ויקרא 25:1-5
וַיְדַבֵּר יְהֹוָה אֶל־מֹשֶׁה בְּהַר סִינַי לֵאמֹר׃ דַּבֵּר אֶל־בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל וְאָמַרְתָּ אֲלֵהֶם כִּי תָבֹאוּ אֶל־הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר אֲנִי נֹתֵן לָכֶם וְשָׁבְתָה הָאָרֶץ שַׁבָּת לַיהֹוָה׃ שֵׁשׁ שָׁנִים תִּזְרַע שָׂדֶךָ וְשֵׁשׁ שָׁנִים תִּזְמֹר כַּרְמֶךָ וְאָסַפְתָּ אֶת־תְּבוּאָתָהּ׃ וּבַשָּׁנָה הַשְּׁבִיעִת שַׁבַּת שַׁבָּתוֹן יִהְיֶה לָאָרֶץ שַׁבָּת לַיהֹוָה שָׂדְךָ לֹא תִזְרָע וְכַרְמְךָ לֹא תִזְמֹר׃ אֵת סְפִיחַ קְצִירְךָ לֹא תִקְצוֹר וְאֶת־עִנְּבֵי נְזִירֶךָ לֹא תִבְצֹר שְׁנַת שַׁבָּתוֹן יִהְיֶה לָאָרֶץ׃
And the Lord spoke to Moses at mount Sinai, saying: Speak to the children of Yisra᾽el, and say to them, When you come to the land which I give you, then shall the land keep a sabbath to the Lord. Six years thou shalt sow thy field, and six years thou shalt prune thy vineyard, and gather in its fruit; but in the seventh year shall be a sabbath of solemn rest for the land, a sabbath for the Lord: thou shalt neither sow thy field, nor prune thy vineyard. That which grows of its own accord of thy harvest thou shalt not reap, nor gather the grapes of thy undressed vine: for it shall be a year of rest for the land.
Books That The Plague Inspired
There are several examples of important works of Jewish literature which rose from the destruction of a pandemic. The great Polish Rabbi Moshe Isserles (1530–1572), known by his acronym as Rema is famous for his gloss on the Shulhan Arukh, the defining code of Jewish law. Less known is the fact that as a young man, he had fled from bubonic plague in Krakow.
I, Moshe, (son of my father, the honorable benefactor and leader Israel, may he live long) called Isserles from Krakow, was exiled, having left our city in [5]316 [=1556] because of the polluted air (may it not befall us). We were sojourners in a land that was not ours in the city of Shidlov which has neither figs nor vines and there is barely any water to drink . . . we could not celebrate Purim with the usual joy and happiness. In order to remove the sadness and dejection I resolved to stand and take pride in my creativity, for my wisdom helped me . . . and so I decided to investigate and expound on the meaning of the Megillah
While in a self-imposed exile fleeing from a pandemic, Rema wrote his very first book, Mehir Yayyin [The Price of Wine], which was published some three years later in 1559. Not only did he refuse to let a pandemic derail his study, he was actually spurred by one to reach new intellectual heights.
In Frankfurt in 1720, the Lithuanian rabbinic scholar Jonathan ben Joseph published a book called Yeshuah Beyisrael. It was a commentary on the sections about astronomy found in Maimonides’ Mishneh Torah, and in his introduction ben Joseph explained the motivation behind the book. He had been thinking about the topic for some time, but then, in 1710 “God’s anger was kindled, and he smote the land of my birth with a plague [dever], may God protect us.”
In great haste I left the town where I was born, the holy community of Ruznay in Lithuania, for the fields and valleys, together with my wife and family. Then we climbed up a hill, for I feared that the terror would reach me, and I would die. And we lived there in a little hut which I built, from the spring through the winter.
It was then that I vowed to God that if he will be with me and protect me, and not allow the Destroyer to enter my home, and will return me to my father’s house, then this God will certainly be my God, the God of the heavens and the earth and of all the stars. And then insofar as God has filled my heart and has placed his spirit in me, to understand, explain and clarify that about which it is written (Isaiah 40:26) “Lift up your eyes to the stars and consider who created them” . . . I will return the crown [of astronomy] to its former glory, sitting with the wisest of our people . . . and publish an explanation in clear language that is easy for anyone to understand
And so bubonic plague was the impetus for a Hebrew text on astronomy, one that the author hoped would reconnect the Jewish people to this discipline.
We can use this week’s parsha and the mitzvah of shmitta with which it opens to remember another important work of Jewish literature that was written as a response to a plague. When it comes to understanding the halakhot of shmitta, it is, in the words of Rabbi Yosef Rimmon, “one of the most important works dealing with these issues.”
Yisroel of Schklov
Yisroel ben Shmuel of Shklov (c. 1770 –1839) became a disciple of the great Gaon of Vilna, and was entrusted with the publication of the Gaon’s commentary on Shulhan Arukh. He moved to Palestine around 1809 and settled in Safed. After spending some time back in Europe raising funds for the Jewish communities of Ottoman Palestine, he moved to Jerusalem and wrote the work for which he is famous to this day: Pe’at Hashulkhan, published in Safed in 1836. The book focused on the mitzvot of shmitta and the mitzvot associated with the Land of Israel, which had been deliberatley ignored in the Shulkhan Arukh.
Yosef Rimon. Shemita. Halacha Mimekorah. Maggid 2014. p109.
In the style of many rabbinic authors of his time, Yisroel assumed a modest persona. He described his contemporaries as “Princes and Kings and Holy Rabbis” while he was but a “pauper among Israel.” “Who am I” he asked, “to stand among the great ones who are like angels? …We cannot even measure up against their donkeys.” How then, did Yisroel justify writing a new work of Jewish law? “Then I recalled that it is a duty to recall God’s actions, and the more travails and troubles that befall a person, the greater is His wonder.” Yisroel’s justification for writing his book were the tragedies that had befallen him after his arrival in the Holy Land.
An outbreak of bubonic plague had swept across the Ottoman Empire and reached the town of Safed in 1813. By his own account Yisroel had little understanding of the proper response, “for we were strangers and did not know about matters of quarantine.” Together with a large number of people he left with his family for Jerusalem, but his wife died on the journey. Her death was the first of a series that befell his family. He found Jerusalem a fearful place, where “death crept up to our windows.” A month after the death of his wife, his seventeen-year-old son-in-law died. During the following month, the Jewish month of Av, Yisroel lost his daughter Leah, aged eighteen and his son Nahman (who died within a day of each other,) his daughter Esther and another son Ze’ev Wolf. (Leah’s death left an orphaned baby who was Yisroel’s grandson. Yisroel wrote that he suffered great hardship in order to raise this baby, who later died in 1834 aged twenty.) He later learned that his mother and father, who had remained in Safed, had also died from the plague. His youngest daughter Sheindel fell ill, “and she lay sick next to me…There were tears on my cheeks and my eyes wept at all that had befallen me. My loss is as wide as the ocean.”
Yisroel’s Vow to Write a Sefer
Yisroel lost his wife, four children, a son-in-law and his two parents, but bubonic plague was not finished with him yet. The following year his new wife contracted the disease and lay fighting for her life. “But God heard our tears and the merits of her ancestors and she recovered from her illness.” Yisroel made a vow that should he be saved he would write a book on the agricultural laws that applied in the Holy Land, which despite a further tragic series of events (the death of two more of his children, briefly being jailed and losing his home to flooding) he was able to publish in 1836. Today, the work is widely acknowledged as an indispensable tool to the serious study of the laws of the Land of Israel. Less known are the devastating circumstances of its composition. They serve as a reminder of the endless expanse of Jewish creativity, and the ability to overcome personal tragedy to reach new intellectual heights.
In a strange confluence of dates, today, May 22, is the 203rd anniversary of his death on May 22, 1839. His yarzheit will be on the 9th of Sivan, which this year begins on Friday night June 14th. May his memory, and that of his family, be an inspiration.
…My daughter Sheindel lay sick next to me…There were tears on my cheeks and my eyes wept at all that had befallen me. My loss is as wide as the ocean.”
In the Galilee we lost many great and righteous people, and from the bottom of my heart I uttered a quiet promise to the Lord. To he who dwells by the gates of heaven, I said: Please Merciful King have compassion on me and on the remnants of the House of Israel, the ember that was saved from the fire, the fledglings left without a mother. I recalled the story of our ancestor Jacob who made a vow while in great distress, and I too have made a vow: If God will be merciful to me and deal with me in kindness, I undertake to write a commentary on the Order Zerai’m found in the Jerusalem Talmud, following the explanations of our great Rabbi [Elijah of Vilna] who I was privileged to serve before his death. And may his great merit stand with me so that I may write all the halakhot [of shmitta] which were overlooked by our earlier holy rabbis.
Introduction to Pat Hashulhan. Jerusalem, Pardes 1958. 4b-5a
