Chagigah 4b ~ Pandemic Theodicy

On today’s page of Talmud Rav Yosef makes a radical suggestion. Sometimes death comes to those who do not deserve it.

חגיגה ד, ב

רַב יוֹסֵף כִּי מָטֵי לְהַאי קְרָא, בָּכֵי: ״וְיֵשׁ נִסְפֶּה בְּלֹא מִשְׁפָּט״, אָמַר: מִי אִיכָּא דְּאָזֵיל בְּלָא זִמְנֵיהּ? אִין, כִּי הָא דְּרַב בִּיבִי בַּר אַבָּיֵי הֲוָה שְׁכִיחַ גַּבֵּיהּ מַלְאַךְ הַמָּוֶת. אֲמַר לֵיהּ לִשְׁלוּחֵיהּ: זִיל אַיְיתִי לִי מִרְיָם מְגַדְּלָא שְׂיעַר נַשְׁיָיא. אֲזַל, אַיְיתִי לֵיהּ מִרְיָם מְגַדְּלָא דַּרְדְּקֵי

When Rav Yosef reached this verse, he cried: “But there are those swept away without justice” (Proverbs 13:23). He said: Is there one who goes before his time and dies for no reason?

Yes, like this incident of Rav Beivai bar Abaye, who would be frequented by the company of the Angel of Death and would see how people died at the hands of this angel. The Angel of Death said to his agent: Go and bring me, i.e., kill, Miriam the raiser, i.e., braider, of women’s hair. He went, but instead brought him Miriam, the raiser of babies.

Rav Yosef, a Babylonian sage who died in 323, developed this observation into a theological tenet: “Once permission is given to the Destroyer to kill, he does not distinguish between the righteous and the wicked. And not only that, but he begins with the righteous first, as it is stated in the verse (Ezekiel 21:8): “And will cut off from you the righteous and the wicked.” In Bava Kamma (60a) Rav Yosef applied his suggestion to include deaths that occur during a pandemic:

בבא קמא ס,א

תאני רב יוסף מאי דכתיב (שמות יב, כב) ואתם לא תצאו איש מפתח ביתו עד בקר כיון שניתן רשות למשחית אינו מבחין בין צדיקים לרשעים ולא עוד אלא שמתחיל מן הצדיקים תחלה שנאמר (יחזקאל כא, ח) והכרתי ממך צדיק ורשע

Rav Yosef taught a baraita: What is the meaning of that which is written with regard to the plague of the firstborn: “And none of you shall go out of the opening of his house until the morning” (Exodus 12:22)? If the plague was not decreed upon the Jewish people, why were they not permitted to leave their homes? Once permission is granted to the destroyer to kill, it does not distinguish between the righteous and the wicked. And not only that, but it begins with the righteous first, as it is stated in the verse: “And will cut off from you the righteous and the wicked” (Ezekiel 21:8), where mention of the righteous precedes the wicked.

Pandemic Deaths and The Problem of Theodicy

Death does indeed come randomly during a pandemic, and this teaching of Rav Yosef has been cited countless times in rabbinic literature.

Infectious diseases in the Talmudic world were often capricious, just as they are in our own. They might strike children or the elderly, or bypass them entirely and claim the lives of young, healthy adults. While those who were already sick and ailing from other causes were, and are, at an increased risk of death or disability during a pandemic, those who are perfectly healthy might die in a matter of a few hours. If there was no pattern or predictability, how was the talmudic mind to explain it all? “Be assured,” the Book of Proverbs taught, “that the wicked will not go unpunished, but those who are righteous will escape.” (Proverbs 11:21.) Pandemics tested the very notion of God’s divine justice.

The sages explained that natural disasters were not random events (for how could they be?) but were just chastisement for any number of sins. According to the Mishnah in Avot (5:8, 9) famine was the result of failing to tithe properly, attacks from wild animals were a punishment for swearing in vain or profaning God’s holy name, and plagues were the result of sins otherwise punishable by death, but which had not, or could not, be referred to a Jewish court for adjudication. They were the natural result of sin, even if the sin was unknown to others or mysterious even to the sinner. Plagues and pandemics might also be the result of a sin for which there was no court sanction at all; instead, it was left to God to exact the punishment (Yoma 66b). 

But this strain of thought in which only the wicked perish in a pandemic was not the only approach taken by the rabbis of the Mishnah and Talmud. Indeed, as soon as this solution to the challenge of theodicy – that all deaths are deserved – had been suggested, it was challenged by everyday observation: bad things do happen to perfectly good people. The sages of Talmud took note of the innocents that lay buried around them and connected their deaths to a verse from Proverbs 13:23. “Some are swept away without justice.” This gave rise to a different approach in which it was no-longer assumed that all those who died in a pandemic were sinners deserving of their punishment. This is the teaching of Rav Yosef on today’s page of Talmud. In this new paradigm, perfectly innocent victims could be “swept away,” because once permission had been granted for the Angel of Death to go about his grim duty, everyone became a legitimate target.

Pandemic Exceptionalism

This statement of Rav Yosef in today’s page of Talmud is the focus of an essay by Rabbi Rabbi Shaul Magid, a professor of Jewish studies who received several orthodox rabbinic ordinations, although he has since moved away from these roots towards a more egalitarian practice of Judaism. His essay appears in an important recent book called Torah in a Time of Plague: Historical and Contemporary Jewish Responses, edited by Erin Leib Smokler, which was awarded the 2021 National Jewish Book Award for Modern Jewish Thought and Experience. Rabbi Magid noted that this passage “resists the notion of collapsing plagues into covenantal categories, whereby we can see them as acts of divine intervention to punish evildoers, Jews or non-Jews. Rather…plagues seem to be arbitrary occurrences.” Magid argues that plagues and pandemics are cases of what he calls a “covenantal exception.” This exception is a crucial theological category, for “without the notion of the arbitrary as extra-covenantal, Judaism becomes vulnerable to making all disasters, even those that equally affect non-Jews, the fault of the Jews, which could easily, and understandably, evoke negative reactions. Plague as the exception thus enables Jews to understand natural disasters outside the paradigm of reward and punishment.”

To support this suggestion, Magid cites the talmudic passage from today’s page of Talmud. In it, the Angel of Death was given permission to kill “Miriam the braider of women’s hair” but instead killed “Miriam the raiser of babies.” Rav Yosef, observes that pandemics do not distinguish between sinners and saints and developed it into a theological tenet: “Once permission is given to the Destroyer to kill, he does not distinguish between the righteous and the wicked.” Pandemic deaths are arbitrary. Magid notes that unlike the response to famine which includes penance, personal reflection is not mentioned in the Talmud as a reaction to pandemic deaths. The Talmud could have offered “a predictable response that would include both physical avoidance and acts geared towards nullification.” But it was silent.

The Problem with Covanental Exception

Magid’s theory of covenantal exception might illuminate the passage in Bava Kamma, but it does not explain numerous other Talmudic references which teach that pandemics are the consequence of community sin or personal religious laxity. And there were other Talmudic sages who remained convinced that there could be no innocent victims before God. According to Rabbi Hanina (Hullin 7b) “a person injures his finger on earth only if they declare about him on high that he should be injured.” Neither does it explain the many rabbis who, over the fifteen hundred years since the closing of the Talmud, have continued to emphasize the same message: pandemics are caused by sin and may be extinguished by repentance. There was no covenantal exception when the Torah described the deaths of twenty-four thousand people in a plague that punished immorality. There was no covenantal exception in the Mishnah (Avot 5:8) when it taught that plagues were the result of sins punishable by death. And there was no covenantal exception made for the epidemic waves of diphtheria, called askara in the Talmud , that was described as the most painful of all deaths and was the punishment for eating foods that are not kosher and for speaking ill of others.

Magid’s approach is lacking because it does not account for these other cases. However, it uncovers a much larger theme. There has never been a single Jewish response to the problem of theodicy. In some locales, in some books and in some eras, a pandemic was understood to be divine retribution for religious offenses of one sort or another. And in other locales, eras, and books, pandemics were understood to be natural disasters that killed those who were entirely innocent of sin. Magid’s theory of covenantal exception can only explain the latter, and even then, it leaves unanswered the question of why pandemics kill the just and the innocent in a world that is supposed to exist under the watchful protection of a benevolent God.

To read more about pandemic theodicy see my recent essay “Why Pandemics Happen to Good People” published last month on The Lehrhaus, and available here.

Chagigah 3b ~ Werewolves, Lycanthropy, and Mental Illness

In this post:

The Three Signs of Mental Illness

What is Gandrifus? Koren vs Artscroll (and Jastrow)

The Parallel Discussion in the Yerushalmi: “Man-dog”

Lycanthropy in the Ancient World

Lycanthropy and Mental Illness

Lycanthropy and Porphyria. Or Not

Lycanthropy and Melancholy

Binyamin the Werewolf

Rashi also believed in Werewolves

Summary

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The three Signs of Mental Illness

This page of Talmud contains a fascinating discussion of what features a person must demonstrate to be declared a shoteh, or what today we might call mentally ill or insane. First, the rabbis give a description of three behaviors that might lead to this diagnosis:

חגיגה ג, ב

תָּנוּ רַבָּנַן אֵיזֶהוּ שׁוֹטֶה הַיּוֹצֵא יְחִידִי בַּלַּיְלָה וְהַלָּן בְּבֵית הַקְּבָרוֹת וְהַמְקָרֵעַ אֶת כְּסוּתוֹ אִיתְּמַר רַב הוּנָא אָמַר עַד שֶׁיְּהוּ כּוּלָּן בְּבַת אַחַת רַבִּי יוֹחָנָן אָמַר אֲפִילּוּ בְּאַחַת מֵהֶן

The Sages taught: Who is considered an insane? (1) One who goes out alone at night, (2) and one who sleeps in a cemetery, (3) and one who rends his garment. It was stated that Rav Huna said: A person does not have the halakhic status insanity until all of these signs are present at the same time. Rabbi Yochanan said: He is considered insane even due to the appearance of only one of these signs.

So far so good. This is an argument whether you need just one behavior (Rabbi Yochanan) or all three (Rav Huna). Next, there is a discussion as to whether, if there is a rational explanation for these behaviors, they could still contribute to a diagnosis of insanity. Well, says the Talmud, it depends:

יכִי דָמֵי אִי דְּעָבֵיד לְהוּ דֶּרֶךְ שְׁטוּת אֲפִילּוּ בַּחֲדָא נָמֵי אִי דְּלָא עָבֵיד לְהוּ דֶּרֶךְ שְׁטוּת אֲפִילּוּ כּוּלְּהוּ נָמֵי לָא 

לְעוֹלָם דְּקָא עָבֵיד לְהוּ דֶּרֶךְ שְׁטוּת וְהַלָּן בְּבֵית הַקְּבָרוֹת אֵימוֹר כְּדֵי שֶׁתִּשְׁרֶה עָלָיו רוּחַ טוּמְאָה הוּא דְּקָא עָבֵיד וְהַיּוֹצֵא יְחִידִי בַּלַּיְלָה אֵימוֹר גַּנְדְּרִיפַס אַחְדֵּיהּ וְהַמְקָרֵעַ אֶת כְּסוּתוֹ אֵימוֹר בַּעַל מַחְשָׁבוֹת הוּא כֵּיוָן דְּעַבְדִינְהוּ לְכוּלְּהוּ הָוֵה לְהוּ

The case is about a person who performs these actions in a deranged manner, but each action on its own could be explained rationally. With regard to one who sleeps in the cemetery, one could say that he is doing so in order that an impure spirit should settle upon him. [Although it is inappropriate to do this, as there is a reason for this behavior it is not a sign of madness.] And with regard to one who goes out alone at night, one could say that gandrifus took hold of him and he is trying to cool himself down. And as for one who tears his garments, one could say that he is a man engaged in thought, and out of anxiety he tears his clothing unintentionally.

What is Gandrifus? Koren vs Artscroll (and jastrow)

Today, Talmudology will focus on the behavior described as gandrifus - (גַּנְדְּרִיפַס). The Koren Talmud, whose online translation at Sefaria is the one that we usually cite, translates this word as a “fever that took hold of a person,” following the second explanation of Rashi:

דהיוצא יחידי בלילה אימור גנדריפס אחדיה אני שמעתי חולי האוחז מתוך דאגה ולי נראה שנתחמם גופו ויוצא למקום האויר…

“I have heard” Rashi says, “that gandrifus is a fever, and the person, goes outside to cool down.” But Rashi’s first explanation is more in keeping with a mental illness: “I have heard this is when a person is gripped by depression [da’agah, also worry]. But the Artscroll (Schottenstein) English Talmud has a completely different translation. Here it is:

אֵימוֹר גַּנְדְּרִיפַס אַחְדֵּיהּ- one could say that a fit of lycanthropy seized him.

In a footnote, the translators explain that “Lycanthropy is a type of melancholy, which comes from worry.” The Soncino English Talmud also translates the gandrifus as lycanthropy, though it leaves out the melancholy part. (Goldschmidt’s 1929 German translation makes no mention of wolves: “nachts allein ausgegangen sein, weil er von der Melancholie befallen wurde.” But the Hebrew ArtScroll skips this explanation entirely, and translates gandrifus according to Rashi’s second explanation, though it expands on it in a footnote.)

But hang on, surely something is amiss here. Lycanthropy, according to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, means either “a delusion that one has become a wolf” or “the assumption of the form and characteristics of a wolf held to be possible by witchcraft or magic.” What does that have to do with depression?

But in fact, and as we shall see in some detail, the Artscroll translation appears to be the one that is most appropriate. Let’s begin with Marcus Jastrow and his famous dictionary, which has an entry for this strange word gandrifus. Here it is in the original:

So according to Jastrow, a person with gandrofus (there are variant spellings of the word in Hebrew) believes himself to be a wolf. But not just any wolf. A sad wolf. The word is a corrupt version of the Greek word λυκαθρωπία, lykthropia, meaning “wolf-like.” And you can even hear the similarity between the two words gan-dro-fus and (ly)kan-tro-py.

The Parallel Discussion in the Yerushalmi: “MAn-dog”

There is a similar passage in the Talmud Yerushalmi that lists the signs of insanity, and it uses a slightly different word, kunitrofus (קֻנִיטְרוֹפּוֹס), which is why Jastrow lists the two versions under the same entry. The English translation of this passage, also from Sefaria, is by Heinrich Guggenheimer, “a renowned mathematician who also published works on Judaism,” and who died last year at the age of 97.

ירושלמי תרומות א, א

סֵימָנֵי שׁוֹטֶה הַיּוֹצֵא בַלָּיְלָה וְהַלָּן בְּבֵית הַקְּבָרוֹת וְהַמְּקַרֵעַ אֶת כְּסוּתוֹ וְהַמְּאַבֵּד מַה שֶׁנּוֹתְנִין לוֹ. אָמַר רִבִּי הוּנָא וְהוּא שֶׁיְּהֵא כוּלְּהֶן בּוֹ דִּלָא כֵן אֲנִי אוֹמֵר הַיּוֹצֵא בַלָּיְלָה קֻנִיטְרוֹפּוֹס

 . הַלָּן בְּבֵית הַקְּבָרוֹת מַקְטִיר לַשֵּׁדִים. הַמְּקַרֵעַ אֶת כְּסוּתוֹ כוֹלִיקוֹס. וְהַמְּאַבֵּד מַה שֶׁנּוֹתְנִין לוֹ קִינִיקוֹס. רִבִּי יוֹחָנָן אָמַר אֲפִילוּ אַחַת מֵהֶן. אָמַר רִבִּי בּוּן מִסְתַּבְּרָה מַה דְּאָמַר רִבִּי יוֹחָנָן אֲפִילוּ אַחַת מֵהֶן בִּלְבַד בִּמְאַבֵּד מַה שֶׁנּוֹתְנִין לֹו אֲפִילוּ שׁוֹטֶה שֶׁבְּשׁוֹטִים אֵין מְאַבֵּד כָּל־מַה שֶׁנּוֹתֵן לוֹ

The signs of an insane: One who goes out in the night, stays overnight in a graveyard, tears his clothing, and destroys what one gives to him. Rebbi Huna said, only if all of that is in him since otherwise I say that one who goes out in the night is a man-dog;

One who stays overnight in a graveyard burns incense to spirits, he who tears up his clothing is a choleric person; Rebbi Jochanan said, even only one of these is proof. Rebbi Abun said, what Rebbi Jochanan said, even only one of these is reasonable only for him who destroys what one gives to him; even the greatest idiot does not destroy all one gives to him.

So according to the late Heinrich Guggenheimer, a kunitrofus is a “man-dog.” He certainly did his homework, because this is how it is translated in Lidell’s classic Greek-English lexicon, first published in 1843, (and, fun bonus fact, Lewis Carroll wrote Alice's Adventures in Wonderland for Henry Liddell's daughter Alice).

Now would also be a good time to explain the etymology of the word werewolf, which according to Daniel Ogden’s very recent book The Werewolf in the Ancient World, probably comes from the Anglo-Saxon w(e)arg meaning outsider, “in which case werewulf is to have signified ‘outsider-wolf’ in origin” (p8).

Lycanthropy in the Ancient World

Perhaps the earliest legend of a human turning into a wolf comes from the Greek myth of Lycaon, which dates back to the sixth century BCE. Lycaon gave Zeus a human sacrifice, which made Zeus very angry. So angry, that he turned Lycaon into a wolf.

Another legend is the story of Petronius and the werewolf, which Ogden attested to around 66CE, in which a traveller is turned into a werewolf and secures the safety of the clothes he will need to transform himself back into a human by urinating on them as they lay in a graveyard. He is later identified as a werewolf when a wound on his neck is identified as the one inflicted on him while in lupine form. (There is a terrific animated video of the simplified story in Latin (!) with subtitles, and very much worth the four minute watch, available here.) There are many more versions, including the tale of Damarchus from around the same time, in which Damarchus is tricked into eating human flesh, and is transformed into a wolf. All of which is enough to show that the rabbis of the Talmud may have heard of these legends too.

Lycanthropy and Mental Illness

Lycanthropy, as the term is used today, does not mean the ability to transform oneself into a wolf (because, well, there is no such ability). Instead, it is the belief that one has been transformed into an animal, or the display of animal-like behavior suggesting such a belief. And there are case reports of this mental illness. Here is one, from a paper published in 1999 in the British journal Psychopathology: 

Mrs T. is a 53-year-old Caucasian lady.  She is divorced and lives in a residential home for recovered mentally ill. She has been diagnosed as epileptic since the age of 11. She is prone to suffer complex partial seizures in the form of epigastric aura, followed by turning the head to the left side, with loss of consciousness... She has been treated with several antiepileptics…At the age of 27 she went to Singapore with her husband who was working in the navy. She started to develop severe depression and suicidal ideas. So she came back to the UK and was admitted to a psychiatric hospital. Since then she has had 4 admissions mainly due to depression and suicidal attempts. She had one admission due to a manic attack. During this attack she had accelerated thoughts, disinhibited behaviour and speech, talking to strangers about having had oral sex.

At all her admissions she manifested delusions in the form of beliefs that her heart was not working or that she was dead or part of her body had died. After each discharge she returned to her normal level of functioning.

During her last admission, in 1996, she took an overdose of temazepam. She said that she did not intend to kill herself at that time. However, she was escaping from the belief that claws were growing in her feet. She found a support for her belief when the chiropodist could not cut her nails. When she was asked about the meaning of having claws she said that she was going to be ‘lunatic’. She could not give an explanation of the word lunatic more than changing into a helpless person. ... Her psychotic symptoms were treated with anti-psychotic medication. However, the frequency of fits was high during this time. Although she was stabilised in her mood after the last discharge, her husband found the whole situation very difficult.

In the last follow-up in the out-patient clinic she still had the belief that claws grew in her feet mainly at night when she was not wearing shoes and socks.

But lycanthropy is not limited to the British. The American Journal of Psychiatry also reported a case of lycanthropy, in which the patient, a forty-nine-year-old married woman, “presented on an urgent basis for psychiatric evaluation because of delusions of being a wolf” and “feeling like an animal with claws.” She suffered from extreme apprehension and felt that she was no longer in control of her own fate; she said, “A voice was coming out of me.”  The report continues:

The patient chronically ruminated and dreamed about wolves. One week before her admission, she acted on these ruminations for the first time. At a family gathering, she disrobed, assumed the female sexual posture of a wolf, and offered herself to her mother.

This episode lasted for approximately 20 minutes. The following night, after coitus with her husband she growled, scratched, and gnawed at the bed. She stated that the devil came into her body and she became an animal. Simultaneously, she experienced auditory hallucinations. There was no drug involvement or alcoholic intoxication. 

The patient was treated in a structured inpatient program…and placed on neuroleptic medication. During the first 3 weeks, she suffered relapses when she said such things as “I am a wolf of the night; I am a wolf of the day…I have claws, teeth, fangs, hair…and anguish is my prey at night…the gnashing and snarling of teeth…powerless is my cause, I am what I am and will always roam the earth long after death….”

She exhibited strong homosexual urges almost irresistible zoophilic drives, and masturbatory compulsions – culminating in the delusion of a wolflike metamorphosis...

By the fourth week she had stabilized considerably, reporting, “I went and looked into a mirror and the wolf eye was gone.” There was only one other short-lived relapse, which responded to reassurance by experienced personnel. With the termination of that episode, which occurred on the night of a full moon, she wrote what she experienced: “I don’t intend to give up my search for [what] I lack…in my present marriage…my search for such a hairy creature. I will haunt the graveyards…” She was discharged during the night week of hospitalization on neuroleptic medication.

This very ill woman was diagnosed with “pseudoneurotic schizophrenia.” Her symptoms, wrote the psychiatrists who authored this case report, “were organized about a lycanthropic matrix,” and included the following classic symptoms: 

1. Delusions of werewolf transformation under extreme stress.

2. Preoccupation with religious phenomenology, including feeling victimized by the evil eye.

3. Reference to obsessive need to frequent graveyards and woods.

 The causes of this terrible mental affliction include schizophrenia, manic-depressive psychosis, and psychomotor epilepsy. But there is also porphyria.

“Common to all the ‘scientific’ attempts at explanation mentioned here is the desire to make the actions of historical protagonists comprehensible in terms of modern categories. Even in the twentieth century, the sinister figure of the werewolf seems to spark the need for rationalization.”

— Nadine Metzger. Battling demons with medical authority: werewolves, physicians and rationalization. Hist Psychiatry 2013; 24(3): 341–355.

 Lycanthropy and Porphyria. Or not

Another possible cause of lycanthropy is the rare metabolic disease called porphyria, made famous as the cause of the madness of King George III. As a result missing enzymes (and there are several varieties of the illness) there is a build up of porphyrins in the body, which eventually become toxic. The condition is characterized by:

1.  Severe photosensitivity in which a vesicular erythema is produced by the action of light. This may be especially noticeable in the summer months or in a mountainous region.

2. The urine is often reddish-brown as a result of the presence of large quantities of porphyrins.

3. Over the years the skin lesions ulcerate, and attack the cartilage and bone. Over a period of years structures such as the nose, ears, eyelids and fingers undergo progressive mutilation.

4. The teeth may turn red or reddish brown due to the deposition of porphyrins.

There are a few suggestions in the medical literature that lycanthropy might be explained by porphyria (like this paper, and this one). In his frequently cited 1964 paper, the British physician Leon Illis wrote that “the red teeth, the passage of red urine, the nocturnal wanderings, the mutilation of face and hands,the deranged behaviour: what could these suggest to a primitive, fear-ridden,and relatively isolated community? Fig 2 gives an obvious answer.” And the figure is shown below.

Image of a victim of porphyria. Could this be a case mistaken for a werewolf? From L. Illis. On porphyria and the aetiology of werewolves. Proceedings of the Royal Society of Medicine 1964: 57; 23-26.

But others are not so sure. In his excellent review paper “Werewolves and the Abuse of History,” the Dutch anthropologist Willem de Blécourt wrote that we need to be careful of a special group of amateur werewolf authors. The doctors.

Not having been trained in either history of folklore (or cultural studies), they have used selective texts to diagnose “the werewolf.” One of the results is that werewolf publications are now saddled with what is confusingly called “the werewolf syndrome,” namely hypertrichosis, a rare somatic condition that leaves its sufferers with hair either all over their body or in places where it usually does not grow….they are also connected to another very rare condition,“congenital erythropoietic porphyria” (or CEP). Further, within psychiatry there is now a recognized affliction called “lycanthropy,” denoting humans who are under the delusion that they have changed into a number of animals, among them, a wolf.

The problem, according to Blecourt, begins with the belief that the werewolf legend must have something tangible behind it. As Illis wrote in 1964, “a belief as widespread both in time and place as that of the werwolf [Illis’s spelling] must have some basis in fact. Either werwolves exist or some phenomenon must exist or have existed on which, by the play of fear, superstition and chance, a legend was built and grew.” But Illis based himself on only one late nineteenth century Dutch report, which was “was not even a wolf, but only a translation of a local term, denoting someone who can change into a cat, boar, monkey, deer, water buffalo, crocodile, or ant heap.” This author, according to Blecourt, “appears not to have been too concerned with European werewolves, but to have specifically drawn his werewolf picture to fit porphyria symptoms.” The problem is that many of the modern explanations are based on film depictions of werewolves, which themselves reinvented the legend, rather than being based on archival sources. “What stands out in the flood of recent popular werewolf publications” Blecourt lamented, “is that their authors, apart from occasionally branching out to people who are shifting into other animals, pay abundant attention to fiction, especially as expressed on television and in the cinema, and to “scientific” theories about the beast’s origin.”

 Lycanthropy and melancholy

Is there a connection between lycanthropy and depression? In his very helpful paper Medical and Neuropsychiatric Aspects of Lycanthropy, Miles Drake explained thar melancholy, one of the four humors that were thought to control our health and character, “came also to represent the pathological state of mood aberration. Lycanthropy was widely held to represent an excess of melancholy.” While we read this connection in the ArtScroll translation of this page of Talmud, it can also be found in other texts. In 1586, the Italian Tomaso Garzoni published L’Hospedale de’ pazzi incurabilim, which was translated into English in 1600 as “The hospital for incurable fooles." In it, the author reported that

Among the humours of melancholy, the physicians place a kind of madness by the Greeks called Lycanthropia, termed by the latins insania lupina, or wolves furie: which bringeth a man to this point . . . that in Februarie he will goe out of the house in the night like a wolf, hunting about the graves of the dead with great howling, and pluck the dead mens bones out of the sepulchers, carrying them about the streets to the great fear and astonishment of all them that meet him ... melancholike persons of this kinde, have pale faces, soaked and hollow eyes, with a weak sight, never shedding one tear to the view of the world, a dry tongue, extreme thirst, and they want spittle and moisture exceedingly.

The connection between lycanthropy and melancholy (or what today we would call depression) was explicitly made by the English writer Robert Burton (1577-1640) in his massive work, The Anatomy of Melancholy, first published in 1621. Burton, who himself seems to have suffered from melancholy, wrote that the affliction can cause terrible physical suffering.

Melancholie abounding in their head, and occupieing their brane, hath deprived or rather depraved their judgements, and all their senses.., the force which melancholic hath, and the effects that it worketh in the bodie are almost incredible. For as some of these melancholike persons imagine, they are . . brute beasts .... Through melancholie they were alienated from themselves . . they may imagine, that they can transforme their owne bodies, which nevertheless remaineth in the former shape.

Burton noted that madness and melancholy are often conflated, and that the two can combine to produce religious visions and revelations, as well as lycanthropy:

There are other case reports about werewolves in the early modern period. Here is one from the French writer Simon Goulart’s Admirable and Memorable Histories, which was translated into English in 1607.

in the yeare 1541 who thought himselfe to bee a Wolfe, setting vpon diuers men in the fields, and slew some. In the end being with great difficultie taken, hee did constantlye affirme that hee was a Wolfe, and that there was no other difference, but that Wolues were commonlie hayrie without, and hee was betwixt the skinne and the flesh. Some (too barbarous and cruell Wolues in effect) desiring to trie the truth thereof, gaue him manie wounds vpon the armes and legges: but knowing their owne error, and the innocencie of the poore melancholic man, they committed him to the Surgions to cure, in whose hands hee dyed within fewe days after. ( page 387.)

“Lycanthropy is a rare phenomenon, but it does exist. It should be regarded as a complex and not a diagnostic entity. Furthermore, although it may generally be an expression of an underlying schizophrenic condition, at least five other differential diagnostic entities must be considered. ”

— Rosenstock H.A, Vincent K.R. A Case of Lycanthropy. Am J Psychiatry. 1977; 134:10; 1147-1149.

binyamin the werewolf

Since there was a widespread belief that people can turn into wolves, we should not be surprised that it can also be found in rabbinic literature. The most famous example is that of the twelfth century French scholar Rabbeinu Ephraim ben Shimshon in his commentary on the Torah. In a discussion about a verse that describes Binyamin, one of the sons of Jacob, as a “predatory wolf” (Genesis 44:29), Rabbenu Ephraim explained that this means Binyamin was a werewolf.

Image from here.

Another explanation: Binyamin was a “predatory wolf,” sometimes preying upon people. When it was time for him to change into a wolf, as it says, “Binyamin is a predatory wolf,” as long as he was with his father, he could rely upon a physician, and in that merit he did not change into a wolf. For thus it says, “And he shall leave his father and die” (Gen. 44:22)—namely, that when he separates from his father, and turns into a wolf with travelers, whoever finds him will kill him.

Rabbeinu Ephraim has more to say about werewolves in general, and how they relate to Binyamin. This can be found in his commentary to Genesis 35:27. It turns out that Binyamin the werewolf ate his mother, the matriarch Rachel:

Image from here.

There is a type of wolf that is called loup-garou (werewolf), which is a person that changes into a wolf. When it changes into a wolf, his feet emerge from between his shoulders. So too with Binyamin - “he dwells between the shoulders” (Deuteronomy 33:12). The solution for [dealing with] this wolf is that when it enters a house, and a person is frightened by it, he should take a firebrand and thrust it around, and he will not be harmed. So they would do in the Temple; each day, they would throw the ashes by the altar, as it is written, “and you shall place it by the altar” (Leviticus 6:3); and so is the norm with this person whose offspring turn into wolves, for a werewolf is born with teeth, which indicates that it is out to consume the world. Another explanation: a werewolf is born with teeth, to show that just as this is unusual, so too he will be different from other people. And likewise, Binyamin ate his mother, who died on his accord, as it is written, “And it was as her soul left her, for she was dying, and she called his name ‘the son of my affliction’ ” (Genesis 35:18).

Rashi also believed in Werewolves

Another medieval commentator, this one much better known, also believed in werewolves. He is known as Rashi. Here is his commentary on Job 5:23:

איוב 5:23

כִּ֤י עִם־אַבְנֵ֣י הַשָּׂדֶ֣ה בְרִיתֶ֑ךָ וְחַיַּ֥ת הַ֝שָּׂדֶ֗ה השְׁלְמָה־לָּֽךְ׃

For you will have a pact with the rocks in the field, And the beasts of the field will be your allies.

וחית השדה. הוא שנקרא גרוש"ה בלע"ז וזו היא חית השדה ממש ובלשון משנה תורת כהנים נקראים אדני השדה

and the beasts of the field That is what is known as grouse(?) in Old French, and this is actually a beast of the field. In the language of the Mishnah in Torath Kohanim, they are called “adnei hasadeh.”

In order to translate the old French word גרוש"ה (which should be read as garove), we turn to Otzar halo’azim, a dictionary of Rashi’s old French. Under entry #4208 we read the following:

Moshe Catano, the author of this dictionary, tells us that the Rashi was using the old French word for a “man-wolf, which is refers to the legends of a man that turns into a wolf.” So yes, Rashi seems to have believed in werewolves.

Summary

We have covered a lot of material, all of which was needed to explain not only the meaning of the talmudic word gandrofus, but also its use in the context of ancient nosology. Here is a summary:

1. The Talmud lists gandrofus as a kind of illness which while serious, is not enough to provide an exemption from the mitzvah to appear in the Temple.

2. ArtScroll, Soncino and Jastrow (but not Rashi) explain it to mean lycanthropy and (per ArtScroll,) melancholy.

3. Lycanthropy, the belief that a person could turn into a wolf, was a widespread belief in the ancient world, the medieval world, and the early modern world too. Rashi cites the legend.

4. Lycanthropy was associated with melancholy, an early term for depression.

5. And so gandrofus is the affliction of lycanthropy and depression.

6. Despite this, a person suffering from gandrofus is not exempt from the mitzvah of appearing in the Temple.

7. ArtScroll’s translation is the preferred one.

8. QED.

Mo'ed Katan 25b ~ Why is Death Bad?

Before the death of the great Babylonian sage Ravina, there was a discussion of what would be said at his funeral. Bar Avin, who was known as a talented eulogizer, suggested this:

מועד קטן כה, ב

בְּכוּ לָאֲבֵלִים וְלֹא לָאֲבֵידָה, שֶׁהִיא לִמְנוּחָה וְאָנוּ לַאֲנָחָה

Cry for the mourners and not for that which was lost, as that which was lost [i.e., the soul of Ravina,] has gone to its eternal rest, while we, the mourners, are left with our sighs.

In these few words, Bar Avin hinted at a philosophical debate that has endured for millennia. What, exactly is bad about death?

What bad about death?

The German poet Friedrich Gottlieb Klopstock (1724-1803) suggested that the badness of death is losing your friends, which he descries in his poem Separation:

You turned so serious when the corpse

was carried past us;

are you afraid of death? “Oh, not of that!”

Of what are you afraid? “Of dying.”

I not even of that. “Then you’re afraid of nothing?”

Alas, I am afraid, afraid…”Heavens, of what?”

Of parting from my friends.

And not mine only, of their parting too.

That’s why I turned more serious even

than you did, deeper in the soul,

when the corpse

was carried past us.

But the Yale philosopher Shelly Kagan believes there is much more to the badness of death than just losing contact with your friends, sad as that is. In his terrific book death (small d), Kagan suggests that we cannot think about the badness of death by thinking of the survivors. Instead “ we have to think about how it could be true that death is bad for the person that dies…what is it about being dead that is bad for me?” And this is harder to do than you might have thought. The Greek philosopher Epicurus (341- 270 BCE) outlined the problem in his Letter to Menoeceus:

Death, therefore, the most awful of evils, is nothing to us, seeing that, when we are, death is not come, and, when death is come, we are not. It is nothing, then, either to the living or to the dead, for with the living it is not and the dead exist no longer.

So according to Epicurus, death is not bad, and by extension we have no reason to fear it. (A) something can be bad for you only if you exist; (B) when you’re dead you don’t exist; so (C) death can’t be bad for you.

Here is Kagan (p.210) explaining the Epicurean problem:

Isn’t it clear that nonexistence is bad for me? Pretty quickly, however, that answer can come to seem pretty unsatisfactory. How could nonexistence be bad for me? After all, the whole idea about nonexistence is that you don’t exist! And how could anything be bad for you when you don’t exist? Isn’t there a kind of logical requirement that for something to be bad for you, you’ve got to be around to receive that bad thing? A headache, for example, can be bad for you. But of course, you exist during a headache. Headaches couldn’t be bad for people who don’t exist. They can’t experience or have or receive headaches. How could anything be bad for you when you don’t exist? And in particular then, how could nonexistence be bad for you when you don’t exist?

Kagan (or Shelly, as he asks his Yale students to call him), has a terrific chapter (“The Badness of Death”) in which considers this thorny question, and focuses on this aspect, known as The Deprivation Account. Death is bad because it deprives me of something. But that cannot be right because you cannot deprive someone who is dead of anything. Perhaps then we should reject (A) above, which is the existence requirement. Perhaps, Kagan suggests, “for certain kinds of bads you don’t even need to exist in order for those things to be bad for you.”

But then we run into another problem. If you don’t need to exist (because you are dead) in order for a bad to happen to you, “then nonexistence could be bad for somebody who never exists. It could be bad for somebody who is a merely possible person, someone who could have existed but never actually gets born.” These potential people are the billions and billions of people who don’t get born when a particular egg fails to get fertilized by a particular sperm. If we get rid of the existence requirement “then we have to say of each and every single one of those billions upon billions upon billions upon billions upon billions of possible people that it’s a tragedy that they never get born, because they’re deprived of the goods of life. If we do away with the existence requirement, then the plight of the unborn possible people is a moral tragedy that simply staggers the mind. The worst possible moral horrors of human history don’t even begin to be in the same ballpark as the moral horror of the deprivation for all of these unborn possible people.”

“What’s bad about death is that when you’re dead, you’re not experiencing the good things in life. Death is bad for you precisely because you don’t have what life would bring you if only you hadn’t died. ”

— Shelly Kagan. death.Yale University Press 2012. 233.

But most of us don’t consider the non-actualization of potential people to be a moral tragedy (though we’ve discussed the attitude of the rabbis to the this question here). We don’t think billions and billions of potential people are harmed because they were never actualized. This leads us to tweak the existence requirement to what Kagan calls a more modest version: “Something can be bad for you only if you exist at some time or other.” This modest requirement doesn’t require that I exist at the same time as the bad thing, and so this allows us to say that death is bad for me. And it is bad for me because I am being deprived of the good things in life, however those are measured.

According to Bar Avin, death is not actually bad for the deceased (in this specific case, Ravina), for he was “at rest.” One might have expected him to say that although Ravina was being deprived of the good things in life had he lived longer, this was more than made up for by the rewards that he is getting in the afterlife. But he didn’t, and his phrasing reminds us that in both ancient and modern philosophy, there is an interesting argument that death cannot be bad for the person who died. Indeed, Bar Avin’s eulogy reminds us that the greatest pain is felt by those who are left behind with nothing but their sighs.

Mo'ed Katan 24a ~ Infant Deaths

On the last few pages of this tractate, the Talmud discusses the end of life, or more precisely, the ends of lives. Having discussed how one mourns for a parent, on this daf, the focus is on the deaths that are most painful of all: the deaths of children.

מועד קטן כד, א-ב

כל שְׁלֹשִׁים יוֹם, תִּינוֹק יוֹצֵא בַּחֵיק, וְנִקְבָּר בְּאִשָּׁה אַחַת וּשְׁנֵי אֲנָשִׁים. אֲבָל לֹא בְּאִישׁ אֶחָד וּשְׁתֵּי נָשִׁים. אַבָּא שָׁאוּל אוֹמֵר: אַף בְּאִישׁ אֶחָד וּשְׁתֵּי נָשִׁים. וְאֵין עוֹמְדִין עָלָיו בְּשׁוּרָה. וְאֵין אוֹמְרִים עָלָיו בִּרְכַּת אֲבֵלִים וְתַנְחוּמֵי אֲבֵלִים

בֶּן שְׁלֹשִׁים יוֹצֵא בִּדְלוֹסְקָמָא. רַבִּי יְהוּדָה אוֹמֵר: לֹא דְּלוֹסְקָמָא הַנִּיטֶּלֶת בַּכָּתֵף, אֶלָּא הַנִּיטֶּלֶת בָּאֲגַפַּיִים. וְעוֹמְדִין עָלָיו בְּשׁוּרָה, וְאוֹמְרִים עָלָיו בִּרְכַּת אֲבֵלִים וְתַנְחוּמֵי אֲבֵלִים

בֶּן שְׁנֵים עָשָׂר חֹדֶשׁ יוֹצֵא בְּמִטָּה. רַבִּי עֲקִיבָא אוֹמֵר: הוּא בֶּן שָׁנָה וְאֵבָרָיו כְּבֶן שְׁתַּיִם, הוּא בֶּן שְׁתַּיִם וְאֵבָרָיו כְּבֶן שָׁנָה — יוֹצֵא בְּמִטָּה.בִּרְכַּת אֲבֵלִים וְתַנְחוּמֵי אֲבֵלִים

Within the first thirty days after birth, an infant that dies is taken out for burial in one’s bosom, that is to say, he is carried to his grave in one’s arms, not in a coffin….

And for such an infant, people do not stand in a line to offer their condolences to the mourners, as is ordinarily done after a burial; nor do others recite over him the mourners’ blessing, which is recited in the courtyard of the graveyard after the burial; nor is the usual formula for the consolation of mourners recited during the seven days of mourning. 

A thirty-day-old infant that dies is taken out for burial in a coffin [deluskema]. Rabbi Yehuda says: Not in a small coffin that is carried on one’s shoulder, but rather in a coffin that is carried in the arms of two people. And for such an infant, people stand in a line to offer their condolences to the mourners. And others recite the mourners’ blessing at the cemetery. And people recite the consolation of mourners during the week of mourning. 

A twelve-month-old infant is taken out for burial on a bier, just as an adult is.

There are, unfortunately, many examples of rabbis mentioned in the Talmud who mourned their children. One of the most well-known was Rabbi Yochanan, who buried ten children.

ברכות ה, ב

תָּנֵי תַּנָּא קַמֵּיהּ דְּרַבִּי יוֹחָנָן: כׇּל הָעוֹסֵק בְּתוֹרָה וּבִגְמִילוּת חֲסָדִים וְקוֹבֵר אֶת בָּנָיו — מוֹחֲלִין לוֹ עַל כׇּל עֲוֹנוֹתָיו

וְהָא אָמַר רַבִּי יוֹחָנָן, דֵּין גַּרְמָא דַּעֲשִׂירָאָה בִּיר

A tanna taught the following baraita before Rabbi Yochanan: If one engages in Torah and acts of charity and buries his sons, all his transgressions are forgiven…

Rabbi Yochanan himself said, This is the bone of my tenth son…

Rabbi Yochanan bar Napcha (c.180–279 CE) is cited many hundreds of times in the Talmud. But it was his tragic family story that perhaps most defined who he was. He was a father who had lost ten children.

Childhood mortality in rabbinic sources

Rabbi Yochanan’s tragedy might have been extreme in its severity, but his was not a unique situation. In fact the Talmud and the Midrash are replete with stories that reflect the high rate of both infant and child mortality at the time. In this tractate we learn that Rabbi Yishmael lost at least two sons, (Moed Katan 28b) as did Rabbi Akiva (Moed Katan 21b). Rabban Gamiel cried in sympathy with a neighbor who lost her child (Sanhedrin 104b), whereas when Rav Yossi of Zippori lost a son, he chose not to cry, but to expound all day long in the Bet Midrash (Moed Katan 21a). The Midrash recounts that both sons of Rabbi Meir died on a Shabbat (Midrash Mishlei 31:10), and when the sons of Rabbi Yossi ben Chaninah died, he refused to wash with warm water (Ta’anit 13b). Children were eaten by wolves (Ta’anit 22b) murdered by brigands (Semahoth 12:13) and buried in earthquakes (Semachot 11:4). In some hemophiliac families, infants bled to death after being circumcised (Yevamot 64b), while other children committed suicide rather than face either physical abuse from their father (Semahoth 2:4-5), or an unwanted arranged marriage (Seder Eliyyahu Rabbah 19).

Professor Meir Bar Ilan (from the university that bears his family name) identified over two dozen other cases. Professor Bar Ilan adds that an additional factor should not be overlooked.

…almost all the cases indicate deaths of sons, not daughters. Apparently it reflects the nature of a patriarchal society, where one's importance depends merely on his sex (as in more than few societies even today). Furthermore, since there is no reason to believe that boys were prone to death more than girls (except in the case of circumcision), it reveals that, actually, the cases are all 'males' while ignoring the females. Because of this 'male' factor, one that wishes to know the exact number of deaths in the above sources, should multiply his data with (almost) 2.25 That is to say, that usually the deaths of girls were ignored, though they, apparently, happened at the same rate.

Calculating the infant mortality rate in THE TaLmudic era

Professor Bar Ilan counted about nine cases of infant or child death among the fifety or so tannaim mentioned by name in the Talmud. After taking into account the “ignored” factor of deaths of girls, he suggested that infant mortality rate among the families of the tannaim approached 30%.

To put this number into context, the infant mortality rate in Great Britain around 1880 was about 135 per thousand live births, or about 13%.  Among the Jews of Italy,  about 40% of children under the age of three died. It is harder to calculate the mortality rate in ancient Rome, but other scholars have estimated it to be 25-30%.

Life Expectancy and Infant Mortality Rates in 16th Century Europe
	Village in Devon England, 1538-1599	Village in Essex England, 1550-1624	Bourgeoisie of Geneva, 1550-1599	English High Aristocracy, 1550-1599
Average age of women at marriage	26	24.5	21.4	22.8
Infant mortality per 1000 (0-1 years)	120-140	128	-	190
Infant mortality per 1000 (1-14 years)	124	149	-	94
Infant mortality per 1000 (1-19 years)	-	-	519	-
Average life expectancy	40-46	-	28-29	37
Data from Meir Bar Ilan, Infant Mortality in The Land of Israel in Late Antiquity

The Shameful infant Mortality Rate in the US

In 2017 the infant mortality rate in the US was 579 per 100,000 or just under 0.6%.  That rate is fifty times lower than the rate during the centuries over which the Talmud was compiled.  The leading cause of death is congenital malformations, but accidental injury remains a major cause of mortality in children. Just like it did in ancient Israel.

“The US ranks 30th of 193 countries in infant mortality rate, the ratio of babies that die before turning one year old. In the US, there are more than three times as many infant deaths for every 1,000 births as there are in the countries leading the list.”

— More infants are dying in US states that rejected expanded Medicaid. Quartz, Feb 1, 2018.

But take a look at the chart below and you will see that the rate in the US is over two or three times higher than it is in other western countries. It is shameful that the country with the highest per capita rate of health care spending finds itself so low down on this list.

Infant mortality per 1,000 births, 2010-2015. Date from the United Nations. From here.

A very recent paper by Ezekiel Emanuel and colleagues from the University of Pennsylvania addressed the question of whether the medical care given in the US was “the best in the world.” (Spoiler alert: it is not). Among their findings were that even for the most privileged on US citizens, rich white people, on most measures of health outcomes they do worse than the average individual in other countries. Here is what they found for one of those measures, infant mortality:

The infant mortality rate among White US citizens in the 1% highest income counties is 3.54 per 1000 live births, while the 5% highest-income counties have an infant mortality rate of 4.01 per 1000 live births—higher than in all 12 comparison countries. Among all US citizens, the infant mortality rate is 5.90 deaths per 1000 live births. Among comparison countries, the infant mortality rate is lowest in Finland, at 1.70 per 1000 live births, and highest in Canada, with 4.70 per 1000 live births. Only 2 of the top 157 highest-income counties in the US have White infant mortality rates below that of Norway, and none have rates lower than Finland .

“Comparative studies show different data from various cultures and times, and together with the texts themselves, suggest that some 30% of all children born in the Land of Israel at the beginning of this era would not reach their maturity.”

— Meir Bar Ilan. Infant Mortality in The Land of Israel in Late Antiquity.

“Neither the suffering nor the reward”

Because infant and childhood deaths were so common it is not surprising that the rabbis of the Talmud tried to inject a glimmer of metaphysical hope into this most tragic of tragedies. Rabbi Yochanan had lost no fewer than ten children, and his colleagues attempted to console him with the promise of a reward to come: “If one engages in Torah and acts of charity and buries his sons, all his transgressions are forgiven.” That might have consoled Yochanan the Rabbi, but it did not console Yochanan the grieving father. Rabbi Yochanan rejected the very notion that suffering -of any sort-was worth a reward. “I want neither this suffering nor its reward - לֹא הֵן וְלֹא שְׂכָרָן.”

[Mostly a repost from Berachot 5.]