When Sepharadim Had No Rabbis
August 1492. An armada of sorts anchors in the port of Naples. Nine Spanish caravels of the same class that will soon carry Columbus to the New World. However, these ships are laden with adventurers of another kind: a thousand Sephardic refugees, packed up like sardines in a can. A sympathetic onlooker watches them disembark. “They were like wraiths,” he will recall. “resembling corpses in all but the power of motion.”[1]
Their Italian coreligionists are waiting for them on the docks, ready with food and water. It is a heartwarming spectacle, if a precarious one. The Italian Jews ought to be wary of the Sepharadim. A new wave of expulsions is hot on their heels.
But the Italians have another reason to be wary of the Sepharadim. The refugees newly arrived in Naples are by no means wretches. In Spain, they were merchants and bankers. Soon enough, they will recover their strength and take over the Jewish community. Within six months of their arrival, their chieftain, Don Isaac Abravanel will secure himself a position at the court of King Ferrante, cementing his role as the new prince of Neapolitan Jewry.
Not every Italian Jew will take this “affront” lying down. The learned sage and philosopher David Messer Leon, whose Neapolitan father was overshadowed by Abravanel, scorns Sephardic “presumptions” in Italy. His critique of Abravanel’s commentaries are particularly biting:
“He [Abravael] would almost make himself the Messiah with all his self-aggrandizement… but he is a fool, for who appointed him to interpret thus? For he has been nothing but a merchant all his days…”[2]
Messer Leon may be bitter, but he is spot on about one thing: Abravanel is not a rabbi, he is a merchant. He has never been appointed to rabbinic office. In fact, none of the Spanish Exiles arriving in Naples were rabbis, for the simple reason that there were never any rabbis in Spain.
Yes, you heard that right. Yehuda Halevy? Not a rabbi. Yona of Girona? Also not a rabbi. Nachmanides!? Surely, you ask, he must have been a rabbi!? Not at all.
Now, in truth, all of these figures, including Abravanel, were at some point in their careers were addressed as “rav” or “rabbenu” in recognition of their mastery of rabbinic literature and tradition. Rather, what Messer Leon means is that the Spanish talmudists were not ordained rabbis in the classical sense. Indeed, with the dissolution of the Sanhedrin in 358 CE, rabbinic ordination completely ceased. Subsequently, laymen retained only limited authority adjudicate Jewish law. Thus, nowadays, the title ‘rabbi’ endures only a polite honorific, much as we call university educators ‘professor’ regardless of whether they have a doctorate or not.
The ramifications of this ‘post-rabbinic’ medieval reality were twofold. Firstly, Jewish communities were not absolutely beholden to specific rabbinic authorities. To be sure, talmudists of great stature wielded tremendous influence in communal life. However, their rulings could always be challenged by a dissenting scholar. The outcome would largely depend on whose argument was more compelling to the literate elite. Reverence was reserved for talmudists who won the respect of the broader Iberian intelligentsia. At it’s best, this model encouraged a kind of ‘democratic’ marketplace of diverse rabbinic ideas. At it’s worst, it devolved into vicious competition. Think of the violence incited by the Maimonidean controversies.
Secondly, with few official rabbinic appointments available, Spanish “rabbis” had to make their own living. This resulted in a strict adherence of classical Jewish educational values: the Talmud forbids accepting payment in exchange for Torah instruction, a proscription strictly observed by Sephardic titans like Samuel ibn Naghrillah and Maimonides. However, in reality, this practice had a double edge. On the one hand, it preserved the integrity of Torah study. On the other hand, it greatly reduced opportunities for Torah study.
Think of the extraordinary schedule of Maimonides, who bemoaned the few hours a day he could designate for torah study. Imagine what he could have accomplished with sixteen. It is precisely this drawback of the “post-rabbinic” model which, in 1492 makes Abravanel vulnerable to Messer Leon’s attack. Abravanel the statesman himself bemoans the countless hours lost that could have been devoted to Torah study.[3]
In light of these ‘post-rabbinic’ drawbacks, Ashkenazi Jews in 14th century France reinstated ordination, albeit in a limited capacity. An aspiring rabbis would receive signed diploma upon completing a course of study. This document guaranteed its bearer complete authority over his assigned jurisdiction. In many cases, his rulings were to be observed even after his death! It also guaranteed him a fixed salary, ensuring our newly minted rabbi could devote his life exclusively to the study of Torah.[4]
This ‘neo-rabbinic’ system of ordination, which spread to Italy, resolved many of the tensions that existed in ‘post-rabbinic’ Spain. It also undoubtedly contributed to the reputation of Ashkenazi rabbis as exceedingly learned. However, this model also introduced new problems. Granted, guaranteed rabbinic jurisdiction mitigated controversy, but it also evoked suspicion. As Abravanel himself complains:
“After I came to Italy, I discovered that the custom of ordination was widespread. I saw that its origin was among the Ashkenazim... I know not from where they derived this practice, unless it derived from the gentiles, who [graduate] doctors… Would that they at least ordain worthy men as rabbis!”[5]
Abravanel complains then, that at least some unworthy men acquired the privileges of ordination and could not be removed from office. It was a valid concern, one that caused much controversy in the turbulent 16th century.
Ultimately, a compromise worked its way out in Europe, one that prevails to this today (we’re back in the 21stcentury now). Rabbinic authority is still largely dependent on institutional ordination, but that same ordination hardly guarantees absolute authority in matters of halakha. And a fixed rabbinic stipend is no longer assured at the outset, but is left to the discretion of the community and its rabbi. Thus, on a communal level, the ‘neo-rabbinic’ developments protect the authority of the rabbi, as in medieval Ashkenaz, while on a macroscopic level, the weight of his influence is measured according to his scholarship and personality, as in medieval Spain.
But, as in 1492, times are changing— rapidly. Perhaps this turbulent moment in Jewish history behooves us to reconsider our models of rabbinic authority. Should we enforce stricter standards, academically and pastorally, to ensure that only the most worthy acquire ordination? Or should we proliferate means of ordination, stoking competition in the hopes that the best will shine brightest? Whatever we decide, the clock is ticking. It’s time to have that conversation.
[1] Benzion Netanyahu. (1998). Don Isaac Abravanel, Statesman & Philosopher. Cornell University Press.
[2] Cohen-Skalli, C. (2020). Don Isaac Abravanel. Brandeis University Press.
[3] Introduction to Deuteronomy
[4] Bonfil, R., & Chipman, J. (2004). Rabbis and Jewish communities in Renaissance Italy. Littman Library Of Jewish Civilization.
[5] Abravael, Nahalat Abot.
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