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skies of parchment | seas of inkJewish Illuminated Manuscripts
edited by marc michael epstein
With contributions by
Eva Frojmovic, Jenna Siman Jacobs, Hartley Lachter, Shalom Sabar, Raymond P. Scheindlin,
Ágnes Vető, Susan Vick, Barbara Wolff, and Diane Wolfthal
princeton university press princeton and oxford
jacket art: ( front) Barbara Wolff. “You Renew
the Face of the Earth,” illustration from Psalm
104, 2010. New York, Morgan Library &
Museum, MS M.1190, fol. 7; Gift of Joanna S.
Rose, 2014; photography by Rudi Wolff.
(back) The angel Gabriel appears to Joseph to
grant him permission to marry Zulaykha; Joseph
and Zulaykha marry. Yusuf and Zulaykha. Persia,
Mashad, 1853. MS 1534, fols. 105−6. Image cour-
tesy of the Library of the Jewish Theological
Seminary, New York.
half- title: Ilene Winn- Lederer. “Even if
all the heavens were parchment . . . if all the
waters of the sea were ink . . . .” Akdamut from
Between Heaven & Earth: An Illuminated Torah
Commentary (Pomegranate, 2009).
frontispiece: Detail of g. 2. A community
of scholars: the Five Rabbis at B’nai Brak.
Haggadah, German rite with the commentary
of Eleazar of Worms and illustrations by Joel
ben Simeon Feibush (The Ashkenazi Haggadah).
South Germany, prehaps Ulm, ca. 1460. London,
British Library, MS Add. 14762, fol. 7v.
Copyright © 2015 by Princeton University Press
Published by Princeton University Press, 41
William Street, Princeton, New Jersey 08540
In the United Kingdom: Princeton University
Press, 6 Oxford Street, Woodstock, Oxfordshire
OX20 1TW
press.princeton.edu
All Rights Reserved
Library of Congress Cataloging- in- Publication
Data
Skies of parchment, seas of ink : Jewish illumi-
nated manuscripts / edited by Marc Michael
Epstein ; with contributions by Eva Frojmovic,
Jenna Siman Jacobs, Hartley Lachter, Shalom
Sabar, Raymond P. Scheindlin, Ágnes Vető, Susan
Vick, Barbara Wolff, and Diane Wolfthal.
pages cm
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-0- 691-16524-0 (hardcover : alk. paper)
1. Jewish illumination of books and manuscripts.
I. Epstein, Marc Michael, 1964- editor. II. Lachter,
Hartley, 1974- People of the Book/Book of the
people.
ND2935.S59 2015
745.6′7089924— dc23
2014028843
British Library Cataloging- in- Publication Data
is available
Published with assistance from the David Berg
Foundation, Vassar College, and the Center for
Jewish- Christian Learning, Boston College
This book has been composed in Crimson and
Source Sans Pro
Printed on acid- free paper. ∞
Printed in China
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
contents
acknowledgments vii
1 introduction: for the love of books 1Marc Michael Epstein
2 people of the book/books of the people: illuminating the canon 19Hartley Lachter with Marc Michael Epstein
3 parchments and palimpsests: scribe, illuminator, patron, audience 29Marc Michael Epstein
focus: the illuminated page: materials, methods, and techniques
Barbara Wolff 40
4 mapping the territory: ʾarbʿah kanfot haʾareẓ— the four corners of the medieval jewish world 47
ereẓ yisrael/the land of israel: homeland and center
Marc Michael Epstein 47
italia/italy: the first western diaspora
Marc Michael Epstein 55
ashkenaz: franco- germany, england, central and east europe
Eva Frojmovic with Marc Michael Epstein 63
sepharad and ʿarav: spain and the middle east
Raymond P. Scheindlin with Marc Michael Epstein 72
the problem of “national style”
Eva Frojmovic with Marc Michael Epstein 77
5 no graven image: permitted depictions, forbidden depictions, and creative solutions 89Eva Frojmovic and Marc Michael Epstein
focus: exploring the mystery of the birds’ head haggadah
Marc Michael Epstein 97
6 iconography: telling the story 105Marc Michael Epstein
geographical distinctions 105approaches to the biblical narrative 122
v
7 dialogue and disputation: cultural negotiation 145Marc Michael Epstein
under edom 145under ishmael 153
8 this world: centered on the home— women, marriage, and the family 159Shalom Sabar
focus: “glimpses of jewish life”: reality or illusion?
Marc Michael Epstein 175
focus: “incidental details”: margins and meaning
Marc Michael Epstein 182
focus: “sacred and profane”: naked ladies in the haggadah?
Ágnes Vető 188
9 other worlds: fantastic horizons and unseen universes 193Hartley Lachter with Marc Michael Epstein
10 zion and jerusalem: “the sum of all beauty, the joy of all the earth” 205Shalom Sabar
11 in the royal court: jewish illumination in an age of printing 215Marc Michael Epstein
focus: a yiddish minhagim manuscript 225
Diane Wolfthal
12 illuminating the present: contemporary jewish illumination 229Susan Vick with Marc Michael Epstein
13 continuing the journey: annotated bibliography and manuscript descriptions 255Jenna Siman Jacobs with Marc Michael Epstein
manuscripts and facsimiles 255surveys 261collection surveys and exhibition catalogues 263studies 265
contributor biographies 267
index 269
photo credits 276
vi contents
acknowledgments
The book you hold in your hands has been long in coming into this world. It manages to
exceed even the gestation period of the elephant of the medieval books of beasts, an ordeal
rumored to have lasted two years. This volume has been brewing for over two decades,
in the course of which time it has gone through the hands of many editors, each hoping
to produce a denitive work on Jewish illuminated manuscripts. When the project came
to me, I realized that the knowledge and energy of a single author could never sustain it.
I therefore gathered together a group of thorough, thoughtful, and innovative scholars to
tell the story of Jewish illuminated manuscripts in the most engaging and colorful manner
possible. The result, I hope, is nothing like an elephant’s child. This book is anything but
gray and ponderous— it is full of all manner of color— a delight for both the eye and the
mind. It is to my colleagues in this enterprise that this book owes its soul and its verve.
It’s not easy to translate one’s academic passion into a vision that can be shared with the
widest possible audience, and I salute them for rising to the challenge.
Since it required the acquisition of hundreds of illustrations and their attendant
permissions, conscientious editing to ensure that its tone remained scholarly without
being daunting to the reader, and relatively stylistically even over the diverse range of
authors while allowing each author to retain her or his distinctive voice, this book would
never have seen the light without the exceptional administrative and editorial skills of
my research assistants over the many years of its germination— in chronological order,
my debt of gratitude extends to Leah Varsano and Samuel Rausnitz, to Gilad Thaler, to
Katherine Durr, and nally to the indefatigable and highly pragmatic Angela Brown, who
saw the book through the elephantine labor with more nesse than the best veterinary
Lamaze coach. My thanks as always to Wendy Post, Amanda Thornton, Betty- Lou Cifone,
Greg Deichler, and Brian Chickery, and at Boston College, Wendy Morita, Nate Butze,
Michael Swanson, Kerry Burke, and MTS Photography, who were able and cheerful in
providing administrative and technical assistance.
I am most grateful to my departmental colleagues in the Religion Department at
Vassar for their support: Rick Jarow, Jonathon Kahn, Max Leeming, Lynn LiDonnici,
Larry Mamiya, Michael Walsh, Tova Weitzman, Chris White, and Ági Vető. Jim Bernauer,
Ruth Langer, and Camille Markey, my colleagues at the Center for Jewish- Christian
Learning at Boston College, where I spent 2013– 14 as a visiting Corcoran Chair, were
extremely encouraging as well.
vii
The friendship and intellectual support, the hospitality and warmth of so many at
Vassar and beyond sustained me and brightened my days as I engaged with this project. I
am indebted to Eli and Muriel Abt, John Ahern, Liz and Drew Alexander, Mark Bernstein
and Sarah Vigneri, Jessie Bonn and Yuval Yavneh, Daniel Boyarin, Stewart J. Brooks and
Eve Grubin, Zsoa Buda, Aleksandra Buncic, J. H. (Yossi) Chajes and Julie Chajes, Adam
Cohen and Linda Safran, Allegra and Yisrael Meir Cohen, Evelyn Cohen, Eiran Davies and
Yael Fried, Joe Dweck, Sapphira and Seth Edgarde, Yaffa Epstein, Larry and Sue Fishman,
Lucy Freeman Sandler, Hanna and Philip Geller Goldsmith, Tony Grafton, Joel Hecker
and Frani Pollack, Tuva Hildebrand- Petersson, Leor and Dana Jacobi, Gabriel Josipovci,
Batya and Menahem Kallus, Bruce Kaplan, Josh Kaplan, David and Rachel Kaplan, Joe
Karten and Becca Rosen, Arie Katz and Amy Robinson, Barbara Kirschenblatt- Gimblett,
Katrin Kogman- Appel, Abby Kornfeld, Hartley Lachter and Jessica Cooperman, Stacy
Leeman and Gary Liebesman, Michael Levin, Abraham and Estelle Levy, Isaac and Cindy
Levy, Terry and Toni McDonald, Mary Ann and Mel Makloff, Richard McBee, Mary
McGee, Judy Meltzer, Molly Nesbit, Jacqueline Nicholls, Emma O’Donnell and Valery
Polyakov, Sara Offenberg, Naomi and Yankel Sarig, Eli Schneider and Ilana Aisen, Jeremy
Schoenfeld, Joshua and Lise Schreier, Sarit Shalev- Eyni, Misha and Howard Sidenberg,
Annie and Elon Spar, Elie and Linda Spitz, Sarah Abrevaya Stein, David Stern, Michal
Sternthal, Gideon Sylvester, Lindsey and Norman Taylor- Guthartz, Yael Unterman,
Elisabeth Watson, Menachem Wecker, Matisse Weinberg, Lee and Laura Weissman, Ilene
Winn- Lederer, Gil and Ayal Willner, Barbara, Rudi and Ben Wolff, and Elaine Kahn Zager
and Jack Zager.
This magnicent book has been produced with the aid of funding from the David
Berg Foundation, the Center for Jewish- Christian Learning at Boston College, and the
Vassar College Research Committee, and the Ofce of the Dean of the Faculty— Dean
Jonathan Chenette having been particularly supportive. Their generosity is a testimony
to their faith in the importance of this project, and I am buoyed by their condence and
support. To Amanda Thornton and Lori Mcelduff, of the Ofce of Grants Administration,
and to Karen Gallagher, at the Purchasing Ofce, Vassar College, my sincere thanks for
making the permissions paperwork go so smoothly.
The librarians who facilitated access to the images used in this book deserve the
highest of praise and appreciation. I list them here in alphabetical order by location of
their libraries and institutions: Emile Schrijver and Rachel Boertjens, of the Bibliotheca
Rosenthaliana, Universiteit van Amsterdam; Anton Kraus, of the Joods Historisch
Museum, Amsterdam; Christoph Rauch, Petra Figeac, and Sophia Charlotte Fock, of
the Staatsbibliothek Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Orientabteilung, Berlin (as well as Liz
Kurtulik Mercuri, of Art Resource, for administering the image requests); Bart De Sitter,
of Lukasweb, representing the Groenige Museum, Bruges; Balazs Tamasi, of the Magyar
Tudományos Akadémia, Budapest, for use of images from the Kaufmann Collection;
viii acknowledgments
acknowledgments ix
Ruth Long, of the University Library, Cambridge; Laurel Wolfson, of Hebrew Union
College Library, Cincinnati; Eva- Maria Jansson, of the Kongelige Bibliotek, Copenhagen,
with the cooperation of Brent Lexner, of the Jødiske Samfund i Danmark, Copenhagen;
Janine Klemm, of the Sächsische Landesbibliothek- Staats- und- Universitätsbibliothek,
Dresden; Evelyn Börner, of the Universitätsbibliothek, Erlangen; Ida Giovanna Rao,
assisted by Dina Giuliani, of the Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Florence; Hans- Walter
Stork, of the Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Carl von Ossietzky, Hamburg; Anna
Nizza, assisted by Rachel Laufer, of the Israel Museum, Jerusalem; Idan Pérez, assisted
by Jamie Nathan and Zmira Reuveni, of National Library of Israel, Jerusalem; the staff
of the Skirball Cultural Center, Los Angeles; Christoph Mackert, assisted by Susanne
Dietel, of the Universitätsbibliothek, Leipzig; Maria Inês Cordeiro, assisted by Ana
Sabido and Luísa Vaz, of the Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal, Lisbon; Ilana Tahan,
assisted by Jackie Brown, of the British Library, London; Elizabeth Gow, assisted by
Anne Anderton, of the John Rylands University Library, Manchester; Paolo Cavagna, of
the Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Milan; Sophie Schrader, of the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek,
Munich; the staff of the Hispanic Society of America, New York; the staff of the Jewish
Museum, New York (as well as Veronique Colaprete, of Art Resource, for administering
the image requests); Sharon Liberman- Mintz and Jerry Schwarzbard, assisted by Warren
Klein, Sarah Diamant, and Yevgenia Dizenko, of the Jewish Theological Seminary, New
York; Barbara Boehm and Melanie Holcomb of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and
the Cloisters, New York; and Roger S. Wieck and the staff of The Morgan Library,
New York; César Merchán- Hamann, Zsoa Buda (with special thanks for helping
me set all the shelf- numbers in order), and Rahel Fronda, assisted by James Allan and
Matthew McGrattan, of the Bodleian Library, Oxford; Jean- Claude Kuperminc, of
the Bibliothèque d’Alliance israélite universelle, Paris; Laurent Héricher and Héléna
Guy l’homme, assisted by Maria Cristina Pirvu, Bibliothèque nationale de France,
Paris; Nicolas Feuillie, of the Musée national du Moyen Âge (Musee d’Art et Histoire
du Judaisme), Paris; Sabina Magrini, of the Biblioteca Palatina, Parma; William Gross,
of the Gross Family Collection, Ramat Aviv; the staff of the Zemaljski Muzej Bosne I
Hercegovine, Sarajevo, with the cooperation of Jakob Finci and the Jewish Community
of Bosnia and Hercegovina; Riccardo Luongo, of the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana,
Vatican City; Shalimar Abigail Fojas White, of Dumbarton Oaks, Washington, DC;
Mark Dimunation, Eric Frazier, and Sharon Horowitz, assisted by Margaret Kiechefer,
of the Library of Congress, Washington, DC; and Betsy Kohut, of the Sackler Gallery,
Smithsonian Institute, Washington, DC.
They were all— to a person— tremendously helpful and prompt, and most touch-
ingly, often delighted that “their” material would be featured in a book that was intended
to go out into the world and take pride of place on the shelves of people who were not
the usual suspects— scholars and researchers.
x
I do not think, however, that I could possibly have gotten the materials together so
speedily and so smoothly without a virtual army of friends “on the ground,” fellow schol-
ars with connections, who prompted and pestered and found shortcuts to acquiring the
images. They went far above and beyond the call of duty and I salute them with gratitude
and with love: Zsoa Buda, Sonia Fellous, Karoline Henriques, Colum Hourihane, Leor
Jacobi, Ilona Steinman, Susanne Terwey, and Edward Van Voolen.
An extra- special acknowledgment and appreciation must go to Bill Gross, who
provided— in addition to images already secured from his collection (high- quality scans,
as always, and, as always, at no charge)— almost instantaneous substitutions when images
were unavailable elsewhere. His consummate good cheer and delight in doing so is a
testimony to the greatness both of his collection and of his character.
My eternal gratitude to Michelle Komie, my beloved Real Editor in the Old-
Fashioned Sense (if one might grace her with a title betting her), for seeing this book
to press and ensuring that it got the attention it deserved, and to her assistant, Claudia
Acevedo. I am grateful to Jennifer Harris for her close and insightful reading of the man-
uscript, to Sara Lerner for molding it to the exemplary standards of Princeton University
Press, to Leslie Fitch for ensuring that it became a sparkling peacock rather than a gray
elephant of a book, and to Julia Haav for connecting it with the broad audience it is in-
tended to reach.
To my wonderful collaborators and co- conspirators on this project, my deep and
sincere appreciation for your fabulous contributions. I hope that they have taken a form
worthy of your dreams for them. Still, for my own part, as general editor, I take respon-
sibility for any errors, inaccuracies, or omissions that remain.
Finally: If the skies were made of parchment, and the seas were lled with ink, I
could not sufciently express my love and appreciation for my parents, who taught me
to see and to read; to my children, who illuminate my every page; and to Ági, who is sky
and sea and mountain and valley and every near thing and every distant horizon to me.
acknowledgments
1
Figure 1“How I love Your Torah, it is my dis-
course all the day.” A man, covered
in a prayer shawl, holds a Torah
scroll in its embroidered cover in
his arms. Maimonides, Mishneh
Torah. Italy, perhaps Perugia, ca.
1400. Jerusalem, National Library
of Israel, MS Heb. 4° 1193, fol. 32r.
introduction: for the love of booksMarc Michael Epstein
Habent sua fata libelli. “Books,” remarks the rst- century Latin poet Martial in one of his
Epigrams, “have their own destinies.” Once upon a time in the 1980s, when I was a twenty-
year- old graduate student full of arrogance and attitude, I worked in the Hebrew books
and manuscripts division of the Judaica Department at Sotheby’s New York. My boss was
the “Judaica expert,” the late, great Jay Weinstein, a man truly deserving of his title, which
he bore with immense modesty and humor. My own title was also “expert,” but, by way
of contrast, it only exacerbated my supercilious arrogance when I found myself called to
the front desk to meet a client. At those moments, I always had a vision in my head of a
potential New Yorker cartoon— a white- bearded man in a robe carrying two large tablets
inscribed in archaic Hebrew waits patiently while the receptionist pages me: “Mr. Epstein,
someone with a very old Hebrew book is here to see you.”
Indeed, just as in that imaginary cartoon, the client I was about to meet on the day
I am describing had called a week before to tell me that he was in possession of “a very
old Hebrew book.” I was not looking forward to the encounter, since auction experts
know very well that the hoi polloi consider anything more than ten years old to be an-
cient and hence of untold value. Disabusing clients of this notion as it applies to their
particular treasure is an often painful but necessary task. I steeled myself for what would
be necessary to accomplish this: the sustained and enervating projection of a personal
impressiveness composed of equal measures of authority and disdain. This was to be no
mean feat, considering it was a Monday afternoon and the hour was late.
Mr. X, I was dismayed to nd, embodied all my worst fears. Stooped, elderly, still
in his coat, and eager— very eager. Authoritative and disdainful though I made myself, he
was simply unimpressed by my “impressiveness.” With total focus and trembling hands,
he reached into a plastic shopping bag and produced, wrapped in newspaper older than
1
2 introduction
I was, his “treasure”— a book of Psalms, printed in Warsaw in 1920. I couldn’t believe this
monumental waste of my precious time— a brand new book of Psalms would be worth
more than this one! I was exasperated by this schlepper, and I wanted to tell him so. I
wanted to show him the real treasures— gold, silver, ancient, and precious illuminated
manuscripts— that had been entrusted into my “expert” care. I wanted to show him the
door as I told him with authoritative disdain, “That book is worth whatever you paid
for it!”
But at that moment, like the angel in the legend who moves Moses’s hand toward
the glowing coal rather than the glittering crown, thus saving his life, some kindly spirit
moved my tongue. And instead of that anticipated send- off, I faltered, “Um, what did you
pay for this?” The old man drew himself up to his full 5 feet, 2 inches. “For this, I paid seven
days’ Auschwitz bread,” he replied with a dignity that totally deated my pose. It seems
that the Nazis had caught him with the little Psalm book, and, as a penalty for possessing
it, imprisoned him without food— only water to drink— for an entire week. Like Moses
touching the coal to his lips, I was struck dumb. “This,” I stammered, “is too valuable for
us to sell.” And I stumbled out of the room, a changed young man, with a new appreciation
of what is meant by the words precious, valuable, and treasured.
Moses, perhaps due to the childhood encounter with the coal that the story tells
us literally scarred him, grew up to be “the meekest man on earth.” And I, while far from
meek, bear to this day the scars where my callousness was abraded by this man’s sincerity,
my callowness by his experience, and my cynicism by his faith. I learned then and there,
in the most visceral way, that books indeed have their destinies, and each has a story to
tell— sanguine or sanguinary. And their stories do not merely tell of themselves; they can,
and do, transform readers, collectors, and historians. For involvement with books can be
nothing short of a love affair.
The love of books in the Jewish tradition is nowhere better shown forth than in
this poetic illustration from a fourteenth- century manuscript of Maimonides’ Mishneh
Torah. Here, under the rubric “How I love Your Torah— she is my meditation all the day!”
(Psalms 119:97), a man holds a Torah scroll with tender affection— a tting opening illu-
mination for a folio that enumerates the laws of the reading of the Shm’a, the scriptural
verses emphasizing both the Unity of God and the centrality of Torah (gure 1).
The various fates of the books of the People of the Book are particularly rich and
variegated, and upon them hang many tales. This book is a labor of love, a compendium
of words and images by some of the best and brightest scholars in the eld of Jewish
manuscript illumination and beyond. It is the rst attempt at a comprehensive survey of
this eld in more than thirty years, and I hope you will nd it particularly distinguished
by its mission, its composition, and its quality.
When I was approached to take on this project, it occurred to me that it would be
both somewhat presumptuous and rather boring to attempt to write the book by myself.
introduction 3
Figure 2A community of scholars: the Five
Rabbis at B’nai Brak. Haggadah,
German rite with the commentary
of Eleazar of Worms and illustra-
tions by Joel ben Simeon Feibush
(The Ashkenazi Haggadah). South
Germany, perhaps Ulm, ca. 1460.
London, British Library, MS Add.
14762, fol. 7v.
The eld of Jewish manuscript studies has grown exponentially in the past thirty years,
and there are excellent scholars, many of them young, whose contributions bring unprec-
edented quality, scope, and depth to this work. Moreover, the idea that art is a legitimate
form of historical documentation— not just of events but of the attitudes, mentalities,
and aesthetics of those who commissioned, and in some cases, created it— has taken off
in a dramatic way in that period of years. Just as art is increasingly being applied as a
tool for the study of history and culture, I felt that the voices of scholars of history and
culture should be included in such a way as to illuminate (if I may be forgiven the use of
the word) the places and times in which the works of art we
examine herein were created. So this is a work of dialectic, of a
community of scholars (gure 2). Our opinions belong to each
of us, but as general editor, I accept the burden of any inaccu-
racies or errors.
A word about the title (and contents) of this work: This
book will explore what I have styled Jewish illuminated manu-
scripts, in place of what has tended in the past to be called Hebrew
illuminated manuscripts. There are compelling reasons for this.
The term Hebrew illuminated manuscripts has the advantage of
sounding precise and scientic, a simple categorization on
the basis of linguistic content. But of course, it is much more
ambiguous than it seems: Does it refer to the illumination of
manuscripts whose language is Hebrew? Or does it signify the
process of the illumination of manuscripts as undertaken by
Hebrews, whoever they might be? And what, in the end, do we
gain by avoiding the use of the term Jewish?
Unlike Arabic manuscripts, many of which are written
in the Arabic language without necessarily being Muslim in
content, the vast majority of illuminated manuscripts written
in Hebrew are Jewish in content. And unlike Greek manuscripts, which were commis-
sioned both by Christians and by Greek- reading non- Christians, Hebrew manuscripts
were overwhelmingly commissioned by Jewish patrons for Jewish audiences. With the
exception of the occasional inclusion of translations of medical or philosophical works,
most surveys of “Hebrew illuminated manuscripts” include manuscripts with identiably
Jewish content: scripture, liturgy, law, poetry, and philosophy. They also routinely include
Jewish manuscripts whose language is not Hebrew at all, but Judeo- Arabic, Yiddish, or
Ladino. So when scholars speak of “Hebrew illuminated manuscripts,” they are invariably
referring to Jewish illuminated manuscripts.
If that’s the case, why not say so? The act of “christening” what are essentially Jewish
works of art as Hebrew is the result of something beyond a simple desire for scholarly
4 introduction
clarity. It represents an attempt to erase the inherent Jewishness of
these monuments. As a euphemism for Jewish illuminated manu-
scripts, the expression “Hebrew illuminated manuscripts” rings
hollow and archaic in an era in which only a benighted few are still
afraid to use the J word in polite company. And so, we dare say it:
the manuscripts displayed and discussed on the following pages are
Jewish— made for, and in many cases, by Jews, in Jewish communi-
ties, in the context of the Jewish year, and as part of the tradition of
Jewish learning.
That having been said, they are extraordinarily diverse. As
we shall see, they comprise illustrated texts of the Bible, the prayer
book, the home liturgy, historical works, books of customs, marriage
documents, and household decorations. They are the production of
many people— Jews and non- Jews commissioned by Jews— over many
centuries, and they represent polities and perspectives east and west,
male and female. They represent Jewries from all the world over—
communities that were pietistic and communities that were liberal.
It is important, I feel, to note that what they do not represent
for the most part is a variety of socioeconomic strata. This book is a mirror of sorts: it
displays for you— a by- and- large urbane, educated, and well- to- do audience— the pro-
ductions of medieval Jewish societies that were socioeconomically the equivalent of your
own. And this makes the “world” depicted in these works— that of “Jewish life as depicted
in art,” as it has sometime been known— a world seen from a rather narrow and isolated
perspective. The people who would have viewed the books we will encounter would
have expected those volumes to be somewhat of a mirror of their own world, much like
the mirrored faces in this page from a fourteenth- century Ashkenazic haggadah written
and illuminated by Joel ben Simeon Feibush, which (in spite of accompanying the text
describing maẓah as “this bread of poverty”) primarily reect the countenances of mem-
bers of the well- to- do sphere of the manuscript’s patrons and their dependents (gure
3). Consequently, the recovery, based on the “manuscript evidence” of Jewish life on the
basis of Jewish illuminated books, is tendentious at best, rather as if one had attempted
to reconstruct Jewish life in the twentieth century on the basis of an archeological sur-
vey, some 500 years hence, of the estate area in the Fieldston section of Riverdale, New
York, or of Beverly Hills, California, or of the renewed Jewish Quarter of the Old City of
Jerusalem. But still, we take what was left us, and if we are clever, we can mine what we
have for secretly meaningful images, alternative histories, and all those ne and subversive
elements historians garner from the documents of the elite when they lack material from
the other societal strata with which to work.
Figure 3“This bread of affliction.” Maẓah as
mirror of faces. Haggadah, Italian
rite with illustrations by Joel
ben Simeon Feibush. Italy, 1454.
New York, Library of the Jewish
Theological Seminary, MS 8279, fols.
49v– 50r.
introduction 5
A few words about words: this work is intended for nonspecialists, but it is neces-
sary from time to time to make use of certain terms that are common in the eld. When
we refer to manuscripts, we mean handwritten books on parchment, or more rarely, on
paper. An illuminated manuscript is a manuscript that is illustrated in applied color and
contains gold or silver as part of the decoration. We can refer to individual pictures or
decorations within an illuminated manuscript either as miniatures, as illuminations, or
simply as illustrations. However, an illustrated manuscript (a term often erroneously used
interchangeably with illuminated manuscript) is a manuscript with illustrations in pen
and ink alone, containing no applied color, gold, or silver.
A scribal colophon is the signature of the scribe, the person who wrote the text of the
manuscript, occasionally (though not often enough!) with the date and place of the book’s
completion. If our interest is in the illustrations, knowing the name, date, and location
of a manuscript’s scribe will help us situate it broadly, but will not denitively answer
all of our questions about the artwork. This is because each and every manuscript is the
result of the work of a particular authorship, a collaboration between Jewish patrons, who
sponsored and conceptualized the manuscript (in some cases, it seems, with the aid of
rabbinic advisers), and illustrators (the artists who drew the pictures) and illuminators (the
artisans who colored and gilded the illustrations), Jewish or non- Jewish. These illustra-
tors and illuminators were usually distinct persons from the manuscript’s scribes and
only very rarely let us know their names in colophons. Even when we have the name of a
scribe and of an artist, the two tasks of illustrator and illuminator are never differentiated
entirely clearly.
The authorship of each manuscript engaged in its own, very particular, sometimes
unique way of telling the tale of the relationship of Jews with God, their neighbors, and
each other through their visual translation, commentary, and sometimes even subversion
of Jewish texts and traditions. The authorship worked together on the successive stages
of the project: First, in the planning of each manuscript, the patrons and their advisors
decided upon those aspects of the text that was being illustrated and the ideas that un-
derlay it that highlighted the agenda it wished to convey, working with the designers and
artists to clothe those ideas in visual language. Then, these concepts were transmitted
through the interpretation of their commission by the designers and executors of each
work. Ultimately, the images and their motivating ideas were received and reinterpreted
by the various audiences of each manuscript over time.
What were the various parts of a manuscript when it was received by its patrons
and audiences? A folio is an entire page of a manuscript, front and back. When we talk
about folio 2a, we mean the “front” side of the second folio that faces up, since the book,
if you imagine it in front of you, opens on the left side (Hebrew, Yiddish, Ladino, Judeo-
Persian, Judeo- Arabic, and Judeo- Italkit all being written in Hebrew script, from right
6 introduction
above left Figure 4The dove returns to Noah.
Miscellany of biblical and other
texts. France, Amiens, 1277– 86.
London, British Library, MS Add.
11639, fol. 521.
above right Figure 5Binding of Isaac. Miscellany of
biblical and other texts. France,
Amiens, 1277– 86. London, British
Library, MS Add. 11639, fol. 521v.
left Figure 6David and Goliath. Miscellany of
biblical and other texts. France,
Amiens, 1277– 86. London, British
Library, MS Add. 11639, fol. 523v.
introduction 7
Figure 7Creation with the Divine
represented as golden rays of em-
anation. Haggadah (The Sarajevo
Haggadah). Spain, Catalonia, ca.
1350. Bosnia and Hercegovina,
Sarajevo, Zemaljski Museum, MS
1, fol. 1v.
to left). Consequently, folio 2b is the opposite side of the page (the “back” of the folio),
revealed as you turn the page to the right. The a side of a page is also referred to as the
recto (or “correct”— in the sense of upward- facing) side of the page, and the b side as the
verso (or “reverse”) side of the page, and so folio 2a is alternatively known as folio 2r, and
folio 2b, as folio 2v.
Now, if illustration is simply the process of laying down the images, and illumina-
tion is the coloring— particularly the application of gold— to those illustrations to make
them illuminations, what of a third term beginning with the letter i, a term about which
there will be a great deal of talk in the ensuing pages— iconography?
Iconography refers to the manner in which the narrative is expressed by means of its
illustration not only in a particular manuscript but in all manuscripts from a given time,
place, or tradition— or, indeed, over the entire history of art. There are any number of ways
in which a given story might unfold in art— try to visualize the tale of Noah’s ark (gure
4), or the story of the binding of Isaac (gure 5), or the episode of David’s encounter with
Goliath (gure 6), for instance. This is because there are many different points in time in
the narrative that can be depicted, and different details that can be inserted into the scene.
The standard iconography of a scene is the way it is generally presented in a tradition of
iconography particular to a time, place, and social, political, and/or religious context. For
instance, in the West, in the Middle Ages, Jews do not generally depict the creation of the
world, and when they do, they avoid any depiction of the Creator (gure 7). Christians, on
the other hand, show the Creator as God the Father, often an old man with a white beard,
or as God the Son, a younger, bearded personage, who is present within various spheres
8 introduction
indicating the individual days of creation, taking an active part in the process (gure 8).
The standard medieval Christian iconography of saints and prophets, for example, shows
God as appearing to them or hovering above them in a cloud. Jews, it goes without saying,
would not have tolerated such a depiction in their books. Of course, as soon as we begin
to speak of “standard” iconography, we encounter startling exceptions that raise pointed
questions about the identity and motives of artist and patron (gure 9).
We make a determination of the “contents” of the standard iconography of a scene
on the basis of the majority of examples in a given time and place. Iconography becomes
interesting when it changes in a considerable or even a subtle way, and giving an account
of and an explanation for these changes is the task of the art historian. Art historians take
their cues for closer examination or reappraisal of iconography when obvious changes
are in evidence. We may have a scene illustrated “anew”— that is, a scene that does not
customarily appear in the historical and geographical context in which it is now manifest.
Or a given illustration may add or omit details— characters, objects, landscape, or interior
elements— generally found to be present in the time and place of its creation. Or, the style,
relative size, or placement of a detail in a given scene may be altered— radically or subtly.
When we talk about “the iconography of Joseph’s dream,” for instance, we mean the
persons, places, and things that appear in depictions of this biblical narrative in all media,
throughout the history of art. This iconography generally includes the sleeping Joseph,
with his dreams depicted in a realm somewhat “above and beyond” his bed. The actual
depiction may be more detailed, including more elements, or more schematic, including
fewer elements. So, in the case of Joseph’s dream, one could imagine a “standard” ico-
nography in which Joseph lies on the ground with the dreams “projected” above him in
schematic form, as indeed they are in most medieval examples, like the famous mosaics in
Figure 8Creation with God appearing as
the Son in the anthropomorphic
form typical in manuscripts made
for Christians. Note, however, the
otherwise striking parallels with the
Sarajevo Haggadah, particularly in
the way the sphere of the created
world is depicted. Bible with scenes
from the Hebrew Bible and Latin,
Persian, and Judeo- Persian inscrip-
tions (The Morgan Picture Bible).
France, Paris, 1240s. New York,
Morgan Library, MS M.638, fol. 1v.
introduction 9
Figure 9A significant departure from
the “standard iconography”: an
unusual instance of God appear-
ing in human form in a Jewish
manuscript. Opening page from
the Book of Psalms. Italy, 15th
century. Berlin, Staatsbibliothek
Preussischer Kulturbesitz,
Orientabteilung, MS Hamilton 547,
fol. 1r.
10 introduction
San Marco in Venice (gure 10). But what if the stars are missing from the composition,
as they are in this example from the fourteenth- century Golden Haggadah (gure 11)? Is
it just a case of a lack of space in the panel? What if Joseph does not appear at all, only the
dream elements by themselves? What if Joseph were shown in a particularly elaborate
bedroom? What if the brothers appear holding their sheaves or their stars? What if God
or an angel appears, “directing” the dream? And what if Joseph’s face betrays particular
states of mind or emotional clues? Any or all of these “differences” would be cause for
increased interest on the part of investigators.
More and more, art historians are learning that “models” can mean many things—
from actual works of art known to those who “translated” them into their Jewish form, to
model- books and motif- books present in the workshops of artists on the basis of which
artists could offer the patron a sample of treatments of particular scenes, motifs, and
details. And we realize that the transmission of motifs was often on the basis of memory—
either of the whole composition or of small details of it. Though scholars sometimes speak
of a “standard” iconography, there is in fact no uniformity. The designers of manuscripts
borrowed from a wide range of sources and traditions. Pinpointing these sources might
give us a better idea of the general identity of a given manuscript’s authorship. The task
of the interpreter of motifs is be alert to the ways in which they translate their sources
in a manner relevant to particular times, places, communities, families, and individual
patrons. That is what makes the task of interpretation fascinating, rewarding, and fun.
How does this book on Jewish manuscript illumination differ from all other such
books? In the pages to come, we venture beyond the traditional mode of cataloguing
manuscripts chronologically and geographically by means of a sample page from each
manuscript and a description of each manuscript’s origin, form, and contents. This is
something that has been done to good effect in the past by excellent scholars, whose works
Figure 10Joseph’s dreams. Inscribed hic
vidit ioSheP So(M)niu(M) ManiP-
ulor(uM) et Soli(S) (et) lune et
und(e)ci(M) Stelaru(M) (“Here
Joseph dreams the dream of the
sheaves, the sun, the moon and the
eleven stars.”). San Marco, Venice,
Atrium, bay 6, dome. Mosaic. Ital-
ian, 13th century.
Figure 11Joseph’s dreams. Haggadah
(The Golden Haggadah). Spain,
Barcelona, ca. 1320. London, British
Library, MS Add. 27210, fol. 5rb.
introduction 11
Figure 12Moses receiving, then transmitting
the tablets of the Covenant to the
Israelites at Sinai. Pentateuch (The
Regensburg Pentateuch). Germany,
1300. Jerusalem, the Israel
Museum, MS 180/52, fol. 154v.
Figure 13Moses receiving the tablets of the
Covenant. Maḥzor (The Rothschild
Maḥzor). Italy, Florence, 1490.
New York, Library of the Jewish
Theological Seminary, MS 8892,
fol. 139a.
are noted in Jenna Siman Jacobs’s ne and useful bibliography (chapter 13). Here, we will
engage less in a survey of individual manuscripts than in a survey of iconography, East
and West. We’ll look at the way the ow of the narrative is conveyed over sequences of
illuminations in various manuscripts, and at the ways in which themes are transmitted,
comparing and contrasting East and West and the Jewish and non- Jewish use of motifs
throughout various time periods.
The Jewish tradition is often concerned with transmission and interpretation. From
the moment of the revelation at Sinai, as the book of Exodus describes it, to the present age,
the traditions of the Jews have been inexorably bound up with books. And the variety of
ways of interpreting those books, as with the traditions themselves, is myriad. Witness how
even the imagining of the giving of the Torah at Sinai can shift as it is depicted in thirteenth-
century Regensburg (gure 12) or in Renaissance Italy (gure 13)! How do the aesthetic
and the setting differ in each case? What action is occurring in each view of what at rst
appears to be the same scene? What moment is depicted here? What is Moses’s role? What
is the people’s place? What does it mean to be camped “below the mountain” in each case?
Still, in spite of the multiple possibilities for interpretation of texts and for going
beyond texts— which spill over into a gorgeous diversity of depiction— there was no point
in Jewish history (even when Jews had to share a single book among seven or eight pupils,
12 introduction
and thus learn to read Hebrew from all sorts of interesting angles)
in which books were completely absent. A child learning Parashat
Shelakh Lekha for Bar or Bat Miẓvah in modern- day Indianapolis
uses very much the same tools as a boy might have in Old Cairo
in the Middle Ages (gure 14), although teachers today may tend
to spare the rod more than they apparently did in bygone days
(gure 15). Even the form of a single work— let’s say the Megillah,
the scroll of Esther— may vary (again a testimony to the degree to
which the text was loved), from exquisite Gothic codices (gure 16), to beautifully writ-
ten and encased scrolls (gure 17), to miniature volumes bound in silver (gure 18). The
aesthetic may range from Baroque grandeur (gure 19) to charming folksiness (gure 20).
But the goal is always the same— to encourage engagement and to incite interpretation.
above Figure 14Shelakh Lekha. “Send forth for
yourself.” Numbers 3:1– 15:41.
Parasha (Torah Portion) man-
uscript. Probably Persia, 1106.
Jerusalem, National Library of
Israel, MS Heb. 8° 2238, fols. 3v– 4r.
left Figure 15Teacher chastising a pupil.
Pentateuch with the Five Scrolls,
prophetic readings, and grammat-
ical treatises. Central Germany,
possibly Coburg, 1390– 96. London,
British Library, MS Add. 19776, fol.
72v.
oPPoSite Figure 16Queen Esther and Aḥashverosh/
The hanging of Haman and his
sons/The triumph of Mordechai.
Pentateuch (The Regensburg
Pentateuch). Germany, 1300.
Jerusalem, the Israel Museum, MS
180/52, fol. 157v.
14 introduction
Figure 17Megillah cases. From left: Ioannina,
Greece, ca. 1900; Aleppo, Syria,
ca. 1875; Izmir, Turkey, 1873;
Ukraine, ca. 1850; Turkey, ca. 1875.
Tel Aviv, Gross Family Collection,
080.001.043, 080.001.007,
080.021.001, 080.001.034,
080.001.020.
Figure 18Accordion- folded scroll of Esther
in silver book binding. Italy, 18th–
19th century. Jerusalem, the Israel
Museum, Stieglitz Collection.
introduction 15
toP Figure 19Scroll of Esther in Baroque style.
Probably Germany, ca. 1700. Tel
Aviv, Gross Family Collection,
081.012.037.
bottoM Figure 20Miniature scroll of Esther in a folksy
Baroque style. Probably Germany,
ca. 1700. Tel Aviv, Gross Family
Collection, 081.012.038.
16 introduction
oPPoSite Figure 21A man studies Torah below an
image of a squirrel cracking a nut,
which serves as a metaphor for
getting beyond the shell of learning
and extracting the sweet meat of
the interior of the text. Asher ben
Yeḥiel, Commentary on the Talmud.
Germany, 14th century. Paris,
Bibliothèque nationale de France,
MS hèbr. 418, fol. 198.
Witness the lovely opening folio from a fourteenth- century German manuscript
of Rabbenu Asher’s Talmudic commentary (gure 21). Below the charmingly decorated
initial word panel (the left- most arm of the shin contains an enigmatic hooded fool’s
face— the great- grandfather, perhaps, of Maurice Sendak’s Max from Where the Wild
Things Are, replete with wolf- suit), a scholarly gure sits on a plump, tasseled pillow in
a grand chair— a cathedra— backed by a velvet cloth sprinkled with stars. A book is open
before him, as he studies Torah. At the top of the panel, there is another illumination
equal in size and prominence, depicting a squirrel, seated on an identical tasseled pillow,
and cracking a nut! The juxtaposition seems a bit— well, “nutty”— until you realize that
one of the dominant medieval metaphors for Torah itself was the nut: hard to crack, but
rewardingly nutritious on the inside, the very food of life. The squirrel invites us to do
what the scholar has done— to open the book and enter the text and mine it for the riches
it contains. Dear reader, after nearly 700 years, that invitation still stands. Join us . . .