A Jewish Game of Thrones: The Bloody Tragedy of the Hasmonean Dynasty

We think we know them from the story of Hannukah and its miracles, but the heroic victory of Judah the Maccabee was just the prologue to the broader story of the Hasmonean Kingdom – a story that begins with a single family's dream of an independent Judea, continues with military and political glory papering over deep internal rot, and ends with destruction and the death of a beautiful queen at the hands of her husband

Miriam the Hasmonean on her way to execution, painting by Edward Hopley

“There is no real ending. It’s just the place where you stop the story.” – Frank Herbert

If there is a story where we almost never stop at the right point and almost never reach the (bitter) end, it’s the story of the Hasmoneans.

Every year, on the 25th of the Hebrew month of Kislev, we celebrate the moment of a glorious victory – a victory which seemed almost impossible, a true miracle. But this victory is really just the prelude to the story of the Hasmoneans, as both a family and a historically unique monarchical dynasty in the annals of the Jewish People.

To understand who they were, we would do well to re-examine the familiar Hanukkah story, and look beyond the usual “happily ever after” bit where we usually stop, to see what came after that glorious moment.

The Angel of the Maccabees, by Gustave Dore

It all started with a rebellion. Or perhaps the persecution that preceded it? They were tightly connected.

In the first half of the second century BCE, Jerusalem was ruled by the Seleucids, who we often call “the Greeks” in our Hannukah stories and prayers. Seleucus I was among the generals who inherited parts of Alexander the Great’s sprawling empire. The Seleucid Empire, though smaller than Alexander’s, still stretched from Asia Minor, Mesopotamia, Syria, and the Land of Israel, all the way to the Indus River at its height.

Antiochus IV, who ever so humbly called himself Epiphanes (“God Manifest”) and who has been commemorated by kindergarten teachers throughout the Jewish world as “Antiochus the Wicked”, rose to power at a bad time for his kingdom: his father had just suffered a very serious defeat at the hands of a new rising power to the west – Rome. He lost significant parts of his empire to the Romans (and other nations which jumped on the opportunity), and was forced to sign a humiliating surrender agreement which included astronomical reparations.

In the meantime, Jerusalem and the surrounding area of Judea had for centuries, since the famous Edict of Cyrus the Great, enjoyed a degree of religious autonomy, with the Jewish the High Priest presiding over worship at the Temple. The territory had been ruled by a series of empires which toppled one another – the Babylonians, the Medes, the Persians, the Macedonians, the Ptolemies, and now the Seleucids. But for most of this time, the Jews had a varying measure of religious freedom to maintain their worship in the Temple and the commandments and laws of their faith.

Historians are divided on what led Antiochus to change this arrangement which had worked so well for all his predecessors, but whatever the reason – he decided to intervene in the religious practices in Jerusalem and Judea, outlawing all Jewish rituals and desecrating the Temple.

It is here that the story we all know and love begins, though the degree of accuracy often varies in the telling: Mattathias the priest and his five sons raised the banner of rebellion. Whether the spark was an attempt to force the residents of Modi’in to bring a sacrifice to the Greek gods, or the story of Mattathias’ daughter Hannah, who rebelled against the terrifying decree of “the first night” – either way, battle was joined. Significant portions of the Jewish People gathered round Mattathias and his sons upon hearing the battle cry “Whoever is to God to me” (or something to that effect), sick of the cruel Hellenic oppression and willing to die to return to observing the Torah and its commandments in the open.

Mattathias and the Apostate, by Gustave Dore

Judah the Maccabee, the third of Mattathias’ sons, formed and led the small rebel army – at first, with guerilla actions and later in organized, open battles against the Seleucid army. He went up to Jerusalem with his soldiers and managed to take over large parts of it, most importantly the Temple – which was cleaned and purified. Jewish religious rituals resumed.

This is where the story of the miracle of Hannukah more or less ends – Judah the Maccabee defeated the armies of the Hellenistic empire and relit the Menorah or candelabrum in the Temple. The year was 164 BCE. Since then, every year, and in memory of the victory of the Jewish light over Greek darkness, we celebrate the holiday of Hannukah.

Mattathias, meanwhile, had passed away a year before, and did not get to see his sons’ success.

This event was not only the “happy ending” we celebrate every year, but rather the beginning of the long path to Jewish independent rule in Jerusalem and the Land of Israel – a rule which would ultimately become a monarchy for all intents and purposes and which would end in blood. Plenty of blood.

 

Season One – The Brothers

To be honest, it was bloody from the beginning.

Peace did not come after Judah’s famous initial victories. The Seleucids were not so quick to give up the lands they had ruled, and although the decrees of Antiochus (which had proven themselves to be a rallying cry for the majority of Jews to join with the Hasmoneans against the Seleucids) were rescinded, the Hellenistic kings continued to send troops to fight the rebels in Judea.

Six years after the miracle of the oil that lasted eight days instead of one, Judah was defeated by the general Bacchides, falling in the Battle of Elasa. His brother Eleazar also perished when he was trampled to death by one of the Seleucid army’s war elephants. For a while, it appeared the original status quo had been restored – the Greek religious persecutions had been undone, but so too, it seemed, had the Hasmonean victory.

The Heroism of Eleazar, by Philip James de Loutherbourg

The Hasmoneans and their supporters, however, were not gripped by despair. The leadership of the rebellion was taken up by another Hasmonean brother – Jonathan, who was a gifted commander and perhaps more importantly – a skilled diplomat. He returned the Hasmoneans to Jerusalem after a series of military victories, while working primarily at the diplomatic level, especially by cleverly exploiting the endless infighting among those claiming the Seleucid crown. He convinced the Seleucid authorities to give him effective control, and in 150 BCE, he received the titles of strategos (general) and “meridarch” (akin to a civil governor).

Jonathan managed to hold these title for seven years before being murdered by a Seleucid ruler – Diodotus Tryphon. He was replaced as leader by Simon – the last brother left alive.

All these stormy events in Judea were accompanied by a family situation which had no equal throughout history: While still alive, Mattathias had been the clear leader of the rebellion, even though his age likely prevented him from participating in the battles themselves. After his death, he left the leadership to his five sons, advising them to follow Judah – who was not the eldest, but whom Mattathias considered the most appropriate one to lead the nation in war.

And they indeed followed Judah, just as they would later follow the brothers who succeeded him.

Scholars question almost every detail about this period, but one thing still remains unequivocally clear – Mattathias’ sons did not fight amongst themselves. The torch kept being passed from one brother to the next as the fight against the Seleucids continued and the brothers died one after the other, with the next one’s leadership never being questioned by his siblings.

Simon, the last of the brothers, was the one who secured full independence for Judea. He didn’t yet call himself a king, but the moment he fully took the reins of civilian control from the Seleucids and the tax burden was lifted (in 140 BCE) is the moment from which we officially begin counting the years of Hasmonean reign.

The First Book of Maccabees (15:1-9) tells of this moment:

“Antiochus, son of King Demetrius, sent a letter from the islands of the sea to Simon, the priest and ethnarch of the Jews, and to all the nation, which read as follows:

“King Antiochus sends greetings to Simon, the high priest and ethnarch, and to the Jewish nation […] I authorize you to coin your own money, as legal tender in your country. Jerusalem and its sanctuary shall be free. All the weapons you have prepared and all the strongholds you have built and now occupy shall remain in your possession. All debts, present or future, due to the royal treasury shall be canceled for you, now and for all time. When we establish our kingdom, we will greatly honor you and your nation and the temple, so that your glory will be manifest in all the earth.”

Simon was a wise and beneficent ruler, chosen by an assembly of the people to be their “leader and high priest forever, until a trustworthy prophet should arise”. He conquered additional cities in the Land of Israel such as Gezer and Jaffa, and even succeeded in taking over the Acra – the fortress of Greeks and Hellenized Jews that had remained a thorn in the side of residents of Jerusalem for so long.

Six years passed in relative quiet since that happy day of independence, until family strife encouraged by the Seleucids brought about tragedy and betrayal. Simon’s father-in-law, Ptolemy son of Abubus, who received control of the city of Jericho and its surroundings while maintaining secret relations with the “current” Antiochus (VII), invited Simon and his sons to a feast at his home, where they were cruelly murdered, as Ptolemy hoped to gain the throne of Judea for himself.

Unfortunately for him, one of Simon’s sons – John Hyrcanus – didn’t attend that bloody feast, surviving his father and becoming the Prince and High Priest in his stead.

 

Season Two – The Bloody Rule of the First Kings

During the reign of John Hyrcanus, Mattathias’ grandson, the internal rift between the different religious factions deepened. Hyrcanus had begun his rule like his father and uncles before him – as a religious leader and priest ruling by virtue of broad public support. But a number of choices he made and disputes regarding his position (can a High Priest be a military leader engaged in conquest and killing?) pushed his form of rule towards that of an absolute monarchy relying on force-of-arms, little different than what could be seen in the surrounding Hellenistic monarchies. His successors would continue to enhance this trend. Greek culture began to become dominant in the institutions and customs of the ruling class. John (Yochanan) was the first to take a Greek name – Hyrcanus – and after him, this practically became the standard.

Hyrcanus ruled Judea for 31 years, the first Hasmonean ruler to die of natural causes. Before his death, he sought to hand over rule to his wife. But his son, Judah Aristobulus I didn’t like the idea, and when his father died, he simply imprisoned his mother and most of his brothers and declared himself King.

Hasmonean coins. The power to mint coins was an important marker of economic and political independence

The rule of the first King in Judea since the Biblical era was not a model of benevolent government, nor did it leave a significant mark on history. But Aristobulus I did apparently make at least one good decision: He married a woman named Salome (Shlomtziyon) Alexandra. She was the sister of Simon Ben Shetach – one of the greatest of the Pharisees and the president of the Sanhedrin – but she would yet stand out in her own right.

Aristobulus died from an illness just one year after coming to power. Salome Alexandra freed his imprisoned brothers (his mother died in jail), and married the oldest of them, who was still younger than her – Alexander Jannaeus.

Alexander Jannaeus was a king from the very first, with all that entails. He set out on extensive campaigns of conquest and vastly increased the size of his kingdom, taking over the Hellenistic coastal cities, and conquering Gaza and large swathes of the east bank of the Jordan River.

Map of the Land of Israel and the Hasmonean Kingdom following the conquests of Alexander Jannaeus. From the Eran Laor Cartographic Collection at the National Library of Israel, courtesy of Amir Kahanovitz

According to most testimonies, Jannaeus was a cruel and tyrannical ruler who did not hesitate to use foreign mercenaries to massacre his opponents, of which there were many. He did not heed the mood of the people, and at least two significant rebellions occurred during his reign. During one of these, it is said that over 800 rebels were hung on the city walls, as Jannaeus held a vulgar banquet in front of them. He even wanted to execute his brother-in-law, a leader of the Pharisees, but Salome Alexandra managed to hide her sibling and save his life.

After less than thirty years on the throne, Alexander Jannaeus died in a manner similar to his namesake – from a disease he was stricken with during one of his campaigns. He was succeeded, finally, by a woman. His wife.

 

Season Three – The Days of the Good Queen Salome

Salome Alexandra was considered by many to be the best monarch of the bunch, certainly when it came to internal affairs. She brought the people, who were largely affiliated with the Pharisee party, back on her side, and her rule excelled in its almost unprecedented economic and political stability.

In her day, for the first time since Judah the Maccabee renewed the rituals of the Temple, the leadership was split up – Salome Alexandra ruled as Queen, but she granted the title of High Priest to her eldest son – Hyrcanus II.

Her second son, Aristobulus II, refused to reconcile with his mother’s reign and his brother’s priesthood. At first, he sufficed with leading the military elite, which set out on a number of campaigns in the name of his mother the Queen, but at the end of her life, when it was clear she was dying and unable to fully manage the kingdom, he gathered a loyal army around him, took control of many fortresses, and declared himself King.

Queen Salome Alexandra (Shlomtziyon), by Guy Bartholomew. Rome, 1751.

The figure of Salome Alexandra, and the fact that she was unable to quell the hostility between her two sons, provided historian Flavius Josephus with the opportunity to take a swipe at all women:

“A woman she was who showed no signs of the weakness of her sex […] and demonstrated by her doings at once, that her mind was fit for action, and that sometimes men themselves show the little understanding they have by the frequent mistakes they make in point of government; for she always preferred the present to futurity, and preferred the power of an imperious dominion above all things, and in comparison of that had no regard to what was good, or what was right. However, she brought the affairs of her house to such an unfortunate condition, that she was the occasion of the taking away that authority from it, and that in no long time afterward, which she had obtained by a vast number of hazards and misfortunes, and this out of a desire of what does not belong to a woman, and all by a compliance in her sentiments with those that bare ill-will to their family, and by leaving the administration destitute of a proper support of great men; and, indeed, her management during her administration while she was alive, was such as filled the palace after her death with calamities and disturbance.”

But even he could not help but admit:

“However […] she preserved the nation in peace. And this is the conclusion of the affairs of, Alexandra.”

Salome Alexandra died at the age of 73, after ruling Judea for 9 years.

 

Season Four – Brothers at War

Hyrcanus the High Priest, also known as Hyrcanus II, who Josephus (and not only him), described as “weak minded”, didn’t want to fight his brother at first. His mother left Aristobulus’ wife and sons with Hyrcanus to serve as a bargaining chip in the fight for the throne, but he chose not to use them and arrived at an agreement with Aristobulus – he would continue to serve as High Priest and Aristobulus would be King.

A return to sanity, mutual respect between brothers and good old-fashioned family values? Well, not quite.

Over time, Hyrcanus began to develop close ties with a fellow named Antipater the Idumaean. Antipater’s son would become one of the era’s most famous historic figures, but we’ll get to him in a bit. Antipater succeeded in convincing Hyrcanus not to give up the throne, and with the help of the King of the Nabateans, they set out to fight Aristobulus in Jerusalem. The war that broke out between the two brothers was bitter and cruel and was accompanied by the looting of everything dear and holy to the earlier Hasmoneans – by both of the warring sides. Now they didn’t even need a wicked Antiochus to desecrate the Temple and kill priests and sages – they did it themselves.

While this was going on, the Roman general Pompey strolled into town, carrying orders to expand Rome’s territories in the East. Throughout the Hasmonean Kingdom’s history, the Romans had cast a long shadow from the West but had refrained from intervening in Judea’s internal affairs, as its rulers were wise enough to repeatedly sign peace treaties with it.

This was about to change. Both Hyrcanus and Aristobulus now expected Pompey to judge which of the two was more deserving of ruling Judea. They travelled to see him in Damascus, as did a delegation of the Judean people, who came to ask the Roman general take down the entire Hasmonean family – they’d had enough power struggles and corruption.

Was this simple naivete or just a clumsy attempt at political maneuvering?

Either way, Pompey’s response was one of the greatest historical demonstrations of the idiom: “When two are fighting, the third wins”. He quickly seized the opportunity to take over the Judean kingdom himself. He went up to Jerusalem, besieged it, and after just three months and 12,000 dead Jews, he entered the Holy of Holies in the Temple. Aristobulus II was imprisoned and Hyrcanus II was declared an “Ethnarch” a pathetic puppet ruler on behalf of Rome.

The year was 63 BCE. The Hasmonean Kingdom, the only example of Jewish sovereignty in the Land of Israel since the biblical kingdoms (and for the next 2,000 years), had lost its independence.

 

Season Five – The Last Hasmonean Queen

It was the end of the Hasmonean Kingdom, but not the end of the dynasty. Like the final season of a tired drama series full of violence and intrigue that refuses to end – the sons and daughters of the Hasmonean family stuck around, continuing to play inseparable roles in the government of the Roman client state.

Meantime, the effective ruler was Antipater – the man who incited Hyrcanus II to go to war for the throne in the first place. Antipater appointed his son, one Herod, as governor of the Galilee. Hyrcanus II and Herod were sworn enemies who didn’t miss an opportunity to humiliate or harm one another. This toxic relationship reached its peak with the poisoning of Antipater by Hyrcanus’ people. Antipater died and in order to “compensate” Herod, Hyrcanus gave him his granddaughter (also Aristobulus’ granddaughter due to marriage within the family) – Miriam the Hasmonean – as a wife.

Miriam, or Mariamne, was apparently a very impressive woman. Josephus described her thus:

“a woman of an excellent character, both for chastity and greatness of soul […] yet had she all that can be said in the beauty of her body, and her majestic appearance in conversation”

At the end of an exhaustingly long era of battles and intrigue, Herod became King of Judea under the Romans. Miriam his wife, who could be Queen herself by right due to her lineage, became the partner of one of the most notorious Jewish rulers in a court full of discord.

Herod is probably the most famous king of this era of Jewish history, but his rule, no matter how glamorous, was subordinate to the central government in Rome and is not considered part of the Hasmonean dynasty. To the contrary, he feared the legacy of the Hasmonean kings, and in order to reduce their influence and reputation, he even slashed Hyrcanus’ ears to make him unfit for the priesthood and executed most of what was left of the royal family, including the mother and brother of his wife Miriam.

His relationship with Miriam, his Hasmonean queen, was a roller coaster of almost mad passion interwoven with mutual accusations – she for his murder of her family, he for her disloyalty.

In the end, he sentenced her to death himself.

“…she went to her death with an unshaken firmness of mind […] and thereby evidently discovered the nobility of her descent to the spectators, even in the last moments of her life.”

Thus did Josephus describe the last moments of the last Hasmonean queen in his classic work, “Antiquities of the Jews”, just a few years after her family’s kingdom had lost its independence, and less than a hundred years before the complete destruction of Judea and the Temple itself.

Mariamne Leaving the Judgment Seat of Herod, by John William Waterhouse

The Hasmonean Kingdom was but a brief flash of Jewish independence in a torn and bloodied land dominated for millennia by empires, kingdoms, and other polities. A land the Jewish People never left and never ceased to dream of. It began with a great hope – the realization of the vision of five faithful brothers who worked together for decades and gave their lives to see it through. It was a kingdom full of Jewish pride which served as a testament to the power of the spirit and a shared fate. Yet it succumbed, soaked in blood, to its own failings and self-destructive acts. The story of the Hasmonean Kingdom offers a historical lesson on everything that can go wrong when a government is tainted with corruption and reliant solely on force.

The Art of a Child’s Hope

Amidst the horrors of war, it is common for children to find some solace through artistic endeavors. But in an astounding discovery, we’ve also now seen that there is a clear connection between the art made by children during the Holocaust and the art created by the children witnessing the current war in Israel and Gaza. Why is this the case, and what can it teach us about the experiences of children witnessing the slaughter of their people, 80 years apart?

Since the horrific events of October 7, and the subsequent weeks of terror, loss, and mourning, many are asking themselves how on earth the people of Israel will ever be able to find the strength to rebuild. With so much sadness, so much pain and grief, it sometimes seems impossible that there could be any hope left.

2023 – Jewish Middle School of Nashville, 3rd grade, USA, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel           1929 – Jiri Metzl, Jewish Museum of Prague, from We Are Children Just the Same, Marie Rut Krizkova, Kurt Jiri Kotouc, and Zdenek Ornest, 1995, the Jewish Publication Society, the National Library of Israel

As Israel keeps fighting, however, there exists a chorus of small but persistent voices pervading the darkness: voices that belong to little children, asking in their innocent tones for us to please keep going. For them.

2023 – Renascenca school, 5th grade, Brazil, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel (includes a wish for peace in Portuguese)                                    1942 – Sketch of a Child’s Hand, Frantisek Brozan, aged 10, from I Never Saw Another Butterfly, Hana Volavkova, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Schocken Books, National Library of Israel

There are few people born in Israel who did not have a childhood punctuated by one of the country’s many wars or intifadas, so the now-grownup adults know that despite all the many challenges facing us right now, we need to stay strong for our children. Many of them will grow up with memories of this war, and it is our job to make sure that those memories are of a strong nation, one who can rise through the ashes, not only to succeed on the battlefield but also, ever so slowly, to rebuild as a people and find a way to rekindle the hope.

2023 – Eden Fitoussi, Henri Schilli, 2nd grade, France, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel           1944 – Josef Novak, aged 13, from Children’s Drawings From the Concentration Camp of Terezin, 1978, State Jewish Museum in Prague, the National Library of Israel

Amidst the horrors of war, it is common for children to find some solace and a means of expressing their feelings through artistic endeavors. For little brains with big thoughts, their emotions can’t always be expressed adequately in words, but their creativity can serve as a form of therapy, providing a safe haven whereby they can process complex emotions, understand the strange and ever-changing world around them, and, as a byproduct, leave behind a poignant testimony to their resilience which even adults can draw strength from.

2023 – Yael Benarrouch, Yabne Schili, 1st grade, France, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel           1942 – Dancing Children, Helena Schanzerova, aged 9, from I Never Saw Another Butterfly, Hana Volavkova, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Schocken Books, National Library of Israel

We know that children have a remarkable capacity to adapt to their surroundings, even in the most horrific of circumstances. In times of war and fear, one way of doing this is by using art as a tool to cope with their emotions, escape from the harsh realities around them, and channel their inner thoughts into something more tangible. The emotional catharsis of expressing their fear, anger, and sadness in a non-verbal manner often aids in gaining a sense of control over their feelings.

2023 – Alma Primary School N20, 3rd-6th grade, UK, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel                               1928 – To The Station, Petr Ginz, the Jewish Museum of Prague, from We Are Children Just the Same, Marie Rut Krizkova, Kurt Jiri Kotouc, and Zdenek Ornest, 1995, the Jewish Publication Society, the National Library of Israel

One of the most poignant examples of children using art to cope with the destruction that lay around them was the art created by Jewish children during the Holocaust. Despite the unimaginable horrors that they endured, many of these children found solace through artistic expression. To this day, we are still finding pictures drawn by children from within the walls of the concentration camps and ghettos, and continue to document these images as vital Holocaust records. The children’s art continues to serve as a testament to the young human spirit’s ability to endure and transcend suffering, or at least make sense of their anguish, in ways that adults are often unable to do.

2023 – Zac Green, Yavneh College, 8th grade, UK, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel                                   1940s – Smiling Man In Camp Uniform, located in bunker cell 12, block 11 of Auschwitz, from Last Traces – the Lost Art of Auschwitz, 1989, Joseph P. Czarnecki, Atheneum, National Library of Israel

In Auschwitz and Warsaw, Treblinka and Vilna, in fact all across Eastern Europe, Jewish children in the 1930s and 40s turned to art as a means of survival. Drawing and painting memoirs of happier times, or their dreams for the future, offered them a glimmer of hope and a way to maintain their humanity in the face of the most dehumanizing conditions.

2023 – Gabs, Yavneh College, 9th grade, UK, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel                   1943 – Nazi Threatening a Jew, Jiri Beutler, aged 11, from I Never Saw Another Butterfly, Hana Volavkova, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Schocken Books, National Library of Israel

Through their art, some of these children also depicted the atrocities that they witnessed. They drew scenes of deportations, crowded barracks, and Nazi brutality – innocent young people simply copying the scenes that they saw all around them and thus making sense of what was happening, and in doing so, leaving behind witness to the injustices that they faced.

2023 – Aaron Meimoun, Yabne Schili, 1st grade, France Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel            1931 – Liliana Franklova, the Jewish Museum of Prague, from We Are Children Just the Same, Marie Rut Krizkova, Kurt Jiri Kotouc, and Zdenek Ornest, 1995, the Jewish Publication Society, the National Library of Israel

But interestingly, so much of the art created by Jewish children during the Holocaust also provides glimpses into their innocence, as they portrayed scenes of camaraderie, smiles from the people around them, their favorite animals and flowers, and simple moments of daily life. As much as the darker artistic material shows us how traumatizing this experience was for the children, it is often their scenes of naivety which strike us harder. What hurts so much is seeing the way that these children remembered and documented the world as it used to be for them and probably how they hoped it still could be, combined with the hindsight that these children had no idea of what lay in wait for them.

2023 – Naor Berros, Yabne Schili, 1st grade, France, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel                              1944 – Margit Koretzova, aged 11, from Children’s Drawings From the Concentration Camp of Terezin, 1978, State Jewish Museum in Prague, the National Library of Israel

Today, children have more access to information and knowledge of current affairs than ever before. As more young people have their own digital devices and social media accounts, it’s hard to shield our youth from what is happening around them. A never-ending stream of information, video footage and propaganda is being released from nearly every media source straight into our devices, and as a result, the youngsters of Israel and Jewish children around the world are more aware of the atrocities occurring than ever before.

2023 – Ambar Jones, Comunidad Judia de Nordelta, 8th grade, Argentina, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel                                                        1944 – Queue for Food, Liana Franklova, aged 13, from I Never Saw Another Butterfly, Hana Volavkova, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Schocken Books, National Library of Israel

But creative activities offer children a temporary escape from the traumatic events that they may be experiencing or witnessing. Art allows them to focus on something encouraging and constructive, if only for a brief moment. And more importantly, art empowers these children to take control of their own narratives. In this time of chaos, it allows them to create a world that they are in charge of, making decisions about what exists on their page and in exactly what form, and thus shaping their own imaginative realities. A sense of control when otherwise they would have none.

2023 – leah, Alma Primary School N20, 3rd-6th grade, UK, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel           1931 – Vera Lowyova, the Jewish Museum of Prague, from We Are Children Just the Same, Marie Rut Krizkova, Kurt Jiri Kotouc, and Zdenek Ornest, 1995, the Jewish Publication Society, the National Library of Israel

With this in mind, shortly after the war broke out last month, the National Library of Israel launched a special initiative for students worldwide. We reached out to educators with the message that “We are inviting your students to share letters and drawings to Israeli soldiers and families that our team will print and send out.”

2023 – Yael Rendelstein, Alonim School, Modi’in, Israel, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel               1943 – Figures of Little Girls, Jana Hellerova, aged 5, from I Never Saw Another Butterfly, Hana Volavkova, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Schocken Books, National Library of Israel
2023 – leah, Alma Primary School N20, 3rd-6th grade, UK, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel           1931 – Vera Lowyova, the Jewish Museum of Prague, from We Are Children Just the Same, Marie Rut Krizkova, Kurt Jiri Kotouc, and Zdenek Ornest, 1995, the Jewish Publication Society, the National Library of Israel

It is a meaningful way to show support and raise people’s spirits in these difficult times. These, like the many letters and pictures made by children in previous wars, will also be preserved in the NLI collections.

2023 – Benyamin Ouahba, Yabne Schili, 2nd grade France, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel                                                        1942 – Leaves of a Tree, Milan Biennenfeld, aged 12, from I Never Saw Another Butterfly, Hana Volavkova, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Schocken Books, National Library of Israel

The results of this new project have been astounding to see, as we continue to receive hundreds of images which provide glimpses into the minds of the young Jewish children who are just trying to cope with the realities of this war, the way we all are.

2023 – Natalia Intiwasi, Spanish Immersion School, Kindergarten, USA, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel                                                 1931 – Kitty Brunnerova, the Jewish Museum of Prague, from We Are Children Just the Same, Marie Rut Krizkova, Kurt Jiri Kotouc, and Zdenek Ornest, 1995, the Jewish Publication Society, the National Library of Israel

They’ve also shown us that as the world progresses at break-neck speed, the minds of children will forever be young. In looking at these images we can see clear connections between the art made by children during the Holocaust and the art created by the children witnessing the current war in Israel and Gaza.

2023 – Alona, Colegio Columbo Hebreo Primary School, Columbia, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel                                       1943 – Ghetto Guard, Alfred Weisskopf, aged 11, from I Never Saw Another Butterfly, Hana Volavkova, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Schocken Books, National Library of Israel

This is perhaps to be somewhat expected: children often employ universally understood symbolism in their art to represent certain figures, ideologies, and the impact of war on their lives. Through these symbols and drawings, they are able to explore and interpret the radical events occurring around them. Thus, it may be only natural for the images of the children who have borne witness to the slaughtering of their people to be similar, despite being created decades apart.

2023 – Yael Rendelstein, Alonim School, Modi’in, Israel, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel               1943 – Figures of Little Girls, Jana Hellerova, aged 5, from I Never Saw Another Butterfly, Hana Volavkova, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Schocken Books, National Library of Israel

Most of the children whose pictures are included in this article did not survive the Holocaust, but their art did. It now serves as a poignant historical record, offering exceptional insights into the minds of children during that time, and leaving behind invaluable artistic testimonies of the Holocaust for future generations.

2023 – Mika Friedman, Farmland Elementary School, 1st grade, USA, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel                                                                    1943 – Passover Seder, Doris Weiser, aged 11, from I Never Saw Another Butterfly, Hana Volavkova, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Schocken Books, National Library of Israel

As the National Library of Israel continues to collect the art of the Jewish children experiencing the current war in Israel, we simultaneously create a new set of records, soon to be historic, which will always serve as a reminder of what young Jewish children lived through in the year 2023.

2023 – Evelina Matvienco, Kishinev ORT Hertzl Technology Lyceum, Moldova, Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel                                          1944 – Karel Sattler, aged 12, from Children’s Drawings From the Concentration Camp of Terezin, 1978, State Jewish Museum in Prague, the National Library of Israel

We hope and pray that Israel will return to peace soon, but we know that for a long time even after this war ends, the question will remain of how to rebuild a country which has lost so much. As our children turn to us for answers on how to keep going, we may also find ourselves turning to them. As we look towards their small but hopeful faces and see the power of their yearning for peace, maybe these images will enable us to put one foot in front of another, one foot in front of another, until it becomes natural to do so once again.

2023 – Gustave Leven, Ecole Alliance, 1st grade, France Words Can Make a Difference, National Library of Israel                                         1941 – Guard With a Stick, Sona Spitzova, aged 10, from I Never Saw Another Butterfly, Hana Volavkova, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Schocken Books, National Library of Israel

 

If you know a child who would like to share a piece of art or a letter with the NLI and our brave IDF soldiers, please follow the link: https://educationnli.involve.me/words-make-difference

The Mysterious Case of Joseph G. Weiss’s Hasidic Library

Prof. Joseph G. Weiss was one of the 20th century's leading scholars of Hasidism. Following Weiss's tragic death in 1969, his mentor Gershom Scholem selected 250 books from his former student's personal collection to be brought to the National Library in Jerusalem. Yet something happened along the way. To this day it's not clear what became of many of these books...

Joseph G. Weiss, photo from the Joseph George Weiss Archive at the National Library of Israel

Prof. Joseph G. Weiss (1918-1969), was one of the foremost students of Prof. Gershom Scholem. He would go  on to direct the Institute of Jewish Studies at University College London and edit its “Journal of Jewish Studies”. Weiss left behind a scholarly oeuvre which, although sometimes debated and criticized, is without a doubt the forerunner of modern Hasidic studies. He was ahead of his time, and that perhaps explains the current reawakening of fascination with his work.

Weiss’s untimely and tragic death and the publication of his correspondence with Gershom Scholem a decade ago have also contributed to the great interest both in Weiss the scholar, and in Weiss the man.

I would like to offer some brief observations regarding the Hasidic books that were held in Weiss’s personal library, and their mysterious fate. After Weiss’s death in 1969, his widow Erna decided to sell his Judaica collection through the agencies of Weiss’s friend and colleague at University College London, Prof. Chimen Abramsky, who also worked as a book dealer. Prof. Jacob Taubes of the Judaica Institute of the Berlin Free University, Scholem’s student (and later nemesis), and an early friend of Weiss, purchased the collection for his institute. However, when the books arrived in Berlin, he noticed that many of the most important volumes were missing. It seems that Weiss, in his will, had given permission to his mentor Scholem to have first choice of the books that he wanted for the collection of the Jewish National and University Library in Jerusalem, and needless to say, Scholem had selected the best. Taubes in response angrily cancelled the agreement and returned the remainder of the collection to London, where they were subsequently auctioned.

Extensive correspondence exists in the archives of the National Library of Israel regarding the transfer of “250 books” (“mostly on Hasidism”) from Weiss’s library, that arrived in Jerusalem in February 1970. Some of the correspondence is in the Joseph Weiss archives, and some in non-catalogued folders of donor information. Some of the letters, mostly between Erna Weiss and Dr. I. Adler, who was then the Library’s Director, mention a list of the 250 books, which I have sadly not been able to locate.

“Two hundred and fifty volumes pertaining to…Chassidut”

 

Here we see correspondence between Erna Weiss and the Dr. Adler, then Director of the JNUL, regarding the shipping of 250 books (mostly on Hasidism) from Weiss’s estate to the Library. In Erna’s response she refers to a list of the books which was needed for legal purposes. This is the list that I am still searching for.

“I have had to draw up a list of the books”

 

“The valuable library of your late husband…has arrived safely”

 

Shortly after their arrival, the reception of the volumes was noted in the Library’s inventory, which specifically lists Noam Elimelech and Ohr HaMeir, apparently as the only two which the Library did not previously hold. I am still searching for these two volumes.

Noam Elimelech and Ohr HaMair in the Library inventory

 

Approximately one hundred of the volumes were in Hebrew and some 150 in other languages. Some of them contained marginalia in Weiss’s handwriting. By February 1970, the Library reported to Erna Weiss that the volumes had all arrived and in May wrote explicitly that the three special volumes that she had handpicked for Scholem’s personal collection had all been located. The three are Sipurei Maasiot, Yosher Divrei Emet and Ketonet Pasim. In Sipurei Maasiot, the most heavily annotated of the three, Weiss had the book rebound with a blank page for notes next to each page of text, a method that he probably learned from Scholem.

Sipurei Maasiot

 

The other two volumes that Erna Weiss had sent for Scholem himself, were two upon which Weiss had published articles, Yosher Divrei Emet and Ketonet Pasim.

Yosher Divrei Emet

 

Ketonet Pasim

 

Strangely, these books are not located in the Scholem Collection, but rather in the Rare Book Division. All were copied onto one microfilm and later scanned, and are available here.

The microfilm of the three volumes

 

 In total there are currently some eight Hasidic books with Weiss’s annotations in the Rare Book Division, and others in the Scholem Collection.

Eight books with Weiss marginalia

 

Some, such as Ketonet Passim, and Haim V’Hesed of R. Haim of Amdor, Weiss had previously published articles on. The other volumes with (less extensive) notes that have been located are, Noam Elimelech,

Meor V’Shamesh,

Lekutei Maharil,

Ahavat Dudim,

and Hayim V’Hesed by R. Haim of Amdor.

 

A handwritten English note dated 21.12.75 and preserved at the National Library, describes a visit by “Mrs. Erna Weiss, accompanied by Prof Y. [Isaiah] Tishby…and her son [the poet Amos Weisz], came in to inquire what had become of her husband’s collection – mainly ‘Hassidut’ – sent 1970 via London…. apparently, the collection was to be kept intact… (Prof. G. Scholem also took an active role)”. In a second note from a few days later we learn that “Prof. P. [Peretz] Tishby, Chief librarian…telephoned to inform me that most of the collection, as well as relevant correspondence and inventory of the collection is in the Dept. of Manuscripts and Archives – no need to search further”.

“No need to search further”

 

On the other hand, Jonatan Meir has written that, “Due to Scholem’s intervention some 250 volumes arrived in Jerusalem, yet a large portion of them mysteriously disappeared”. Sadly, this indeed seems to be the case. In retrospect, it is well known that Scholem’s desperate attempts to preserve the life of his beloved student, ultimately failed. More surprising is that the preservation of Weiss’s library also fell short of Scholem’s usual efficiency. For the world of Hasidic research, this is a double tragedy.

 

This article is dedicated to the memory of Weiss’s student, Prof. Ada Rapoport-Albert, z”l, who first encouraged me to look into the fate of Weiss’s books at the National Library of Israel.

 

For Further Reading:

 

Works of Weiss

Joseph Weiss, unpublished Hebrew dissertation on Dialectical Torah and Faith in R. Nahman of Breslov, can be viewed here

Joseph Weiss, Circles of Discussion: A Collection of Discourses and Customs of R. Nahman of Breslov, Tel-Aviv 1947.

Joseph Weiss, Studies in Braslav Hassidism (Hebrew, Mendel Piekarz, ed.), Jerusalem 1974.

Joseph Weiss, Studies in Eastern European Jewish Mysticism and Hasidism, London and Portland (David Goldstein, ed.), 1985, 1997.

Joseph Weiss, Likutim, (Hebrew, Avinoam Stillman and Yosef Sweig, eds.), Jerusalem 2019.

 

Works on Weiss 

Daniel Abrams, “The Becoming of the Hasidic Book”: An Unpublished Article by Joseph Weiss, Study, Edition and English Translation, in Kabbalah: Journal for the Study of Jewish Mystical Texts vol. 28 (2012), pp. 7-34.

Joseph Dan, Joseph Weiss Today, in Studies in Eastern European Jewish Mysticism and Hasidism, pp. ix-xx.

Jacob Katz, Joseph G. Weiss: A Personal Appraisal, in (Ada Rapoport-Albert, ed.), Hasidism Reappraised, London and Portland 1996, pp. 3-9.

Esther Liebes, On Joseph Weiss [Hebrew], in (David Assaf and Esther Liebes, ed.), The Latest Phase: Essays on Hasidism by Gershom Scholem, Jerusalem 2008, pp. 313-315.

Shaul Magid, The Correspondence of Gershom Scholem and Joseph Weiss, Between Zionism and Friendship, in The Jewish Quarterly Review (summer 2017) 423-440.

Jonatan Meir, Tiqqun ha-Paradox: Josegh G. Weiss, Gershom Scholem, and the Lost Dissertation on R. Nahman of Bratslav [Hebrew], in Mahshevet Yisrael 4 (2023), pp. 151-206.

Jerry Z. Muller, Professor of Apocalypse: The Many Lives of Jacob Taubes, Princeton and London, 2022, pp. 322-323.

Muki Tzur, Introduction, in (Muki Tzur, ed.), Joseph Weiss: Love Letters to Channa Senesh [Hebrew], Tel-Aviv 1996, pp. 5-19.

Sara Ora Heller Wilensky, A Portrait of Friendship: The Correspondence of Gershom Scholem and Joseph Weiss 1949-1957 [Hebrew], in Proceedings of the Tenth World Congress of Jewish Studies, 3:2 (Jewish Thought and Literature), Jerusalem 1990, pp. 57-64.

Sara Ora Heller Wilensky, Joseph Weiss: Letters to Ora, in (Ada Rapoport-Albert, ed.), Hasidism Reappraised, London and Portland 1996, pp 10-41,

Noam Zadoff, On Joseph Weiss and Gershom Scholem: Introductory Words, in (Noam Zadoff, ed.), Gershom Scholem and Joseph Weiss: Correspondence 1948-1964, Jerusalem 2012, [Hebrew], pp. 10-32.

What a Load of Kreplach!

Kreplach are small dumplings made with minced meat, chopped vegetables, and often a layer of cabbage leaf… and no one likes them! So why do we eat these little dumplings each Sukkot? Where did the tradition come from? And is it really important enough to ruin our chicken soup for?

Kreplach in chicken soup, DMCA, Pxfuel

I remember standing in the kitchen as the smell of boiled cabbage made me gag into the chullent pot, watching my mother roll minced meat in her hands and chop vegetables until she cried. She said it was the onions, but I think it was the long hours of ordering around her 8 children, trying in vain to organize us into teams to either peel potatoes, or help our father build the sukkah.

Since the raising of our stubborn wooden sukkah would come with copious swear words and much cursing, and I was the youngest of the children, my job was always safely tucked away from the violence of the tent poles and into the relatively safe home of the sharp knives and boiling pots of the kitchen. This is why I have such strong memories of the kreplach-making process. While Passover was welcomed with smells of cinnamon from the sweet charoset, and Purim was filled with poppy-seeded hamantaschen biscuits, the ceremonial food of Sukkot was always the kreplach dumplings.

In case your ancestors don’t hail from the shtetls of Eastern Europe, I will enlighten you: kreplach are small dumplings made with minced meat, chopped vegetables, and often a layer of cabbage leaf. Each Jewish mother swears that her way is the only real way to make kreplach – less meat, more meat, cabbage on the inside, cabbage on the outside – but the truth is, even prepared according to meticulous tradition, they never taste all that great. Many people will cook them in the chicken soup broth, whereby they inevitably fall apart and make the soup lumpy and strange. But tradition is tradition!

Woman serving kreplach on Sukkot, 1904, Karte aus dem Tomor – Kalender der Sana-Gesellschaft, Josef and Margit Hoffman Judaica Postcard Collection, the Folklore Research Center, the Mendel Institute of Jewish Studies, the Hebrew University, the National Library of Israel

So why is this a Sukkot tradition? Sukkot is the Jewish festival which arrives less than a week after the High Holy Days, and celebrates the Jews’ faith in G-d. For the week-long festival, Jews build walled huts with roofs made from natural materials, and dwell in these temporary living places. Most practicing Jews eat all of their meals in this hut, and many sleep inside them too. During Sukkot, it is also customary to buy a citron, a palm frond, some myrtle, and willow branches and shake them together in a prescribed manner. The tent symbolizes how Jews are willing to leave their comfortable homes and place their faith in the sustenance of G-d alone, while the shaken salad represents the bringing together of all different types of peoples. Each custom of this holiday is dripping with meaning, and Sukkot comes with many mystical practices and traditions which are carried out with care and joy.

But why the kreplach?! As with most things in Judaism, the answer depends on who you ask.

Kreplach in chicken soup, DMCA, Pxfuel

One reason is a particularly kabbalistic reason. In Kabbalah, it is often believed that the food we eat has a direct impact on our mindset. Instead of the idiom “you are what you eat,” Kabbalah subscribes to the more prophetic “you will be what you eat”. As such, we must eat food which manifests our desired outcomes at appropriate points in the year. On Hoshana Raba, the final day of Sukkot, our fate for the next year is said to be sealed and closed by G-d. Sukkot is part of a triad of festivals known by the terror-evoking name “the Days of Judgement”, and kreplach represent the type of judgement that we would like to receive: full of meat and onions.

In all seriousness, according to Jewish mystical tradition, meat is a food which is said to evoke G-d’s might and power. As a food source, it gives life by energizing us, but it also takes away life (namely the life of poor Curly the Cow), thus meat represents this strong and powerful hand of G-d. Bread, on the other hand, is the most innocent of foods, so long as you don’t have a particular affinity with the plight of wheat. Bread sustains life even in the most desperate of situations, and was a lifeline for the biblical Jews in the desert, hence it represents G-d’s kind and forgiving nature.

The first known instance of “creplech” in an American recipe book, 1901 (p. 70/108), The Settlement Cook Book, compiled by Mrs. Simon Kander, assisted by Mrs. Nathan Hamburger, Mrs. Henry Schoenfeld, Mrs. I. D. Adler, Settlement Cook Book Company, Milwaukee, the National Library of Israel

Taking these ideas together, we eat kreplach on Sukkot to symbolize that G-d’s harsh judgements of us (the meat) should be shrouded in His kindness (the dough). We wish for G-d’s mercy to cover His might and therefore judge us favorably. Moreover, we eat the kreplach in the hope that when we go before G-d’s judgement, He overlooks our most human trait of containing both good and bad like the meat, and sees only our purity and goodness, as characterized by the bread. In fact, a special prayer is even added on Sukkot to ask that G-d’s mercy should overcome His wrath and that He should see our purity, not our tainted personalities.

Children eating kreplach with chicken soup, 1990, Photographer: Danny Lev, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

There is, however, another deep idea about kreplach, because even dumplings have meaning in Judaism. Kreplach look like little buns, and it’s only when they are bitten into by an unsuspecting bread-seeker that the hidden meat is revealed. Kreplach are secretive little foods, which makes them apt to eat on what is sometimes called the “hidden holiday” of Hoshana Rabbah, the final day of Sukkot.

Jewish children at camp eating in the sukkah, 1969, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

The last day of Sukkot, Hoshana Rabbah, is a bit of a mystery. The day’s meaning is not stated in the Torah, and its practices which range from the slightly abnormal (the congregation paving seven circles around the synagogue while chanting and singing) to the outright bizarre (headless shadows and the bashing of willow branches against the ground until the synagogue looks more like a jungle than a place of prayer) are not explained at all in the Torah. If Hoshana Rabbah isn’t a big enough enigma already, it is certainly made more so by the fact that it’s official culinary sponsor is kreplach.

Triangular kreplach, Slovenčina: Gazdovské pirohy, Peter Zelizňák, Wikimedia Commons

Some attribute kreplach’s significance at Sukkot to their shape. Kreplach are usually formed into three-sided parcels, which are said to represent the three pilgrimage festivals of Sukkot, Pesach and Shavuot. I can already hear you asking “but then why do we only eat them on only one of these pilgrimage festivals if they’re meant to represent all three?” The reason is mainly a practical one. On Passover, when any leavened bread will get you hastily kicked out of the kosher kitchen, it is not the time for a dough-based appetizer. And Shavuot, the other of the three pilgrimage festivals, is a holiday that marks the very start of the wheat harvest. Back in the day, it was fairly difficult to prepare kreplach when your main ingredient was still in the ground! So, of all the three festivals, Sukkot, which marks the end of the wheat harvest, was the only one on which it was both practical and appropriate to make wheat-based foods. After all, wheat is now in abundance! Thus, Jews make the food of the three pilgrimage festivals on this date.

All that being said, many dispute that we eat kreplach due to any of these mystical or traditional reasons. Of course, these meanings add significance to the practice, but they simply may not lend the food it’s true origin story. So, if it’s not due to the holiness of the dumpling, why do we spend so many hours folding the parcels and ruining our chicken soup?

Kreplach marketed by Osem as meat-filled ravioli,   Otto Wallish, Eri Wallish Collection, the National Library of Israel

Well, one reason is that in the Middle Ages, dumplings were an especially popular food all over Eastern Europe. In Polish they’re called pierogi, in Ukrainian they’re called Varenyky, and in Russian they’re called Pelmeni. In many Eastern European cultures, these dumplings were eaten as a festive food on holidays such as Christmas. In fact the very word pierogi, used in much of medieval Europe, comes from the word “pir” which is proto-Slavic for “festivity”.

Because it was common practice to eat dumplings on holy days, the local Jews did it too! The Ashkenazim simply called them kreplach, from the Yiddish words krepp (rounded dough) and lach (little). It was not due to some esoteric teaching that the Jews ate these dumplings, but simply because common practice at the time was to eat dumplings at festivities.

In a time when meat was a rarity and much more prized than today, families would have to make meat stretch to many hungry mouths during big festive meals. And portioning it out into dough parcels was a great way of doing that! Never was this truer than at Sukkot! After a full season of High Holidays, the Jews of old, much like the Jews of today, looked at their wallets with despair. In lieu of buying new ingredients, they had to use what was left over from the previous Tishrei festive meals. Namely, challah dough and scraps of meat. And what can you make with challah dough and scraps of meat? Yes, that’s right! Kreplach!

Men eating kreplach in the sukkah, Photographer: Lev Utevzkiy in the court yard of the Leningrad synagogue, 1988, the Leonid Nevzlin Center for Russian and East European Jewry, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Institute of Jewish Studies St. Petersburg, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel

Even the custom of boiling them in the chicken soup rather than cooking them in oil was a novel way to save money on cooking supplies. So the tradition caught on – Jews would take wheat, which was abundant at this point in the agricultural year, and grind up the last of their leftover meat, and stick it in their bubbling pots.

This is not to say that kreplach have no meaning. Firstly, the great Rabbis teach that “minhag Yisrael Torah hi” – which means that tradition and custom are no less the word of Torah than biblical laws are. Further, significance is brought to traditional Jewish foods from the fact that our culture has been making kreplach for centuries – this in and of itself is a lineage to pass down. As with most things in life, it’s the thought that counts. If you eat the kreplach with the ideas of compassionate judgement in your mind, or commemorate the hidden nature of the festival through this food, who can tell you that you’re wrong? Meaning is man-made, after all!

The first known written mention of “creplich” outside of Eastern Europe, London, 1892, Children of the Ghetto A Study of a Peculiar People, Israel Zangwill p. 116/61, Detroit, Wayne State University Press, the National Library of Israel

Now I’m all grown up and no longer living with my mother, or her huge cooking pots. In fact, with my own daughter on the way, I must decide which Jewish traditions I wish to pass down to her like my mother before me. I had always thought that maybe I would spare her the cabbage-rich stench of the kreplach tradition, but after all this contemplation, I don’t think I will!