Sephardi Jurisprudence in the Past Half-Millennium (9,153 words)Zvi Zohar Article Table Of Contents1. Renewal in Exile2. Sephardi Halakha in the Seventeenth Century3. Sephardi Halakha in the Eighteenth CenturyBibliographyAfter the riots of 1391, the situation of Spanish Jewry became increasingly difficult, and during the century leading up to the expulsion, a change in the orientation of Spanish-Jewish culture took place. The very enterprise of Torah qua study and application of Jewish law was becoming less than central to the community’s self-definition. Against this backdrop, Rabbi Isaac Canpanton (1360–1463) consciously elaborated a novel hermeneutic methodology of talmudic study, based on the insight that there was a close inner affinity between medieval semantics (based on Aristotle’s De Interpretatione) and talmudic reasoning and argumentation. Thus, it could be possible to achieve a synthesis of the two, and to formulate a rigorous methodology of talmudic study that was both a perfect “fit” with the talmudic suggiyot and completely justifiable on the basis of general semantic theory. Canpanton described this methodology in his trenchant Darkhe ha-Gemaraand taught it in his yeshiva in Zamora. His revolutionary approach restored to Talmud study a sense of intellectual novelty, profundity, and challenge. His methodology became the Sephardi gold standard, advocated by the great sixteenth-century scholars of the Sephardi dispersion. In the wake of 1391, other major Iberian rabbis had initiated a “Sephardi diaspora,” creating a renewed Sephardi cultural efflorescence in North Africa and the eastern Mediterranean.1. Renewal in ExileNorth AfricaToward the end of the fifteenth century, both before and after 1492, émigrés from Spain settled in every Mediterranean land that would accept them. In many of the communities they settled in, Torah was at a low ebb, and as a result the impact of the Sephardim was enormous.Algierswas in political ascendance, and it was there that the masters Isaac bar Sheshet (Ribash; 1328–1408) and Simon ben Ṣemaḥ Duran (1361–1444) relocated themselves and assumed positions of community leadership. Both composed lucid, analytic responsa that became mainstays of halakhic decision-making. For several generations during the sixteenth century, Duran's descendants were the outstanding scholars of Algeria.FezAnother instance of the Sephardi renaissance in exile took place in the city of Fez in Morocco. In medieval times, Fez had been an important center of Jewish life, boasting scholars such as Isaac al-Fāsī (1013–1103). But by the fifteenth century the community had severely declined. Not many years after the Iberian exiles (Heb. megorashim) arrived, their influence proved overwhelming, and ultimately only one synagogue retained allegiance to the customs and liturgy of the indigenous community (toshavim), whereas close to twenty others opted to follow the Spanish rite. The megorashim continued the tradition of enacting halakhic ordinances (Heb. taqqanot) to create legally binding local norms, in several cases effectively abrogating classic biblical and talmudic law.To cite but one example, according to biblical and talmudic law, upon the decease of parents the inheritance was divided between the male offspring; only in the absence of sons would daughters inherit. However, in the year 1494, one of the first ordinances enacted by the megorashim in Fez determined that unmarried daughters would inherit equally with their brothers. This and other enactments became part and parcel of Jewish law not only in Fez but in many other Moroccan communities. The collected enactments of Fez reflect a continuous legal activism up to the middle of the eighteenth century.While Sephardi exiles had great influence upon the legal culture of other Jewish communities in North Africa, it was in the lands of the Ottoman Empire, then in its heyday, that Sephardi Torah enjoyed a dramatic resurgence.Torah Returns from West to EastIn the centuries leading up to the year 1000, the “center of gravity” of Torah gradually shifted from the Middle East—Babylonia, the Land of Israel, and the Byzantine Empire—to the West, with the emergence of major centers in North Africa, Spain, and northern Europe. Five hundred years later, it shifted again, to the East. Sephardi masters created great centers of learning in the major cities of the Ottoman Empire at the same time that in northeastern Europe—Poland and Lithuania—a remarkable efflorescence of “Ashkenazi Torah” took place. Here are some examples, representative of the Sephardi Torah renaissance of the sixteenth century.SalonicaIn the second half of the fifteenth century and the first half of the sixteenth, thousands of refugees—primarily from Spain and Portugal but also from Italy, Sicily, North Africa, Germany, and France—flocked to Salonica. Increasingly sidelining the indigenous Romaniot community, they established over thirty congregations, each serving émigrés from a specific country or town of origin: Qahal Lisbon, Qahal Sicilia, and so on. Each congregation followed the practices of its original locale; each had its own rabbi (Heb. marbiṣ torah) and yeshiva. In addition, Salonica maintained a school (Heb. bet midrash) for religiously inspired vocal art, and—as worthy of the Spanish tradition—a bet midrash for secular subjects, where students could acquire astronomy, medicine, and the natural sciences.Salonica of the sixteenth century could boast of many outstanding scholars, most of them disciples of the multifaceted Joseph Taytaṣak, Joseph (ca. 1480–ca. 1540), philosopher, halakhist, and ascetic mystic. The greatest halakhist of them all was clearly Samuel (ben Moses) de Medina (Maharashdam) (1506–1589). He established and headed a great yeshiva, supported by the munificent Doña Gracia Mendes-Nasi, in which he educated numerous disciples in Canpanton’s talmudic hermeneutica. His independence of mind and ability to integrate legal reasoning, ethical-religious principles, and general policy considerations are evident in his numerous responsa. Moses Almosnino (ca. 1515–ca. 1580) in many ways exemplifies the Sephardi integrative ideal: he was an authority on halakha, a polished rhetorician, a commentator on the Bible, an ethicist (he published a work on Aristotle’s Ethics), a social historian, and a mystic.IstanbulIn Istanbul as in Salonica, tens of discrete congregations maintained their own institutions and customs. Istanbul’s mosaic structure dated from Sultan Mehmet the Conqueror’s policy of population transfer to the city after its conquest from the Byzantines in 1453 (see Sürgün). Unlike Salonica, the Spanish arrivals did not find here a community lacking in high-quality Torah leadership. The most fascinating and original of Istanbul’s masters was of indigenous Romaniot origin, Elijah Mizraḥi (ca. 1450–1526). His responsa are outstanding for their logical structure, lucid argumentation, and deep analysis; his supercommentary on Rashi to the Torah is a classic of its genre. His vision of Torah encouraged him to pursue secular knowledge, which he also taught; his works include treatises on mathematics, on Euclid, and on Ptolemy’s Almagest. Sephardi scholars who settled in Istanbul included such luminaries as Tam Ibn Yaḥyā (d. 1542), also expert on Islamic law; Elijah ben Ḥayyim (1530–1610), the author of many responsa, who served as chief rabbi of Istanbul from ca. 1575; and Joseph ibn Lev.Safed Many of the exiles from Spain and their immediate descendants perceived their fate as an event of cosmic import. They were convinced that the expulsion of Spanish and Portuguese Jewry was not just another act of Christian cruelty, but rather a harbinger of the messianic age. Many (if not all) of those who gravitated to Safed in the first half of the sixteenth century held such views. Two outstanding acts of Safedian masters reflect their perception of their crucial role in the preparation of Torah for the oncoming messianic reality. One was the re-establishment of the ordination rite (Heb. semikha) in 1538; the other, the creation of the Shulḥan ʿArukh. Reestablishment of Semikha In tannaitic times, the designation of a scholar as a fully competent master of Torah was performed by the symbolic act of semikha (usually translated as ordination). Only one who possessed semikha could so invest another; thus the conveyance of semikha was simultaneously a forward extension of the chain of transmission of Torah begun, according to rabbinic tradition, by Moses. Semikha could be performed only in the Land of Israel; the emergence of Babylonia as a center of Torah in talmudic times created a novel situation, in which leading masters lacked semikha. Palestinian rabbis continued to extend the chain of semikha, but ultimately—perhaps in the late eleventh century—the chain was broken when the last ordained master (musmakh) died without ordaining another. By then, the cessation of semikha carried no immediate practical implications. Yet, for the sixteenth-century rabbis expecting the imminent advent of the messiah, semikha seemed an overwhelming necessity, for two reasons: First, only masters invested with semikha (Heb. musmakhim) could serve as members of the Sanhedrin; and since it was believed that the Sanhedrin had to be restored before the coming of the messiah, lack of semikha might constrain the flow of history towards its ultimate culmination. And second, as the messianic age would include the Day of Judgment, many people were greatly concerned about their standing in the Divine estimation, especially with regard to cardinal sins mandating the extreme sanction of karet (extinction of the soul). Only musmakhim could constitute courts authorized to administer bona fide ritual punishments expiating such sins. Therefore, a court of musmakhim was urgently needed by those who wished to enjoy the wonders of messianic times unthreatened by the terrible fate of karet.The crucial necessity of semikha was thus apparent. Yet, without a living link reaching back to Moses, how could semikha be attained? In his Mishne Tora (Laws of Sanhedrin 4:11), Maimonides (1135–1204) had, somewhat tentatively, proposed a solution. He wrote that if all significant Palestinian rabbis agreed to designate one master as worthy of semikha, that person would acquire the status of musmakh. He could then invest others with semikha, thereby renewing the chain of Torah transmission. In other words: rabbinic consensus regarding a master’s outstanding status has the same valence as an actual historical link to the chain of transmission first forged at Sinai.In the great yeshiva he established in Safed, the Spanish exile Jacob Berav (1474–1546) gradually convinced other masters of the truth and urgency of the matter. They convened together and designated him as musmakh. He then conferred semikha on four others, one of whom was Joseph Caro.Jerusalem’s rabbis felt slighted by the Galileans’ unilateral move, which implied that the consensus of the Torah community of the Holy Land was coextensive with the consensus of the Safedians. They hotly contested the validity of Berav’s ordination as musmakh, and when he was forced by the Turkish authorities to move to Damascus, the entire project foundered. Yet its impact on the history and development of halakha may well have been much greater than is usually conceded, for the basic premise underlying Caro’s Shulḥan ‘Arukh is identical with that underlying the renewal of semikha, namely, that failure of normative halakhic modalities can be overcome through reliance on broad rabbinic consensus.Shulḥan ʿArukh: Reestablishment of “One Torah”Joseph Caro’s Shulḥan ʿArukh (A Set Table) is the tip of a halakhic iceberg. Its scholarly justification rests on Caro’s magnum opus, Bet Yosef, in which Caro traces every halakhic topic from its talmudic roots down to his own time, surveying and discussing all the halakhic literature on the matter. The Shulḥan is much briefer: here he sets forth the functional “bottom line” of correct praxis for the Jews of his day. Caro’s stated goal was to eliminate the confusing multiplicity of halakhic rulings that had evolved over time and to establish a uniform set of norms for all Jews: “Having cited all opinions and sources, it seemed appropriate to me to determine the correct halakha and to decide between the various options; for that is the goal—that we should all have one Torah and one Rule.”The condition of “One Torah” existed, traditionally, only in the era of the Sanhedrin. Caro is hinting that he seeks to re-create a halakhic situation similar (in unity of praxis) to that of Sanhedrin times. This agenda is strikingly similar to Berav’s. Caro’s language also points to his far-reaching aspirations: “I am assured by Divine Grace that through the vehicle of this book the earth will be filled with knowledge of God”—a clear reference to Isaiah 11:9, where the eschatological reality is described as one in which “the earth will be filled with knowledge of God, as the sea is full of water.”In the twelfth century, Maimonides had sought (for quite different reasons) to eliminate the multiplicity of halakhic norms and to establish his legal magnum opus, the Mishne Torah, as the one standard halakhic code. He was criticized for omitting source references and for failing to justify his rulings. Joseph Caro learned well the lesson of Mishne Torah’s failure: his source references are the entire Bet Yosef. Over and above citing his sources, Caro circumvents the need for analytic justification of specific rulings:I realized that if I were to attempt to decide between the positions of previous authorities by employing logical arguments based on talmudic texts—why the Tosafot, and Naḥmanides in his novellae, and the Rashba, and the Ran—are all full of arguments and proof-texts for each of the competing positions. Who would be so bold as to adduce more arguments and texts, and who would deign to stick his head between such great mountains and to decide by analysis and argument who is right and who is wrong?! . . . In addition, even if such a course could be followed, it would be folly to embark upon it, for it would require a tremendous length of time.Caro then explains how halakha can be determined—without taking an analytic position as to the merits of any master’s position:As all the House of Israel rests (halakhically) on three pillars, the Rif, the Rambam, and the Rosh, I concluded that whenever two of them agree on a point of halakha, the halakha should be ruled accordingly . . .In other words, the consensus of halakhic scholars in regarding these three great codifiers as paramount authorities enables, ipso facto, identification of the valid practical norm without requiring cognitive justification of its content. This method was to serve Caro as Alexander’s sword, cutting through the Gordian knot of halakhic argumentation that, by its very subtlety and complexity, had thwarted the halakha’s primary goal of providing clear normative guidelines for living Jews. This method was completely novel, introduced ex-nihilo by Caro. Nevertheless, its roots seem to grow from two conceptual premises closely akin to those that led Berav to reconstitute semikha: (1) the belief that univocal halakhic leadership was a pressing necessity for the time and would contribute to the creation of messianic reality; (2) strategic employment of rabbinic consensus to outflank the major procedural obstacle to such univocality.Joseph Caro’s project of the Shulḥan ʿArukh may thus be seen as an attempt to realize a central strategic goal of the abortive renewal of semikha in 1538, while taking into account the lesson of its collapse. Caro’s move was to substitute an irrefutable claim of accumulated historical consensus (Rif, Rambam, Rosh) for Berav’s more vulnerable claim of current, live consensus (for himself as musmakh). While overtly less daring than a renewal of the Sanhedrin, the goals of the Shulḥan ʿArukhwere, nevertheless, to create a halakhic reality similar, in important respects, to that which would prevail in messianic times: “One Torah” for all Israel and an “earth filled with knowledge of God.”Reception of Shulḥan ʿArukhWhile the Messiah did not arrive in sixteenth-century Safed, Caro’s hopes for the Shulḥan ʿArukh were not completely in vain. Perhaps more than any other work since the Babylonian Talmud, it attained an almost sacrosanct status in halakhic discourse. In the Ottoman Empire, the Shulḥan’s dominance was achieved quite rapidly. By the end of the sixteenth century we find Elijah bar Ḥayyim(Turkey, ca. 1530–ca. 1610) declaring: “He [Joseph Caro] has been accepted by us here as our Master, and we have committed ourselves to follow his rulings.” An oral tradition relates that two hundred rabbis convened and voted to accept Caro’s innovative procedure of determining halakha by following the majority of Rif, Rambam, and Rosh. While that tradition may well be a myth, it reflects a widespread attitude regarding the Shulḥan’s validity. By the seventeenth century, the Shulḥan, with the glosses of Moses Isserles (Rema; ca. 1525–1572), had become a canonical work of halakha.Shulḥan ‘Arukh as Supreme Authority: Myth and FactThe widespread reception of the Shulḥan resulted in two countervailing currents within halakha. On the one hand, there was greater uniformity—as communities from Morocco to Warsaw and from England to Iraq all based themselves on the same codex. Since most Mizraḥi communities used copies of the Shulḥan printed in Europe, not only Caro’s text but also Rema’s glosses were known worldwide. Yet this uniformity was implicitly a dual assault on the independence of local rabbinic authorities and on the particularity of local praxis. In reaction to these consequences of “one code for all,” communities (and their rabbis) asserted their uniqueness by stressing local customs, an area considered independent of the Shulḥan’s rule. As put by Joseph Molkho(Salonica, 18th cent.):We are obligated to his [i.e., Caro’s] decisions only in matters in which no specific practice or custom previously obtained. But as for matters in which long-accepted norms were practiced, whether more or less lenient than those dictated by him, custom continues to prevail, despite the spread of his rulings (Shulḥan Gavoha [Salonika, 1775], pp. 2–3).When adopted as rabbinic policy, such an attitude can lead to halakhic insularity, for almost any praxis claimed to be locally normative is ipso facto rendered impervious to material deliberation or critique (especially by nonlocal masters). Concomitantly, halakhic works by masters of other communities could be regarded as of purely academic interest, since only “local” authorities are ultimately binding. Such virtual “islands” of halakha must, of course, be understood as an ideal type never fully realized. Nonetheless, the centrifugal force of this position may explain much of the halakhic differentiation characterizing post-sixteenth-century Sephardi jurisprudence, despite the Shulḥan ʿArukh’s canonization, improved communications, and the diffusion of printing. Only in the second half of the twentieth century did a centripetal counterforce emerge, in the form of Ovadia Yosef’s major campaign to reinstate the hegemony of Joseph Caro in all Jewish ethnic groups (see below).An analogous vector on the level of individual halakhic insularity became increasingly popular in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Sephardi jurisprudence: the legal tactic of qim li (lit. I hold according to . . .). The arena of such a claim is a court in which Mr. X is suing Mr. Y for, say, money that Y purportedly owes him. The case is going in favor of Mr. X, as almost all rabbinic authorities who have written on the topic agree that Mr. Y is in the wrong. At this point, Mr. Y announces that it just so happens that he holds with the minuscule minority view, according to which he need not pay anything to Mr. X. Sephardi jurisprudents in the late sixteenth and the seventeenth centuries hotly debated the force of such a claim. While some strongly rejected it, many others agreed that since it was impossible to know for certain which position was correct in the eyes of God, any court handing over money from Y to X might, in fact, be robbing Y of money that was really his. Therefore, the halakhic maxim to be followed in such cases was: When in doubt, desist. Even rabbis who generally regarded the Shulḥan as decisive might refrain from ruling according to the Shulḥan against Y if Y adduced some obscure rabbi and said qim li with reference to that rabbi.2. Sephardi Halakha in the Seventeenth CenturyThe major culture-area of Sephardi Torah during the seventeenth century encompassed the lands of the eastern Mediterranean; focal communities were Istanbul and Izmir (Smyrna) in Asia Minor, Salonica in Greece, Jerusalem in Palestine, and Cairo in Egypt. An important scholar in Istanbul was Joseph Ṭrani (1568–1639), born and educated in Safed but resident in Istanbul from the beginning of the century, where the yeshiva he headed became the major center of study for Turkish Jewry. He wrote responsa and derashot entitled Ṣafenat Paʿaneaḥ, commentaries to the Talmud, and a work on the design of the Temple. Ṭrani’s disciple Ḥayyim Benveniste (1603–1673) composed the eight-volume Knesset ha-Gedola (The Great Assembly), a critical anthology of halakhic literature covering all the topics discussed in the Arbaʿa Ṭurim and the Shulḥan ‘Arukh. This magnum opus is regarded by halakhists as an authoritative, invaluable reference work. He also authored the responsa Baʾe Ḥayye. In Salonica, Ḥayyim Shabbetay (1555–1647) was a leading halakhic authority, head of a yeshiva, and chief rabbi. He composed the responsa Torat Ḥayyim in three volumes, talmudic commentaries, and monographs on specific legal topics.Israel Jacob Ḥagiz (1620–1674), born in Morocco and educated in Italy, headed a yeshiva in Jerusalem in which religious and secular topics were studied. He delved into medicine, philosophy, astronomy, and grammar. His writings include the responsa Halakhot Qeṭanot (Minor Laws), Teḥillat Ḥokhma (The Beginning of Wisdom) on the methodology of Talmud study, a commentary on the Mishna entitledʿEṣ ha-Ḥayyim (The Tree of Life), and other works. His disciple Moses Ḥabib (1654–1696) focused on aspects of the legal termination of marriage in his Geṭ Pashuṭ (The Standard Bill of Divorce) and ʿEzrat Nashim (The Women’s Succor). He also wrote talmudic commentaries: Shemot ba-Areṣ (Names in the Land) on parts of the Babylonian Talmud, and Pene Moshe (The Face of Moses) on parts of the Jerusalem Talmud. Cairo was home to Mordecai ha-Levi (d. 1685), author of the responsa Darkhe Noʿam (Ways of Pleasantness) and his son Abraham ha-Levi (1650–17??), author of the massive and influential responsa collection Ginnat Veradim (A Garden of Roses).Italy continued to maintain its distinctive halakhic style, its masters combining Torah and worldly study with originality and flair. While not a native, Moses Zacuto (1620–1697) may be considered a representative example of the Italian masters. He composed responsa, a commentary on the Mishna, and another on the Jerusalem Talmud; but his main fame and influence were in the field of Kabbala. Italian Jewry’s cultural openness is reflected in the fact that his poem Tofteh ʿArukh (A Place of Fire Is Ordained), depicting a soul’s experiences in hell, was inspired by Dante’s Divine Comedy. He also pioneered as a dramatist, composing Yesod ‘Olam (Pillar of the Earth), the first-ever biblical drama in Hebrew, with the patriarch Abraham as its hero.While all of the above-mentioned scholars related in their halakhic works to the Shulḥan ʿArukh, another, nonhalakhic, factor greatly influenced them: the meteoric appearance—and drastic eclipse—of Shabbetay Ṣevi, the false messiah who ignited tremendous enthusiasm in all the far-flung lands of the Diaspora, and whose subsequent conversion to Islam resulted in bitter disillusionment for most Jews, and to the formation of secret sects by others. Ḥayyim Benveniste personally opposed Shabbetay Ṣevi, yet equivocated when his colleague Aaron Lapapa was deposed in Smyrna for opposing the would-be messiah, and later failed to support Lapapa’s reinstatement. Benveniste’s vacillation reflects the fragility of a halakhist’s status vis-à-vis popular sentiment. Zacuto first supported Shabbetay Ṣevi, but after the latter’s conversion firmly opposed the Sabbatean sect. Two of Zacuto’s leading disciples did not retract, however, and continued to believe in the apostate messiah.Most Jews remained loyal to halakhic praxis. Nonetheless, in the opinion of several scholars, one significant cause—and result—of the rise and fall of Shabbetay Ṣevi was the growing importance of nonhalakhic modes of thought and expression in the Jewish world.3. Sephardi Halakha in the Eighteenth CenturyHalakhic creativity was widespread during the eighteenth century. Italy continued to be an independent halakhic nexus. Isaac Lampronti (1679–1756), who studied medicine and philosophy at the University of Padua, pioneered an original form of halakhic writing: the halakhic encyclopedia Paḥad Yiṣḥaq (The Fear/Dread of Isaac) in two series consisting of 155 volumes, most still in manuscript! He also edited what may be considered the first periodical for rabbinic and halakhic writings. Another outstanding Italian scholar was David Pardo (1718–1790), who later lived in Dalmatia and Sarajevo, finally settling in Jerusalem. His Ḥasde David (The Mercies of David) and Sifre de-Ve Rav, commenting, respectively, on the Tosefta and the Sifre, are considered by many to be the best traditional rabbinic commentaries on these classic texts. His other works include responsa, a commentary on the Mishna, and liturgical poems. Ishmael ha-Kohen of Modena (1723–1811), perhaps the last great Italian halakhist, authored the three-volume responsa Zeraʿ Emet (Seed of Truth) and advocated integrating advanced Torah scholarship with secular studies.In the Balkans and Turkey, leading masters of the eighteenth century included, among others, the Salonican Solomon Amarillo and his sons Aaron and Ḥayyim; Ephraim Navon in Istanbul; Moses Israel and his son Elijah in Rhodes, and Elyakim Gatigno of Izmir.North Africa experienced a flowering of Torah during this century. In Morocco, perhaps the most outstanding scholar was Rabbi Raphael Berdugo (1747–1821), whose halakhic works include responsa, a commentary to the Shulḥan ‘Arukh, and talmudic novellae. Of special interest are his methodological and theoretical positions regarding the study and interpretation of classic rabbinic texts, positions that have been analyzed as prefiguring, in certain senses, those of modern scholars. Another prominent Moroccan halakhist was Jacob Aben Ṣur, whose responsa Mishpat u-Ṣedaqa be-Yaʿaqov are analytical and original. A leading Algerian rabbi was Judah ʿAyyāsh of Algiers (d. 1760), who authored Leḥem Yehuda on Maimonides’s Mishne Tora, the responsa Bet Yehuda, the Maṭṭe Yehuda and Sheveṭ Yehuda on Caro’s Shulḥan ʿArukh, and other works.Palestine’s small Jewish community was home to several important rabbis. Of special note are two members of the Algazi family who both held the post of rishon le-ṣiyyon. Israel Jacob Algazi, the incumbent from 1745 to 1756, authored ten volumes of responsa, commentaries, halakha and sermons. His son Yom Ṭov Algazi (b. 1727) held the post from 1782 to 1802 and also authored several learned works. Two Contrasting Paradigms of HalakhaNo survey of eighteenth-century halakha could ignore Ḥayyim Joseph David Azulay (Ḥida; 1724–1806), who hailed from Jerusalem. A prolific writer, he composed works on a wide range of topics, including glosses to the Shulḥan ʿArukh, responsa, bibliography, Kabbala, folktales, liturgy—and a personal travel-diary. In many ways he can be considered the Sephardi analogue of Elijah of Vilna (Gra; 1720–1797), known as the Vilna Gaon, who was regarded in his own time as a realization of the ideal type of a rabbinic scholar, and who has attained a near-mythic status in the European yeshiva milieu.A comparison of these two great masters is illuminating. Both were widely versed in the full range of halakhic literature—yet their attitudes to that corpus were strikingly different: The Gra held only tannaitic and amoraic works to be authoritative, with all subsequent scholarship merely an attempt to correctly explicate the classic texts. Consequently, he devoted much effort to determining the precisely correct textual variants of ancient works, and felt bound to disagree with any authority (even Rema and Caro) when convinced that a ruling was talmudically wrong. The Ḥida, on the other hand, saw current praxis as depending on the incremental, organic growth and development of halakha throughout its entire history. Thus, study of post–Shulḥan ʿArukh halakhists was to him of greater significance than the creation of error-free talmudic manuscripts, and he devoted a significant part of his work to summing up the literary output of post-talmudic scholarsBoth men believed that a halakhic scholar should know more than Judaica. Yet the Gra never left his study in the Jewish quarter of Vilna, devoting almost twenty-two hours a day to the perusal of holy texts; whereas the Ḥida not only wrote but also traveled extensively, preaching to many different congregations and meeting Jews and Gentiles throughout the Middle East and Europe. He kept a journal in which he recorded a wide variety of personal experiences, including a visit to the London zoo. Both men were public leaders, intensively involved in the polemics of their day. Elijah Gaon was the great and implacable leader of the Mitnaggedim, who fought the spread of the new Hasidic movement founded by Israel Baʿal Shem Ṭov. Deeply convinced that elements of Hasidism were tantamount to heresy and idolatry, he refused any compromise with its adherents. His disciples, motivated to revivify Torah study in Eastern Europe, innovated an institutional framework of Torah study known as the Great Yeshiva—first exemplified in the Yeshiva of Volozhin (founded 1802). The Ḥida, during his travels in Central and Western Europe and residence in Livorno, witnessed the beginnings of the breakdown of traditional Jewish society in those areas. He condemned the rejection of traditional customs for the sake of convenience, and was involved in early controversies against proto-reformists. But he realized that the changes produced by modern developments would require bold halakhic solutions. Thus, he supported the rabbis of Trieste when they instituted conditional betrothal (qiddushin ʿal tenay) in response to changes in the general legal framework. This may be contrasted to the negative attitude of Moses Sofer, leader of Ashkenazi Orthodoxy.4. The Nineteenth CenturyThe nineteenth century was a time of change both in Europe and in the centers of Sephardi culture. While virtually all the Mediterranean and Middle Eastern communities entered the century with a vital cadre of rabbinic scholars, several of them— Italy, the Balkans, Turkey, Tunis, and Algeria—experienced a significant waning of Torah as the century went on. Nevertheless, several great scholars were active in these lands, such as Raphael Asher Covo (1799–1875), author of the responsa Shaʿar Asher (Asher’s Gate) and Abraham Gatigno (d. 1895), the author of Ṣel ha-Kesef (Shelter of Silver) in Salonica; the great Ḥayyim Pallache (1788–1868), who authored more than seventy volumes, including twenty-four halakhic works, and his sons Isaac, Abraham, and Joseph in Izmir. Elsewhere, traditional scholarship continued unabated, or even reached new heights. While Westernization led to a decline of traditional scholarship in the modernizing city of Tunis, the island of Jerba in southern Tunisia developed an intensive culture of Torah study and authorship, reaching its peak in the first half of the twentieth century (see below). The Jewish community of Baghdad, in eclipse for more than half a millennium, revived Jewish scholarship in the late eighteenth century, and in the nineteenth century was a flourishing center of halakha. Two major figures were ʿAbd Allāh Somekh and Joseph Ḥayyim al-Ḥakham.Somekh(1813–1889) was a scion of an illustrious local family hailing back to the gaonic era. He established a center of Torah learning whose graduates served as the rabbis of Iraqi Jewry until the mass aliya to Israel a hundred years later. His halakhic works include Zivḥe Ṣedeq (Sacrifices of Righteousness), an erudite commentary on tractate Yoreh Deʿa of the Shul