Hebrew is rich with names for lions. The Talmud points out that there are six names used in the Bible for the king of beasts: ari (or aryeh), kfir, lavi, layish, shahal, and shahatz (Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 95a). Lavi also appears once in the Bible in a feminine form: leviya (Ezekiel 19:2). The distinction between the terms is a mystery: are they referring to different stages in the lion’s life, or perhaps the terms reflect different etymological origins?

During the second week of Operation Sha’agat Ha-ari [The Lion’s Roar], the local council of Zur Hadassa posted an infographic noting that there are 114 residents with lion-related names: 26 named Aryeh, 25 Ari, 46 Lavi, 2 Leviyah, and 15 Kfir. The image noted that there was not a single resident named Sha’agah [Roar]. I might add: at least not yet…

Given the prominence of lions in Hebrew Scriptures, in nature, and in collective consciousness, it is not surprising that many people bear these powerful names. Nor is it unusual that authors with such names would use lion imagery for the titles of their responsa collections.

The most famous example was Rabbi Aryeh Leib Ginzburg (ca. 1695-1785), who published his Sha’agat Aryeh (Frankfurt an der Oder 1756), which was later supplemented by She’elot U-teshuvot Sha’agat Aryeh Ha-hadashot (Vilna 1873) – both discussed in previous posts. But while he is the most famous Sha’agat Aryeh, he was not the first.

The first respondent to use the title Sha’agat Aryeh was a Polish rabbi, Rabbi Aryeh Yehuda Leib (ca. 1630-1714), the stepson of Rabbi David Ha-levi Segal (1586-1667; known as the Taz, an acronym of his work Turei Zahav) and the grandson of Rabbi Yoel Sirkis (1561-1640; known as the Bah, an acronym of his work Bayit Hadash). His collection was first published in Neuwied in 1736 (two decades before Rabbi Aryeh Leib Ginzburg printed his volume). Despite the pioneering use of the name, this first lion remains largely in the shadow of his namesake. When scholars mention “The Sha’agat Aryeh,” they almost certainly refer to the later collection.

The earlier work, however, is distinguished by two fascinating elements: the author’s youthful encounter with a false messiah and the unique physical layout of his book of responsa. Both stories have an intergenerational quality.

In 1666, the Jewish world was gripped by the frenzy surrounding Shabbatai Zvi (1626 – ca. 1676), and his messianic claims. With ambitions to place the Sultan’s crown on his own head, Shabbatai Zvi was imprisoned – first in Constantinople and then in the Abydos castle near Gallipoli. Yet Shabbatai Zvi’s followers treated his exile as a royal court, flocking to kiss his feet.

The news reached Poland, where the community was still reeling from Gezeirot Tah Tat, the horrific Khmelnytsky Massacres of 1648–1649. The leading halakhic authority of the era and rabbi in Lwów (today Lviv, Ukraine), Rabbi David Ha-levi Segal, decided to investigate the rumours. He sent a delegation – his son Isaiah and his stepson Aryeh Yehuda Leib – to Gallipoli to meet Shabbatai Zvi and assess his messianic ambitions.

The encounter was somewhat bizarre. The two young rabbis arrived on a weekday that Shabbatai Zvi had designated as his own Shabbat Ha-Gadol [Great Sabbath]. This was not the classic Shabbat Ha-Gadol – the Sabbath immediately before Passover that is part of the Exodus commemoration. Rather, this day was designated in the context of Shabbatai Zvi’s messianic mission. But like regular Sabbaths, the weekday “Great Sabbath” was to be observed by refraining from work. Unaware of Shabbatai Zvi’s declaration and hungry from the journey, the young rabbis sent a servant to the market to buy food – an act deemed a desecration of the “Great Sabbath.” As a result, Shabbatai Zvi initially refused to receive the travellers from Poland who had violated his Shabbat Ha-Gadol. Upon hearing about their remorse, he relented, granting them an audience and giving each of them a gold coin. He also sent a letter and a tunic back to the aging Taz, with instructions that Isaiah was to dress his father and recite the verse: “Let your youth be renewed like the eagle’s” (Psalms 103:5).

The young rabbis returned to Poland with a positive report, fuelling the messianic fervour. History would judge that report as misguided.

Shabbatai Zvi’s letter to the Taz noted that it was written in the “Month of the Lion” [Hodesh Aryeh]. Leo is the zodiac sign for the Hebrew month of Av, yet Shabbatai Zvi’s letter was written in the month of Tammuz. It seems that Shabbatai Zvi was referring to himself as the lion.

Side-by-Side: The Grandfather and the Grandson

It appears that Aryeh Yehuda Leib’s positive report of Shabbatai Zvi did not tarnish his rabbinic career, even after the false messiah’s apostasy. Aryeh Yehuda Leib went on to serve in rabbinic roles in significant cities in Poland, with his final posting being in the prestigious Brześć Litewski (today Brest, Belarus) rabbinate.

In 1736, twenty-two years after Rabbi Aryeh Yehuda Leib’s passing, his grandson, Rabbi Avraham Natan Nuta Meisels, printed his grandfather’s responsa, offering the public the first ever Sha’agat Aryeh responsa collection. Rabbi Meisels also included his own responsa, which he cleverly called by another lion name: Kol Shahal [The Voice of the Lion]. The choice was ingenious because the two titles appear consecutively in a biblical verse: “The roar of the lion (sha’agat aryeh) and sound of the lion (kol shahal), and the teeth of the young lions are broken” (Job 4:10).

Having more than one respondent in a single volume is not unusual, but Rabbi Meisels did something extraordinary in the annals of the responsa literature. He used a unique layout: Each leaf of the book had two columns; the right column had the Sha’agat Aryeh responsa and the left column the Kol Shahal responsa. The grandfather and grandson are not in dialogue; each respondent is engrossed in answering the legal questions posed to him. Yet they sit next to each other, sharing the physical space. The running header at the top of every page completes the biblical verse from right to left: Sha’agat aryeh ve-kol shahal. It is a visual testament to a multigenerational legal conversation.

The 1736 edition included 14 responsa, six from Rabbi Aryeh Yehuda Leib and eight from Rabbi Meisels. Ten years later, in 1746, the title was reprinted in Salonika with significantly more material: 28 responsa from the grandfather and 25 from the grandson, 53 responsa in all. It seemed like the roar of these lions, the Aryeh and the Shahal, was growing. The Salonika edition preserved the distinctive layout, with the grandfather and grandson working side by side.

Over two centuries later, a descendant of the two respondents prepared a new edition that was published in Brooklyn in 2002. Sadly, the inimitable visual interplay was lost, as the two works were separated into marked sections with independent pagination and indices. What was once a pride was now two nomadic lions, as the family unit was sacrificed in favour of modern printing mores.

Rabbi Aryeh Yehuda Leib, the first Sha’agat Aryeh, lived a life defined by intergenerational bridges. From being the stepson of the Taz and serving as his emissary, to sharing a page with his grandson. Even as he lives in the shadow of his more famous namesake, this Sha’agat Aryeh reminds us that Jewish law is never a solitary sound; it is a synchronised roaring bout, a pride roaring in chorus.

As we navigate Operation Sha’agat Ha-ari, we recognise that true strength lies in the ability to carry the voices of the past as we grapple with the challenges of the present and then bequeath that living chorus to future generations.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)