá"a úeÖY í@à"ì ïéàå · é!úéá"a ìÖÇî Öé!à ïéà äðò íÇìÖ"ì _ì Çì øîàå · dÖ"céN íäéð"ô!ì Çz!áe · äÖì"Ö íéDò àé!áäå _ìä · é!úeÖY!a ãá"ì 5 · ÇÖ"wé!a íéXeñ#àä úéá"áe · ÇÖY@"ì _ìä íÇvä øçàå · é!úÇà àö"î!z àÀ íÇiänÖ · é!z!àî ìò Çì øtëéå · åéúÇðÇ#ò Çì ìÇç"îé íé!äÀ$àäå · Çæðb íé!äÀ$àä é!k · Çæç#à úî àÀå éç àÀ :åéúÇø"öÇà"a ÇÖ"ôð çeðúå · åéúÇàhç ìk äéäå

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äéä äìéì äògä äúÇàå úWaA"î äg!à òîÖå

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äé"èô"Ö §ø øáÇò äéä úçà íòt Çúé!î#ò ãçà úéá"a

úWîÇà äì"òî"lÖ úçàä

eäéì"ëàð ãçé"a "zàå éð#àå

äéCi!î ãìiä çKìå

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úWtñ"î dzYá#çì

eäé!ì"aKå ãìiä [é]!çO

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äéìelé!î

· Çúéá"ì _é!ìÇä ãìiäå · íéX"áÇò äìéla øÖ#à · íéXé!ò"× eéä í!à é!k · íé!Öð#àä äi!ë"á!a · eçYö äìélä ìk Çn!àå åé!áàå · Çúhé!î øA#ça Çæðâe · ÇúÇà eøé!k!äå · Çz"Ö!à"ì 15 · eäeøáOe úÇøá"wä úéá"a · eäeëé!ìÇä øMÇaáe · eçååö äTî äJòæ!áe · eçðà äììéå âäð!î"k · íúÇàY!ì íäéì#à _ìä äé"èô"Ö §øå · íúéá"ì eìòå úÇøá"wäî íáeÖ"a äéäå eäàYäå

é!çO :÷ ç÷ :ð ¬é§§ë [é]ç÷

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éì :ð åì

7 [??] éz!ë"a :1÷ éúéáá 4

325 As will be indicated shortly, the women whom R. Shephatiah heard talking, presumably near the bed of a dead child, were demons. Hence “the one above” should probably be understood as incubus, and the “one below” as succubus. 326 The Hebrew term íéøéòù (pl. of øéòù) can perhaps imply a connection with the she-demon Lilith (cf. Isa. 34:14), widely believed to be responsible for the death of male children. 327 I.e., of the child. 328 As will become clear below, they buried what they believed was their child’s body, though in fact it was a sack filled with something else.

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the bereaved,329 and taking their words as starting point330 he inquired about their offspring, what illness had stricken him and what malady had plagued him. And they answered him: “Our lord, till the evening he sat among us and dined with us at the table and we went and lay down on our beds and when we awoke from our slumber we found him dead among us.331 All night we cried out and mourned and wailed, lamenting and grieving, and in the morning we went and buried him in his ancestral tomb, near his forefathers.”332 Then he answered them, to delight their souls: “Thus I say to you, I do not agree with what you say, lead me yourselves to his grave, where you buried him, for your son is not in the grave, he is still alive, and I will bring him to your home, alive and well with the aid of my God will I restore him to you.” And they went to the grave and searched there and found nothing but a broom333 with which334 people use to sweep the house. Then R. Shephatiah returned to his house with them and related to them the whole episode that had occurred and returned the child to them. And they gave praise to He who listens to prayers, to the Lord who answers [the prayers of] the Jews and restores the spirit.335 34 R. Shephatiah had a daughter who was very beautiful, lovely, and of pleasant disposition. Her name was Cassia and he adored her with love and affection. Her father wanted to find her a match, but her mother did not want her to marry. And everyone who sent [a negotiator] to take her,336 her mother would talk to him persuasively saying: “My daughter is a woman of consequence337 and her father is a

See chap. 5 of the introductory essay. I.e., he waited in silence, as is appropriate according to the custom, until the mourning parents said something which could be developed into words of solace. 331 The sequence of events, as related in the narrative, indicates almost unmistakably that the boy did sleep with the parents in the same bed, as in fact was customary during the Middle Ages. The involvement of the she-demons in the story may therefore imply (repressed) hints of guilt—either of infanticide or sexual sin, or even both. If so, the denouement of the story would be a kind of apologetic statement, similar to the miracle purported to have prevented R. Shephatiah from desecrating the Sabbath upon returning from his diplomatic mission to Sawdan in Bari. 332 I.e., in the family tomb, possibly similar to those discovered in the catacombs of Venosa and Rome. 333 For the folkloristic image, see chap. 4 of the introductory essay. 334 äîò, feminine, following the Latin or Italian (scopa). 335 As perceptively suggested by Colafemmina, Sefer Yuhasin, 136, it would not be . unreasonable to read in the wording áéùî çåøäå a veiled allusion to 2 Sam. 12:23 329 330

the chronicle of ahima #az . äéä é!ìå(ç äî

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· änÖ àè#à"èî í!à é!k eà"öî àÀå · änÖ e×"té!çå øáwä ìà eë"ìäå · epð"zà øté!ñ òUéà øÖ#à ä×#ònä ìëå · íän!ò áÖ Çúéa ìà äé"èô"Ö §øå · dn!ò íé!è#àè"î · áé!ÖOî íéDeäiä ìà"ì · áé!ÖOî úÇlé!ô"ú!ì çáÖ eð"úðå · áé!Öä íäì ãìiäå · íäì 10 :áé!gî çeøäå àTOð äàé!qkå

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(åáéùäì ìëåàä—“Can I bring him back again?”), the biblical narrative dealing with the death of the child of David and Bathsheva. Although ambiguously, the allusion would thus be consistent with and reinforce the apologetic stance: unlike King David, whose deliverance from the sin of adultery could appear debatable, notwithstanding the straightforward traditional forgiveness, the undeclared yet not definitely indisputable sin of Shephatiah’s friends was appropriately declared non-existent by the boy’s restoration to life. 336 The wording alludes to the Talmudic passage in TB Kid. 2a, where betrothal by means of money is construed by analogical reasoning as connecting between Abraham’s “taking,” i.e., purchasing, the field of Efron (Gen. 23:13; 25:10) and a man’s “taking,” i.e., marrying, a woman (Deut. 22:13), as well as to the practice of proposing the match through the services of a mediating negotiator (ïëãù—a matchmaker in modern usage). See also chap. 4 of the introductory essay. 337 äáåùç äùà—the idiom is quite recurrent in rabbinic literature; cf., for instance, TB Shab. 59b; TB Pes. 108a, and more.

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great man;338 if he339 will not find one like him, I will not give her out. [Only] if he will be like her father, [learned] in Torah, in Mishnah, in Scripture, in Law and Logic,340 in Sifri and Sifra,341 in Midrash and in Gemarah,342 in meticulous observance of minor and major commandments,343 in intelligence and wisdom,344 in astuteness and cunning,345 in wealth and grandeur,346 in courage and exercise of authority regarding the observance of the precepts and commandments,347 in fearfulness and humbleness,348 and that he have every [other] virtue.”349 35 One night R. Shephatiah stood to give praise, as was his custom to pray,350 to utter the greatness of God, to set up351 praises and hymns, to compose kedushoth and hymns, to compose tehinnoth,352 to implore before God, to chant melodiously, in the shade of God to reside,353 with sweet hymns before He who rides the clouds,354 to properly direct his prayers to the throne of God, whose might endures, to trust and rely upon the Lord who dwells in Heaven, to glorify His magnificence in Heaven with praise of commandments and precepts, He the Creator of the earth,

338 àáø àøáâ—this idiom is also recurrent in rabbinic literature; cf., for instance, TB Ber. 19b; TB Shab. 3b, and more. 339 I.e., her father (as suggested by Klar, Chronicle, 146, contra Salzman and Colafemmina, who eluded the question: Salzman: “if we do not find”; Colafemmina: “Se non troverò”). Although the mother was actually the one who felt responsible for the appropriate match, as the text unmistakably makes clear, she would not contest the validity of the hierarchical structure of the family, according to which the task of carrying out the match belonged to the pater familias. And see further chaps. 3 and 4 of the introductory essay. 340 äøáñáå äëìäá, i.e., proficiency in the two basic components of Talmudic expertise: knowledge of the textual normative tradition and sharp skillfulness in reasoning. 341 These two works, on Numbers and Deuteronomy respectively, are here listed apart by virtue of the fact that they contain material almost entirely halakhic, and as such deserve to be separated from the mainly aggadic sources covered by the generic term midrashim. 342 R. Shephatiah is here portrayed as a perfect Talmudist. However his skill as a paytan will also be stressed in the anecdote that follows. 343 The utterance (after M Avot 2, 1 and 2) has become a standard terminus technicus to indicate strict observance of the commandments, no matter how important or insignificant they may appear “for no one can know what the retribution for the observance of a commandment can be.” 344 Though it is not impossible that the Hebrew words here translated as “intelligence and wisdom” (äðéáå äîëç) may allude to esoteric wisdom, as suggested by Salzman, the plain meaning, as formulated in Prov 4:5 (Get wisdom get intelligence—äð÷ äîëç äð÷ äðéá) where (v. 4) it is directly associated with the observance of the commandments (just mentioned with reference to Shephatiah) is preferable.

the chronicle of ahima #az . àÀ ÇúÇî"k í!à äëì#äa

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äaU àT"áb äé!áàå

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· äöeçä äpàé!öÇà àÀ · àö"îé · äî"ëç"áe äðé!á"a · äTeî#çå älK"a · àTîâ!áe äÖTE!a · àT"ôé!ñå éV"ôé!ñ"áe · äTá"ñ!áe äàYé"a · äå"ö!î"áe íé!wå%ç"a · äìÖ"îîe õîÇà"a · älåHâ!áe øÖÇò"a · äîYò"áe úòA"a :äáÇè äcé!î ìk Ça äé"äiÖå · äåð#òå 5 ·

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· ìlî"ì ééé úUeáb · ìlt"ú!ä"ì Çâäð!î"k · ìlä"ì ãîò äé"èô"Ö §ø · ìéì ãçà"a äéäå 35 · ïpç"ú!ä"ì ìà éð"ô!ì · ïpç"ì úÇpé!ç"z · ìlô"ì úÇøé!Öå úÇgåHO · ìlë"ì úÇøé!Öå úÇça"Öå%z ÷éæ#çä"ì · úÇáT#ò áëÇø"ì · úÇáéV#ò úÇøé!Ö"a · ïðÇì"ú!ä"ì écÖ ì[ö]"a · ïpU"ì äT"îæ"a · ïÇòn[a] øc ìà"ì · ïÇò"Ö!ìå ç&è"á!ìå · ïÇëna ÇúTeáâe · ïÇëð Çà"ñ!k úàUO!ì · ïÇk!ìå ìöà äëåøà äøòä äàøå) ïåòîá :ð ïåòî :駧ë ïåòî[á]

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345 “Astuteness and cunning” in the observance of the commandments are the prominent characteristics of the saintly image of Hasidey Ashkenaz, possibly inherited from the . ideology cherished by the Jews of southern Italy, as we have suggested in chap. 1 of the introductory essay. 346 As discussed in chap. 3 of the introductory essay, “wealth and grandeur” were among the traditional characteristics of the ideal Jewish leader. 347 “Courage” translates here the Hebrew õîåà, the necessary trait of leaders (cf. inter alia Deut. 31:7; 1 Chr. 28:20), actually exercising authority to impose upon their “flock” the ordinances required by the circumstances. In later periods such traits would characterize the image of the perfect rabbi; see Bonfil, “Le savoir et le pouvoir.” 348 “Fearfulness and humbleness” would therefore constitute the most essential virtues of the perfect leader, for they would safeguard him from improper exercise of authority. 349 Beyond the above-mentioned ones. 350 Though it is not impossible that the text may allude to some midnight ritual, it seems more plausible that the allusion is to composition of hymns, i.e., R. Shephatiah is described as seeking nocturnal inspiration for his compositions, following in the footsteps of King David, the royal hymnographer par excellence. 351 ììëì may subtly play on a double meaning, for besides to set up, to make a whole, to combine it also means to prepare a bridal room (see Jastrow, Dictionary, s.v.). Thus, the author may be insinuating that although Shephatiah’s intention was to commit himself to prayer, that night he was distracted by the sight of his grownup daughter and ultimately arranged for her bridal room. 352 ïðçì úåðéçú means to compose the unique hymns that Gen. Rab. called úåðéçú. 353 After Ps. 91:1. 354 Ps. 68:5.

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who resides in the heavens, with the laws of delight,355 He who formed the firmaments, with the two days Law,356 He whose voice is on the waters and His glory on high.357 And his daughter got out of her bed and stood before him in a dressing gown, to attend to him and pour water for the washing of his hands.358 And he looked and he saw that the pomegranates were in bloom,359 that her time and her moment had come to mate. He completed his prayer and then returned to his wife to demean her with curses, to humiliate her. He spoke to her harshly to reinforce his arguments: “I have a pure dove, absolutely perfect, the time for love has come for her, to be a crown unto her husband and my brother is seeking her for Hassadiah his son360 to be . with her. But I have heeded your voice and have found no arrangement for her, I have overlooked what is written in the Scripture,361 I have transgressed the words of the rabbis.”362 In the morning when he left his house, going down363 to pray in the synagogue, he summoned R. Hananel his brother, and he came to him hastily, and uttered: “It is . my will, my desire, and my delight to give my daughter to Hassadiah .

355 An allusion to the midrash according to which God created the world while looking into the Torah, called the delight of God (cf. Gen. Rab. 1). This is the same midrash in which the Torah is called Pedagogue (see nn. 132 and 301 above), all these being different ways of understanding ïåîà, which, as we have seen, is apax. 356 The “two days Law” is the Torah which, according to the midrash, antedated the creation of the world by “two days” (cf. Lev. Rab. 19) of God, i.e., two thousand years (cf. Ps. 90:4). 357 Ps. 93:4. 358 One who awakes must wash his hands ritually. At first glance, the girl is thus represented as fulfilling a filial duty of attending her father. And yet, the sexual hints of the scene could hardly go unnoticed by our author’s audience. First of all, as was the case of the boy abducted by the she-demons in the previous section, it appears that the girl was also sleeping in the parental bed. Second, pouring water for the ritual purification of Shephatiah’s hands should have been his wife’s duty, unless one assumes that she was impeded by menstrual uncleanness (cf. TB Ket. 4b: All kinds of work which a wife performs for her husband, a menstruant may perform for her husband, except for the mixing of the cup and the making of the bed and the washing of his face, his hands and his feet—ñåëä úâéæîî õåç äìòáì äùåò äãð äìòáì äùåò äùàù úåëàìî ìë åéìâøå åéãé åéðô úöçøäå äèîä úòöäå), a situation that would a fortiori preclude proper sexual relationship, alluded to by the term äëàìî that is heavily loaded with sexual meaning in rabbinical biblical exegesis (see Gen. 39:11 and the comment in TB Sot. 36b). In other words, the image of the innocent girl attending her father in place of the presumably prevented wife could convey a number of associations of ideas ranging from simple factual observation to sexual perversion. And see further chap. 4 of the introductory essay.

the chronicle of ahima #az . ïëÇÖ"ì

· íé!ìeáæ!a ÇzYà"ô!ú"ì · íé!ìelé!ä"a øcä"ì · íénä ìò ÇìÇ÷ ø[é]!cà"ì · íéîÇé úUÇú"a · íé!òéNY ïðÇë"ì · íé!òeÖ#òÖ éú@"a · íéNç"Ö Çì úÇ×#òì · ä@"îò ãçà ÷eìç"a Çcâð"ìe · ä@Yé äh!nä ï!î Çz!áe · íéîgä ìò ÇãÇá"ëe úòä dì eòéb!äå · íéðÇnX eöéðéäÖ äàTå èé!a!äå · äë"ôÖ"ì åé@é úìé!èð"ì íéîe · äëàì"î úÇììO!a · Çz"Ö!à"ì áÖ øçàå · Çúlé!ô"z íé!ì"Ö!äå ãîò · íéDÇã"a ñlò"ú!ä"ì · íépîfäå 5 äðÇé é!ì Öé · úÇÖOä"ì åéTî#à úeãòå · úÇÖJ äéìà øaéDå · äô"që"ì äéðôe · dôYç"ì é!çàå · dì#òá"ì úWè#ò úÇé"ä!ì · dì eòéb!ä íéDÇc úòå · äîé!î"z dlå%k àé!äå · änú · é!úàöî àÀ dì äçeð"îe · é!z"òîÖ _ìÇ÷"ì éð#àå · dì"öà úÇé"ä!ì Çð"a äéEñ#çì · dìà"Ö ìà · Çúàö"a Çúéa!î øM&aa · é!zYáò íé!îë#ç éV"á!c"áe · é!z"ëñç àTO!na áeúkäå [ò]é!a!äå · äTä"î!a õT åéìà àeäå · àTJ åé!çà ìàðð#ç §ø"ì · ÇzEX"a ìlt"ú!ä"ì úñð"kä 10 ·

íéNT#à ãñÇé"ì

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íé!wå%çå úÇ"ö!î"a

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359 After Song of Sol. 6:11 and 7:13, a metaphor implying that the girl had already reached sexual maturity. 360 Hassadiah b. Hananel is mentioned by Shabbetai Donnolo among the learned . . and pious rabbis slain in 925 during the sack of Oria (see chap. 2 of the introductory essay) as “the great and righteous man … related to us through my grandfather rabbi Joel” (Donnolo, Sefer Hakhmoni, Preface, 3). On the basis of this detail, Joshua Starr alleged a totally unwarranted line of ascendance linking Ahima#az to Donnolo (see his . reconstruction of the family tree in Starr, Jews in the Byzantine Empire, 116). Besides the lack of substantiating evidence for such a contention, it stands to reason that Ahima#az . would not have undermined the figure of this man in recording the condescendence of Shefatiah to the marriage with Cassia and the difference in socio-cultural status between the families of Shephatiah and Hananel, as he actually did. . 361 As already pointed out by Klar, the allusion is to Job 5:25 as commented upon by TB Yev. 62b: úã÷ôå êìäà íåìù éë úòãéå øîåà áåúëä åéìò ï÷øôì êåîñ [åéúåðá úà] ïàéùîä àèçú àìå êåð—Of him who marries off [his daughters] near the period of their puberty, Scripture says: “And thou shalt know that thy tent is in peace.” Note the allusions to unspecified sin. 362 The allusion is to TB Pes. 113a: äì ïúå êãáò øøçù äøâá êúá—If your daughter has attained puberty, free your slave and give [him] to her. 363 The wording may allude to the topographical location of the synagogue of Oria, as further substantiated by later pointing out that the way back to Shephatiah’s home was äéìòá (“uphill”). It can, however, also allude to the role of Shephatiah as h. azzan of the community according to the frequently used rabbinical idiom äáéúä éðôì ãøé; cf. for instance TB Shab. 24b: äáéúä éðôì ãøåé øåáéö çéìù—The reader / representative of the congregation descends before the desk. On this matter, see further chap. 4 of the introductory essay.

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your son, for it is best that I give her to him.”364 And Rabbi Hananel in . such great humility went down on his knees before him.365 When they completed the prayers, he summoned the whole congregation, went up366 with them to his house, and engaged his daughter to R. Hassadiah . the son of R. Hananel the brother of R. Shephatiah. And R. Amittai . the brother of the excellent367 bride, composed the yotzer incipit Adon Maggid Me-Reshit Aharit 368 in her honor, to ornate, decorate, and crown her betrothal, when they were both joined together, the bride with the groom. 36 And R. Shephatiah was old,369advanced in years, and God had blessed him370 with all the virtues of the beloved.371 He who dwells on high bestowed upon him learning, made him great in wealth and grand assets, strengthened372 him with a son, decent and perfect.373 Father and 375 was at one with them in son were found faultless374 and R. Hananel . consequence and perfection. They held an enduring fear of God, as brothers and cherishing ones, made beloved by their cherishing [the precepts],376 for ever engaging in Torah and commandments, fulfilling the precepts of the Lord with love, exalting their King in power and glory, bestowing upon their Maker much majesty and magnificence, adorning their Creator with crown, wreath, and diadem, giving strength and might to their Creator,377 going late in the evening and

364 Hinting at Gen. 29:19, this clearly alludes that the groom was held in low consideration by Shephatiah. 365 Further allusion to the lower social standing of the groom’s family. 366 See n. 362 above. 367 The Hebrew word translated as excellent (äìì"ë%î) is also used by Amittai in his hymn (l. 49). 368 This yotzer has suvived, and may be found in Schirmann, Selection of Hebrew Poetry in Italy, 5–8, in Klar, Chronicle, 33–34, and in Yonah David’s edition of Amittai’s poems, Amittai ben Shephatiah. The Songs of Amittai, 46–52. 369 The wording, quite frequent in the Bible (cf., for instance, Gen. 24:1) almost naturally calls for a comparison with the biblical image of Abraham. As will shortly become clear, the comparison implies a wealth of subtle allusions both to the preeminence of the patriarch as well as to some of the problematic and ambivalent trials he had to overcome. 370 Cf. Gen. 24:1. 371 As in § 8, the textual allusion to 2 Sam 1:23 conveys the idea of the ideal excellent man. 372 ïñç is the Aramaic equivalent of õîà (see Jastrow, Dictionary, s.v.). In hymnography it is attested in the piyyut incipit òøæ áàì àø÷ðä (in fact the second part of the one incipit

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· íé!î"vò"î íðÇ÷"ì ø@äå ãÇä · íé!î["î]Çø"î ík"ìî"ì äTà"ô!úå æÇò · íé!îéiK"î íé!áéX#òî älé!ô"zä ãòåå"a · íé!îeö#òúå æÇò íéð"úÇð íT"öÇé"ì · íé!îé!z"ëî íàYÇá"ì äTè#òå øúëå øæðå

íéîúáå :ð íéîåçáå 駧ë íéîå[ú]áå

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øòåðî êòãé áà included in the Mahzor according to the Italian and Spanish rites—see . Davidson, Thesaurus, 1:4, # 47 à,) with reference to Abraham, in the same way as here. By assuring the continuity of the family chain, the birth of a male child constitutes a concrete strengthening of the pater familias. 373 As pointed out in chap. 3 of the introductory essay, cultural excellence, wealth, and kinship were the prerequisites for a man intending to stand up and claim a role of leadership among his fellows. The son alluded to here is, of course, Amittai. 374 Both the wording and the concept are also attested about Abraham in the midrash, meaning that he successfully underwent God’s trial. See, for instance, Sifri, Deut. 349 (íìù àöîðå åúéñéð úåðåéñð äáøä—You tested him by many tests and he was found to be perfect [Translation mine—R.B.]) and Book of Josippon, ed. Flusser, vol. 1, ch. 24, 1:35 (íìù àîöðå ïçåá—was tested and was found to be perfect [Translation mine—R.B.]), and Flusser’s note in situ. 375 As we have seen (§ 35), Hananel was Shephatiah’s brother, the father of Hassadiah, . Cassia’s spouse, and great-great-grandfather of Ahima#az. . 376 The wording seems to hint that they cherished the religious precepts (cf. TB Shab. 130a: äååöî éáåáç íåùî) as will become clear further on. 377 All these acts should be understood as a sequence of mystical influences upon the Divinity resulting from prayer.

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early in the morning to the place of prayer.378 They wept in anguish over the exile and the destruction [of the Sanctuary],379 and for the forced conversion380 they wailed bitterly and desolately all their lives.381 They cried and implored Him who answers the wise, by whose knowledge the depths burst apart,382 who established and founded rivers and seas,383 to thwart the intentions of the enemy and render his kingdom desolate. 37 They beseeched wisdom from He who abounds in mercy,384 to blunt and obstruct the forcible conversion. Due to the cry they cried out to He who is exalted above all the exalted,385 the decree did not cross the seas,386 He saved His servants who faithfully observed His precepts387 from defilement and contamination and from the polluted waters,388 from bowing down to the deaf and the dumb,389 from worshiping the blind and sightless, from prostrating before statues and icons. And He thundered out against their enemies with the sound of thunder, wreaking wrath and fury on their haters and persecutors, and spirited his devotees away from those who rose up against them,

378 The idea appears quite frequently in rabbinical thought as a symbol of constant pious behavior that will be adequately rewarded by God in the world to come (cf., for instance, Avoth de-Rabbi Nathan 12:10: éúáìå úåéñðë éúáì íéáéøòîå íéîéëùîù íãà éðá àáä íìåòì ïëøáî 䧧á÷ä úåùøãî—God rewards in the world to come those who come early to and stay late in synagogues and bathei midrash [Translation mine—R.B.]) or, perhaps even more, of the perseverance of the Jews in remaining faithful to their God notwithstanding the repeated blows inflicted upon them (cf., for instance, Gen. Rab. 98, 3). When the Patriarch Jacob was departing from the world, he called his twelve sons and said to them … “Maybe in your hearts ye wish to break away from the Holy One, blessed be He?” “Hear, O Israel (Deut. 6:4) our father,” replied they; as there is no desire in thy heart to break away from God, so is there none in our hearts, but “ ‘The Lord is our God, the Lord is One’ (ibid.) … In consequence of that Israel declare every day, morning and evening, “ ‘Hear, O Israel’ our ancestor from the cave of Machpelah [where thou liest buried]: what thou didst bid us we still practise, for ‘The Lord is our God, the Lord is one’ ”—øîà åéðá øùò íéðùì àø÷ íìåòä ïî øèôð åðéáà á÷òé äéäù äòùá ú÷åìçî êáìá ïéàù íùë åðéáà ìàøùé òîù åì åøîà 䧧á÷ä ìò ú÷åìçî íëááìá ùé àîù … íäì íéáéøòîå íéîéëùî ìàøùéù àåä àãä … ãçà §ä åðéäìà §ä àìà ú÷åìçî åðáìá ïéà êë 䧧á÷ä ìò

åðéäìà §ä åðá âäåð àåä ïééãò åðúéåöù øáã åúåà äìôëîä úøòîî åðéáà ìàøùé òîù íéøîåàå íåé ìëá ãçà §ä [Translation follows Soncino Midrash Rabba]. This would be a quite appropriate

literary device intended as a transition to what will follow hereafter. 379 For the intensity of the sense of loss of the Sanctuary, see chap. 5 of the introductory essay.

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refers to Basil’s missionary pressure (§§ 11–16 above). the lamentations must be understood as allusions to the activities of the three men as h. azzanim, for Hananel was also a h. azzan, like Shephatiah and . Amittai, about whom we have additional positive evidence. 382 Prov. 3:20: åò÷áð úåîåäú åúòãá 383 Ps. 24:2: äððåëé úÇøäð ìòå d@ñé íé!né ìò àeä é!k. 384 The syntax of the phrasing constitutes absolute barbarism, and may presumably reflect some vernacular equally atypical construction. 385 This almost rare attribute is nonetheless extant in some ancient sources, among which can list úåëìî øúë (The Kingly Crown) by Salomon Ibn Gabirol, and in the commentary on the prayer book by Elazar Rokeah. . 386 Though not definitely and unmistakably at variance with the story of Shephatiah’s successful efforts at Basil I’s court (as related in § 16), this is apparently a different recollection of the events, for we are here prompted to believe that deliverance came as a result of the pious prayers of the three h. azzanim. See further chap. 2 of the introductory essay. 387 Cf. with Gen. 6:9. Though the wording may undoubtedly be interpreted in a straightforward fashion, it would nonetheless not be unreasonable to view it as a subtle allusion to the conflicting opinions concerning the meaning of íéîú according to the midrash in Gen. Rab. 30, 8, undoubtedly well known to most of those who read or listened to the Chronicle. 388 I.e., baptismal waters. See further discussion of vitriolic characterizations of Christian sacraments in chap. 4 of the introductory essay. 389 A reference to Christian ritual objects, such as icons and statues. Cf. Ps. 115:5 and 135:16–17. 380 ãîùä presumably 381 Both mentions of

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and spared their souls from the coals of broom-wood,390 so that they may engage relentlessly in the Torah, enabling them to inhale the aroma of potions and spices concealed and sealed in treasure houses and storehouses which lie dormant in Eden since antiquity.391 38 Then his life was closed and sealed,392 and he did return his soul393 to the champion of widows and father of orphans,394 R. Shephatiah, master of the wise, tasted of the cup of the ancestors395 which the father of all serpents had brought upon the first and the last.396 39 On the day of the New Year, R. Shephatiah was found the most worthy to blow the shofar for the glory of God among His people. But on this fateful day he was exhausted by sickness, and the whole community murmured to him thus uttering: “Our master who is arrayed in light,397 radiance of our splendor, light of our eyes, sound the shofar for us, all the days as long as He [God] spares you for us, no other will sound the shofar among us.” They insisted that he blow it, and he arose and blew the shofar, but he was without stamina and strength, so the sounds of the shofar were not as they should have been. Then the righteous man spoke to them, acknowledging the rightness of divine justice: “To you my sons should this be a good sign398 that because of my sin, my time has come to an end.” Then he quitted the synagogue of his congregation, went to his home, lay down on his bed, and all the community after him entered his bed chamber. He turned his face toward them and so said to them: “I go to my rest till the End of Days, to my destiny with my forefathers, and I will make known to you beloved sons, the sons of the three adored ones,399 that Basil the

After Ps. 120:4: íéîúø éìçâ íò—with hot coals of broom-wood. For this detailed description of afterlife, see pp. 182–183 above. 392 íéîåúéñá íúñðå must probably be connected with the rabbinical couplet ììåâä íúñð, meaning the sealing of the grave with a stone. 393 For the wording Klar quotes Zunz, Literaturgeschichte, 641. 394 After Ps. 68:6. 395 As aptly noted by Klar, the wording follows the rabbinical metaphor for death in TB Ket. 8b: íéðåøçà äúùî êë íéðåùàø äúùîë åúùé íéáø åúù íéáø—Many drank, many will drink, as did the ancient ones drink so will drink the recent ones. 396 The serpent which seduced Eve in the Garden of Eden and brought death to mankind. 397 The saintly image of Shephatiah is here portrayed as concretely arrayed with the light characteristic of the Divine Essence (see nn. 80, 104 above). The popular 390 391

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imagination of Jews who could possibly represent their saints in resemblance to Christian ones, crowned with shining aureoles, would of course be particularly reinforced in this particular situation, portraying Shephatiah in the state of leaving the physical world and entering the metaphysical one. 398 “A good sign” translates tov siman (ïîéñ áåè), a grammatical inversion following the vernacular construction which puts the adjective before the noun (buon segno). Although it may well be that such barbarism was suggested by the rhyme, it must also be kept in mind that the expression bon siman is widely attested in the judeo-italian parlance—see, for example, Haninura de Bon Siman in the title of the book issued by Claudia Rosenzweig a.o in honor of Maria Luisa Mayer Modena (Rosenzweig a.o., Florilegio Filologico Linguistico). 399 The three Patriarchs of Israel: Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

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oppressor and sorcerer400 is dead, and here he passes before me bound in chains of fire, delivered to the angels of destruction; He whose name is God of Hosts has sent for me to go towards Basil and be present at his judgment, for all the evil he has done to His people, to exterminate its name and that of its seed, and its roots and its offspring and its offshoots. I am gathered up amongst my people,401 I shall go to my resting place, and you my qualified sons of our ancestors,402 my multitudinous congregation, may God be with you, He who brings death and gives life, He who is I am what I am,403 when He restores the righteous of Benjamin and Gur Aryeh.”404 And they wrote the day and the hour [of his passing]. In those very days came the news that Basil the evildoer was dead, just as the righteous man had said. The writ too arrived, for the kings of Constantinople followed their custom, that when a king would die they would send a written announcement to Bari, and they would write the day and hour of the king’s passing. Blessed be He who alone does wonders, who removed him from this world and erased him from the next. Blessed be His name and blessed be the name of His glory. 40 After the death of R. Shephatiah, who had served God without deceit, and was involved with the mysteries of the Highest405 and His secrets, to serve Him all his life, and indeed all his living days, he loved God and served Him with all his soul and all his might,406 and with all his heart he proclaimed His unity.407 After him arose R. Amittai his beloved son,408 who amiably followed in the ways of his father, and did not stray from the precepts of his Creator. And the God of his father did assist him,409 and strengthened his yeshivah with the wise men of his

400 øáç øáåç ïåùì.

Just as the Christians characterized the Other, the hated Jew, as a sorcerer, so did the Jews in turn characterize the Other, the hated Christian. See also chap. 5 of the introductory essay. 401 After Gen. 49:29 (éîò ìà óñàð, literally “I am gathered unto my people,” i.e., “I die”). 402 ééðåçá éðá. Our translation follows the idea mentioned above in n. 187. And cf. with Klar who quotes TB Pes. 87a and Zunz, Synagogale Poesie, 479. 403 Exod. 3:14. 404 Gur Aryeh (“a lion’s whelp”) is Judah (cf. Gen. 49:9). As aptly noted by Klar, Benjamin and Judah stand for the entire People of Israel (cf. 1 Kings 12:23; Ezra 1:5). 405 The Highest translates íåøî, literally “high” or “heavenly,” but also an attribute of God (cf. Isa. 40:26 and 57:15). 406 The wording could immediately bring to mind the biblical verses (Deut 6:4–5: êãàî ìëáå êùôð êëáå êááì ìëá êéäìà §ä úà úáäàå .ãçà §ä åðéäìà §ä ìàøùé òîù—Hear O

the chronicle of ahima #az .

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íâäðîë íéùåò àðéèðèñå÷ éëìî

· úòáî úî êìîä øùà · · ééðåîä ìä÷ ìë · ééðåçá éðá ééðá íúàå · éîå÷î ìà êìàå · éîò ìà óñàð éðàå · åãåáë íù êåøáå :äéøà øåâå ïîéðá é÷éãö åúåéçäá · äéäà øùà äéäà àåä · äéçîå úéîîå · ééé íëîò ·

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Israel the Lord our God the Lord is one. You will love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your might) repeatedly uttered in the most basic declaration of faith in the daily prayers of Jews, in which the conventional implied meaning (TB Ber. 61b) is “even if He takes your soul,” i.e., “including the moment of your death.” A widely diffused rabbinic story had Rabbi Akiba voicing, at the moment of his death as a martyr (TB Ber. loc. cit.): During all my life I was worried by this verse “even if He takes your soul” for I longed when I would be given a chance to observe it—éúééä éîé ìë åðîéé÷àå éãéì àáé éúî éúøîà êúîùð úà ìèåð åìéôà êùôð ìëá äæ ÷åñô ìò øòèöî). 407 The wording must be understood as bearing a double sense: (a) during all his life he stood firm in the monotheistic faith of the Jews (as opposed to the Christian faith in the Trinity); (b) before dying he pronounced the above-mentioned declaration of faith, as demanded by the familiar, universally known, ritual. 408 See chaps. 2, 4, and 5 of the introductory essay. 409 The wording after Exod. 18:4: éøæòá éáà éäìà éë.

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academy,410 to study the Law of God and His Torah. For so had his father commanded in his will, one day before his death, to set up the academy, and to lead it properly, so that nobody would leave, neither colleagues nor disciples. He brought the group together, and engaged in fervent study with the rabbis and the wise and discerning men, and proceeded promptly to expound the Torah, in its breadth and length.411 Like those of his forefathers were his virtues, and [like them] he was in observance of the commandments and fear of God, his soul was distressed over the destruction [of the Sanctuary] and he desolately mourned the ravage all his days on earth, as long as his soul was within him.412 41 One day he went out to his vineyard and to his estate,413 and on that day one stranger414 died, a wise and God-fearing man,415 and the elders of the community sent word to him, to join them in attending the unattended dead,416 to proceed to bury him, to mourn and eulogize, and to honor him as is commanded by the Law.417 He sent word to them: “You, go out of the city and I will await your arrival and will come with you to the cemetery and recite well-ordered lamentations.”418 All the community came out to bury him, R. Amittai prepared a eulogy to mourn him, and all the community cried and mourned for him. R. Amittai eulogized him with a dirge which he composed for him, and this is the beginning of the dirge which he began to recite:

410

As a rule, the term äøåáç would indicate the Palestinian academy. And yet, it seems clear that after the departure of Abu Aharon, the leadership of Oria followed a somewhat middle path—a yeshivah, with a rosh yeshivah, rosh ha-h. avurah (äøåáçä ùàø), also called si #ah (äòéñ), as in Jerusalem. See also n. 423 below. 411 Cf. Job 11:9: íé­éðî äáçøå äãî õøàî äëøà—The measure thereof is longer than the earth, and broader than the sea. Given that the verse in Job refers to divine knowledge, I preferred to maintain it as is and reject Klar’s amendment (see the apparatus to the critical edition of the Hebrew text). 412 For the standard meaning of such utterances in southern Italy, see chap. 5 of the introductory essay. 413 The text unintentionally testifies that although Amittai and his family resided in Oria, they nonetheless owned an estate in the countryside. 414 Rooted in the Greek ξ#νος, the term éàðñëà, here translated as “stranger,” was quite common in the language of Palestinian sources such as the Palestinian Talmud and the earliest midrashim, especially in the typical form ééðñëà used here (see Jastrow, Dictionary, 64, s.v. éàðñëà; Sokoloff, Dictionary, 58).

the chronicle of ahima #az .

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ãçà íÇé

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415 The character of the dead man, i.e., an outsider but nonetheless described as wise and God-fearing, justifies the presumption that he was an emissary of some Eastern institution, almost probably from the Land of Israel, just like the scholar at whom Silano had scoffed (§ 9). This special condition, not just the fact that he had no relatives in situ to arrange his funeral, made it imperative to organize a funeral appropriate to his status, and that is why the community of Oria assigned the task of reciting the eulogy to its most prominent h. azzan-paytan and leader. 416 The words äåöî úî, translated as “unattended dead” (literally: “dead person constituting a religious duty”), indicate the specific ritual category of a corpse found in an open field, when consequently the duty of burial in situ following specifically detailed norms falls upon the one who finds it (see Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Evel, 3, 8; Tur Shulhan Arukh, Yoreh De #ah, 364 and 374). By extension the term indicates a dead person who has no relatives; consequently the duty of his burial falls upon the nearest Jewish community—in this case the community of Oria. 417 On the religious obligation of eulogizing and reciting laments see Enc. Tal., s.v. ãôñä. And see further chap. 5 of the introductory essay. 418 I.e., I will compose special dirges for him.

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O lodging, O exile, he who does not know you may speak lightly of you, but he who knows you will mourn in moaning419

And there stood one420 R. Moses, a teacher of youngsters, and he whispered in the ears of those who stood there: Who knows you and is familiar with you, is smitten with your afflictions.421

And R. Amittai heard and preserved the episode in his memory and forever retained his anger against that teacher. After many days, a long time later, a married woman was suspected to have had relations with a young man, and the community assembled422 to investigate the matter, to interrogate her thoroughly, and no witnesses could be found other than R. Moses, the teacher of children, he was the only witness and there was no other to testify with him. R. Amittai said to him reasonably, have you a second witness as the Torah requires,423 but there was no other witness with him. So he ordered the h. azzan to excommunicate him424—dealing with him in accordance with the Torah, repaying him what he had devised,425 and he expelled him from Oria and sent him off into exile, so he came unto the city of Capua from where he journeyed and went to Pavia. 42 And R. Amittai was gathered up amongst his people426 and left behind him a son, Abdiel was his name. And Abdiel had a son whose name was Baruch, but he was not learned in Torah like his ancestors. During the lifetime of Baruch in his house was the Book of the Chariot,427 which R. Shephatiah had used428 all his life. And it happened one day

419

The wording has an intentional double meaning: he who knows you can compose a proper eulogy, but he who does not know you may talk nonsense about you. Does Amittai place himself among those who knew him or not? Though it is said that the stranger was wise and knowledgeable, which as we have seen means that he had been recognized as such by the scholars of the yeshivah, he was an unknown person. It is this double meaning that triggers the teacher’s ironical retort that follows immediately. 420 Although the ms. clearly displays åéçà, “his brother,” our translation follows the correction suggested by Klar, for no Moses is mentioned elsewhere as a brother of Amittai. Moreover, such animosity appears more plausible between members of different families and social standing. 421 Indicating that, indeed, Amittai did not know him, though he spoke as if he did. 422 For the function of the community in the investigative and judiciary process, see chap. 3 of the introductory essay. 423 See Deut. 17:6. 424 As pointed out in chap. 3 of the introductory essay, the transformation of the communal setting following the introduction of the Babylonian pattern of leadership

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· úeìâ é!à àéðñ"ëà é!à · úeì"ìÇä _n!î ä×#òé _Vé!ké àÀ é!î · úeììé!a ïðÇ÷é _Vé!ké é!îe é!î

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· äTeî"Ö äúéä Çì"öà øácäå òîÖ éézé!î#à §øå · [^]éWeqéé"a íé[!îeì]#ä · ^ò@éå ^Yé!ké 5 Öé!à úÖàå · äaYä ïîæe íé!aU íé!îé"ì é!äéå · dTî"Ö Çì çöð · äT"áòä ãnì"nä ÇúÇà"ìe · äÖY@"ì äøéN#ça · äg!àä ï!î · äÖéX"c úÇ×#òì ä@òä eã#òÇðå · äá[Ç]ø ãçàî ä@"Ö"çð · Çcá"ì ãòä àeä · íéDé!î"ìz ãnì"nä äÖ&î §ø í!à é!k · íéDò äg!àì eà"ö"îð àÀå · äTÇzä äúåeé!ö"k éðÖ ãò ^"ì Öé · äTá"ñ!a Çì äðò éézé!î#à §øå · Çcâð øçà Öé!à ïéàå Çì áé!Öäå · Çnå%ò"ì ä×ò äTÇz"k · ÇîéX$çäå ïfçì äe!ö àeäå · Çn!ò øçà ãò àö"îð àÀå 10 òñð íg!îe · äàetK úðéD"î ãò àáe · Çç"lé!Ö úeìâ"áe · Çç[é]!c!ä éXeàîe · Çîîæ úáÖ#çî :äàé!át"ì _ìäå · _eøa Çî"Öe ïa ìàé!c"áò"ìe · Çî"Ö ìàé!c"áòå ïa çép!äå · Çnò ìà óñ$àð ézé!î#à §øå 42 ÇaÖ · äéä äákYnä øôñ Çúéá"a _eøa éîé!áe · _eøò åéúÇá#àk äTÇza äéä àÀå äëàì"î ìk!î ìà ÇaÖ · úaÖ áWò"a ãçà íÇé äéäå · äé"èô"Ö §ø åéiç éîé ìk Öné!Ö 15 :÷ íéìåîä :ð :ð éøåàîå 11

[íéDé!î"ìzì ïpÖ"î] §ð :÷ ãîìî || ãçà :÷ åéçà :ð ¬é§§ë [ã]çà 4 7 ^éWeqé"a :÷ íéøåñééá :ð ¬é§§ë [ê]éøåñéá || íé!îeì#ä Ççé!c!ä :÷ åçéãä :ð åçãä :駧ë åç[é]ãä | | éXéeàîe :÷ (éøåàîå 駧äëá :äøòäáå) éøéåàîå

¬é§§ë íé[îåì]ä

5

äáÇø :÷ äáéø :ð ¬é§§ë äá[å]ø

engendered a restructuring of the hierarchy of communal leadership and a reappraisal of the function of the h. azzanim and their subordination to the Head of the Yeshivah. Thus, as already mentioned above in n. 1, our text unintentionally (and therefore trustworthily) reflects an intermediary stage of that transformation: though the h. azzan is represented as definitely subordinate to Amittai, the latter, portrayed as the undisputed head of the community featured as a yeshivah, still maintains the prestigious function of paytan, as in fact was also the case of some among the most prestigious heads of yeshivot in the earliest years of settlement in the Rhineland; see Bonfil, “Le savoir et le pouvoir,” 161–162. 425 See Deut. 19:19. 426 For the wording, see n. 400 above. 427 The Book of the Chariot was already mentioned in § 2 as one of the esoteric books owned by Rabbi Shephatiah and his brothers at the time of their encounter in Oria with Rabbi Aharon from Baghdad. 428 The wording (ùîéù åáù) leaves no doubt that the book was employed for mystical (i.e., magical) practices, though not clearly specified.

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on the eve of the Sabbath, on which the Lord ceased from all work,429 and the day grew dark,430 the daylight grew dark, and the one who had to light the candle was not there, to light [it] before the Book of the Chariot.431 A woman stood there, and she, the cursed woman, was menstruating—may she be removed from the book of life, and may she be wiped out from the world to come—she lit the candle before the Torah,432 and the wrath of God was upon the family, and many died in that plague, only few survived out of the many they were.433 And there was there an understanding Jew, who realized and understood the event434 that had happened. He took the book and placed it in a vessel of lead, to sink it in the depths of the sea;435 and the sea retreated, for about a mile it receded; and the Jew cast the vessel seaward, and the sea returned to its place;436 at once the terrible ordainment was voided and the plague came to an end.437 The memory of Baruch ceased to exist,438 his candle faded and was extinguished, for he left behind him none to engage in the One who reanimates, as he had no son, only one daughter. 43 R. Hassadiah the son of R. Hananel had a son whose name was . . 439 and a R. Paltiel. And R. Paltiel begot a son named R. Hananel . daughter whose name was Cassia. She was very God-fearing and gave birth to a son whose name was R. Paltiel, who knew how to interpret the stars.

For the idea and the wording, cf. Gen. 2:3. As already noted in previous cases (see chap. 1 of the introductory essay, n. 112), the author is once more inadvertently misled by the vernacular in which dies is feminine and uses the feminine predicate instead of the masculine required by íåé. 431 We are thus incidentally informed that the Sabbath light was lit before the Book of the Chariot, which therefore played a role similar to that fulfilled among Christians by relics or icons. 432 Unless we are confronted with an involuntary lapsus, since it actually contains the inner (mystical) meaning of the Torah, the Book of the Chariot is here clearly equated with the Torah. 433 Through this almost transparent wording, the desecration of the Book of the Chariot by the menstruating woman is associated both with sexual sin and idolatrous practice, for it is compared to both the improper lighting of sacrificial fire by Nadav and Avihu, sons of Aharon, who died childless (cf. Lev. 1:2 and Num. 3:4) as well as the fornication of the Israelites at Baal peor, which caused the plague that ceased following the intervention of Phinehas (cf. Num 25:1–9; Ps. 106:30). 434 äùòîä in its usual meaning as res. 435 The obvious meaning of the story is that the desecrating action turned a godly beneficial instrument into one of demonic deadliness, and should therefore be dealt 429 430

the chronicle of ahima #az . äákYnä øôñ éð"ô!ì àä"z íéiçä øôq!î

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äë"Öç äTÇàäå

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úáÖ

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äçt"Ö!na ééé óàå

· äTÇzä éð"ô!ì øpä äJé!ìE!ä · ä@eç"k àä"z àaä íìÇòäîe · ä@eá#à · ïé!áî ãçà éDeäé äéä íÖå · íé!aUäî èò"î eø#à"Öðå · íé!aU äôbna eúeîiå · äTç ñð íiäå · Çò"wÖ"ì älå%ö"nä ìàå · Çî× øá#à é!ì"ë!áe øôqä çKìå · ïé!áäå øé!k!ä ä×#ònä 5 äáÖ íiäå · äniì é!ì"kä _é!ì"Ö!ä éDeäiäå · äTæ#çä äúéä ãçà ìé!î øeòé!Ö"k · äTÇçà"ì _òEð Çøðå · úa"Öð _eøa øëæå · äTö$òð äôbnäå · äTéæbä äì"èa ãi!îe · äîÇ÷"î ìà :úa úçà í!à é!k ïa Çì äéä àÀå · úáé!Ö"î!a ÷ñÇò çép!ä à`Ö · úa"ëðå ïa ãé!ìÇä ìàé!è"ìt §øå §ø Çî"Öe ïa ãìzå

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ìàé!è"ìt §ø Çî"Öe ïa äéä

äàéVé ã&à"î àé!ä ééé úà

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ìàðð#ç §øé!a äéEñ#ç §ø"ìe

43

· äàé!qk dî"Öe úçà úáe · ìàðð#ç §ø Çî"Öe 10 :ïé!áä"ì òBÇé íé!áëÇka · ìàé!è"ìt

with accordingly—in the manner in which demons were supposed to be sealed in vessels of lead and sunk in the depths of the sea (cf. supra § 14). 436 I.e., to its former state. 437 The recession of the sea indicates the reversal of the natural order of things purportedly caused by the proximity of the godly implement had been turned into a demonic one, so that its neutralization by sinking it into the depths of the sea designates the restoration of that order. 438 Notwithstanding the fact that the natural order was restored, the fate of Baruch was the same as that of Nadav and Avihu (cf. n. 432 above). 439 There is considerable confusion concerning the identification of the two men named Paltiel in this paragraph. One of them, currently mentioned in scholarly literature as “Paltiel the Nagid,” was a high official in the court of the Fatimid ruler al-Mui"z (973–975). But since, as we will see, it is almost certain that the assumption that such a predicate would mean that Paltiel was the first to have been appointed to the office later known by that title in Fatimid Egypt is totally groundless (see n. 510 below), this official of al-Mui"z has been indicated here as “Paltiel (the vizier),” although “vizier” may also be quite inappropriate, for in conforming with conventional Muslim policy, Jews could not rise to such high offices.

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44 In those days the Ishmaelites set out with their armies440 under the command of al-Mui"z Qayit,441 crossed over into Italy destroying the whole land of Calabria, and reached Oria which is at the edge of Apulia. They besieged it, annihilated all its armies, and the city came under siege. The residents of the city were powerless to stop them and the city was breached,442 the sword threatened the very life,443 and the survivors they took captive. The Qayit inquired after the family of R. Shephatiah and sent for them to be brought before him. The Lord caused him to treat them mercifully; God bestowed His grace on R. Paltiel his servant, and made him find favor with al-Mui"z the governor.444 He led him to his tent, and took him to stand before him and serve him. 45 One night the Qayit and R. Paltiel went out to observe the stars; they watched and saw how the Qayit’s star appeared and swallowed445 three stars. It did not swallow them at once, but the three of them one after another. And al-Mui"z asked him: “What did your intelligence446 make you understand?” He replied: “Say you first.” The Qayit replied: “The stars are three cities, Taranto, Otranto, and Bari, which it is my destiny to take.” R. Paltiel replied: “Not so my lord, for I have seen a great thing. The first star—you will rule in Sicily, and the second—you will rule in Ifrikiya, and the third—you will rule in Babylon.”447 At once he embraced him and kissed him on the head, removed his ring and gave it to him and vowed to him, saying: “If it is so as you have said, and what you say is true, you shall be master of my house and governor of my entire kingdom and government.”448

440 For this and further details of the events mentioned in this and in the following paragraphs, see chap. 2 of the introductory essay. 441 Qayit (èéé÷) is the hebraized form of the Arabic word Qa"id meaning commander and designated in Greek and Latin sources as Caytus, Caetus. See Salzman, Chronicle, 88, n. 1. As we have seen in the chap. 2 of the introductory essay, although the raids mentioned here were not conducted personally by al-Mui"z, that did not prevent local recollections from attributing them to the future Fatimid ruler. It should further be noted that the Hebrew text constantly displays Ma#oz (æåòî) instead of Mui"z (æéòåî). So far, no acceptable suggestion why that is so can be offered. 442 Jer. 39:2. 443 After Jer. 4:10. 444 Although al-Mui"z certainly did not command the expedition, the mythologizing elaboration of the tradition, according to which Paltiel was raised in the court of alMui"z, made it almost natural to identify him with the commander, who in reality was Abu Ja#far Ahmad ibn #Ubayd.

the chronicle of ahima #az .

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· íäéì#ò èééJ æÇòî ìàå · íäéìéiç"a eà"öé íé!ìàò"î"Öiäå · íää íé!îia é!äéå 44 eøeöiå · äéi"ìet äöO!a øÖ#à éXéeà ãò àáe · äàéX"aìK õWà ìk eñYäå · äàé!ìèé!à äðéD"nä éÖðà"a ç&k äéä àÀå · øÇöna øé!òä àÇázå · äéìéiç ìk eãé!î"Ö!äå · äéìò eëé!ìÇä íéXà"Öpäå íaå\ eâYäå · äòâð Öôpä ãò áWçäå · äòO"áåä øé!òäå · øÇö#òì íðúð éééå · åéðô"ì íàé!á$äå íäéì#à çìÖå · äé"èô"Ö §ø úçt"Ö!n!î ìàÖ èééwäå · äéé"áé!ga 5 [æÇ]òî ïé!ç["a] Çðúðå · Çc"áò ìàé!è"ìt §ø ìò · Çc"ñç äh!ä íé!äÀ$àäå · åéðéò"a íé!î#çU"ì :Çì úVÖ"ì åéðô"ì ãÇî#òì · Çì#äéð Çné!òå · Çì(äà"a Çëé!ìÇäå · Çãéâð eø"áòå

äp!äå

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í!à é!k

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eà"öé ìàé!è"ìt §øå èééwä úçà äìéì"áe

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· [......] èééwä áëÇk øîà&ú äzà áé!Öä àeäå · äðé!aa äzðáéä äî æÇòî ìà Çìà"Öe · íz"Öì"Ö äæ øçà äæ 10 éð#àÖ éXàae ÇèðUEÇàå ÇèðUè · úÇðéD"î ÖÀÖ íä íé!áëÇkä èééwä äðò · äðÇÖàX áëÇkä · éð#à é!úé!àT ìÇãb øác é!k · éðÇã#à ïë àÀ ìàé!è"ìt §ø äðò · úÇðO!ì ãé!úò _Çì"î!z úé!Öé!ì"Öäå · äà[é]NéX"ôà"a _Çì"î!z úéðÖäå · äà[é]!ìéN"ñé!à"a _Çì"î!z ãçà äòeá"Öe · Çðúð Çìå Çz"òaè øé!ñäå · Ç÷Öð ÇÖà] ìòå · Ç÷"aé!ç ãi!î · äàéðÇìea[a]"a · é!úéa ìò äé"ä!ú äzà · ^éWî#àî eð"îàééå · ^éWáE!k àeä ïk í!à øîàå · Çð#òî"ì òa"Öð 15 :é!z"ìÖ"îî ìë"áe · é!úeë"ìî ìë"a ìÖÇîe ·

íúÇà äò"ìa ãçé"a àÀå

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äò"ìa íé!áëÇk äÖì"Öe

4 eàáe :÷ àáå | | õøàä :ð õøà 2 æ!ò%î"ìàå :÷ æåòîìàå :ð æåòî ìàå 1 [äòéôåä] :÷ àúéì :ð ¬é§§ë [......] 9 æ!ò%î"ìà :÷ ïéòî :ð ¬é§§ë [æå]òî || ïé!ç"a :÷ ïéçë :ð ¬é§§ë ïéç[á] 6 äà[é]÷éøôàá | | äàé!ìéN"ñé!à"a :÷ äàìé÷ñéàá :ð ¬é§§ë äà[é]ìé÷ñéàá 13 æ!ò%î"ìà :÷ æåòî ìà 10 äàéðÇìeaa"a :÷ äàéðåìåáá :ð ¬é§§ë äàéðåìåá[á]á 14 äàéNéX"ôà"a :÷ äà÷éøôàá :ð ¬é§§ë àúéì :ð àåä 15 àúéì :÷ íáåø åâøäå

445 The verb is again inadvertently used in the feminine (according to the Latin or vernacular stella), notwithstanding the fact that the Hebrew word for star is masculine. It should nonetheless be noted that the text appears here to be missing, for there are no matching verses corresponding to the closing rhymes èéé÷ä and äòìá. And yet, even if one would be ready to accept the amendment suggested by Klar (see the apparatus to our critical edition), the inappropriate use of Gen. Rab. would continue to subsist. 446 As we have seen (n. 53 above) “intelligence” refers here specifically to the characteristic capacity of foreseeing future events (προρασις). 447 Babylon (äàéðåìåáá) should not be confused with Babylonia (ìáá). This is the classical name of the Egyptian fortress subjugated by the Arabs in 641, where Fustat (Cairo), the capital of Fatimid Egypt, was subsequently founded. See the references in Salzman, Chronicle, 89, n. 1 and in Colafemmina, Sefer Yuh. asin, 164–165, n. 261. By synecdoche, it therefore stands here for Egypt as a whole. 448 The allusion to the biblical story of the rise of Joseph in the court of Pharaoh (Gen. 41) is unequivocal.

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46 And not even seven days had passed when a message reached alMui"z, sent to him by the princes settled in Sicily: “Know that the Emir449 is dead, come urgently450 and speedily to assume the government and the dominion.” So he mustered his armies and boarded his ships with all the commanders of his troops, and crossed over to them and reigned over them. It was then that he believed, and trusted the words of R. Paltiel, and did not deviate from his advice, neither to the left nor to the right.451 He made him master of his house and placed him over his kingdom and his government, and he was his servant and attendant. After that he rose to power in Ifrikiya, leaving his brother452 to rule Sicily. R. Paltiel accompanied him, and there he grew in power and increased in status, and his name gained pre-eminence, and he was the viceroy to the king and renowned in all the cities.453 47 In those days the King of Edom454 sent gifts for the King of Ifrikiya. The emissary came with strategems, as is the custom of the Greeks, and asked: “Who is master of the royal palace and who administers the province?” One Arab answered him: “It is a Jew who is in control and rules the entire realm; the king never deviates from his will, and no man can see the king, or enter his house, or approach him without the Jew’s acquiescence and approval.” The Greek in his pride and arrogance, in his stupidity and lack of understanding, retorted answering: “I would leave this city right away and go up to Constantinople, to my master who sent me here, rather than meet with the Jew so as to speak with the king.” These words reached R. Paltiel, the whole matter was reported to him, and he decreed and ordered in the royal court that no one go to dine with him or answer his bidding, and no one should go to greet him where he had pitched his tent.455 Thus he remained for ten days or so, livid, angry, and furious, and afterwards he retracted, begging forgiveness and mercy, asking that his stupidity and vanity should be

449

Although the Hebrew wording here (äøéîà = Amira) may have been adjusted for the rhyme, it must nonetheless be borne in mind that the vernacular chronicles also denote the title of the Arab ruler as Amira. 450 Though almost rare, the Hebrew wording (õçðá) is however extant in several paytanic compositions. See, for instance, Mah. zor Vitri, 581 (incipit áøò ìå÷ øáã íéäìà, Davidson, Treasury, 1:216, # 4701 à); Arugat ha-Bosem, 3:361. 451 The wording after Deut. 5:29 and 17:11. 452 The reference is to Ahmad ibn al-Hasan the son (not the brother) of the Emir of Palermo al-Hasan ibn #Ali who, following the death of the Khalif al-Mansur in 953, joined al-Mui"z in Ifrikiya.

the chronicle of ahima #az . · ·

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· åéúÇìéiç õaéN ïë"a · äTT["r]äå úìÖ"înä ìaKå · ïé!î#àî äéä ìàé!è"ìt §ø éV"áD"áe · ïé!î$àä æà · íäéì#ò _ìîe · íäéì#à øáòå · åéúÇñééâ ìë"áe · Çúeë"ìî ìòå · Çúéá"a Çèé!ì"Ö!äå · ïé!îé"ì àÀå ìà&î"×!ì àÀ Çúö#òî äèð àÀå 5 åé!çàå · äàéNéX"ôà"a äìò ïëéV#çàå · ÇúeøéÖ ä×Çòå · ÇúYÖ"î äéä àeäå · Çz"ìÖ"îî äìÇò Çî"Öe · älò"úðå øáb íÖå · äìò Çn!ò ìàé!è"ìt §øå · äàé!ìéN!ñ ìÖÇî çép!ä :_ìÇä úÇðéD"nä ìë"a Çò"îÖå · _ìnì äð"Ö!î äéä àeäå · äì"òî"ì éÖàT ìk í!ò

àa çé!ìgäå

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íÇcO!ì äçð!î"a äàéNéX"ôà _ìî éð"t

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47

· úeëé!ñpä âäð"î é!îe · úeë"ìnä úéa ãéN"t é!î ìàÖå · íé!×Çò íéðåiäÖ Çî"k · ïé!ñé!ñ"ëè"a 10 _ìnä ïéàå · ÇöYà ìë"a ìÖÇî àeäå · àé!ánäå àé!öÇîä àeä éDeäé · é!áT#ò ãçà Çì äðò · ÇúàTO!ì úëììå · Çúéá"ì ñðké!ì àÀå · ÇúÇàY!ì ìÇëé Öé!à ïéà _ìnäå · Çö"ôçî àöÇé øñÇç"áe Çúeè"Ö!a · Çúeø#äé"áe Çúefò"a · Çúåå#àâ"a éðååiäå · ÇúeÖY!áe éDeäiä ïÇöY!a í!à é!k øÖ#à éðÇã#à ìà · àðé!èðè"ñÇ÷"ì äì$òàå · äðéD"nä Çf!î _ìà íWè · äðòå áé!Öä · Çz"òc ìàé!è"ìt §ø éð"ô!ìå · øaA"ì _ìnä ìà Çn!ò · øaç"úà àÀ éDeäiä í!òå · äpä éðçì"Ö 15 úà"×îe [ä]çeø#à · _ìnä øö#ça äe!öå øæâå · eòéDÇä Çì ä×#ònä ìëå · eòéb!ä íéXá"cä · íé!îé ø×ò"k ääÖå · Çìé!aOä"ì é!ì"a åéðt í@à · Çì(äà òèð íÇ÷"î!áe · _ìéì é!ì"a åéìà :駧ë

äøø[ù]äå

3

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äàé!ìéN"ñé!à"a :÷ äàìé÷ñéàá :ð ¬é§§ë äà[é]ìé÷ñéàá

17

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16

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äTT"räå :÷ äøøùäå :ð äøøñäå

(ïåéìâá

The wording, which follows Esther 10:3 (êìîì äðùî) and 9:4 (ìëá êìåä åòîùå thus immediately suggests comparing Paltiel to the biblical Mordecai and to evaluate accordingly his activity, both in the service of the king and for the welfare of his fellow coreligionists. 454 The emperor of Byzantium. 455 For resemblance with the report of Liutprand and with other standard diplomatic practices aimed at enhancing the superiority of the hosting ruler, see chap. 2 of the introductory essay and plate 18. 453

úåðéãîä),

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forgotten, and forgiveness for the wrongdoing and the fault which he had committed, misguided by his folly, and for the error of his words. Then he summoned him to come, but prevented him from appearing before him on that very day. On the third day he received him into his presence, with honor and splendor and paid tribute to him and exalted him with great gifts, with musk,456 aloe457 and numerous fragrances, precious stones, onyx and opal, and with lovely and delightful royal jewels. He had him received with much honor from the entrance gate of his palace to his dining hall, with silks and woolens he adorned all the palaces and decorated the floors of the courtyard and the walls with purple and silk fabrics458 and jewels—his foot trod on silks, and thus he advanced walking upon them. Thus the Greek found R. Paltiel reclining on a sofa, and for himself found a golden chair to sit upon.459 He sat down and entered into conversation with him, and asked him about the Law of the Jews, about his lineage and family, and about his land of origin. He responded with replies that were measured, considered, and well thought out. Then he ordered water brought for washing of hands and the mouth in a bowl and a vessel of onyx and jasper, but secretly he commanded that it be broken just after the washing of his hands. The servant did as his master had commanded: he brought the bowl and the vessel and poured water on the hands of his master and after pouring the water he fell down before his feet and the vessels were shattered before him. Then the Greek leapt up in panic, was seized with tremors, and the appearance of his face altered and his visage changed. R. Paltiel mocked him to his face and laughed in the presence of all who stood there, and said to the Greek: “Why were you panic-stricken and why did you stand up in alarm?” The Greek envoy answered him: “Because I saw a great loss, priceless and irreplaceable are the vessels which were broken.” Then he asked 456

Musk was not just a very expensive perfume. Because of its qualities, purported to enhance both physical—including sexual—strength and spiritual capacities characteristic of kings, it was considered the royal perfume par excellence. According to some oriental popular traditions, the fragrance emanating from the body of Muhammad or the saints was precisely that of musk. Although it is mentioned in the Talmudic tradition (TB Ber. 43a), Ahima#az curiously—and rather exceptionally—mentions it in the . vernacular form muscu or mosco. It may be of interest to note that the Book of Gifts and Rarities mentions musk as particularly capable of impressing the Byzantine emperors; see Book of Gifts and Rarities, 77, § 31: “Al-Mamun said ‘send him a gift a a hundred times greater than his’ […] when the gift was ready he said ‘what do they value most?’ They answered ‘musk and sable’. Al-Mamun said ‘send them additionally two hundred ratls of musk and two hundred sable pelts’.”

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øÇkæé ìá"ì

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Aloe is mentioned three times in the Bible (Ps. 45:9; Song of Sol. 4:14; Prov. 7:17) as both an extremely valuable perfume and the incense produced by burning the aloeswood (see Enc. Bibl., s.v. úåìäà ,íéìäà). It is noteworthy that the Book of Gifts and Rarities mentions “a basket of Indian aloeswood the like of which had never been seen” as a most remarkable gift sent in 825 by one of the kings of India to al-Mamun on the occasion of his marriage; see Book of Gifts and Rarities, 80, § 38. 458 Needless to say, purple and silk were typically unmistakable traits of Byzantine imperial sumptuousness. 459 The social and diplomatic conventions regulating banqueting carefully distinguished between reclining, reserved to the higher ranks, and seating, reserved to the lower ones. For the Byzantine imperial protocol, see chap. 2 of the introductory essay. For realistic portrayals of these scenes see plates 26–27. 457

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him about the King of the Edomites, if he used utensils of gold or of diamonds. The Macedonian envoy replied: “In my master’s house gold vessels are used.” To this he retorted: “Your master is a man of limited means, since valuable vessels and pearls are worth more than gold, for vessels of precious stone cannot be repaired after they are broken while golden utensils, if they are damaged, may be repaired without loss, and the like of the vessels you have just seen broken in my home are also broken in the home of my lord the king.” After all this he sent him with due honor to the King of Edom who had dispatched him. 48 R. Hananel the son of Paltiel asked permission of the king of . Ifrikiya460 to cross the sea and disembark in Italy, for at the time when there had been in Oria exile and captivity,461 those who had survived escaped to Bari and Otranto.462 They took with them some assets from their homes and monies of others, not theirs, they rescued together went up to Constantinowith their own assets.463 And R. Hananel . ple,464 and in mournful spirit, bitter and unhappy, begged the king to favor him and grant him a document bearing the royal seal465 empowering him to travel throughout all the cities of his realm and wherever he should find assets from his home, they should be returned to his possession and ownership.466 He received the sealed document and went down to the city of Bari. There he found one article of his, an old Bible467 and women’s ornaments468 and tailored garments that is

460 Al-Mui"z. Given that Paltiel the vizier was a young boy in 925, when he was taken prisoner, and assuming, as we shall see shortly, that Hananel’s journey to Italy did take . place after the truce between Nicephoros and al-Mui"z (967), he must have married around 970. At that time Paltiel would have been about 60 and Hananel about 20, a . quite reasonable possibility. 461 Following the Arab raid of 925. See chap. 2 of the introductory essay. 462 Bari and Otranto were then under Byzantine rule. The dating of the journey by Paltiel’s son to Constantinople fits very well the chronological framework of the rapprochement between al-Mui"z and Nikephoros, as briefly related in chap. 2 of the introductory essay. Though no additional positive evidence of the journey and the imperial document purportedly granted to Hananel has surfaced as yet, we may quite . safely assume that some event may have occurred along the general lines reflected by the story as recollected and narrated by Ahima#az, especially if we take into account . that the detail of the flight of survivors to Bari and Otranto is independently confirmed by the epistle of the Genizah quoted in the same chapter of the introductory essay.

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· íéðÇø"ñç Öé!à ^ðÇã#à Çì áé!Öä · éðÇã#à úéá"a íé!Ö"nz"Ö!î áäæ éì"ë!a · éðÇãLnä çé!ìgä íäì ïéà · äTJé ïáà ìÖ íé!ì"käÖ · íé!î@"a áäæ éì"k!î íéXJé · íéðéð"ôe øJé éì"kÖ úÇî"ëe · ïÇø"ñç é!ì"a íúÇà íéð"wú"î · ïÇøa!Ö íäì í!à áäæ éì"ëe · äTé!á"Ö!a äðwz úàæ ìk éV#çàå · íéXa"Öð _ìnä éðÇã#à úéá"a · äzò é!úéá"a eø"a"ÖpÖ · äúé!àTÖ íé!ì"kä :Ççì"Ö øÖ#à íÇã$à _ìî ìà · Çç"lé!Ö ãÇáë"a 5 úCWìå íiä øÇá#òì éXàa"a

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48

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· íäéúa éì"è"ìh!n!î · íän!ò eëé!ìÇä · ÇèðàUEÇà"áå äðeâ#òå äTîe · äðeð#à Öôð"áe · àðé!èðè"ñÇ÷"ì ìàðð#ç §ø äìòå · íäéðÇîî í!ò eìé!v!ä Çúeë"ìî íúÇç Çì úÇ×#òì · äðéð#ç åéðô["ì] àÇö"î!ì · äpé!ç"z Öwé!a _ìnä úàî 10 ÇúeÖY!a úÇé"ä!ì · Çúéa éì"è"ìh!n!î àö"îiÖ íÇ÷î ìë"áe · Çz"ìÖ"îî úÇðéD"î ìë"a úëìì àTO!î úçà ÇlÖ øác!î íÖ àöîe · äðéD"nä éXàa"ì ãUéå íúÇçä ìaéNå · ÇúJæç"áe · · ·

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463

10

I.e., they took with them other people’s property, considered as property belonging to no one, since the legitimate owners were no longer supposed to attempt to rescue it, following the rule of the Mishnah (BQ 10, 2). 464 The special wording (äìò, went up), usually employed to designate journeys to the Holy Land, may imply a conscious value judgment of Constantinople as the imperial capital. 465 It should perhaps be noted that the requested document is not designated as a chrysobull (see n. 181 above), for such a document would not have been appropriate. 466 Contrary to the above mentioned rule of the Mishnah. 467 It seems quite clear that the artifact referred to here is the Hebrew equivalent of the Latin Biblia, i.e., a codex containing the 24 canonical books of the Hebrew Bible. For a similar use of the word, see Book of Josippon, ed. Flusser, ch. 12, l. 65 and the colophon of the codex copied by Moshe ben Hillel in 994. Thanks to Dr. Michael Ryzik for this reference. 468 Women’s ornaments could, of course, be very expensive. For the variety of such assets in medieval Apulia, see Ditchfield, La culture matérielle médiévale, 494–508.

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majestic clothing.469 The wise rabbis of Bari contested his claim, arguing that he who rescues [anything] from an army, from the river, or from fire, the objects are allocated to him to be his property, for thus ruled Rabbi470 in the rules of the Mishnah.471 He responded to them: “Indeed so it is, but our rabbis ruled ‘The law of the realm is the law,’472 and here is the writ with the seal which the king has signed for me.” And they divided up with him and gave him the garments and the Bible and he left them the rest by way of compromise. Then he descended473 to Benevento and the whole community hurried out to greet him. He remained there a full year and after that474 he established his academy there. And he took from there a wife, Esther was her name, the daughter of R. Shabbetai of the family of R. Amittai.475 He who in the measure of His goodness is inclined towards favor, His mercy and compassion were aroused and He recalled His favor and His faithfulness toward the house of R. Shephatiah and R. Hananel, . those extraordinary men, who, in serving Him throughout their lives, had not strayed from His Torah., for such is His faithfulness, to benefit those who await His salvation and call for His aid. He bestowed upon him worthy sons in his old age, R. Shemuel his first-born, his might, the first fruit of his vigor,476 and R. Shabbetai and Papoleon and Hassadiah. .

469 “Majestic clothing” translates íéùåáìî, a term that in the Bible indicates regal garments (see, e.g, Zeph. 1:8). The most immediate association of ideas is to the socalled scaremagna σκαραμ γγια, a kind of expensive cloak sewed from several pieces (as in fact the text of Ahima#az unintentionally underlines) of Byzantine origin quite . familiar in Apulia. Apulian documents of the eleventh century mention remarkably expensive garments of that kind with silk lining embroidered with gold (scaremagna fundati). Emperors as well as high officials customarily wore such articles, which were also offered as gifts to foreign diplomats according to Byzantine imperial etiquette. See Ditchfield, La culture matérielle médiévale, 452–453, 576 where extensive bibliography is listed in the notes. Following the old biblical custom mentioned in Esther 6:8, Muslim sultans likewise used to present their favorites with cloaks called khil"a, usually personal garments worn by the rulers themselves; see Stillman, “Khil"a”; Sanders, Ritual, Politics, 30, 78; Goitein, Mediterranean Society, 4:11 and 4:184. Thanks to Dr. Miriam Frenkel for this reference. 470 Rabbi = Rabbi Judah ha-nasi. 471 See n. 462 above. 472 àðéã àúåëìîã àðéã. The rule, quoted frequently in the Babylonian Talmud in the name of the amora Shemuel, came to be the fundament of medieval rabbinic ruling that in certain circumstances assigns halakhic validity to the laws of non-Jewish rulers. See Shilo, Law of the State; Lamdan, Jewish Law in the Diaspora. Whether the case of the assets rescued by the refugees should be considered as one of those circumstances can, however, be highly debatable. See Shilo, Law of the State, 53–54, 177–181. Despite Ahima#az’s effort to describe it as a concession of his ancestor, the compromise reached .

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éXàa éî"ëç éaU eéäå

· íé!Öea"ìî íäÖ íéXeô"z íé!ìé!ò"îe · íé!Öð éBâ!a éèé!Ö"ëúå · äðÖé äTÇä ïkÖ · äðé!úð!a íä ÇlÖ äJéì"c!îe øäpä ï!î ñéébä ï!î ìé!vnä · äð#òè"a Çì íéð#òÇè àðé!c eðéúÇaU eøÇä ìá#à · äðeî$àa àeä ïk íäì áé!Öä àeäå · äð"Ö!nä úàTÇä"a §ø Çì eð"úðå Çn!ò eò"vé!áe · íúç é!ì _ìnä øÖ#à · íúÇçä í!ò áú"kä äp!äå · àðé!c àúeë"ìî"c ìäwä ìëå · ãUé Çèðéáéðéa ãòå · ä[TÖ]"ô!a øà"Öpä íäì çép!äå · àTO!näå íé!ìé!ò"nä 5 íg!î çKìå · änÖ Çúáé!Öé òáJ ïëéV#çàå · äîé!î"ú äðÖ íÖ áÖéå · ãUç ÇúàTO!ì úcé!î"k ãñç étì"k ähîe · ézé!î#à §ø úçt"Ö!n!î · éú"aÖ §ø úa · dî"Ö øz"ñà äg!à ìàðð#ç §øå äé"èô"Ö §ø úéá"ì · Çúðeî$àå Çc"ñç øëæ · Çúì"îçå åéî#çU eø"î"ëð · ÇúáÇè · Çúðeî$à àé!ä ïkÖ · ÇúTÇz[!î] eÖî àÀ íäéiç éîé ìk · Çú@Çá#òa øÖ#à · Çúlåâ"ñ éÖðà ìàeî"Ö §ø · ÇúeðOæ"a íéðeâ#ä íéða Çìé!çð!äå · ÇúTæò éì#çéé"î!ìå · ÇúòeÖé étö"î!ì áé!èä"ì 10 ìàðð#ç §ø í!ò äìò äéEñ#ç · äéEñ#çå ïÇàéìÇtte éú"aÖ §øå · Çúé!ÖàVå ÇçÇk ÇøÇë"a äîò :ð äîù

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1 9

with the sages of Bari would therefore be definitely reasonable. On the other hand, one should perhaps highlight the fact that while Hananel gave up the jewels, he did not . renounce the articles that can be viewed as status symbols, i.e., the book, symbolizing his being a man of knowledge, and the cloak, symbolizing his being a man of high social rank. 473 Since Benevento is on higher ground in comparison with Bari, one can perhaps interpret “descended” as figuratively meaning that Bari was considered more important than Benevento. 474 I.e., once his status as a scholar was universally recognized. 475 Given that Esther, the daughter of Shabbetai, is said to be “of the family of Amittai,” we must conclude that Shabbetai was related to Amittai through a matrilineal relationship. Although that would imply a remarkable generational gap between Hananel . (son of Paltiel the vizier) and his wife Esther, it does not appear totally impossible that Esther’s father was the son of the daughter of Baruch, of whom it is said that he died deprived of male offspring. Alternatively we may hypothesize that he was the son of a daughter of Abdiel: in that case the generational gap could be reduced considerably, since Abdiel would belong to the generation of Paltiel, and Shabbetai would consequently belong to the generation of his presumed son-in-law Hananel. For a detailed . reconstruction of the family genealogy, see chap. 2 of the introductory essay and the reconstruction of the family tree appended to that chapter. 476 Cf. Gen. 49:3. According to the midrash (Gen. Rab. 99, 6), the wording would allude to sexual purity.

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Hassadiah accompanied R. Hananel to Ifrikiya to visit R. Paltiel, the . . son of his sister Cassia.477 R. Shemuel came to the city of Capua and there he married a wife whose name was Albavera. After this R. Shabbetai and Papoleon journeyed to them with a gift for R. Paltiel sent by the Prince of Amalfi.478 As is the custom of the youthful, they entered into conversation with the captain of the ship and they said: “Let us make a Name479 and sail with speed and reach the land of Ifrikiya this very night.” So they wrote and invoked the Name of Him who dwells on high480 and cast the writing into the waters of the sea. They said to the sailors: “Take great care lest we slumber.” But [their] sin, guilt, and transgression caused them to fall into a deep sleep and the winds stormily tossed them on the water and the boat capsized and people drowned in the depths. By virtue of the Name the ship was driven to Spain and Narbonne and also to the sea of Constantinople and then returned to the sea of Ancona and finally wrecked in the city of Amalfi.481 49 The King of Egypt died, and the elders of Egypt dispatched writs, with the assent of the [high] officials and noblemen and the people482 of the cities and villages, in the hands of trusty messengers,483 wise and intelligent heralds, to al-Mui"z the king of the Southern:484 “We have heard of your valor and the fierce battles which you have fought wisely and have overcome with your cunning the former kings who ruled the kingdom of Syene.485 Now come up to us and be our king with the counsel of our ministers and all the great men of our land, and we shall be your servants and you shall be our king.”486

477 According to the above-mentioned reconstruction of the family genealogy, the Paltiel mentioned here is Paltiel II, son of Cassia II, the daughter of Paltiel the vizier and sister of Hananel. It stands to reason that this woman, married to a man whose . name is not transmitted in the family’s memory, also dwelled in Qairawan, where the prominence of the family was still great. 478 These men are thus represented as mediating emissaries of both the Christian rulers and the Jewish scholarly establishment of the region within the area under Islamic rule. In the changing climate of the socio-cultural structure of the Jewish communities of southern Italy, that was of paramount importance for the social standing of the family of Ahima#az. And see further chap. 2 of the introductory essay. . 479 The Hebrew wording alludes to both the magical use of the Name of God and the arrogant endeavor to acquire fame (cf. Gen. 11:4: íù åðì äùòðå—to make a name for ourselves). 480 The Hebrew wording most probably alludes to a formula based on a biblical verse displaying the words ïëåù and íåøî (for instance, Isa. 33:5 or 57:15).

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· äTé!òä äàetK"a àa ìàeî"Ö §øå · äàé!qk ÇúÇç#à ïa ìàé!è"ìt §ø ìöà · äàéNéX"ôà"a · äçð!nä í!ò ïÇàéìÇtte éú"aÖ §ø eìò ïëéV#çàå · äTéáàa"ìà dî"Öe äg!à à×ð íÖå èéðYéáO í!ò eñð"ëð · íéXòpä âäð!î"k íäå · äçeì"Ö é!ô"ìîà ø× úàî ìàé!è"ìt §ø"ì øÖ#à Çæ"a äàéNéX"ôà æÇç"î ìà äé"äðå · äìäá"a _ìðå íÖ ä×#òð eø"îàiå · íéXáE!a äðé!ô"qä eø"îàå · äniä éî êÇú"a áú"kä eëé!ì"Ö!äå · äîÇø"î ïëÇÖ íÖ eøé!kæ!äå eá"úëå · äìélä 5 · äî"Öàå ïÇòäå èçä íUâå · äîeð"ú eðì úÇé$ä ìá"ì · äî"öò"a eða eø#äf!ä íé!çlnì eãYéå äðé!ô"qä äë"ôäðå · äîénä éð"t ìò íT#òéñ çeøäå · äîcYz úð"Ö íäéì#ò äì"ôðå íé"a íâå · àðÇaYð"áe àé"ît"ñé!à"a äðé!ô"qä _é!ìÇä ígä çÇëå · äîÇä"ú éL"îé!ò"a íé!Öð#àä :äðéD"nä é!ô"ìîà"a dT"aé!Ö øçàå · àðÇ÷ðà íé ãò øÇçà"ì dTéæ$çäå · àðé!èðè"ñÇ÷ · íéXÇçäå íéðâ"qä úeÖYî · íéXô"ñ íéU"ö!î éðOæ eç"ìÖå · íéU"ö!î _ìî úîiå 49 10 æÇòî ìà · íéðÇáðe íé!îë#ç íé!çeì"Ö · íéðî$àð íéXé!ö ãé"a · íéXô"káe úÇðéD"na íé!á"ÖÇiä zYáâå · ^úî"ëç"a z"îç"ìð øÖ#à · ^éúÇî#ç"ì!î ÷æ&çå · ^éúÇøeáâ eð"òîÖ · íéðîézä _ìî äì#ò äzòå · íéðéå"ñ úeë"ìî"a · íéðÇÖàX eéäÖ · íéðÇîEK íé!ëì"nä ìò · ^úîYò"a äzàå ^éCá#ò eð"çð#àå · eðéöYà éìÇãb ìëå · eðéV× úö#òá · eðéìò _ìî äé"ä!úå · eðéìà :eðk"ìî 15 íòäå

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481 Again, the improper use of the wonderful magical power by these young men, seeking to use it for an audacious show of their ability rather than for the service of God, almost had tragic consequences. However, the harrowing tour around the entire Mediterranean area ended that time solely with shipwreck in Amalfi and the failure of their mission. 482 The wording is reminiscent of both a quite ordinary liturgical formula and the biblical expressions found, for instance, in Neh. 4:8, 5:7, and elsewhere. 483 For the Hebrew wording, see Prov. 25:13. 484 Al-Mui"z, consistently called the king of the south, both in accordance with the biblical reference to Egypt in Dan 9:5 and to the #Abbasid ruler in Baghdad, who will shortly appear in the chronicle as the king of the north (cf. Dan 9:7–8). For the events alluded to, see chap. 2 of the introductory essay. 485 Egypt. Cf., for instance, Ezek. 29:10. 486 The wording is reminiscent of a well-known section of the liturgy for the Day of Atonement.

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50 Then he began to think it over, and R. Paltiel was brought before him and they began consulting to know what they should do, for the journey was a long one, through desert and a land of distress and hardship.487 Nowhere along the route was there water and food, nor tents or lodgings. R. Paltiel preceded him and set up encampments and prepared markets and lodgings, and placed in them merchants and placed in them488 bread, water, fish, meat, and vegetables and everything required by soldiers coming from the cities.489 The king and the great princes advanced and set up camps and tents three miles from Fustat.490 All the nobles of Fustat came running, the noblemen and the governors joyfully, the rulers and the wealthy and all the ordinary people happily. They came before him and prostrated themselves and he exacted from them an oath according to the laws of their faith and took hostages from among the governors.491 Then R. Paltiel entered Fustat with some of the forces and put in order the walls and the towers, and they guarded the city, the royal palace, and the citadels, and he appointed guards to stand watch day and night over the high edges of the land and all its territories; after this the king entered with all his army. The princes and all the people came to him and all once again made their vow to him. Then he went up to the court and took up residence in his citadel, on the throne of his royalty, splendor, and greatness. They placed the scepter in his hand and the royal crown on his head492 and he ruled over the kingdom of the southern493 to his heart’s desire.

For the wording, cf. Isa. 30:6. The text is not manifestly corrupted, as suggested by Klar’s amendment, who (on the basis of the following rhyme) substituted íäá áéùåäå with úåð÷ìå—i.e., “to prepare and to buy”. However, although definitely odd, one can imagine íéøâú rhyming with íéî, and refrain from an unnecessary amendment of the text. 489 For all these details, see chap. 2 of the introductory essay. Needless to say, in the Arab accounts the person caring for the supplies is not Paltiel but Djauher, the commander of the army. 490 The Hebrew text has Egypt, which was the usual term for Fustat. 487 488

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· e×#òé äî úòAì · eñð"ëð äöò"áe · àáeä åéðô"ì ìàé!è"ìt §øå · äáÖ#çî"a ñð"ëð æà 50 · úÇðÇæ"îe íéî _Wcä ìë"a ïéàå · äJeöå äTö õWàå øaE!îe · äJÇçY äúéä _Wcä é!k íéNåå"Ö ïwé!úå · úÇð#çî ä×òå åéðô"ì ìàé!è"ìt §ø øáòå · úÇðÇì"î úéáe íé!ìä&à àÀå ø×áe íéâ@å · íéîe íçì · [...] íäa áé!ÖÇäå íéXbz íäa áé!ÖÇäå · úÇðé!ì úéáe íéXräå _ìnä äìòå · úÇðéD"näî íé!àaä íé!ìéé#çì _T"öpä øác ìëå · úÇpâ éLYéå 5 éòÇÖ ìëå · íé!ìé!î äÖì"Ö íéU"ö!n!î ÷ÇçT · íé!ìä&àäå úÇð#çîä eò"áJå · íé!ìÇãbäå úlc ìëå íé!áéDpäå íé!èé!lgäå · äöé!ì#òa úÇçtäå íé!î"zYtäå · äöéX"a eà"öé íéU"ö!î çKìå · íòé!a"Ö!ä íú@ éwå%ç"áe · äöYà íétà Çì eå#çz"Öiå åéðô"ì eàÇáiå · äöéD"a íòä · úÇìéi#çä úöO!î í!ò íéU"ö!î"a ìàé!è"ìt §ø ñð"ëðå · íòä éðé!ö"w!î úáÇø#òzä [é]ð"a íéX"îÇÖ ãéN"ô!äå · úÇìëéäå úeë"ìnä úéáe äðéD"nä eø"îÖå · úÇìcâ!näå úÇîÇçä _Uòå 10 ìk í!ò _ìnä ñð"ëð ïëéV#çàå · úÇìeáb ìëå [õWàä] éú#àt íeø · úÇìéìå íé!îé øÇî"Ö!ì øöçä ìà äìòå · Çì eò"a"Öð úéðÖ ílå%ëå · Çì"öà eàa íòä ìëå íéXrä Çö"aOðå · Çìéç úeë"ìî øúëå èé!áYgä Çãé"a eî×å · ÇìEåâå ÇzYà"ô!úå Çúeë"ìî àq!k ìò · Çìëéä"a áÖéå :ÇÖ"ôð úeà ìë"a áâpä úeë"ìî"a _ìîe · ÇÖà]"a :1÷ éúàô || áåø :1÷ íåø 11

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491 The details about taking hostages following capitulation or as concrete signs of dominance are in accordance with the common medieval practice known to Ahima#az. . See, for instance, Falkenhausen, La dominazione bizantina, 36. And yet, over and above this almost marginal detail, there is considerable resemblance to the report by Arab historians, as summarized by Quatremère, “Vie du khalife”: 436–439. 492 It may perhaps be superfluous to stress that the crowning is depicted according to the practice followed by kings and emperors in western Europe and Byzantium. 493 Egypt. See n. 489 above.

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51 On the Day of Atonement, R. Paltiel was called upon to read from the Torah. All the members of the congregation494 rose and stood before him,495 the wise and intelligent men who sat in the row,496 the minor and the major ones, the youngsters and the unimportant,497 the infants and the lads, all the community was standing.498 Then he called out to them and said to them all: “Be the elderly seated and let the youngsters stand, otherwise I will return to my seat, for I consider this an iniquity.” After completing his reading, he donated to the Lord of his praise499 five thousand dinars, good, whole, and perfect: one thousand for the Head of the Academy500 and the scholars, one thousand for the mourners of the house of eternity,501 one thousand for the Academy of the Geonim in Babylon,502 one thousand for the communities503 for the poor and the destitute, and one thousand in honor of the Torah for the purchase of oils.504 In the morning he got up early and promptly, for the zealous are always prompt in performing a good deed,505 so as to preempt the evil inclination from deflecting them from the path of righteousness. He brought horsemen and mule drivers, provided them with guards, and sent them with the convoys that make their way into the desert. They carried the gold pieces with them as their master R. Paltiel had commanded them, and distributed them in accordance with the commandment of R. Paltiel to the Academies and the synagogues and the Mourners of Zion and the poor of the communities of Israel.

494 Although the event is described as having taken place in Fustat, the congregation is portrayed as being an assembly attending to both worship and study, like the Palestinian Academy described in § 40 and most probably also the synagogues of southern Italy at that time. 495 The description of the ceremony evokes the calling up of the Exilarch to the Torah in Baghdad, as described by Nathan ha-Bavli (see Ben-Sasson, “Structure, Goals, and Content”) whereas Paltiel displays exemplary humility. And yet, the different attitude toward the elderly, who are invited to remain seated, and the youngsters, who remained standing, as will be noted shortly below, underlines awareness that there are limits to the display of humility in shaping the public image of a leader. 496 I.e., the sages who had a permanent position in the academy, the members sitting in the most prominent row in the yeshivah. 497 Major and minor, youngsters and unimportant must, as usual, all be understood as categories of social status: major and minor indicate the highest ranks of social prominence, whereas youngsters and unimportant refers to the lowest ones.

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As did the entire community in Baghdad when the Exilarch was called up to the Torah. 499 “God of his praise” translates åúìéäú éäìà as in § 30. Note that the pledge is considered as offered to God, no matter who the beneficiaries would be. 500 As will hereafter become clear, the Academy referred to is the Palestinian one. 501 The Karaite “Mourners of Zion”, as in § 6. 502 Though it is not quite clear which Babylonian Academy is here alluded to, we may quite safely assume that it was the one with which Fustat was connected and to which it sent its financial contributions. 503 Situated in Egypt, under al-Mui"z’s rule. 504 In the central synagogue, in which he was called up to the Torah. 505 Cf. TB Pes. 4a: úååöîá íéîéã÷î íéæéøæ.

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52 The entire episode of the honor which the king bestowed upon him506 with its treasures and made him ruler over the kingdom of Egypt and the kingdom of the Syrians as far as Mesopotamia,507 and throughout the Land of Israel as far as Jerusalem, and of his government, his might, and his wealth by which the king elevated and glorified him, are all recorded in the book of the Chronicles of the Kingdom of Nof and Anamim.508 53 When al-Mui"z took ill with the illness of which he was to die, he made his son509 king and entrusted him into the hands of R. Paltiel, his favorite, to be his counselor, helper, and protector and to rule the kingdom with courage and valor. The king died and was gathered unto his ancestors, and his son ruled in his stead. All his days passed in tranquility and security, in peace and serenity. 54 And yet, when he sat on his throne, the officials responsible for the affairs of Egypt would fill the king’s ears with insinuations about R. Paltiel, their tongues sharp as a sword, and every day they would surreptitiously slander him. The king’s fury flamed against them510 and he always rebuked them and to R. Paltiel the vizier511 he would report everything they said. Then they consulted between them512 what should be done to them.513 R. Paltiel departed, he and his wife with all the members of his household, his beloved, his servants, and all his family, to his field and his estate, his orchard and his garden, which the king had given him as his gift.514

506

As will follow immediately, the appointment of R. Paltiel as Nagid is also alluded to here. For the title and office of Nagid, see n. 510 below. 507 It may perhaps not be superfluous to stress that in order to fully appraise the details one should substitute Djaufer for Paltiel. 508 Biblical attributes of Egypt (cf. Isa 19:13; Gen. 10:13). 509 Abu Mansur al-#Aziz Ballah, second son of al-Mui"z. The first-born, #Abdallah, had died in 974, as already pointed out by Klar, Chronicle, 151. 510 Cf Esther 1:12. 511 The Hebrew term here translated as “vizier” is ãéâð. It is however almost certain that the assumption that such a predicate would mean that Paltiel was the first to have

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ãé"a ÇúÇà í×å Çð"a úà _é!ì"î!äå õîÇà"a úeë"ìnä âäð"ìe èMÖ"a åéîé ìk eé"äiå

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been appointed to the office later known by that title in Fatimid Egypt is totally groundless. See Neustadt, “Some Problems concerning the ‘Neguidut’ in Egypt”; Goitein, “New Sources”; Cohen, Jewish Self-Government, 38–40. To avoid misunderstandings, Paltiel is constantly referred to here as “the vizier.” 512 I.e., the king and Paltiel. 513 As will shortly become clear, Paltiel’s departure was a trick devised by the king in the course of the above-mentioned counsel. 514 The description reminds one of Abd Rahman’s allocations to Hisday ibn Shaprut . to Zahara in Granada.

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55 The king inquired affectionately: “Where has this precious man515 gone, R. Paltiel who discerns concealed things?”516 The servants answered him, those who serve in court: “He has gone out to gladden his heart with his beloved ones and his household to the palace garden which the king has given him.” The king summoned his officials and called his ministers and his deputies, and said to them: “You and I shall go and greet the elderly philosopher517 who is in my service, R. Paltiel whom I deem to be pleasant, dear, and honorable.” So he traveled in his chariot and brought all his officers and princes with him. Now the king acted wisely, because the whole matter was carried out cunningly, for R. Paltiel’s departure had been a trick, devised by the king so as to show him tremendous affection before all his people and the ministers of the realm, to shame his detractors and humiliate them, and [cover them] with shame, disgrace, and ignominy. When the king drew near to the tent of R. Paltiel, he commanded that no man should go and tell him until the king himself would reach his tent. Then the king descended from the chariot and R. Paltiel came and stood before him, and he embraced him most affectionately, hugged and kissed him, took his hand and the two walked together and sat alone, and all stood where they were. The players and the drummers came and took in their hands harps and drums and they performed before them with instruments, harps, and songs, with drums, cymbals, and lyres, from morning until the day was coming to an end in the afternoon, until the even-time when the shadows are behind you. Then the king rode and returned to Fustat. The faces of the detractors were green with envy. The enemies and the slanderers were shamed, and on that day their mouths were silent and they never spoke evil of him again. Blessed be He who protects his pious ones, who redeems and saves the souls of His servants. Blessed be He and blessed be His name. Blessed be the glory of God from His place.518

515 úåãåîç ùéà is the biblical attribute of Daniel (cf. Dan. 9:23). 516 The intertextual allusion to Daniel coalesces here with the

idea of the perfect counselor to the king, able to foresee future developments. And see further chap. 3 of the introductory essay. 517 “Philosopher” translates ñåôåñåìéô, a quite unfrequent term in rabbinical Hebrew, yet clearly indicating a learned non-Jew, considered most honorable by the Jewish sages for his knowledge. The wording here echoes almost certainly Massekhet Kalla rabbati

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· ïúé!aä úpéb ìà · äç"î!×"ì Çúéa ìé!aOðå · _ìð ízàå éð#à · _ìnä íäì øîàiå · åéðâ"ñ!ìå åéT×"ì àøOiå · åéðÇè"ì!Ö"ì · ééðéò"a ãa"ëpä øJiäå ãî"çpä ìàé!è"ìt §ø àeä · ééðô"ì úVÖ"nä ïLfä ñÇôÇñÇìé!ô éð"t 5 ìëå · äî"ëç"a ä×ò _ìnäå · Çzé!à _é!ìÇä åéðæÇøå åéðé!öO ìëå · Çz"ákYî"a ákYiå äúéä _ìnä é!t!î · äîY!î"a äúéä ìàé!è"ìt §ø úàé!öé é!k · äîYò"a äúéä ä×#ònä · änå[%à] éV×å [å]éðÇî#ä ìk éð"ô!a · äîeö#ò äaé!ç Çì úÇàYä"ì øácä ìb"ìâ"ì · äîe× _ìÇä _ìnäå · [íúÇqë"ì] ätYçå ïÇìJå úÖÇa · íúÇ[è#ò]ä"ì íäéð"ôe åéð"èÇ× ïé!a"ìä"ì òéb!äÖ ãò · Çì ãébä"ì í@à _ìé à`Ö øæâå · áVJ"ú!î ìàé!è"ìt §ø ìä&à"a · áVJå 10 Ç÷"aé!çå · àa åéðô"ì ìàé!è"ìt §øå · äákYnä ï!î _ìnä ãWiå · Çì(äà"a _ìnä eá"Öéå · åéc"çé íäéð"Ö eë"ìäå · åé@é"a Çæç#àå · Ç÷"gð"îe Çô"tâ"î äéäå · Ç÷"Öé!ç áÇøî í@é"a eçOiå · íé!ô"ôÇú"näå íéN#ç×"nä eàÇáiå · í@î#òî"a eã"îò ílå%ëå · ícá"ì íä ìáð"a íéz"ì!ö"îe óÇú"a · íéXé!Öå íépé!îe áâeò"a íäéð"ô!ì e÷#ç×éå · íé!tå%zäå íéXÇðé!kä ìvä úÇèð!k áWòä úò ãò · íééU(äö øçà"ì íÇiä úÇð"t ãòå øMÇaäî · íéX"næ"î øÇ×ò 15 eî"ì"ëðå · íéð"èÇrä éð"t eî"kYk"úðå · íéU"ö!î"ì _ìiå áÖiå _ìnä ákYiå · íééUÇç#àì · íìÇò"ì äòT åéìò øaA"ì àÀå · í[ì$à]ð íäé!t íÇiä ÇúÇà"áe · íéðé!è"×näå íé!áéÇàä _eøa · Çî"Ö _eøáe àeä _eøa · åé@á#ò Öôð ìé!vîe äCÇtä · åé@[é]!ñ#ç øîÇÖ _eøa :ÇîÇ÷"n!î ééé ãÇá"k àÇøO!ì _ìnä çì"Öiå

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ïúð Çì _ìnä øÖ#à

:ð äîåò :駧ë äîå[à] || åéðÇî#ä :÷ ééðåîä :ð ¬é§§ë [å]éðåîä 8 äç&î"×!ì :÷ || äçéîùì :ð ¬é§§ë äçîùì 3 駧äëá :äøòäáå) íúåèòäì :ð íúåòèäì :駧ë íúå[èò]äì 9 än%à :÷ (äîåò 駧äëá :äøòäáå) äîåà :äøòäáå) íìàð :ð íàìð :駧ë í[ìà]ð 17 àúéì :ð ¬é§§ë [íúåñëì] | | íúÇè#òä"ì :÷ (íúåòèäì åé@é!ñ#ç :÷ åéãñç :ð ¬é§§ë åéã[é]ñç 18 íì$àð :÷ (íàìð 駧äëá

VII, 4, almost repeated verbatim in Mah. zor Vitri, 531. Such a coincidence appears to corroborate our theory about the umbilical link between the traditions held by the Jews of southern Italy and those of of the Ashkenazi setting represented by Mah. zor Vitri. And cf. with Klar, Chronicle, 151. 518 Jerusalem. The wording echoes the recurrent formula inserted in the kedushah of all rites.

334

the chronicle of ahima #az .

56 One night R. Paltiel519 went outside [with the king]. They beheld three magnificent stars gathered together and at one moment their light vanished. R. Paltiel said: “The eclipsed stars are three kings who are to die this year and soon will cease to exist. The first is the king of Greece,520 the second is the king of the north of Baghdad,”521—and the king was prompt to interject: “To my despair, the third is you, the king of the south.”522 He replied to the king: “No my lord, for I am a Jew;523 the third king is the Spaniard.”524 But the king insisted saying: “You are third, truthfully, just as I say.” 57 Indeed in that year died R. Paltiel, protector of the communities of the people of God525 who reside in Egypt and in the Land of Israel, in Palermo, in Ifrikya, and in all the realm of Ishmael, for he ruled over the realm of the Hebrews and the realm of the Syrians and the Egyptians, the realm of the Ishmaelites and of those who reside in the Land of Israel.526 May his soul enjoy eternal life, preserved in Eden and kept in the garden of God, together with the fathers.527 58 Then arose R. Shemuel his son in his stead, a great and respected man in his generation, he replaced his father. He brought his father and his mother up to Jerusalem in coffins, and the bones of R. Hananel, his . father’s uncle which had been placed in a coffin, and bones which had been preserved in balsam.528 And he dedicated to Him who dwells on high, so that this be considered an act of charity by Him who rides

519 The identity of this Paltiel is rather intriguing. On the one hand, the wording of the praises uttered below (§ 57) leave little doubt that they refer to Paltiel I the vizier and his son Hananel II. On the other hand, it will also be said below (§ 58) that . he was succeeded by his son Shemuel while we have already seen (§ 43) that Paltiel was the father of Hananel II and Cassia II. It therefore stands to reason that in the . recollection of Ahima#az, Paltiel I the vizier and Paltiel II, the cousin of his grandfather . Shemuel, coalesced. For further details, see chap. 2 of the introductory essay and the reconstruction of the family tree appended to that chapter. 520 It is quite clear that the king alluded to is John Tzimiskes, who in fact died on 10 January 976. 521 The allusion may be to al-Muti (946–974), the legitimate #Abbasid Caliph in Baghdad, or to Rukn-al-Daula (935–976), who at that time maintained the Buwayhid hold on Baghdad, as suggested by Kaufmann, “Die Chronik des Achimaaz von Oria,” and others. 522 Fearing that the third king could be “the king of the south,” i.e., himself, the king transfers the title to Paltiel in a kind of apotropaic utterance hidden in an ironic allusion that the vizier did in fact rule as the true king.

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· àöé ãçà ìéì"a äéäå 56 íä · íé!ëéÖ#çä íé!áëÇkä ìàé!è"ìt §ø øîàiå · eô"ñà í[äâ]ð úçà äòÖ"áe · eô"ñ$àð é!î[Çø] ãçàä _ìnä · íé!úî"öð íä áÇøJ"áe · íé!úî Çæ äðÖ"a øÖ#à · íé!ëì"î äÖì"Ö _ìî äzà é!Öé!ì"gä · éðÇà"a Çáé!Ö#äì _ìnä øäîiå · éðÇô"vä ãcâa _ìî éðégäå · éðååiä Çì áé!Öäå · é!cUô"qä é!Öé!ì"gä _ìnäå · éDeäé éð#à é!k · éðÇã#à ìà _ìnì ïòiå · éðîéz 5 :øîÇà éð#àÖ Çî"k úî$àa é!Öé!ì"gä äzà · øîÇà"a _ìnä íéXé!cà íé!áëÇk äÖì"Ö äp!äå eæ$çéå

·

äöeçä ìàé!è"ìt §ø

· ìà íò úÇlé!äO!ì ïânä · ìàé!è"ìt §ø úî äðgä äúÇà"áe 57 úeë"ìî"a äCÇø àeä é!k · ìàòî"Öé úìÖ"îî ìë"áe äJéX"ôà"áe ÇîYéìt"a · ìàT"×é · íéìàT"×é õWàå · íé!ìàò"î"Öé úeë"ìîe · íéX"ö!näå íé!nU#à úeë"ìî"áe · íéX"á!òä úÇáàä ìöà · äTeö#à íé!äÀ$à ïâ"a · äTeî"Ö ïCò"a · äTeø"ö àä"ú ÇÖ"ôð íéiçä øÇø"ö!a 10 :äTeã"ñ

õWà"áe íéU"ö!î"a íéXcä

íÇ÷"î äéä àlî"î

·

åéúÇøÇã"a ãa"ëðå ìÇãb Öé!à

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åéz"çú Çð"a ìàeî"Ö §ø íJiå

58

ïÇøàaÖ åé!áà ãÇc ìàðð#ç §ø úÇî"öòå

· úÇðÇø#àa í!ìÖeøé!a Çn!àå åé!áà äì$òäå · åéúÇá#à úàî äJ@"ö Çì úÇé"ä!ìå · íéðÇé"ìò Öé!cO!äå · úÇðwå%ú"î ïÇî"ñ"ìá"a øÖ#à úÇîö#òå · úÇðeúð

éî[åø]

3

íäâð :÷ (íâäð 駧äëá :äøòäáå) íäâð :ð íâäð :駧ë í[äâ]ð

2 [_ìnä íò] §ð :÷ ìàéèìô 1

éðÇç :÷ (éîåø §à§ñ íééìåùá :äøòäáå) éîç :ð (éîåø êìî §ð íééìåùáå §éîåø§ì ï÷åúù äàøðå) éîç :駧ë ùéã÷äå

14

7 [-----] §ð :÷ [øãì] §ð :1÷

ïðâîä :1÷ (§ãâð§ ùøåùî §ãâðîä§ åà §âäðîä§ àîù :äøòäáå) ïâðîä :ð ïâðîä :ð ¬é§§ë ïâîä ø@"ì

523 Paltiel’s answer pointed out the truth of the matter, i.e. that he was really not a king. Yet the Jewish reader would hardly have missed both the intertextual reading that Jews are not under astrological influence (ìàøùéì ìæî ïéà), meaning that Paltiel would not believe that astrology could be relevant in his case. 524 Al-Hakhim II, the Umayyad caliph of al-Andalus, son of ‘Abd-ar-Rahman III (961–976). 525 A standard attribute of a Jewish leader, ïìãúù, corresponding to the defensor ecclesiae among the Christian communities. See further chap. 3 of the introductory essay. 526 As one immediately realizes, Ahima#az draws a fairly exact delineation of the . borders of the Fatimid territory. 527 For the afterlife imagery, see chap. 5 of the introductory essay. 528 On the custom of transferring the dead to Jerusalem see the references quoted by Noy above p. 48, n. 8.

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the chronicle of ahima #az .

the clouds,529 twenty thousand drachmas of gold,530 for the poor and miserable, for the sages and the preachers-repetitors531 of Torah, for the teachers of children and the hazzanim, and for oil for the sanctuary at the western wall for the altar within,532 and for synagogues of distant and nearby communities,533 and for the mourners of the Sanctuary and the tabernacles, those who grieve and mourn over Zion,534 for the Academy,535 the scholars, and the tannaim,536 and for the sages of Babylon for the Academy of the princes.537 May his memory be blessed, and his soul sustained and granted the safeguard of life,538 near the treasures of God.539

Cf. Ps. 68:5. Cf. Neh. 7:70, 71. This should not be confused with the coin, in wide usage in the ancient Greek world and adopted in the first half of the eighteenth century as the Greek national currency. 531 The wording alludes most probably to the δευτεροτ#ς, i.e., the teachers of the δευτ#ρωσις, a term almost certainly meaning the Mishnah. 532 According to Dinaburg, “Jewish House of Prayer”: 54 ff., this alludes to the synagogue and school built by the Jews on the Temple Mount with the permission of the Arabs, that continued to exist until the Crusader conquest. The altar within would then be the podium (bimah) of the h. azzan or øåáéö çéìù (p. 62). See also Klar’s note who adds a similar use of the term (“the altar within”), referring to the bimah is found in the kerovah by Elazar Kilir for Sukkoth øåôéë ìéçá éúîéåà (Davidson, Thesaurus, 1:83 # 1813 à). We may add that a similar meaning is found: stemming from the Greek bêma, meaning a step or platform, in the Eastern Church it is the enclosed space surrounding the altar. In a Christian basilica it refers to an open space between the end of the nave arcade and the apse. 533 Probably meaning near or far from Jerusalem. 534 ïåéö éìáà—see §§ 5 and 20. 535 From here on the list of the offerings refers to the Babylonian institutions. R. Shemuel places Palestinian and Babylonian institutions on the same footing, donating money to both, including the ïåéö éìáà. The wording seems to indicate that the Academy referred to is the Academy of the Babylonian Gaon whose authority was recognized in the Land of Israel. 529 530

the chronicle of ahima #az . ·

íéðÖYcäå íé!îë#çì

·

íéðeâ#òå íé!lA"ì

é!áT#òî ìúÇë"a ÖcO!nì ïîÖå ìëéää éìéá#àìå

·

·

·

íéðÇî"kYc óìà íéX"×ò áäf!î

íéðfçå úÇ÷Çðé!ú éB"nì"î!ìå

·

·

·

íéðð#ò áëÇø

íéðpÖ"î äTÇzä øÖ#à

íéðéë"gäå íéNÇçYä úÇlé!äO!ì úÇi!ñð"k ézá"ìe

íé!àpzìå íéDé!î"ìzì äáé!Öiä ìàå

ãòñ"a

·

337

·

íéð"ô!aÖ çaæ!nì

íé!ìéá#àå ïÇi!ö ìò íé!îeâ#òä íä

·

íéðk"Ö!nä[å]

· äëeî"ú àä"ú Çú@é!ç[é]å · äëT"á!ì àäé Çø"ëæ · íé!àé!×pä úáé!Öé!ì ìáa éî"ëç"ìe 5 :äëeî"ñ íé!äÀ$à úÇø"öÇà"á · äëeø#ò íéiç Çú@é!ç[é]å :÷ åúãéçå :駧ë åúãéç[é]å

5

íéðk"Ö!näå :÷ íéðëùîä :ð ¬é§§ë íéðëùîä[å]

4

536 The term tanna also has a meaning of someone of the amoraic period who hands down tannaitic statements, knows and memorizes them, and teaches them in the beth ha-midrash (eg., TB Pes. 100a). These later tannaim served as living libraries and were spoken of as “baskets full of books,” in contrast to the eminent scholars. It was said of them that they ruin the world (ha-tannaim mevalleh olam, TB Sot. 22a) in that they give decisions based on traditions they have learned without knowing their reasons and their application to practical cases; Sperber, “Tanna, Tannaim.” 537 I.e., for the members of the Academy of the Babylonian Exilarch. 538 Cf. Ps. 20:3 (“May He send you help from the sanctuary, and sustain you from Zion”) and Midrash Tehillim on Ps. 14:6, tr. Braude, 185–186: úåîçðäå úåëøáä ìë ,éåì ø§§à úåáåèäå … ïåéöî äãéòñ … ïåéöî äëøá … ïåéöî äøåú .ïåéöî íìåë ìàøùé ìò àéáî 䧧á÷äù … ïåéöî äòåùé.—R Levi said: All the blessings, boons, and comforts which the Holy One, blessed be He, will bring to the people of Israel, He will bring the out of Zion: Thus the Law of the Lord shall go forth out of Zion … divine blessing will be bestowed out of Zion … strengthening shall come out of Zion … salvation shall come out of Zion … Following the central theme of the psalm, the idea here is that R. Shemuel will receive appropriate recompense in return for the offerings made in Jerusalem. 539 I.e., resting under the Divine Throne, together with the souls of the blessed ones. See n. 322 above.

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the chronicle of ahima #az .

59 I540 will ascribe righteousness to my God541 Praise and majesty to my Creator I will exalt with the song of my words God, Lord of my strength542 Amongst the assembly of the communities To His name I will utter praises In awe and fear entreating Him who performs great deeds543 To exalt the majesty of His honor [..............]544 To uphold His mighty valor545 With mouth and throat I will sing it melodiously Seek[ing] his magnificent deeds I will exalt His eternal kingdom Following his paths straightly For ever more and for all generations Praise and glory and exultation Will I break forth in joy and melody The glory of God in heaven546 Will I recall at all times and in all seasons

540

Most of this paragraph displays a piyyut in praise of Paltiel and his son Hananel, . the father of Ahima#az’s grandfather. The piyyut is composed of stanzas of four rhymed . verses, of which the first and the third display a double alphabet, i.e., the first and third lines of each stanza begin with aleph, bet, etc. The following rhymed prose, in the usual style of the Chronicle of Ah. ima #az, displays in the opening verses the signature of the author õîàå ÷æç ìàéèìô éáøá õòîéçà. It seems almost unquestionable that the two men praised in the poetic composition of Ahima#az did not dwell in Capua, for as will be . said shortly below, only “their descendants” reached the city. It is therefore impossible to identify one of them with R. Shemuel as proposed by Colafemmina, Sefer Yuh. asin, 195, who furthermore proposes a reconstruction of the family tree quite different from the one suggested in that appended to chap. 2 of the introductory essay. 541 The Hebrew wording is after Job 36:3 (÷ãö ïúà éìòåôìå ÷åçøîì éòã àùà—I will fetch my knowledge from afar, and will ascribe righteousness to my Maker). The knowledgeable among the audience could immediately associate this utterance with

the chronicle of ahima #az . · é!ì"ìÇç"î!ì älåHâe çáÖ · é!ìà"ì ÷Cö ïzà :é!ìéç ééé íé!äÀ$à · é!ìelé!î øé!Ö"a íîÇø#à

339 59

· úÇl!ä"z òé!aà Çî"Ö!ì · úÇlé!äO ãòåå êÇú"a :úÇìÇãâ ä×Çò éð"t · úÇlç"ì àTÇîe äîéà"a · [äî.......] · äî"îÇø"ì ÇãÇá"k úlåHb :äîé!òðà ïÇøâå _éç"a · äî"îÇ÷"ì ÇtOåz úUeáb

5

· íéXà Çúeë"ìî çöð · íéXàÇô"nä åé×#òî ÖÇø"c :íéXÇc éVÇã"ì ãò éB#òì · íéXÖéî"a åéúÇáé!úð _Çø"c · äpéXå ìéâ"a çé!ö"ôà · äððYe æÇòå ìlä :äðÇòå úò ìë"a øé!kæà · äðÇò"î é[ä]À$à úUEä éäÀ$à :÷ é[ä]ìà :1÷ éìà :ð ¬é§§ë é[ä]ìà

10 [-------] :÷ àúéì :ð ¬é§§ë [äî........] 5

the midrashim in which the verse is taken to variously allude to Job’s poetic musing upon the wonderful phenomenon of conception and birth of both righteous and wicked. (See, for instance, Lev. Rab. 14; Tan. Tazria, 3). The allusion is therefore particularly fitting to open the poetic representation of the recollection of the memories concerning the lives of the ancestors of Ahima#az and of their wicked enemies. . 542 After Hab. 3:19 (éìéç §ä íéäìà—The Lord is my strength). 543 The wording follows Job 5:9 (ø÷ç ïéàå úåìãâ äùò—Which doeth great things and unsearchable; marvellous things without number); and cf. Job 9:10 and 37:5. 544 The text is manifestly lacking a verse (see the apparatus appended to our critical edition). 545 The wording follows Esther 10:2 (åúøåáâå åô÷ú äùòî—the acts of His power and of His might). 546 After Deut. 33:27 (íã÷ éäìà äðòî), according to the traditional understanding that heaven is the dwelling place of God.

10

340

the chronicle of ahima #az .

And the might of wonders and miracles He showed in all ends of the world, And beautiful skill in deeds547 He has bestowed upon carried sons548 He bestowed His mercy and pity On the seed of his two beloved ones549 The merit and the righteousness of His pious devotees He bestowed on the house of His servants He has spared them from anger and fury550 And saved them from trouble and disgrace He has shown them great love and affection And rescued them from evil decrees. He has adorned them with what is more valuable than pearls551 Sweeter than honey in the throat552 He whose eyes are pure553 to the faithful He sustained and provided them with food. They dwelt in might in Oria For nearly seventeen Jubilees554 [Until] the king of the Ihsmaelites descended upon them And expelled them from their country555

547

Perceptive listeners might capture in the wording (íéùòî ïåøùë éàåðå) a trace of the piyyut õøà ãéîòé èôùîá êìî (see Davidson, Thesaurus, 3:142 # 1572 î) in which äùòî ïåøùë rhymes with ïåøâá éàøå÷å (see above, l. 3 of the piyyut). 548 Cf. Neh 46:3: “Who have been carried since birth, supported since leaving the womb.” 549 As will shortly be specified in § 62, the two beloved ancestors of Ahima#az are . Shephatiah and Hananel, two of the three sons of Amittai I, for nothing was recorded . of the third one (Eleazar). For further details see chap. 2 of the introductory essay and the reconstruction of the family tree appended to that chapter. 550 The wording that follows Ps. 78:49 and alluding to the miraculous deliverance from slavery at the hands of the Egyptians, was familiar to all kinds of audiences from its incorporation in the Passover Haggadah and is here skillfully applied to the deliverance from Basil I’s persecution. The figure of Shephatiah is thus again aptly represented in the image and resemblance of Moses.

the chronicle of ahima #az .

341

· íé!ñô#à ìë"a äàYä · íé!qéðå íé!ú"ôÇî õîÇàå :íé!ñeî#ò [í]éðá"ì øgéé · íé!×#òî ïÇø"Ö!k é!àÇðå · åé@éDé éð"Ö òUæ"ì · åé@ñ#çå åéî#çU øëæ :åé@á#ò úéá"ì àé!ö"î!ä · åé@é!ñ#ç úÇ÷E!öå úeëæ 5

· äTöå äJev!î íìé!v!äå · äT"áòå íòf!î íë[×]#ç :äTéæb òÇøî í[è]"lé!î · äTéúé äaé!ç íá"aé!ç · íéðÇøâ!a ùá"c!î äJeú"nä · íéðéð"t!î äTJé íñ"ké!è :íéðÇæ"î!a íì"k"ìé!kå íJ"té!ñ · íéðî$àð"a [íé]éðéò øÇä"è · íé!ì"áÇé ø×ò äò"á!Ö"k · íé!ìei!à"a éXééeà"a eá"Öé :íé!ìeáb ìòî íJé!çY!äå · íé!ìàò"î"Öé _ìî ãUé 4 íéðá"ì :÷ åéðáì :ð ¬é§§ë [í]éðáì 2 :駧ë í[è]ìéî 6 ä÷åöå äøöî :ð ¬é§§ë äøöå ä÷åöî || íëñ#ç :÷ (§íëñç§ é§§äëá :äøòäáå) íëùç :ð :÷ äòáùá :ð äòáùë 9 åéðéò :÷ åéðéò :ð ¬é§§ë [íé]éðéò 8 íè"lé!î :÷ ?íéðìéî :äøòäá :ð íéðìéî íëñç :駧ë íë[ù]ç

5

10

àéöî(î)ä :1÷ àéöîîä :ð ¬é§§ë àéöîä

äò"á!Ö"a

Torah wisdom (cf. Prov. 8:11). Cf. Ps. 19:11. 553 The wording after Hab. 1:13 (ìëåú àì ìîò ìà èéáäå òø úåàøî íééðéò øåäè—Thou art of purer eyes than to behold evil and canst not look on iniquity) was traditionally understood as one of the attributes of God and as such is almost frequent in familiar liturgical compositions. 554 Seventeen jubilees from the destruction of the Sanctuary would amount to 918 (50x17 = 850 + 68 = 918). According to Klar, Chronicle, 148, that would be a glaring anachronism, for the date of the raid on Oria was 925. And yet, viewed from our perspective, the discrepancy would be absolutely insignificant and positivist attempts to set the contradiction definitely unnecessary; cf., for instance, Colafemmina, Sefer Yuh. asin, 197, n. 326. 555 For the sequence of the historical events, see chap. 2 of the introductory essay. 551 552

342

the chronicle of ahima #az .

Filled with anger and fury He destroyed and desolated Calabria He conquered [it] from the strait And was victorious in the land of Lombardy. He repressed the land forcefully And brought it to distress and hardship To his land he exiled them in desolation Stifling556 their souls and beings He who dwells on high in heaven Whose look causes the valleys to quake Who commands and decrees and maintains All the foundations of the lands of the earth He looked with mercy Upon the sons of His faultless servants And remembered for them from heaven The merit of their ancestors The king looked intelligently And distinguished among them, with his sagacity One who deciphered and understood the stars Who knew how to interpret hidden secrets557 He elevated him over his advisors And entrusted to his hands his treasures The Jews became mighty in his days Just as the Jordan fills with water

556 Stifling translates 1607, s.v. ÷ðù). 557 Paltiel.

ä÷ðùì,

literally strangling, suffocating (see Jastrow, Dictionary,

the chronicle of ahima #az .

343

· øaé!Öå ñUä äàéX"aìKå · øaò"úð ïÇøçå ñòk :øáb äàé!cYaÇâðÇì õWà"áe · øá#ònä ï!î Öaé!k · äJeö"áe ÷çÇã"a dàé!á$äå · äJæç"a õWàä õçì :äJpÖ"ì íúéiçå íÖ"ôð · äJeá"a íìâä ÇöYà"ì 5

· íéNî#ò ãé!òYîe èé!anä · íéNç"Ö ïëÇÖ íÇøî :íéNT#à õWà éðEà ìk · íéNîe øæÇâå äåeö"î · íé!îé!î"zä åé@á#ò éð"a · íé!î#çU"ì [å]éðéò"a ïúð :íéðÇîEwä úÇáà úeëæ · íé!îÇø"n!î íäì økæð · äðeá"ú!a íäéðéa äàTå · äðé!á"a _ìî øKñ :äððÇa"ú!ä"ì úÇî"ëça òBÇé · äðé!áä"ì íé!áëÇka øañ

10

· åéîñ#à Çãé"a øñîe · åéî#ëç ìò Çlé!ò :åéîéî"a ïcYiä úÇàì"î[!k] · åéîé"a íéDeäiä eî"öò úåàìîá :ð ¬é§§ë úåàìî[ë]

12

åéðéò"a :÷ éðéòá :駧ë [å]éðéòá

7

ïÇøç"áe :÷ ïåøçáå :ð ¬é§§ë ïåøçå

1

úÇàì"î!k :÷

344

the chronicle of ahima #az .

He was appointed agent558 and governor559 Second in the house of the king560 Comforting his loyal servants from his possessions Tormenting the heretics561 and the infidels He prospered and became mighty in his greatness And his gifts reached wider and farther His pledges and donations enhanced For those who love God and His Law He dedicated and distributed money To the poor of Jerusalem and the cities He promoted the excellent academies And the sages and learned men From his loins descended a pure one562 Learned and proficient in the Law Who tramples underfoot traitors and Sadducees563 Who helps and rescues from the impure Persistent in goodness Serving God with love Observing His commandments lovingly With a willing and sweet soul Faultless and donator of donations To Him whose pride and might are in heaven Supporter of those who study in the yeshivot Encouraging the hearts of the miserable

558 Since in documents of the Cairo Genizah the Hebrew term íéøçåñä ãé÷ô has the quite precise meaning of local representative and agent of foreign merchants, we have here translated ãé÷ô as special agent for the ruler. 559 The Hebrew term translated as governor is ãéâð. For the meaning of the title, see n. 510 above. 560 The wording may be alluding to the role of the biblical Joseph in the court of Pharaoh (cf. Gen. 41:43).

the chronicle of ahima #az .

345

· äð"Ö!î _ìnä úéá"a · äpå%î"î ãéâðå ãéNt :äpò"î íéX"ôÇkäå íéðé!nä · äpäî åéñëp!î íé!ì#òÇt · Çúð"zî äëYàå äá#çTå · ÇúlåHâ!a øé!c"àäå çìö :ÇúTÇúå ééé éá#äÇà"ì · ÇúkY!áe ÇúáEð çÇî"ö · úÇðéD"näå í!ìÖeøé éið#òì · úÇðÇîî ÷lé!çå ÖcéN :úÇðé!a éòEÇé"ìe íé!îë#çìå · úÇðeë"zä úÇáé!Öiì ícN

5

· éNáe äTÇza àlå%î"î · éNð åéöì#çî ãU :éNðé!à èlî"îe øæÇò · éN[e]cöå ãâÇa [ñ]îÇø · äá#äà"a ééé ãÇá#òì · äáÇhä ìò ãLÇÖ :äáéV#òå äöéô#ç Öôð"a · äaé!ç"a åéúÇå"ö!î øî&Ö · úÇáT#òa Çfå%òå Çúåå#àâ"ì · úÇá@ð áBÇðå íz :úÇáá"ì éà"kEð ÷fç"ìe · úÇáé!Öiä éBé!î"ìz [_îÇ]z éNecöå :÷ é÷éãöå :ð ¬é§§ë é÷[å]ãöå

561

|| ñîÇø :÷ íîåø :ð ¬é§§ë [ñ]îåø 8 eç"î"öé :÷ åçîö :1÷ çåîö 4 êî&ú :÷ êîú :1÷ éåîú :ð ¬é§§ë [êîå]ú 12

I.e., the Karaites. If our reconstruction of the family tree is correct, the allusion is to Hananel II, . father of Shemuel, grandfather of Ahima#az. See Chap. 2 of the introductory essay and . the reconstruction of the family tree appended to that chapter. 563 Since there is no evidence of Karaites in southern Italy, we must conclude that the allusion is to the activity of Hananel II in Qairawan. . 562

10

346

the chronicle of ahima #az .

Perfect and complete love, great and tremendous affection, the awesome Lord bestowed upon them. Knowledge and skill564 and reason, good counsel and understanding and bravery, He who is wrapped in a robe of light565 bestowed upon them. With intelligence, wisdom and Torah, great wealth and magnificence, did He who dwells in light566 bless them. Fear and true humility, authority and honesty, He who created the universe instilled in them. What is better than silver in commerce, more precious than pearls,567 He who responds at a time of distress vested upon them. Upon the surviving remnant of the holy ones, strength and dominion and power, granted them He who by his spirit has garnished the heavens.568 To their offspring He gave proper guidance, and was unto them a shield and a refuge,569 a lofty wall and a fortified city,570 a watchtower571 to their sons, a shelter and a help. He gave them food,572 increased and expanded their lands, blessed the work of their hands, bestowed His blessing on their treasuries, peace and security in their homes, quiet and tranquility in their tents, relief and deliverance573 in their possessions.

564 565 566 567 568

Cf. Dan 1:17. Cf. Ps. 104:2. See n. 77 above. See n. 2 above. After Job 26:13: äøôù íéîù åçåøá.

the chronicle of ahima #az .

347

· äTeîâe äîéì"Ö äá#äà · äTéúéå äîeö#ò äaé!ç · àTÇð ìà [í]ò"céé · äTá"ñe ìk"×äå òcî · äTeáâe úòAå äöò · äTÇà äèÇò í@"n!ö · äTÇzå äî"ëçå äðé!a · äTà"ô!úå øÖÇò õeaéX · äTÇäð øc íëYéa · äTÇä"è äååð#òå äàYé · äTÖé _WCå íéDewé!t · àTa íìÇò íá"aé!ì · äT"çñ óñk!î áÇè · äTJé íéðéð"t!î øúÇé · äTva äðÇò í@"té!à

5

10

15

· äTà"Öpä íé!ÖÇãO úèéì"ô!ì · äTT"×e úìÖ"îîe ÷æÇç · äT"ô!Ö íéîÖ Ççeø"a õné!à ·

äTeö"a øé!òå äáâ"×ð äîÇç

_Uéa

·

·

äT"ú!ñå ïâî äéä íäéì#òå

íäéìeáb áé!çY!äå äaYé!ä

äåå"ìÖå èMÖå

·

·

íäì ïúð óWè

íäézá"a çèáå íÇìÖå

·

·

·

äTeÖ"k íâ#äéðå Çîéàö$àö"ì

äTæòå äñ"çîe íäéð"á!ì æÇò ìAâ!î 20

íäéúÇø"öÇà"a çìÖ ÇúëYé!a

·

íäéBé ä×#òî

:íäéðééðéN"a äìväå çååéWå · íäéì(äà"a :÷ éåáéø :1÷ õåáéø 8

íò"cé :÷ äòãéé :ð ¬é§§ë [í]òãéé

3

äîåöòå äøéúé :ð ¬é§§ë äøéúéå äîåöò àúéì :÷ [åçåøá

569 570 571 572 573

After Ps. 119:114: äúà éðâîå éøúñ. The wording is after Isa. 30:13 (äáâùð äîåçá) and 27:10 (äøåöá øéò). For æåò ìãâî cf. Ps. 61:4 and Prov. 18:10. For the phrase ïúð óøè see Ps. 111:5: åéàøéì ïúð óøè. After Esther 4:14.

18

2

éeaX

348

the chronicle of ahima #az .

60 When their descendants reached Capua,574 the Lord their God caused them to be received mercifully by their rulers. The rulers of the city brought R. Shemuel up to their palace and appointed him minister of their treasury, to control in their city the area of the river, the tolls in their markets, and the coinage according to the city’s laws and customs.575 And the God of our fathers helped him, He came to his assistance. He journeyed several times to R. Paltiel576 and gave him good things. And each time [he sat with him] for days, and God granted him tranquility all around, delighted him with the pleasure of Torah,577 and made him prosperous in possessions. He devoted all his energy to making many books,578 he built buildings for the court of His glory.579 And God gave him a worthy son and he named him R. Paltiel who walks in the path of God and clings to the Torah of Israel. He did not stray from the ways of his father and maintained a reverence of God, in wisdom and ethics, and all the godly blessings were not lacking in his house. The governor and prince appointed him to oversee his house and entrusted into his hands all the administration of the city, over officials, secretaries, and learned men, over judges, officers, and gendarmes in every matter, over them all was he appointed. He was the executor of everything, the leader and the spokesman, yet he cleaved to the precepts of God and His Torah, loved His commandments and the laws of His faith, to serve Him with all his heart and proclaim His unity with all his soul. He restored his grandfather’s synagogue as a house of prayer to Him who dwells above. However he did not have sons [and children], for the sons who were born to him died after two or three years, when they were small. And he would wail mournfully, and bemoan sorrowfully, and implore and plea to Him who dwells on high. He prayed to God and He acceded to his request, heard his prayer and his crying voice, and listened to his entreaty from His glorious heavens and in His mercy and kindness bequeathed him an only son whom he called R. Ahima#az. He placed him in school to read the Torah and to . study the Scripture in its holy reverence, sublime commandment, and faithful testimony, in order to comprehend its principles. 574 “Their descendants” are of course the members of the family of Shemuel, grandfather of Ahima#az. . 575 For all these details see chap. 2 of the introductory essay. 576 Without introducing unnecessary amendments to the text, it appears quite clear that this Paltiel should not be be identified with Paltiel I the vizier, but rather with Shemuel’s cousin, the son of Cassia II, in Qairawan. 577 Cf. Ps. 129:92: éòåùòù êúøåú éìåì—Were not Your teaching my delight.

the chronicle of ahima #az . · ·

íäéðÇè"ì!Ö éð"ô!ì íé!î#çU"ì

·

íäéäÀ$à ééé íðúð

íäéæðéb úéa ìò [Ç]úÇà eãéN"ô!äå

éñÇîéð"a òa"ènä ìò

·

íä[é]ðéð äàetK"a eòéb!äÖ"k

·

60

íäéðÇîYà"a ìàeî"Ö §ø äðéD"nä éðÇè"ì!Ö eì$òäå

íäéLåå"Ö ñëîe øäpä æÇç"î ìò

ìàé!è"ìt §ø ìöà äìòå áé!áq!î éééå

·

·

349

Çøæò"a äéä àeäå

·

·

íälÖ äðéD"na ìÖÇî úÇé"ä!ì

Çøæ#ò eðéúÇá#à éäÀàå

·

íäéñÇîéDå øé!òä

· íé!áÇè íé!öô#ç Çì ïúðå · íé!îò"t 5 ìë"a ÷ñò äaYä íéXô"ñ úÇ×#ò · Ççé!ì"ö!ä íé!ñëð!áe · Çç"né!× íé!òeÖ#òÖ úUÇú"áe · Ççéð$ä · ìàé!è"ìt §ø Çî"Ö í×å · ìàä Çì ïúð ïeâä ïáe · Çç"á!Ö úUéD"ì äða íéðééðé!áe · ÇçÇk úàYé"a ÷éæ$çäå · øñ àÀ åé!áà éëYc!î · ìàT"×é úUÇú"a ÷áÇãå · ìà éëYA"a _ìÇä · ø[r]äå ìÖÇnä Çúéá"a eäpé!îe · øñç àÀ Çúéa!î ééé áeè ìëå · øñeî"áe äî"ëç"a ééé íé!×âðå íéX"è&Öå íé!è"ô&Öå · øañå òÇÖ[å] ãéNt ìòå · øñî Çãé"a äðéD"nä úeøéÖ ìëå 10 ééé éwå%ç"a ÷á@å · øaAå âé!äðîe àé!áîe àé!öÇîe · øaæb äéä àåä ílå%k ìòå · øác ìk ïwé!úå · Çã#çéé"ì ÇÖ"ôð ìë"áe · Çc"áò"ì Ça!ì ìë"a · Çú@ éè"t"Ö!îe åéúÇå"ö!î áäàå · ÇúTÇú"áe é!k · [íéDìéå] íéða ïÇø"ñç Çì äéäå · äì"òî ïëÇÖ ãÇá"ë!ì · älé!ô"z úéá"ì ÇðéLæ úñð"k äåå@ äéäå · íépèO ïäÖ"k íé!úî eéä · íéðÖ ÖÇìÖå íéz"Ö!a · íéDìÇð Çì eéäÖ íéðaä ééé ìà ìlô"úiå · íéðÇò"î ïëÇÖ éð"t · íéðepé!ç"a ïpé!çå · íéðebé!ò"a ïbò"ú!îe · íéðÇá#àA"a 15 åéî#çU"áe · Çlå%áæ éî"g!î Çúpé!ç"z ïéæ$àäå · ÇìÇ÷ úòååÖå Çúlé!ô"z òî"Öiå · Çì øúòiå àÇøO!ì · Çî× øôqä úéá"a · Çî"Ö àTJ õòîé!ç#à §øå · Çìé!çð!ä ãé!çé ïa åé@ñ#çå · äðî$àð úeãéò"a · äTá Çúåå"ö!î"a · äTÇä"hä ÇúàYé"a · àTO!na úÇâ#äìå · äTÇza :äððÇá"ì åé@ewé!t ·

íé!îé [Çn!ò áÖé] íòôå íòt ìë"áe

3 ÇúÇà :÷ íúåà :ð ¬é§§ë [å]úåà 2 íäéðéð :÷ íäðéð :駧ë íä[é]ðéð 1 :÷ òåùå :1÷ òåùé :ð ¬é§§ë òåù[å] 10 øräå :÷ øñäå :ð ¬é§§ë ø[ù]äå 9 àúéì :ð ¬é§§ë [åîò áùé] 5 àúéì :ð ¬é§§ë [íéãìéå] 13 òÇÖå

íäéLeÖ :÷ 駧äëá êë íäé÷ååù

578 Cf. Eccles. 12:12. Contrary to the biblical teaching, the making of many books is here considered praiseworthy. See chap. 5 of the introductory essay. 579 Cf. Eccles. 2:4. But contrary to King Solomon, who complains that the many buildings he built to enhance his pleasure were in fact sheer vanity, here the buildings are meant to enhance the glory of God. úøéã in the Aramaic translation of the Bible stands for øöç, i.e., court (cf. Targum Yonathan to 2 Chron. 33:5); therefore åçáù úøéãì means “to the court of [the house] in which the Lord is praised.”

350

the chronicle of ahima #az .

61 And I, Ahima#az, the son of R. Paltiel, the son of R. Samuel, the . son of R. Hananel, [the son of R. Paltiel, the son of R. Hassadiah, . . 580 the son of R. Amittai the servant of God, the son of R. Hananel] . in the month of Adar, many years after the heavens were created, have beseeched Him who measures the waters with the hollow of His hand,581 to enrich my understanding of the mysteries of the delights of the two days Law,582 to make me proficient in His perfect Torah, which antedated [Creation by] two thousand years,583 to instruct me in the right path, to strengthen me and be my support, to listen to my imploring requests, to assist me in tracing the genealogy of my ancestors. I have raised my eyes to Him, placed my trust in His holy name, pleaded for His mercy, and asked for His benevolence. And He granted me the request I have made of Him. I have pondered and examined and have grasped that which my heart desired584 and found my ancestry. And I found strength in my God and arranged the order585 and set it in rhyme. I began from the beginning, with the exile from Jerusalem and the destruction of my glorious Sanctuary, the exile from Oria, the town of my lodging, to the arrival of my forefathers in Capua. With my own generation I have stopped, and with the generation of my children I rested. In a book I have written down, collected, and assembled,586 I have gathered for the generations that will come after me, laid down clearly and explicitly. And I have praised my God, glorified his majesty and power and offered extolment and exaltation before His glory to Him who has helped me complete the book I collected. And in the month of Sivan I have completed it under the sign of Gemini in which my Torah was given, 4814 anno mundi,587 I have finished it from beginning to end. Blessed be His magnificent glory and His superb throne, and exalted be His name and the name of the glory of His kingdom.

580 It is unquestionable that the copyist omitted the bracketed words due to homoioteleuton. 581 Isa. 40:12: íéî åìòùá ããî éî. 582 See n. 354 above. 583 According to the midrash (Gen. Rab. 8, 2), the Torah antedated the creation of the universe by two thousand years. See n. 355 above.

the chronicle of ahima #az . §øé!a

· ìàé!è"ìt

§øé!a]

· ìàðð#ç

§øé!a ìàeî"Ö §øé!a

úçé!ô"è!ì íéðÖ íé!aU"a ãçà ÖCÇç"a

·

· ìàé!è"ìt

351 §øé!a õòîé!ç#à éð#àå

ìà ãáò éézé!î#à §øé!a

[ìàðð#ç

61

§øé!a äéEñ#ç

· íééîÇé òeÖ#òÖ éæT ãÇñ"a éðîé!k"çì · íéî Çì(òÖ"a ãAî úàî äpé!ç"ú é!z"Öwé!a · íéîÖ · äTÖé _WC"a éðëéXEä"ì · äîeãO äúéä äðÖ íéét"ìà · äîé!î"zä ÇúTÇú"a éðéö"nà"ì · ééúÇá#à ñeçéé àÇö"î!ì éðB#òñ"ì · ééúÇÖwa úòé!á"z ïéæ#àä"ì · äTæò"ì é!ì úÇé"ä!ìå éðLfç"ì 5 ïziå · é!z"ìàÖ åé@ñ#çå · é!z"Öwé!a åéî#çU"áe · é!z"çèa ÇÖEJ íÖ"áe · é!úà×ð åéìà ééðéòå · é!zæçà é!Ö"ôð äá#äàÖ úàå · é!úÇðé!áe é!z"ágé!çå · é!zEîç Çz!àî øÖ#à · é!úìà"Ö úà é!ì · é!z"ìç"ú!ä Öà]îe · é!zðwé!z æWçå · é!z"ëUò øCñå · é!zOfç"ú!ä é!ìà"áe · é!úàöî é!ñeçééå ééúÇá#à úàé!a ãòå · é!úéið#ç úééYN éXéeà úeìâå · é!zYà"ô!z úéa ïaY%çå í!ìÖeøé úeìb!î · é!zYâàå é!z"öaNå · é!z"áúk øôñ"áe · é!z"çð éða øÇã"áe · é!zðç éXÇã"áe · é!z"òbé!ä äàetK"a 10 æÇòå äåå#àâå · é!z"çaé!Ö é!ìà"ìe · é!z"çpé!äå é!úé!ìéb ÖTÇô"î · é!z"ôqé!à ééU#çà íé!àaä úÇøÇcì ÖC&ç"áe · é!z"öaéN øôñ øÇîâ!ì éðUæ#òÖ · é!z"îîÇø çáÖå øà"t ÇãÇá"k éð"ô!ìå · é!zYcé!ä · é!úÖwá"a ìôë"a õL íz úò"a · é!úTÇú äð"zéð ÇaÖ íé!îÇà"z ìfî"a · é!z"îéi!ñ ÇúÇà ïåé!ñ · ÇzYà"ô!ú ñk úUEäå · Çúðé!ë"Ö ãÇá"k øKé _Ua"úé · é!zYîâ Çlå%k ÇôÇñ ãòå ÇÖà]î :Çúeë"ìî ãÇá"k íÖå Çî"Ö älò"úéå 15 : 1÷

éðîéëçì

øôñáå

10

3

ø@#à :÷ ãçà

2

àúéì :ð ¬é§§ë [ìàððç §øéá äéãñç §øéá ìàéèìô §øéá]

é!z"Öwé!a :÷ (§ééúù÷éá § 駧äëá :äøòäáå) éúù÷éá :ð ééúù÷éá :駧ë éúù÷éá

6

1–2

éðîéëçäì

(éúãâàå §ð :짧ö àîù :1÷) éúøâàå §ð :駧ë éúøâàå || øôñá :ð

584 The wording is clearly reminiscent of the beloved one in Song of Sol. 1:7 and elsewhere. 585 I.e., organized the findings in chronological order, as required by medieval chronography. 586 Historical writing is, as usual in medieval chronicles, conceived as collectanea. See chap. 1 of the introductory essay. 587 I.e., 1054 ce.

352

the chronicle of ahima #az .

62 I shall reckon the count of their days, the amount of their years from generation to generation,588 from the days of R. Shephatiah and R. Hananel until the days of R. Ahima#az the son of R. Paltiel.589 . . The forced conversion imposed by the wicked Basil was in the year four thousand six hundred and twenty-eight,590 and R. Shephatiah and R. Hananel were alive at that time.591 After the death of R. Hananel . . there was his son R. Hassadiah, and R. Hassadiah begat R. Paltiel, . . and R. Paltiel begat R. Hananel; and in the year four thousand and . seven hundred592 arose R. Shemuel his son with the help of the Lord of wonders and at sixty eight he returned his soul to the Lord of Hosts. In seven hundred and forty eight593 R. Paltiel his son was born, and in eight hundred and three594 he returned his soul to his Creator. In seven his lovely one was born. hundred and seventy seven595 R. Ahima#az . May He who is enthroned on the cherubim596 help him and assist him, and may He grant him long life for the sake of the throne of His glory. In seven hundred and twenty eight597 was born his son R. Paltiel and in eight hundred and four598 God have him a second son whose name is R. Shemuel, may God the Lord of Israel grant them life. And in their days may the Altar of God599 be rebuilt and the Sanctuary which is called Ariel, and may come the redeemer Menahem the son of Amiel . and Nehemiah the son of Hushiel, to ingather and redeem the scattered . . house of Jacob soon in our days and in the days of the whole house of Israel. Amen.

588 From generation to generation recalls Isa. 34:10, where it means perpetuity. The unusual phrasing may thus conceal an allusion to the author’s intent to draw up a record of his family history for eternity. 589 I.e., himself. See the reconstruction of the family tree in chap. 2 of the introductory essay. 590 868 ce. See above § 11. 591 The translation does not take into account that the wording of the Hebrew text may have been a copyist amendment, i.e., a substitution of the pluriel åéä required by correct Hebrew grammar, instead of the singular äéä required by the rhyme, as presumed in our critical edition. As a matter of fact, however, one should also not dismiss the possibility that the copyist omitted an entire verse which could rhyme with åéä. 592 940 ce. However, since one can hardly presume that Ahima#az mixed up the dates . of his recollection, one may feel justified in presuming that some error may again have been introduced here by the copyist: first, the word “four” is repeated twice (see the apparatus appended to our critical edition); second, if Paltiel the father of Ahima#az . was indeed born in 988, he would have been 48 years old, a quite atypical age for one to beget a child, though admittedly not absolutely impossible; third, assuming that Hananel II was begotten by the man taken captive as a lad in 925, one should imagine .

the chronicle of ahima #az .

353

· íäéúÇð"Ö úcé!î øÇã"ì øÇc!î · íäéîé øt"ñ!î úòAì äá"gç#à 62 äéä · äpåâ"îä é!ìé!ña ä×òÖ ãî"gä · ìàé!è"ìt §øé!a õòîé!ç#à é!aV éîé ãòå · ìàðð#ç ïîfä ÇúÇà"a ìàðð#ç §øå äé"èô"Ö §øå · äðÇî"Öe íéX"×òå úÇàî ÖÖå íé!ôì#à úòaYà úð"Ö!a · ìàé!è"ìt §ø ãé!ìÇä äéEñ#ç §øå · äééEñ#ç §ø Çð"a äéä ìàðð#ç §ø úÇî éV#çàå · [ä]éä ìàeî"Ö §ø äìò · úÇàî òá"Öe íé!ôì#à úòaYà úð"Ö!áe · ìàðð#ç é!aV ãé!ìÇä ìàé!è"ìt §øå 5 òá"Ö!áe · úÇàá"vä éäÀàì Çú@é!çé íé!ì"Ö!ä äðÇî"Öe íé!g!Ö"áe · úÇàì"tä ïÇã#à úUæò"a Çð"a ÇÖ"ôð øñî ÖìÖå úÇàî äðÇî"Ö!áe · Çð"a ìàé!è"ìt §ø ãìÇð äðÇî"Öe íé!òaYàå úÇàî äé"äé íé!áeø"kä áÖÇé · Çãeî#ç õòîé!ç#à §ø ãìÇð òáÖå íé!ò"á!Öå úÇàî òá"Ö!áe · ÇðÇ÷"ì äðÇî"Öe [íé!ò"Ö!úå] úÇàî òá"Ö!áe · ÇãÇá"k àq!k ïòî"ì åéúÇð"Ö _éX#àéå · Çã#òñ"áe ÇúTæò"a · ìàeî"Ö §ø Çî"Öe éðéÖ ïa ééé Çì ïúð òaYàå úÇàî äðÇî"Ö!áe · ìàé!è"ìt §ø Çð"a ãìÇð 10 · ìàéX#à éeàøwä ÖcO!nä úéáe · ìàYää äðaé íäéîé!áe · ìàT"×é éäÀ$à ìàä íéiçé õáwé!ä"ì áS#òé úéa éöeôð · ìàé!Öeç ïa äé"îçðe · ìàé!nò ïa íçð"î àeä · ìàÇb çî"öéå :ïîà · ìàT"×é úéa ìk éîé!áe eðéîé"a áÇøJ"a · ìàbé!ä"ìe §øå äé"èô"Ö §ø éîé!î

úòáøà §ð :駧ë úòáøà

5

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||

4 6 íé!ò"Ö!úå :÷

eéä :÷ åéä :ð ¬é§§ë [ä]éä

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7

úåàáö :ð úåàáöä

him born around 940, and that would preclude the possibility for his son to be born in that year. It is thus reasonable to presume that the original text also contained the dates of birth and death of Hananel and to consider a possible correction of the date of . Shemuel’s birth as suggested in our reconstruction of the family tree. 593 988 ce. If our reconstruction of the genealogy is correct, i.e., if indeed (as we have supposed in the previous note) Shemuel was not born in 940 but around 970, he would have been 18 years old at the birth of the father of Ahima#az, a quite reasonable . possibility. 594 1043 ce. 595 1017 ce. 596 This divine attribute, quite frequent in the Bible (for instance, 1 Sam 4:4; 2 Sam 6:2; 2 Kings 19:15) was abundantly employed by medieval paytanim. And we should, of course, keep in mind the correspondent visual idea of God placed above the cherubim situated on top of the Holy Ark, as presupposed in the imagery of the Heikhaloth and Merkavah Literature that was a major source of inspiration for the paytanim, and was moreover a standard Christian icon. 597 968 ce. It is quite plausible that an error of the copyist occurred here and instead of 728 we should read 798, i.e., 1038 ce. The correction was first suggested by Kaufmann and successively accepted by all (see Medieval Jewish Chronicles, ed. Neubauer, 132, n. 3; Salzman, Chronicle, 102; Klar, Chronicle, 41, who introduced the correction into the text of his edition; Colafemmina, Sefer Yuh. asin, 37). 598 1044 ce. 599 ìàøää, cf. Ezek. 43:15–16 (as proposed by Salzman).

354

the chronicle of ahima #az .

63 In the year four thousand eight hundred and fourteen since the creation of the world created by the Creator,600 I compiled601 this book of my genealogy, with the help of God my refuge, and not by my own wisdom and the knowledge which surrounds me, or by the intelligence which is within me, but by the grace which has been bestowed upon me by the Lord God my master.

1054 ce. The Hebrew root óñà used here conveys the idea of collecting and putting together that we have already seen in § 1 and discussed in chap. 1 of the introductory essay. 600 601

the chronicle of ahima #az . àTa øÖ#à íìÇò úàéX"á!ì ìk["×]äå

·

·

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é!aÖ äî"ëçî àÀå

é!ñeð"î ééé úUæò"a

355 63

· àVÇaä :éðÇã#à íé!äÀ$à ìà · éðpé!çÖ än!î í!à é!k · é!aå%ç"aÖ äðeá"z!îe · é!áé!á"qÖ ** ·

·

é!ñeçé øôñ äæ é!z"ôq!à

ìk"×äå :÷ ìëñäå :ð ¬é§§ë ìë[ù]äå ãéá íìùð

/ :çå÷ç÷ô

íéðåà ïéàìå

/

çë óòéì ïúåð êåøá :ïåôåìå÷ ÷éúòîä íùø øåáéçä óåñá

2 **

ïéîéå ìàîù àøåá íøæòé/ ïîéðá §øéá íçðî

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INDEX Aachen, 155 Aaron, 237n.59 Abbasids, 60, 98, 325n.484, 334n.521 Abdallah (son of al-Mu"iz), 330n.509 Abd-ar-Rahman III, 331n.514, 335n.524 Abdiel b. Amittai b. Shephatiah, 79n.91, 86, 310, 323n.475 Abdinghof (Abbey), 82 Abishai b. Zeruiah, 276n.254 Abjuration, See Conversion (of Jews) to Christianity Abraham, 110n.65, 155, 188, 242n.84, 276n.254, 276n.257, 295n.336, 300n.369, 301n.372, 301n.374, 305n.399 Abraham b. Azriel, 78n.88 Abraham b. Yehoshaphat, 77 Abraham ibn Daud, 74, 110n.66 Abraham’s bosom, 188 Abrahams, Israel, 7n.13 Abu Aharon, See Aharon, the Baghdadite Abu Ja#far Ahmad ibn #Ubayd, 67, 68, 314n.444 Abu Mansur al-#Aziz Ballah, 330n.509 Abu Sa#ad Ibrahim b. Sahl alTustari, 72n.72 Abu Talib Faslalah b. al-Hassan, 73n.76 Abulafia, Anna Sapir, 152 Abulfaraj Iacub b. Iussuf b. Killis, 71n.68 See also Yacub ibn Killis Accessus ad auctores, 226n.1 Accubitum, 120 Acculturation, 18 Actors, 93, 140, 144, 145 Adam, 139, 140, 149 Adelchi, 83, 84 Adiriron, 238–239

Adrian III, 158 Adrianus, 266n.203 Adultery, 85, 107, 119, 136, 138, 254n.147, 295n.335 Aedicula (pl. Aediculae), 89, 90, 92 Aesop, 61 Afterlife, 247n.106, 304n.391, 335n.527 Aggadah (pl. Aggadot), 10, 25, 26n.73, 16, 238n.64, 296n.341 Aglabites, 66, 67 Agobard of Lyon, 98 Agriculture, 100, 117, 170 Ahima#az, 227n.7 . Ahima#az b. Paltiel (III) b. Shemuel . b. Hananel (II) b. Paltiel (I) b. . Hassadiah b. Hananel b. Amittai, . . 5, 10, 11, 12, 15, 17, 22, 27, 32, 42, 45, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 59, 61, 62, 63, 64, 66, 67n.62, 68, 69, 69n.65, 69n.66, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 75n.80, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 83, 85, 86, 87, 99, 100, 113, 114, 117, 118, 119, 122, 123, 124, 125, 132, 133, 134, 136, 137, 138, 139, 141, 149, 155, 156, 157, 158, 161, 166, 169, 170, 172, 175, 176, 179, 180, 180n.72, 183, 184, 187, 188, 227n.3, 228n.14, 229n.21, 232n.36, 233n.39, 234n.42, 238n.63, 239n.66, 244n.97, 252, 252n.135, 258n.163, 261n.181, 262n.182, 262n.183, 266n.206, 272n.235, 273n.242, 274n.245, 282n.286, 299n.360, 301n.375, 318n.456, 320n.462, 322n.469, 322n.472, 324n.478, 327n.491, 334n.519, 335n.526, 338n.540, 340n.549, 348, 348n.574, 350–354

384 Ahima#az the elder, 54, 160, 168, . 169, 179, 180, 180n.72, 248–250, 250n.129, 258–260 Aharon, the Baghdadite, 53–66, 69, 73, 74, 76, 80, 81, 83, 85, 107, 118, 119, 123, 124, 127, 151n.1, 160, 164, 166, 167, 168, 169, 170, 171, 184, 235n.46, 238–256, 278–280, 308n.410, 311n.427, 312n.423 Ahmad ibn al-Hasan, 67, 316n.452 Akhan, 245n.103, 245n.104 Akiba, 106, 108, 307n.406 al-#Aziz, 69n.65 Albavera, 86, 324 Alcuin, 155 Alexander, 107n.56 al-Hakhim II, 335n.524 al-Hasan ibn #Ali, 316n.452 Alluf, 104, 247n.111 al-Mamun, 318n.456 al-Mansur, 68, 69n.65, 71 al-Mu"iz, 67–71, 75, 86n.113, 180, 279n.268, 313n.439, 314–330 al-Mui"iziyya, See Taormina al-Muqtadir, 72n.72 al-Mustansir, 72, 72n.72 al-Muti, 334n.521 Aloe, 318, 319n.457 Aloeswood, 319n.457 Amalarius of Metz, 146 Amalfi, 46, 48, 50, 51, 118, 123, 324, 325n.481 Amaseia, 125n.83 Ambassadors, 71, 72, 73, 120, 121, 122, 316–320 Ambrose (St., of Milan), 145, 154n.8 Amira, 316n.449 Amittai, 86, 234–236, 252 Amittai b. Hodijah, 77 Amittai b. Shephatiah, 79, 79n.91, 86, 117, 139, 140, 141, 142, 144, 146, 147, 149, 181, 184, 184n.87, 300, 303n.381, 306–311, 322, 350 Amnon from Maintz, 84, 137 Amora (pl. Amoraim), 23, 24, 90, 332n.472, 337n.536

index Amram Gaon, 141 Amulets, 163, 164, 276n.252 Ancona, 324 Angels, 37, 140, 146, 147, 163, 164, 165, 166, 166n.34, 188, 228n.15, 239n.68, 242n.84, 254, 254n.144, 258–259n.166, 270, 271n.231, 282, 306 Anthropology, 5, 18, 19, 20, 34, 57, 92, 130, 130n.3, 131, 160, 235n.48 Anthropomorphism, 94 See also Icons, images Antiphonarium, 145 Appointments, 71n.69, 95, 95n.27, 101, 102, 103, 115n.73, 330n.506 Apses, 89, 93, 336n.562 Apuleius, 61, 167n.39 Apulia, 45n.2, 46, 47, 68, 234n.42, 260, 272, 273n.241, 314, 321n.468, 322n.469 Arabs, Saracens, 13, 45, 45n.2, 46, 48, 54, 55, 59n.39, 65, 67, 67n.60, 68, 69, 71, 72, 73, 76, 83, 97, 97n.31, 272n.236, 272n.237, 274n.245, 277n.257, 279n.268, 315n.447, 316, 316n.449, 320n.461, 326n.489, 327n.491, 336n.532 Archisynagogos, 95, 101, 116 Archon, 95, 101, 123, 238n.63 Arichis (Duke of Benevento), 156, 187 Ariès, Philippe, 161, 233n.38 Aristotle, 134, 226n.1, 230n.29 Arugat ha-Bosem, 78n.88 Asceticism, 39, 126, 178 Ashkenaz, 17 See also Hasidei . Ashkenaz Ass. The Ass (Book), 62 Assimilation, 151 Astrology, 68, 236n.53, 312, 314, 335n.523 Atonement, 54, 61, 64, 66, 76, 137n.20, 138, 170, 242n.81, 281n.282 Atonement, Day of, 84, 85, 115, 124, 126n.84, 171, 325n.486,

index 328, 239n.68, 241n.80, 243n.89, 255n.148 Audoalt, 51n.19 Augustine (St.), 163 Autun, 147 Aversa, 48 Avihu, 312n.435, 313n.438 Baal Peor, 312n.435 Babylon, 10, 57, 58–59n.39, 64, 83, 97, 99, 117, 165n.30, 249n.119, 314, 314n.447, 328, 336 Babylon, Babylonian academies and sages, 10, 59, 62, 62n.50, 64, 66, 74, 95, 98, 99, 103, 113, 116, 117, 123, 164, 170, 178, 180, 182n.74, 247n.111, 247n.112, 329n.502, 336n.535, 337n.537 See also Gaon (pl. Geonim), Geonic leadership Babylon, Babylonian outlook and customs, 10, 63, 64, 66, 74, 76, 80, 96, 97, 98, 98n.36, 99, 105n.50, 109, 110n.64, 116, 119, 123, 124, 127, 128, 137n.20, 142, 171, 172, 178, 181, 182, 239n.67, 245n.99, 277n.259, 277n.262, 310n.424 Babylon, Babylonian Talmud, 10, 60, 60n.42, 63, 74, 96, 97, 99, 106, 180, 255n.147, 332n.472 Bacher, Wilhelm, 7n.13 Baghdad, 60, 61, 63, 64, 65, 66, 71n.69, 72n.72, 83, 97, 104, 166, 170, 178, 180, 238, 238n.64, 240n.72, 243n.93, 275n.249, 278n.263, 325n.484, 328n.495, 329n.498, 334, 334n.521 Balsam, 334 Ban, See Excommunication Banquets, 120, 140, 143, 144, 177n.64, 319n.459, 332 See also Meals Baptism, 54, 80 See also Conversion (of Jews) to Christianity Barbarisms, 152, 263n.188, 303n.384, 305n.398 Bari, 46, 47, 54, 74, 76, 77, 83, 84, 99, 122, 171n.47, 173n.51, 174, 247n.111, 272, 272n.236, 272n.237,

385

273n.242, 274n.247, 278, 294n.331, 306, 314, 320, 320n.462, 322, 323n.472, 323n.473 Barukh b. Abdiel b. Amittai b. Shephatiah, 86, 310–312 Basil I (Emperor of Byzantium), 54, 72n.71, 76, 77, 77n.82, 78, 79, 80, 81n.100, 84, 107n.56, 119, 122, 155, 156, 158, 168, 169, 181, 260–272, 278n.265, 285n.301, 303n.380, 303n.386, 304, 306, 340n.550, 352 Basilica, 92, 336n.532 Baths, 89, 172, 173, 173n.51, 173n.52, 276, 277n.259, 278 Bathsheva, 295n.335 Beauty, 108, 226n.2, 227n.6, 234 Bed, 108, 120, 282, 284, 292–294, 298, 298n.358, 304 Bells, 153, 174 Bemah, 90, 92, 93, 94 Ben Themalion (Demon), 168 Benevento, 46, 54, 54n.25, 54n.26, 70, 72, 73, 74, 74n.77, 83, 84, 156, 160, 168, 180, 187, 244, 244n.98, 275n.247, 280, 282, 283n.289, 283n.292, 322, 323n.473 Ben-Hayyim, Zeev, 223 Berbers, 67 Bernardine of Siena, 32 Beth ha-Sefer, 115 Beth midrash (pl. battei midrash), 26, 33, 41, 90n.11, 91, 93, 115, 118, 255n.151, 302n.378, 337n.536 See also Study Betrothal, 85, 140, 141, 142, 142n.34, 143n.36, 292, 292n.320, 295n.336, 300 Bezalel, 155 Bialik Institute, 223 Bible, 14, 16, 24, 28, 37, 38, 40, 41, 151, 155, 156, 162, 170, 181, 185, 186, 226n.1, 227n.10, 230n.29, 237n.56, 238n.62, 240n.72, 242n.84, 247n.111, 247n.114, 254n.146, 264, 264n.191, 265n.194, 272n.239, 274n.245,

386

index

287n.308, 300n.369, 319n.457, 320, 321n.467, 322, 322n.469, 349n.579, 353n.596 Bible, biblical imagery and motifs, 40 Bible, symbolical reading, 38, 39 See also Symbolism Bible, typological reading, 38, 39 See also Typology Bimah, 336n.532 Birth, 12, 149, 150, 177, 266n.205, 301n.372, 339n.543 Bishopric, 284 Bishops, 50, 72, 82, 82n.102, 121, 153, 154n.8, 155, 157, 158, 168, 284–288 Bloch, Moses, 7n.13 Boat, 170, 171, 232, 235n.42, 240, 278, 279n.271, 280, 324 Bokaleon [=Boukoleon], 266 Book of Ceremonies, 120 Book of Gifts and Rarities, 72, 318n.456, 319n.457 Book of Memories, 32 Book of Righteousness, 164, 236, 237n.54 Book of the Chariot, 310–312 Books, 42, 51, 59n.39, 158, 166, 176, 177, 177n.63, 237n.55, 282, 286, 312, 321n.467, 323n.472, 337n.536, 348, 349n.578 Bova Marina, 88, 89, 89n.5, 173n.52 Bread, 127–128, 326 Britons, 14 Brody, Heinrich, 7n.13 Brooms, 166, 294 Brown, Peter, 35, 163 Brutium, 45n.2 Bruzzano, 67 Burial, 150, 161, 185n.88, 282–284, 292–294, 308–310 Buwahids, 334n.521 Bynum, Caroline, 175 Byzantines, 45, 47 Byzantium, 8, 8n.14, 9, 10 Byzantium, Byzantine historical writing, 8n.15

Byzantium, Byzantine Jewry, 8, 9, 10 Byzantium, Byzantine Jewry, image of, 10, 10n.20 Byzantium, Byzantine legislation, 9 Byzantium, Byzantine literature, 8n.15 Byzantium, Byzantine studies and scholarship, 9, 10n.20 Byzantium, image of, 9 Cairo, 67, 72n.72, 98, 104, 113, 164, 237n.54, 315n.447, 344n.558 Calabria, 45, 45n.2, 46, 47, 68, 272, 273n.241, 314, 342 Callinicum, 154n.8 Calque system of translation, 41, 263n.188 Candles, 121, 140, 312 Canopy, See Huppah . Cantarella, Eva, 133 Capernaum, 88 Capital punishments, 254–256 Captatio benevolentiae, 226n.1 Capua, 5, 16, 48, 48n.8, 49, 50, 51, 51n.19, 59, 70, 72, 73, 75, 83, 86, 100, 118, 167n.39, 310, 324, 338n.540, 348, 350 Carthage, See Tunisia Cassia (I) b. Shephatiah, 86, 135, 138, 139, 140, 141, 142, 144, 147, 294–300, 301n.375 Cassia (II) b. Paltiel (I) b. Hassadiah . b. Hananel b. Amittai, 86, 138, . 176, 324, 324n.477, 344n.519 Cathedral, cathedrals, See Church, churches Caudica, 279n.271 Cave of Makhpelah, 239n.67 Certeau, Michel de, 34 Chambers, Edmund Kerchever, 145, 146 Charity, 39, 238n.61, 334–336 Charlemagne, 57, 119, 136, 146, 155, 187, 262n.182, 262n.183 Charms, 163 Charters, 49n.12, 122, 187, 272, 273n.244, 274

index Cherubim, 188n.97, 288, 352, 353n.596 Cheynet, Jean-Claude, 286n.306 Christ, 36, 146, 161n.22, 167n.39, 256n.158 Chronica monasterii casinensis, 43n.117, 58, 156 Chronicon Salernitanum, 43n.117, 125, 136, 187 Chronology, 22, 26n.73, 51, 60, 69, 74, 80, 81n.100, 96, 104n.48, 146, 180n.72, 260n.175, 272n.236, 320n.462, 351n.585 Chrysobull, 79, 119, 260–262, 270n.227, 321n.465 Chrysotriclinos, 121, 122 Church, churches, 37, 38, 91, 92, 93, 109, 144, 145, 147, 148, 153–159, 161, 172, 173, 174, 177, 182, 187, 263n.189, 263n.190, 264n.192, 284n.297, 336n.532 Churches. San Marcello Maggiore (Capua), 51n.19 Cicero, 24, 25, 28, 29, 30, 227n.3 Circe, 167n.39 Circus, circuses, 26, 93, 93n.21 Cities, See Towns Clark, Stuart, 162n.23 Cloaks, 188, 322–323n.469 Cockboat, 278 Coinage, 75, 118, 348 Colafemmina, Cesare, 8n.14, 167n.39, 281n.278, 294n.335, 296n.339, 338n.540 Collectanea, See History, historical writing as collected stories Comes (pl. Comites), 50 Comforting the mourners, See N.ih. um avelim Confrontation (Judeo-Christian), 151, 154, 156, 160, 169, 171, 182, 250n.128, 287n.308 See also Disputations; Dialogues Constantine, 262 Constantine Porphyrogenetos, 120 Constantine the African, 58, 58n.39, 60

387

Constantinople, 46, 77n.82, 79, 113, 119, 122, 156, 262, 262n.186, 306, 316, 320, 320n.462, 321n.464, 324 Conversion (of Jews) to Christianity, 47, 49n.14, 54, 58, 77n.82, 79, 85, 112, 151, 157, 158, 171, 175, 186, 268n.219, 268n.220, 270, 270n.227, 286, 290, 291n.317, 302, 352 See also Missionary pressure Cosmology, 106, 107, 132n.7, 236n.53 See also Order (natural order of things); Hierarchy Costanzi, Giovanni Antonio, 8n.14 Courtiers, 75, 111, 112, 112n.67, 113, 119, 120, 122, 123, 158, 159, 180, 274, 279n.268 See also Intercession; Mediating roles of leaders Crucifix, 161, 161n.22 Crusades, 152, 152, 336n.532 Culture heroes, 12, 21, 22, 39, 40, 54, 57, 62, 64, 138, 170, 233n.37, 241n.77, 242n.81 Curses, 186, 186n.92, 270, 298 Curtains, 120 Customs, 10, 15, 74, 75, 87, 88, 97, 98, 99, 105, 106, 117, 118, 124, 125, 125n.83, 126, 127, 127n.86, 130n.4, 131, 135, 140, 141, 141n.26, 141n.28, 142, 142n.34, 142n.35, 143, 143n.36, 172, 172n.48, 176, 179, 180, 183, 184, 186, 245n.99, 271n.232, 292, 294n.330, 294n.331, 296, 306, 316, 322n.469, 335n.528 Customs (tax), 348 Cymbals, 332 Dagron, Gilbert, 264n.192 Dan, Joseph, 12 Danger, 110, 111, 113, 114, 153, 163, 174 See also Mediating roles of leaders Daniel, 238n.62, 332n.515, 332n.516 David, 39, 61, 155, 264, 295n.335, 297n.350

388

index

Day (as opposed to night), 161n.22, 230 Dayyan (pl. dayyanim), 103 De Civitate Dei, 163 De opificio mundi, 144 Dead Sea sect, 126 Death, Dead, 12, 36, 54, 78, 82, 85, 130, 137, 150, 160, 161, 161n.22, 167, 171, 182, 183, 184, 185, 185n.88, 185n.89, 242, 244, 254, 256, 260n.174, 270, 278, 282, 283n.292, 284, 288, 290, 292, 293n.325, 293n.326, 294, 395n.335, 304n.395, 304n.396, 306, 307n.406, 308, 309n.415, 309n.416, 312n.435, 335n.528 Defensor civitatis, 153 Defensor ecclesiae, 335n.525 Delos, 88 Demonic possession, See Possession (demonic) Demons and demonic powers, 15, 37, 55n.27, 78, 138, 148n.54, 162, 163, 164, 165n.32, 166, 168, 168n.42, 188, 266–268, 292–294, 298n.358, 312–313n.435, 313n.437 See also Magic Devil, 168n.42 Dhimmis, 273n.244 Dialogue of the Exchequer, 132n.8 Dialogues, 18, 39, 112, 145, 146, 147, 151, 287n.308 See also Disputation.s Differences between Babylonians and Palestinians, 98, 98n.35, 99, 126–127, 142 Diglossia, 41 Dina de-malkhuta dina, 322, 322n.472 Diplomatic missions and practices, 51, 71, 72, 110, 112, 119, 122, 123, 174, 294n.331, 317n.455, 319n.459, 322n.469 Dirges, 81, 183, 184, 184n.85, 184n.87, 185, 308n.418 See also Eulogies Disputation, 79, 80, 157, 268n.220 Disputations, 79, 80, 156, 157,

268n.220 See also Confrontation (Judeo-Christian); Dialogues Djauher ibn –Abdallah Abu Hussein, 70, 71, 72 Dogs, 167 Domus Catecumenorum, 8n.14 Donations, 109, 344 See also Philanthropy Donkey, 54, 61, 62, 66, 166, 166– 167n.39, 242, 243n.93, 244 See also mule Donnolo, Shabbetai, 67, 67n.62, 68, 69n.66, 70, 77, 103, 299n.360 Dreams, 127, 164, 185, 186, 282 Drummers, 332 Duby, Georges, 153 Dumont, Louis, 131n.5 Dura Europos, 88 Durkheim, Émile, 131 Earrings, 268 Ecclesiastical History, 31 Ecstasis, 94, 94n.22 Eden, 188, 234, 234n.42, 304, 304n.396, 334 Edom, 10, 260, 260n.171, 270, 316, 320 See also Esau; Rome Egypt, 66, 67, 68, 70, 71, 71n.69, 73, 73n.74, 75, 87n.1, 147, 176, 232–233n.36, 237n.59, 286, 287n.308, 313n.439, 315n.447, 324, 325n.484, 325n.485, 326n.490, 327n.493, 329n.503, 330, 330n.508, 331n.511, 334 Elazar Kilir, 336n.532 Elche, 88 Elderliness, 108, 322, 347n.113 Eleazar b. Amittai, 86, 236, 237n.56, 237n.59, 282n.286, 340n.549 Eleazar b. Judah of Worms, 53n.24, 57, 278n.263 Elias, Saint, 39 Eliezer, 276n.254 Eliezer b Hyrkanos, 126 Elijah, 39 Eliseus, Saint, 39 Elisha, 39, 165

index Eliyya b. Shamaya of Bari, 171n.47 Ephraim of Bonn, 244n.97 Epistles, See Letters Epithalamia, 144, 148, 177 Esau, 274n.245 See also Edom Esther b. Shabbetai b. [?] b. Barukh b. Abdiel, 86, 322, 323n.475 Etymologies, Book of, 25 Eucharist, 94, 145 Eulogies, 103, 180, 181, 183, 184, 185, 185n.88, 282, 283n.290, 308–310 See also Dirges Euphrates (river), 234–235n.42 Eusebius, bishop of Tyre, 155 Evdokia [Eudokia], 107n.56, 176 Eve, 139, 140, 149 Everyday life, 82, 125, 132, 148, 149, 151, 172–188 Evil, 36n.105, 133, 138, 159, 162, 163, 165, 166, 168 Excommunication, 54, 187, 258–260, 290n.312, 310 Exempla and exemplary narrative, 15, 34, 69 See also Preachers, preaching Exilarch, 60, 328n.495, 329n.498, 337n.537 Exile, 53, 54, 60, 60n.41, 61, 62, 181, 182, 184, 232, 232–233n.36, 233n.37, 234, 235n.42, 240, 260, 302, 310, 320, 342, 350 Exorcism, 39, 168n.42, 266, 268n.219 Exordium (pl. exordia), 226n.1 Expiation, 85, 137 Fasal b. Salah, 73n.76 Fasting, 125–127, 172 Fathers, 54, 70, 79n.91, 105, 106, 107, 118, 134, 135, 136, 171, 240, 242, 243n.93, 244, 252n.136, 290n.312, 292, 292n.320, 294–300, 308, 334, 348 See also Paternalism Fatimids, 66, 67, 68, 71, 72, 73n.74, 86n.113, 87n.1, 313n.439, 314n.441, 315n.447, 331n.511, 335n.526

389

Faustina, 81, 103 Feasts, 125, 128, 143, 144, 147, 148, 174, 176, 252n.135, 277n.259, 332 Feminism, 129, 130n.4, 177 FitzNigel, Richard, 132n.8 Fleischer, Ezra, 147 Folklore, fokloric motifs, 22n.61, 55n.27, 56, 58, 61, 76, 142n.35, 276n.252, 294n.333 Food, 85, 121, 125, 140, 172, 175, 175n.56, 276, 290, 291n.319, 292, 326, 340, 346 Foreseeing of future events, 39, 39n.112, 42, 186, 231n.29, 236n.53, 278n.267, 315n.446, 332n.516 Fragrance, See Perfume France, 15n.41, 22, 50, 96, 113, 146, 183n.81 Francis of Assisi, 36n.104 Franks, 45, 84 Freiman, Aaron, 7n.13 Fund-raising, 89 Funerals, 150, 150n.57, 184, 184n.85, 185, 309n.415 Funerary hymn of acceptance of one’s fate, See Tzidduk ha-din Fustat, See Cairo Gaeta, 46, 54, 54n.25, 65, 66, 127, 166, 169, 242, 242n.81, 242n.82, 243n.91, 244n.98 Galbraith V. H., 15 Games, 144 Gaon (pl. Geonim), Geonic leadership, 10, 60, 62, 64, 66, 81, 116, 180, 182n.74, 247n.111, 247n.112, 328, 336n.535 Garigliano (river), 65 Gemarah, See Talmud Gender, 36n.105, 129, 130– 135, 138–139, 149, 169, 175, 176 Genealogy, See also Literature, literary genre, genealogy Genealogy, 50

390

index

Genizah, 67, 87n.1, 98, 104, 113, 115, 119, 164, 176, 237n.54, 259n.168, 320n.462, 344n.558 Geoffrey of Monmouth, 14 Germany, 22, 50 Gerousiarches, 247n.113, 249n.123 Gershom Me"or ha-Golah, 116 Gibeon, 158 Gihon . (river), 234–235n.42 Gil, Moshe, 69n.65, 70, 73n.76, 74 Girdles, 268 Giustinian, 107n.56 Gnosticism, 166 Goblets, 318–320 Goell, Yohai, 223 Goitein, Shlomo Dov, 142, 176, 177 Golden Ass, 61 Golem, 167n.41, 251n.131, 284n.294 Goody, Jack, 19, 21 Gospels, 38, 160, 165, 166, 167n.39, 168, 170 Grace, 160 Granada, 331n.514 Greece, 261n.180 Greek, 96 Gregory the Great (St), 145, 154n.8, 157n.13 Grimoald, 49, 49n.14, 125n.82 Grindstone, 54, 66, 240, 242, 243n.93 Guaiamar IV Prince of Salerno, 48–49 Guesthouses, 89 Hananel (I) b. Amittai, 86, 157, 158, . 168, 181, 185, 236, 237n.56, 252, 282–291, 298–300, 301n.375, 303n.381, 322, 340n.549, 350 Hananel (II) b. Paltiel (I) b. . Hassadiah b. Hananel b. . . Amittai, 68, 69, 70, 74, 75, 86, 160, 168, 320–324, 334, 334n.519, 338–346, 350, 352, 352n.592 Hananel b. Hushiel, 74, 165 . . Hasid (pl. Hasidim), 41 See also . . Saints, Sainthood

Hasidei Ashkenaz, 12n.27, 42, 57, 63, . 64, 69, 124, 236n.52, 239n.65, 274n.245, 297n.345 Hassadiah b. Hananel, 299n.360, . . 350 Hassadiah b. Hananel (I) b. Amittai, . . 86, 298–300, 301n.375, 312, 350, 352 Hassadiah b. Hananel (II) b. Paltiel . . (I) b. Hassadiah b. Hananel b. . . Amittai, 70, 86, 135, 322–324 Haver (pl. Haverim), 258n.164 . . Havurah, 308n.410 . Hazzan (pl. Hazzanim), 81, 81n.97, . . 101, 103, 114, 115, 115n.71, 116, 117, 118, 124, 181, 182n.74, 184, 226n.1, 245n.99, 254n.142, 288n.309, 299n.363, 303n.381, 303n.386, 309n.415, 310, 311n.424, 336, 336n.532 See also Liturgy; Paytan; Piyyut Hisdai ibn Shaprut, 113, 331n.514 . Honi ha-Me#agel, 290n.312 . Huppah, 139, 140, 141 . Hushiel, 74 . Hadassah Hospital, Jerusalem, 10n.21 Hagia Sofia (Benevento), See Saint Sophia (Benevento) Hagia Sofia (Constantinople), See Saint Sophia (Constantinople) Hagiography, See Literature, literary genre, hagiography Hai Gaon, 55n.27, 58, 74, 99, 124, 142n.34, 164, 170 Halakhah, 10, 25n.70, 26n.73, 92, 113, 128, 142n.34, 179, 296n.341, 322n.472 Halakhot Ketsuboth, 179 Halatzah, See Rhetoric Hall of the Imperial Throne, 121 Hamam-Lif, 88 Hanno, 62 Harari, Yuval, 65n.53, 119, 164n.30, 255n.147 Hardison, Osborne Bennett, 145, 146

index Harps, 332 Havelock, Eric A., 33n.94 Hebrew, 40, 41, 96, 176, 177 Hebrew Language Academy, 223, 224 Hebrew University in Jerusalem, 10n.21 Hebron, 238, 239n.67 Heikhalot and Merkavah literature, 94, 124, 164, 166, 187, 236n.50, 236n.52, 237n.54, 239n.69, 241n.80, 353n.596 Heineman, Isaac, 25 Heitz, Carol, 146 Hell, 188 Hellenism, 87, 87n.2, 165, 285n.299 Henige, David P., 22 Henry II (Emperor), 82 Hercules, 61 Hereditary nature of offices, 95, 102, 103n.43, 105, 105n.50, 110n.66, 247n.113, 249n.123 Heresy, heretics, 160, 258, 259n.170 See also Karaites Herodotus, 56 Hierarchy, See Status (socio-cultural) Higgayyon (musical tune), 227n.11 Hillel b. Yaacov, 244n.97 Hillel the Elder, 277n.259 Historia magistra vitae, 28 Historia regum Britanniae, 14 Historiae Philippicae, 125n.83 History, 227n.5 History of the Goths, 25 History, historical truth, 15, 16, 17, 18, 20, 21, 22 History, historical writing, 4, 7n.14, 9, 10, 14, 32, 34, 227n.7 See also Byzantium, Byzantine historical writing History, historical writing as collected stories, 11, 16, 32, 53, 129, 133, 157, 181, 226, 227n.8, 228n.13, 230n.27, 261n.181, 350 History, historical writing, chronicles, 9, 14, 15 History, historical writing, forgery, 15

391

History, historical writing, legend and myth, 9, 10, 11, 15, 16, 17, 18, 20, 22, 23–27, 51 History, historical writing, medieval, 15 History, historical writing, propaganda, 9 Hodijah, 77 Holy Ark, See Torah, Shrine (Holy Ark) Homer, Homeric songs, 33n.94 Homilies, 16, 38, 40, 118, 258-256 See also Preaching Honorius of Autun, 147 Horse, 62, 276, 276n.252, 286, 286n.306 Humbert of Romance, 32 Hymnography, See Piyyut Iceland, 14 Icons, 37, 37n.110, 40, 107, 158, 159, 187, 229n.23, 234n.42, 272n.239, 302, 303n.389, 312n.431, 353n.596 Iddo, 227n.7 Idolatry, Idols, 236n.49, 260, 266n.207, 272, 272n.239, 273n.240 Ifriqiya, 66, 67, 68, 70, 73, 74, 76, 118 Images, See Icons Impiety, 160 Impurity, 153, 161, 173, 263n.189, 284 Incense, 173 Incubus, 293n.325 Intelligence, 36, 230, 230–231n.29, 236n.53, 296, 296n.344, 314, 315n.446, 346 See also Prudence Intercession, 54, 109, 110, 110n.65, 114, 246n.104 See also Courtiers Introit, 146 Investitures, Conflict of, 82n.102 Invocatio, 226n.1, 230n.27 Irony, 20, 180, 310n.419 Isaacs, Alick, 223 Isidore of Seville, 25 Iustinus, 125n.83 Jacob, 248n.117, 274n.245, 276n.254, 302n.378, 305n.399

392

index

Jacob b. Meir, 99, 142n.34 Jacobson, Roman, 131 Jaffa, 170, 171, 240, 241n.77 Jail, 85, 135, 136, 174, 175, 175n.55, 290–292 Jerusalem, 10, 48, 54, 63, 69, 89, 90, 93, 118, 126n.83, 126n.84, 140, 141, 155, 160, 168, 178, 179, 180, 180n.72, 181, 182, 232, 235n.44, 248, 248n.115, 248n.116, 260, 308n.410, 330, 330n.518, 334, 335n.528, 336n.533, 337n.538, 344, 350 Jesus, See Christ Jewels, 318 Job, 39, 308n.411, 339n.541 Jonah, 39, 170, 171, 171n.45, 241n.77 Jordan (river), 342 Joseph, 39, 68, 186, 265n.199, 315n.448, 344n.560 Josephus Flavius, 125n.83, 125n.84 Judah b. David, 78n.88 Judah Halevi, 192 Judah ha-Nasi, 108, 109, 277n.259, 322n.470 Judeo-Arabic, 40 Judeo-Italian, 152 Judeo-Italian, 152 Judeo-vernacular jargons, 152 Judgment Day, 188 Judicial activity, 89, 95, 101, 103, 115, 115n.73, 118, 119, 255n.147 Justin II, 121 Justinian, 155, 265n.198 Kadosh (pl. kedoshim), 41 See also Saints, Sainthood Kadushin, Max, 19 Kafur-Ishkidi, 71n.68 Kairouan, See Qairawan Kara, Yosef, 78n.89 Karaites, 62n.50, 75, 127, 176, 178, 178n.66, 179, 180, 181, 248n.116, 258, 259n.169, 259n.170, 329n.501, 345n.561, 345n.563 See also Mourners of Zion Karlsen, Carol F., 168n.42

Kaufmann, David, 7n.13, 224, 353n.597 Kayser, Stephen S., 92 Kedushah (pl. kedushoth), 84, 258n.168, 296, 333n.518 Kenourgion Palace, 107n.56 Kerovah (pl. kerovoth), 10, 84, 229n.21, 336n.532 Khazars, 113 Khil"a, 322n.469 Kiddushin, See Betrothal Kieckhefer, Richard, 165 Kinship, 129, 271n.234, 301n.373 See also Progeny Kippur (Yom ha-Kippurim), See Aton.ement, Day of Klar, Benjamin Menahem, 10, . 10n.21, 11, 12, 51n.21, 78n.88, 224, 227n.12, 228n.14, 229n.25, 234n.42, 237n.59, 239n.68, 241n.78, 254n.142, 255n.147, 259n.168, 261n.179, 263n.187, 267n.210, 268n.221, 275n.249, 275n.251, 279n.271, 296n.339, 299n.361, 304n.393, 304n.395, 306n.402, 306n.404, 308n.411, 310n.420, 315n.445, 326n.488, 336n.532, 341n.554 Kohen (pl. kohanim), 103 Krauss, Samuel, 7n.13, 9n.19 Krautheimer, Richard, 89, 92, 93, 94, 114 Kuhn, Thomas, 132, 138 La Fontaine, 61 Laesa majestas, 61 Laments, See Dirges; Eulogies Land, 49, 100, 117, 118, 118n.74, 132n.8, 274 Land of Israel, 10, 60n.41, 248n.115 Land of Israel, Palestinian academies and sages, 81–83, See also Gaon (pl. Geonim), Geonic leadership Land of Israel, Palestinian customs and practices, 81–83, 10, 59, 66

index Land of Israel, Palestinian outlook, 81–83, 10, 59, 66 Land of Israel, Palestinian Talmud, Latin, 13, 40, 58, 77, 82, 96 Law, 23, 26n.73, 46, 75, 79, 88, 91, 95n.26, 97, 101, 103, 105, 106, 106n.54, 114, 118, 134, 154, 159, 169, 170, 180, 186, 187, 234, 236, 237n.56, 241n.79, 249n.119, 254, 256, 265n.195, 270, 270n.225, 272, 276, 278, 286, 296, 298, 298n.356, 308, 318, 322, 322n.472, 326, 337n.538, 344, 348, 350 Learning, 49n.11, 58, 74, 104n.48, 108, 110, 110n.64, 115, 116, 117, 158, 176, 180 Legislation, 9, 98, 134 Lehnardt, Peter, 184n.87, 279n.272 Lentini, 91n.14 Leo VI, 76, 107n.56, 270–272, 271n.233 Letters, 16, 262n.183 Lévi-Strauss, Claude, 129–132 Levy (pl. Leviyim), 103 Lewis, Bernard, 69n.65 Lewis, Clive Staples, 36–37n.107, 62n.49 Libraries, 158 Life (as opposed to death), 130, 138, 160, 161, 161n.22, 162, 167, 185n.89, 188, 282, 284, 288, 295n.335 Life of Bishop Meinwerk, 82 Life of the Virgin Mary, 14 Light, 139–140, 188, 188n.97, 240, 241n.80, 246n.104, 248, 304, 304n.397, 312n.431, 346 Lilith, 293n.326 Lineage, See Genealogy Lion, 53, 54, 55n.27, 61, 62, 62n.48, 65, 107, 121, 166, 167, 240, 243n.93, 266, 266n.205, 267n.208 Literature, literary genre, 6, 11, 14n.37, 16 Literature, literary genre, epopee, 11, 12 Literature, literary genre, fiction, 15

393

Literature, literary genre, genealogy, 11, 14n.37, 15, 18, 15n.41, 21, 22, 33n.94, 50, 57, 80, 86, 132n.8, 133, 228, 230n.27, 233n.37, 235n.48, 323n.475, 324n.477, 350, 353n.593, 354 Literature, literary genre, hagiography, 11, 12, 14, 16, 34 Literature, literary genre, hagiography, See also Sain.tood, Sain.ts Literature, literary genre, popular tales, 51, 51n.21 Literature, literary genre, romance, 14, 16 Literature, literary genre, saga, 14 Literature, literary style, 8, 9, 12 Literature, literary style, rhymed prose, 8, 9, 12, 13, 31 Liturgy, liturgical practices, 38, 40, 57, 64, 78, 78n.88, 84, 90, 90n.10, 91, 92, 93, 94, 94n.22, 95, 101, 114, 115, 118, 124, 145, 146, 147, 148, 178, 226n.1, 228n.14, 229n.19, 236n.50, 245n.99, 258n.166, 325n.482, 325n.486, 341n.553 See also Hazzan; Piyyut; Paytan; Prayer . Liutprand, 72, 121, 122, 317n.455 Livy, 28, 29 Lombards, 45, 45n.2 Lothar, 156 Lothar, 156 Louis II, 84 Loyalty to non-Jewish masters, 73, 123 Lucian, 62 Lyres, 332 Lysimachus, 61 Ma"aser (pl. ma"aserot), 181 Maccabees, Book of, 14 Magic, 54, 55n.27, 65, 65n.53, 66, 92, 94, 114, 122, 151, 159–172, 185, 185n.89, 187, 236n.52, 237n.54, 239n.69, 241n.79, 255n.149, 267n.209, 276n.252, 276n.253,

394

index

276n.254, 280n.274, 283n.292, 290n.312, 311n.428, 324n.479, 325n.481 See also Demons; demonic powers; Sorcery, sorcerers Magnaura Palace, 120 Mah. zor, 116, 147 Mah. zor Vitri, 282n.287 Mainz, 57 Mangana, 121 Maqama (pl. maqamat), 13 Markets, 75, 117, 118, 326, 348 Marmara, 266n.205 Marriage, 105, 106, 133, 134, 137n.17, 138, 139, 140, 141, 142n.33, 143, 144, 145, 147, 148, 150, 150n.57, 177, 185, 299n.360, 319n.457 Martial, 125n.83 Martyrs, Martyrdom, 36n.104, 36n.105, 137, 158, 307n.406 Mary, See Virgin Mary Mass, 94, 145, 145n.44, 146, 183n.81 Mastaura, 176 Matchmakers, 295n.336 McGee, Timothy J., 146 Meals, 89, 144, 248 See also Banquets Measure for measure, 137 Meat, 140, 143, 143n.40, 148, 178, 326 Mediating roles of leaders, 36, 48, 91, 102, 110, 111, 113, 114, 115, 119, 123, 124, 130, 150, 153, 158, 159, 166, 183, 184, 236n.50, 239n.66, 254n.142, 259n.66 See also Courtiers Mediterranean, 59, 60, 66, 76, 83, 87, 87n.2, 88, 94, 96, 97, 113, 117, 142, 142n.35, 164, 165n.30, 235n.42, 325n.481 Meinwerk (Bishop of Paderborn), 82 Melody, See Music Mentalites, 34, 43 Merkavah, See Heikhalot an.d Merkavah literature Meshullam b. Kalonymus, 57–58, 116

Met mitzvah, See Unattended dead Metaphors, 111, 144, 147, 169, 227n.3, 231n.31, 253n.137, 263n.188, 285n.302, 299n.359, 304n.395 Metz, 147 Michael III, 267n.214 Midrash, See also Beth midrash (pl. battei midrash) Midrash Sefer, 16, 27, 53 Midrash, midrashic production, 19, 23–27, 33, 39, 41, 53, 99, 122, 169, 179, 232n.36, 234n.42, 236n.49, 238n.64, 246n.104, 252n.135, 256, 256n.58, 257n.159, 266n.207, 296, 296n.341, 298n.355, 298n.356, 301n.374, 303n.387, 308n.414, 323n.476, 339n.541, 350n.583 Mikveh (pl. Mikva"oth), See Baths Milk, 98, 98n.35 Mimes, 144, 177 Minhag (pl. minhagim), See Customs Minstrels, 148 Miracles, 15, 34, 39, 54, 55n.27, 114, 160, 164–168, 228n.16, 230, 244, 244n.97, 280, 282, 286, 306, 340, 352 Miriam, 237n.59 Mirkin, Reuven, 223 Mishnah, 23, 108, 117, 137, 239n.68, 296, 321n.463, 321n.466, 322, 336n.531 Missionary pressure, 78, 79, 156, 169, 170, 260n.173, 261n.181, 268–270, 286, 303n.380 See also Baptism; Conversion. (of Jews) to Christianity Mofareg ibn Salem, 274n.247 Monte Cassino, 58, 59n.39, 83 Moon, 140, 161n.22, 270, 270n.229, 284–290 Mordecai, 317n.453 Morrisson, Cécile, 286n.306 Moses, 28, 39, 108, 110n.65, 125n.83, 147, 165, 237n.58, 237n.59, 266n.207, 340n.550 Moses (Bari, 1075), 173n.51

index Moses (teacher in Oria), 184, 310, 310n.420 Moses b. Kalonymus, 57 Mosheh ha-Paytan, See Moses b. Kalonymus Mosque, mosques, 92, 274n.247 Mothers, 134, 136, 138, 248, 250, 292, 294–296, 334 Mount Scopus, Jerusalem, 10n.21 Mourners of Zion, 178, 179, 180, 180n.72, 181, 182n.72, 248n.116, 328, 329n.501 See also Karaites Mule, 53, 54, 61, 64, 66, 82, 166, 169, 240, 328 See also Don.key Music, 32, 140, 144, 145, 148, 148n.54, 188, 227n.11, 228n.17, 230n.28, 332 Musk, 318, 318n.456 Mussa b. Eliezer, 69n.65 Mysticism, 92, 94, 114, 116, 120, 165n.34, 187, 236n.50, 267n.213, 280n.273, 301n.377, 311n.428, 312n.432 Nadav, 312n.435, 313n.438 Nagid, 72n.74, 73n.74, 313n.439, 330n.506 Name of God, 54, 160, 165, 166, 167, 167n.40, 186, 250, 266, 272, 282, 324n.479 Names, 50, 70, 77, 173n.51, 176, 177, 180, 238n.64 Naphtali b. Yitshak Katz, 281n.278 Naples, 46, 173, 242n.81 Narbonne, 324 Nathan ha-Bavli, 328n.495 Natronai ben Habibai Gaon, 60, 60n.42 Natronai ben Hakhinai Gaon, 60, 60n.42, 61 Nea Ekklesia (Constantinople), See New Church (Constantinople) Neomenia, 284–290 Neubauer, Adolf, 6, 7, 56, 223, 234n.42, 275n.249, 279n.271 Neumae, 145

395

New Church (Constantinople), 155, 156, 264n.192, 265n.198 New moon, See Neomenia Nicephoros, 71, 121, 320n.460 Nicolaos, 71 Night (as opposed to day), 161n.22, 230 Nih. um avelim, 183, 292–294 Nikephoros II Phokas, 266n.205 Nile (river), 234–235n.42 Nineveh, 171 Nomisma, 286n.306 Normans, 47, 48, 50, 50n.16, 59, 60, 156 Notker, 155 Oaths, 186, 187, 250, 262, 270, 326 Oil, 98n.35, 328, 336 Omayeds, 112 Oneg Shabbath, 125 Onyx, 318 Opal, 318 Or Zaru"a, See Sefer Or Zaru"a Orality, 12, 17, 19, 20, 21, 26, 26n.73, 31–33, 33n.94, 51, 51n.21, 58, 58n.38, 63, 77n.82, 87, 117, 123, 133, 180n.72, 272n.235 Orators, 30, 93, 226n.1 Order (natural order of things), 21, 58, 61, 62, 66, 105, 106, 107, 158, 160, 166n.34, 184, 188, 241n.79, 313n.437, 313n.438 See also Cosmology; Hierarchy Orderic Vital, 31 Oria, 16, 47, 47n.5, 54, 55, 63, 65, 67, 67n.60, 68, 69, 73, 77, 77n.82, 79, 80, 103, 118, 122, 123, 147, 158, 168, 174, 233n.36, 234, 250, 252n.135, 260, 270, 272, 274, 275n.248, 276n.255, 284, 285n.301, 299n.360, 299n.363, 308n.410, 308n.413, 309n.415, 309n.416, 310, 311n.427, 314, 320, 340, 341n.554, 350 Orthodoxy, 104, 107, 108, 114, 160, 175, 177n.64

396 Orthopraxy, 104, 107, 108, 111, 114, 175, 177n.64 Ostia, 88, 89, 89n.5, 90, 92, 128, 173n.52 Otranto, 84, 99, 260, 279n.272, 314, 320, 320n.462 Otto I (Emperor), 48, 71, 72, 121 Outillage mental, 17 Oven, 127–128, 172, 256, 258 Pageant, 144 Pagis, Dan, 14 Palermo, 46, 67, 68, 72, 173, 316n.452, 334 Palestine, Palestinian, See Land of Israel, Palestinian. Paltiel (I) b. Hassadiah b. Hananel, . . 66–76, 78, 86, 86n.113, 117, 118, 121, 122, 123, 137n.19, 180, 181, 181n.74, 279n.268, 312, 313n.439, 312–346, 348, 348n.576, 350, 352n.592, 350, 352 Paltiel (II) b. Hananel (II) b. Paltiel . (I) b. Hassadiah b. Hananel b. . . Amittai, 86, 123, 324n.477, 348, 348n.576, 350 Paltiel (III) b. Shemuel b. Hananel . (II) b. Paltiel (I) b. Hassadiah b. . Hananel b. Amittai, 70, 86, 350, . 352, 352n.592, 353n.593 Paltiel (IV) b. Ahima#az b. Paltiel . (III) b. Shemuel b. Hananel . (II) b. Paltiel (I) b. Hassadiah b. . Hananel b. Amittai, 86, 350, 352 . Paltiel b. Cassia (II) b. Paltiel(I) b. Hassadiah b. Hananel, 70, 75, . . 312, 313n.439 Paltiel in Qairawan, 70, 324 Paltiel the Nagid, See Paltiel the vizier Paltiel the vizier, See Paltiel (I) b. Hassadiah b. Han.an.el . . Pandolf Ironhead (Pandolfo I Capo di Ferro), 48 Papoleon [?] b. Hananel b. Paltiel, . 185

index Papoleon b. Amittai, 86, 168, 185, 282–284 Papoleon b. Hananel (II) b. Paltiel . (I) b. Hassadiah b. Hananel b. . . Amittai, 86, 118, 123, 160, 185, 322, 324 Paradigms of knowledge, 36, 36–37n.107, 37 Paradigms of knowledge, See also Babylon., Babylonian outlook and customs; Land of Israel, Palestinian. outlook Paradise, See Eden Passover Haggadah, 285n.299, 287n.308, 340n.550 Pastoureau. Michel, 52, 53 Pater, 95, 95n.26, 101, 123, 238n.63 Paterfamilias, 104, 105, 106, 118, 134, 135, 149, 296n.339, 301n.372 Paternalism, 85, 135 Patria potestas, 105, 292n.392 Paul the Deacon, 125n.82, 156 Pavia, 45, 310 Paytan (pl. Paytanim), 9, 10, 42, 54, 57, 64, 78, 79n.91, 82, 94, 114, 124, 137, 180, 181, 182n.74, 184, 197, 226n.1, 227n.11, 229n.19, 229n.20, 235n.46, 239n.65, 244n.97, 254n.142, 255n.148, 288n.309, 296n.342, 309n.415, 311n.424, 316n.450, 353n.596 See also Hazzan., Liturgy, Piyyut an.d . Paytan. Peasants, 117 Pepin, 45 Perfume, 318–319 Perles, 122 Pesikta Rabbati, 179 Peter the Deacon, 43n.117, 58 Petronius, 125n.83 Phaedrus, 61 Pharaoh, 68, 265n.199, 266n.207, 280n.273, 315n.448, 344n.560 Philanthropy, 109 See also Charity; Donations Philo, 144 Philology, 34

index Philosophy, 15, 30, 116, 230n.29, 236n.53, 332, 332n.517 Phinehas, 312n.435 Pietists, See Hasidei Ashkenaz . Piety, 158, 160 Piety, popular, 127, 150, 151, 172–188 Pilgrimage, 54, 59, 178, 179, 181, 248n.115 Pirkoi b. Babui, 98n.32, 127, 127n.87 Pishon (river), 234–235 Piyyut (pl. Piyyutim), 10, 16, 57, 78, 79, 81, 94n.23, 104, 115, 115n.71, 116, 139, 143, 147, 149, 171, 171n.47, 180, 236n.51, 239n.68, 241n.80, 242n.86, 253n.141, 255n.148, 258n.166, 300n.372, 338n.540, 340n.547 See also Hazzan; . Liturgy; Paytan Plato, 134 Pliny, 62, 62n.49, 170 Plutarch, 62, 62n.49 Po (river), 234–235n.42 Pompeus Trogus, 125n.83 Pompey, 125n.83, 125n.84 Possession (demonic), 78, 168, 168n.42, 266–268 See also Exorcism Poverty, Poor, 36, 104, 105, 172, 173, 290, 328, 336, 344 Power, 18, 22, 29, 45, 46, 50, 58, 61, 62, 68, 69n.65, 71, 83, 101, 102, 105, 106, 109, 110n.66, 113, 130n.4, 131, 132n.8, 133, 139, 160, 229n.22, 240n.72, 252, 274n.247, 292, 316 Prayer, prayers, 10, 57, 64, 82, 84, 89, 93n.21, 115, 125, 136, 153, 160, 174, 179, 183, 226n.1, 229n.20, 229n.24, 236, 236n.53, 239n.66, 244, 245n.99, 245n.101, 254n.142, 258, 258n.165, 273n.240, 276, 280, 281n.278, 287n.308, 288, 294, 296, 297n.351, 298, 300, 301n.377, 302, 303n.385, 303n.386, 307n.406, 348 See also Liturgy Prayers for the dead, 82, 183, 183n.81

397

Preachers, preaching, 26n.73, 27–35, 39, 89, 103, 114, 117, 118 Preachers-repetitors, 336 Presbyter, 95, 247n.113, 249n.123 Prester John, 235n.42 Prices, 286n.306 Prison, See Jail Processions, 145, 159 Proemium, 226n.1 Progeny, 68, 70, 103, 104, 108, 143, 260 See also Kinship Proorasis, See Foreseeing of future events Prophets, Profecy, 10, 29, 30, 30n.84, 164, 171, 186, 227n.7, 236n.53, 238n.62, 246n.104 Proskynesis, 122 Prudence, 230, 230–231n.29, 234n.42 See also Intelligence Puglia, See Apulia Purity, 122, 161, 264, 323n.476 Purple, 120, 318, 319n.458 Putiel (Angel of Egypt), 147 Qairawan, 46, 70, 71, 71n.69, 72n.72, 74, 75, 104n.48, 164, 324n.477, 345n.563, 348n.576 Qayit, 314, 314n.441 Queen, 268, 269n.224 Quem qaueritis, 146, 147 Rabbis, 101, 102, 103, 247n.112, 258, 297n.347, 299n.360, 308, 322 Radelchis, 136 Ranking, See Status (socio-cultural) Rav (pl. rabbanim), See Rabbis Ray, Roger D., 16 Reading, 31–33 Reading, reception theory, 3–5 Reception theory, See Reading, reception theory Reggio (Calabria), 46, 67 Rehoboam, 227n.7 Relics, 51n.19, 158, 159, 166, 312n.431 Reputation, 35, 108 Reshut, 226n.1

398

index

Resurrection, 39, 123, 161, 168, 282–284 See also Christ Reynolds, Susan, 87n.3, 97n.30, 116n.73 Rhetoric, 13, 15, 25, 27–35, 117, 123, 138, 184, 226n.1, 227n.3 Rhineland, 48, 70, 73, 84, 311n.424 Richness, See Wealth Ring, 142, 142n.33, 142n.34, 143n.36 Rites, See Liturgy, liturgical practices; Customs Rofé, Alex, 14n.37 Roger II, 156 Romance, Literature, literary genre, romance Rome, 10, 30, 46, 54n.25, 119, 126, 260n.171, 262n.184, 294n.332 Rome, See also Edom Romoald, 125n.82 Rosh ha-Shanah, 84, 115, 124, 239n.68, 241n.80, 243n.89, 255n.148 Rukn-al-Daula, 334n.521 Runesson, Anders, 90 Saadia Gaon, 247n.111 Sa"adiah Gaon, 178 Sabbath, 66, 117, 122, 125, 125n.83, 126–127, 137, 140, 141, 147, 148, 149, 172, 173, 226n.1, 228n.15, 229n.21, 242–244, 256, 270, 274, 276–278, 294n.331, 312, 312n.431 Sadducees, 126, 344 Sadj, 13 See also Literature, literary style, rhymed prose Saint Barsanuphius, 158 Saint Gall (Benedictine Abbey), 146, 147 Saint Sophia (Benevento), 156 Saint Sophia (Constantinople), 155, 156, 262–264 Sainte Marie Madeleine at Vézelay (Benedictine Abbey), 148n.54 Sainthood, Saints, 12, 33, 34, 35, 36, 36n.104, 37, 38, 39, 39n.112, 41, 42, 52, 53, 55n.27, 61, 65n.53, 114, 124, 160, 161, 162, 165,

166, 168, 183, 186, 231n.29, 236n.52, 236n.53, 238, 238n.60, 239n.66, 239n.69, 258, 259n.166, 272n.239, 274n.245, 278n.267, 288, 290n.312, 297n.345, 304– 305n.397, 318n.456 Sainthood, Saints, See also Literature, literary genre, hagiography Sainthood, Saints, Lives of saints, 53 Salento, 45n.2 Salerno, 46, 48, 49n.14, 58, 59n.39 Salzman, Marcus, 7n.12, 8, 9, 9n.19, 56n.28, 67n.57, 69n.65, 223, 229n.25, 237n.59, 251n.130, 296n.339, 296n.344, 353n.599 Samson, 61 Samuel ha-Nagid, 112 Samuel the neophyte, 91n.14 Sanctity, 41, 89, 161, 236n.52, 236n.53, 239n.68, 254, 254n.142, 258, 263n.189, 278 Sanctuary, 41, 54, 81n.100, 90, 91, 94, 114, 118, 119, 154, 155, 156, 167, 178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 233n.37, 236n.50, 250, 254n.142, 260, 262, 263n.189, 265n.192, 302, 302n.379, 308, 336, 341n.554, 350, 352 Sanctuary, little, 90n.11, 118–119 Sanhedrin, 54, 118, 254, 255n.152 Saracens, See Arabs, Saracens Sardis, 88 Satan, Satanic, 36n.105, 159, 168n.42 Sawdan, 54, 55, 74n.77, 76, 83–84, 122, 174, 272–281, 294n.331 Schechter, Solomon, 7n.13 Schirmann, Hayyim (Yefim), 81n.100, 104 Schmitt, Jean-Claude, 161n.22 Scholem, Gershom, 239n.66 Schools, 49n.11, 89, 93n.21, 115, 146, 336n.532, 348 Science, 134, 163 Scobie, Alexander, 167n.39 Sefer Hasidim, 69, 69n.66, 70, 72, 183 . Sefer Keritut, 282n.287

index Sefer Or Zaru"a, 239n.65 Sefer Yetsirah, 267n.213 Sefer Yosippon, 158n.15 Sefirah (p. Sefiroth), 159, 267n.213 Seigel, Jerold E., 30 Self vs Other, 18 Selih. a (pl. selih. ot), 78, 115, 244n.97, 258, 259n.167, 259n.168 Septuaginta, 41, 90n.9, 93n.20, 238n.61, 247n.111, 264n.192, 273n.243 Sermons, See Homilies; Rhetoric Servitus camerae, 49n.12 ˇ cenko, Ihor, 80n.93 Sevˇ Sexuality, 108, 133, 136–138, 294n.331, 298n.358, 299n.359, 312n.433, 318n.456, 323n.476 Shabbetai b. [?] b. Barukh b. Abdiel, 86, 322, 323n.475 Shabbetai b. Hananel (II) b. Paltiel . (I) b. Hassadiah b. Hananel b. . . Amittai, 86, 118, 123, 322, 324 Shammai (School of), 126 Sharf, Andrew, 77 Shekets, 152 Shelomoh ha-Bavli, 57 Shemuel “the Patriarch”, 57 Shemuel (Amora), 322n.472 Shemuel b. Ahima#az b. Paltiel . (III) b. Shemuel b. Hananel . (II) b. Paltiel (I) b. Hassadiah . b. Hananel b. Amittai, 86, 352, . 353n.592, 353n.593 Shemuel b. Cassia (II), 86 Shemuel b. Hananel (II) b. Paltiel . (I) b. Hassadiah b. Hananel b. . . Amittai, 70, 75, 86, 118, 322–324, 348n.574, 350, 352 Shemuel b. Paltiel [?], 180, 334, 334n.519 Shemuel Ha-Nagid, See Samuel ha-Nagid Shephatiah b. Amittai, 68, 76–80, 82, 83, 86, 118n.75, 119–120, 122, 123, 124, 125, 135, 135n.15, 136, 137, 138, 139, 156, 157, 158, 168, 174, 175, 181, 236, 237n.56, 252,

399

260–270, 282n.286, 288n.309, 292–308, 310, 311n.427, 314, 322, 340n.549, 349n.550, 352 Shikse, 152 Shils, Edward, 35 Shimon b. Menassia, 108 Shimon b. Shatah, . 290n.312 Shimon b. Yohai, . 108, 168, 266n.203 Shimshon of Chinon, 282n.287 Shofar, 124, 125, 304 Sicily, 45, 45n.2, 46, 47, 66, 67, 68, 71, 91, 314, 316 Sifra, 296 Sifri, 296 Sigma, 120 Silano, 54, 60, 81–83, 117, 118, 118n.75, 123, 127, 128, 172, 180, 180n.72, 181, 184, 250n.129, 256–260, 309n.415 Silk, 318, 318n.458, 322n.469 Simeon the Just, 58 Simon magus, 166 Sin, 58, 59, 60, 62, 64, 66, 76, 85, 107, 108, 110n.65, 136, 137, 137n.20, 138, 160, 170, 242, 243n.93, 246, 248, 256, 270, 281n.282, 288, 290, 292, 294n.331, 295n.335, 299n.361, 304, 312n.433, 324 Skaramagion, See Cloaks Skepticism, 20, 165 Slavs, 119 Smalley, Beryl, 27, 31 Social mobility, 86, 101, 105, 135 Solidarity, 104, 131 Solomon, 39, 122, 155, 156, 264, 264n.192, 349n.579 Songs, 332 Sonne, Isaiah, 79 Sorcery, sorcerers, 54, 66, 159–172, 242, 243n.92, 243n.94, 259n.168, 306, 306n.400 See also Magic, Demons and demonic powers Sorrento, 48 Sotah, 119, 164, 166, 254–255 Spain, 8n.14, 60, 60n.42, 96, 324 Spectacles, 144, 145

400

index

Spiegel, Gabrielle M., 14, 15, 15n.41 Spitzer, Moshe, 223 Stadiums, 144 Stammheim missal, 161n.22 Starr, Joshua, 299n.360 Statues, 159, 267n.208, 272, 272n.239, 302, 303n.389 Status (socio-cultural), 51, 54, 56, 62, 73, 75, 76, 85, 95, 101, 102, 103, 103n.43, 105, 107, 109, 115, 118, 119, 120, 121, 134, 135n.15, 137, 138, 139, 175, 181, 184, 185, 233n.38, 249n.123, 299n.360, 309n.415, 316, 323n.472, 323n.474, 328n.497 Steinschneider, Moritz, 7n.13, 7n.14 Stern, Menahem, 125n.83 . Stibadium, 120 Storms (wondrous calming of), 164, 166, 170, 240, 324 Strabo, 24 Strabo of Amaseia, 125n.83, 125n.84 Strength, 54, 108, 133, 230, 232, 234, 240, 272, 300, 304, 318n.456, 338, 346, 350 Structural anthropology, 129–132 Study, 10, 89, 90, 91, 91n.13, 95, 115, 118, 125, 126, 136, 181, 188, 250, 253n.137, 258, 276, 308, 328n.494, 344, 348 See also Beth Midrash Stylus altus, 13 Subversion, 58, 60, 61, 62, 66, 160, 178 Subversion, 160 Succubus, 293n.325 Suffering, 36 Sun, 140, 161n.22, 270, 278 Symbolism, 52, 53, 85 Symbolism, See also Bible. Symbolical reading Synagogues, 23, 26, 33, 37n.110, 38, 41, 49, 51n.21, 61, 81, 88, 88n.4, 89, 89n.5, 89n.7, 90, 91, 92, 93, 93n.21, 95, 100, 109, 104, 115, 115n.73, 116, 117, 118, 119, 133, 145, 148, 153–159, 161n.22, 173, 173n.52, 174, 177, 177n.63, 226n.1,

231n.31, 254n.144, 255n.151, 256, 298, 299n.363, 302n.378, 304, 328, 328n.494, 329n.504, 336, 336n.532, 348 Syracuse, 46, 115, 115n.73, 173, 272n.236 Talmud, 296 Tam (Rabbenu), See Jacob b. Meir Tanna (pl. Tannaim), 23, 24, 126, 230n.29, 336, 337n.536 Taormina (al-Mui"iziyya), 67 Taranto, 47, 67, 83, 314 Taxes, taxation, 49, 49n.14, 79, 268n.220, 274 Teachers, 101, 115, 146, 184, 234, 252n.136, 310, 310n.419, 336, 336n.531 Tebah, 93n.20, 94n.22 See also Bemah Teh. innah (pl. teh. innoth), 296, 297n.352 Terracina, 154n.8 Terumah (pl. terumot), 181 Theater, theaters, 26, 93, 93n.21, 140, 144, 145, 146, 147 Theodora, 107n.56 Theodosius, bishop of Oria, 158, 285n.301 Theology, 15 Theophanes Continuatus, 80, 275n.247 Theophilos, 266n.205 Thietmar of Merseberg, 132n.8 Throne of Glory, 188, 188n.97, 292n.323 Tigris (river), 234–235n.42 Titles, 46, 50, 72–73n.74, 95, 95n.26, 95n.27, 101, 102, 103, 104, 110n.64, 123, 238n.63, 247n.111, 247n.112, 247n.113, 275n.247, 313n.439, 316n.449, 330n.506, 331n.511, 334n.522, 344n.559 Titus, 155, 232n.36, 234 Toledo, Cathedral Library, 6, 7n.14, 223, 224, 234n.42, 237n.59, 239n.68, 240n.71, 240n.74, 240n.76, 248n.119, 275n.251, 281n.278

index Tophilo, 84–86, 135, 135n.15, 136, 137, 139, 174, 254–256, 290–292 Torah, See Law Torah, Reading of, 23, 89, 90, 93, 177, 328, 328n.495, 329n.498, 329n.504 Torah, Shrine (Holy Ark), 90 Towns, 46, 47, 100, 117, 118, 148, 172, 173, 182, 256–258, 268, 270, 272, 272n.239, 276, 278, 291n.315, 314, 316, 320, 324, 326, 344, 350 Transferring dead to the Holy Land, 334, 335n.528 Translatio scientiae, See Transmission. of knowledge Transmission of knowledge, 19, 58, 60, 64, 76, 123 Treaties, 83, 187, 261n.181 Tree of Life, 234n.42 Tribunal, 93 Triclinium, 120 Trinity (Christian dogma), 79, 169, 260n.173, 307n.407 Tropes, 146, 147 Tunisia, 58, 58n.39, 62 Typology, 15, 38, 107, 171 See also Bible. Typological reading Tyre, 155 Tzidduk ha-din, 228n.16 Tzimiskes, John, 334n.520 Unattended dead, 308–309 Urbach, Ephraim E., 24, 171 Urim, 254, 254n.146, 278 Vansina, Jan, 20, 21, 21, 57n.34 Vatican Library, 8n.14 Venosa, 54, 81, 83, 103, 117, 118, 123, 127, 172, 180, 256–258, 294n.332 Verb, See Jesus; Law Vernacular, 15n.41, 34n.97, 38, 40, 148, 152, 177, 267n.208, 270n.229, 284n.296, 303n.384, 305n.398, 312n.430, 315n.445, 318n.456 Villages, 100, 127, 256–258, 268, 324 Violence, 79, 111, 151, 152, 268, 270

401

Virgin Mary, 14, 36, 146, 167n.39 Virginal blood, 143, 143n.37 Virtues, 34, 35, 41, 133, 160, 226n.1, 231n.29, 234n.42, 238n.62, 278n.267, 296, 297n.348, 300, 308 Vision of Daniel, 158n.15 Visionary power, 244n.96 See also Foreseeing of future events Vows, 180, 181, 187, 248, 258, 326 Vulgata, 41, 230n.29, 237n.56, 238n.61, 238n.62, 258n.166, 263n.188 Wandering Jew, 251n.130 Watt, Ian, 19, 21 Wealth, 36n.104, 49, 71n.69, 72, 91, 100, 104, 105, 108, 109, 117, 280, 296, 297n.346, 300n.369, 301n.373, 326, 330, 346 Wealth, Rich, 36n.104, 49, 71n.69, 91, 100, 104, 105, 108, 109, 117, 280, 296, 297n.346, 300, 301n.373, 326, 330, 346 Weber, 138 Wedding, See Marriage Weinstock, Israel, 238n.63, 239n.66 Weisman, Richard, 168n.42 Weiss Halivni, David, 23, 24 Whores, 169, 244 Wickedness, 160, 270 Wine, 121, 121n.77, 140, 143, 143n.40, 148, 178 Wisdom, 30, 42, 108, 109, 230, 230–231n.29, 236n.53, 237n.56, 254, 258, 262, 264, 266, 274, 296, 296n.344, 302, 341n.551, 346, 348, 354 Wissenschaft des Judentums, 7, 7n.13 Women, 35, 36n.105, 37, 65n.53, 82, 95n.26, 107, 108, 121, 127, 129, 130n.4, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 144, 149, 162, 172, 173, 175, 176, 177, 177n.63, 181, 182, 183, 185, 231n.29, 243n.92, 256, 258, 274n.245, 283n.290, 292, 293n.325, 320, 321n.468 Wonders, See Miracles

402

index

Worship, 23, 89, 90, 91, 92, 116, 161, 171, 181, 226n.1, 254n.142, 263n.189, 263n.190, 272n.239, 328n.494 Yacub ibn Killis, 69n.65 See also Abulfaraj Iacub b. Iussuf b. Killis Yashish, 247n.113 Yassif, Eli, 14, 22n.61, 51n.21, 55n.27, 65n.53 Yehoshua, 126 Yerachmiel b. Shlomo, 32 Yeshivah (pl. Yeshivot), 54, 69, 74, 103, 104, 105n.50, 106, 109, 116,

118, 133, 160, 168, 181, 235n.46, 247n.111, 258n.164, 306, 308n.410, 310n.419, 311n.424, 328n.496, 344 See also Havurah . Yiddish, 152 Yoav, 238, 238n.64 Yotzer (pl. yotzroth), 10, 140, 228n.15, 300, 300n.368 Zahara, 331n.514 Zaken (pl. zekenim), 103 Zelada, Francesco Saverio, 8n.14 Zemon Davis, Natalie, 175 Zohar, 25