Reviewed by Rabbi Reuven Chaim
Klein (Rachack Review)
Professor Azzan Yadin-Israel's
latest work is a fascinating exploration that delves into the evolution of a
concept taken for granted in popular discourse. The Biblical account of Adam
and Eve consuming the Forbidden Fruit leaves the specific identity of this
fruit shrouded in the generic term pri, which simply means "fruit"
in Hebrew. However, over time, this “fruit” has been widely perceived as an
apple in pop culture. In this work, Yadin-Israel meticulously unravels the
roots of this prevalent notion through an in-depth scholarly investigation.
Conventional wisdom says that the
apple came to be understood as the Forbidden Fruit because the Latin word malum
means “evil,” and its homonym malum (cognate with the English word melon)
means “apple.” The popular theory goes that since Adam and Eve sinning by eating
this fruit wrought evil upon the world, the very fruit in question must have
been an apple which is linguistically associated with “evil,” i.e. the apple — because
of the aforementioned homonym.
However, Yadin-Israel decisively debunks
this theory by showing that it remains unsubstantial when one studies early
Latin commentators to the Bible. Through a masterful grasp of textual,
literary, visual, and artistic references to the Fall of Man, the author eruditely
navigates through proofs and counter-proofs, while conclusively discrediting
the unsubstantiated Latin-based understanding.
The one attractive point of the malum
theory is that the tradition associating the fruit with the apple is unknown in
Hebrew, Aramaic, or Greek sources — thus lending credit to the notion that it
must have sprung up from something related to Latin. However, the author
rejects this point by noting that early Latin authors rarely referred to the Forbidden
Fruit by the Latin term malum, instead using more generic words like fructus
(“fruit”).
After rejecting this folk
explanation, the author harnesses a wide array of sources in order to pinpoint
exactly when and where the notion that Forbidden Fruit was an apple came into
existence. At that point, he shifts the focus to iconographic and artistic
representations of the Fall of Man, tracing the emergence of the apple in such depictions
to 12th-century France. Prior to this period, visual portrayals of
the Forbidden Fruit simply did not feature apples.
Yadin-Israel intriguingly
connects the rise of the apple theory in 12th-century France to the
evolving semantic meaning of the French word pomme, transitioning from a
generic term for "fruit" to specifically denoting an
"apple." Similar semantic shifts later occurred in Germanic languages
like German and English, whereby apple/apfel transitioned from a generic
word for “fruit” to a word that specifically means “apple.” The author makes
the strong case that it was these internal semantic shifts within various European
languages that actually lead to the widespread misconception regarding the Forbidden
Fruit's identity. In other words, once the word for “fruit” came to
specifically mean “apple,” people began to think that “forbidden fruit”
actually just meant “forbidden apple.”
Before the apple theory gained traction
and wide acceptance, there were earlier traditions that identify the fruit as
something else. For example, various Jewish traditions (found in rabbinic
sources, as well as in apocryphal literature) identify the Forbidden Fruit as
either a grape, fig, wheat, or citron. These traditions were also adopted by
early Christian sources, who further conjectured that the fruit in question might
have been a pomegranate (a word incidentally cognate with the French pomme
mentioned above). Yadin-Israel meticulously documents these and other alternative
theories as to the identity of the fruit in question, including less popular
suggestions like the date and the banana.
This book is a testament to the
value of rigorous scholarship, highlighting that nothing should be taken for
granted, but rather all assumptions could and should be called into question.
It also illustrates the idea that scholarship should not be confined to a
single field, but rather flourishes in multi-disciplinary milieu. Yet, this
book is written in easy English rather than dense academic jargon. It is also relatively
short — I read it in one sitting. Indeed, this book presents a fascinating scholarly
narrative that reads like a mystery novel, with the author acting like a detective
uncovering the origins of the popular wisdom.
This book also includes beautiful
pictures from various libraries that make up some of the iconographic evidence from
which the author draws. Accompanying these stunning visuals are extensive
endnotes and a bibliography that aid the reader in delving further into the
topic. Moreover, the book goes beyond
its pages, offering a companion website, https://treeofknowledgeart.com/ where
the author has collated hundreds of additional iconographic depictions of the Tree
of Knowledge, enriching the reader's exploration further.
In essence, Temptation
Transformed invites readers on a journey through the annals of history,
challenging preconceived notions, and revealing the intricate story behind the
genesis of a pervasive cultural belief.
The Musaf Prayer: Background and Commentary (Mosaica Press, 2023), by Rabbi Elchanan Adler
Rabbi Elchanan Adler, a
distinguished Rosh Yeshiva at Yeshiva University’s Rabbi Isaac Elchanan
Theological Seminary for over a quarter-century, brings his erudition to life
in this insightful exploration of the Musaf prayer recited on Shabbat. The
author has already written many books in English and Hebrew, and holds degrees
in Psychology and Education. But in his newest work, Rabbi Adler offers a fascinating
adaptation of his earlier Hebrew work dedicated to this very topic.
Tapping into the rich background
of the Musaf prayer's history, the book touches on the history of the text of
the regular Shabbos Musaf prayer, often comparing variant traditions
side-by-side. However, the book’s tour de force lies in its
comprehensive word-by-word explication of the standard version of the weekly Musaf
liturgy. Notably, the author also dedicates chapters to the special Musaf
prayer recited during the rare occurrence of Rosh Chodesh falling on Shabbat.
Here too, Rabbi Adler shows the reader different versions of the prescribed blessings,
explicates each word of the prayer, and presents a digest of pertinent Halachic
insights/rulings.
Rabbi Adler’s exhaustive research
draws from a wide array of traditional sources, spanning from Medieval sages who
commented on the Siddur (such as Machzor Vitri, Ri Bar Yakar, Siddur
Rabbi Shlomo of Worms, and Abudarham) all the way down to contemporary rabbinic
figures (like Rabbi Eytan Kobre, Rabbi Hershel Schachter, and Rabbi Avigdor
Nebenzahl).
Throughout the book, recurring
themes emerge, showcasing Rabbi Adler's keen observations within the Musaf
prayer and his ability to connect related motifs found in different sources.
Central among these is the fervent yearning expressed for the Ultimate Redemption
and the rebuilding of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. This longing is deeply
intertwined with the aspiration to once again offer the Musaf sacrifices on
Shabbat and holidays, a vision resonating throughout Jewish history and
tradition.
In short, Rabbi Adler’s work
masterfully navigates the intricate layers of the Musaf prayer, offering both a
historical panorama and a nuanced commentary. His skillful elucidation not only
enriches the reader's understanding, but also invites deeper contemplation on
the profound spiritual and theological significance embedded within the prayer's
text. This book thus deserves a place on the Jewish bookshelf as an invaluable
resource that illuminates the depths of this sacred liturgical text, while also
highlighting the timeless aspirations and hopes embedded within it.
The Jewish Bible: A Material History (University of Washington Press, 2017), by David Stern
This book serves as a scholarly
exploration that diverges from “traditional” textual analyses by delving into
the physical aspects and cultural significance of the Jewish Bible as a
physical artifact. In doing so, the author departs from the exhaustive textual
scrutiny that has dominated scholarly discourse on the Bible, and instead chooses
to explore the material properties and cultural contexts of these revered
objects.
The book's first chapter
meticulously dissects the earliest known specimens of Sifrei Torah (“Torah
Scrolls”), focusing on the materials on which scrolls were written (papyrus vs.
parchment), the scripts in which the scrolls were written (ktav ashuri vs.
ktav ivri), the scrolls’ physical dimensions, and the scribal layout of
ancient scrolls that are still extant. While only touching on the stabilization
and canonization of the Masoretic Text, the author’s primary focus remains on
the Torah Scrolls' physical attributes.
In this chapter, Stern also adeptly
traces the evolution of Hebrew Bibles (including those from the Dead Sea
Scrolls) and sheds light on the number of "books" contained in each physical
scroll. Moreover, he brings to the fore various scribal practices, drawing
comparisons between those who penned the Dead Sea Scrolls and those who adhere to
traditional rabbinic specifications. In doing so, he also highlights how these
scribes may have mirrored or deviated from the norms of the larger scribal
culture of the Mediterranean world.
Within this exploration, the opening
chapter also ventures into the "para-material" aspects of the Torah Scroll.
It particularly details their placement within synagogues, the rituals
surrounding their removal and return to the Ark, and the ornamental elements that
typically adorn the Sefer Torah’s case and mantle, as well as its assorted accompanying
paraphernalia (like silver crowns, bells, and pointers).
The second chapter moves from
scrolls to codices, discussing such famous Biblical Codices as the Aleppo
Codex, the Leningrad Codex, Hilleli Codex, and various fragmentary pieces from
the Cairo Genizah (like Codex Babylonicus). These codices differ from regular Torah
Scrolls by including vowelization marks, cantillation marks, and Masoretic
glosses (while in Torah Scrolls, only the consonants of the text are written).
Stern elucidates the collaborative nature of creating these manuscripts
involving multiple people like the sofer (“scribe”), who writes the consonantal
text of the Torah; the nakdan (“punctuator”), who adds the vowelization
and cantillation marks; and the masran
(“Masorete scholar”), who adds the Masoretic notes and functioned much like a
copyeditor.
In doing so, the author unravels the
intricacies of the aforementioned Masoretic notes and who exactly was involved
in the Masoretic movement. This chapter also discusses in what ways the texts
of Biblical codices mirrored the way the text was laid out in Biblical scrolls
and how the Masoretic notes were incorporated in that layout. In addition, this
chapter also talks about decorative “carpet pages” (so called because their
design resembles the design typically woven into carpets) found in many codices,
and speculates about their various purposes.
The final chapters of this book
cover the evolution of printed Jewish Bibles, tracing their history from the
mid-1400s to the present day. In those discussions, Stern unveils the shift
from Masoretic glosses, once so central to Biblical codices, to their near
extinction in printed versions. An interesting thing about printed Jewish
bibles is that they were originally made to look like handwritten-codices and
did not initially try to look as more innovative or up-to-date than the older
handwritten technology. Stern contrasts this with the situation in Yemen —
where printing only arrived much later than in Europe — where the opposite
phenomenon was found, as Jewish Yemenite scribes would often write manuscripts
that were intended to look like printed editions.
The book is adorned with many beautiful photographs of the manuscripts (be they scrolls or codices) discussed, as well as of examples of the sorts of items and features discussed in the book. These photographs generally come from items housed in various university or private libraries from around the world.
Because this work is written from
an academic perspective, it often diverges from religious (Orthodox) Jewish
sensibilities, by using critical inquiry into religious assertions and their
origins, occasionally clashing with traditional beliefs. For example, the
author asks questions like why the rabbis would claim that certain rules about
writing a Sefer Torah would be a halachah l’Moshe m’Sinai (“rule
[transmitted] to Moses from Sinai”), instead of taking such rabbinic assertions
at face value as reflecting a genuine oral tradition. The book’s body text
contains references to primary sources (like the Bible and relevant rabbinic literature),
while the endnotes contain more detailed references to secondary sources and
scholarship, as well as more technical discussions.
One of the overarching themes throughout
the book is the question of to what extent Jewish decorative practices for
these items were influenced and/or mimicked outside (often Christian or Muslim)
artistic norms versus to what extent Jews marked their religious items with a
specific Jewishness.
In conclusion, David Stern's work
stands out as a significant scholarly contribution, breaking from conventional
studies centered on textual content to delve deeply into the material
properties and cultural contexts of Jewish Biblical artifacts with the same
scholarly rigor. Through meticulous research and insightful analysis, Stern
illuminates the intricate physical aspects of Torah Scrolls, codices, and
printed Jewish Bibles. His extensive notes, comprehensive bibliography, and
detailed index not only enhance the book's scholarly credibility, but also
provide readers with a rich wellspring of sources for further exploration. This
work cements itself as an invaluable resource, offering a fresh perspective on
the tangible essence of these revered artifacts, reshaping our understanding of
the Jewish Bible's material journey across centuries.
