Daf Ditty Chagigah 11: Heretical kabbalah

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ghTCSDJeVc

Jacob Frank’s version of Sabbateanism took on an unabashedly nihilistic

character. Under the "burden of silence" the true believer, who has God in his
secret heart, should go through all religions, rites, and established orders without
accepting any and indeed annihilating all from within and thereby establishing
true freedom.

Organized religion is only a cloak to be put on and be thrown away on the way to
the "sacred knowledge," the gnosis of the place where all traditional values are
destroyed in the stream of "life."
Gershom Scholem1

1
http://www.radicaltorahthought.com/Bio Zvi_Frank.htm

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MISHNA: One may not expound the topic of forbidden sexual relations before three or more
individuals; nor may one expound the act of Creation and the secrets of the beginning of the
world before two or more individuals; nor may one expound by oneself the Design of the Divine
Chariot, a mystical teaching with regard to the ways God conducts the world, unless he is wise
and understands most matters on his own.

‫ ב מ ע ש ה ברא ש ית‬,‫ת וס פ ות ד " ה אין ד ור ש ין‬

Tosfos explains that this refers to Hash-m's 42-letter name.

.‫פי' ר"ת הוא שם מ"ב אותיות היוצא מבראשית ומפסוק של אחריו‬

Explanation (return): This is Hash-m's 42-letter name, which comes from Bereishis and the
next verse.

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The mishna continues in the same vein: Whoever looks at four matters, it would have been
better for him had he never entered the world: Anyone who reflects upon what is above the
firmament and what is below the earth, what was before Creation, and what will be after the
end of the world. And anyone who has no concern for the honor of his Maker, who inquires
into and deals with matters not permitted to him, deserves to have never come to the world.

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GEMARA: The Gemara poses a question: You said in the first clause of the mishna: Nor may
one expound the Design of the Divine Chariot by oneself, which indicates that the topic may not
be learned at all, and yet you subsequently said: Unless he is wise and understands most things
on his own, which indicates that an individual is permitted to study the Design of the Divine
Chariot.

The Gemara explains: This is what the mishna is saying: One may not expound the topic of
forbidden sexual relations before three students, nor the act of Creation before two, nor may
one teach the Divine Chariot to one, unless that student was wise and understands on his own.

§ The Gemara continues to clarify the mishna, which reads: One may not expound the topic of
forbidden sexual relations before three individuals. What is the reason for this? If we say it is
because it is written:

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 ‫ ל ֹא‬,‫שׂרוֹ‬
ָ ‫ְשֵׁאר ְבּ‬-‫ָכּל‬-‫ו ִאישׁ ִאישׁ ֶאל‬ 6 None of you shall approach to any that is near of kin
{‫ }ס‬.‫ ְיהָוה‬,‫ ֲא ִני‬:‫ִתְק ְרבוּ ְלַגלּוֹת ֶﬠ ְרָוה‬ to him, to uncover their nakedness. I am the LORD. {S}
Lev 18:6

“None of you [ish, ish] shall approach any near of kin to uncover their nakedness”. Ish, ish,
literally means: Man, man. It is understood as an allusion to the number of students permitted to
study the topic. This is as it is explained immediately: “Man, man” equals two; “any near of kin
to him” is one; and the Merciful One states: “You shall not approach to uncover their
nakedness,” which indicates that one may not expound the halakhot of forbidden sexual relations
in the presence of three individuals.

They ask: If that is so, then what of this verse:

‫ ִאישׁ‬,‫ תּ ֹאַמר‬,‫ְבֵּני ִיְשׂ ָרֵאל‬-‫ב ְוֶאל‬ 2 Moreover, thou shalt say to the children of Israel:
‫ַהֵגּר ַהָגּר‬-‫ִאישׁ ִמְבֵּני ִיְשׂ ָרֵאל וִּמן‬ Whosoever he be of the children of Israel, or of the strangers
,z‫שׁר ִיֵתּן ִמַזּ ְרעוֹ ַלֹמֶּל‬
ֶ ‫ְבּ ִיְשׂ ָרֵאל ֲא‬ that sojourn in Israel, that giveth of his seed unto Molech;
‫ ִי ְרְגֻּמהוּ‬,‫מוֹת יוָּמת; ַﬠם ָהָא ֶרץ‬ he shall surely be put to death; the people of the land shall
.‫ָבָאֶבן‬ stone him with stones.
Lev 20:2

“Any man [ish, ish] who curses his God” (Leviticus 24:15), or “Any man [ish, ish] who gives of
his seed to the Molekh”, which is a form of idol worship? In both cases the double expression
implies the number two. So too there, will you say that it is prohibited to teach these halakhot
before two individuals?

The Gemara answers: Rather, those instances of the double expression: Man, man, are required
for him, the tanna, in order to include gentiles, who are commanded with regard to blessing,
a euphemism for cursing, God, and with regard to idol worship just as Jews are commanded.

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Summary

They may not expound upon the subject of forbidden relations in the presence of three.
Nor the work of creation in the presence of two.2

Nor [the work of] the chariot in the presence of one unless he is a sage and understands of
his own knowledge.

Whoever speculates upon four things, it would have been better had he not come into the
world: (1) what is above, (2) what is beneath, (3) what came before, and ( what came after.
And whoever takes no thought for the honor of his creator, it would have been better had he
not come into the world.

This mishnah is brought here because like yesterday’s mishnah it may refer to certain reasons why
sages abandoned the world of Torah. There are some subjects which are, according to our mishnah,
dangerous to speculate upon or to discuss in front of the masses. Pondering upon the unknowable
may have contributed towards apostasy.

Section one: The danger of expounding upon the verses about forbidden relations in the Torah is
either that people will be confused and make irreparable mistakes (i.e. create mamzerim) or that
they will be titillated by the attention paid to these verses and they will not be able to control their
urges and they will come to sin. Therefore, these verses are not expounded before even a group as
small as three.

2
https://www.sefaria.org/Chagigah.11b.6?ven=William_Davidson_Edition__English&vhe=William_Davidson_Edition__Vocaliz
ed_Aramaic&lang=bi&p2=Mishnah_Chagigah.2.1&ven2=William_Davidson_Edition__English&vhe2=Torat_Emet_357&lang2
=bi&w2=English%20Explanation%20of%20Mishnah&lang3=en

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Section two: How the world was created and whether it was created from already existing material
was a much debated and sensitive issue in the ancient world. That there might have been material
which pre-existed God would have been seen by the rabbis to be heretical. Due to the speculative
nature of this subject, it was forbidden to talk about it in front of even two people.
Section three: The study of the chariot, Ezekiel’s heavenly vision (Ezekiel 1) is the mystical study
of God, God’s physical attributes and God’s unknowable mysteries. The sages seem to have
believed that God had a physical existence, perhaps even a body in a certain sense, but that God’s
body was hidden from human beings. It was forbidden for one sage to teach this subject to another
sage unless the learning sage could understand things without really being explained to them. What
this seems to mean is that one sage could begin to discuss this topic with another sage but he
shouldn’t reveal to him the secrets of God unless he sees that the sage understands and can proceed
on his own. However, we interpret this, what is clear is that the sages were extremely hesitant to
engage publicly in mysticism.

Section four: There were some things that humans couldn’t know and therefore should not try to
know. They are: 1) what is above the sky; 2) what is below the earth; 3) what came before the
earth was created; 4) what will come after it is destroyed. Again, these four subjects are (or at least
were) completely speculative. A person should spend their time in this world studying subjects
that are knowable, such as the interpretation of Torah and halakhah. Metaphysical speculation was
ruled out by this mishnah. The final line of the mishnah seems to be a continuation of the previous
line. Those who try to uncover God’s secrets and reveal them to the public are not acting with
respect to God’s honor. It is almost as if they are undressing God in public. Had God wanted these
secrets to be revealed they would have been revealed.

I should note that there do seem to have been rabbis in this period who did engage in such
speculative study and even composed works dedicated to the topic. There are two ways to justify
this mishnah with those other works. First of all, there were different groups of rabbis, some of
which focused on halakhah/midrash and others who focused on mysticism. The second possibility,
which I believe to be more likely, is that the rabbis thought that mysticism was not an appropriate
focus for most people’s study. Mysticism, which they considered dangerous, should be reserved
for the elite and not spread to the masses.

Teaching Complexity with Great Caution3

We end Perek I with more examples of which positive mitzvot might be like a mountain suspended
by a hair. The rabbis consider a number of different options - which halachot are directly Torah
based and which are only alluded to in the Torah. One of our learnings is that Mishnaot were
created in good part to fill in some of the 'gaps' in Torah instruction.

Moving into Perek II the rabbis consider a new Mishna, this time something that seems quite
detached from Chagiga. We are told about topics that should not be discussed with students in
3
http://dafyomibeginner.blogspot.com/2014/09/

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different groupings. Specifically, the rabbis refer to the laws of forbidden sexual relations, the
laws of Creation (notes suggest that this could mean the natural world; it could mean the six days
of creation), and the laws of the Divine Chariot (notes tell us that this refers to the
metaphysical). A good deal of amud (b) is devoted to why only one or two or three students
should be 'dangerous learners' of each of these topics.

What is more interesting to me is the idea that these topics are somehow risky at all. Steinsaltz
explains in a note that this Mishna is placed here to help us understand the complex, profound
considerations undertaken when approaching G-d and when discussing other halachot. We should
be careful how we think about teaching; students can make assumptions and decide on their own
that their interpretation of Torah is more appropriate than the teachings of the rabbis.

Our tradition continues to focus on continuity over innovation. Perhaps this is the key to Judaism's
longevity: we have built into religious practice the necessity of 'following the leader' rather than
studying and interpreting on our own. Yes, we are encouraged to ask questions, but we are assured
that there are greater thinkers who have struggled with the same questions. We feel connected to
a chain of scholars and our questions - if not our answers - are validated. Thus our tradition
changes culturally, but in very limited ways.

Rav Avrohom Adler writes:4

The Gemora cites a braisa: The laws of negaim (tzaraas) and oholos (corpse tumah transmitted by
means of a roof) have few Scriptural allusions, but many halachos. The Gemora asks: Aren’t there
many Scriptural passages regarding negaim? Rav Pappa answers: The braisa meant to say the
opposite; the laws of negaim have many Scriptural allusions, but relatively few halachos. The
Gemora asks: What difference does this make? The Gemora answers: If one is uncertain regarding
a law pertaining to negaim, he should look in Scripture; if one is uncertain regarding a law
pertaining to oholos, he should look in the Mishna.

The Mishna had stated: Monetary laws have Scriptural support and are regarded as fundamentals
of the Torah. The Gemora asks: Monetary laws are explicitly mentioned in the Torah; why does
the Mishna state that there is merely Scriptural support? The Gemora answers: The Mishna is
referring to cases similar to the following halachah from Rebbe: Even though it is written
(regarding a man who intended to hit another man and mistakenly killed a woman): And you shall
award a life for a life; nevertheless, the punishment is not life, but rather monetary compensation.

The Mishna had stated: The laws of sacrificial services have Scriptural support and are regarded
as fundamentals of the Torah. The Gemora asks: Aren’t there many Scriptural passages regarding
these laws? The Gemora answers: The Mishna is referring to the halachos of bringing the blood to
the Altar, as it was taught in the following braisa: And they shall bring. This refers to the receiving
of the blood. The Torah referred to the receiving of the blood in an expression of ‘bringing,’ as it
is written: He shall bring it all…and cause it go up in smoke on the Altar; and the master explained
4
http://dafnotes.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/Chagigah_11.pdf

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this verse to be referring to the bringing of the limbs to the ramp. This teaches us that the service
of bringing the blood should not be excluded from the laws that govern the receiving of the blood.

The Mishna had stated: The laws of purity and contamination have Scriptural support and are
regarded as fundamentals of the Torah.

The Gemora asks: Aren’t there many Scriptural passages regarding these laws? The Gemora
answers: The Mishna is referring to the amount of water needed for a mikvah (forty se’ah), which
is not explicitly stated in the Torah. The Torah states that a person must immerse himself in an
amount of water that is sufficient for his entire body to enter the water at one time. The Gemora
states that the ritual bath must contain at least three cubic amos of water since a person’s average
height is three amos and his width is one amah. The Chachamim concluded that this measurement
is equivalent to forty se’ah.

The Mishna had stated: Monetary law, the laws regarding sacrificial offerings, the laws of purity
and contamination and the laws concerning illicit relations all have Scriptural support and are
regarded as fundamentals of the Torah. The Gemora asks: Are only these halachos fundamentals
of the Torah and not the other halachos mentioned before? The Gemora answers: Rather, let us
say that both these and those halachos are fundamentals of the Torah.

WE SHALL RETURN TO YOU, HAKOL CHAYAVIN

The Mishna states: We do not expound the laws of illicit relationships among three people, nor do
we discuss the Account of Creation among two people and we do not expound Maaseh Merkavah
(Account of the Chariot) even by one person, unless he is a wise man and can understand these
matters by himself. The Mishna continues: Whoever analyzes the following four things, it would
have been better if he never entered this world: What is above and below (the Heavenly angels),
what is before and after (beyond the universe). Whoever is not concerned for the honor of his
Creator, it would have been better if he never entered this world.

The Mishna had stated: We do not expound Maaseh Merkavah (Account of the Chariot) even by
one person, unless he is a wise man and can understand these matters by himself. The Gemora asks
an apparent contradiction in the ruling of the Mishna: If a person has the ability to expound on
Maaseh Merkavah himself, he obviously is a scholar, and yet the Mishna states that he is prohibited
from studying this himself; however, the Mishna concludes that if he is a wise man and can
understand these matters by himself, he may expound by himself. The Gemora answers and
explains the Mishna in the following manner: We do not expound the laws of illicit relationships
to three other people, nor do we discuss the Account of Creation to two other people and we do
not expound Maaseh Merkavah to one other person, unless he is a wise man and can understand
these matters by himself.

The Gemora discusses the Scriptural source for the Mishna’s halacha that we do not expound the
laws of illicit relationships to three other people. Rav Ashi explained the Mishna’s ruling as
follows: We do not expound upon the secret details regarding the laws of illicit relationships
(forbidden unions that are not stated explicitly in Scripture) to three other people. The reason for
this is because we are concerned that when one student is conversing back and forth with his

9
teacher, the other two students will talk among themselves and will not learn the halacha that their
teacher is saying; subsequently they might eventually permit an illicit relationship. The Gemora
asks: Why don’t we apply this ruling (prohibition against teaching three students) to all areas of
Torah study? The Gemora answers: Stealing and illicit relationships are two transgressions that
one especially desires. The Gemora asks: If so, the halachah should apply by the laws of stealing,
as well? The Gemora answers: A person has a powerful desire for an illicit relationship whether
the object of his desire is in front of him or not; a person only has a desire to steal when the
opportunity is in front of him.

AVERAGE AMAH

The Gemora had stated: A person must immerse himself in an amount of water that is sufficient
for his entire body to enter the water at one time. The Gemora states that the ritual bath must
contain at least three cubic amos of water since a person’s average height is three amos and his
width is one amah. The Chachamim concluded that this measurement is equivalent to forty se’ah.

The Chasam Sofer comments: Every person has his individual measurement of an amah (from his
shoulder to the tip of his middle finger). The height of each and every person (excluding his head)
is equivalent to three of his personal amos and not the size of the average amah. The Chasam Sofer
said that he can attest to this for he personally investigated this and confirmed it many times. The
measurement of a mikvah follows the average amah (three cubic amos) and not the amah of each
unique individual.

The Bach (Y”D 120) states that Biblically, one can immerse himself in a mikvah that contains
water sufficient for his entire body to enter at one time even if there isn’t forty se’ah; the
Chachamim decreed that the mikvah must contain forty se’ah. The Chasam Sofer asks: Even if the
Bach is correct regarding the measurement of water required for a person to immerse himself in;
he is also referring to the immersion of new utensils, where the Torah requires its immersion in a
mikvah fit for a niddah to immerse in. It is evident that the Biblical amount of water needed for a
valid mikvah is measured according to the average person (niddah) and not according to each
individual, for otherwise, to whom is the Torah referring to when it states that the water needed
for the immersion of utensils should be water sufficient for a niddah. He concludes that the words
of the Bach are extremely perplexing.

OVERWHELMING DESIRE

The Gemora had stated: A person has a powerful desire for an illicit relationship whether the object
of his desire is in front of him or not. It is because of this that it is forbidden to teach three students
the secret details regarding the laws of illicit relationships; we are concerned that when one student
is conversing back and forth with his teacher, the other two students will talk among themselves
and will not learn the halacha that their teacher is saying; subsequently they might eventually
permit an illicit relationship.

The Rambam in Hilchos Issurei Biyah (22:20) writes: Therefore, it is incumbent on each and every
person to acclimatize himself to increased levels of sanctity and pure thoughts at all times in order
to refrain from sinning in these matters, where there is an overwhelming physical urge to sin.

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Reb Moshe Feinstein (Y”D III: 80) cited this Gemora and Rambam as proof to his ruling regarding
a Beis Yaakov in Baltimore, that they cannot build their new school adjacent to a Yeshiva for boys.
He states that we must be vigilant in these areas for otherwise, it can result in the spiritual
destruction of this world.

THE IDENTITY OF THE "CHOMET"

Rav Mordechai Kornfeld writes:5

The Gemara says that the minimum size of a Sheretz which is Metamei is the size of a lentil bean,
because the smallest, whole Sheretz (when it is young) is the size of a small lentil. This small
Sheretz is called the "Chomet." What is a "Chomet?"

(a) RASHI defines the Chomet as a "limace" (Fr.), a snail or slug (see SEFER LEKACH TOV of
Rav Chananel Tuvya Dayan (5749, Bnei Brak), who discusses the exact definition of this word).
(The word "limga" with a Gimel, printed in our texts of Rashi, appears to be a printer's error,
because Rashi elsewhere consistently writes "limace" with a Tzadi.) Rashi in Chulin (121a, DH
Halta'ah) says that upon examination of the shell of the limace, one will notice that the innermost
of its spiral twirls (which indicates the size of the Chomet at birth, since the shell grows as the
body of the snail grows) is the size of a lentil bean. Rashi's source that a Chomet is a snail seems
to be the Midrash he quotes in Parshas Ekev (Devarim 8:4) which says that the clothes of the Jews
in the desert were "like the shell of a Chomet, which grows as the Chomet grows."

(b) The TOSFOS RID disagrees with Rashi and explains that the Chomet mentioned here is not
the same as the Chomet mentioned in the Midrash. This Chomet cannot be a snail, because the
Mishnah in Shabbos (107a) says that one who captures (on Shabbos) one of the eight Sheratzim
mentioned in the Torah is liable for the Melachah of Tzeidah, and one who punctures its skin and
makes it bleed is liable for the Melachah of Chovel.

If the Chomet is a snail, why does the Gemara refer to the "skin of a Chomet"? Snails do not have
skin! Moreover, one cannot be liable for "capturing" a snail; it is "already captured" since it cannot
run away when a person attempts to pick it up. It is like a blind grasshopper or an infant deer, for
which one who captures it on Shabbos is not liable because it does not run away (Shabbos 106b,
Beitzah 25a, and Rashi there, DH Bah).

The same questions may be asked on the opinion which maintains that the Chilazon creature from
which Techeles is procured is the Murex Trunculus snail. The Gemara in Shabbos (75a) says that
one is liable for Tzeidah if he captures a Chilazon on Shabbos

(Although the Yerushalmi cited by Tosfos there says that one is not liable for Tzeidah if he captures
a Chilazon, the Bavli argues and maintains that one is liable.)

5
https://www.dafyomi.co.il/chagigah/insites/cg-dt-011.htm

11
Perhaps the answer to these questions is that the Melachah of Tzeidah includes capturing a creature
which is hard to find. Only when no effort is required in order to capture it or to find it is one not
liable for Tzeidah. If effort is required either to capture it or to find it, then one is liable for Tzeidah.
Therefore, one will be liable for capturing a snail since it normally buries itself in the ground or
matches the colors of its surroundings and thus is difficult to find.

Alternatively, perhaps only an animal which normally attempts to avoid capture can be considered
"already captured" when it is blind or weak. An animal which does not run away under any
circumstances, such as a snail, cannot be considered "already captured." It is not logical to consider
the normal state of an animal's roaming to be a state of capture. Therefore, one who lifts up a snail
is liable for Tzeidah.

With regard to why the Mishnah in Shabbos says that one is liable for puncturing the skin of a
Chomet if a snail has no skin, perhaps the very thin skin of a snail is considered skin such that one
is liable for puncturing it on Shabbos.

Steinzaltz (OBM) writes:6

The second perek (chapter) of Masechet Chagigah opens with a discussion of certain topics in
the Torah that should not be taught in public settings. For example, arayot – forbidden sexual
relationships – should not be taught to more than two students at a time. Ma’aseh bereshit – the
secrets of creation – are limited to a single student, while ma’aseh merkavah – the secrets of the
supernatural – cannot be taught even to a single student, unless he is a scholar who has the ability
to understand on his own. According to the Gemara, the concern in all of these cases is that one
student may begin to ask the teacher questions and during the distraction the others may begin
discussions that will keep them from focusing on the continued lecture. In these issues, if the
students rule incorrectly, the repercussions can be severe.

On a superficial level, the Mishnah turns to this topic as a natural continuation to the discussion
that appeared in the last perek. There we learned (see the Mishnah on 10a) that some halakhot are
clearly written and developed in the Torah, others are mentioned succinctly, and some are barely
hinted at and are left to the Sages. Similarly we find entire topics that the Sages felt needed to
remain “hidden” from public view and only taught within a small circle of the initiated. In his Zeker
le-Chagigah, Rav Mordechai Zvi Reinhold suggests a further connection with Masechet
Chagigah. He argues that the obligation to travel to Jerusalem and to approach God in
His Temple is a mitzvah of deep and great significance. Far from being taken lightly, the pilgrim
approaching the mikdash needs to be encouraged to appreciate that this trip is not a simple
excursion to Jerusalem, but a journey to a higher realm of existence, one that is beyond the ken of
the average person.

The difficulty here is that even as the significance of the journey should be appreciated by all, the
concepts are so complicated that great care must be taken in presenting those ideas to the masses.

6
https://www.ou.org/life/torah/masechet_hagigah_612/

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Sefer 1:21 writes that the volume of water which makes up a mikveh corresponds to
various symbolic concepts.7

The Gemara (Berachos 16a) teaches that just as a flowing brook transforms a person from being
impure to becoming pure, so, too, does the Torah have the ability to purify a person. Water has an
effect upon the entire person when he can become fully immersed in it. So it is with Torah. When
a person toils in Torah, it effects his entire being.

Our Gemara states that the dimensions of a mikveh include a height of three amos, which
corresponds to the three elements of a person—the soul (‫ נפש‬,(the spirit ( ‫ רוח‬,(and the neshama
(‫)נשמה‬.This represents how one’s actions, speech and thoughts should be immersed in Torah, and
then it will have the effect of purifying his soul.

As this happens, the higher worlds, which correspond to a person’s upright stance, are also elevated
and purified. Even with this being said, and with one’s being aware of the sublime power of his
Torah study, a person should gear his involvement in Torah for the sake of heaven, and that the
benefits of his efforts be for the universal good, and not for his own spiritual advancement alone.

Yalkut Gershuni explains that when our Gemara states that a person’s entire body is immersed in
a mikveh, it uses the terminology The word “ ‫“ עולה‬can indicate that the
person becomes blended into the water and nullified within it.

We find a parallel usage of this word in the Mishnah (Terumos 4:7): “Teruma [which falls into
regular grain] is ‫ עולה‬/blended out and nullified if outnumbered by one hundred and one parts.”

The Yerushalmi (Terumos 10:8) teaches that a ‫—בריה‬an entire creature, can become nullified when
it falls into a volume of 960 parts. Forty se’ah of water comprises 960 kav. When a person
immerses himself in a mikveh, he becomes nullified within the water, and is then able to emerge
as a purified, refreshed and new entity.

7
https://www.dafdigest.org/masechtos/Chagiga%20011.pdf

13
Tosafos (1) writes that the reason the width of the mikvah is an amah, even though a person is
smaller than an amah, is so that a person should be able to immerse without having to hold his
arms tightly against his body.

Rav Shlomo Ganzfried (2), the Kitzur Shulchan Aruch, wondered why, if Tosafos is correct, did
Chazal gave a square measurement for the minimum size of a mikveh, i.e. 1x1x3 amos; seemingly
if the mikveh was round and the diameter of the circle was an amah it would be sufficient. One of
the answers he suggests is based on Tosafos (3) who writes that the reason the height of the mikveh
is three amos, even though people are taller than three amos, is that when people immerse they
bow their heads down.
Accordingly, it could be suggested that Chazal understood that one of the factors that will cause
the person to be completely submerged is that when he lowers his head the water level will rise
and if the mikveh were round rather than square the water would not rise sufficiently to cover his
head.

Rav Shalom Mordechai Schwadron (4), the Maharsham, was asked, based on the comments of
Kitzur Shulchan Aruch, whether a community could construct a round mikvah. Maharsham wrote
that it is clear from Rambam’s commentary to the Mishnah (5) that any shaped mikveh is
acceptable as long as it contains the requisite amount of water.

Nevertheless, the common custom to construct a square mikveh is based on the writings of the
Shelah6 who wrote, based on kabbalistic principles, that a mikveh should be shaped like an “end
mem

Therefore, when dealing with matters that relate to spiritual purity one should incorporate
kabbalistic principles even if we cannot explain these principles based on sources in the revealed
Torah. However, if there is a circumstance where it is not possible to construct the mikveh in the
shape of a square, the mikveh may be constructed in other shapes, even round.

Our Mishnah states that one should not teach Ma’aseh Merkavah, advanced Kabbalah, even to a
single student unless he has already proven his wisdom and ability to grasp the subject matter
independently.

Someone once saw Rav Shlomo Bloch, zt”l, learning the Zohar Hakadosh on Shabbos. He asked,
“Isn’t this in the category of Ma’aseh Merkavah?” The “Tzaddik Reb Shlomo” answered,

14
“Actually, my Rebbe, the Chofetz Chaim, zt”l, would learn the Zohar Hakadosh on Shabbos and
encouraged others to do so as well. He would even tell bochurim to learn through the Zohar on the
parsha. He would say, ‘Most of the Zohar is like Midrash.’”

It was also known that the Chofetz Chaim, zt”l, felt that learning Zohar brings one to Yiras
Shomayim. The famous author of the Leshem Sh’vo V’Achlamah, zt”l, grandfather of Rav
Eliyashiv, zt”l, once confessed that, although he never met Rav Yisroel Salanter, zt”l, when he
was a young man, he had always wanted to develop a relationship with the great Baal Mussar.

What prevented him was his fear that Rav Yisroel would have tried to prevent him from spending
the majority of his time studying ‫ נסתר‬rather than ‫נגלה‬.

Someone conveyed this to Rav Yisroel, who expressed some surprise at the younger man’s
reservations. “On the contrary,” he said, “It never occurred to me to discourage a person from
following the unique path he has chosen to come closer to Hashem!” Despite this, the two never
did meet. Soon afterward, Rav Yisroel traveled abroad to do outreach. However, another scholar
did actually ask Rav Yisroel why he didn’t instruct his students to study Kabbalah to help them
come closer to Hashem.

The Gadol responded, “What practical difference does it make in which heavenly chamber
Hashem sits? All I know is that those who fail to come closer to Him will be punished severely,
so I must put all my efforts into coming closer to Him!”

Rav Shlomo Wolbe, zt”l, commented on this story, “Rav Yisroel definitely learned Kabbalah, but
the questioner was a young man. Rav Yisroel wanted to hint to him that the main thing is not
knowledge of the higher spheres, but pure fear of heaven!”

15
 The Taboo of Studying Kabbalah
When discussing the mystical dynamics of creation, it is virtually impossible not to employ
male-female imagery.

Moshe Yakov Wisnefsky writes:8

It is commonly assumed that the study of Kabbalah is traditionally considered taboo, and there is
some support for this view. Kabbalah was and still is considered an advanced topic in Torah study,
suited only for those who will be sure to study it in the spirit of holiness in which it was written.

While all traditional rabbinic authorities subscribe to this ideal theoretically, there is a full gamut
of opinion as to how it should be implemented. At one extreme are the authorities who would limit
the study of Kabbalah to accomplished Torah scholars of exemplary righteousness; at the other
extreme are authorities who stress the critical importance of spreading the study of Kabbalah to
the widest possible audience, both as a panacea for our generation’s spiritual ills and as a
preparation for the imminent messianic redemption. Most opinions lay somewhere in the middle,
encouraging the study of Kabbalah if certain minimum character requirements are met.

I have found three main reasons for this reservation toward the study of Kabbalah:

Kabbalah is the most sublime and holiest aspect of the Torah...

The first is the notion that Kabbalah is the most sublime and holiest aspect of the Torah and should
therefore, simply by virtue of its preciousness, be kept secret and available only to those who prove
themselves worthy of learning it.

This sentiment is certainly praiseworthy, but the authorities that encourage the study of Kabbalah
point out that if the spiritual condition of the people requires the inspiration Kabbalah can provide,
8
https://www.chabad.org/kabbalah/article_cdo/aid/1991820/jewish/The-Taboo-of-Studying-Kabbalah.htm

16
this consideration overrides any considerations of honor or propriety. We live in times where there
are both many challenges and many easy alternatives to living life according to the Torah. We
need all the inspiration we can get, and in many instances Kabbalah is the only source of inspiration
that can counter the threats and attractions of competing lifestyles.

The second reason is the fear that the student will take the terminology and imagery of the texts
literally, thinking, for example, that the "Infinite Light" is actually some form of physical light as
we know it. This could lead the student to entertain heretical ideas about the non-corporeality
of G-d, and so forth.

This is certainly a valid concern. It is therefore vital that any prospective student first familiarize
himself or herself thoroughly with the caveats against this tendency. Secondly, one of the
achievements of Chassidut is that it succeeded in aligning the terminology of Kabbalah with the
inner psychological processes of the human mind and personality. Thus, for example, when
someone steeped in the teachings of Chassidut sees the word chochma, he hardly even thinks of
the right lobe of the physical brain; he mainly thinks of the mental processes associated with this
term and how they interact with other mental and psychological processes. He is therefore already
one step removed from the anthropomorphic sense of the purely Kabbalistic term. It is in this spirit
that I have tried to explain the Ari texts in "Apples from the Orchard".

Modern physics has enriched our vocabulary...

In addition, I personally think this fear of taking things too physically is much easier to deal with
nowadays than it was in previous generations. We are today very at home with technologies we
do not understand and that seem counterintuitive to a grossly physical understanding of the world.
We hardly give a second thought to how the sound of our words travels through telephone lines,
not to mention how images and sounds travel through airwaves. Modern physics has enriched our
vocabulary with the concepts of multiple dimensions, parallel universes, time warps, space

17
bending, and so forth. For our generation, it is very simple to abstract terminology from its strictly
physical sense. I therefore didn’t feel it was necessary to belabor this point throughout the book,
although I do mention it from time to time.

The third reason, which is in a sense a corollary of the second, is that the sometimes explicit sexual
imagery used in Kabbalah (and in Lurianic Kabbalah in particular) could focus the student’s mind
unnecessarily on sexuality. Instead of divesting this imagery from its physical sense and
understanding it abstractly, the student may become preoccupied with thoughts about sex itself,
which could be debasing or even lead to illicit lusts, or worse.

Here too, Chassidut has succeeded in largely desexualizing much of Kabbalistic imagery, and
Chassidic literature may be studied freely without concern for this fear. Yet, a work such as
"Apples from the Orchard", being a translation of Kabbalistic classics, cannot avoid the
ubiquitous sexual imagery so characteristic of Lurianic Kabbalah. It is therefore worthwhile
addressing this issue in some depth.

First of all, when discussing the mystical dynamics of creation, it is virtually impossible not to
employ sexual imagery, since these dynamics are avowedly sexual in nature. In fact, it is related
that the founder of Chassidut, Rabbi Yisrael Baal Shem Tov (1698-1760), in one of his "soul-
ascents" to the spiritual realms, asked the soul of Rabbi Chaim Vital why he used such pervasive
sexual metaphors in recording the Arizal’s description of spiritual reality. Rabbi Chaim Vital
pithily replied by giving him his pen and offering him the chance to "write better." The Baal Shem
Tov explained that Rabbi Chaim Vital meant that there simply is no more appropriate metaphor.

Secondly, I believe that nowadays, the positive effects that studying this material can have on the
student’s attitudes toward sexuality far outweigh whatever negative effects have been traditionally
feared. To be sure, there is a significant population within Orthodox Jewry that endeavors to shield
itself from the crass debasement of sexuality so unfortunately prevalent in modern Western society
(which, the more the world is transformed into a "global village," is quickly becoming modern
society, worldwide) — and largely succeeds. This population raises its children in a sheltered

18
environment, postponing the details of their sexual education until just before marriage. These kids
grow up innocently, with a generally wholesome attitude toward marital life. Those fortunate
enough to have benefited from this type of upbringing should indeed not jeopardize it by reading
this book, at least until marriage.

The rest of us, however, have not been spared the bombardment of sexual stimulation that skews
our attitudes toward sexuality, and therefore stand to gain some welcome perspective by exposure
to the Arizal’s teachings. Our society’s perspective on sexuality has been influenced by its
Christian heritage, by Eastern spirituality, and by secular materialism. Classical Christianity views
sex as sinful, begrudged to the weak of spirit in order to keep them from overdoing it and to ensure
the continuation of the species. In this view, marriage is a concession to human weakness and
holiness is synonymous with abstention. Classical Eastern spirituality may not view sex in such a
sinful light, but sees it, together with all spiritual practices, as a means of escaping the transience
of this world. Secular materialism, on the other hand, has divested sex of any significance beyond
itself, and encourages us to indulge freely as long as we don’t harm anyone in the process. These
are gross oversimplifications, of course, but it is precisely these types of simplifications that shape
the masses’ attitudes. Mention should also be made of the Islamic backlash to the Western excess
of sexual stimulation, wherein sexual stimulation is avoided by forcing women out of the male
public sphere altogether.

Judaism views sexuality as a Divine gift...

Here, as in so many other aspects of life, Judaism takes the middle ground and thereby avoids the
destructive effects of all extremes. Judaism views sexuality as a Divine gift meant to be fully
enjoyed, but also as a holy act meant to be approached with proper respect and care. The Torah is
fully aware of the harmful effects of sexual excess and therefore institutes severe punishments for
stepping out of bounds. But at the same time, it sensitizes us to the beauty of loving, marital sex,
and how proper sexual living enables us to imitate G-d, so to speak, as He orchestrates the
harmonious interplay of the spiritual forces of creation.

19
All of this shines intensely from the teachings of the Arizal. There is no embarrassment about
sexuality here; the subject is treated frankly and openly, as an integral part of life and our mentality
it truly is. We see in these teachings the awesome power of the misuse of sexual energy as well as
the sublime heights to which holy sexuality can lift us. Yes, it is easier to follow either the extreme
of total denial or the extreme of total indulgence; it is far more challenging to take the middle path
and fuse intense physicality and intense spirituality. But the rewards of taking the latter path are
far greater, and it is really the only way to navigate the pitfalls endemic to the extremes. G-d has
programmed us with both a strong sexual drive and a strong spiritual drive, and ignoring one at
the expense of the other is simply a recipe for disaster.

It is in this light that I believe the Arizal’s message is of paramount importance for our generation.
Never before have so many of us been so free to choose any style or variety of sexuality available.
We need guidelines better than those commonly available to us; guidelines that speak to us as
mature human beings capable of making mature choices. The attitude toward sexuality espoused
here in "Apples from the Orchard" answers nobly to this need.

Amulet for the protection of pregnant women

20
 The Age to Study Kabbalah
Rabbi Dr. Ari Zivotofsky writes:9

Misconception: One may not study kabbalah before reaching age forty.

Fact: The appropriate time to commence study of the esoteric dimension of Torah is largely
determined by one’s level of Torah knowledge and spiritual development, not by one’s age.

Background:1

Torah sources provide various suggestions regarding how and when one should go about studying
various Torah matters. For example, the Mishnah (Avot 5:21) says that at age five one should begin
the study of Scripture,2 at ten, Mishnah, at fifteen, Talmud, et cetera; it concludes by stating that
at age forty one acquires binah (understanding). The Mishnah does not elaborate, but other sources
reserve certain areas of study for those aged forty and above. For example, the Talmud (Sotah 22b)
states that one should not render halachic decisions until “forty years,”3 and that is the accepted
halachah (Rema, YD 242:31).4

Various sources seem to ascribe significance to the age of forty. The Talmud (Avodah Zarah 5b)
records in the name of Rabbah that one does not truly understand his teacher until after forty years.
Rambam says that Avraham recognized God at age forty (Hilchot Avodat Kochavim 1:3). Rabbi
Elazar Fleckeles (1754-1826; Teshuvah Me’ahavah 3:375 [50a]), in commenting on the Rema’s
ruling, quotes a proclamation that was issued in all the shuls of Prague in 1786 under the instruction
of the chief rabbi, the Noda B’Yehudah, banning the publication of commentaries on Talmud or
halachah written by anyone under the age of forty.5

Starting from the Mishnaic period and on, other criteria have been mentioned with regard to the
study of philosophy and the esoteric dimension of the Torah, what today would be termed
kabbalah. The Mishnah (Chagigah 11b) limits the number of individuals who may study Ma’aseh
Bereishit, the account of Creation, and Ma’aseh Merkavah, Ezekiel’s account of the Divine
chariot,6 as a group—topics that might be considered kabbalah. Ironically, the Talmud spends the
next four pages discussing these very topics. In the course of this discussion, an age requirement
is alluded to.

Rebbi Yochanan suggests that Rebbi Elazar should teach him Ma’aseh Merkavah (Chagigah 13a);
Rebbi Elazar responds that he is not old enough to teach it. Rabbeinu Chananel explains that
the gemara means that Rebbi Elazar was not yet fifty years old.

The Talmud (Kiddushin 71a) also limits who may be taught the forty-two-letter esoteric Name of
God. Rav warns that it should only be taught to a person who is modest, humble, is not easily

9
https://outorah.org/p/33330/

21
angered, does not get drunk and does not hold a grudge; additionally, he must be at “half his years,”
understood by Rashi in Sanhedrin to mean thirty-five years old.

As part of the Talmudic discussion (Chagigah 14b; cf. Tosefta, Chagigah 2:3) about learning
cryptic topics, the danger of studying beyond one’s spiritual level is highlighted by the incident of
“four who entered the Pardes [lit. Orchard],” that is, delved into esoteric material.7 Of the four
great scholars, Ben Azzai, Ben Zoma, Acher (Elisha ben Avuyah) and Rabbi Akiva who studied
this material, only Rabbi Akiva emerged unscathed. Ben Azzai died; Ben Zoma was “injured,”
i.e., lost his mind (in other versions of the gemara, the fates of these two are switched) and Acher
“chopped down saplings in the orchard,” i.e., confused his beliefs.

The precise meaning of Pardes is not clear. Rambam writes that Pardes refers to Ma’aseh
Bereishit and Ma’aseh Merkavah, topics that he includes in the first four chapters of Yesodei
HaTorah (physics and meta-physics) (Hilchot Yesodei HaTorah 2:11, 4:10, 4:13; cf. his
commentary to Mishnah, Chagigah 2:1).8 Rambam writes that “one should not stroll through [i.e.,
learn] the Pardes except if his stomach is full with bread and meat. Bread and meat [means] to
know well what is prohibited and permitted.” Despite the warnings, Rambam included some
“Pardes material” in his Mishneh Torah (Yad HaChazakah) and in his philosophical work, The
Guide for the Perplexed (Moreh Nevuchim). These writings sparked the heated Maimonidean
Controversy of the early thirteenth century, in which critics condemned his works. When
controversy flared again at the end of that century, the Rashba issued a ban on studying philosophy
(not kabbalah) and science (other than medicine) for anyone younger than twenty-five; the Rosh
felt that the ban did not go far enough.9

The Shulchan Aruch (YD 246:4) describes the ideal program for Torah study: one should devote
one-third of his time to the study of Tanach, one-third to Mishnah and one-third to Gemara; as he
progresses he should increase the proportion of time spent on Gemara. The Shulchan Aruch gives
an example of a “typical” worker who devotes three hours a day to work and nine hours a day to
Torah study. Commenting on this, the great Ashkenazi posek Rabbi Moshe Isserles, the Rema (d.
1572), says that it is permitted on an ad hoc basis to study other areas of knowledge (as long as
they are not apostasy) and this is known as Pardes. But these areas should not be studied until one
has “filled his belly with meat and wine,” i.e., he knows what is prohibited and permitted.
Commenting on this Rema (YD 246:6), the Shach writes that “some have written that one should
not study kabbalah until age forty.” He adds that age may be a necessary, but certainly not a
sufficient, condition and that one also needs kedushah, taharah, et cetera. He concludes by
observing that most of those who ignored the advice and learned kabbalah prematurely were
“snatched away before their time” (cf. Iyov 22:16).

Some authorities maintain that there should be a general limit on the study of kabbalah and other
esoteric subjects. Rabbi Shlomo Luria, the Maharshal (d. 1573) complains (Shu”t 98) about
ignoramuses learning kabbalah. The Rema equates the substance of philosophy and kabbalah and
penned a lengthy essay (Torat Ha’olah, part 3, ch. 4) and a long response (Shu”t 7) on the topic
of studying them. He displays intimate familiarity with kabbalah, and explains that he personally
only studies such matters on Shabbat, yom tov and Chol HaMoed, and uses the rest of his time to
study Mishnah, Talmud, halachah and the relevant commentaries. (Similarly, the Sanzer Rav,
Rabbi Chaim Halberstam, states that the essence of life is to study the main parts of Torah all day,

22
and that he involves himself with kabbalah when other people are in their beds and he is fighting
off sleep [Divrei Chaim 2, YD 47]). The Maharshal derives his knowledge of philosophy only from
Jewish sources such as Rambam. The Rema bemoans the lack of true kabbalists and that instead
“every bore who knows not his right from his left and cannot learn parashah with Rashi, jumps to
learn kabbalah.”

The Rema wasn’t bemoaning the fact that these individuals were too young to learn kabbalah,
rather that considering their spiritual level, the study of kabbalah was inappropriate.
The Maharsha (d. 1631) was against public dissemination of kabbalah and writes (Chagigah 13a)
that it is best “to hide kabbalah” and that the gemara in Chagigah about Ma’aseh
Bereishit and Ma’aseh Merkavah discourages the study of kabbalah.

Rabbi Yosef Yuspa Nordlinger Hahn (d. 1637), head of the yeshivah and beit din in Frankfurt,
Germany, provides a detailed outline of how one should structure his Torah learning (Yosef
Ometz, p. 269-271). For example, he advises studying the Rif as a source for halachah and learning
the parashah with Rashi and other commentaries. Although certainly not a kabbalist, he writes
that one is not exempt from the study of kabbalah.

Historical events had a great impact on the question of kabbalah study. In the last 350 years, two
major movements, the Sabbateans (begun by Shabbetai Zvi, circa 1648) and the Chassidim
(founded in the mid-eighteenth century), advocated a much greater role for kabbalah, ultimately
causing a backlash regarding its study. The anti-Sabbatean 1756 Brody Cherem, which was
endorsed by the Va’ad Arba Aratzot, the Council of Four Lands, banned the study of Lurianic
kabbalah for those under age forty. It did, however, permit the study of the Zohar, Shomer
Emunim by Rabbi Yosef Ergas and Pardes Rimonim by Rabbi Moshe Cordovero for those above
age thirty.10

The first Zemir Arizim (1772), an anti-Chassidic polemical pamphlet, included the text of the
public proclamation in Brody that, amongst other complaints about the Chassidim stated, “We now
find in our midst certain wicked people, sinners of Israel . . . . They scorn the entire Oral Law and
study only kabbalah.”11 Similar complaints were issued by many of the early opponents
of Chassidut. Rabbi Elazar Fleckeles (d. 1826; Teshuvah Me’ahavah, introduction [7b]) decried
the fact that those who were not experts in Shas and poskeim were gathering in groups to
study Zohar and the writings of the Arizal. He noted that the rabbis before him had attempted to
uproot this.12

While opponents of Chassidim (Mitnagdim) were decrying the unhindered spread of kabbalah,
they were not neglecting its study. The Gra was arguably the greatest kabbalist of his day; his
prime disciple, Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin, encouraged his disciples to study some kabbalah daily.
The Gra was convinced that the messianic redemption was contingent upon mastery of kabbalah
by all Jews; and eighteenth and nineteenth century Lithuanian Mitnagdim continued to produce
leading kabbalists down to the great Leshem, Rabbi Shlomo Elyashiv (d. 1925).13

Despite this, the Lithuanian tradition called for caution when dealing with kabbalah. This approach
was codified by Rabbi Avraham Danzig in his important work, Chayei Adam, where he
paraphrases Rambam in substituting kabbalah for meta-physics and states, “A person should not

23
study the wisdom of the kabbalah until he has filled his belly with Talmud and codes, and only if
he has true fear of Heaven and spends all his time studying Torah. Otherwise it is forbidden. Rabbi
Chaim Vital was very stringent about this” (10:12).

Rabbi Chaim “Brisker” Soloveitchik (d. 1918) was opposed to all non-Torah studies and this
included philosophy, even Rambam’s Guide. Although he personally read the work thoroughly,
he believed that if one’s beliefs were healthy there was no need to study such material, and he
made his son Rabbi Moshe promise that he would never read it.14 (Interestingly, in 1950-51 Rabbi
Yosef Dov Soloveitchik, a grandson of Rav Chaim Brisker, gave a year-long course at Yeshiva
University’s Bernard Revel Graduate School of Judaic Studies on Rambam’s Guide.)15

Rabbi Yaakov Emden (d. 1776) writes16 that kabbalah should be revealed only to special
individuals, as opposed to the practice of the “new Chassidim” who regularly study the Zohar and
have made study of Talmud and halachah infrequent. He adds that God is not desirous of these
people. He then notes that the secrets of the Torah are only transmitted to an individual who is in
the “middle of his days,” likely meaning over age thirty-five.

Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook seems to support the study of kabbalah. In a letter
written in 1912 (see Iggerot Ha’Ra’ayah, Letter 414; cf. Letter 602), he explains that the
restriction on studying Ma’aseh Bereishit and Ma’aseh Merkavah applies to practical kabbalah,
such as using the Holy Names of God for purposes bordering on prophecy. But Rav Kook
considers the intellectual study of kabbalah to be similar to the deeper study
of midrash and mussar, which certainly require proper middot and fear of Heaven, but are not off
limits. Further, he regards the study of kabbalah from books rather than from a master as not being
true study of the esoteric. Therefore, he concludes, it need not be restricted. Particularly in the
modern scientific era, Rav Kook considers the study of Ma’aseh Bereishit and Ma’aseh
Merkavah to be legitimate intellectual pursuits (Shemoneh Kvatzim 1:597).

Today the study of kabbalah has become popular in the general culture and in academia.17 Concern
about these pursuits within the traditional community has led some to cite an age requirement on
the study of kabbalah. While, as stated earlier, there are indeed Torah sources that ascribe
significance to the age of forty, many of these sources do not link it to the study of kabbalah. The
bulk of the Torah sources on kabbalah make the study of the subject dependent on one’s level of
Torah knowledge and one’s spiritual development.

Moreover, this seems to be the approach followed by Jewish communities over time, evidenced
by the fact that many major kabbalists throughout history did not even live to see their fortieth
birthday!18 This includes Rabbi Isaac (ben Solomon) Luria Ashkenazi (1534-1572), better known
as the Arizal who died at age thirty-eight; Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto (1707-1746), who died at
thirty-nine and Rabbi Elijah Baal Shem of Chelm (1550-1583), who was the first to be given the
title “Baal Shem” and died at thirty-three.

Notes
1. See Moshe Idel, “L’toldot ha’issur lilmod kabbalah lifnei gil arbaim,” AJS Review 5 (1980): 1-20.

24
2. The implication seems to be that all of Tanach should be studied (Taz, YD 245:2). For many centuries there has been a systemic
neglect of this endeavor and this has led some authorities to bemoan the situation (e.g., Bach, YD 245) and others to look for
justification (e.g., Shach, YD 245:5).
3. Tosafot (s.v., v’ad) says it means forty years of learning, not age forty.
4. The exception being if the individual under forty is the biggest talmid chacham in the city. The Shulchan Aruch castigates a
rabbi who issues halachic rulings despite not being worthy of such. He is called a shoteh rasha, a foolish, evil person who is
haughty. See SA, YD 242:13.
5. On the problem of everyone publishing books and the resultant lack of quality control since the invention of the printing press,
see the lament of the Chatam Sofer (6:61).
6. These are called “great matters” in the Gemara (Sukkah 28a; Bava Batra 134a).
7. Rashi explains that they ascended to Heaven by means of the Divine Name.
8. For an explanation of how Ma’aseh Bereishit could be physics, see Rabbi Elchonon Wasserman, Kovetz Ma’amarim
V’Iggerot 1, p. 95 (13), who cites Derashot HaRan 1. See comment of Gra regarding Rambam’s position (Gra, YD 246:18).
9. The series of letters on this topic were published by Rabbi Abba Mari Moshe ben Yosef ha-Yarhi in Minchat Kena’ot. Some of
the Rashba’s letters are also found in his Shu”t (414-418). A summary of these responsa is provided in note 8 to Shu”t Rema, 5731
10. See Pawel Maciejko, The Mixed Multitude: Jacob Frank and the Frankist Movement, 1755-1816 (Jewish Culture and
Contexts) (Philadelphia, 2015): 78-79.
11. See Norman Lamm, Torah Lishmah: Torah for Torah’s Sake in the Works of Rabbi Hayyim of Volozhin and His
Contemporaries (Hoboken, New Jersey, 1989): 126.
12. Although the Sabbatean movement also reached Sephardic lands, Chassidut did not, and the edicts against kabbalah were the
product of Ashkenazic lands. No such curtailments on the study of kabbalah were issued by Sephardim, although there was a major
conflict in Yemen at the end of the nineteenth century regarding the authority of the Zohar
13. See Allan Nadler, The Faith of the Mithnagdim: Rabbinic Responses to Hasidic Rapture (Johns Hopkins Jewish
Studies) (Baltimore, 1997): 36-39.
14. See Shulamith Soloveitchik Meiselman, The Soloveitchik Heritage: A Daughter’s Memoir (Hoboken, New Jersey, 1995): 109-
15. Notes on this course were recently published as Lawrence J. Kaplan, Maimonides—Between Philosophy and Halakhah: Rabbi
Joseph B. Soloveitchik’s Lectures on the Guide of the Perplexed (Jerusalem, 2016).
16. In his commentary to Gittin 60. For the full, uncensored text, see R. M. M. Segal Goldstein, “Iyunim u’berurim b’Mishnato
shel Rabbeinu haYavetz,” Ohr Yisrael 43 (Nissan 5766): 203-204.
17. It has been suggested that authentic kabbalah is to romantic love as academic kabbalah is to biology and popular kabbalah is to
pornography.
18. One of America’s greatest experts on kabbalah was Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan (1934-1983). And while he lived past age forty, it was
not by much. He clearly had begun studying kabbalah before the age of forty.

Scaling the Heights: Silence and the Road to Self-Discovery

Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld writes:10

10
https://torah.org/learning/mlife-ch2law4/

25
 A person should always accustom himself to keeping silent …

So too regarding words of Torah and wisdom. The words of the scholar should be few and their
content much. This is as the Sages instructed: ‘One should always teach his student in a succinct
manner’ (Talmud Pesachim 3b). Conversely, many words of little content is foolishness.
Regarding this the verse states, ‘For the dream comes through an abundance of matters, and
the voice of a fool is in many words’ (Koheles 5:2).

RAMBAM Chapter 2, Law 4(c)

The Rambam told us to avoid speaking of extraneous matters to whatever degree possible. Today
we are taught that even regarding Torah and wisdom one should apply judiciousness. We must
take care not to go overboard even when discussing worthy topics. Just because something is
worthwhile does not mean we have an open ticket to cram in as many words as we can get in
edgewise. To the contrary, words which are truly precious should be treated with reverence. Rather
than piling on words of wisdom making them cheap, we must select our words carefully, allowing
the Torah’s wisdom to speak for itself.

The Rambam illustrates this with the Talmudic principle that one should teach his student in a
concise manner. The simplest reason for this is because too many words confuse the issue. The
more verbiage and detail, the more the basic points are obscured and lost. Further, explaining a
matter cheapens it. Words somehow lose all their aura when they become excessive. Rather, let
the teaching speak for itself. Have the student pick up the thread and figure it out for himself.
Ultimately, this is the best form of teaching.

(I used to do a lot of one-on-one tutoring in Talmud study years back. In so doing, I constantly test
the fellows I study with, having them work through the ideas on their own, or seeing if they can
anticipate the upcoming counter of the Talmud. One fellow several years ago basically paid me x
dollars an hour to keep my mouth shut (not one of my better talents) 😉 so he could attempt to
figure out the Talmud himself. Some of the mistakes he made were really laughable (not of course
that I laughed…), but then again, that’s the only real way to do it.)

There is an additional reason why the Torah should not be explained too well. The more we
explain, the more we’re conveying to our students our own take on the Torah’s wisdom. And this
limits our students unfairly. Each student must approach the Torah from his own angle; he must
see things from his own perspective.

Every one of us has his own personality and his own unique perspective on wisdom. We will each
see something a little bit different in the Torah; it will carry a slightly different message for each
of us. If we are given the freedom to apply our own creativity to our Torah study, we may just
discern its message to us. We will see our own insights and appreciate the Torah’s wisdom from
our own perspective. If, however, someone else’s lectures are spoon-fed to us to every last detail,
our own growth will be stifled; our Torah study will not truly express our own individuality. For
the true Torah student must see what the Torah means to him, not only what it means to his teacher.

26
There is an even more critical issue here. Our goal in Torah study is not simply to understand the
Torah; it is to understand ourselves — and ultimately to fashion ourselves in the Torah’s image.
And this is why it is so essential that we are given the freedom to fathom the Torah in our own
way. If we can truly connect to the Torah’s wisdom, we will understand what it all means to us —
and we will begin to change. When we understand the Torah, we will make its wisdom a part of
ourselves. We will understand precisely how we relate to the Torah’s wisdom, and we will begin
to internalize it and integrate it into our psyches.

And this is the true goal of Torah study. It must be a very personal and intimate experience. Rather
than sitting back and having someone else explain it to us, we ourselves must bridge the gap
between the Torah’s wisdom and our own souls. And this can only be achieved if we make our
personal acquisition of the Torah: hearing its personalized message to us and rising to its calling.
A related thought is that if the teacher brings the Torah down entirely to our own level, we will
never expend our own efforts to understand it. Torah study must be a growing experience. We
must work and exert ourselves over it. We must raise ourselves up to the Torah’s level, rather than
expecting it to be explained down to us. One only truly understands that which he has worked to
understand. What one peruses quickly and effortlessly makes very little impact. Thus, we must
approach Torah study with the mindset that we must lift ourselves up to comprehend it. We must
be prepared to make the effort: we will change ourselves and adapt to the Torah’s eternal teachings,
rather than sitting back expecting to remain who we are while the Torah is brought down to us.

As I often comment, the ideal form of Torah study is not receiving engaging and stimulating ready-
made lectures over the Internet. One can read them all day and night — and still be the same
halfhearted servant of G-d he was all along. It’s only when the reader starts pondering and applying
that the Torah comes to life. I consider my own on-line classes worthwhile not primarily because
of the x-thousand subscribers who passively receive and (hopefully) read it, but because of the
very few whose returned comments make it clear to me they are taking it to heart.

(As an interesting footnote, our own R. Menken, when he first got his feet wet with the World
Wide Web nearly 30 years ago (he was one of the first Torah educators to take the dive — how
else do you think he claimed the acronym “torah.org”?), he at first envisioned a kind of brokering
service for study partners, which would link up individuals, allowing them to study together one-
on-one (whether on-line or in person). Ideally, we should be studying Torah on our own,
attempting to make our own acquisition, rather than reading ready-made lectures prepared by
others. However, for better or worse there was little market for this among the uninitiated. Very
quickly Torah.org (then Project Genesis) began to assume the form it has acquired today.)

Incidentally, a good example of this principle is the study of Kabbalah, the hidden wisdom of the
Torah. The Talmud (Chagigah 11b) writes that one may teach the secrets of G-d’s “Chariot”
(“Merkava”) only one-on-one, and that even then the teacher may only provide the outline. The
student must piece together the real meat of it himself.

I believe there are a number of reasons for this. One reason is simply because the vocabulary does
not exist to explain such lofty concepts in human terms. Kabbalah is an understanding of the
heavenly spheres, of G-d’s interaction with the heavens and the world at large. It touches on

27
concepts wholly outside the human experience, and as such, it cannot be expressed in terms and
concepts familiar to mankind. You just have to understand them; there is no explaining them to
you if you don’t. (Frustrating, eh?)

I believe a big part of the idea, however, is what we wrote above. Having someone explain the
Torah in every detail is never truly the ideal. The student must bridge the gap and internalize the
Torah himself. But when it comes to Kabbalah, such would defeat the purpose entirely. Kabbalah
is wisdom entirely spiritual. To fathom it, one must raise himself to its level. Only a person who
has transformed himself into a being sufficiently spiritual can truly gain a connection to it.
Conversely, explaining it down, attempting to lower it to the level of the uninitiated layman
(unfortunately a common practice nowadays) will only cheapen Kabbalah beyond recognition.
Kabbalah is the sort of discipline that if you cannot understand yourself, there is no use explaining
to you. If you are prepared to scale its heights, to raise yourself up to its level, you are ready for
the big leagues. If not, don’t expect any short cuts. The heights can never be lowered to you.

Thus, to wrap up this week, Torah study and Kabbalah in particular are ideally for those prepared
to transform themselves and grow into their teachings. And for this reason, the vast majority of
books of serious Jewish scholarship (especially mystical scholarship) were never written with the
uninitiated in mind. As I once heard R. Berel Wein put it, you open the first page of the Talmud
and attempt to read it, and the way it throws around concepts, terminology and ideas the authors
seem to just assume their audience basically knows the entire Talmud already.

There are many reasons for this, but a great part of it is what we have been saying. The Torah must
not be spelled out in every last detail. We must study and ponder for ourselves — and as my student
of years back, we may make many false starts until we truly understand. For only then will our
Torah study truly become a part of ourselves and will we truly grow.

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The Talmud’s Mysticism Is Too Mind blowing Even for Its Students
Tread carefully, the rabbis warn, when seeking to understand
creation or envision God

Adam Kirsch writes:11

Last week, Daf Yomi readers made the acquaintance of two angels: the Angel of Death, who
shepherds the generations to the grave, and Duma, who rules over souls in the underworld. But
this week, as we started chapter 2 of Tractate Chagiga, we plunged much deeper into the murky
realms of the supernatural, as the rabbis pondered the two great secrets of Jewish mysticism: the
account of Creation and the account of the Chariot. These subjects, the Talmud warns, are not to
be taught promiscuously; they are so profound, and so potentially disturbing, that they can only be
studied under strict limits. The “act of Creation,” we read in Chagiga 11b, can be taught only to
one student at a time, and the Chariot—the name for the prophet Ezekiel’s baroque vision of the
Godhead—cannot be taught at all. It must be studied alone, and then only if the student is “wise
and understands on his own.”

To drive home the point that mystical speculation is dangerous, the rabbis warn: “Whoever looks
at four matters, it would have been better for him if he had never entered the world: What is above
and what is below, what was before and what will be after.” This world is the limit of our
knowledge; to ask about what is beyond the world is to transgress on God’s province, to insult his
honor. And “anyone who has no concern for the honor of his Maker deserves to have never come
to the world.” Yet this stern prohibition is no sooner issued than the Gemara goes on to violate it,
speculating on exactly these kinds of supernatural subjects: the dimensions of the universe, the
attributes of Creation, the hierarchy of heavenly beings. This tension, between the desire to reveal
and the need to conceal, would go on to define Jewish mysticism throughout the ages.

Maimonides, when he came to deal with this passage from Chagiga in the Guide of the Perplexed,
did his best to defuse its mystic charge. The account of the Creation, he insisted, was simply the
rabbis’ term for knowledge of nature, and the account of the Chariot was what they called
knowledge of God. The substance of these mysteries was no different from what Aristotle taught
under the names of physics and metaphysics. If the rabbis concealed them, Maimonides believed,
it was because philosophical truths have the potential to unsettle a naive faith, since they often
seem to conflict with the plain sense of the Torah.

To read Tractate Chagiga, however, is to see just how much Maimonides had to gloss over in order
to make this naturalistic and rational argument. Take, for instance, Rabbi Yosei’s cosmology as
outlined in Chagiga 12b. “Woe to them, the creations, who see and know not what they see; who
stand and know not upon what they stand.” “Upon what does the earth stand?” Yosei asks and
goes on to explain, by citing biblical verses, that the earth rests on pillars, which rest on waters,
which rest on mountains, which rest on the wind, which rest on a storm, which hangs on the “arm
of the Holy One.” It would be a mistake, of course, to take this imagery as a literal, scientific

11
https://www.tabletmag.com/sections/belief/articles/daf-yomi-99

29
description, as if the universe were like a Rube Goldberg contraption, one thing perched on
another. Rather, this seems like an allegory, but one whose key remains hidden.

The tendency to multiply entities and levels of creation can be seen again a little later on, when
Reish Lakish explains that there are seven firmaments in ascending order, each with its own name:
Vilon, Rakia, Shechakim, Zevul, Ma’on, Makhon, and Aravot. These names, each taken from a
different biblical verse, seem to correspond to the spheres of the heavens as imagined in classical
astronomy, but they also evoke mystical hierarchies. Vilon, “curtain,” “does not contain anything”;
Rakia, “firmament,” is where the sun, moon, and stars are fixed; Shechakim, “heights,” is where
“mills stand and grind manna for the righteous”; Zevul, “abode,” is the location of the Heavenly
Temple, where the angel Michael offers sacrifices to God; Ma’on, “habitation,” is where choirs of
angels sing at night; Makhon, “dwelling place,” is where God keeps “harmful dews,” “drops,” and
storms and mists.

Finally, at the top of the ladder, is Aravot, “skies,” where all of God’s blessings are stored:
“righteousness, justice, charity, the treasuries of life, the treasuries of peace, the treasuries of
blessing, the souls of the righteous, the spirits and souls that are to be created, and the dew that the
Holy One, Blessed be He, will use to revive the dead.” This kind of multiplication of levels and
entities returns in still more florid profusion in the medieval Zohar, the central book of Kabbalah.

If the account of Creation includes speculations about the structure of the universe, the account of
the Chariot, which tries to explicate Ezekiel’s almost psychedelic visions, speculates more boldly
still. That is why, according to Rabbi Chiya, it is permitted to teach only the outlines of the subject
to a worthy individual—preferably, according to Rabbi Ami, one who is “the captain of 50,” that
is, 50 years old. Indeed, the Gemara tells the story that Rabbi Yochanan once offered to teach the
Chariot to Rabbi Elazar, but Elazar declined, saying that he wasn’t yet old enough. This was
prudent, since there was once “a certain youth” who “expounded the electrum”—that is, he
explained the mystic significance of the electrum, hashmal, in Ezekiel’s vision of God. The result
was that “fire came out and consumed him”: To reveal such secrets is to risk immediate divine
punishment.

It is odd, then, that just a few lines later the Gemara goes on to do just what destroyed the young
sage, explaining that the hashmal refers to “speaking animals of fire.” “At times they are silent; at
times they speak. When the divine speech emerges from the mouth of the Holy One, Blessed be
He, they are silent; and when the divine speech does not emerge from the mouth of the Holy One,
Blessed be He, they speak.” These animals of fire are not the only supernatural creatures in God’s
retinue. In Chagiga 13b we read about the angel Sandalfon, “who stands on the earth and its head
reaches the divine creatures … he stands behind the Chariot and weaves crowns for his Maker.”

The Gemara objects to this detail, but not, as we might expect, on the grounds that God does not
have a head. In fact, the Talmud has already shown itself willing to imagine God as possessing a
body (an idea that infuriated Maimonides, who insisted that God was incorporeal). Way back in
Tractate Berakhot, we read about a sage who saw God in the Temple binding tefillin on his head
and arm. No, what bothers the rabbis is not the idea of God wearing a crown, but rather the idea
that Sandalfon knows God’s place, which is a secret. To solve the problem, the rabbis come up

30
with another solution: Sandalfon doesn’t actually put the crown on God’s head, but says “a name
for the crown,” creating it by magic, whereupon it “goes and sits on God’s head of its own accord.”

Reading these pages, I couldn’t help wondering what the effect of reading Chagiga must have been
on generations of Talmud students. Almost all of the Talmud, at least all that I’ve read so far, is
extremely rational, lucid, and mundane. It approaches law with the tools of logic and strrives
relentlessly for clear, full explanations of problems. No one could read, say, Tractate Eruvin and
get carried away by spiritual raptures: You’re too busy trying to visualize right angles and calculate
distances. Imagine spending years of your youth learning to think in this way and then coming
upon Chagiga: It would be like entering a different world, in which logic flies out the window and
all is allegory, vision, and dream. The accounts of the Creation and the Chariot feed a religious
appetite that most of the Talmud seems designed to starve. What excitement these pages must have
offered, what stimulus to imagination!

Too much stimulus, in fact—which is why the rabbis insisted so much on the need to restrict
mysticism to the most sober and mature students. In Chagiga 14b, we read one of the most famous
anecdotes in the whole Talmud, the one about the four sages who “entered the orchard”—that is,
delved into supernatural mysteries—and what happened to them. Ben Azzai “glimpsed” God and
immediately died; Ben Zoma glimpsed God and lost his mind; Elisha ben Avuya “chopped down
the shoots,” meaning that he became an apostate. (His name is never mentioned in the Talmud,
where he is referred to only as Acher, “the other.”) Only “Rabbi Akiva came out safely,” able to
live with the divine knowledge he had gained. Clearly, the odds are stacked against the Jewish
mystic. But in a tradition built around the pursuit of knowledge, it’s no wonder that so many
generations of Jews refused to remain content with ignorance and made their ways, in fear and
trembling, into the orchard.

31
Rav Aviad Tabory writes:12

Following Shabbetai Tzvi’s conversion to Islam, most of his followers ceased to believe in him.
This failed attempt led to great disappointment and despair.

Years later, Jacob Frank, a Jew from Podolia, Poland, declared himself a savior of the Jewish
people. Frank was born in 1726, just a few years after the attempted cherem (ban) on the Sabbatean
movement in the city of Lvov in 1722.

Frank was influenced by the teachings of Shabbetai Tzvi; however, he never achieved the same
legitimacy in the eyes of the Jewish community.

Frank gathered followers who believed in a mixture of religious beliefs, including theological
doctrines taken from Christianity.[1] This religious group was also involved in immoral behavior,
such as sexual misconduct. A beit din in the town of Satanow (in Ukraine of today) opened an
inquiry into the beliefs and practices of the sect. In 1756 the findings were presented before a
rabbinical assembly in the city of Brody, which led to a cherem against the movement.

The cherem of Brody included a ban against mingling with or marrying members of the sect, as
well as learning books of Sabbatean philosophy.[2]

However, the original ban included a limitation on the age for learning Kabbala as well:

We deem it necessary to place restrictions and create order with regard to those who… cast off the
study of the Talmud and the codifiers and attempt to penetrate the deepest secrets of the Torah
without learning first how to read its plain meaning and attaining the understanding of Gemara…
and so we pronounce the ruling that we prohibit anyone to study these writings, even the writings
that are certainly of the ARI’s authorship. It is strictly forbidden to study them until one has reached
the age of forty. Only the Zohar, Shomer Emunim and Pardes Rimonim of Rabbi Moshe
Cordovero, may be studied by one who has attained the age of thirty, provided they are in printed
form and not in manuscript.[3]

Following religious debates organized by the Church in the cities of Lvov and Kamenetz, and
influenced by Frank’s cult (who spread rumors about anti-Christian ideas mentioned in the
Talmud), a decree was made to burn Jewish books.[4] After the Talmud was burned publicly in
Kamenetz, the Jewish community feared that this decree would spread to other areas. However,
the Bishop who organized the burnings, Nicholas Dombovsky, died suddenly just a short time
afterwards. His death was seen by the Jewish community as a direct divine intervention.[5]

12
https://etzion.org.il/en/halakha/1756-jacob-frank-%E2%80%9Canother%E2%80%9D-failed-mashiach

32
Under pressure from the Church and with the encouragement of their leader, the Frankists
converted to Christianity. On September 17, 1759, Frank himself was baptized in the city of Lvov.
However, the Church suspected that the sect was not following the “usual” Christian beliefs, and
Frank was imprisoned in the monastery of Częstochowa (Poland). After 13 years in prison, Frank
was released. He travelled around Europe until his death in 1791 in Offenbach, Germany.

In the background of both messianic movements (Shabbetai Tzvi and Frank) lie the mystical and
kabbalistic teachings which empowered these cults with messianic energy. As mentioned,
the cherem of Brody included both a ban against socializing with the Frankists and a ban against
learning books of Kabbala. Thus, the Rabbis understood that there was a connection between the
movement and the books. They obviously were concerned that exposure to mystical writings
without the proper and correct context had potential to distort the beliefs of Judaism.

Limitations on the learning of Kabbala[6]

The idea of limiting teaching and learning of mystical texts appears already in the Talmud. These
limitations apply to both the age[7] and the characteristics of those interested in pursuing
knowledge of the Torah’s secrets.

Referring to passages of Tanach which Chazal deemed to be of mystical character, the Mishna
claims:

[One] may [not] expound on Ma’aseh Bereishit (description of Creation) and the secrets of the
beginning of the world before two or more individuals; nor may one expound by oneself the design
of the Ma’aseh Merkava (Yechezkel’s reference to the Divine Chariot) unless he is wise and
understands matters on his own.[8]

The Gemara expands on the Mishna and rules that the secrets of Torah may not be passed to “just
anyone.” It lists five attributes required for students to be considered worthy.[9] Among various
interpretations of these requirements, the Gemara mentions the age of 50.

Referencing the Gemara’s account of the Rabbis who entered Pardes (an acronym referring to the
different disciplines of the Torah, including the mystical one), the Rambam rules:

I maintain that it is not proper for a person to stroll in the Pardes unless he has filled his belly with
bread and meat. "Bread and meat" refer to the knowledge of what is permitted and what is
forbidden, and similar matters concerning other mitzvot.[10]

One of the most prominent poskim of the 17th century, Rav Shabbetai Kohen (Shach, 1621–1662),
quotes an opinion that the study of Kabbala should be limited to those aged forty and above. The
age of forty, he explains, is mentioned in the Mishna in Avot (5:21). The Mishna there lists the
ideal age for the study of each section of the Torah and goes on to claim that only at the age of
forty does one acquire the level of bina (deep understanding).[11]

33
Rav Chaim Vital (1542, – 1620) was a rabbi in Tzfat and the foremost disciple of the ARI (Rav
Yitzchak Luria). His book Eitz Chaim is one of the more important books of Kabbala. In his
introduction, he lists religious customs and restrictions that must accompany those interested in
learning the mystics of the Torah. Among them, he mentions:

1. Refraining from eating meat and wine during the week (except Shabbat)
2. Immersion in mikveh
3. Refraining from anger and arrogance
4. Reciting Tikkun Chatzot at midnight and arriving to the beit knesset at dawn.

These instructions clearly indicate that the world of mysticism is not opened before all people.

Concerns with the study of Kabbala

Other arguments against teaching and learning Kabbala have been raised over the centuries.
Tensions between normative halakhic traditions and customs that appeared in the Kabbala led to
many deliberations and responsa literature on these matters.[12]

Some were concerned with the way God was perceived in the kabbalistic writings. Mystical
sources seem to strengthen the belief in an anthropomorphic God.

Otzar Yisrael, a Jewish encyclopedia in Hebrew edited by Yehuda David Eisenstein (1854 – 1956),
contained an entry on Adam Kadmon (Primordial Man – a kabbalistic term describing the first
spiritual world that came into being after the contraction of God's infinite light) that included an
image of a man with the ten sefirot.

Chief Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak Kook wrote a letter to the editor conveying his surprise at the
image in the book. He explained that although some kabbalists drew lines, circles, and even eyes,
drawing an image of a human being is improper and may lead to “great damage” to the believers
of Judaism.[13]

Rav Yitzchak ben Sheshet Perfet (1326–1408, Rivash) mentions in one of his responsa that he was
puzzled by the customs of prayer practiced by the kabbalists. He was referring to the manner
of kavana (intentions) which followed the prayer as well as the place of the sefirot in their prayer.
The custom involved having in mind different sefirot for each and every berakha during the
prayers.

He even recalls a conversation with a friend of his, a kabbalist whom he describes as a pious man.
Rivash asked him how this manner of prayer, seemingly directed at some alternative powers rather
than at God Himself, could be permitted. Rivash himself explains that he believes prayer should
have more of a simple manner to it.[14]

When a person is required to make a vow, he must grasp a vessel of mitzva (nekitat chafetz). The
custom is to hold a Torah scroll. Rav Elazar Fleckeles (1754-1826, Prague), a student of the Noda
Be-Yehuda, was asked whether the Zohar could be used instead.

34
In his response, Rav Fleckeles questions the religious authority of the Zohar as well as its author.
If indeed this book was composed by the Tana Rav Shimon bar Yochai, he asks, why do later
sources appear in the book? How is it that the great Rishonim, who quote many tanaitic sources,
do not quote this book? He also raises the following argument:

Since the appearance of the Zohar, many have been misled by its difficult passages …look how
many, like Shabbetai Tzvi and Jacob Frank, who have destroyed (our faith), have “used” the Zohar
for their ideas. Such a mistake could not possibly have occurred to a great tzaddik like Rav Shimon
Bar Yochai![15]

Rav Ovadya Yosef was asked his opinion about the new centers of Kabbala that teach mystical
meanings of Judaism to the public.

After quoting many sources supporting the belief that these teachings must remain in the private
domain, he rules against this new custom and limits such classes to the righteous and pious who
are well read in the “Torah classics” (Shas u’poskim). He also mentions that these ideas must only
be taught by the righteous and pious. This requirement is very difficult to keep, if not impossible,
if the teachings are delivered to the masses.[16]

Those in favor

However, many rule otherwise. According to them, the special times in which we are living
demand that the mystical secrets of the Torah be revealed and accessible to the public. These
opinions emphasize that at a time of messianic redemption, the need to explore these secrets is
greater.

Rav Yeshayahu ben Avraham Horowitz (c. 1555 –1630), also known as the Shelah Ha-
Kaddosh after the name of his mystical book Shenei Luchot HaBerit, quotes rabbinic responses to
the Talmudic sources mentioned above, that seem to disapprove of learning the secrets of the
Torah. He mentions the belief that the coming redemption is connected to the revelation of the
Zohar. In a footnote explaining why in the past this discipline was limited to the few, he agrees
that many have been led astray by the secrets of Torah. However, in this generation (17th century),
he claims that we are closer than ever to the redemption, and during this period the secrets of the
Torah should be exposed to the public.[17]

Rav Chaim Elazar Spira (1868 – 1937), known as the Rebbe of the Hungarian Chasidut sect of
Munkatch, quotes opinions that because his generation is living in Ikvata De-Meshicha (era of the
coming of the Mashiach), Kabbala should be learned, especially by those who seek it.[18]

Rav Avraham Yitzchak Kook was a big advocate for the study of Kabbala. He himself was well
versed in the Zohar and other mystical writings. In several places, he encourages the study of
mysticism in our generation. His positive view of learning Zohar in our days is part of a larger
theological position of his, regarding learning other Torah subjects. According to Rav Kook, one
of the reasons for the crisis of faith in the 20th century is that study of the aggadic and philosophical
side of the Torah has been abandoned. Rav Kook urged Torah scholars to learn machshava (Jewish

35
philosophy). He also argues that the original restrictions on learning Kabbala, mentioned above,
should be lessened.[19]

[1] Regarding the development of this sect’s theological doctrine, see Doktór, Jan, “Jakub Frank, a Jewish Heresiarch and His
Messianic Doctrine,” Institute of History of the Polish Academy of Sciences, Volume 76, pp. 53-74.
[2] See Yisrael Halperin, Pinkas Va'ad Arba Aratsot: likute takanot, ketavim u-reshumot, Mosad Bialik, Jerusalem, 1945 p.416.
[3] The ban appears in Hebrew in Pinkas Va'ad Arba Aratsot p. 418. I have taken the English translation from Pawel Maciejko, The
Mixed Multitude: Jacob Frank and the Frankist Movement, 1755-1816 (Jewish Culture and Contexts) (Philadelphia, 2015): pp.
78-79.
[4] Doktór argues that the anti-Talmud attitude was a response of the sect to the cherem. See the article above.
[5] See Avraham Ya’ari, Seraifat HaTalmud b’Kamenetz Podolsk, Sinai 44 (1978).
[6] See Rav Tal Chaimovitz’s lengthy article, which quotes many opinions on this matter. His article can be found online at
http://asif.co.il/download/kitvey-et/amat-v-1/amt%20amon/1%20(4).pdf.
[7] See Moshe Idel, “L’toldot ha’issur lilmod kabbalah lifnei gil arbaim,” AJS Review 5 (1980): 1-20.
[8] BT Chagiga 11b.
[9] BT Chagiga 13a.
[10] Hilkhot Yesodei Ha-Torah 4:13.
[11] Shulchan Arukh YD 246:6.
[12] See for example Jacob Katz, Halakhah and Kabbalah: Studies in the History of Jewish Religion, its Various Faces and Social
Relevance, Magnes Press 1984 (Hebrew).
[13] Iggrot Ha-Riaya, Mosad Ha-Rav Kook,1:136.
[14] Rivash 157.
[15] Teshuva Me-Ahava 1:26.
[16] His opinion can be found in two separate teshuvot: Yechave Daat 4:47 and Yabia Omer 10 YD:23.
[17] Shenei Luchot HaBerit, Asara Ma’amarot:1.
[18] Minchat Elazar 1:50.
[19] See for example Iggrot Ha-Riaya 2:602.

Sacred Orgies: the Extremist Sabbatean Sect of Jacob Frank

Ushi Derman writes:13

Surely, some concepts delivered by Judaism hit Jews back like a boomerang: God; the atom
bomb; summer vacation, to name just a few, and also, the sociological concept of

13
https://www.anumuseum.org.il/blog-items/sacred-orgies-extremist-sabbatean-sect-jacob-frank/

36
the excommunication. Such sanctions weren’t invented by the BDS movement, who simply
adopted an old Jewish concept and used it against the Jews.
The origin of the excommunication practice dates back to the middle ages, even to biblical times.
It was mostly in use during the bitter war between the Hasidim and its opposers since the
18th century until the 19th century. That period saw a cruel conflict that’s been splitting the Jewish
society for a whole century. Bans were published on renting houses, hiring or even talking to
someone who was suspected to support Hasidim. The Gaon of Vilna, one of the greatest Jewish
spiritual leaders ever, did not hesitate to incite against Hasidim, and to encourage violent acts
against them such as burning their books.

Jacob Frank in Offenbach, 18th century. Beit Hatfutsot, the Oster Visual
Documentation Center
Reading through the works of Prof. Gershom Scholem, the famous expert of Jewish Mysticism,
we learn that the Hasidim did not just appear, but rather had a spiritual background of a former
important large movement called the Sabbateans. Here is the story of a special ban called “double
edge sword”. The ban was declared against 2,000 Jews in the city of Lvov in 1759, who were
accused of belonging to the Frankist cult, an extreme sect of the Sabbateans.
The main concept in Sabbatean theology was relying on the concept that after Shabtai Zvi entered
the Jewish arena, the messianic era has started. In this new world, everything was turned upside
down: the old law was cancelled, all the “do not” laws became “do” laws, even strong prohibitions
such as Incest. The Sabbatean used to bless each other with this (twisted) verse: “Blessed art
thou, Lord, who cancels and allows the prohibitions.”
The story of the Frankist sect started with the founder and leader, Jacob Frank. Born in Podolia in
1726 to a wealthy family from the inner circle of the Sabbatean, when he was 12 years old he
joined his father on a business journey to Thessaloniki. It is assumed that he was introduced to

37
Sabbatean circles in Thessaloniki and was deeply affected by this encounter. Upon his return to
Poland in 1755 he started to develop a severe megalomania, deeply convinced that he was the true
successor of Shabtai Zvi.

Jacob Frank. Beit Hatfutsot

Back in Poland he gathered a sect of believers, who were drawn by his charismatic personality,
and announced him the heir of Shabtai Zvi. But he would not settle for that, and wished to form a
new, improved, high intensity Sabbatean theology, based mainly on a gallery of mystical radical
symbols that were about nothing but destruction and nihilism.
Frank addressed his followers: “I came not to elevate your spirits, but to humiliate you to the
bottom of the abyss, where you can get no lower, and where no man can rise from by his own
forces, but only God can pull him with his mighty hand from the depth.” By “abyss” he meant
particularly sexual rituals that included sacred orgies with just a touch of incest. The sexual
adventures reached the ears of the senior rabbis of Poland, after the Frankists held a rough sexual
ceremony described by David Kahana in his “Book of Darkness”: on the 26th day of the month of
Shvat in 1756, on a market day in the town of Lanzkron, Podolia, the people of the Frank sect
gathered in the morning in an inn of one of their own, closed all the windows in secrecy, and took
the rabbi’s wife, a beautiful and promiscuous woman, sat her down naked in a palanquin, placed a
Torah crown upon her head and danced around her, playing instruments, falling on her and kissing
her, while calling her “mezuzah”.

38
During the 18th century, other small Sabbatean groups were founded by the dozens and hundreds,
and some entire communities turned Sabbatean. In order to defeat this threat, the rabbinical
authorities declared a war against the Sabbateans, using whatever they could, including their
strongest weapon – excommunication.

The death of Jacob Frank in 1790

The main character behind the great excommunication in Lvov was rabbi Jacob Emden (Ya’avetz)
who condemned and hated the Sabbateans and the likes – the most. Ya’avetz , whose three
daughters were married to important rabbis who served in the Council of Four Lands (the highest
leadership of the Jewry of Poland), convinced his sons in law to excommunicate a large group of
2,000 Jews whom he claimed were Frankists, though he did not know them, never met with them
and could not even be certain that they were indeed members of the sect.
The ban declared that “we shall not rent a house to or from them; we shall not buy from them or
sell to them; we shall not teach their children, nor bury them nor circumcise them”.
In those days, excommunicated Jews were like fish outside the water: doomed to a slow agonizing
death. Fearing starvation and freezing, the 2,000 Jews turned to the church seeking for help. The
church agreed to give them a warm welcome, if they declare that the Talmud is full of lies and
nonsense, and that the blood libels were true, and finally, that they convert to Christianity.

39
 Eva Frank, Jacob Frank’s daughter and successor, died in 1816.
Thus, 2,000 Jews forcibly converted and had to declare that their fellow Jews indeed used the
blood of Christian children in order to make Matzot. One of the heads of the Frankists, rabbi
Elisha Schor, of the famous Schors of Rohatin, bitterly said to rabbi Chaim Rapoport of the Lvov
rabbinate: “Chaim, this is blood for blood. You allowed them to shed our blood, and we accuse
you of using their blood”.
Even the Baal Shem Tov sided with the Frankists and accused the rabbis for fabricating lies and
legends.
Jacob Frank himself converted to Christianity in a festive ceremony in Warsaw, at the presence
of the King of Poland. He then lived gloriously in his mansion until his death in 1790, succeeded
by his daughter, Eva.
Just like the excommunication practice, that still stands today, his ideology survived and went
through a metamorphosis, then introduced again with the Sabbatean sect of the Donme, which is
still active today in Turkey – the same place where the original Sabbatean movement was
formed.

40
 Jacob Frank in the final years of his life,
photo: Jewish Historical Institute, Warsaw

David B. Green writes:14

On January 6, 1760, Jacob Frank, a mystic, messianic Polish Jew who created a new, transgressive
religion that attracted tens of thousands of followers, was arrested in Warsaw and turned over to
the Catholic Church, beginning an imprisonment that lasted 13 years.

Jacob Leibowitz (as he was called at birth) was born circa 1726 in Korolivka, a town in Podolia,
eastern Poland (today in Ukraine). Although it was around 60 years since the false messiah
Shabbetai Zvi converted to Islam and about 50 years after his death – and despite the fact that in
1722 Poland’s rabbis had placed a ban on the so-called “Sabbatean heresy” – there was still a large
movement of Jews in Europe who regarded themselves as his disciples. One of them was the father
of Jacob Leibowitz, who, when he was expelled by the Jewish community of Korolivka, in 1730,
moved with his family to Czernowitz, where there was a large group of Jews who shared his
beliefs.

Jacob himself had a minimal education. He became a gem and textile trader, traveling frequently
to the Ottoman Empire for business. In cities such as Smyrna and Salonika he came into regular

14
https://www.haaretz.com/jewish/.premium-1760-false-messiah-arrested-in-warsaw-1.5319265?lts=1645100846807

41
contact with various Sabbatean sects including Doenmeh, crypto-Jews who maintained an
outwardly Muslim lifestyle. It was during these travels that he was given the nickname “Frank,” a
general term for Europeans in the East.

In about 1751, Jacob Frank decided that he was the Messiah. When he brought that news back to
Podolia, he also brought with him some of the Sabbatean teachings he had picked up. Not a modest
man, Frank announced that he had superseded Shabbetai Zvi, and like Zvi, he adopted an
antinomian ideology that declared that “all laws and teachings will fall.” Transgression was the
key: turning Jewish fast days into feasts, eating foods prohibited by the laws of kashrut and
participating in orgies.

What certainly got Frank into trouble was a ritual in which a young woman, representing the
Shechinah – the feminine aspect of God – would stand topless in a circle and the men of the
community would kiss her breasts, similar to how worshipers in synagogue kiss the Torah scrolls.

Frank was driven out of town, and some of his followers were tried by a rabbinical court for
immodest behavior. When a rabbinical assembly in Brody banned Jews from any contact with
Frank or his followers, Frank went to the bishop of Kamenetz-Podolsk and declared that he and
his group did not recognize the sanctity of the Talmud. The only Hebrew book they found holy,
they said, was the Zohar, the principal text of kabbalist mysticism.

Frank was taken under the protection of Bishop Dembowski, who pitted some of Frank’s followers
against traditional rabbis in a “disputation.” As judge of the debate, Dembowski declared the
Frankists victors, and ordered the burning of all copies of the Talmud in Poland.

The next step for the Frankists was conversion to Catholicism, apparently an intermediary step on
the way to a new religion. In 1759, Frank was baptized (with King Augustus III of Poland as his
godfather). In the coming decades an estimated 26,000 Frankists followed suit.

But Frank also aroused the suspicion of the Church, whose protection he lost after the death of
Dembowski, his patron. On February 6, 1760, he was arrested. He was tried and convicted of
heresy in a Catholic court, and imprisoned in the Czestochowa monastery. It was only after the
first partition of Poland, in 1772, and the arrival of Russian troops in Czestochowa that he was
freed.

Frank lived out the remainder of his life first in Brno, and then in Offenbach, Germany. There,
calling himself “Baron Frank,” he continued instructing his followers, and there he died, on
December 10, 1791.

42
 THE MIXED MULTITUDE: JACOB FRANK AND THE
FRANKIST MOVEMENT, 1755–1816
By Pawel Maciejko15

Shaul Magid writes:16

“History is written by the winners.” Whether or not Napoleon Bonaparte first uttered this, the
sentiment behind it applies to the arch-heretic Jacob Frank, who died while Napoleon was still an
obscure lieutenant colonel in Corsica. Frank was one of the most enigmatic and bizarre figures in
modern Jewish history — a combination of charlatan, opportunist and Jewish religious critic. He
grew up as part of the growing Sabbatean movement in Poland, and after numerous incarnations

15
University of Pennsylvania Press, 360 pages, $65
16
https://forward.com/culture/138272/jacob-frank-and-the-heresy-we-forgot/

43
he began his own heretical movement, converting to Christianity with many of his disciples in
1759.

Sabbatai Zevi was a charismatic figure from mid-17th-century Smyrna who was believed by a
mass of Jews and some prominent rabbis to be the Messiah. In 1666, under duress from the Sultan
of Turkey, he converted to Islam. His followers interpreted this conversion as part of his messianic
vocation, and thus the Sabbatean movement remained strong, especially in Poland, well into the
18th century. Some scholars argue that it had a direct impact on early Hasidism. But by the mid-
19th-century it had seemingly disappeared from the Jewish community.

Few in the English-speaking world had heard of Sabbatai Zevi until Gershom Scholem’s
magisterial 1973 biography, and even fewer had heard of Frank. Indeed, until Pawel Maciejko’s
new study, there has been no serious analysis of Frank in English. Many more know of the great
heretic Benedict (Baruch) Spinoza and have heard of the great Reformers, from Moses
Mendelssohn and Abraham Geiger to Isaac Mayer Wise and Mordecai Kaplan.

The Sabbateans and Frankists on the one hand, and the Reformers on the other, were considered
heretics by the traditional rabbis of their day. We know of the latter because their critique
developed into non-Orthodox Judaism, but the Sabbateans and Frankists were the forgotten losers,
because they converted to either Islam or Christianity, meaning that to modern Diaspora Jews they
became irrelevant.

Zionists, however, were infatuated with Sabbatai Zevi and Frank, inspired by their heresy, their
messianism and their subversion of rabbinic authority. Important studies of both figures exist in
Hebrew, and various Zionist revolutionaries considered both to be either heroes or villains (and
sometimes both). For Diaspora Jews, Reform Judaism reframed part of the Sabbatean critique of
tradition and Hasidism absorbed and normalized the other part. Even if we reject attempts made
by Scholem and his student Isaiah Tishby to draw historical links among Sabbateanism, Hasidism
and the Reform movement, it is not a stretch to say that they all share, in different ways, a critique
of rabbinic authority and the belief that Jewish law is the exclusive expression of divine will.

Maciejko’s “The Mixed Multitude: Jacob Frank and the Frankist Movement, 1755–1816,” is a
brilliant study of Frank and the Frankist movement. It is the product of meticulous archival
research in Polish, German, Hebrew and Yiddish, and it brims with sharp observations as it sweeps
through its thesis. It convincingly argues that Frankism was a far more pervasive movement in
Poland than originally thought, not only in the Jewish community, but also among the Polish
aristocracy and clergy. Originally from Poland, Maciejko was trained at Oxford University and is
now a lecturer at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. In “The Mixed Multitude” he argues that
without Frank, the history of Judaism and modernity is missing a crucial chapter. The Frankists
were not a marginal sectarian movement but a tremendous force in parts of Poland, a force that
resulted in the conversion to Christianity of thousands of Jews in the late 18th century.

The movement attracted the attention of Polish kings, noblemen, clergy and intellectuals, and some
of the greatest Jewish minds of the time. It had among its ranks such figures as the alleged
Sabbatean Jonathan Eybeschutz, who was the rabbi of the prestigious Three Communities (Altona,
Hamburg, and Wandsbeck), and his son, Wolf, who was openly Frankist. The Frankists’

44
conversion to Roman Catholicism forced Jews to rethink their relationship to Christianity. For
example, Maciejko suggests that Rabbi Jacob Emden’s famous positive appraisal of Christianity,
where he deems the church an “assembly for the sake of heaven,” was written largely to force the
Frankists — heretics who had converted but retained some allegiance to Judaism — out of
Judaism. In short, more than an expression of tolerance for Christianity, Emden wanted to create
an alliance between Jews and the church against the Frankists.

Maciejko argues that contemporary readers have mistakenly viewed Frank simply as a wayward
Sabbatean. In fact, in his major theological work, “Words of the Lord,” he has only disparaging
things to say about Sabbatai Zevi. While after Frank’s death, many of his disciples merged with
Sabbatean communities, Frank set himself apart, claiming that Sabbatai Zevi “did not accomplish
anything.” Rather, Frank claimed that he “came to this world to bring forth into the world a new
thing of which neither your forefathers nor their forefathers heard.”

We are also mistaken to think that Frank’s heresy, like Sabbatai Zevi’s, was founded on Kabbalah.
While certain kabbalistic ideas were certainly used by Frank, and he was called a “zoharist” and
“kabbalist” by rabbis such as Emden, he was no kabbalist and had little regard for mysticism in
general. Frank was dangerous not because he was a mystic, but because he rejected rabbinic
authority, initially calling his group the “Contra-Talmudists.” He used Christianity as a tool to
subvert the rabbis, to the point of ostensibly instigating Christian blood libels against the Jews.

Frankism also highlights the importance of gendered attributes of God in Kabbalah and the way
those attributes need to manifest themselves in actual women. Ada Rapoport Albert’s new
“Women and the Messianic Heresy of Sabbatai Zevi 1666–1816” documents the Sabbatean roots
of the ostensibly increased role of the feminine in Hasidism and particularly Frank’s position that
the Messiah must be a woman. Maciejko shows that Frank was one of the most outspoken in this
regard, even more so than the Sabbateans. On this he writes, “Frank’s rejection of normative
Judaism was rooted precisely in the failure of the Jewish religion to truly appreciate the female
facet of the Godhead and the messianic dimensions of femininity.” The role of women in Frankism
far exceeds anything in the traditional Judaism of its time.

More tangibly, Maciejko notes that while Sabbatai Zevi “ascended to the status of bridegroom of
the true word of God, in Frankism the true word of God descended into the palpably material
female flesh [of his daughter Eve].” The literality of Frank’s interpretation led to the antinomian
and allegedly orgiastic ritual that became known as “the Lanckoronie affair.” Maciejko notes
astutely that until then, the rabbis in Poland maintained a peaceful status quo with Sabbatean
communities, perhaps even more so than with the Reformers.

Although the details are sketchy, in the town of Lanckoronie, in January 1756, Frank and a group
of his disciples ostensibly spent the night in an orgiastic ritual of a mystical marriage with the
Torah. Maciejko suggests that this incident “shattered the status quo between the Sabbateans and
the rabbinate and caused the abandonment of the ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ policy, preferred up to that
point by most Polish rabbis.” If not for this incident, the war against Sabbateanism in Europe that
became so prominent in the 18th century might never have taken place, and Sabbatean
communities might still exist as a normative part of Judaism.

45
Aside from an impressive example of historical scholarship, Maciejko has given us a detailed
roadmap of Frankism and its importance to modern Judaism. Franks’s solution to the crisis of
Judaism and modernity may not be ours. And Frank was certainly a diabolical figure. But his
critique of Judaism, even as it failed miserably, may have had more of a lasting impact than we
would like to believe.

Lanckorona Poland

When the Profane Becomes Sacred

The Frankist chapter of Jewish history in Podolia, where Jacob Frank was active, lasted for
only two years in the middle of the 18th century. It all began with a mystic-erotic ceremony in
Lanckorona.

Israel Jacob Yuval writes:17

Many messianic figures in Jewish history bore names with messianic significance. Two of the
most famous would-be redeemers whose names testify to their messianic qualities were Jesus
("redeemer," in Hebrew ) of Nazareth and Shimon Bar Kochba (Bar Kochba is "son of the star,"
in Hebrew ). It may be that Rabbi Yehuda Hanasi, the editor of the Mishna, also saw himself as a
messiah, identifying with the tribe of Judah, which established the kingdom of the House of David.
I recently came upon a suggestion that Moses Maimonides had messianic pretensions too,
stemming from his identification with his name. He saw himself as a second Moses, and therefore,

17
https://www.haaretz.com/life/books/1.5214971

46
like the first one, he wrote a new Torah (the Mishna Torah ), led his people as the rais (leader ) of
the Jews, and was close to the ruler of Egypt. Scholar Moshe Idel argues that Shabbetai Zvi
identified with the astrological and messianic qualities of the planet Saturn ("Shabbetai" in Hebrew
). And Jacob Frank, who died in 1790, the founder of the Frankists, the sect that viewed him as the
Messiah, identified with the biblical figure of Jacob the forefather, and saw himself as the third
Shabbetai, after Shabbetai Zvi and his disciple Baruchia Russo.

Pawel Maciejko's book about the history of the Frankist movement, soon to be published in
Hebrew translation by the Zalman Shazar Center, reminded me of the experience I had several
decades back when I read Gershom Scholem's book "Sabbetai Sevi: The Mystical Messiah, 1626-
1676." It is very rare for a work of scholarly research to offer such a fascinating reading experience.
From this point of view, Maciejko's book on Frank and the Frankist movement, which was awarded
a 2010 Polonsky Prize for Creativity and Originality in the Humanities at the Hebrew University,
where the author is a lecturer in Jewish thought, is a natural and valuable successor to Scholem's
classic volume on Shabbetai Zvi and his followers.

And it is also an innovative book, with not merely one, but many important innovations. One of
them is the difference Maciejko discerns between the Frankists and the Sabbateans. Maciejko
argues that the Frankists cannot be seen as the direct descendants of the latter. Jacob Frank himself
made every effort to distance himself from the Sabbateans as well as from the Doenmeh (the
Sabbatean sect in the Ottoman Empire ). To Frank, Shabbetai Zvi achieved nothing, and it was he
alone who could be considered an innovator. This search for difference and uniqueness
characterizes Frank's life story and his behavior. Everywhere he went, he stood out as different
and foreign.

Maciejko takes the time to point out some of the traits that differentiate the Frankists from the
previous movement: their public profile and their willingness to involve the government in internal
Jewish matters, and as a result, the brutality of the rabbinic campaign against them. While the
Sabbateans were considered an internal Jewish problem, with which Jewish laws and theological
arguments could cope, the Frankists were seen as a divisive presence within Judaism, and one that
was likely to create a new religion.

Dance of the rabbi's wife

The book depicts Podolia (today part of Ukraine, at the time in Poland ), where Jacob Frank was
active in the mid-18th century, as a place in which Jewish heresy flourished. Even a century after
Shabbetai Zvi's conversion to Islam, in 1666, many Jews in Podolia continued to follow his path.
The Frankist-Jewish chapter lasted only two years. It began in 1756, with a mystical and erotic
ceremony in the city of Lanckorona. The local rabbi's wife danced naked with a Torah crown on
her head and the rest of the participants, Frank's followers, sang and danced with her. They
celebrated with bread and wine, and kissed her as though she were a mezuzah.

The ceremony illustrates a position that equates religious symbolism with real, ontological
existence, and some see it as an expression of the abandonment of a medieval symbolism that was
detached from real life. This incident presents the Frankists as people who see the profanation of

47
religious commandments as being of central importance in the undermining of rabbinical authority.
The affair raised a rabbinical storm and led to the ostracizing of the Frankists.

While the Sabbateans were also officially excommunicated, their ostracism was never enforced.
And their excommunication had been undertaken only at the initiative of individuals, and not of
the rabbinic establishment. The Frankists were the first to be excommunicated in an organized and
methodical way. The reason was that the ceremony in Lanckorona broke the earlier conspiracy of
silence. The Sabbateans had acted without attracting rabbinic attention, along the lines of "Don't
ask, don't tell." But this incident was the crossing of a line well beyond what had been acceptable
in an earlier time. The straw that broke the camel's back was not necessarily the erotic-sexual
aspect of the ceremony, but the use of the Christian symbols of bread and wine.

The Frankist Jewish chapter ended in 1759, with the conversion of the Frankists to Christianity.
Like the Cathar movement that arose in Languedoc, France, in the 12th and 13th centuries, whose
followers were accused of heresy and excommunicated, and which led the Church to establish the
Inquisition, those who brought the Frankists to conversion were traditional Jews, headed by the
Council of Four Lands (a representative body of Jews from Eastern Europe that met to discuss
issues of mutual interest between 1580 and 1764 ), which preferred to see them outside the
community rather than tolerate the existence of Jewish heresy within.

But not all the Jews felt this way. Judah Leibes raises the possibility that the Baal Shem Tov (Rabbi
Yisrael ben Eliezer, the founder of Hasidism ) died in 1760 of sorrow, due to the conversion of the
Frankists a year earlier, since he viewed them as an organ of the mystical body of Judaism. But
this was his personal opinion, while the rabbinic establishment preferred to expel the rebellious
sons. And so, after many generations in which the Jews struggled with all their might against
conversion to Christianity, the rabbinic leadership in Poland supported and even encouraged the
followers of Jacob Frank to become Christians.

Confirm the blood libel

This push toward conversion was a result of the loathing that the Frankists aroused among
traditional Jews. Maciejko points to the Frankists' attempts to confirm the truth of the blood libel
(the claim that Jews required Christian blood for their religious ceremonies ), with the support of
conservatives in the church establishment, even in the face of opposition by church office holders,
headed by conservative circles in the papal curia. The Frankists enlarged the controversy by
claiming that proof could be found in Jewish texts - in the customs of Passover, and in the Talmud.
The innovation here was that the apparent Jewish demand for Christian blood was not made in the
name of healing or magic, as was claimed during the Middle Ages, but as an inherent requirement
of religious commandments. From then on not only marginal and deluded groups were suspected
of this deed, but all the practitioners of the religion of Moses. In his excellent analysis, Maciejko
describes the stance of the Frankists with regard to the blood libel from the perspective of its future
impact, as well, and shows that the destructive influence of their claims percolated into the 20th
century, feeding even into the infamous ritual murder charge against Menahem Mendel Beilis, in
Russia, in 1913.

48
The exacerbation of internal religious tensions within Judaism was directly connected to the
lessening of tensions with Christians. One of the biggest fighters against the Sabbateans, Rabbi
Jacob Emden (Germany, 1697-1776 ), viewed Christianity as a religion meant to spread
monotheism and the "seven commandments of the sons of Noah" among the pagans, and as a
"heavenly church." Whereas Christianity and Judaism were borne, he believed, out of a common
denominator, and both were legitimate, though meant for different peoples, he regarded
Sabbateanism as a new and dangerous religion. But while his war against the Sabbateans was not
a big success, the emergence of Frankism enabled him to extend the battle to the Frankists too.

Emdan's position led him to involve Christians in his struggle against the Jewish heresy. The
Frankists responded in kind. And so the two camps stood facing each other, each turning to
different Christian groups for aid. The Frankists depicted Judaism as a religion of the uncharitable
letter of the law, while the rabbis depended on the revulsion of the church toward ecstatic religious
movements and their suspicion of private religious experience which deviated from the church
framework.

These processes led to the differentiation of Frankism from Sabbateanism. And this occurred,
paradoxically, at a time when Jacob Frank was absent from Podolia, in the decisive years of 1756-
7, which he spent in Turkey. But Frank continued to guide his followers even from a distance, a
fact expressed in two main principles: adoption of the Christian holy trinity and rejection of the
Talmud as filled with errors and sacrilege.

The history of the Frankists did not end with their conversion. Some of them sought to retain marks
of their Judaism even after they became Christian: to keep Hebrew names, to refrain from marrying
non-Jewish women and eating pork, to rest on the Jewish Sabbath as well as on Sunday, and to
study Jewish mysticism. The conversion of the Frankists aroused contradictory responses in the
Christian world. The Protestants were disappointed with the Frankists' attachment to "idolatrous"
Catholicism, rather than "pure" Protestantism, which seemed to them closer to Judaism. In
contrast, the Catholics used their success with the Frankists to serve their infighting with the
Protestants, especially after religious tolerance became part of the Polish legal system at the
beginning of the 1770s. Frank really was a pious Catholic in his religious consciousness, attracted
to the mythic and ritualistic aspects of Christianity.

And so the Frankist movement owed a large debt to the collaboration between the rabbis and the
priesthood. When the Sabbatean movement began, when it was still a small group, all it sought to
do was oppose the rabbis and their authority. Sabbateanism started out as a mass movement but
after the conversion to Islam of Shabbetai Zvi and Nathan of Gaza, it became marginal and had a
scattered leadership. The Frankists moved in the opposite direction. Rabbinical rejection turned
them into a mass movement in 1759-60. Rabbinical pressure on one side and the rabbis' praise for
Catholicism on the other caused the Frankists to define their identity more clearly as separate both
from Judaism and from Christianity. These determinations are the most important innovations in
this fertile and groundbreaking book.

"The Mixed Multitude" ends with a description of the Frankist movement in three of its largest
centers: Offenbach, Prague and Warsaw. It points out that the figures active in the Prague center
at first admired Jacob Frank but then had reservations about him and his descendants. This circle

49
is most responsible for the idea that Frankism is a natural continuation of Sabbateanism, and
developed the view that sees both of these movements as forerunners of the Jewish Enlightenment.

The story of the Frankist movement in the book is woven into the texture of the political and
intellectual history of the period; the result is a wonderful panorama of a Jewish world well-
connected with its non-Jewish surroundings.

'The Books of Jacob' tells a story about Jews — But is it a Jewish

novel?

JONAH GOLDMAN KAY writes:18

When Polish writer Olga Tokarczuk published “The Books of Jacob” in Poland in 2014, she drew
critical acclaim from the Polish left and an intense backlash from the country’s right wing.

18
https://www.jpost.com/diaspora/article-695566

50
That reaction has only intensified in the years since, as the novel — a nearly 1,000-page journey
into the life of a Jewish messianic cult leader — was translated into several languages including
Hebrew, became a global phenomenon and helped win its author the Nobel Prize in Literature.

This week, the book’s English translation, by Jennifer Croft, was released in the United States,
bringing the many debates over its sheer spectacle, side-eyed depiction of Poland’s attitude toward
Jews, and unorthodox vision of 18th-century Jewish life to an even broader audience.

The novel’s central figure is Jacob Frank, a real-life 18th-century Jewish messianic cult leader,
told through the eyes of those around him. Frank leads his followers in a rebellion against the era’s
rabbinate, at one point orchestrating a mass conversion into Catholicism, as the various myths and
legends of his life converge via his beholders. Mixing historical detail with an intricately developed
fictional narrative, the book was immediately hailed as an important work of contemporary Polish
writing.

Tokarczuk’s now-global audience has gone one step further, declaring “The Books of Jacob” to
be not just a great Polish book, but Poland’s great Jewish novel. (One more critical reader has
also called the experience of reading it a “thunderslog.”) But her book has also revived discussions
around the creators and consumers of Jewish culture in Poland, most of whom are not Jewish
themselves.

Polish scholars of Judaism see Tokarczuk, who won a Nobel Prize in Literature in 2018 largely on
the strength of “The Books of Jacob,” as perennially interested in the experience of outsiders and
those on the periphery of society.

“Her entire project is about recreating a world in which many different languages and cultures
intersect and interact,” Croft told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency.

Marcin Wodziński, the head of the University of Wrocław’s Jewish studies department, said it is
precisely this orientation that makes Tokarczuk stand out in Poland.

“She is interested in anything liminal, anything which is minority, anything that is subversive, that
goes against the dominant culture. ‘The Books of Jacob’ is the culmination of this, it’s her magnum
opus,” he said.

In Poland, Jewish culture is the epitome of liminal: It is both omnipresent, in the sense that Jewish
cemeteries and synagogue buildings scatter the country and the Holocaust looms large, and distant.
Encounters with living Jews are few and far between. This has led many intellectuals, including
Tokarczuk, to become fascinated with Jewish culture.

“She was quite fascinated by Jews and Jewish culture, and its absence. This is quite common in
the Polish intellectual milieu,” said Stanisław Krajewski, a Polish Jewish philosopher and
professor at the University of Warsaw.

Several Polish Jewish studies professors told JTA that their classes are mostly comprised of non-
Jews, and that the majority of their department is usually not Jewish. This has resulted in a kind of

51
“close exoticism,” Wodziński said. Non-Jews are attracted to Jewish culture, in this view, because
it is both readily available and mysteriously hidden.

“This is a phenomenon happening in all of Eastern Europe, when Jewish culture is created by non-
Jews, for non-Jews, but about the Jews,” Wodziński said. In her study of contemporary Jewish
culture in Eastern Europe, Ruth Ellen Gruber termed this phenomenon “virtually Jewish.”

For many non-Jews, this embrace of Jewish culture is a way of reclaiming a missing part of the
past or understanding the legacy of Nazism. Mariusz Kałczewiak, a Jewish Polish historian, traces
this phenomenon back to the early 1990s and the end of Communism. As Poland began to think
more critically about its past, intellectuals found themselves drawn to Jewish culture and history.

“There is a certain identification with the Jewish experience for leftists whose political views have
made them a kind of oppressed group,” Kałczewiak said.

Tokarczuk’s decision to focus on Jacob Frank was likely influenced by many of these same forces.
While earlier scholars, including the scholar of Jewish mysticism Gershom Scholem, had revived
interest in Frank abroad, it was not until the fall of Communism that the first modern writing on
the cult leader was published in Poland. Over the next two decades, Polish writers and historians
released a series of publications about Frank and the history of his movement.

Underpinning this revived interest in Frank was a broader fascination among the intelligentsia
about Polish intellectual history and the potential for multiculturalism. In 2006, Tokarczuk
published her first short story about Frank, which would eventually be expanded into “The Books
of Jacob.” At the time, Tokarczuk was part of a group of Warsaw academics interested in historical
moments that showed Poland as an open, intellectual and multicultural society — an antidote to
the country’s increasingly right-wing politics. Frank, a character who shifted between Judaism and
Christianity with ease, was an ideal source of inspiration.

“Polish intellectuals were interested in finding Jewish traces in our ancestries, not only because
Jews were the first intellectuals in Poland, but because Frank showed that you could be Polish,
Catholic and Jewish at once,” said Roma Sendyka, an associate professor of Polish studies at the
Jagiellonian University in Kraków.

While Polish intellectuals are largely excited to see Tokarczuk’s novel released in English, some
caution that it is important to understand the context that shaped the book. Despite being translated
into English; it is still a work of Polish literature. If the book had been written by an American
author amid contemporary discussions around representation, it may have been viewed differently.

Within Poland, Tokarczuk’s book came to represent something larger than itself: an entire political
ideology. Tokarczuk has always been a strong public presence in Poland, campaigning against
mistreatment of minorities and the country’s turn toward the right.

In an interview with Poland’s state television channel in 2015, Tokarczuk excoriated

contemporary Polish society for seeing itself as “an extremely tolerant and open country,” while
ignoring its role in the Holocaust and long history of anti-semitism.

52
In the months following the interview, Tokarczuk was vilified by the country’s right wing, which
saw her as a threat to Poland’s national identity. She faced relentless death threats and accusations
of traitorous behavior.

“I think that her words were inconvenient for [right-wing] people in Poland, who like to think
about Polish-Jewish relations only in a positive way,” said Maria Antosik-Piela, a professor of
history at the University of Warsaw. Tokarczuk brought up this uncomfortable part of Polish
history, Antosik-Piela says, forcing a reckoning of sorts within Polish society.

But among Jewish intellectuals in Poland, Tokarczuk’s book prompted some ambivalence. There
was near-universal acknowledgement that “The Books of Jacob” is a masterful work and a
consummate example of what makes Tokarczuk’s writing so engaging. Scholars of Polish Jewish
history commended the novel for its skillful blending of well-researched historical detail and
fiction regarding the real-life Frankists. While writing the book, Tokarczuk consulted with Pawel
Maciejko, a professor at Johns Hopkins University who is considered the world’s foremost scholar
on Joseph Frank and who also assisted Croft on the English translation.

But the attention to detail does not always translate into a native fluency in Jewish culture. In one
notable example, a prominent character is named Shneydel — a name that sounds Yiddish, but
isn’t actually. When an excerpt from “The Books of Jacob” appeared in The New Yorker last fall,
some readers said they assumed Tokarczuk had meant to name the character “Sheyndel,” a
common Yiddish name. “This is an embarrassing mistake,” one reader wrote on Twitter. “It’s like
writing a Muslim character as Amhed instead of Ahmed.”

Some see more substantive issues with Tokarczuk’s portrayal of Jewish characters, situating her
novel within a long history of Polish literature depicting the Jew as an exotic other. While
Tokarczuk’s leftist bona fides are incontrovertible, some Jewish intellectuals see her approach to
Judaism as representative of a broader issue with representations of Jewish culture on the Polish
left.

“The book continues a lot of old Polish liberal tropes about how can a Jew be a protagonist in the
Polish novel,” said Kamil Kijek, a professor of Jewish studies at the University of Wroclaw and a
member of Poland’s Jewish community. “The Jew becomes fascinating for the Polish intellectual
when he or she tries to escape their Jewishness. And that is exactly what Jacob Frank did.”

Kijek said that, despite his criticisms, he admires the book and doesn’t believe Tokarczuk meant
for “The Books of Jacob” to become emblematic of contemporary Polish Jewish literature. Rather,
he said, the fact that relatively few Jews remain in Poland and the novel’s extraordinary success
overseas put her in a strange position.

Tokarczuk, Kijek said, simply took certain characteristics of Jewish history and used them to create
a novel that could speak to broader, universal concerns.

“She didn’t set out to a Polish novel or a Jewish novel, but a global novel, a human novel,” he
says.

53
The Talmud represents traditional Jewish religious culture.19 However, Jewish life today is neither
very traditional nor very religious. One of the most important and original voices analyzing this
trend was Gershom Scholem (1897-1982), Professor of Jewish Mysticism at the Hebrew
University of Jerusalem. Interest in Scholem was renewed this year with the translation of David
Biale’s biography into Hebrew, Gershom Scholem, Magnes Press, Jerusalem 2020. (The English
version, Gershom Scholem: Master of the Kabbalah was first published in the Jewish Lives series
by Yale University Press in 2018.) The biography received extensive reviews in both Haaretz and
in Makor Rishon, that is, on both sides of the political-religious spectrum.

Biale, while acknowledging Scholem’s mastery of philological and minute historical analysis,
places the emphasis on Scholem’s vision of Jewish history and his Zionist ideology. Scholem, of
course, was not only a professor of Jewish mysticism but the founder of the entire academic
discipline, as it were, ex nihilo. This project was connected with Scholem’s vision of a Jewish
“counter-history.”

Through numerous and influential books and articles, Scholem wove a narrative which placed the
roots of Jewish modernity in the esoteric Kabbalistic lore and writings of medieval Spain. The
Kabbalistic myth of the exile of the Shekhina (God’s indwelling presence in the world) amid the
forces of darkness pointed to the fact that one could recover and redeem the sacred aspects of the
profane and even of evil. This idea, which was given extensive expression in the Zohar, was
developed over the course of hundreds of years.

It was especially developed in the Kabbalah of R. Yitzchak Luria (16th century) who described
the recovery and repair of the “holy sparks” of the Shekhina as the process of redemption.
According to Scholem, this idea finally exploded in the Sabbatean movement after the apostasy of
Shabbtai Zevi (“the false Messiah”) in 1666. Shabbtai Zevi and especially his followers and
successors, notably Jacob Frank (1726-1791, Poland) elaborated an antinomian theology which
claimed that violation of the Halacha was more holy and on a higher spiritual plane than observing
it, and that this violation would achieve the Redemption.

Scholem’s most daring and controversial claim was that this mystical emancipation from the
Halacha was one of the groundworks of the Jewish Enlightenment and modern secular Judaism.
According to Scholem’s “counter-history,” authentic traditional Judaism does not only consist of
the Talmud and Halacha but also of the Kabbalistic alternative, a few significant branches of which
negated the Halacha. As a corollary, he argued that Jewish modernity was not only a result of

19
http://jppi.org.il/en/article/aa2020/cultural-currency/talmud-v-kabbalah/shalom-frank/#.Yg4-ce7MKRs

54
external Western forces, but also an indigenous development from within authentic Jewish
tradition. Scholem’s hope was that Zionism and the State of Israel would cultivate this internally
based non-Halachic Jewish culture.

In addition to Scholem’s biography, an important Polish novel, The Books of Jacob by the Nobel
Prize laureate Olga Tokarczuk, newly translated into Hebrew, also explores the Frankist
Movement in 18th century Poland and Central Europe. Employing a panoramic vista that includes
Frankists, their rabbinic opponents, the Catholic Church, and Polish nobility, it explores Frankist
claims and aspirations to emancipation and its ties to the emerging Polish and Jewish modernity.
As the reviews in both left-wing and right-wing newspapers indicate, Scholem (and his areas of
research and scholarship – Messianism, Kabbalah, and Sabbatianism) remains relevant to Israeli
culture and politics on several levels.

First, during a time of intense debates concerning the teaching of Jewish culture and tradition in
the general public schools and charges of forced “religionization” (hadata) of children from secular
families, Scholem’s vision of an authentic and indigenous non-Halachic Jewish culture raises
interesting possibilities. Indeed, Kabbalah holds a significant place within the Jewish renewal
movement.

Secondly, Scholem’s notion of “counter-history” raises the question of the “real” forces moving
Jewish history. As Israel debates the issue of annexation of parts of the West Bank (the Greater
Land of Israel), it is worth recalling that the ideology that played an important role in the original
settlement effort – R. Abraham Isaac Kook’s religious philosophy – is an interpretation of R. Isaac
Luria’s Kabbalistic Messianism. In fact, one could argue, along with Scholem, that the ideological
debate dividing Israel today is, at bottom, a debate about the nature of Luria’s vision of the
messianic process and the redemption. The left-wing Zionists are the heirs of the Sabbatians who
participated, according to Scholem, in the Enlightenment and the French Revolution, while the
Right-wing Zionists are their Orthodox, but no less messianic opponents.

55
 Is Kabbalah Heresy?
Gil Student writes:20

I. Three Kabbalists

Words have meanings. If I ask your permission to shoot you with a pellet gun, wouldn’t you want
to know whether “pellet” means a foam ball or a metal cylinder? If, when stating key beliefs–
definitional propositions–we attach idiosyncratic definitions to common terminology, we confuse,
mislead and possibly lead others to sin. This issue occupied the minds of great kabbalists of the
last century.

God’s unity, His complete indivisibility, is challenged by kabbalistic terminology. I write this with
awareness that the mystical metaphysics of Kabbalah are well beyond my training and expertise.
Instead, I rely on (my best understanding of) R. Bezalel Naor’s recently published Kana’useih De-
Pinchas, in which he presents and analyzes select letters from the archives of R. Pinchas Lintop, a
little-known East European kabbalist of the early twentieth century. R. Lintop was a friend and
colleague of R. Avraham Yitzchak Kook and R. Shlomo Elyashiv. These three kabbalists represent
three trends in Kabbalah as well as communal orientations.

20
https://www.torahmusings.com/2013/07/is-kabbalah-heresy/

56
R. Elyashiv, whose famous grandson recently passed away at a ripe age, published guides to
Kabbalistic thought, the first under the title Hakdamos U-She’arim, part of his series Le-Shem
Shevo Ve-Achlamah (for which he was called “The Leshem”). One of R. Elyashiv’s particular
stances outraged R. Lintop, who complained to both the author and R. Kook. While we do not
have any response from either recipients, R. Naor is able to infer R. Kook’s response from other
writings.

II. Divinity

The debate revolves around an esoteric but crucial point. According to R. Elyashiv, the vessels
(keilim) of emanation (atzilus) are not divinity but rather united with divinity via the lights (oros).
In this, he follows R. Moshe Cordovero and the school of the Vilna Gaon. R. Lintop furiously
argues that this contradicts the teachings of R. Moshe Chaim Luzzatto (Ramchal) and
Chabad chassidus, according to which the vessels possess divinity.

R. Naor suggests that this debate hinges on another we have recently discussed here (link). Is God’s
self-contraction (tzimtzum) literal or figurative? According to the Vilna Gaon, it is literal; God
does not inhere in everything. According to Chabad teachings, tzimtzum is a metaphor and God is
everywhere.

In other words, R. Elyashiv explains this kabbalistic concept according to the tradition of the
Misnagdim. To them, tzimtzum is literal and the divinity of the keilim is not. Neither, for that
matter, is the divinity of the sefiros literal. R. Lintop follows Ramchal and Chabad, for
whom tzimtzum is not literal and the divinity of the keilim is.

While esoteric, the debate is fundamental. What do we mean when we say that God is one? If other
entities contain divinity, is not the phrase “one with a oneness for which there is no comparison,”
in Rambam’s formulation, distorted beyond recognition? This was presumably a factor in R.
Elyashiv’s arguments. R. Lintop’s response can be seen in two steps. On the one hand, he was
following what he considered canonical sources. He was not innovating beyond the limits but
following received tradition, which, by definition, is within accepted boundaries.

III. Principles of Faith

The second step must be seen as profound intellectual honesty. R. Naor publishes another passage
from R. Lintop’s writings in which he denies that Rambam’s formulation of fundamental
principles is the final word. He argues at length, long preceding the current debates over
fundamental beliefs, that many great rabbis have disagreed with the Rambam about the existence
of principles. In other words, he may agree that his position may not fit within Rambam’s definition
of God’s oneness; he does not attempt to creatively redefine it by distorting words. However, that
does not concern him because he does not consider specific principles binding.

Others, of a less radical bent, may take a different second step. Rather than denying the existence
of principles, they may argue that the consensus, the kabbalistic tradition, accepts a slightly
different formulation of God’s unity that allows for divine vessels. Because they follow tradition,
which they believe is ancient and inspired, Rambam was the one who innovated and not them.

57
We have no record of R. Kook’s response. We know he corresponded with R. Lintop on other
matters and presumably received two letters from him on this subject. We also know that R. Kook
saw this part of R. Elyashiv’s book in manuscript and actually convinced him to soften his
language against those who understand tzimtzum non-literally. To R. Elyashiv, the non-literalists
are akin to Pantheists, close to Polytheists. To R. Lintop, the literalists reject divinity, bordering
on Atheism. These are strong charges, indeed.

R. Naor found other places in which R. Kook said that he wished to merge the Kabbalah of the
Misnagdim and Chassidim. How he planned on reconciling these opposites is unclear. It is hard to
believe that he would accept the inherently illogical argument that since debate exists about what
God’s oneness means, anyone who claims to accept it, regardless of how implausible that assertion,
is adhering to traditional Judaism. Unclarity is not permission for chaos. More reasonable is the
claim that since both sides follow respected traditions, both are acceptable. We can be sure that he
did not share the antagonism of either side. I suspect that R. Kook’s tradition of reconciliation
currently dominates.

Gershom Scholem in Jerusalem, 1924

A Writer Embraces the Scholar Who Introduced the Kabbalah to

Secular Society

58
 Alana Newhouse writes:21

STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND

Searching for Gershom Scholem and Jerusalem
By George Prochnik

When I was a student in yeshiva, I asked one of the rabbis why Jews talk so much. We were
studying Talmud, and I was trying to understand the comprehensive, obsessive inquiry into
questions from the minuscule and seemingly pedestrian — are the water cisterns adjacent to a
house included in the price of its sale? — to the transcendent, like what is the nature of God.

“Jewish time is circular, so we work to make things perfect for the next time around,” he replied,
before adding world-wearily: “Also, we don’t believe in perfection.”

If you’re interested in experiencing the complex mix of thoughts and emotions I felt in that moment
— challenged and stymied, satisfied and frustrated, amused, annoyed, tingling with a sensation so
unnerving you might even call it hope — then pick up “Stranger in a Strange Land: Searching for
Gershom Scholem and Jerusalem,” a new book by George Prochnik. To describe it as part
biography and part memoir is to miss the point; it is instead a hunt through the crevices of one life
in search of clues that might unlock the mysteries — intellectual, religious, political and
psychological — of another.

Prochnik — an essayist and biographer, most recently of the Austrian writer Stefan Zweig —
introduces himself here as the cerebral, searching son of a non-Jewish mother and an assimilated
Jewish father, who reaches to Judaism as a possible answer to the spiritual challenge of American
life. “Long before my conversion to Judaism,” Prochnik writes, “I felt that I’d been forcibly
inducted into a patriotic consumerism that I wanted nothing to do with — from which I wanted
to de-convert, into some form of being that spoke to my nature — to Nature and History.”

This did not mean Orthodoxy. It was the 1980s, when the desire to be more deeply Jewish often
enough led acculturated and liberal American Jews to find inspiration in Israel. At 27, Prochnik, a
budding writer and scholar, and his young wife, Anne — herself similarly moved by Judaism —
made their way to a diverse neighborhood in Jerusalem, where they set about creating a life.

21
https://www.nytimes.com/2017/05/05/books/review/stranger-in-a-strange-land-george-prochnik-gershom-scholem-
jerusalem.html

59
Along for the ride, at least metaphorically, was Prochnik’s muse: Gershom Scholem, the Jewish
philosopher credited with establishing the modern academic study of kabbalah. Raised in Berlin
in the early 1900s, the son of a nominally Jewish father whose bourgeois values he loathed,
Scholem became what he called a “religious anarchist” — seeing in Jewish mysticism an answer
to the political quandaries of his time. To this direct end, he also considered himself a Zionist; to
him, the land did not signify “the Jews’ withdrawal from the world and its great problems, but
rather the establishment of a unique laboratory in which experiments for redeeming both could be
conducted.”

“Scholem believed that by plucking the knowledge of kabbalah from the moribund pious
community that had abandoned it and feeding it to secular Zionists, he could help fuel the
movement’s drive toward independence and historical responsibility,” Prochnik writes, explaining
that Scholem believed it could be used to “develop a more explosive, polymorphous perspective
on Jewish history.”

Most of the first two-thirds of “Stranger in a Strange Land” is taken up by an often painfully
detailed description of Scholem’s life and the slow birth of his religious and political principles —
more cogent versions of which can be found elsewhere. Still, it serves a purpose here, which is to
make readers fluent in the language Prochnik will use to describe his own unfolding religious and
political drama — his struggle to neatly reconcile Zionism as a concept with the Zionist project of
which he and his family were now a part.

This is where the story becomes heated, then claustrophobic, then explosive. “The politics and the
religion and the philosophy and the family and the children and the Palestinians and the Jews all
played musical chairs around a vanishing table, until the last chair burst into flame and we were
hurtling through a black vacuum and away from each other,” he writes.

60
During the years before and after the ultimately failed Oslo Accords, Prochnik becomes
maddening, perhaps even mad — a student of complexity plummeting into “a state of dialectical
disintegration,” as Scholem once noted of his friend Walter Benjamin. For Prochnik, it becomes
intolerable to imagine that the very ideas in whose warm waters he so fruitfully swam could also
be used by those with whom he disagrees politically. “What did it mean if aspects of that mysticism
I’d found so beguiling were being used to promulgate evil — were capable, as a practice, of
inciting murder?”

Except, of course, that it makes complete sense. Prochnik sought out Jewish tradition precisely
because he understood it as a wellspring of energy — sparks he could use to power up a life
disconnected from any deeper source of meaning. You either believe in this energy or you don’t.
If you do, you accept that there is something uncontrollable about it — even, perhaps, within you.
Sometimes, “the forces you release, the vitality, you can’t always tell what will become of them,”
as the brilliant philosopher Moshe Idel tells him.

In the end, Prochnik seems to experience release from the Venn diagram of his personal and
political entanglements. Indeed, the last 20 pages beam with light — a radiant justification of the
preceding darkness that comes close to, well, perfect.

Isenburger Schloss [de], Offenbach am Main, Germany,

where Frank spent the last four years of his life

61
 The Holiness of Sin
An excerpt from a book by Gershom Scholem on Sabbatai Zevi and his

followers22

Gershom Scholem writes:23

Since its original appearance in Hebrew in the mid-30’s under the title “Mitzvah ha-ba’ah
ba-Averah,” Gershom Scholem’s study of those Jews of the 18th and 19th centuries who clung
to their belief in the Messiahship of Sabbatai Zevi even after his conversion to Islam, has been
widely regarded as one of the classics of modern Jewish scholarship and one of the great
works of the historical imagination in our time. What follows is the first translation of that
essay into English, done by Hillel Halkin; the text has not been cut or altered in any way
except for the elimination of certain footnote references.

No chapter in the history of the Jewish people during the last several hundred years has been
as shrouded in mystery as that of the Sabbatian movement. On one point, at least, there is no
longer any disagreement: the dramatic events and widespread religious revival that preceded
the apostasy of Sabbatai Zevi in 1666 form an important and integral part of Jewish history
and deserve to be studied objectively, to the exclusion of moralistic condemnations of the
historical figures involved. It has come increasingly to be realized that a true understanding
of the rise of Sabbatianism will never be possible as long as scholars continue to appraise it
by inappropriate standards, whether these be the conventional beliefs of their own age or the
values of traditional Judaism itself. Today indeed one rarely encounters the baseless
assumptions of “charlatanry” and “imposture” which occupy so prominent a place in earlier

22
Published in Hebrew in the mid-30’s under the title “Mitzvah ha-ba’ah ba-Averah,”
23
https://www.commentary.org/articles/gershom-scholem/the-holiness-of-sin/

62
historical literature on the subject. On the contrary: in these times of Jewish national rebirth
it is only natural that the deep though ultimately tragic yearning for national redemption to
which the initial stages of Sabbatianism gave expression should meet with greater
comprehension than in the past.

In turning to consider the Sabbatian movement after Sabbatai Zevi’s conversion to Islam,
however, we are faced with an entirely different situation. Here we find ourselves still
standing before a blank wall, not only of misunderstanding, but often of an actual refusal to
understand. Even in recent times there has been a definite tendency among scholars to
minimize at all costs the significance of this “heretical” Sabbatianism, with the result that no
adequate investigation yet exists of its spiritual foundations, its overall impact on 18th-
century Jewry, or its ultimate fate. It is impossible, in fact, to read any of the studies that have
been done in these areas without being astounded by the amount of invective directed against
the leaders and adherents of the various Sabbatian sects. Typical of this approach is David
Kahana’s A History of the Kabbalists, Sabbatians, and Hasidim (in Hebrew), but the angry
moralizing that characterizes this volume has not been confined to any one historical school;
rather, it has been shared by writers of widely differing points of view, secular as well as
religious. The problem itself, meanwhile, remains as recondite as ever.

Two enormous difficulties, therefore, confront the student of the Sabbatian “heresies”: on the
one hand, there are the obstacles posed by the sources themselves, and on the other, those
created by the attitude generally taken toward them. To a great extent, moreover, these two
sets of difficulties have always been related.

Why should this be so?

The Sabbatian movement in its various shadings and configurations persisted with remarkable
obstinacy among certain sectors of the Jewish people for approximately one hundred and fifty

63
years after Sabbatai Zevi’s conversion. In a number of countries it grew to be powerful, but
for various reasons, internal as well as external, its affairs were deliberately hidden from the
public eye. In particular, its spokesmen refrained from committing their beliefs to print, and
the few books that they actually published concealed twice what they revealed. They did,
however, produce a rich literature, which circulated only among groups of “believers”
(ma’aminim) —the term by which Sabbatian sectarians generally chose to refer to themselves,
down to the last of the Dönmeh in Salonika and the last Frankists in the Austro-Hungarian
Empire. As long as Sabbatianism remained a vital force within the Jewish ghetto, threatening
to undermine the very existence of rabbinic Judaism, its opponents labored ceaselessly to root
it out and systematically destroyed whatever of its writings came into their possession,
“including [even] the sacred names of God [azkarot] which they contain,” as the bans upon
them read. As a result many of their writings were lost without a trace, and had it been left
solely up to the rabbinical authorities nothing would have come down to us at all except for
certain tendentiously chosen fragments quoted in anti-Sabbatian polemics. In addition,
although an extensive religious literature was still to be found in the hands of Frankists in
Moravia and Bohemia at the beginning of the 19th century, the children and grandchildren of
these “believers” in Prague and other Jewish centers themselves attempted to obliterate every
shred of evidence bearing on their ancestors’ beliefs and practices. The well-known
philosopher and historian of atheism Fritz Mauthner has preserved the following interesting
story in his memoirs: in the declining days of the movement in Bohemia, Frankist
“emissaries” came to his grandfather (and undoubtedly to other members of the sect as well)
and requested that he surrender to them a picture of “the Lady” and “all kinds of writings”
which he had in his possession. The emissaries took them and left. The incident took place
sometime during the 1820’s or 1830’s. In spite of all this, at least two large manuscripts from
these circles have survived.

One must therefore bear in mind in dealing with the history of Sabbatianism that powerful
interests and emotions have often been at stake. Each for reasons of his own, all those who

64
have written on the subject in the past shared one belief: the less importance attributed to the
Sabbatian movement, the better.

Authors and historians of the Orthodox camp, for their part, have been anxious to belittle and
even distort the overall role of Sabbatianism in order to safeguard the reputations, as they
have conceived of them, of certain honored religious figures of the past. Such apologetics
have had their inevitable effect upon the writing of history, as has the fundamental outlook of
their proponents, tending as it does to idealize religious life in the ghetto at the expense of
completely ignoring the deep inner conflicts and divisions to which not even the rabbis were
necessarily immune. To acknowledge the Sabbatianism of eminent rabbis in Jerusalem,
Adrianople, Constantinople, or Izmir, Prague, Hamburg, or Berlin, has been in the eyes of
such authors openly to impeach the integrity of an entire body of men who were never
supposed to be other than learned and virtuous defenders of Jewish tradition. Given such an
attitude, it is hardly to be wondered at that one should instinctively avoid the kinds of inquiry
that might lead to the discovery of heretical opinion, to say nothing of actual licentiousness,
in the most unlikely places. One might cite endless examples of this kind of mentality in
historical literature dealing with rabbinical and congregational life in the 18th century, and in
at least one case, A. L. Frumkin’s A Historical Account of the Scholars of Jerusalem (in
Hebrew), the author goes so far as to “acquit” some of the most dedicated Sabbatians of the
“scandal” of heterodoxy!

Secularist historians, on the other hand, have been at pains to deemphasize the role of
Sabbatianism for a different reason. Not only did most of the families once associated with
the Sabbatian movement in Western and Central Europe continue to remain afterward within
the Jewish fold, but many of their descendants, particularly in Austria, rose to positions of
importance during the 19th century as prominent intellectuals, great financiers, and men of
high political connections. Such persons, needless to say, could scarcely have been expected
to approve of attempts to “expose” their “tainted” lineage, and in view of their stature in the

65
Jewish community it is not surprising that their wishes should have carried weight.
Furthermore, in an age when Jewish scholarship itself was considered to be in part an
extension of the struggle for political emancipation, the climate for research in so sensitive
an area was by no means generally favorable. In consequence, those Jewish scholars who had
access to the wealth of Sabbatian documents and eyewitness reports that were still to be found
early in the century failed to take advantage of the opportunity, while by the time a later
generation arrived on the scene the sources had been destroyed and were no longer available
even to anyone who might have desired to make use of them.

The survivors of the Frankists in Poland and of Dönmeh or “apostates” in Salonika formed
yet a third group having a direct interest in disguising the historical facts. These two Sabbatian
sects, both of which formally renounced the Jewish religion (the Dönmeh converting to Islam
in 1683, the Frankists to Catholicism in 1759), continued to adhere to their secret identities
long after their defection from their mother faith; the Dönmeh, in fact, did not disappear until
the present generation, while in the case of the Frankists, whose history in the course of the
19th century is obscure, it is impossible to determine at exactly what point in time they were
finally swallowed up by the rest of Polish society. There is reason to suspect that until the eve
of World War I many original manuscripts and documents were preserved by both these
groups, particularly by a number of Frankist families in Warsaw; but how much of this
material may yet be uncovered, and how much has been purposely destroyed by its owners in
order to conceal forever the secret of their descent, is in no way ascertainable.

Nevertheless, the total picture is not as dark as it may seem to have been painted: despite the
many efforts at suppression, which supplemented, as it were, the inevitable “selective”
process of time itself, a considerable amount of valuable material has been saved. Many of
the accusations made against the “believers” by their opponents can now be weighed (and
more often than not confirmed!) on the basis of a number of the “believers’” own books which
were not allowed to perish. Little by little our knowledge has grown, and although many of

66
the historical details we would like to know will undoubtedly never come to light at all, there
is reason to hope that this important chapter in Jewish history will yet be fully written. In any
event, it is clear that a correct understanding of the Sabbatian movement after the apostasy of
Sabbatai Zevi will provide a new clue toward understanding the history of the Jews in the
18th century as a whole, and in particular, the beginnings of the Haskalah (Enlightenment)
movement in a number of countries.

I do not propose in this essay to trace the outward history of Sabbatianism in its several
manifestations over the century and a half in which it retained its vitality, nor (although I can
hardly conceal my opinion that the entire movement was far more widespread than is
generally conceded even today) do I mean to debate the question of whether this or that
particular individual was or was not a Sabbatian himself. Suffice it to say that the sources in
our possession, meager as they are, make it perfectly clear that the number of Sabbatian rabbis
was far greater than has been commonly estimated, greater even than was believed by that
anti-Sabbatian zealot Rabbi Jacob Emden, who has almost always been accused of
exaggeration. In the present essay, however, I shall put such questions aside and limit myself
to the area that has been the most sadly neglected in the entire field, namely, the origins and
development of Sabbatian thought per se.

If one accepts what Heinrich Graetz and David Kahana have to say on the subject of Sabbatian
theology, it is impossible to understand what its essential attraction ever was; indeed, if it is
true, as both these writers claim, that the entire movement was a colossal hoax perpetrated by
degenerates and frauds, one might well ask why a serious historian should bother to waste his
time on it in the first place. And if this is the case with Sabbatianism in general, how much
more so when one ventures to consider what is undoubtedly the most tragic episode in the
entire drama, that of the Frankists, the psychological barriers to the understanding of which
are incomparably greater. How, for instance, can one get around the historical fact that in the
course of their public disputation with Jewish rabbis in Lvov in 1759 the members of this sect

67
did not even shrink from resorting to the notorious blood libel, an accusation far more painful
to Jewish sensitivities than any of their actual beliefs? A great deal has been written about
this incident, particularly by the eminent historian Meir Balaban, in whose book, On the
History of the Frankist Movement (in Hebrew), it is dealt with exhaustively. Balaban, who
makes the Lvov libel a starting point for his overall inquiry, reaches the significant conclusion
that there was no organic connection between it and the Frankist “articles of faith” presented
at the disputation. The members of the sect, in fact, were reluctant to make the accusation at
all, and did so only at the instigation of the Catholic clergy, which was interested in using
them for purposes of its own, having nothing to do with their Sabbatian background. That
they finally agreed to collaborate in the scheme can be explained by their desire to wreak
vengeance on their rabbinical persecutors.

Thus, though the behavior of the Frankists at Lvov must certainly be judged harshly from
both a universal-ethical and a Jewish-national point of view, it is important to keep in mind
that the blood libels against the Jews (the indications are that there was more than one) do not
in themselves tell us anything about the inner spiritual world of the sect, in all of whose
literature (written one and two generations after the Lvov disputation) not a single allusion to
such a belief is to be found. The truly astonishing thing is that although several important
texts of Frankist teachings actually do exist, not a single serious attempt has so far been made
to analyze their contents. The reason for this is simple. Graetz and A. Kraushar, two reputable
scholars, one of whom wrote a full-length study of Jacob Frank and his Polish followers, were
both of the opinion that there was no such thing as a Frankist “creed,” and that The Sayings
of the Lord, which has come down to us in a Polish version alone, was incoherent nonsense.
According to Kraushar, Frank’s sayings are “grotesque, comical, and incomprehensible,”
while Graetz, whose attitude toward all forms of mysticism is well known, could hardly have
been expected to show much insight into the religious motivations of the sect. Balaban, on
the other hand, is mainly concerned with the outward history of the Frankists up to the time
of their mass conversion, and his reconstruction of their theology is based solely on the

68
positions publicly taken by them in their disputations with the rabbis. It is his reliance on
these “articles of faith,” in fact, which were actually far from accurate reflections of the
Frankists’ true beliefs, that leads him to conclude that after 1759 the history of the sect was
“determined more by the personalities of Jacob Frank and his disciples than by any intrinsic
religious relationship to Judaism.”

I myself cannot agree with Balaban on this point, and in the following pages I shall attempt
to show, at least summarily, that Sabbatianism must be regarded not only as a single
continuous development which retained its identity in the eyes of its adherents regardless of
whether they themselves remained Jews or not, but also, paradoxical though it may seem, as
a specifically Jewish phenomenon to the end. I shall endeavor to show that the nihilism of the
Sabbatian and Frankist movements, with its doctrine—so profoundly shocking to the Jewish
conception of things—that the violation of the Torah could become its true fulfillment
(bittulah shel torah zehu kiyyumah), was a dialectical outgrowth of the belief in the
Messiahship of Sabbatai Zevi, and that this nihilism, in turn, helped pave the way for the
Haskalah and the Reform movement of the 19th century, once its original religious impulse
was exhausted. Beyond this, I hope to make the reader see how within the spiritual world of
the Sabbatian sects, within the very sanctum sanctorum of Kabbalistic mysticism, as it were,
the crisis of faith which overtook the Jewish people as a whole upon its emergence from its
medieval isolation was first anticipated, and how groups of Jews within the walls of the
ghetto, while still outwardly adhering to the practices of their forefathers, had begun to
embark on a radically new inner life of their own. Prior to the French Revolution the historical
conditions were lacking which might have caused this upheaval to break forth in the form of
an open struggle for social change, with the result that it turned further inward upon itself to
act upon the hidden recesses of the Jewish psyche; but it would be mistaken to conclude from
this that Sabbatianism did not permanently affect the outward course of Jewish history. The
desire for total liberation which played so tragic a role in the development of Sabbatian
nihilism was by no means a purely self-destructive force; on the contrary, beneath the surface

69
of lawlessness, antinomianism, and catastrophic negation, powerful constructive impulses
were at work, and these, I maintain, it is the duty of the historian to uncover.

Undeniably, the difficulties in the face of this are great, and it is not to be wondered at that
Jewish historians until now have not had the inner freedom to attempt the task. In our own
times we owe much to the experience of Zionism for enabling us to detect in Sabbatianism’s
throes those gropings toward a healthier national existence which must have seemed like an
undiluted nightmare to the peaceable Jewish bourgeois of the 19th century. Even today,
however, the writing of Jewish history suffers unduly from the influence of 19th-century
Jewish historiography. To be sure, as Jewish historians we have clearly advanced beyond the
vantage point of our predecessors, having learned to insist, and rightly so, that Jewish history
is a process that can only be understood when viewed from within; but in spite of all this, our
progress in applying this truth to concrete historical situations, as opposed to general
historiosophical theories, has been slow. Up to the present [1935—Ed.] only two men,
Siegmund Hurwitz in his From Whither to Where (in Hebrew) and Zalman Rubashov (Shazar)
in his essay “Upon the Ruins of Frankism” (in Hebrew), have shown any true appreciation of
the complexities of Sabbatian psychology, and their work has by and large failed to attract
the attention it deserves.

And now, one last introductory comment. In dismissing the need for objective research on the
Sabbatian and Frankist movements, it has often been asserted that since the phenomena are
essentially pathological, they belong more properly to the study of medicine than to the study
of history. Indeed, an article on “Frank and His Sect in the Light of Psychiatry”
(Bychowski, Ha-Tekufah, Vol. XIV) has actually been published, but it only succeeds in
demonstrating how incapable such an approach is of dealing satisfactorily with the problem.
From the standpoint of sexual pathology it can hardly be doubted that Frank himself was a
diseased individual, just as there can be no question that at the center and among the ranks of
the Sabbatian movement (as in all radical movements that spring from certain particular

70
tensions, some of which are not so far removed from those of “ordinary” life) it would be
possible to find cases of marked mental aberrance. But what is the significance of all this?
We are not, after all, so much concerned with this or that prominent Sabbatian personality as
with the question of why such people were able to attract the following that they did. The
diagnosis of a neurologist would be of little value in determining why thousands of human
beings were able to find a spiritual home in the labyrinth of Sabbatian theology. We must
refuse to be deluded by such convenient tags as “hysteria” or “mass psychosis,” which only
confuse the issue at the same time that they provide an excuse for avoiding it and comfortably
reassure one of one’s own comparative “normality.” It is undoubtedly true that Jacob Frank
was every bit the depraved and unscrupulous person he is supposed to have been, and yet the
moment we seriously ponder his “teachings,” or attempt to understand why masses of men
should have regarded him as their leader and prophet, this same individual becomes highly
problematic. Even more than the psychology of the leader, however, it is the psychology of
the led that demands to be understood, and in the case of Sabbatianism, a movement built
entirely upon paradoxes, this question is crucial indeed. Whatever we may think of Sabbatai
Zevi and Jacob Frank, the fact is: their followers, while they were certainly not “innocents”—
if there was one thing lacking in the paradoxical religion of the Sabbatians, it was
innocence!—were sincere in their faith, and it is the nature of this faith, which penetrated to
the hidden depths and abysses of the human spirit, that we wish to understand.

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 Harris Lenowitz: From Jacob Frank's 'The Words of the Lord'

JEROME ROTHENBERG writes:24

NOTE. As a time of growing dislocations & deconstructions, the eighteenth-century saw changes
of mind that reached into isolated corners of Europe, far removed from the strongholds of both
the Enlightenment & the “natural supernaturalism” & radical mysticisms that were among the
marks of an emerging Romanticism. The messianic Frankist movement as it affected eastern
European Jews involved, like its literary & western counterparts, a shift in language & its
attendant symbols that resembled the shifts emerging as well in the dominant cultures.

Of the work presented below, Harris Lenowitz writes as translator:25 “These are some of
the sayings of Yankiev Leivich, Yakov ben Lev, who called himself Yakov Frank and whom some
called Wise Jacob. Jacob Frank [1726-1791] was a creature of Podolia, Turkey, Poland-in-its-
disintegration. He traveled. His father was a traveling preacher. Frank was a peddler too and
spoke everybody’s language: Balkan, Turkish, Yiddish, Polish, Ladino, with quotations, citations,
and language play from Hebrew and Aramaic. He joined up with Sabbateans, followers of the
messianic movement begun by Shabtai Zvi and Nathan of Gaza [in the seventeenth century],
continued through Barukhya Russo [d. 1721], and temporarily short one messiah. With them he

24
https://jacket2.org/commentary/harris-lenowitz-jacob-franks-words-lord
25
[Several of the nearly 3000 sayings and visions follow – from Lenowitz’s complete translation, waiting to be published, but
available in its entirety
at http://archive.org/stream/TheCollectionOfTheWordsOfTheLordJacobFrank/TheCollectionOfTheWordsOfTheLordJacobFrank
_djvu.txt]:

72
turned against the Talmud, into the Zohar, and out through the Sabbatean pore. He added some
things to the movement: a new emphasis on the Virgin, a passage through Christianity, after the
passage through Islam which Shabtai/Nathan originated, on the way to Esau. Perhaps more
sex. He became a messiah to thousands of Jews.”

In the “words” written down by his followers, the mini-narratives show a range of
transformative experiences that came to him, like vatic prose poems, in the form of dreams &
visions or by observations, simple or not, of the people & events to which his way of life had
brought him. (J.R./H.L.)26

1. I had a vision in Salonika, as though the following words were said to somebody, Go lead Jacob
the wise into the rooms and when you and he come to the first room, I admonish you that all the
doors and gates be opened to him. When I entered the first room, a rose was given to me as a sign
by which I could go on to the next and so on consequenter from one room to the next. And so I
flew in the air accompanied by two maidens [the like of] whose beauty the world has never seen.
In these rooms I saw for the most part women and young ladies. In some, however, there were
assembled only groups of students and teachers, and wherever just the first word was spoken to
me, I immediately grasped the whole matter from it and the full meaning. There was an
innumerable number of these rooms and in the last one of them I saw the First [= Shabtai Zvi] who
also sat as a teacher with his students, dressed in frenk [= Turkish] clothing. This one immediately
asked me, Are you Jacob the wise? I have heard that you are strong and brave-hearted. To this
point have I come, but I have not the strength of proceeding from here further; if you want [to],
strengthen yourself and may God help you, for very many ancestors took that burden upon
themselves, went on this road, but fell. With that, he showed me through the window of this
chamber an abyss which was like a black sea, hidden in extraordinary darkness, and on the other
side of this abyss I saw a mountain whose height seemed to touch the clouds. At that I shouted, Be
what may, I will go with God's help, and so I began to fly on a slant through the air into the depth
until I reached its very bottom, where, having felt the ground, I stopped. Walking in the dark, I
came upon the edge of the mountain and seeing that because of the steep smoothness of the
mountain I had difficulty getting up on it, I was forced to clamber up with my hands and nails and
using all my strength until I reached the top. As soon as I stopped there, an extraordinary scent
reached me; and there were many True-Believers there. Seized by great joy, I did not [yet] want
to go up onto the mountain with my whole body, saying to myself, I will rest awhile here, for sweat
poured from my head like a river in flood on account of the tortures which I had borne to climb
this mountain; but when I am well rested then I will come up on the mountain towards all the good
which is found there. And that is what I did, I let my feet hang and sat with my body and hands at
rest on the mountain. Then I went up on the mountain.

2. Being sick once in Dziurdziów, I had a dream like this. I saw an extraordinarily beautiful
woman, who had a well of the water of life and another well of clear water, and this [woman] said
to me, Put your legs in the water and you will become healthy right away. I did so and became
well. At the place where this woman was found, there was a broad beautiful field, in which she,
taking me by the hand, said, Come, I will show you my daughter who is still a maiden, and I went

26
Translation from the Polish Manuscripts by Harris Lenowitz

73
with her into the depth of that field which gave off an extraordinary scent, from [many] different
flowers. The Maiden, whose beauty nothing in this world could describe, came to meet us there,
and she was dressed in a Polish rubran [a tight-fitting, twisted blouse of heavy, usually red, silk]
and her uncovered breasts were visible. Having noticed this I suddenly saw from one end of the
world to the other. Her mother informed me that if I was desirous to take her for a wife, she would
permit it, but I answered that I had a wife and children.

44. My grandmother, my mother's mother was a very learned astrologer. When I

was born, all the witches assembled around our home and surrounded it, even their queen was
there at their head. There was a dog in our house— a cross between a wolf and a [canine] bitch.
This one did not sleep at all, but barked all the time, for if he had fallen asleep even for a moment,
then they would have seen to it that he would have never awakened, but he kept watch vigilantly.
Then on the 8th day at the circumcision, they surrounded our home as before and wanted to do
something evil, but were unable to because that dog kept guard again, and the old grandmother
with her craft fought against the evil also, saying, Watch him carefully, bring him up properly, for
a new thing will come to the world through him.

451. On the 21st of October, 1784 the Lord saw a dream, I had a golden ring on my hand, and I
dropped that ring onto a mirror, which broke into small pieces, Having turned that mirror onto the
other side, I found shining glass there also, and likewise a bracelet fell from my hands and broke
the other side. He himself gave the interpretation of that; My help hastens to come.

504. In a dream I saw Jesus, having priests around him, sitting at a spring of living and clear water.
I noticed that this spring went away from them and came to me.

748. I saw a dream as if I were in a church, totally naked except for a gray cloak such as the Jesuits
wear, but the chest was bare like the breasts of a woman. The priests were all prepared for the
Resurrection service, but only one priest wore a cloak like mine. All present thought that they
would raise something as was the custom at the Resurrection service, but nothing was raised except
that priest came to me and sprinkled me with pure water. All the people present laughed, that I was
dressed in such a cloak. I wanted to cover my chest, but in spite of all my endeavors, it remained
bare.

791. In a dream I saw a very old woman, 1500 years old. Her hair was white as snow; she brought
me 2 silver belts and a Walachian sausage. I bought one from her and stole the other.

793. In a dream I saw that I went to a great church having a great window, having neither an altar
nor any paintings. The walls were covered with silver. Many Polish lords sat there, they ate and
they drank. They asked me to eat with them, but I said I was weak and could not eat. Moreover, I
had not heard Mass yet. I went to the sacristy, and the sacristy too was beautiful. I saw that a priest
threw off his chasuble and put on another. He went to pray with his hands raised, but without the
chalice, after having entered a certain room, before which hung a curtain of silver material. I
followed and saw a man lying on the ground. He was about 10 cubits long and rolled in the dirt,
but the priest prayed to him. I went to those lords and said to them, Come, I will show you a tasty
comedy, how a man is rolling in the dirt and a priest praying to him. But I was dressed in a long
Polish zupania [the undergarment of the Polish folk costume] and girdled with a precious Persian

74
belt whose ends were very precious; and I wrapped myself around several times with that belt, but
still its end trailed on the ground. The Lord himself interpreted: Some new road is prepared for
me.

804. The Lord saw a dream the 14th of June 1784: Two women came to me, and one man 6 cubits
tall. They were very beautiful, and they said to me, We have heard in the place where we live that
your people have abandoned you and that you do not want to send them on any mission. We have
been dead several thousand years and we have worked a lot, and still we have no peace. We ask
you, Send us. We will go on your mission wholeheartedly. I answered them, I have already said
that I will make revelation to no man, nor bring any near, nor will I send any on a mission. They
asked me, But the signal has already gone out that a great deal of blood will flow in the world, and
we want to go and rescue many; only you bless us for the way. I am a prostak, I replied, and cannot
make a blessing. They asked me, But you bless your people. I replied, I can say no more than this
word: Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and this verse: The angel who delivered me1062 & & ... They said
to me, We have a book here in which stand blessings. Bless us with that book; we only ask you
that you bless us out loud. They gave me the book which was written in large Hebrew letters
without dots. They bent their heads and I, after raising my hands above their heads, blessed them.
There were beautiful words there, but I do not remember more than two words that were at the
end: Du Jankiew, That is Jacob.

852. Her Highness [his daughter Eva] saw a dream on the 5th of July 1784: I saw a little child in
my room; one black man came in with horns on his head. I asked him, What do you want here?
He answered, I have come to take that child from your house. I will not give you that child, I said.
He said, If you will not give him to me willingly, then I will take him by violence. I asked him
who he might be. He replied, First I will take the child, then I will tell you who I am. He took the
child by violence under one arm and under the other he caught up that French girl who was with
me. I asked him again, Who are you? He answered, I am the worst devil of all the devils. The
French girl started to scream loudly and to ask that I rescue her from him, but he did not listen to
her and left with her. Immediately a great fire began to burn in my room, which I tried to put out,
but I couldn't. The Lord came along to put it out, at which a great outcry arose that in the Lord's
room it was burning terribly.

868. It would be better for you if you had been taught the wisdom of sorcery; you would have
known a great deal.

75
 Jasna Góra Monastery was founded in 1382 by Pauline monks who came
from Hungary at the invitation of Władysław, Duke of Opole. The monastery
has been a pilgrimage destination for hundreds of years, and it contains an
important icon of the Virgin Mary. The icon, depicting the Mother of God
with the Christ Child, is known as the Black Madonna of Częstochowa27

Jacob Frank in Czenstochow

Dr. Tzvi Cohen writes:28

The chapter written by the Frankists in Jewish history in the second half of the 18th century is so
strange and repugnant to the Jewish spirit, so unbelievable and incomprehensible that it seems
unlikely that this was entirely possible. There were among the Jews at various times such
movements that were incompatible with Jewish teachings. There were, for example, such sects as
the Karaites who argued with the rabbis over the interpretations of the Torah. There were also sects
that were involved with mysticism and metaphysics, but never (since the times of the first Temple
when a number of Jews served various gods) was there such a sect among the Jews where

27
The city is known for the famous Pauline monastery of Jasna Góra, which is the home of the Black Madonna painting, a shrine
to the Virgin Mary. Every year, millions of pilgrims from all over the world come to Częstochowa to see it.
28
https://www.jewishgen.org/yizkor/czestochowa/cze110.html

76
debauchery and profligacy would be elevated to be mitzvoth [commandments] and good deeds.
And through whom? – Through learned men and former rabbis.

We truly must be astonished to read in the reports of that time of how pious Jews, scholars, Jews
with beards and peyes [side curls] who until then were employed in studying and prayer and only
studied and prayed. Suddenly they threw this all away and invited the public to sex orgies and to
doing this publicly before everyone. It is truly unbelievable that vast numbers of religious zealots
who were very distant from worldliness and who took care not to transgress with the smallest sin
suddenly became so corrupt that they slept openly with their daughters and told their wives to do
the same with their sons: and in general to carry on such wildly passionate relationships that they
cannot be brought to paper….

Was this all under the hypnosis of the seducer Jacob Frank? Did he corrupt the soul of desolate,
ignorant men, thus making an impression on the Jews with his declaration that he was
the moshiakh [redeemer]? However, where were their eyes and where was their sense of seeing
clearly that this soul who was absorbed in pure lust from his head to his feet was not a holy one
and that they did not need to be seduced by him?…

And how far did they go – to conversion, yes. The former rabbi, Elisha Shor, a grandson of
the Tevuot Shor,[1] and his son, also rabbis, were all seduced by this soul to the door of the priest
in Czenstochow where they were sprinkled with Christian holy water. And why [just mention
these]? Ten thousand Jews converted in just a short time. A number of them settled in Kamenetz
Podolsk [Manianets–Podilskyi, Ukraine] and others in Czenstochow to be close to their rabbi.

Had they not simply lost their commonsense? Did they entirely not know of boundaries? Did they
become completely immoral; did this Jacob Frank really have such a hypnotic influence on them?
And how can we understand that these Jews became denouncers and makers of false accusations
and agitated with the priests that the Talmud should be burned on bonfires in the middle of the
day? How can we understand that these former pious ones ran around through Jewish houses and
took a Jewish religious book wherever they could and took it to be burned?

Many psychological experts of the human soul slaved away trying to learn what happened here
and cannot find an answer. Because the followers of Frank who decided to return to Judaism after
Frank left Czenstochow later had regret for this and returned to Christianity and others decided to
throw away the last bit of Yidishkeit [a Jewish way of life] from their homes and prepared to
convert. The movement was particularly strong among the children of the converts who were
raised as Christians and who benefited very little from the teaching of Yidishkeit because

the kehile [organized Jewish community] was small and there was no synagogue and there was no
Jewish life to observe. This led to many of the Frankist children, whose parents were going to
make them Jews again or who themselves became Jews, giving up their connection with Jews
and Yidishkeit and converting. The plague of conversion threw a dread in all Jewish communities
surrounding Czenstochow and the name “Czenstochower shmadnikes” [converts from
Czenstochow] spread everywhere to all the Jewish shtetlekh [towns] in the entire area.
The shamdnikes even introduced the fashion of not changing the Jewish family names, but to add
the ending “owski,” so, for example, someone named Balzam converted and he took the name

77
Balzamowski. A second one who was named Wiszlic took the name Woszlicki and thus it
continued: from Jakubowicz it became Jakubowski and from Icek it became Ickowski and thus
also with other names.

The new community in Czenstochow was without a leader. No rabbi, no religious judge, no one
competent to decide rabbinical matters. But all of these things were found in the
surrounding shtetlekh. Therefore, they would bring kosher meat from Janowa to Czenstochow.
They traveled to the surrounding shtetlekh on the Days of Awe to prayer there. There was no
preacher and no leader in Czenstochow. This had a great effect on the cessation of the conversion
epidemic for a time.

However, it may be that the plague of conversion that opened also the eyes of the small number of
Jews who were there to reflect on this and they began to try to create a Jewish communal life in
Czenstochow.

In a very short time at the beginning of the 19th century we see a great change there. A fine
Jewish kehile grew quickly from a shtetl that was very backwards in Jewish matters. They built a
synagogue and immediately afterwards a house of study. A cemetery was purchased and Jewish
communal institutions arose. Naturally, the first was the khevra kadisha [burial society], but also
many others, not only for the dead but also for the living.

Thus, about Czenstochow we can say the verse: “…from the strong came forth sweetness.” From
the evil manifestation of the Frankists, from their conversion processions to Czenstochow, from
the city in which no Jews were allowed, emerged a great Jewish community that in 1939, before
the destruction by Hitler, was the most beautiful in the entire area. From a minyon of Jews,
Czenstochow became a metropolis and with its rabbis and scholars, with its philanthropists and
institutions, it won a place at the head of Jewish life in Poland. This makes the grief over its
destruction even deeper.

Translator's footnote29
1. Rabbi Alexander Sender Shor – Tevuot Shor is the title of his book on kosher slaughtering.

29
Translated by Gloria Berkenstat Freund

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 Ewa (Awacza) Frank, 1754-1816

The Maiden

Ada Rapoport-Albert writes: 30

In the earlier phases of Frank’s career, his wife Hannah, titled “the Lady,” was paraded as his
consort on ceremonial occasions but appeared to be subject to his dictatorial authority and devoid
of any god-like or messianic attributes of her own. Only after her death in 1770 did Frank begin to
allude to the messianic role of a female figure corresponding to and ultimately embodied in the
new “Lady”—his daughter Eva. The figure he conjured up was the supernal “Maiden”—a

30
https://jwa.org/encyclopedia/article/sabbateanism https://jwa.org/encyclopedia/article/sabbateanism

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heavenly being, surrounded by a coterie of attendant heavenly “sisters,” who was portrayed as the
exact counterpart of Eva and her coterie of earthly “sisters,” selected from among Frank’s closest
female devotees.

The “Maiden” was now beginning to overshadow the mythical figure of the “Big Brother”—
Frank’s own otherworldly “double” who, up until then, had always been presented as the sole
redemptive, quasi-divine figure, intimately connected to and ultimately embodied in Frank
himself. His realization that the supernal “Maiden” was the only “gateway to God” was the result,
as he explained, of his close encounter with the icon of the Black Madonna at Czestochowa—the
most famous Catholic pilgrim site in Poland, where the Polish ecclesiastical authorities
incarcerated him (from 1760 until his liberation by the Russian army at the first partition of Poland
in 1772) once they discovered that his conversion to Catholicism had been insincere and that he
was, in fact, the center of a deviant sectarian cult.

The Madonna—Holy Virgin and Mother of Christ—was, according to Frank, the outer “shell”
within which was concealed the redemptive inner “fruit”—the true holy virgin or the “Maiden.”
In order to reach and expose the “fruit,” it was necessary go through the “shell,” namely to embrace
the religion of “Edom”—Frank’s own version of Christianity, into which, as he claimed, he had
led his followers in anticipation of its imminent collapse.

The collapse of Christianity, together with all other religions, was envisaged as an apocalyptic
event, which would culminate in the inauguration of the Redemption by the fully revealed
“Maiden.” On to this syncretistic notion of the holy messianic “Maiden” Frank grafted the
kabbalistic conception of the female emanation of the godhead, the sefira Malkhut (Kingdom),
which was traditionally associated with the messianic soul and was envisaged by the kabbalists as
rising, at the time of the Redemption, from her lowest position in the hierarchy of the sefirot to its
highest and most sublime point.

Eva was thus conceived as the human incarnation of the kabbalistic sefira Malkhut and the “inner
fruit” of the Christian Holy Virgin, which Frank had fused together in the figure of the messianic
“Maiden.” According to him, it was precisely the failure to recognize that the Messiah must be a
woman that aborted the messianic mission of Shabbetai Zevi, who was not able to discover the
“Maiden” within Islam—the religion of his apostasy—since Islam mandated the “covering up”
and concealment of all females; it also accounted for the failure of all previous Jewish messianic
projects, since within Judaism it was possible only to allude to the “Maiden” in the symbols of the
Kabbalah, but not to reveal her to the entire world in her earthly, human incarnation.

After her father’s death in 1791, Eva Frank presided over the sectarian “court” at Offenbach. She
continued to be venerated as the messianic figurehead and was expected to accomplish her mission,

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but with the persisting failure of the Redemption to materialize, her following dwindled, as did the
financial resources that had at one time been lavished on the “court” by her father’s devotees.

Her death in undignified poverty in 1816 marked the effective demise not only of the messianic
movement but also of the tradition—such as it was—of publicly displayed and fully acknowledged
female spirituality, a tradition which culminated in the gender revolution envisaged and, at least
in part, implemented by the Sabbateans, but which came to an abrupt end once it became firmly
associated with the collapse of the halakhic framework, and above all with the unleashed force of
illicit female sexuality.

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