ann brener judah halevi and his circle of hebrew poets in granada hebrew language and literature...

Judah Halevi and His Circle

HEBREW LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE SERIESManaging Editor Geerd Haayer

Edited by

W.Jac. van Bekkum

BRILL • STYXLEIDEN • BOSTON

2005

HEBREW LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE SERIES 6

JUDAH HALEVI

AND HIS CIRCLE OF

HEBREW POETS IN GRANADA

by

Ann Brener

BRILL • STYXLEIDEN • BOSTON

2005

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Brener, Ann, 1969-Judah Halevi and his circle of Hebrew poets in Granada / by Ann Brener.

p. cm. -- (Hebrew language and literature series ; v. 6)Includes bibliographical references (p. ) and index.ISBN 90-04-14709-8

1. Judah, ha-Levi, 12th cent. - -Criticism and interpretation. 2. Judah, ha-Levi,12th cent.--Translations into English. I. Title. II. Series.

PJ5050.J8B74 2005892.4′12--dc22

2005050078

ISSN 1381–2564ISBN 90 04 14709 8

c© Copyright 2005 by Styx/Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, storedin a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

It is a great pleasure for me to thank the editors of this book, my second in the seriesHebrew Language and Literature. Between the careful editing of Professor Wout vanBekkum, the editor of the series, and the professional expertise of Geerd Haayer, thissecond experience has been even more pleasant than the first – something I never wouldhave thought possible. To both these gentlemen of Brill/Styx, therefore – my verywarmest thanks.

I also wish to thank my colleagues of Ben-Gurion University, Professor Dvora Bregmanand Dr. Haviva Ishay, for their part in this book. Their helpful comments and encourage-ment over the past several years helped to make the writing of this book a very pleasantexperience indeed.

Ann BrenerGroningen, April 2005

v

CONTENTS

PREFACE ix

PART ONE: ON THE ROAD TO GRANADA

INTRODUCTION 1

CHAPTER ONE First Contacts between Judah Halevi and Moses ibn Ezra 9

CHAPTER TWO Judah Halevi’s Letter to Moses ibn Ezra 29

CHAPTER THREE First Contacts with Judah ibn Ghayyat 45

CHAPTER FOUR A Star is Born: Judah Halevi in Granada 59

PART TWO: A CIRCLE OF HEBREW POETS

CHAPTER FIVE The Poetry of Wine-drinking Parties 73

CHAPTER SIX The Poet’s Workshop 93

CHAPTER SEVEN Hebrew Boon-Companions as Poets for Jewish Occasions 111

CHAPTER EIGHT “The Girl from Granada” – Granada as Metaphor and Place 129

AFTERWORD 139

BIBLIOGRAPHY 143

INDEX OF POEMS 151

GENERAL INDEX 153

vii

PREFACE

Towards the end of the eleventh century, there existed in Muslim Spain a unique circleof Hebrew poets loosely centered around the city-kingdom of Granada, then under therule of ªAbdallah ibn Buluggın, the last prince of the Zirid dynasty. The members ofthis circle were poets as well as rabbinic scholars, Orthodox Jews passionately devotedto Hebrew language and literature – but also passionate devotees of Arabic poetry andculture. They composed poetry based on classical Arabic poetics and Arabic models ofgenre and rhetoric, only they wrote their poems in Hebrew rather than in Arabic, andused the treasures of the Bible, and not the Koran, to do so. It was a small, highly refinedgroup, one that Moses ibn Ezra, its leader, was later to call a ˜·Âˆ‰‰„¯˙ÂÁ·Â¯‰

ÓÙÂ‡¯˙ “A wonderful group / and a marvelous troupe.”1

A circle of medieval Hebrew poets may seem like a strange and wondrous phenomenonto us today, but it was in fact very much a creation of its time. Poetry played an importantrole in the society of Muslim Spain, or at least in certain segments of that society, and itleft its traces wherever we look. Poetry is chiseled into palace walls, woven into garmentsand rugs, carved in marble and stone. It spills off the pages of Andalusi histories andrises, song after song, anecdote after anecdote, in the numerous anthologies from theperiod, till we almost wonder whether poetry was not in the very air itself. Here we readof kings and laundresses improvising distichs on the banks of rivers, there we read aboutprinces and poets trading versets and rhymes. And everywhere we read of odes recitedand rewarded, poems set to music and performed, farewells taken in rhyme and meter,and the wine-drinking parties in which all this took place. Poetry was the prerogativeof kings, and poets the ornaments of courtly life. It is not surprising, therefore, to findthat this love for poetry had a kind of rippling effect on other segments of society, or tolearn that the Jewish poets of al-Andalus were in many ways a reflection of practicesand norms current in the courts of Muslim society.2

Like any creative circle of working artists, the members of this group evolved their owncodes of behavior and ways of interacting with each other: influencing, inspiring, and,as we shall see, occasionally - if gracefully – even correcting each other. These Hebrewpoets did not write for some anonymous far-off reader, and certainly not for their desk

1 Ibn Ezra composed his book in Judaeo-Arabic, that is, in Arabic written in Hebrew letters; it has beentranslated into Hebrew by A. S. Halkin, Kitab al-muh. ad. ara wal-mudhakara (Jerusalem, Mekitzei Nirdamim:1975). For a good analysis of the work in English, see Raymond Scheindlin, “Rabbi Moshe ibn Ezra on theLegitimacy of Poetry,” Medievalia et Humanistica , n. s. 7 (1976), pp. 101–115.2 The fourteenth-century Muslim historian, Lisan al-Dın ibn al-Khat.ıb, conceded that the Andalusi talent forpoetry trickled down to women as well as infidels. See his comments in Ah.med ibn Moh. ammed al-Maqqarı,The History of the Mohammedan Dynasties in Spain, trans. Pascual de Gayangos, (London: The OrientalTranslation Fund, 1890), 1: 151.

ix

Preface

drawers. Very often their poems were addressed to a specific member, or members, ofthe group, and often as not elicited a reply in kind. They reflect specific social situationsand norms, and give expression to contemporary standards of elegance and conduct. Inthem we read about wine-drinking parties and poetic competitions, Purim feasts andweddings. We hear of poems sung and then imitated, of gifts given and received, ofriddles propounded and solved. Seen as a group these poems help breathe life into whatmust surely be one of the most fascinating periods of Hebrew creativity since the closeof the biblical canon. In them one senses the same excitement, the same pulse of energythat animates the work of any creative group of artists, whether they inhabit the gardensand villas of Renaissance Italy, the cobble-stoned streets of Provence, or the throbbingcoffee houses of New York and London. Yet the poems emanating from the “Granadaperiod” of Judah Halevi’s life have never yet been examined as the expression of adistinct circle of poets, and it is this circle – “this wonderful group / and marveloustroupe” – that the present study will seek to examine.

x

PART ONE: ON THE ROAD TO GRANADA

INTRODUCTION

When ªAbdallah ibn Buluggın, the last Zirid prince of Muslim Granada, threw open thegates of his kingdom in 1090 to the conquering hordes from North Africa, it signaledmore than the end of his own ruling house. In one stroke it not only ushered a newera into Granada, but throughout al-Andalus sounded the death knoll for that period ofcultural splendor and achievement known as the Taifa, or “party” kingdoms, of MuslimSpain.1 These were the thirty or so independent city-kingdoms that rose from the ashesof the Caliphate of Cordoba following the breakdown of centralized government in1013, in a process that one medieval historian likened to “the breaking of the necklaceand the scattering of its pearls.”2 The Muslim rulers who scrambled for the “pearls” inthat turbulent period may have fought each other almost as much as they fought theirenemies in Christian Spain, but they also gave new impetus to the arts and sciences. In aprocess not unlike that of Renaissance Italy, the princes of each tiny kingdom “disputedwith each other the prize of prose and poetical composition . . . encouraged literature,and treated the learned with distinction, rewarding them munificently for their labors.”3

Poetry and music flourished, as did the decorative arts and architecture for aristocraticconsumption. This was the period in which Ibn Zaydun sang of the princess Wallada, inwhich the miradors and palaces of the Alcazaba and the Alfajeria were constructed, andin which the carmen gardens of the Alhambra and Generalife were laid out and planted.

All this magnificence, however, came to an end with the Almoravid troops from NorthAfrica as, one by one, the victors removed the individual kings from their thrones andrestrung the “scattered pearls” into an empire of their own. From exile in North Africathe deposed ªAbdallah recalled the days of glory as he penned a history of his dynasty’srule in Granada, closing his political memoirs with a backward glance at the pastimesof kings once his to enjoy, and at a period of his life when, as he himself put it, “my

1 The literature on this period is extensive; see for example E. Levi-Provencal, L’Espagne musulmaneau Xeme siecle: Institutions et view sociale, 3 vols. (Paris: Larose, 1932); Reinhart Dozy, Spanish Islam,trans. Francis Griffin Stokes (London: Frank Cass, 1972); and David Wasserstein, The Rise and Fall of theParty Kings: Politics and Society in Islamic Spain 1002–1086 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1985).Translations from the Arab historians on the events of this period, and on the progress of the Almoravidvictors, are found in Ah.med ibn Mohammed al-Maqqarı, The History of the Mohammedan Dynasties in Spain,trans. Pascual de Gayangos, (London: The Oriental Translation Fund, 1890). Of particular interest, perhaps,are several recent studies dealing with the period from a more interdisciplinary point of view, combiningstudies of poetry, architecture, and social life from the period. See for example Cynthia Robinson, In Praiseof Song: The Making of Courtly Culture in al-Andalus and Provence, 1105–1134 A. D. (Leiden: Brill,2002); D. Fairchild Ruggles, Gardens, Landscape and Vision in the Palaces of Islamic Spain (UniversityPark: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2000).2 Al-Shaqundı (d. 1231–1232). Quoted from Al-Maqqarı, The History of the Mohammedan Dynasties, pp.34–35.3 Ibid.

1

Introduction

mind was carefree, my heart relaxed and . . . able to contemplate all that was lovely.”4

But it was not only deposed Zirid rulers who suffered under the new dynasty or wholooked with longing at life back in Granada.5 Yet another exile from the Zirid kingdomrecalled the glories of life in Granada before the days of Almoravid rule and bewailed hislost paradise from the distance of a foreign land. This was Moses ibn Ezra (1055–1135),the leading Hebrew poet of Muslim Spain on the eve of the Almoravid invasion, anda member of a prominent Jewish family whose sons were later to figure amongst theleaders of the emerging Jewish communities in Christian Spain. From the lonelinessof exile in Christian Spain, alienated for unknown reasons from his family and deeplyscornful of the cultural life in his new surroundings,6 Ibn Ezra yearned for Granadaand wistfully recalled the days when he had enjoyed a life of flourishing creativityamongst a group of like-minded Hebrew poets and scholars. It was a small, highlyrefined group, one that Ibn Ezra, its leader, was later to call a ˜·Âˆ‰‰„¯˙ÂÁ·Â¯‰

ÓÙÂ‡¯˙ “a wonderful group / and a marvelous troupe.”7 It was also this circle of poetsthat was destined to provide the framework for the appearance of perhaps the greatestHebrew poet since biblical times: Judah ben Samuel Halevi.

Today Judah Halevi is best-known as the author of exquisite lyric poetry describinghis longing for Zion and his voyage to the Holy Land in old age. Many of his religiouspoems grace the pages of Hebrew prayer-books the world over, and no commemorationof Independence Day in Israel is complete without a recitation of his great threnody,

4 This fascinating document disappeared during the Middle Ages and was only recovered in 1932 when thegreat Arabist, E. Levi-Provencal, discovered it in the library of a mosque in Fez. Levi-Provencal publishedpart of his findings in Al-Andalus 3 (1935); 4 (1936–1939); and 6 (1941). The quotation here comes fromthe English translation of the Arabic original, published as The Tibyan: Memoirs of ªAbdallah b. Buluggin,Last Zirid Amir of Granada, trans. Amin T. Tibi (Leiden: Brill, 1986), p. 174.5 The majority of Granada’s citizens disapproved of Zirid rule and gave the conquering Almoravid general ahero’s welcome, but other segments of society suffered greatly by the change. As Reinhart Dozy concludes,Almoravid rule justified both the expectations of the clerical Muslims in Granada and “the fears of thosewho desired to be ruled neither by ecclesiastics nor barbarians from Morocco and the Sahara. Scholars,poets, philosophers all had bitter grievances.” Though many of these found positions under the new rulers,“they found themselves out of place amongst an uncongenial crowd of fanatical priests and uncouth soldiers;far different had been the Courts they had been accustomed to.” These souls, Dozy continues, felt “a deepregret for the lettered princes who had passed for ever.” See Reinhart Dozy, Spanish Islam, p. 718. CynthiaRobinson points to a similar experience in Saragossa, where the “loss to the Almoravid in 1111 appears tohave been – for the nobility and literati, at any rate – devastating.” See Cynthia Robinson, In Praise of Song,p. 317, note 43.6 The most comprehensive treatment of the poet’s life in both Granada and Christian Spain is HaimSchirmann, Toldot ha-shirah ha-ªivrit bi-sefarad ha-muslemit (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1995), ed. andnotes by Ezra Fleischer, pp. 391–403. This book, which will be frequently cited in the following chapters,was composed by Haim Schirmann without notes, either through design or because he died before hecould carry out his project. Ezra Fleischer, who subsequently edited the book, provides copious notes toSchirmann’s text, giving poetic citations, updated and very detailed bibliography, additional information,and occasional corrections based on the research subsequent to Schirmann’s death. Fleischer also providesentire sub-chapters supplementing Schirmann’s text. It is Fleischer’s notes and additions which essentiallytransform the book from a general history of Hebrew poetry in Muslim Spain into the most authoritativework of its kind up to the present date, and probably for many generations to come. In English, the best studyof Ibn Ezra’s life is Haim Brody, “Moses ibn Ezra: Incidents in His Life,” Jewish Quarterly Review, n. s. 24(1933), pp. 309 ff. See also Yitzhak Baer, A History of the Jews in Christian Spain, trans. Louis Schoffman(Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1961), 1: 59–64.7 Ibn Ezra composed his book in Judaeo-Arabic, that is, in Arabic written in Hebrew letters; it has beentranslated into Hebrew by A. S. Halkin, Kitab al-muh. ad. ara wal-mudhakara (Jerusalem, Mekitzei Nirdamim:1975). For a good analysis of the work in English, see Raymond Scheindlin, “Rabbi Moshe ibn Ezra on theLegitimacy of Poetry,” Medievalia et Humanistica, n. s. 7 (1976), pp. 101–115.

2

Introduction

“Zion, wilt thou not ask?” (Tzion ha-lo tishºali).8 Even in his own lifetime Judah Haleviachieved a near-canonical status. One of his contemporaries referred to Halevi as nothingless than “the quintessence and embodiment of our country,”9 and when, in old age, hesojourned in Egypt on his way to the Land of Israel, the local Jewish community fellover itself welcoming the national hero.10 But when Halevi first burst into this groupof poets in Granada he was just a young man, less than twenty years old, incrediblytalented, and completely unknown.

Very little, if anything, is known of Judah Halevi before the “Granada period” of hislife. He was obviously young when he came to Granada; in Chapter One we will seeMoses ibn Ezra marveling over this very fact. But just how young, we do not know;the standard references cite 1075 as the year of his birth,11 and this would make him– at the most! – fifteen years old at the time of the Almoravid conquest and the endof this Granada period. Such a date is not impossible; other Hebrew poets were knownto have composed wonderful poetry at rather tender ages.12 And indeed, one authority,the thirteenth-century Joseph ibn ªAknin, counselled the age of ten to fifteen as theideal time for learning to write poetry.13 But although Judah Halevi was undoubtedlya prodigy, a birth date of 1075 would not acount for the good fellowship he obviouslyenjoyed with other members of the poetic circle during his time in Granada. In onecharming wine-poem we learn that he is not yet twenty-four years old, but whether hewas twenty-three when he wrote it, or twenty-two, (or perhaps twelve!) we have no wayof knowing. Nor is there any way of dating it to the Granada period:

For you I’ll sing forever moreand my lips drink in your wine’s rich store

“Brother!” quoth I to the cask you sentand from its mouth taste sweets galore

8 Halevi’s “Songs of Zion” are printed in his Dıwan, ed. Haim Brody, 2: 155–187. For English translationsof Tzion ha-lo tishºali and other of Halevi’s poems, see Nina Salaman, Selected Poems by Judah Halevi(Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1974).9 The letter was written by Joseph ibn al-Ukhtush to Halfon ben Nethanel Halevi in May-June 1130; S. D.Goitein published the letter in Tarbiz 24 (1955), pp. 138–146. An English translation of the Judaeo-Arabicletter (quoted here) is published in idem, A Mediterranean Society 5: 288–289.10 There is a considerable body of research on Judah Halevi’s prolonged visit to Egypt on his way to theHoly Land. S. D. Goitein published an important series of Hebrew articles about this period of Halevi’s life,which are summed up in the English-language “The Biography of Rabbi Judah ha-Levi in the Light of theCairo Geniza Documents,” Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research 28 (1959), pp. 41–56.For an analysis of the poet’s social milieu in Egypt see Yosef Yahalom, “The Context of Hebrew Imitationsof Muwassahat in Egypt,” in Poesia Estrofica, ed. F. Corriente and A. Saenz-Badillos (Madrid: UniversidadComplutense, 1991), pp. 357–366. The documents pertaining to this period in Halevi’s life, together with afascinating narrative of his relations with friends in both Spain and Egypt, have recently been published byEzra Fleischer and Moshe Gil, Yehuda ha-Levi u-vnei h. ugo (Jerusalem: World Union of Jewish Studies,2001).11 See for example, Haim Schirmann, Le-toldot ha-shirah ha-ªivrit bi-sefarad ha-muslemit, p. 430, whowrites that Judah Halevi was born in 1075 “at the latest.”12 Solomon ibn Gabirol (1021/1022–1053/1058) composed some of his greatest poems before the age oftwenty, citing his age in the poem itself: Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Haim Brody, pp. 45–48 (no. 85, l. 95); ibid., p. 77(no. 129, l. 3); p. 99 (no. 160, l. 3); and p. 125 (no. 200, l. 10). Joseph ha-Nagid (1035–1066) was only ninewhen he wrote a beautiful little poem out on the fields of battle with his father (Dıwan Shmuel ha-Nagid, ed.Yarden, p. 56, no. 17); and from a later period, in Italy, Leone da Modena (1571–1648) composed an elegythat could be read in both Hebrew and Italian at the advanced age of seven.13 Simha Assaf, Meqorot le-toldot ha-h. inukh be-yisrael (Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1931), 2: 38.

3

Introduction

Until my friends thought me a drunk,and therefore asked me: “How much more??”

To them I said: “Can Gilead’s balm be here nearbyand I not drink to heal my sore?

5 How could I tire of Eden’s caskwhen I’m not even twenty-four?!”14

In sum, the most we can say is that Judah Halevi was probably born several years beforethe commonly cited date of 1075.

There is also confusion as to his place of birth. As we will see in Chapters One andTwo, Judah Halevi referred to himself as coming from the lands of Christian Spain,and was also referred to in similar fashion. Thus it is clear that he grew up in ChristianSpain, but whether he had been born there or in Muslim Spain, or where in ChristianSpain he lived, we have no way of knowing. Moses ibn Ezra distinctly writes that JudahHalevi and Abraham ibn Ezra were both born in Tudela15 but it is difficult to acceptthis statement at face value since Tudela was in Muslim hands up until 1115. So untilfurther information is available it seems best to resign ourselves, as Ezra Fleischer hassuggested, to saying that Halevi was born, or at least brought up in Christian Spain, ina city whose name we do not know.16

Ibn Ezra’s account of the poets he had known in al-Andalus is found in his Kitab al-muh. ad. ara wal-mudhakara ("The Book of Arguments and Discussions”), the treatisewhich he wrote from exile in Christian Spain on the subject of Hebrew poetry in al-Andalus. Because of the importance of this passage we bring it in full:17

And contemporary with these poets towards the end of their days [in the late 11th century]and coming after them and following in their footsteps, was a wonderful group and amarvelous troupe. These poets understood the meaning of poetry and entered it throughevery gate and every road, cultivated both the sublime and the light-hearted, and ended upwith poetry of the utmost perfection and beauty. For they excelled in their use of imagery,though they all used different techniques and were not equally gifted. Truly has it beensaid that people are like the rungs of a ladder: some are higher, and some are lower. Butall of them, in whatever city they dwelt, came within the circle of success, precision,and perfection. Chief among them was Joseph ibn Tzadik18 of Cordoba, a good-hearted,generous man, marvelously erudite in Jewish law; and Judah ibn Ghayyat,19 who was bornin Lucena and dwelt in Granada, and was an original poet and a highly cultivated man.

Chief among the scholars of Jewish law was Solomon ibn al-Muªallim20 of Seville, the cityof poetry: his splendor and independence shone forth in both [Hebrew and Arabic] with

14 ·Í‡ÚÈ¯ÊÓÈ¯Â˙ . Judah Halevi, Dıwan, ed. Haim Brody, 2: 308 (no. 92).15 Moses ibn Ezra, Kitab al-muh. ad. ara, p. 79 [42a–43a].16 On the subject of Judah Halevi’s date of birth see Ezra Fleischer, “Rabbi Yehuda Halevi: Birurim be-qoroth. ayyav ve-yetzirato,” Israel Levin Jubilee Volume (Tel Aviv, 1994), pp. 245–246; concerning his place ofbirth see ibid., pp. 243–24517 Kitab al-muh. ad. ara, p. 79 [42a–43a]. All translations from this book are mine.18 Joseph ibn Tzadik was the chief authority of Jewish ritual law in Cordoba as well as a gifted poet. Seefurther below, Chapter Two.19 On Judah ibn Ghayyat see Chapter Three.20 On Solomon ibn al-Muªallim see Chapter Six.

4

Introduction

the light of day, and he sounded the depths of both [languages], may God defend his merit.And Judah Halevi, who drew pearls from the sea,21 and composed with such sharp wit, andAbraham ibn Ezra,22 whose language was so pure and ornamental: both were natives ofTudela23 and dwelt afterwards in Cordoba. And at the northernmost tip of al-Andalus wasAbu al-Hassan ben Batat,24 among those renowned as exegetes, orators and poets, from thehouses of renowned and pious forefathers; and the renowned teacher and eminent scholarLevi ibn al-Tabban,25 a writer, poet, and preacher; and the honorable Abu Abraham [Isaac]ibn Barun,26 his pupil, an outstanding man of incisive intellect, and among those who spokeboth [Hebrew and Arabic] with purity. Also among these artists, craftsmen, and poets wasAbu al-Hassan ben Elazar,27 and among the men of poetry, good taste, and precision wasAbu Abraham [Isaac] ben Mescaron.28 Among those known for their prolific output and

21 The poet diving for pearls is a conventional figure of both Arabic and Hebrew poetry in the MiddleAges. ªAbd al-Qahir al-Jurjanı advised the poet to “work hard and dive deep to find the pearl,” as DorisBehrens-Abouseif notes in Beauty in Arabic Culture (Princeton: Markus Wiener Publishers, 1999), p. 96.For other examples, see The Poetry of Ibn Khafajah: A Literary Analysis, Magda M. al-Nowaihi (Leiden:Brill, 1993), pp. 7 and 37.22 There is considerable research on Abraham ibn Ezra, whose writings on the Hebrew language, biblicalexegesis, mathematics and astrology have long won the attention of scholars. See Haim Schirmann, Toldotha-shirah ha-ªivrit bi-sefarad ha-notzrit (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1997), pp. 13–92, with copious notesand bibliography by Ezra Fleischer, whose father was himself an eminent scholar on the subject of Abrahamibn Ezra.23 Shraga Abramson points out the confusion between the spelling of Tudela and Toledo in “Iggeret RavYehuda Halevi le-Rav Moshe ben Ezra,” Sefer Haim Schirmann (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1970), pp.397–398.24 In Yediªot ha-makhon le-h. eqer ha-shirah ha-ªivrit 4 (1938), p. 251, Schirmann notes that there are twomen by this name; the first received one poem by Moses ibn Ezra (no. 185 in Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Brody); thesecond received two (ibid., nos. 52 and 78).25 The poems of Levi ibn al-Tabban were published by Dan Pagis in Shirei Levi ibn al-Tabban (Jerusalem:The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1967). And see Haim Schirmann, Toldot ha-shirah ha-ªivritbi-sefarad ha-muslemit, pp. 496–503.26 Isaac ibn Barun was a noted linguist but only one of his poems – and that only four lines long – has comedown to us. This was mistakenly attributed to Moses ibn Ezra by Bialik and Ravnitsky, who published it intheir Shirei Moshe ibn Ezra, (no. 48, p. 78). Fragments from Ibn Barun’s comparative study of the Hebrew andArabic languages, Kitab al-muºazana, were published in facsimile by P. Kokotzov in the Russian- languageHistory of Hebrew Linguistics in the Middle Ages, I-II (St. Peterburg, 1916). In English see P. Wechter,Ibn Barun’s Arabic Works on Hebrew Grammar and Lexicography (Philadelphia, 1964). Two documentsmentioning Ibn Barun have been published by Ezra Fleischer and Moshe Gil in Yehuda Halevi u-venei h. ugo,nos. 3 and 15, and see Fleischer’s comments ibid., pp. 127–129. Moses ibn Ezra composed three poems inhonor of Ibn Barun’s book; see Moses ibn Ezra, Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Haim Brody, pp. 16–18 (no. 12); p. 33(no. 30); and pp. 175–177 (no. 176). Ibn Ezra apparently composed three other panegyrics for Ibn Barun(ibid. no. 7, p. 9; no. 33, pp. 34–35; and no. 112, pp. 113–114) as well as a lament upon his death (ibid., no.190, p. 190). The problems concerning the rubrics to the latter three panegyrics are discussed by Fleischer inSchirmann, Toldot ha-shirah ha-ªivrit bi-sefarad ha-muslemit, pp. 496–497, note 63. Judah Halevi composedtwo poems for Ibn Barun; see Judah Halevi, Dıwan, ed. Haim Brody, 1: 7–10 (no. 7) 1: 182–183 (no. 123).This latter poem is a magnificent strophic poem modeled on the meter and rhyme-scheme of a muwashshah. aby Joseph ibn Tzadik, published in Yonah David, Shirei Yosef ibn Tzadik, no. 1.27 There appear to be two men by this name in the sources; one, a physician whose Hebrew name seems to be“Meir,” and to whom Moses ibn Ezra addressed poem no. 193 in Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Brody, and a second one,to someone called simply “Ibn Elazar” in the rubric before the poem (ibid., no. 63). Schirmann, in Yediªotha-makhon 4, p. 277 suggests that it is the first of these, Meir, who composed the collection of homonympoetry found in MS Ginzburg 475, in Moscow. In this context, let us mention that in Chapter Five we willbe briefly “meeting” one R. Elazar, perhaps this very one, in the course of a kind of poetic contest betweenJudah Halevi and Joseph ibn Sahal.28 The spelling of this name ( Ó˘Î¯‡Ô ) is totally subjective; as Schirmann notes in Yediªot ha-makhon 4, p.277, neither the origin of the name nor its meaning is clear. Schirmann refers the reader to Steinschneider’scomments in the Jewish Quarterly Review 11, p. 149, no. 391. All that is known about this figure is that hecomposed one religious poem (see Davidson’s Thesaurus of Medieval Hebrew Poetry, Vol. 1, no. 6914) and

5

Introduction

innovative ideas for translating Arabic into the Hebrew language was Abu Saªid ben Farajben Hasdai of blessed memory, of pleasing ways and easy manners.29

Here, then, are most of the Hebrew poets who lived in al-Andalus during Ibn Ezra’s day:Joseph ibn Tzadik, Judah ibn Ghayyat, Levi ibn al-Tabban, Solomon ibn al-Muªallim,Judah Halevi, Isaac ibn Barun, and, of course, the acknowledged leader and writer ofthese lines himself, Moses ibn Ezra.

Judah Halevi had contact at some point in his life with most, if not all of theseHebrew poets, in addition to others not mentioned here, such as Isaac ibn Ezra30 andJoseph ibn Sahal. But when it comes to reconstituting the circle of Granada poets, it isoften impossible to say with assurance that a given poem stems from what scholars callthe “Granada period” in Halevi’s life. And in fact, one scholar has recently challengedthis axiom of Hebrew literary history and contended that Judah Halevi did not, in fact,have a “Granada period,” and that he did not visit Granada until after the Almoravidconquest of Granada or meet with Moses ibn Ezra anywhere except Christian Spain.31

According to this theory, Judah Halevi only met Ibn Ezra after the latter’s heyday, whenhe was no longer a highly respected resident of Granada but a lonely and impoverishedexile estranged from his three bothers. These claims rest on the evidence of rubricsfound above the poems in manuscripts only recently made available to western scholarsfrom the Firkowitz Collection in St. Petersburg; Haim Brody and Haim Schirmannconstructed their life of Judah Halevi largely on the basis of two manuscripts of Halevi’scollected poems: Mss. Oxford 1971 and Oxford 1970 of the Bodleian Library, the lattermanuscript the most authentic testimony to Halevi’s dıwan.32

It is not the goal of this study to refute these claims; this has already been capablydone by Ezra Fleischer, who examined the claims one by one and disproved them onthe basis of the manuscript evidence.33 But our study clearly rejects these claims andin fact could not have been written had they been found at all reasonable. When oneremembers that only Moses ibn Ezra remained in Granada after the conquest in 1090and that Moses never met with his brothers again, rubrics can do very little to change thefacts established by Brody and Schirmann. When Judah Halevi addresses both Mosesand Isaac ibn Ezra in one and the same poem, or Moses ibn Ezra writes a poem to Haleviteasing him that his return is being anxiously awaited by a “girl from Granada,” orHalevi sends a poem to both Isaac ibn Ezra and Judah ibn Ghayyat from the neighboring

was the recipient of two of Moses ibn Ezra’s poems (nos. 87 and 118 in Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Brody)29 Nothing at all is known of this person.30 Isaac was the eldest of the four Ibn Ezra brothers. Moses greatly admired his brother’s talents and inKitab al-muh. ad. ara, p. 77 [41a] notes his “delicacy of expression and sweetness of poetry due to his absolutecommand of Arabic culture.” But his comments come somewhat earlier than the passages translated here,since Isaac was considerably older than Moses himself and therefore belonged to the previous generation.31 Yosef Yahalom, “Ginzei Leningrad ve-h. eqer shirat h. ayyav shel rabbi Yehuda Halevi,” Peªamim 46–47(1991), p. 31, note 61.32 Ezra Fleischer, “Rabbi Yehuda Halevi: Birurim be-qorot h. ayyav,” %itIsrael Levin Jubilee Volume (TelAviv: Tel Aviv University, 1994), p. 242, note 3. MS Oxford 1970 represents the editorial work of RabbiH. iyya al-Mughrabi (i. e., “the Moroccan”), a contemporary of Judah Halevi and an acknowledged expert onHalevi’s poetry. Fleischer, ibid., pp. 273–276, suggests that Rabbi H. iyya al-Mughrabi, the editor of Halevi’sdıwan, may be the same Rabbi H. iyya al-Dayyan who served on Cairo’s rabbinical court in 1120–1159.In medieval Egypt, as Fleischer explains, Jews from Spain and Morocco were both termed Moroccans(al-Mughrabi)33 Fleischer, ibid., esp. pp. 246–255.

6

Introduction

city of Guadix thanking them for a Purim gift – one must necessarily believe that theGranada period was in fact a reality in the life of Judah Halevi. Moreover, as we proceedwe will see that the city of Granada was a definite presence for the poets connectedwith this circle and that Granada pervades a number of their poems in terms of images,subject matter, and even rhyme. The evidence attesting to Halevi’s Granada period willbe allowed to speak for itself in the following chapters and then summed up in ChapterEight.

On the other hand, it is also true that it is often impossible to ascribe poems writtenby these poets to the Granada period, no matter how tempting it may be to do so.In examining the circle of poets in Granada, therefore, we will largely be limitingourselves to the poems that can be connected to the Granada period with at leasta reasonable degree of assurance, citing other poems only as examples of parallelliterary or social phenomena. Rubrics can be problematic. They vary from one scribeto another and were sometimes added by scribes who simply paraphrased the contentsof the poem in question, sometimes incorrectly through an imperfect understanding ofmedieval Hebrew poetry. One medieval editor of Dunash ibn Labrat’s famous diatribeagainst wine-drinking parties Ve-ºomer: al tishan (“And he said: Don’t sleep!”) gives atantalizing rubric ostensibly testifying to contemporary social practices but is actuallyjust a paraphrase of the poem in question, while another rubric informs us that the poetIsaac ibn Khalfun wrote a certain poem “upon taking his medicine,” when in fact hewas asking for largesse.34 For this reason, our study, though indeed citing the rubricsfound in the major manuscripts, will depend upon the texts of the poems and not therubrics to establish certain biographical details, such as the recipients or the poems andthe circumstances in which they were composed.

* * *

A note on translation: the Hebrew poems translated in this study consist of twokinds: strophic “girdle-poems” with shifting rhyme (muwashshah. as) and mono-rhymedpoems, the longer ones known as qas. ıdas. With their shorter lines and lilting rhythm, themuwashshah. as almost demand rhyme even in translation, and we have indeed tried togive a semblance of the original rhyme-scheme in the translations of the muwashshah. asbelow. There has also been an attempt to give rhymed translations of the shorter mono-rhymed poems throughout this book. The qas. ıdas, however, generally defy rhyming; theEnglish language simply does not have the rhyming capabilities of Hebrew or Arabic.So the qas. ıdas have been provided with prose translations that preserve the line arrange-ment; in many cases an apparatus of the biblical verses embedded in these poems hasalso been provided in order to convey an idea of the rich and varied use of the biblicallanguage in these poems

34 The rubric to Dunash’s poem is found in MS T-S 8 K 15/8. Concerning the rubric to Ibn Khalfun’s poemsee Ann Brener, Isaac ibn Khalfun: A Wandering Poet of the Eleventh Century (Leiden: Brill, 2003), pp.56–57.

7

Chapter One

FIRST CONTACTS BETWEEN JUDAH HALEVI AND MOSES IBN EZRA

Our story begins in Granada, a tiny Muslim kingdom nestled into the picturesquemountain range of the Sierra Nevada where it was “furrowed by streams and clothed intrees,” as its deposed king ªAbdallah later recalled,1 and the “melted gold of its rivers,”to quote al-Shaqundı, “flowed betwixt the emeralds of its trees.”2 Just why the kingdomwas called Granada no one is sure. Some link the name to the fruit of the pomegranate,though the honor of growing the first pomegranates on Iberian soil goes to the districtof Rayy near Malaga, and it was Toledo, not Granada that received the praise of onemedieval botanist for its wild pomegranate trees.3 Others suggest a Phoenician origin ofthe name with no etymological link to pomegranates whatsoever, and point to a nearbyvillage known as “Karnattah” in the earliest sources.4 But at the time in which ournarrative begins, ªAbdallah would have had little reason for indulging in nostalgia, andthe name of his kingdom would have been an academic question safely left to scholarsof a much future generation. Like the other Muslim rulers throughout al-Andalus inthis period just before the Almoravid conquest in 1090, ªAbdallah would have beenbusy squabbling with his brother kings of the Muslim faith, fending off incursions fromChristian Spain, and relaxing in the sundry pastimes that were the prerogative of kings.5

True, the Almoravid troops from North Africa did loom large on the horizon, and theirleader, Yusef ibn Tashufin, was an increasingly worrisome menace.6 But nevertheless,in these days before the fatal year of 1090, ªAbdallah was still seated on his throne, andthe various inhabitants of his kingdom – Muslim, Jew, and Christian – like as not wentabout their usual business.

Granada on the eve of the Almoravid conquests harbored a particularly large Jewish

1 Translation from A. Huici Miranda, s. v. “Gharnata,” Encyclopaedia of Islam (Leiden: Brill, 1965), Vol.2, p. 1012. ªAbdallah’s memoirs were translated into English as: The Tibyan: Memoirs of ªAbd Allah b.Buluggın, Last Zirid Amir of Granada, trans. Amin T. Tibi (Leiden: Brill, 1986); the description of Granadais on p. 48.2 Al-Shaqundı (d. 1231–1232). Quoted from al-Maqqarı, The History of the Mohammedan Dynasties, p.44.3 The story of this first pomegranate, a gift to ªAbd al-Rah. man I from his sister in Syria, is related in Ruggles,Gardens, Landscape and Vision, p. 17. The eleventh-century Ibn Bas.s.al remarks the pomegranate trees ofToledo in his Dıwan al-filah. a; see ibid., p. 23.4 Pascual de Gayongos, al-Maqqarı’s nineteenth-century editor and translator, notes in the MohammedanDynasties, p. 347, note 69, that a town by the name of “Karnattah” existed before the Muslim conquest ofSpain, citing a remark by the ninth-century al-Razı about “the town of Karnattah, called also the city of theJews, because peopled by them, and Karnattah is the oldest town in all the district of Elvira.” Gayongosfurther suggests that Granada might even go back to Phoenician times, deriving the name “Karnattah” fromSemitic roots.5 ªAbdallah ibn Buluggın, The Tibyan, trans. Tibi, pp. 130–135; 174.6 Ibid.

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First Contacts

population. It had had its moments of tragedy, and the events of 1066, when Muslimmobs destroyed the Jewish quarter and killed the powerful Jewish leader, Joseph ibnNaghrella, son of the almost-legendary vizier and poet Samuel ha-Nagid, could not havebeen too remote for many to remember first-hand.7 But on the eve of destruction in1090, the Jews were still a powerful influence in Granada, and of all the eminent Jewishfamilies in the kingdom, perhaps none were more so than Jacob ibn Ezra and his foursons: Isaac, Moses, Judah, and Joseph.

The Ibn Ezras traced their pedigree back to the days of hoary antiquity. According tothe Sefer ha-Qabbalah (“The Book of Tradition”), Abraham ibn Daud’s magnum opusof Jewish history from ancient times down to 1161:

There is a tradition current among the members of the community of Granada that[the Ibn Ezras] are descended from the inhabitants of Jerusalem, the holy city,from the tribes of Judah and Benjamin, not from [the inhabitants of] the villagesor the unwalled towns.8

All the Ibn Ezras, Ibn Daud goes on to assure us, were “of royal blood and descendedfrom the nobility, as evidenced by their personal traits.”9

In later times the Ibn Ezras were “among the leaders of Granada,” as Ibn Daudputs it, “holders of high office and men of influence in every generation.”10 Ibn Daudtraces their presence in Granada back to the reign of King Habbus and his son, Badısb. H. abbus. This would put the Ibn Ezras in Granada from the time of the second Ziridking, whom al-Maqqarı credits with the fortification and beautification of Granada. Ofcourse, this is not a very long time, but then, Granada was a relatively new city, havingapparently been founded only with the breakdown of caliphal rule in Cordoba around1012–1013.11

7 For an account of “Jewish Granada,” see Yitzhak Baer, A History of the Jews in Christian Spain (Philadel-phia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1961), 1: 31–36; Andrew Handler, The Zirids of Granada(Coral Gables: University of Miami Press, 1974), pp. 26, 45, 74, 148–149. Several of the most importantsources in both Hebrew and Arabic are conveniently collected and translated in Medieval Iberia: Readingsfrom Christian, Muslim and Jewish Sources, ed. Olivia Remie Constable (Philadelphia: University of Penn-sylvania Press, 1997), nos. 18a-18c, and 19. Ross Brann offers a particularly incisive reading of the eventsrelated to 1066 in the first three chapters of his Power in the Portrayal: Representations of Jews and Muslimsin Eleventh- and Twelfth-Century Muslim Spain (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2002).

8 Abraham ibn Daud, The Book of Tradition, trans. and notes by Gerson D. Cohen (Philadelphia: JewishPublication Society, 1967), pp. 97. The Hebrew text is printed on p. 71 of the Hebrew section.

9 Ibid., p. 98 [Hebrew text p. 71].10 Ibid., p. 97 [Hebrew text p. 71].11 According to ªAbdallah, residents of the neighboring Elvira begged Zawi b. Ziri, the brother of ªAbdallah’sgreat-grandfather and the founder of the Zirid dynasty, to protect them from the Berber troops looting andpillaging the countryside during the breakdown of caliphal power. For greater protection the inhabitants ofElvira transferred their town to Granada, while the Berber troops, to quote ªAbdallah: “gazed astonished onthat lovely plain, furrowed by streams and clothed in trees. They admired the mountain where the city ofGranada now stands, entranced by its situation . . . and they were persuaded that if an enemy were to lay siegeto it, he would be unable to prevent them from entering or leaving to provision it. So they decided to found acity there, and everyone, Andalusian or Berber, set about building a house, and soon Elvira fell in ruins” (fromMiranda, “Gharnata,” p. 1012; in The Tibyan, trans. Tibi, p. 48). Al-Maqqarı accepts ªAbdallah’s account,basing his opinion on Ibn Khat.ıb, Ibnu Jazzi-l-kelbı and “almost every other author who has written on thesubject” (Al-Maqqarı, Mohammedan Dynasties, ed. Gayangos, p. 44). Many scholars tend to discount thisversion of Granada’s beginnings; see for example Richard Fletcher, Moorish Spain (Berkeley and London:University of California Press, 1993), p. 82. Yet even if Granada did exist before 1012–1013 it must have

10

First Contacts

At the period in which our narrative begins, all four of the Ibn Ezra brothers wouldhave been comfortably ensconced in Granada, little dreaming, perhaps, of the changesahead. Isaac was the eldest of the brothers, followed by Moses, Judah, and Joseph.12

Time was to deal favorably with three of the brothers after they left Granada and bothJudah and Joseph attained high rank in the Spanish lands under Christian rule. But wehave almost no information about their life in Granada and though Ibn Daud calls all fourof them “officers,” sarim in the Hebrew, this is a generic term of high respect withoutany specific, well-defined function: princes, viziers, wealthy individuals and communityleaders all come under this rubric in medieval Hebrew sources. This term, moreover,may be more suited to their activities in Christian Spain than in Granada before the greatevents of 1090. This we have no way of knowing.

But in the sources Moses ibn Ezra also bears the high-sounding Arabic title sah. ibal-shurt.a, and this surely must go back to Granada of the pre-Almoravid period sincehis life following 1090 would have given him little scope for earning honorary titles.His Arabic title from Granada can be translated as “Head of the Police,” and this wouldostensibly indicate a very definite position indeed. Yet here, too, as in the case of IbnDaud’s generic sarim, we are dealing with a less than well-defined term. Whatever itsoriginal significance, the title seems to have dwindled into a vague “his excellency” bythe eleventh century, and we find other Jews bearing the same title.13 Be this as it may,it is clear that Moses ibn Ezra occupied an important position in the town of his birth,whether by courtesy or through the exercise of official duties, and that the Ibn Ezrabrothers were regarded with pride and respect by the Jews of al-Andalus.

Moses ibn Ezra was not only a scion of this illustrious family, but on the eve of theAlmoravid conquest also the greatest Hebrew poet on Iberian soil. The laurel wreathwon early in youth through his virtuoso performance in Sefer ha-ªAnaq (“The Bookof the Necklace”) rested firmly on his head.14 Generally speaking, Granada is not oneof the Taifa kingdoms most linked to the cultivation of poetry, though al-Shaqundı haspraise for Granada’s poets, and its female poets in particular.15 Other kingdoms, such asSaragossa and Cordoba, attracted the most renowned Arabic poets, and some, such asSeville and Almeria, were even ruled by poet-kings of the very first rank.16 Even in theJewish sources it is not Granada that carries the palm for Hebrew poetry; that prize goes

been, as Gayongos remarks in Mohammedan Dynasties, p. 347, note 69, “a very inconsiderable town.”12 Ibid.13 Ezra Fleischer discusses the title in Schirmann, Toldot ha-shirah ha-ªivrit bi-sefarad ha-muslemit, p. 386,note 39. Other Jews bearing this title in the Hebrew sources include Isaac ibn Barun and one “Abu ªAmar.See also S. D. Goitein, A Mediterranean Society (Berkeley and London: University of California Press) 5:463; 637, note 217.14 Sefer ha-ªAnaq is a masterpiece of homonymic Hebrew poetry, organized by topic into ten chapters onsubjects ranging from the pleasures of love and wine to meditations on death and old age. It is published inMoshe ibn Ezra, Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Haim Brody (Berlin, 1936), pp. 297–404. For a discussion of its literarymerits and its value as a model in Hebrew poetry, see Schirmann, Toldot ha-shirah ha-ªivrit bi-sefarad ha-muslemit, pp. 387–391. Ross Brann writes in The Compunctious Poet (Baltimore: John Hopkins UniversityPress, 1991), p. 61 that Ibn Ezra “won acclaim as a poet’s poet,” and this seems a very fair characterization.15 Al-Shaqundı, quoted in al-Maqqarı’s Mohammedan Dynasties, p. 151: “And had [Granada] received noother favour from God than that of his having made it the birth-place of so may poetesses as adorned its soil. . . this indeed would be sufficient to honour it, for all these women, and many more whose names have notreached us, may for their wit and literary compositions be placed among the greatest poets of the time.”16 See A. R. Nykl, Hispano-Arabic Poetry (Baltimore, 1946), Chapter Three. The poet-kings includedal-Muªtamid of Seville (Nykl, pp. 134–154) and al-Muªt.asim of Almeria (Nykl, pp. 183–185. For a full-length discussion of al-Muªtamid’s poetry, see Raymond P. Scheindlin, Form and Structure in the Poetry of

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First Contacts

to Seville and Lucena, both of which are called “the city of poetry” in the sources of theday.17 Nevertheless, Granada was the home of Moses ibn Ezra, the leading Hebrew poetof the time, and it is therefore to Granada that we now turn our attention.

* * *

Some time before 1090, the year of the Almoravid invasion of Granada, Moses ibn Ezrareceived a “calling card” from an unknown poet named Judah Halevi, who describedhimself as a stranger in al-Andalus, eager to visit the leading lights of Muslim Spain.This calling card, so to speak, came in the shape of a long mono-rhymed qas. ıda, or ode,composed in Hebrew according to the best of classical Arabic poetics and beginningwith the words: “Stay, O stay just a bit longer, my brothers” (ªImdu ªamodu qat. meªat.ah. einu).18

What, one wonders, were Ibn Ezra’s thoughts upon receiving this poem? As thereigning Hebrew poet of Muslim Spain he was accustomed to receiving friendship-poems from fellow poets scattered across al-Andalus, and he had certainly written quitea few of them himself. But whether he was pleased and intrigued at receiving a tributefrom an unknown correspondent, or whether it was with an inward groan at the thoughtof having to read the rhymes of yet another dabbler in poetry is beyond our ability tosay. Nevertheless, there can be little doubt that whatever he may have felt upon firstreceiving this tribute, he surely recognized the hand of a master from the very first line.Through the Hebrew of the young unknown’s poem, Ibn Ezra would have immediatelycaught the echo in the opening line of what is perhaps the oldest and most famous of allArabic poems, the “golden ode,” or muaªllaqa of Imru al-Qays:

Stay, O friends both! Let us weep, recalling a love and lodgingby the rim of the white sands between Ed-Dakhool and Haumal19

These lines represent the locus amoenus of a motif destined to become one of the hall-marks of the Arabic ode for all time: the at.lal, or “the weeping over the encampments,”in which a lovelorn speaker laments the departure of his beloved with her tribe. By begin-ning his poem with a reference to this famous Arabic ode, the young poet immediatelyestablished his credentials as a poet worthy of being read with respect and attention,and it must surely have been with a heightened attention that Ibn Ezra proceeded toread the poem in full. The following translation makes no attempt to capture the poem’srhyme-scheme, in which every line ends with the same rhymeme (-h. einu). We have,however, provided an apparatus for many, though not all, of the biblical citations in the

Al-Muªtamid ibn ªAbad (Leiden: Brill, 1974), with extensive bibliography on Arabic poets and poetry of theperiod.17 Kitab al-muh. ad. ara, p. 73 [39a]; p. 79 [42b].18 ÚÓ„ÂÚÓÂ„Â˜ËÓÚË‡ÁÈÂ . Judah Halevi, Dıwan, ed. Haim Brody, 2: 273–276 (no. 53).19 Translated by A. J. Arberry, The Seven Odes (London: George Allen & Unwin Ltd), p. 61. Halevi’s deftreference to the ancient Arabic ode has not been appreciated in the research; Y. Yahalom reads these linesin a literal way, as an appeal to Ibn Ezra to stop in his tracks; see idem, “Ginzei Leningrad ve-h. eqer shirath. ayyav shel rabbi Yehuda Halevi,” Peªamim 46–47 (1991), note 31, p. 61; Ezra Fleischer comments that theopening of ªImdu ªamodu is “nothing but poetic convention” in “Rabbi Yehuda Halevi: Birurim be-qoroth. ayyav ve-yetzirato,” Israel Levin Jubilee Volume (Tel Aviv, 1994), p. 250, note 39.

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First Contacts

poem, so that the reader may examine on his or her own the various ways in which thepoet weaves these into his own text:

Stay, O stay just a bit longer, our brothersso that we and our spirits can bless you.

Little did you realize that the day you sent forth the fire of wanderingyou were also looting our own spoils of war.

Don’t lovers have a criminal case against youfor traveling on like this and trying us so dearly?

How do you find your wandering, after us?For after you – our own strength has perished.

5 As for us – we lay bare our secrets: what is left to hide?You know all there is to know about us and our speech.

The night of parting we did not ask for the lightof morning, and indeed it came to us against our will.

No spirit would have been left in us afterwards,had it not been that we hoped for the day of gathering in our dispersed.

Was it to soak the lands with tearsthat the Chariot of Wandering leads us forth?

Our hearts would have despaired of all honorhad not the prince of honor dwelt before us.

10 We shall harness the Chariots of Clouds till we reach his tentif Time does not loosen our belt!

O Western Lamp! To a stranger in the Land of the West,the memory of him is like phylacteries upon our forehead.

Let him command his heavenly orbs to rise, and transformour West into our East.

Were he to compose a poem, the heavenly orbs would cry outat its radiance: “How didst thou plunder our splendor?!”

Or if the threads of a necklace were to see his rhymesthey would say: “Are these not our crystals?”

15 We have set them like wine at the time of love-sicknessand the fine memory of their owner like our apples.

Were his poem to ring boldly, the prince of troopson the day of battle would say: “Are these not our weapons?”

Or to speak softly, it would enslave all heartstill they cried out: “Come, take us!”

Who will set forth on a tablet of writingand take down our words and send them?

In our folds you will find hidden recesses of loveand your reply will be engraved upon our tablet.

20 Are not you most truly named after [Moses,] the faithful messenger?For with both of you comes our freedom from bondage.

Sweeten therefore our bitter cry,and turn Marah and the sea into our most fragrant wine

With a poem that will suck honey from the rock on the day

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First Contacts

that our tongues cleave unto our palates.From your West, make the dew of our clouds descend

like manna, and send quails for our spiritThese, my rhymes, say: “Let us go

and bow down before our king, our messiah”25 Mayhap they will find grace in your eyes; ’tis to you

that they plead: “Accept our efforts.”Think not that we sin, in setting our scribblings before you.These, our flowers, have not yet unfurled –

may the day of reward soon come for our flowers!The thread of your good memory pulls at us, and until

we meet with you we will not restrain our ardorO that I had the wings of a bird, then

no winged creature would catch up with the dust on our road30 Till the very flashes of lightening cried out after us:

“Stay, O stay just a bit longer, our brothers.”

Commentary: 1 Stay. . .longer (Nahum 2: 9), where these words come amidst the floods engulfingNineveh; in our poem, of course, the implied setting is a desert. This is a good example of theway medieval Hebrew poets could take a biblical phrase out of its original setting, and, applyingit to new contexts, allow the phrase to function independently of the biblical context. 2 sent . . .fire (Lamentations 1: 13, where the fire is sent by God in his wrath over the transgressions of Hispeople). The use of the biblical words operates in the poem on several levels. The phrase “sentfire” can of course be understood without reference to the biblical source. But if the reader of thepoem knows that the phrase comes from Lamentations, then it emphasizes the sense of desolationwhich the speaker claims to feel over the separation from his friends, giving his grief the ring ofsincerity. But at yet a third level, knowledge of the biblical context also heightens the dissonancebetween the biblical context of true tragedy, and the poetic context of a standard motif. This kindof dissonance can create humor, irony and a wide range of nuances; here it serves to emphasizethe poet’s self-awareness of his art, and the fact that his poetry is a manipulation of motifs andlanguage. 4 strength . . . perished (Lamentations 3: 18). 7 No spirit . . . left in (I Kings 17:17); gathering . . . dispersed (Isaiah 11: 12). A prophetic expression denoting the ultimateredemption of the entire Jewish people; using the expression here to describe a simple reunionof friends creates a gentle humor. 10 harness . . . chariot (Exodus 14: 6); loosen the belt (Job12:21). Time, the malignant fate of secular Hebrew and Arabic poetry, is here pictured as activelyseeking to interfere with the journey. 11 Western lamp (BT Shabbat 22b; Menuhot 86b) the mostimportant light on the candelabra in the Temple in Jerusalem; Land of the West i. e., MuslimSpain. 15 In medieval Hebrew and Arabic poetry apples are a remedy for lovesickness; in Hebrewthe connection dates back to the Bible (Song of Songs 2: 5). 20 freedom from bondage (Isaiah61: 1). 21 Sweeten . . . Marah (Exodus 15: 22–27). Marah is one of the desert camping placesof the Children of Israel; the name denotes “bitterness.” 22 suck . . . rock (Deuteronomy 32:13). 23 Manna, quails (Exodus 16: 13–15). 26 scribblings (Lamentations 2: 14). In the biblicalcontext the word means “iniquities.” This is a good example of the way a poet can maneuver thebiblical register to create humor in his poem. 29 O that . . . bird (Psalms 55: 7). In Psalms aprayer for escape from enemies; here the phrase is set free of its original context. 30 Stay . . .longer (Nahum 2: 9). The poem ends envelope-fashion with the same line in which he begins; a

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First Contacts

device known in biblical Hebrew poetry, but rare in al-Andalus: for one example see Moses ibnEzra, Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Haim Brody, no. 64, pp. 62–63. The envelope-device is frequently foundin the poetry of a later Hebrew poet, Meshullam da Pierra, who lived in Christian Spain in thefourteenth century.

Halevi’s first poem to Moses ibn Ezra was all that a poet’s calling card should be:a meticulously constructed qas. ıda or “ode“ written in one of the classical meters ofHebrew poetry and in a single running-rhyme that is suitably rich in sound (in this case-h. einu). Like the Arabic qas. ıdas on which the Hebrew poets modeled their work,20 thepoem is carefully divided into the requisite sections, with a lover mourning the absenceof his loved ones in the at.lal (lines 1–8), a brief takhallus. , or transition (9–10), apanegyric (madıh. ) of the recipient of the poem and his poetic talents (11–17), and akind of envoi (18–30) praising his own poem and asking the recipient both to acceptthe poem and to send him one in return. The language of the poem is strictly biblical, asadvocated by the Hebrew poets of the day, and creates a veritable tapestry of phrases andterms culled from various parts of the Hebrew Bible.21 The repertoire of Andalusi imagesis well represented throughout the poem: poetry is likened to finely-strung jewels (l. 14)and to wine (l. 15), the recipient is hyperbolically likened to his biblical namesake (ll.20–23), and a “Chariot of Wandering” fulfills its sorrowful duty (l. 8b)

In his panegyric the young poet contrives to flatter his addressee in a number ofways. He calls Moses ibn Ezra his “Western Lamp” (l. 11), an epithet rich in meaningfor it not only provides a flattering comparison to the eternal light of the Holy Templein Jerusalem but also places Ibn Ezra squarely within the cultural geography of his day.To the inhabitants of al-Andalus, Jew and Muslim alike, the West meant the realmsunder Muslim rule in Spain. Now, living in the West was perhaps no great thing to theMuslim literati of al-Andalus, who looked towards the hereditary centers of Muslimculture with all the admiration and envy of far-off provincials. One Muslim denizen oftwelfth-century al-Andalus, Ibn Bassam al-Shantarını, grumbled over this state of affairsin the introduction to his important anthology of Arabic poetry and prose, al-Dakhırafı mah. asin ahl al-jazıra (“The Treasury of Excellent Qualities of the People of thePeninsula”):

The people of these lands refuse but to follow in the footsteps of the Easterners . . .If a crow should croak in those lands, or flies hum somewhere in Syria or Iraq,they would kneel before the latter as before an idol, and treat the crowing of theformer as an authoritative text.22

20 The structure of the Hebrew qas. ıda is described in Israel Levin, Meªil tashbetz, 1: 77–149. In Englishsee Raymond Scheindlin, “The Hebrew Qas.ıda in Spain,” in Qas. ıda Poetry in Islamic Asia and Africa, ed.Stefan Sperl (Leiden: Brill, 1996), pp. 121–136; Ann Brener, Isaac ibn Khalfun: A Wandering Hebrew Poetof the Eleventh Century (Leiden: Brill, 2003), pp. 29–38.21 The Hebrew poets of al-Andalus regarded biblical Hebrew as the ideal medium for their poetry, partly inresponse to the challenge of Arabic claims that fas. ah. a (“purity of language”) was to be found only in theKoran. For an excellent survey of this subject see Ross Brann, The Compunctious Poet, pp. 23–58. In Kitabal-muh. ad. ara, pp. 203–209 [107v-108r, 111r] Moses ibn Ezra expounded the ideal of biblical Hebrew andindeed advocated (though did not always practice!) strict adherence to the vocabulary of the Hebrew Biblein poetry. An anecdote illustrating this principle involving the poet Isaac ibn Khalfun and the grammarianIsaac ben Mar-Saul, several generations before Ibn Ezra’s time, is related in Brener, Isaac ibn Khalfun, p. 28.22 Quoted from J. A. Abu-Haidar, “The Muwassahat in the Light of the Literary Life that Produced Them,” in

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But things were different for the Jewish inhabitants of al-Andalus. For them, living inthe West meant living in the very center of Jewish culture and literature. They paid duerespect, to be sure, to the sages of such great centers as Babylonia and North Africa, butin everything from linguistics and biblical exegesis to poetry and medicine, the Jews ofal-Andalus saw themselves as second to none. The “East,” on the other hand, referrednot to the ancient centers of Iraq and Syria, but the lands under Christian rule in Spain –a sorry place indeed with few claims to cultural refinement or taste.23 Thus when Haleviapostrophizes Moses ibn Ezra as his “Western Lamp” he is giving due recognition tothe dazzling center of Jewish culture in al-Andalus even though he himself, as he freelyadmits, is a “stranger in the Land of the West”:

O Western Lamp! To a stranger in the Land of the West,the memory of him is like phylacteries upon our forehead.

(l. 11)

No sooner, however, does he address his “Western Lamp” with the reverent languagedue sacred objects than he turns the tables, so to speak, and reinvests the West withits primary, non-metaphorical meaning, teasingly requesting Ibn Ezra to “command hisheavenly orbs to rise, and transform our West into our East” (l. 12). As though he hadn“tjust undertaken an arduous journey for the very purpose of leaving the East behind him!

Continuing with the poem, we find Halevi taking special pains to praise Ibn Ezra’spoetry (13–17; 24), using extravagant compliments that are at the same time lightlytongue-in-cheek and eminently respectful. He paints a tantalizing picture of the hypo-thetical poem that Ibn Ezra might deign to write, using the full range of motifs availableto him from Arabic poetry:



15 We have set them like wine at the time of love-sicknessand the fine memory of their owner like our apples.

Were his poem to ring boldly, the prince of troopsOn the day of battle would say: “Are these not our weapons?”

Or to speak softly, it would enslave all heartstill they cried out: “Come, take us!”

(ll. 13–17)

Studies on the Muwassah and the Kharja, ed. Allan Jones and Richard Hitchcock (Oxford: Oxford UniversityPress, 1991), p. 116. Translated by Abu-Haidar from Ibn Bassam al-Shantarını (d. 1147) al-Dakhıra fımah. asin ahl al-jazıra, ed. Ihsan ªAbbas (Beirut, 1979), p. 12. On the subject of Andalusi Muslim rivalrywith the Eastern centers see also R. A. Nicholson, A Literary History of the Arabs (Cambridge: CambridgeUniversity Press, 1907), pp. 327–328; and P. Cachia, “Intellectual Life: Poetry and Belle-Lettres,” in AHistory of Islamic Spain, ed. W. Montgomery Watt (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1967), p. 72.23 On the subject of East versus West in Andalusi Jewish culture see Haim Schirmann, Toldot ha-shirahha-ªivrit bi-sefarad ha-muslemit, with notes by Ezra Fleischer, (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1995), 1: 399,431; and Ross Brann, “Judah Halevi,” in The Literature of Al-Andalus, ed. Maria Rosa Menocal, RaymondP. Scheindlin, and Michael Sells (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), esp. pp. 273–275.

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In these lines Halevi likens the brilliance of Ibn Ezra’s as-yet-unwritten poem to themoon and the stars (much to their disgruntlement!), its rhymes to precious jewels, andits therapeutic value to apples, the ultimate remedy for love-sickness in a tradition datingback to the Song of Songs (2:5) and exploited in numerous poems by the luminariesof medieval Hebrew and Arabic poetry.24 The battle-ringing comparison of poetry toweapons of war (l. 16) harkens back to the h. amasa poetry of ancient Arabic odes andthus provides a nice echo to the Arabic motif with which he began his own poem. Andall this about a poem not as yet written!

These lines convey both Halevi’s reverence for the recipient of his panegyric – thegreat poet Moses ibn Ezra – and a sense of humor and independence that belie his years.Having praised Ibn Ezra’s poetry he then dares to ask for a poem in return, using a seriesof images based on that “other” Moses, the one of biblical fame:

20 Are not you most truly named after [Moses,] the faithful messenger?For with both of you comes our freedom from bondage.

Sweeten therefore our bitter cry,and turn Marah and the sea into our most fragrant wine

With a poem that will suck honey from the rock on the daythat our tongues cleave unto our palates.

From your West, make the dew of our clouds descendlike manna, and send quails for our spirit

(ll. 20–23)

These four lines are dense with allusions to the biblical Moses and the entire drama ofExodus: Moses is God’s “faithful messenger”25 who brought the Children of Israel outof bondage; the bitter “waters of Marah” (Exodus 15:21–25) become a playful allusionin line 21; the heaven-sent “quails” and “manna” (ibid. 16: 13–28) are humbly requestedin line 23. Through these allusions to Exodus the poet and his recipient are recast asfigures in a biblical drama that turns a poem by Ibn Ezra into all the desert miracleswrapped into one. Life without a poem by Ibn Ezra becomes a sojourn in a waterlessdesert; life with a poem from his hand – salvation. These are charming extravagancesindeed!

In begging for a poem in return, and likening his own poem to flowers “not yetunfurled” (l. 27a), Halevi strikes exactly the right note between modesty and a boldclaim for attention. It is, then, a wonderful poem for an up-and-coming young poet tosend to one whom he recognizes as his “king and messiah” (l. 24b) and the undisputedarbiter of Hebrew culture. And apparently Moses ibn Ezra was suitably impressed, forin response to the young poet’s request he replied with a poem of his own, a qas. ıda oftwenty-two lines beginning with the words “The children of Time” (“Yaldei yamim”)26

in which he marvels over a youth bearing “mountains of wisdom upon his back” (l. 12),invites him to a “garden of love and friendship . . . whose nard sends forth its fragrance”

24 So, for example, Hebrew poets such as Samuel ha-Nagid (993–1056) and Solomon ibn Gabirol (1021/22–1053/8) dashed off improvisations on the subject of apples and love. For another example by Judah Haleviconnecting the two subjects, see his Dıwan, ed. Haim Brody, 2: 19 (no. 17).25 An epithet traditionally applied to Moses in rabbinical sources.26 ÈÏ„ÈÈÓÈÌ . Moses ibn Ezra, Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Haim Brody, p. 22 (no. 17).

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(ll. 19–20), and, a bit more prosaically, to an “imposing house in which to dwell” (l.22). Before doing all this, however, he launches into an introduction straight out of thearsenal of Arabic odes a dirge against “Time,” the malignant Fate that stalks throughso many Hebrew and Arabic poems from the period.27 Using a traditional variation ofthis figure, he bewails the “Children of Time” who have laid siege to his own heart andhappiness (ll. 1–6). The poet’s heart” the target of the warlike “Children of Time” ishere a metonym for the poet himself, personified in a way that imbues the lament withan epic grandeur:

The Children of Time mustered their armyagainst a heart annihilated by sorrow

And against the little that was left of it,Separation drew forth his sword.

Let [Separation] wander where he will;he always returns to the heart again.

He [i. e. Separation] conspired against him mightilyand made a siege against him

5 His sole refuge is the blood of his speech;the blood of his eyes his fortress

The writing of his beloved supported his armwhen disaster roused his sorrow

[In] a letter resembling the face of Dawnspread across the lines of night

Lines of poetry more precious than gold.one of which would put ten thousand to flight.

He spun silk from words;wisdom is his weft and purity his warp

10 Lo, every poem is a corpse compared to his;only his has the breath of life;

And had he not endowed it with his majestyit would have been like a vessel desired by none.

How can a charming lad so young in yearsheap mountains of wisdom upon his back?

Or a mere youngster fend off the mightywhen just a lad still in bud?

Lo, from Seªir he shines forth to illuminethe length and breadth of the world

15 And proudly peers forth from the tip of the Pleiadesand not from some peephole

A man like me in the darkness of his intellectsaw him with the eye of his heart

27 Arabic panegyrics beginning with a complaint against Time include one by Ibn ªAmmar (1031–1086) toal-Muªtad. ıd, the King of Seville. In Hebrew we find, for example: a panegyric by Solomon ibn Gabirol tohis patron,Yequtiel ibn Hassan, in Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Haim Brody, p. 85 (no. 139); by Isaac ibn Khalfun toAbraham ibn ªAta, in Brener, Isaac ibn Khalfun, 71–74; and by Judah Halevi to his friend, Isaac ben Baruch,in Dıwan, ed. Haim Brody, 1: 7 (no. 7). See also Levin, Meªil tashbetz, 1: 102; 168–169; 212.

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Through hearing of him he understood his wisdomand saw the treasures of his heart

A passerby might ask“Wherefore does his chariot tarry?”

Pray bid him run to the garden where loveand friendship perfume the lawn;

20 To a garden whose nard sends forth its fragrance —there let him recline

Drinking the nectar of ripened lovesipping freely from its marrow

In an imposing housewhen every other house is closed against his coming.

Commentary: 2 drew . . . sword (Judges 8: 20). In the biblical story it is Gideon who drawshis sword. 3 A difficult line in the Hebrew, and even more difficult to translate. But the biblicalallusion is to Lamentations 3: 3, in which the subject is the wrath of God. In the poem it is apersonified ’separation,” and not God, whose wrath has been roused. 4 conspired . . . mightily (IKings 16: 20). In the Bible it is the evil Zimri, seven-day king of Israel, who does the conspiring.6 supported his arm (Exodus 17: 12). Moses’ hands were supported by Aaron and Hur toinfluence the course of the battle against Amelek. Thus the biblical Moses merges into Moses ibnEzra; the Amelekites into the “Children of Time;” and the battle into something more spiritual,with the poem by Judah Halevi taking the ’supporting” role of Aaron and Hur. This is a wonderfulexample of a line in which meaning is created only through knowledge of the biblical context. 8more . . . gold (Isaiah 13: 12). The words are used here without any reference to their biblicalcontext, which is grim indeed; one . . . flight (Leviticus 26: 8 and Deuteronomy 32: 30). In theBible the words come in a strictly military sense. 11 endowed . . . majesty (Numbers 27: 20).God commanded Moses to endow Joshua ben Nun “with some of his majesty” to qualify himfor leadership; vessel . . . none (Jeremiah 48: 38), where the undesirable “vessel” is the Moabitenation. 12 so . . . years (Isaiah 65: 20). The biblical words literally mean “an infant of only a fewdays.” Judah Halevi is of course very young, but still! This is a good example of poetic hyperbole.14 Seªir (Genesis 33:2). Here, Christian Spain. 16 eye . . . heart. The “eye of the heart,” which isnot a biblical expression, comes in another of Ibn Ezra’s poems, Bein ha-hadasim (Shirei ha-h. ol,no. 74), translated in full below. 18 Wherefore . . . tarry (Judges 5: 28). Sisera’s mother wonderswhat delays her son’s chariot after the battle against the Israelites. The poet creates humor hereby adapting this phrase into a reference to Halevi’s “chariot of wandering,” purportedly on itsway to Granada (cf. ªImdu ªamodu, l. 10). 19 Cf. Song of Songs 6: 2. 20 nard . . . fragrance(Song of Songs 1: 12). 22 an . . . house (Jeremiah 22: 14). Ibn Ezra issues his invitation blithelydisregarding the biblical context, where the “imposing house” is constructed by injustice!

In beginning his ode with a dirge against “Time,” Moses ibn Ezra responded to JudahHalevi’s poem measure for measure with a time-honored theme from Arabic poetry.Just as Halevi began his poem with a love-prelude (nasıb), so Ibn Ezra began his witha complaint against malicious Fate, in the person of Time. Because Halevi had provedhis knowledge of Arabic poetry and motifs, Ibn Ezra knew that he could trust his youngrecipient to appreciate these opening lines for what they were: a magnificent Hebrewrendition of an ancient Arabic motif, and not a complaint with biographical overtones.28

28 In an effort to situate the meeting between Judah Halevi and Moses ibn Ezra after the Almoravid invasion,

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Like any good Hebrew qas. ıda, Ibn Ezra’s is divided into three distinct sections.Following the introduction in lines 1–5, a line of transition leads into praise of thepoem’s recipient (l. 17) and thence to the dedication of the poem, which Ibn Ezra usesto invite the young poet to Granada.

Ibn Ezra is profuse in his praise. He first lauds Halevi’s poem for its physical beauty,likening the white paper to the dawn and the black lines of poetry to night (l. 7). Poetryas an artifact – an object of physical beauty – is a theme that appears in numerousHebrew and Arabic poems from the period and will be discussed in greater detail belowin Chapter Six; here it is sufficient to note that Ibn Ezra compares the poem to a finely-worked object in gold (l. 8). Ibn Ezra then turns to the verbal beauties of the poem,describing the poet as having “spun silk from words” on the loom of “wisdom” and“purity” (l. 9). Then, in lines 12–15, the panegyrist turns from praise of the poem topraise of the poet himself. Using a term from traditional Judaism to name the lands ofChristianity (Genesis 33:2), he describes the young poet as having come from Seªir –that is, from Christian Spain – to illuminate the poetry of al-Andalus:


15 And proudly peers forth from the tip of the Pleiadesand not from some peephole

So dazzling is this new star in the firmament of poetry that Ibn Ezra can only perceivehim with the “eye of his heart,” and describes himself as a man of “dark intellect” ina way that not only praises his young recipient but also echoes the black-and-whiteimages used to describe the poem’s beauty in line 7 and imbues the poem with a unifiedcolor-imagery. From this line it also becomes eminently clear that the two poets, Mosesibn Ezra and Judah Halevi, had yet to meet. Yet it is just as clear from the former’swords about Seªir that Ibn Ezra had some knowledge of the young man apart from whatHalevi reveals in his poem. There, after all, Halevi only mentions that he is a “stranger”in the West, and not his place of origin. One can easily imagine the excitement andinterest that Halevi’s beautiful panegyric aroused in the breast of the older poet and seehim wringing all he could out of whoever it was that gave him his information.

Ibn Ezra’s poem must have fulfilled its recipient’s wildest dreams. In an echo ofSisera’s mother in Judges 5:28, the poet wonders “wherefore does [Halevi’s] chariottarry?” and invites him to come with all possible speed to Granada, metaphoricallyopening the doors of his house and garden as wide as he can, and promising him full(and free!) hospitality:

Pray bid him run to the garden where loveand friendship perfume the lawn;

20 To a garden whose nard sends forth its fragrance –

and in Christian Spain, Yahalom gives these words a biographical twist, as though “Halevi is trying, as itwere, to stop Ibn Ezra along the road.” See Yosef Yahalom, “Ginzei Leningrad ve-h. eqer shirat h. ayyav shelrabbi Yehuda Halevi,” note 31, p. 61. Ezra Fleischer refutes this reading most effectively on the basis ofknown facts concerning the Ibn Ezra brothers, their time in Granada, and the text of the poems themselves.See Ezra Fleischer, “Rabbi Yehuda Halevi: Birurim be-qorot h. ayyav ve-yetzirato,” p. 247–255. See alsoidem, “Le-qorot rabbi Yehuda Halevi bi-neªurav,” Kiryat Sefer 61 (1986–1987), p. 907, note 55.

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there let him reclineDrinking the nectar of ripened love

sipping freely from its marrowIn an imposing house

when every other house is closed against his coming.(ll. 19–22)

It is surely no coincidence, then, that this delightful poem of invitation has as its rhyme-sound the word “Boº”, or “Come!” in English. Whether it is part of another, longerword, as it is in every line but 11 and 22, or stands on its own as the very final word ofthe poem as a whole, an entreaty of “Boº!” – “Come!” – echos throughout the poem ina way that must have gladdened the young poet’s heart and fueled his desire to visit thegreat poet of Granada.

* * *

Despite this graceful gesture it was nevertheless to be some time before Judah Halevicould avail himself of Ibn Ezra’s kind invitation, and the road to Granada still stretchedbefore him. But before continuing on with the next stage in Halevi’s journey to Granada,let us stop to look at this first exchange of poems from a more comprehensive point ofview, and to remark on a few of the difficulties that have cropped up in the research overthe past century or so.

There can be no doubt that Ibn Ezra’s Yaldei yamim (“The Children of Time”) isa reply to Halevi’s ªImdu ªamodu (“Stay, O stay”), and yet Haim Brody and HaimSchirmann both dated Yaldei yamim to a somewhat later stage in the first contactsbetween Moses ibn Ezra and Judah Halevi. But as Ezra Fleischer has convincinglydemonstrated, Yaldei yamim is in fact a direct reply to ªImdu ªamodu. This point ismade abundantly clear in the manuscripts themselves. In the two primary manuscriptsof Halevi’s poetry29 – the ones used by Haim Brody – we find brief headings in Judaeo-Arabic before many of the poems, usually just a few words explaining the circumstancessurrounding the composition of a poem or naming the person for whom it was written.The rubric over Halevi’s ªImdu ªamodu reads: “What was written to Abu Harun ibnEzra [i. e. Moses ibn Ezra] with these qas. ıdas,”30 while over Ibn Ezra’s Yaldei yamim,which immediately follows, we find: “And Abu Harun, may he rest in Eden, replied tohim in the same way and spoke these twenty-two lines.”31. The relationship betweenthese poems is thus clear from the manuscript evidence.

Only, what does it mean, that Moses ibn Ezra “replied in the same way”? Brodypuzzled over the question in his commentary to Yaldei yamim, remarking that it wouldseem to imply that Ibn Ezra replied using the same formal features of Halevi’s poem, thatis, the same rhyme and meter.32 Such contrafactums were common between Andalusipoets and known in Arabic as muªarad. a: one poet composed a poem in a given rhyme

29 This refers to MSS Oxford 1970 and 1971 of the Bodleian Library. For further information concerningthese manuscripts see Introduction, note 32.30 MS Oxford 1970: Ó‰ÎË‡··‰‡·Ô‰¯ÂÔ‡·ÔÚÊ¯‡ÓÚ˜ˆ‡È„‡Ï‰ .31 Ibid.: Ù‚ßÂ‡·‰‡·ÂÁ¯ÂÔ¢ÚÓ˙Ï„Ï˜Â˜‡ÏÎ¢··˙ÈÌ‡Ï‰32 Moses ibn Ezra, Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Haim Brody, 2: 44.

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and meter, and the recipient then composed a poem in reply using the same rhyme andmeter as the first.33 And yet, as Brody goes on to remark (almost indignantly!), such isnot the case here: Ibn Ezra replied to Halevi using an entirely different meter and rhyme.

Thus, while Ibn Ezra’s poem is a reply in terms of content, it is not what we mightexpect in terms of form. In an effort to solve this conundrum, Ezra Fleischer suggestedthat “perhaps it was not thought proper for a veteran poet to respond in this fashion toone so much younger than he.”34 Perhaps. After all, Judah Halevi and Moses ibn Ezrahad not yet even met. But it may be possible to solve the problem from a different angle.Let us take a look at another qas. ıda by Moses ibn Ezra, one that begins with the wordsBein ha-hadasim and is written in the same rhyme and meter as Halevi’s ªImdu ªamodu.The Judaeo-Arabic rubric above the poem in the manuscript notes that it is dedicated to“Abun and Joseph ben Majnin;” we bring a full translation of the poem below:35

Has our breeze been blowing amongst the myrtles –Or does it bear a greeting from our brothers?

Or perhaps it has breezed by Abun and Joseph,since after dying, it has revived our spirit.

Faces since turned away, and the splendor of their visagesfrom time to time appear before us

We hunger for the sight of them, yet they dwellwithin our innermost being

5 They penetrate our innermost thoughts, yet recall to mindtheir fond memory, and their doctrine drops down like our rain

Though they have left, their light dispellsthe darkness that swirls around us.

Though they have wandered on, their memory is like a stream of honeycombupon our tongues and palates

Though they have gone afar, there are moments when they send forththe scent of our perfumes and spiced wine.

The pleasure of seeing their handwriting perfumesthe scent of our frankincense and apples

10 Their name is engraved upon our hearts – indeedupon the doorposts of our gates and doors.

But in living without them, Timecontinues to chastise and provoke us.

How can we fear the fury of the Daughters of Days, when theyare food for our souls and our security?

Or be afraid of trouble, when we have made the counselof their wisdom our barricades and bolts?

Their wisdom will lead us to the waters of sagacity and purity,and within the circles of righteousness gently bring us

33 On the art of muªarad. a in Muslim Spain see S. M. Stern, Hispano-Arabic Strophic Poetry (Oxford,1974), pp. 45 ff; Tova Rosen-Moked, Leºezor shir (Haifa, 1985), pp. 65 ff. The topic will be explored indetail below, in Chapter Two.34 Fleischer, “Le-qorot rabbi Yehuda Halevi bi-neªurav,” p. 907.35 ·ÈÔ‰‰„ÒÈÌ˘·‰¯ÂÁÈÂ . Moses ibn Ezra, Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Haim Brody, p. 75 (no. 74).

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15 The genius of the East ne’r towered over the West untilthey shot forth like stars in our East.

We saw with our heart’s eye these pious men, and indeedfrom them comes our booty and plunder.

We rise proudly over Time through their love, yetwithin us, the separation lays us very low

The soul falls short of being able to bear it, evenwere our strength the strength of stones.

What of Time – that gives pain though its hands bind up,and separates and restores – when it has forgotten us?

20 And put an end to every hope in the world,apart from that of gathering in our wanderers and our dispersed.

We languish without a friend, and if we desire a brotherto be our refuge – it proves our downfall

So that we silently sigh, and decidethat our speech will be in our thoughts

Those who are separated weep blood from the eyes: we shall letit drop on our garments and sprinkle our life’s essence

Our bones have dried up: would that the soft rainsof friendship drizzled down and made us flourish!

25 For every moment during the course of our wanderingis years – and our years are like our eternities.

Who can know whether Time’s hidden secretsyet holds out the promise of our bosom friendship?

Or whether it will be slow in renewing the daysof pleasantry, or in restoring our days of comfort?

Let us go and journey to their dwellings:memory of them will serve as provisions along our road.

Commentary: 1 breeze . . . blowing (Isaiah 40: 7). A fine example of biblical words used solelyfor their linguistic value. Here they come in diametric contrast to the rather depressing contextin Isaiah; bear . . . greeting (Psalms 72: 3); another good example of biblical words used solelyfor their linguistic value. 2 There is a word-play between “our breeze” in 1a and “our spirit” in2b, since both are conveyed through the word ruh. einu. 3 Faces . . . away: word-play: panim(“faces”) panu (“turned away”). 5 doctrine . . . rain (Deuteronomy 32: 2); a very clever use ofMoses’ famous words; the dissonance between the biblical setting of the words and their usagehere also creates a bit of humor. 6 light . . . darkness swells (Job 3: 5). In Job, the words comefrom what is perhaps the ultimate expression of man’s grief in misfortune. Again, the differencein register is so acute that the biblical words not only create humor in their new setting, buteven make the poet seem like a commentator on his own poem, wryly acknowledging that hispoem – dare we say it? – is in fact, just a poem. 7 stream of honeycomb (Proverbs 16: 24).Here the biblical words fit neatly into their new context even if we do remember their originalsetting. 8 gone afar . . . wine: word-plays with the letters resh, quf and h. et: rah. aqu (“gone afar”)reyah. (“scent”) riqh. einu (“our spiced wine”). 10 engraved . . . gates (Deuteronomy 6: 9 andelsewhere) In the Bible, it is of course the name of God – and not that of Abun and Joseph –whose name receives this honor. Comparing one’s addressees to God is hyperbole indeed, but toocommon in the medieval panegyric to be considered blasphemous or even particularly audacious.

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Once again this is a good example of the way register creates humor in the poem and lightenscompliments otherwise too ponderous to bear. 14 waters . . . purity (Psalms 23: 2). From thefamous psalm beginning “The Lord is my shepherd . . . he leads me beside the still waters.” 15shot . . . stars (Numbers 24: 17). In the Bible the phrase is uttered by Bilam, the prophet “whoseeyes were opened.” Through this ingenious use of biblical language the poet thus stakes a claim –tongue in cheek – for the sincerity of his praise. 16 heart’s eye: Ibn Ezra also refers to his “heart’seye” in Yaldei yamim, line 16. 18 strength . . . stones (Job 6: 12). The implication is that thespeaker suffers more than Job ever did by the absence of his friends. Once again, knowledge ofthe biblical context adds to the extravagance of the speaker’s professions of friendship. 19 pain .. . binds up (Job 5: 18). In Job it is God Almighty who exercises these functions. This is a tellingexample of the way in which secular poetry (in both Hebrew and Arabic) often endows Timewith powers otherwise attributed to God alone. 20 gathering . . . dispersed (Isaiah 56: 8). 23blood . . . sprinkle (Isaiah 63: 3). Here the biblical context is not only unconnected, but indeedbest forgotten. 24 This line draws from both Ezekiel 37: 11 and Isaiah 66: 14, where “flourishingbones” come through Redemption, and not through “friendship” as in the poem.

Like Halevi’s poem to Ibn Ezra, Bein ha-hadasim is a panegyric written in the best ofclassical Arabic tradition and beginning with a lover’s lament. In fact, Ibn Ezra bringsit as a good example of a nasıb (“love-prelude”) in his Kitab al-muh. ad. ara, though hemodestly refrains from mentioning the author.36 The opening lines in this poem employa device which Ibn Ezra particularly favored in his own poetry, the device of hitammut37

in which the speaker feigns ignorance in order to ask a question:

Has our breeze been blowing amongst the myrtles –Or does it bear a greeting from our brothers?

Or perhaps it has breezed by Abun and Joseph,for it has revived our drooping spirit

(ll. 1–2)

The question, of course, is strictly moot; the speaker only asks it in order to establish acorrespondence between the renown of the absent Abun and Joseph and the “fragrance”of their great reputation, a common motif in both Hebrew and Arabic poetry from thisperiod.38 Ibn Ezra weaves the motif of fragrance into the poem in a number of ways:the memory of his friends is like a stream of honey-nectar (l. 7) that sweetens even hisperfumes and wine (l. 8); the mere pleasure of seeing their handwriting on a newly-arrived letter makes even frankincense and apples that much more delightful (l. 9). IbnEzra’s poem, like Halevi’s ªImdu ªamodu, conjures up the beloved absent friends inhis mind’s eye (ll. 3–7, 16, 22), but dwells more heavily on the foreboding presence ofTime (and on their substitute, the “Daughters of Days” in line 12), referring to theseevil forces five times (11, 12, 17, 19, 26) to Halevi’s one (l. 10).

36 Kitab al-muh. ad. ara, p. 275 [142a].37 Known in Arabic as tajahul al-ªarif. For examples in Hebrew see David Yellin, Torat ha-shirah ha-sefaradit (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1978), pp. 289–295; for Arabic examples see ibid., p. 288; Magdaal-Nowaihi, The Poetry of Ibn Khafaja, pp. 31; 119–120.38 In Arabic, see examples from Ibn Khafaja’s poetry in Nowaihi, ibid., pp. 138–139; 152–153. In Hebrewsee, for example, Isaac ibn Khalfun’s panegyric to Samuel ha-Nagid, in Shirei ibn Khalfun, ed. Aaron Mirsky(Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1961), p. 47, l. 17. Yellin cites a number of other examples in Torat ha-shirahha-sefaradit, pp. 21–22.

24

First Contacts

There are, in fact, a number of striking similarities between Ibn Ezra’s Bein ha-hadasim and Halevi’s ªImdu ªamodu. The two poems not only have the same meter (ha-shalem ha-mequtzar) and rhyme (-h. einu), but nineteen of the same rhyme-words. JudahHalevi began his poem with the same rhyme-word Ibn Ezra chose to begin his (ah. einu,“our brothers”), and ends his poem on this word too. This is because he composed hispoem in envelope-fashion, beginning and ending with the same line: (“Stay, O stay justa bit longer, our brothers”). But the rhyme-word of his next-to-last-line is identical tothe last rhyme-word in Ibn Ezra’s poem (orh. einu, “’our road”). The two poem also usecertain of the same expressions. Halevi expresses the hope of being reunited with hisfriends in the language of national aspirations (”gathering in our dispersed”, l. 7b), likea medieval Isaiah yearning for the ingathering of the exiled; Ibn Ezra does the same inl. 20b of his own poem. Significantly, both poems also play with the various meaningsof the words East and West (cf. Ibn Ezra, ll. 5 and 15 and Halevi, ll. 11–12, and 23).

It seems highly possible, therefore, that Halevi modeled this first poem to Ibn Ezra onthe model of Bein ha-hadasim. Yet, as noted, Moses ibn Ezra dedicated this qas. ıda notto Judah Halevi, but to two other individuals altogether: Abun and Joseph ben Majnin.39

How, then, might the poem have come to Halevi’s attention? Here we are forced to dealin conjecture, but it may be that Ibn Ezra composed the poem following a visit withAbun and Joseph ben Majnin, who were apparently inhabitants of Christian Spain on avisit to al-Andalus40: this would explain Ibn Ezra’s geographic references in line 15:

The genius of the East ne’r towered over the West untilthey shot forth like stars in our East.

The West, let us recall, refers to Muslim Spain; the East to Christian Spain. In the secondhemistich (15b), however, the East is simply that portion of the skies in which the sunrises every day. If Moses ibn Ezra – a “Westerner” par excellence and the ultimateexponent of Andalusi culture – has these divinities from the East lighting up the skiesof al-Andalus, he can only be indulging in the kind of exaggeration that is so commonto the medieval panegyric in order to pay a graceful compliment to his two addressees.One need not take this compliment too seriously (and if Abun and Joseph knew anythingabout poetry, they surely did not!). Poetic license goes a long way in medieval Hebrewpoetry, and was it not Ibn Ezra himself who deemed “falsity the best part of poetry?”41

The poems ªImdu ªamodu and Bein ha-hadasim are clearly related to each other, yethow can we be sure that it was Halevi who modeled his poem on Ibn Ezra’s? How canwe know that it was not Ibn Ezra who later used ªImdu ªamodu as a model for his poem?Poets were free to use other poems as their models and indeed often did so, as we shallsee in the very next chapter. There is, indeed, no direct evidence that it was Judah Halevi

39 Nothing is known of the individual called here “Abun,” apart from the fact that Ibn Ezra dedicated severalother poems to him and wrote a lament at his death. He may or may not be the poet Abun whose liturgicalpoem is published in Schirmann, Ha-shirah ha-ªivrit, p. 341. Joseph ben Majnin is scarcely better known; hemakes a brief appearance as the subject of a two-line improvisation probably composed at a wine-drinkingparty. See below, Chapter Five, p. 80.40 Brody reaches the same conclusion in his commentary on the poem (Moshe ibn Ezra: Shirei ha-h. ol, 2:148).41 See Moses ibn Ezra, Kitab al-muh. ad. ara, p. 117 [62a]. The saying is attributed to Aristotle (The Meta-physics), and Ibn Ezra indeed cites it here as a general aphorism.

25

First Contacts

who was modeling his poem on Ibn Ezra’s, but if we accept this sequence as a workinghypothesis it does answer most, if not all, of the problems mentioned before. So, forexample, we noted above that Brody and Schirmann both puzzled over the question:why did Moses ibn Ezra not play by the rules of the game and reply to ªImdu ªamoduwith a poem in the same rhyme and meter? The answer, then, is that it was not Ibn Ezrawho was responding to a challenge-poem but Judah Halevi, and that the challenge-poemwas Ibn Ezra’s Bein ha-hadasim. The rules of the game were preserved after all. Thuswhen Ibn Ezra replied to Halevi’s ªImdu ªamodu he was free to compose a poem usingnew rhymes and meter, and this he did in Yaldei yamim. To sum up, Judah Halevi didindeed initiate the relationship with Moses ibn Ezra by sending him the poem ªImduªamodu, only he did so not quite out of the blue as is generally assumed, but after seeingthe poem Bein ha-hadasim which Moses ibn Ezra wrote for two friends named Abunand Joseph ben Majnin, probably residents of Christian Spain on a visit to al-Andalus.

With all this in mind, it is worth taking another look at the two poems that comprisethe first direct contact between Judah Halevi and Moses ibn Ezra. In lines 10–11 ofYaldei yamim we find Ibn Ezra praising Halevi’s poem with the following words:

10 Lo, every poem is a corpse compared to his;only his has the breath of life;

Had he not endowed it with his spiritit would have been like a vessel desired by none.

(ll. 10–11)

This is praise indeed, and can be taken in a general way as lauding Halevi’s poem overevery other poem ever written – an exaggeration, to be sure, but then, exaggerationwas the bread and butter of the medieval panegyric. However, if we accept that Halevimodeled his poem on that of Ibn Ezra, then the “vessel” in question – the poem’s form:its rhyme and meter – was none other than Ibn Ezra’s to begin with, and these linesthus become praise for Halevi’s ªImdu ªamodu at the expense of his own poem, Beinha-hadasim. It is as though he were saying, “We both used the same vessel, but, kid,you used it better!”

The hypothesis that it was Halevi who modeled his poem on Ibn Ezra’s, and not theother way around, also solves another difficulty, namely, the somewhat obscure line inthe beginning of Halevi’s ªImdu ªamodu – a line over which Brody admits to beingpuzzled:

Little did you realize that the day you sent forth the fire of wanderingyou were also looting our own spoils of war (malqoh. einu).

(l. 2)

The general meaning is of course clear, and the idea of love as war is common in medievalpoetry, but the image of losing one’s heart in “the spoils of war” is not common, and noteven biblical. It is, however, found in Ibn Ezra’s poem to Abun and Joseph, and indeed,in the very same language:

26

First Contacts

We saw with our heart’s eye these pious men, and indeedfrom them comes our booty and spoils of war (malqoh. einu).

(l. 16)

The intertextuality of these lines is beyond doubt. It is as though Halevi were saying toIbn Ezra via the images of love-as-war: little did you know that while you were busytaking Abun and Joseph as your “spoils of war,” you took me captive as well! Andindeed, Ibn Ezra could not have known – could never have guessed – that his poem toAbun and Joseph would travel as far as it did, or fall into such capable hands.

As a way of capping our discussion, let us bring one more example of a problemthat is solved by the presumed relationship between the two poems: In ªImdu ªamodu,Judah Halevi praised Ibn Ezra’s poetry with the following words:



(ll. 13–14)

At first glance, there is nothing remarkable in these lines: medieval poets in both Hebrewand Arabic often praised the “brilliance” of a poem in terms of the heavenly orbs andsparkling jewels and crystals.42 The very word for “rhyme” in both Hebrew and Arabicis a synonym for the sparkling beads in a necklace; Moses ibn Ezra indeed remarkedon this fact in his Kitab al-muh. ad. ara, noting that the word naz. m in Arabic, or h. aruzin Hebrew, was “borrowed from the linking of pearls in a strand, one after the other.”43

If, then, our hypothesis is correct, and Halevi indeed modeled his ªImdu ªamodu onIbn Ezra’s Bein ha-hadasim, the older poet must have laughed at coming across theselines and said, along with the mock-indignant necklace in line 14: “Are these not ourcrystals?” Indeed they were! Halevi’s ªImdu ªamodu not only makes use of Ibn Ezra’srhyme and meter but, as mentioned above, of nineteen of his very own “crystals” – thatis, nineteen of the rhyme-words themselves.

Be this as it may, there can be no doubt that Moses ibn Ezra was pleased withHalevi‘s poem, for it was in the wake of ªImdu ªamodu that he sent Yaldei yamim andinvited its author to Granada. And it must have been a happy young poet, indeed, whoreceived this charming poem in reply. We can almost picture Judah Halevi tucking theprecious invitation into his pocket as he continued along his journey south, buildinggraceful (and distinctly Moorish-looking!) castles in the air as he made his way towardsGranada.

42 See the examples brought by Doris Behrens-Abouseif in Beauty in Arabic Culture, pp. 51, 96.43 Moses ibn Ezra, Kitab al-muh. ad. ara, p. 25 [14b].

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Chapter Two

JUDAH HALEVI’S LETTER TO MOSES IBN EZRA

It was probably not very long before Moses ibn Ezra received yet another sign of life fromthe aspiring young poet, still on the road to Granada. This time the communication tookthe form of a letter written in the ornate rhymed-prose fashionable among the Jewish andMuslim literati of the day,1 and couched in an ornate Hebrew mosaic of biblical wordsand phrases. As further evidence of his poetic abilities the young unknown also attacheda Hebrew strophic poem written in an intricate rhyme-scheme with a panegyric to Mosesibn Ezra himself and beginning with the words Ah. ar galot sod (“After revealing thesecret”).2

Now this was not, of course, the first time that Moses ibn Ezra was hearing from hisunknown correspondent, and ªImdu ªamodu must have been fresh in his mind. Butthere can be no doubt that the rhymed letter which now reached him, together with theaccompanying poem, clinched the dazzling impression already created by that first odeto the local prince of poets. The letter in particular is a charming work, and for our ownpurposes as good as a textbook: in it we learn not only about the rules and conventionsgoverning the composition of Hebrew poetry in al-Andalus, but also about the socialbackground that gave rise to much of that poetry. Let us, then, read our way throughthis letter in an English translation that attempts to capture something of the sporadicrhyme-scheme of the original:3

1 On the popularity of rhymed-prose compositions (sajª) amongst members of the Arabic literati throughoutthe Muslim world, see Abu-Haidar, “The Muwassahat in the Light of the Literary Life,” pp. 117–119; andon the use of sajª in al-Andalus see Cynthia Robinson, In Praise of Song: The Making of Courtly Culturein al-Andalus and Provence, 1005–1134 A.D. (Leiden: Brill, 2002), pp. 11, 76 and passim. Halevi himselfcomposed seven other rhymed letters, published in his Dıwan, ed. Brody, 1: 207 (to Aaron al-Amani); 1:211 (to Samuel ha-Nagid of Egypt); 1: 214 (to Nathan ben Samuel); 1: 217 (to the sages of Narbonne); andthree to David of Narbonne in 1: 219–225. Two rhymed letters by Moses ibn Ezra have also come down tous, and are published in Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Haim Brody, 1: 285 (to Hananel ben Yeshuaª) and ibid. p. 290 (toJosiah ben Bezaz).2 ‡Á¯‚ÏÂ˙ÒÂ„ (translated in full below) is published in Judah Halevi, Dıwan, ed. Haim Brody, 1: 135 (no.92); re-published with corrections by Abramson at the end of his “Iggeret rabbi Yehuda Halevi,” p. 409.Fleischer established the definitive text for the poem’s hitherto problematic third strophe on the basis of MSFirkowitz, B, 44.1, fol. 39v and published it in “Le-qorot rabbi Yehuda Halevi bi-neªurav,” p. 909.3 This letter (shalom rav / ve-yeshaªyikrav) has a long and interesting publishing history in many waysillustrative of the progress of Geniza research over the last century. The letter, or at least the first half of it,was first published by Israel Davidson in Ginzei Schechter 3, p. 319 ff. (New York, 1928), who discovered itin the Geniza in MS Taylor-Schechter Misc. 35/46. Some forty years later, Shraga Abramson discovered thesecond half of the letter in another Geniza fragment, MS Taylor-Schechter 35/19, and published both partsin “Iggeret rabbi Yehuda Halevi,” in Sefer Haim Schirmann (Jerusalem, 1970), pp. 397–411. Even so, thetext of the letter was still less than complete, with numerous indecipherable words and lines missing fromboth the middle and the end. It was only in 1986 that a complete text of the letter was published, thanksto the efforts of Leib Haimovitch (Arie) Vilsker (1919–1988), a researcher at the Saltykov-Schedrin State

29

Judah Halevi’s Letter to Moses ibn Ezra

Blessings of peace and salvation / to the Light of the West, the scholar of Hebrewand Arab nations. / A tower of strength on the day of battle / a blessed shade whenthe desert winds rattle / a good and pleasant name: / Rabbi Moses of fame. / Thefather of generosity / the heart’s luminosity / a cloudless morning who sends

5 patronage pouring /and covers with produce the face of the land / who has joinedhis fathers hand in hand / to wage battle for the thousands / and ten thousands. /For just as silver hath its mine / so help is found in perilous times. / The spirit ofGod hath clothed him / and the soul of patronage robed him. / May my WesternLamp remain aglow / his well-being prosper and forever grow.

Let us stop for a moment. The preamble, short as it is, provides us with further proofthat Halevi was a careful student of Andalusi Hebrew poetry, young and untried thoughhe was. Already in the first line we find the young poet paying tribute to the culturalsuperiority of Muslim Spain, again calling Moses ibn Ezra the “Light of the West, as hedid in his first poem.4 Following the exordium Halevi begins to praise Moses ibn Ezraaccording to the best of Andalusi poetics, lauding the same qualities for which patronsare always praised in medieval Hebrew panegyrics: his wisdom, his good name, andespecially – his generosity.5 The subject of generosity takes up lines 4–8 and is expressedaccording to the usual motifs of medieval poetry in both Hebrew and Arabic, with thepatron compared to a cloud and his generosity to a shower of rain. Indeed, accordingto this letter Ibn Ezra outdoes the heavens in munificence for he gives generously, rainor shine:6 thus Halevi calls him “a cloudless morning / who sends patronage pouring”(l. 4). In line 7 we read: “For just as silver hath its mine / so help is found in periloustimes.” This is both another reference to Ibn Ezra’s generosity and a clever word-play:in Hebrew the word “help” is ezra, and thus an allusion to the recipient’s name. That“silver hath its mine” is a truism from Job 28:1; by phrasing his own truism about IbnEzra’s generosity with these words, the poet imbues his own words with the undeniabletruth of a biblical axiom. We continue reading and learn that this letter comes

10 From a lowly youth / whose heart has been, in truth, / by friendship raised / andby the fire of love set ablaze. / He ascends from Seªir to bask in the light / of thegreat masters – the heavenly lights: / the sages of Western Spain, / whose memorycuts my heart in twain. / So I harnessed the chariot of friendship in their wake – /time weighs heavily on me for their sake! – / and set my face / towards God’s holy

15 place / and sought them at a leisurely pace / till I reached the edge of their land’s /border but was not allowed to cross on o’er. /

Public Library in St. Petersburg (then Leningrad), who published his findings in two Yiddish articles inSovietisch Heimland, the only forum available to him during these years (ibid. 1987, no. 4, pp. 136 ff.; ibid.1988, no. 3, pp. 130 ff.). Finally, in 1987, Ezra Fleischer published the text of the letter in its entirety in anarticle written in memorium to Vilsker, in which he honors the memory of the valiant scholar fettered by theobstacles of Hebrew research under Soviet rule. See Fleischer, “Le-qorot rabbi Yehuda Halevi bi-neªurav.”The translation is based on the text of the letter published by Ezra Fleischer in ibid., pp. 898–900. Thetranslation in its entirety is provided in Appendix One.4 Cf. Halevi’s poem ªImdu ªamodu, line 11.5 On the elements of praise in the Hebrew panegyric, see Levin, Meªil tashbetz, I: 81–95; Brener, Isaac ibnKhalfun, pp. 31–37.6 This motif is found in the poetry of earlier Hebrew poets as well, such as Isaac ibn Khalfun and Solomonibn Gabirol; for examples see Levin, ibid. p. 94 and Brener, ibid. p. 34.

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Let us pause once again. In line 11 Judah Halevi writes that he “ascends from Seªir”– that is, from Christian Spain7 – and then in line 14, that he is setting out for “God’sholy place.” Now, this is the language of pilgrimage, and anyone familiar with Halevi’sSongs of Zion can be excused for thinking that “God’s holy place” can mean only onething – Jerusalem. But this is not the case here. In the context of his letter, Halevi’s “holyplace” is Muslim Spain, the acknowledged center of Hebrew creativity and intellectuallife. Thus Halevi uses the language of pilgrimage to describe his journey not to the Landof Israel but to the tiny Muslim kingdom of Granada, the home of Moses ibn Ezra. Whatwe have, then, is a portrait of the young poet in search of all that is bright and creativein contemporary Hebrew culture – the “heavenly lights” of Muslim Spain (l. 12) – justas young artists from later times would be drawn to the bright lights of New York orParis. Unfortunately, however, Halevi’s plans have gone awry, for in lines 15–16 welearn that he “reached the edge of their land’s border / but was not allowed to crosson o’er”. Something – exactly what, we do not know – kept the young “pilgrim,” soto speak, from completing his journey to Moses ibn Ezra in Granada.8 But here, too,the young poet shows his commitment to the world of poetry, for rather than giving usthe matter-of-fact information that would so delight historians today,9 he expresses theobstacle in terms of a literary motif par excellence : the ever-ubiquitous “Time”:

Yet Time had not yet vowed to destroy me / and in my alien home he nourishedme / and with the songs of friendship encouraged me / and with the wine of lovemade me satisfied / after I’d wandered far and wide. / I learned to compose

20 poetry over cups of wine / with pleasant singers of the vine. / They began tocompose / a poem modeled after one of those / written by the Prince of Hosts. /The poem began Leyl mah. shavot lev aªirah and they made a great beginning /but were unable to get the ending. / So they ordered me, to wit: / “Look, westarted – you finish it!” / And I said to them: “God forbid that I expand on it! / I

25 will not boast of what I do not know / lest my audience mock me so. / I ran on

7 On the use of Seªir as an epithet for Christian Spain, see Chapter One, p. 20.8 Though we have no way of knowing exactly why he was unable to approach Granada, there was surelyno lack of armed conflicts in the period leading up to the fateful year of 1090 and the Almoravid conquestof al-Andalus. One need only glance through the pages of al-Maqqarı’s chronicles of Muslim Spain to findpitched battles without end between Muslims and Christians as Alphonso VI – King of Leon, Castile, Galiciaand Navarre – fought for primacy over the Iberian peninsula against a host of petty Muslim kingdoms. Itwas in these years that Alphonso’s troops conquered Toledo (May 25, 1085), threatened and then evacuatedValenica, laid siege to Saragossa, and then raised it. Then, too, the Berber troops of Yusuf ibn Tashufinwere on the move during these years, landing in Algeciras for the first time in 1086 at the request of thepanic-stricken Muslim princes of al-Andalus, and helping to defeat Alphonso’s troops at the Battle of Zallakaon October 23, 1086. They then returned to North Africa, only to be recalled once again in the spring of 1090.Depending on when Halevi’s journey to Granada took place, the obstacles might even have been caused bythe presence of Ibn Tashufin’s troops after their return to al-Andalus for the [uninvited] third, and final time.The conquest of Granada took place on November 10 1090. See Reinhart Dozy, Spanish Islam, trans. FrancisGriffin Stokes (London: Frank Cass, 1972), esp. pp. 690–708. Translations from the Arab historians arefound in al-Maqqarı, The History of the Mohammedan Dynasties in Spain, trans. Pascual de Gayangos, esp.2: 274–295. See also Andrew Handler, The Zirids of Granada (Coral Gables: University of Miami Press,1974), pp. 84–140; Watt, A History of Islamic Spain, pp. 95–102.9 Indeed, realia is not the hallmark of rhymed-prose compositions (sajª) in any case. As Abu-Haidar notes,with the “excessive concentration on rhyme and all the other trappings of rhetorical artifice. . . Arabic writinghad practically stopped to be functional” and then provides us with a wonderful example concerning “theBlind Poet of Tudela.” See Abu-Haidar, “The Muwassahat in the Light of the Literary Life,” p. 118.

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foot and now am weary; / If I race with horses – they’ll leave me bleary! /Furthermore, I have a heavy tongue / and the culture of Dishan and Dishon :/ astammering people with faces bold / and more foolishness than the sea can hold. /The perils ahead you did not foresee; / ‘tis no small thing you ask of me! / The

30 rhymes we sought / are very few and far apart. / This I know cannot do; /there’s nothing further to pursue. / Is there anyone who actuallyboasts / ofimitating a poem by the Prince of Hosts? / How can a wretch and aweakling /come after the king?”’ /

Stopping again for a moment, we thus learn that although our young poet has not beenpermitted to cross into Granada, he has ended up in good company all the same. Wefind him somewhere in Muslim Spain, carousing with a group of Hebrew poets overgoblets of wine10 and busily engaged in the composition of secular poetry: a situationthat, in the following chapters, we will encounter time and again. Here the convivialgroup is struggling to write a poem modeled on one that Halevi tells us was written bythe “Prince of Hosts” – that is, the reigning Hebrew poet – and that begins with thewords Leyl mah. shavot lev aªirah (“Nightly I rouse the musings of my heart”).11 This is aHebrew friendship-poem famous for its unusually difficult rhyme-scheme. The Hebrewpoets with whom Halevi has fallen into company are thus trying to write a contrafactumof that poem using the same rhymes and meter as the model poem.12 Only, they arefinding it rough going, and at some point in their efforts they turn to the newcomer andchallenge him to finish it. Now, all this took place a thousand years ago, and today, withthe privilege of hindsight, we know that no poetic challenge could ever be too hard forJudah Halevi. But at this point in time Halevi is young and unknown and thus reportsthe events with a very becoming air of modesty. In line 23 he writes that “they orderedme, to wit: / “Look, we started – you finish it!” / And I said to them: “God forbid thatI expand on it! / I will not boast of what I do not know / lest my audience mock meso.” And then he gives a whole list of reasons why he cannot possibly finish the poem,ranging from his youth and inexperience to the impossibility of competing with theunnamed author of the poem, whom he terms “The Prince of Hosts” in line 21, and the“king” in line 33.13 Then, in line 27, he blames his “heavy tongue,” a delightful allusionto Moses’ self-avowed lack of eloquence in Exodus 4:10. To clinch his protest, Halevireminds the company that he comes from the lands of “Dishan and Dishon” – that is,

10 Thus Fleischer also understands line 14 of the letter in Hebrew (ll. 19–20 in our translation). See Fleischer,“Le-qorot rabbi Yehuda Halevi bi-neªurav,” p. 900.11 ÏÈÏÓÁ˘·Â˙Ï·‡ÚÈ¯‰ . The poem was published (with an incomplete text) in Moses ibn Ezra,Shireiha-h. ol, ed. Haim Brody, 1: 274 (no. 258). A complete text was later published by Yonah David in Shirei Yosefibn Tzadik (New York: American Academy of Jewish Research, 1982), p. 36, on the basis of MS Silveraof the Jewish Theological Seminary of New York. It was on the basis of this MS that Menahem Schmelzerattributed the poem to Joseph ibn Tzadik rather than Moses ibn Ezra. See his Yitzh. aq ibn Ezra: Shirim (NewYork: The Jewish Theological Seminary, 1979), p. 151. Ezra Fleischer also attributes the poem to Ibn Tzadikin his “Le-qorot rabbi Yehuda Halevi bi-neªurav,” pp. 902–904. There is, however, reason to support Brody’soriginal attribution to Moses ibn Ezra, and the subject will be discussed below, pp. 35–37.12 Such contrafactums, known in Arabic as muªarad. a, were a well-known feature of Arabic literary life,and will be discussed in detail below, pp. 37, 43–44.13 The identity of this exalted figure of course depends on who actually wrote Leyl mah. shavot. Ezra Fleischerwould see these “royal” epithets as referring to Joseph ibn Tzadik; Haim Brody and Haim Schirmann, toMoses ibn Ezra.

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from Christian rather than Muslim Spain14 – and is, therefore, just a country bumpkin.But turning back to the letter, we see that his protests are to no avail:

But they urged me to the point of shame / and to do my best I now took aim. / I35 knew it pointless to delay / after everyone had had his say. / So I pulled myself

together: / Perhaps. . . who knows whether / I’ll fulfill my friends’ behest? / Still,my own two cents let me express!15 / And when I saw that the rhymes which Idesired / could not be arranged as I aspired / I got angry at them / and outsmartedthem / in Moses’s name – / Thus were the mighty conquered and the

40 unruly tamed! / They submitted to me after much trouble / till I boundthem fast and double / and made a poem out of them in this wise / as my lord cansee with his very own eyes. / I did not keep all the first rhymes as they’d beenstrung / but did what is possible in the Hebrew tongue./ Some of the rhymes Ithen exchanged / and some I kept as first arranged.

Thus we come to the end of the story, and learn that Halevi did in the end succeed infinishing a poem that his more experienced colleagues found too difficult. In line 33 heis even getting into the spirit of things, saying: “So I pulled myself together: / Perhaps. . . who knows whether / I’ll fulfill my friends’ behest? / Still, my own two cents letme express!” And in lines 38–39 there is an amusing image of the frustrated young poetconjuring his rhymes in the name of Moses – Moses ibn Ezra, that is, the recipient of thisletter, and not the biblical Moses – thereby forcing them into submission and finishinghis poem.

The final lines of the letter, only recently restored through the research of the Russianscholar Arie Vilsker and published by Ezra Fleischer,16 appear to be words of thanksfor the poem Yaldei yamim, which Halevi had already received from Ibn Ezra in replyto his own ªImdu ªamodu. In the manner of medieval Hebrew poets, Halevi praises notonly the beauty of the language “more pleasant / than a bundle of myrrh” (l. 46) but alsothe physical beauty of the poem itself.17 Like Ibn Ezra in Yaldei yamim (ll. 7–9), Haleviuses images of light and darkness to express the beauty of the paper and the writtenword, and compares the poem to gold and precious jewels:

45 Only I changed the subject of the proem / into a reply to your delightful poem /whose words are so eloquent / and its speech more pleasant / than a bundle ofmyrrh; / ‘tis worth its weight in the gold of Ofir / more valuable than onyx orsapphire. / Its background is of silver chased / between black lines, dawn shows itsface /. . . ‘twill be my comfort in indigence / my medicine in illness / a tender

50 sprig of pleasantness / . . . Verily I rejoice in your words of praise; / indeed youdelight me in all your ways! / So kind have you been to your young wight, /leading him forth to bask in your light; / and let it be known I’ve found grace in

14 In Genesis 36:21 Dishan and Dishon are the sons of Seªir, that is, of Esau, the traditional rabbinicalsymbol of the Christian world and hence, in the present context, an eponymic metaphor for Christian Spain.15 Not a literal translation! The Hebrew has ah. aveh deªai: “Let me give my opinion”.16 See note 1 above.17 Poetry as an artifact, an object of physical beauty, is a motif that appears in numerous Hebrew and Arabicpoems from the period and will be discussed in greater detail in Chapter Six.

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your sight. / For the sceptre of love did you not extend to me? / And look upon mewith kind generosity? [. . . .]

Halevi is at pains to thank the older poet for his poem in reply, using the language ofthe Scroll of Esther to emphasize his gratitude. In Yaldei yamim Moses ibn Ezra offersthe young poet the hospitality of a “garden of love and friendship” and “an imposinghouse in which to dwell;” in his letter Halevi thanks Ibn Ezra for extending towardshim “the sceptre of love,” a neat allusion to Esther 5:2 that turns the poet of Granadainto a veritable King of Persia and his offer of hospitality into royal favor indeed. Thefinal lines, untranslated and largely conjectural, are nevertheless clear enough at crucialpoints to show that Judah Halevi is still anxious to reach Granada, whatever the obstacles.There is a reference to “roundabout roads” and “a straight [or direct] path,” but whetherthese are real or metaphorical is unclear. Ezra Fleischer regards them as being very realindeed, and sees these final lines as Halevi’s request to Ibn Ezra for help in overcomingwhatever obstacles kept him from reaching Granada.18

Such, then, was the rhymed letter which Moses ibn Ezra received from Judah Halevi. Yetmuch as it must have delighted him, perhaps he was even more impressed by the poemthat Halevi attached to his letter, the one that he composed at the urging of his boon-companions over wine and beginning with the words Ah. ar galot sod (“After revealingthe secret”).19 As noted in the body of the letter itself (l. 22), the poem which the youngpoets sought to emulate begins with the words Leyl mah. shavot lev aªirah ( “NightlyI rouse the musings of my heart”). This challenge-poem is written in the form of agirdle-poem, or muwashshah. a to use the Arabic term,20 one of the two basic forms usedby both Hebrew and Arabic poets in al-Andalus, and apparently invented in al-Andalusitself by Arabic poets in the tenth century.21 Like the qas. ıda, or ode, the muwashshah. acould be utilized as a vehicle for such important genres as love-poems and panegyrics.Unlike the qas. ıda, however, which was recited before its audience, the muwashshah. awas meant to be sung with musical accompaniment, and, as Stern puts it, to be “anornament of the courtly assemblies.22 The Arabic sources are rich with descriptions ofsuch performances and the singing-girls, wine-bouts, and luxurious surroundings which

18 Fleischer, “Le-qorot rabbi Yehuda Halevi bi-neªurav,” p. 908.19 For bibliographic references, see note 2, above.20 The classic work on the muwashshah. a is of course Samuel Miklos Stern, Hispano-Arabic Strophic Poetry,ed. L. P. Harvey (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1974). The research has come a long way since Sternnoted in his seminal article from 1948 that “A bibliography of the muwashshah is easily drawn up – asfor all practical purposes it consists of one entry only: M. Hartmann, Das arabische Strophengedicht – I.Das Muwassah. (Weimar, 1897).” See Stern, “Les Vers finaux en espagnol dans les muwassah. s hispano-hebraıque,” Al Andalus 13 (1948), pp. 299–346. Today the bibliography on the muwashshah. a is enormous –and growing. See the bibliography compiled by Richard Hitchcock, The Kharjas: Research Bibliographiesand Checklist no. 20 (London: Grant & Cutler, 1977) and the supplement published by Richard Hitchcockand Consuelo Lopez-Morillas (London: Grant & Cutler, 1996). For a close look at the Hebrew muwashshah. ain al-Andalus, see Tova Rosen-Moked, Leºezor shir (Haifa: Haifa University Press, 1985) and Israel Levin,Meªil tashbetz, 3: 217–407.21 The “invention” of the muwashshah. a is attributed by the twelfth-century Ibn Bassam of Cordoba toMuh. ammad b. Mah.mud al-Qabrı the Blind, in the tenth century. See Stern, Hispano-Arabic Strophic Poetry,pp. 64–65.22 Stern, Hispano-Arabic Strophic Poetry, p. 42. Ibn Sana al-Mulk lists other genres treated by themuwashshah. a, such as laments, invectives and ascetic poetry, but as Stern notes, panegyrics and love-poemsare by far the primary genres.

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formed part and parcel of the muwashshah. a experience. So, for example, we find onedelighted prince tearing his clothes in frenzy at hearing one of the most famous of allmuwashshah. as, promising the author that he will “walk home in gold” – an offer whichthe experienced poet prudently declined.23

The muwashshah. a is characterized by stanzas of shifting rhyme (in Arabic: ghus. n orbayt) interspersed with a set number of lines in rhymes that remain the same throughoutthe poem (simt. or qufl). Such poems generally contain five stanzas. At its simplest therhyme-scheme will be bbbA/A cccA/A dddA/A eeeA/A fffA/A. But variations canbe, and often are, quite complex and demanding.24

Perhaps the most intriguing aspect of the muwashshah. a, and certainly the one thathas catapulted it into the front ranks of literary research, is the use of spoken, colloquialArabic, or Romance-Arabic, in the final lines of the poem. These lines, known asthe kharja, were called by one authority on the muwashshah. a, Ibn Sana al-Mulk ofthirteenth-century Egypt, “the spice of the muwashshah. a ; its salt and sugar; its muskand amber.” According to the “rules” of the muwashshah. a, as formulated by Ibn Sanaal-Mulk, the transition to the kharja

should be effected by a jump and by suddenly passing from one subject to another;in addition, it should be a phrase put in the mouth of some other person, animateor inanimate. The most common thing is to put it into the mouth or love-lorn girls,or drunkards of either sex. The strophe immediately preceding the kharja mustcontain an expression like: ‘he said’, ‘I said’, ‘she said’, ‘I sang’, ‘he sang’, or‘she sang’.25

Ibn Sana al-Mulk remarks that the kharja is best spoken by “boys or love-lorn girls,or drunkards of either sex,” but as countless muwashshah. a s will testify, it is generallythe “love-lorn girl” who speaks the kharja. In fact, this is her only chance! Outside thekharja, medieval Hebrew poetry rarely allows women to speak at all.26

As we have seen, Judah Halevi does not name the author of Leyl mah. shavot, referringto him only as the “Prince of Hosts” and the “king.” Haim Brody, who edited themagnificent dıwan of Moses ibn Ezra, attributed Leyl mah. shavot to Moses ibn Ezraon the basis of MS Schocken 37; an extremely important manuscript for medievalHebrew poetry, but rather late, as it dates to the seventeenth century.27 Both Shraga

23 Anecdote related in ibid. p. 44.24 See Ezra Fleischer, “Tah. anot be-hitpath.ut shir ha-eyzor ha-ªivri,” Studies in Hebrew Literature andYemenite Culture, ed. Judith Dishon and Ephraim Hazan (Ramat Aviv: Bar Ilan University Press, 1991), pp.111–160. On the Arabic terminology see Stern, Hispano-Arabic Strophic Poetry, p. 13.25 From Stern’s translation of Ibn Sana’s Dar al-t.iraz fi ªamal al-muwashshah. at, in Hispano-Arabic StrophicPoetry, p. 33. The Arabic text relating to the kharja is reprinted in ibid., pp. 158–160. For further informationon Ibn Sana al-Mulk, see ibid., pp. 73–74.26 The exceptions are wedding poems, where the bride is sometimes allowed to sound the praises of hergroom. Interestingly enough, in most of these wedding poems the bride still sounds like a girl straight out ofthe kharja.27 The rubric in MS Schocken 37 reads simply: ÂÏ‰ÓÂ˘Á , or: “a muwashshah. a by him.” The poem comesnot with the rest of Ibn Ezra’s muwashshah. as, but at the end of the dıwan altogether. As Fleischer notes, thecopyist of MS Schocken 37 clearly regarded Leyl mah. shavot as written by Moses ibn Ezra, as did the copyistof MS Oxford 1971. See Fleischer, “Le-qorot rabbi Yehuda Halevi bi-neªurav,” p. 902, note 25.

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Abramson and Haim Schirmann accepted the attribution to Moses ibn Ezra withoutquestion. However, there are eminent scholars who attribute Leyl mah. shavot to Josephibn Tzadik, basing their opinion on MS Silvera, which was written in the days of Isaacibn Ezra (i. e. the twelfth century) and is thus one of the earliest, and probably mostreliable, manuscripts to come down to us in the field of medieval Hebrew poetry. Thefirst to raise the gauntlet in favor of Joseph ibn Tzadik was Menahem Schmelzer, whoremarked that Leyl mah. shavot is in fact included amongst Ibn Tzadik’s poems in MSSilvera, the rubric before the poem simply remarking: “And this too is his.”28 Agreeingwith this attribution, Yonah David published Leyl mah. shavot in his collection of IbnTzadik’s poems, and Ezra Fleischer sanctioned the attribution to Ibn Tzadik also on thebasis of MS Frankfurt 12, a manuscript indeed cited by Brody but according to Fleischerinsufficiently utilized.29

From all this we see that the authorship of Leyl mah. shavot has been the subject ofintense scholarly debate for several decades now, with the evidence largely revolvingaround the Arabic rubrics in the manuscripts. Yet it seems that there is still one detailthat has gone unnoticed in the war of the rubrics, and that is, that the name of Joseph ibnTzadik may indeed be alluded to in the body of Leyl mah. shavot, and if this is so, then thepoem was unquestionably written for him, and not by him. Panegyrists frequently madesubtle or teasing references to the name of their addressee; indeed, we have alreadyseen that Judah Halevi linked Moses ibn Ezra to the biblical Moses on more than oneoccasion, and also slipped in a charming pun on the name “Ezra”. And we will seesimilar examples time and again in the pages to come. No poet, however, would makea reference to his own name in a secular Hebrew poem from al-Andalus; this practicewas relegated to sacred poetry alone.

To be sure, scholars have indeed noted that the name Joseph appears in line 8 ofLeyl mah. shavot.30 The editor of Joseph ibn Tzadik’s poems, Yonah David, solved thisproblem by saying that the poem had been written by Joseph ibn Tzadik for anotherJoseph, Joseph ibn Migash. Now, it is unclear just why Yonah David pounced on thisparticular Joseph as the poem’s addressee.31 There was certainly no lack of “Josephs” inal-Andalus; the name of Joseph ibn Ezra, the brother of Moses, comes instantly to mind,as does Joseph ibn Majnin, one of the two recipients of Ibn Ezra’s Bein ha-hadasim, backin Chapter One. And in fact, it seems most unlikely that a poem like Leyl mah. shavot,with its highly erotic allusions, was written for one very soon to become known as the“Light of Israel,” and to reign over the famed rabbinical academy in Lucena.32 We have

28 ÂÏ‰‡Èˆ‰ . This terse comment is very common in the manuscripts. See Menahem Schmelzer, Yitzhaq ibnEzra: Shirim (New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary, 1979), p. 151.29 The rubric in MS Frankfurt 12, as Fleischer notes, reads: ÂÏ‰‡ÚÊ‰‡ÏÏ‰ , or: “This too is his, may Godprotect him.” Further on, the copyist specifies the name as “Ibn Tzadik.” Schirmann regarded this second noteas being by the hand of a different copyist, an opinion with which Fleischer does not agree. See Fleischer,“Le-qorot rabbi Yehuda Halevi bi-neªurav,” pp. 903–904.30 Fleischer, “Le-qorot rabbi Yehuda Halevi bi-neªurav,” p. 904, note 38; Yonah David, Shirei Yosef ibnTzadik, p. 11.31 Shirei Yosef ibn Tzadik, ibid. And see note 43, below.32 Goitein refers to this title in A Mediterranean Society 5: 457. On the career of Joseph ibn Migash,see Avraham Grossman, “Legislation and Responsa Literature, in The Sephardi Legacy, ed. Haim Beinart(Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1992), 1: 194–195; Eliav Shochetman, “Jewish Law in Spain before 1300,” AnIntroduction to the History and Sources of Jewish Law, ed. N. S. Hecht, B. S. Jackson, S. M Passamaneck,D. Piattelli, A. M. Rabello (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996), p. 282. Eight responsa by Ibn Migash were

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four panegyrics for Joseph ibn Migash by Judah Halevi, and another one that is definitelyby Joseph ibn Tzadik, and none of these makes even the slightest erotic allusion of thekind frequently found in so many poems – and especially in so many muwashshah. as! –from this period.33

What has not been noticed, however, is that the poem also appears to allude to Josephibn Tzadik’s name again, just a little further on in line 11, where the poet praises thetzedek, that is, the “righteousness” of his addressee. Can this be mere coincidence? Thepresence of both of these words, Joseph and tzedek, and the fact that they occur in thesame strophe, make this extremely unlikely. If so, then the poem was definitely writtenfor Joseph ibn Tzadik and not by him, and the scholarly arguments about manuscriptrubrics, learned as they are, recede in importance.

In point of fact, however, the authorship of the poem does not materially affect theincident under discussion. What is important is that Leyl mah. shavot unquestionablyposed a considerable challenge to potential imitators due to the difficult rhymes andhighly complex rhyme-scheme of the double simt. , the repetitive “girdle-like” elementin the poem. It was this which caused the poem to serve as a challenge-poem for theassembled poets and which enabled Judah Halevi to demonstrate his talents to suchspectacular effect.34 It was not the identity of the poem’s author that made the poemripe for challenge but its complicated rhyme-scheme and rhyme-sounds, and it is thissubject to which we will now turn our attention.

The rhyme-scheme in the Hebrew challenge-poem can be given as aaaa/BBBC/DDDC/eeee/BBBC/DDDC, and so on, for five strophes altogether, with the added difficulty ofslight variations between the “B” and “D” sounds throughout the poem.35 The follow-ing translation does not pretend to capture the complexity of the rhyme-scheme in theHebrew challenge-poem, but only to give an approximation of its meaning and an echo,perhaps, of its musicality:36

Nightly the musing of my heart beginRecalling wandering friends and kinI shake and tremble deep within:Will I ever see the face again

5 Of Orion and Pleiades? To you, fault-finder, I will not inclineMy heart is broke beyond doc’s cure, but there’s physic in the wine!

published by Israel Ta-Shema and Hagai ben Shamai in “Shemonah teshuvot h. adashot le-Rabbi Yosef ibnMigash,” Kovetz al-yad 8 (1975), pp. 165–186.33 Judah Halevi, Dıwan, ed. Haim Brody, 1: 87 (no. 62), 141 (no. 95), 173 (no. 114), 191 (no. 130). Halevialso composed a wedding-poem for Joseph ibn Migash, printed in ibid. 2: 21 (no. 21), and rhymed withthe bride-groom’s name. Ibn Tzadik’s poem for Joseph ibn Migash is printed in Shirei Yosef ibn Tzadik, ed.Yonah David, p. 31 (no. 6). As noted, there is nothing in any of these poems that can possibly be interpretedas the least bit erotic, and Leyl mah. shavot, as we will shortly see, is highly erotic indeed.34 In his letter to Moses ibn Ezra (ll. 40–41), Halevi says that he bound the rhymes “fast and double,”echoing a phrase from Job 41: 5 that refers to the impossibility of binding the mighty Leviathan.35 The rhymes of the simt.s (the B and D elements “girdling” the poem) can be transliterated as il/il/il/dial/al/al/di, with the “il” sound (the B element) occasionally turning into “ul”. The most thorough discussion ofthis exceedingly intricate rhyme-scheme is by Shulamit Elizur, Shirat ha-h. ol ha-ªivrit bi-sefarad ha-muslemit(Ramat Aviv: The Open University, 2004), 2:88–89.36 ÏÈÏÓÁ˘·Â˙Ï·‡ÚÈ¯‰ Moses ibn Ezra, Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Haim Brody, 1: 274 (no. 258).

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Let me quench this raging fireThrough love of Joseph and his desireHis virtues surely range much higher

10 Than gold and silver can inspireTzedek37 and perfection in him combineGrace and good deeds, all merits divine.

Long have his forefathers been renownedAnd for holy wisdom rightly crowned

15 Their great fame is shouldered all around38

Their learning in his heart is foundA joyful fawn, and like the sun doth shine:Ask what you will! God’s grace is thine.

No mansion’s better than his tent20 For him alone does Time relent

And like a bridegroom give consentIn his sea of wisdom to rest content

Like clouds without measure you quicken fruit and vineMay one so exalted on my bed recline!

25 Wisdom lovingly calls out his nameIn a poem that answers just the same.She’ll fulfill her lover’s claim –So let the messenger proclaim:

Please, messenger, show the friend the way so that he can reclineWith me tonight: I’ll tease him with my curls and these breasts of mine39

In terms of content, this poem is a panegyric of the most conventional kind. It openswith the “shepherd of the stars,” a well-known figure in Arabic and Hebrew poetry fromthe period, who scans the heavens in lovesick, sleepless nights and sighs over the starsshining together in the Pleiades, reminding him of absent friends.40 The theme can bea ponderous one, and indeed is drawn out and lengthy in qas. ıdas without number, but

37 “Righteousness” in Hebrew. The translation has left the word in Hebrew in order to draw attention to apossible reference to the name of Joseph ibn Tzadik.38 Numbers 7: 9, where the reference is to the Levitical role in bearing the Torah scroll.39 The kharja reads:

·‡ÏÏ‰¯ÒÂÏ˜ÏÏÏÎÏÈÏÎÈÛ‡ÏÒ·ÈÏÂ·È˙Ú„ÈÎÏÛ‡ÏÁ‚‡ÏÚÏÈ‡Ï·‡ÏÚËÚ‰„Ï‡ÏÂÊÈ¯‰„È

S. M. Stern gives a literal translation of the kharja in “Four Famous Muwassah. s from Ibn Busra’s Anthology,”Al-Andalus 23 (1958), p. 354: “Please messenger, show the friend the way to come and spend the night withme! I shall give him my locks behind the curtains for torment, and shall add my breasts.”40 The Pleiades is generally a metaphor for the companionship of the poet himself and his friend; thus in thepoem ªAyin nediva, (“A generous eye”) by Judah Halevi, the stars shining together in the night sky remindhim of his own days together with his friend (Dıwan, 1: 137, no. 94, line 29). Ibn Ezra has thus subtly alteredthe motif here since his panegyric is, most unusually, dedicated not to one but to two friends: Joseph ibnMajnin and Abun. For further examples of the “shepherd of the stars” motif in Hebrew poetry, see DavidYellin, Torat ha-shira ha-sefaradit, pp. 34–35. Cynthia Robinson refers to the motif in Arabic poetry in adiscussion of “the lyrical world of lovesickness,” in In Praise of Song, p. 102.

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here the tone lightens quickly enough as the speaker learns that “there’s physic in thewine!” The poet thus takes his cue from the form of the poem, infusing the motif withthe light and hedonistic tone so common to the muwashshah. a. In line 5 another standardfigure in medieval Hebrew and Arabic poetry makes his appearance: the “fault-finder,”whose sole aim is to plague the lover and stir up trouble.41

In addition to the “physic in the wine,” the speaker also finds consolation in “Joseph”(ll. 7–8), whose presence makes him forget the absent friends mourned in the openinglines, and whose merits take up the rest of the poem till the end.42 The speaker firstpraises Joseph’s family pedigree

Long have his forefathers been renownedAnd for holy wisdom rightly crowned

15 Their great fame is shouldered all around43

Their learning in his heart is found

and then duly passes on to his wisdom (ll. 16, 22) and generosity (l. 23); the standardvirtues in medieval poetry. All this is framed by erotic images – lines 7–8, and mostnoticeably, line 24 – but then this, too, is standard procedure in the medieval panegyric.In the final strophe Wisdom becomes a feminine figure, and an amorous one, too, as she“lovingly calls out” the name of her beloved in a light-hearted parody of Proverbs 8:1:

Does not Wisdom call, and Understanding put out her voice? She stands up at thetop of high places by the way, where the paths meet. She cries out at the gates, atthe entry of the city, at the coming in of the doors. To you, O men I call, and myvoice is to the sons of man.

In the poem, on the other hand, it is not “the sons of man” to whom Wisdom calls out

41 The “tale-teller” and other enemies to love in medieval Hebrew and Arabic poetry have interestingparallels in Troubadour poetry, a phenomenon that has given rise to a considerable body of research. Oneparticularly helpful work is Patrizia Onesta, “Lauzengier-Washı-Index; Gardador-Custos: The ’Enemiesof Love’ in Provencal, Arabo-Andalusian, and Latin Poetry,” trans. Karla Mallette, Scripta MediterraneaXIX-XX (1998–1999), pp. 119–142. A. R. Nykl offers the following equivalents in his Hispano-ArabicPoetry), pp. 78; 394: the “Watcher”: raqıb (Arabic.)– gardador (Provencal); the “Slanderer” was. ı (Arabic)– lauzenjaire (Provencal). For specifics on the “duties” of these figures in Arabic poetry, see A. J. Arberry’stranslation of Tawk al-h. amama by ªAli ibn H. azm (994–1063), The Ring of the Dove (London: Luzac andCompany, 1953), Chapters 16, 18–19. The figure known as the ªad. ıl in Arabic appears to correspond to themeriv in Hebrew poetry; and for our purposes is translated here as the “Fault-finder.” The meriv is by farthe most common of these enemies to love in Hebrew poetry, but there is also an occasional “Slanderer” ormalshin, which appears to correspond with the Arabic was. ı, or Provencal lauzenjaire.42 Such “consolation” is a frequent means of passing from the exordium to the praise of the addressee; seeRosen-Moked, Leºezor shir, pp. 183–184.43 Praise of the addressee’s learned forefathers is standard in the Hebrew panegyric, yet Yonah Davidnevertheless points to these lines as proof positive that the poem must have been written for Joseph ibn Migash.Interpreting line 15 as an allusion to the Levitical duty of bearing the Torah on their shoulders (Numbers7: 9), he notes that such praise could only apply to Joseph ibn Migash, whose family was Levitical. “Suchpraise,” writes David, “cannot possibly be applied to Ibn Tzadik,” who did not come of a Levitical family(Shirei Yosef ibn Tzadik, p. 11; p. 17, note 47). True enough. Yet what if line 15 does not refer precisely tothe Levities, but to those who bear the “burden” of learning in general? In another, undoubted poem writtenin praise of Ibn Tzadik, Judah Halevi indeed lauds his addressee’s “dignity and Torah” (misrah ve-torah;Dıwan 1: 118, no. 83, line 11.) Thus it seems that these lines cannot bear evidence against our own positionthat Leyl mah. shavot was written in honor of Joseph ibn Tzadik.

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but one man in particular: her beloved Joseph ibn Tzadik, and her words are far moreprovocative as she promises to “fulfill her lover’s claim” (l. 27). This happy situation isa not-uncommon one in the muwashshah. a, where love’s demands often find fulfillment– at least in the last few lines.44 As already noted, the difficulties of the rhyme-schememade this poem a prime favorite for poets bent on poetic challenge. Over time no lessthan five poets – two in Arabic, and three in Hebrew (and one of them twice!) – setthemselves the challenge of composing poems on this model.45 Moses ibn Ezra, nostranger to the art of poetry and perhaps the composer of the Hebrew challenge-poemhimself, must surely have been impressed by the poem which Halevi attached to hisletter: Ahar galot sod. We give it here in a woefully inadequate translation that tries,as in the translation for Leyl mah. shavot, to convey a hint of the poem’s content andmusicality, and that further, in this case, tries to show how at least the C hyme – the basicend-rhyme in the simt. , the girdle-like element of the poem – remains the same in bothpoems. According to the “rules” of muªarad. a (“poetic imitation”), the rhyme-schemeof the stanzas (but not the rhyme-sound), had to remain the same; the simt.s, on the otherhand, were obliged to retain the same rhyme-sounds as well:46

After revealing the secret, what’s left to hide?A glass to my left, my love to my rightFault-finder, hush! I care naught for your spiteI’ll just turn to the left if you turn to the right.

5 If the joys of Eden and Gilead you wish to combine,I’ll give my life up to pleasure – today I’ll not pine.

See the gazelle from the wine glass sip:My fruit and wine there lip-to-lip.Preach what you will! I care not a snip

10 Pray leave me for now – enough of your gossip!You witch-doctor, I hear the flute’s joy ring out with the wine;The gazelle gives me nard – fault-finder, stop! – Cease your whine.

O obscure poem, reveal the secret inside

44 For a good study of love’s fulfillment in the kharja, see Yosef Yahalom, “Love’s Labors Won: TheMaterialization of Love in Hebrew Girdle Poems,” trans. Ann Brener, in Circa 1492: Proceedings of theJerusalem Colloquium: Litterae Judaeorum in Terra Hispanica, ed. Isaac Benabu (Jerusalem: The HebrewUniversity and Misgav Yerushalayim, 1992), pp. 189–204.45 It was S. M. Stern who first drew attention to the fact that the poem Leyl mah. shavot lev aªira is in fact amuªarad. a itself; an imitation of an Arabic poem by Ibn Baqı (a contemporary of Judah Halevi). See Stern’snow-classic article, “H. iquei muwashshah.ot ªaravi’im be-shirat sefarad ha-ªivrit,” Tarbiz 18 (1957). TovaRosen-Moked surveys this entire “family” of girdle-poems in Leºezor shir, pp. 67–70. As just noted, the firstpoem in the group was apparently the one composed in Arabic by Ibn Baqı, and subsequently imitated byHalevi in Hebrew, and by Ibn Quzman in Arabic. In Egypt, Aaron ben Joshua ibn al-Amani, Halevi’s friendand admirer, composed a religious poem presumably on Halevi’s model, and Abraham ibn Ezra, a youngercontemporary of Halevi, at some point composed not only one but two different religious poems on the samemodel. On these two poems by Abraham ibn Ezra, see Ezra Fleischer’s article on the development of Hebrewgirdle-poems, “Tah. anot be-hitpath.ut shir ha-eyzor,” pp. 132–133.46 ‡Á¯‚ÏÂ˙ÒÂ„ . For publishing details see note 2 above. As in the translation of Leyl mah. shavot, the B andD rhymes of the simt.s have gone to the wall here too.

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My soul, and the prince’s name confide:15 This [poem] is a bell for his robe of pride

A return for the embroidery his own hand inscribed.Deck thyself with the golden crown and embroidery fineOf this poem from the West, beyond praise divine.

Heyman’s his name when Wisdom calls –20 Moshe’s the trustiest of them all!

The delight of my breasts are at your beck and call;There’s manna in my lips withal.

A drop of honeycomb and beauty are in my dress confined;Unfasten the loops and fondle the breast that like a girl’s mine.

25 For love of him she’ll then completeA song of love with praises sweet.To lie in her lap like a bundle of myrrh she does entreatThe Faithful Messenger, and then repeat:

Please, messenger, show the friend the way so that he can recline47

With me tonight: I’ll tease him with my curls and these breasts of mine

Considering the circumstances under which this poem was composed – we recall thatHalevi was in company with some “pleasant singers of the vine”48 – it is not surprisingto find his muwashshah. a beginning with a virtual panegyric to love and wine. Thetale-teller makes an appearance in line 4, only to be shooed away in an amusing use ofAbraham’s words to his nephew, Lot, when he found the desert too small for them both(Genesis 13: 8–9). In line 11, the tale-teller is also called a “witch-doctor,” the sameepithet that the unfortunate Job flings at his own “friends” when these come to wag theirfingers at him (Job 13: 4).49 Love and wine – not moralizing – are the order of the day:carpe diem reigns supreme.

The panegyrical section begins in the third strophe, where the praise of the addresseeand the role of the poem echo the situation in the first two strophes. Here it is the poemand not the wine which induces the panegyrist to reveal the name “inside his soul” (ll.13–14) – that is, the name of his addressee, Moses ibn Ezra – just as the lovesick speakerin lines 1–12 revealed the “secret” (l. 1) of his own love for the “gazelle” (l. 7).

In calling his poem “a bell for the robe” of his addressee (l. 15), Halevi is employinga metaphor for a “thank-you poem” that he was later to use in other panegyrics as well;the metaphor derives from the bells used to decorate the hem of the High Priest’s robe(Exodus 39: 25–26), and is a lovely way of referring modestly to his own poetry as anornament on something perfect and complete without it.50 In this case, that something

47 The kharja is of course the same as the one in the challenge-poem, Leyl mah. shavot. See note 37 above.48 See Halevi’s letter, line 20.49 In the Bible, Job follows this up with an exasperated: “O that you would altogether keep silent! and thatwould be your wisdom” (Job 13: 5).50 The phrase reappears in Halevi’s Ha-reyah. mor (“Is that the scent of myrrh”), l. 5; see Chapter Seven.In medieval Arabic culture, as Doris Behrens-Abouseif writes, “ornament is an essential attribute of beauty.Abu ºl-ªAlaºal Maªarri, moaning Aleppo’s loss in the death of a great intellectual, said that the city was nowwithout “anklet or bracelet,” meaning without culture. For something to be without ornament was equivalent

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perfect and complete is nothing less than Ibn Ezra’s Yaldei yamim,51 as the young poetmakes clear in the following lines.

15 This [poem] is a bell for his robe of prideA return for the embroidery his own hand inscribed.

Deck thyself with the golden crown and embroidery fineOf this poem from the West, beyond praise divine.

Employing the language of metaphors commonly used to describe the art of writing,Halevi glories in “this poem from the West” (l. 18) which he describes as a “goldencrown and embroidery fine” (l. 17) – a beautiful thank-you note indeed, and one whichIbn Ezra must certainly have prized.52

From praise of Ibn Ezra’s poem Halevi then moves on to praise of Ibn Ezra himself,focusing on the subject of his wisdom. As in his earlier efforts, Halevi makes the most ofhis addressee’s name and links him up with his biblical namesake. Thus when Wisdomcalls out in line 20, she pronounces Moses ibn Ezra the “trustiest of them all:” a ratherslangy translation for God’s praise of the biblical Moses in Numbers 12:7 (be-khol beytineºeman). The name Heyman by which Wisdom calls him in line 19 is a reference toa figure known in the Bible for his great wisdom (I Kings 5: 11), and identified in theBabylonian Talmud as Moses.53 But we find yet another reference to Heyman in theBible (I Chronicles 6: 18), and since there he is listed as one of the Levitical poets,this line is also an allusion to Ibn Ezra’s renown as a poet. As in Leyl mah. shavot, here,too, Wisdom’s a lusty wench, promising her beloved the garden of her delights (ll.21–24)54 and inviting him to lie in her lap “like a bundle of myrrh” (Song of Songs1:13). Entreating the “Faithful Messenger” – another reference to the biblical Moses55

– she then recites the highly amorous invitation in the kharja.Both poems – Leyl mah. shavot and Ah. ar galot sod – feature a feminine figure of

Wisdom, enticing and seductive, whose role is to demonstrate just how intimatelyconnected the addressee is with that highly desirable quality. But it seems that Haleviintegrates “Lady Wisdom” into his poem with more finesse than the author of Leylmah. shavot. Ibn Sana al-Mulk, as we recall, decreed that the kharja was best spoken by“boys or love-lorn girls, or drunkards of either sex,” but in Leyl mah. shavot it is not thelove-sick Wisdom who speaks the kharja, but a messenger. The invitation is issued inher name, but not in her voice:

25 Wisdom lovingly calls out his nameIn a poem that answers just the same.

to its being barren or desolate” (Beauty in Arabic Culture, p. 124).51 Judah Halevi, Dıwan, ed. Haim Brody, 1: 53 (no. 40), lines 43–45 and 1: 58 (no. 43), lines 27–28. In thefirst of these Halevi calls his poem bells for the addressee’s “robe of wisdom, robe of awe, robe of purity”.52 As noted above, Haim Brody and Haim Schirmann both regarded Yaldei yamim as a reply to Halevi’srhymed letter and accompanying poem, Ah. ar galot sod. But, as Fleischer points out, these lines make it clearthat Halevi had already received a poem from Moses ibn Ezra. And that poem, of course, is necessarily Yaldeiyamim, for as we have also seen, Yaldei yamim is a thank-you poem for Halevi’s ªImdu ªamodu. See EzraFleischer, “Le-qorot rabbi Yehuda Halevi bi-neªurav, 906–907.53 BT Bava Batra 15a.54 The seductive invitation in line 24 draws on Ezekiel 23: 3.55 Cf. ªImdu ªamodu, l. 20, where Ibn Ezra is also called the “faithful Messenger.”

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She’ll fulfill her lover’s claim –So let the messenger proclaim:

Please, messenger, show the friend the way so that he can reclineWith me tonight: I’ll tease him with my curls and these breasts of mine.

In Ah. ar galot sod, on the other hand, Wisdom, again appropriately love-lorn, is indeedpermitted to speak the all-important kharja, just as Ibn Sana al-Mulk counseled:

25 For love of him she’ll then completeA song of love with praises sweet.To lie in her lap like a bundle of myrrh she does entreatThe Faithful Messenger, and then repeat:

Please, messenger, show the friend the way so he can recline.With me tonight: I’ll tease him with my curls, and these breasts of mine.

* * *

Contemporary readers, with their reverence for originality and perhaps less respect forthe dictates of form, may look somewhat askance at the practice of muªarad. a, or poeticimitation. What, they wonder, can be the point in all this? Hartmann called the muªarad. aa “trifling verbal game”56 and Schirmann himself sounds more than slightly apologeticin his discussion of the pastime. Yet there can be no doubt that the practice of muªarad. awas regarded favorably by medieval poets and critics alike. As Stern concludes:

It is plain. . . that such imitations do not come, by any means, under the headingof ’plagiarism’. On the contrary: it was a well-established literary practice, thesuccessful accomplishment of which accrued to the honour of the poet. Hartmann’sconception of the muªarad. a therefore completely misses the mark.57

Poets regarded these imitations as both a compliment to the author of the first poem andas a way of challenging other poets. It gave the poet the means of proving his mettleand displaying his mastery over rhyme and meter; indeed, Halevi used the language ofmastery to describe his own feat:

And when I saw that the rhymes which I desired / could not be arranged as Iaspired / I got angry at them / and outsmarted them / in Moses’s name – / Thuswere the mighty conquered and the unruly tamed! / They submitted to me aftermuch trouble / till I bound them fast and double / and made a poem out of themin this wise / as my lord can see with his very own eyes.

(ll. 37–41)

Hercules could hardly have tamed the Gorgon monster with more gusto than Halevihere completes his own show of prowess, binding his rhymes “fast and double” (Job

56 S. M. Stern, Hispano-Arabic Strophic Poetry, p. 46.57 Ibid. Tova Rosen-Moked provides a good survey on the subject of muªarad. a in Leºezor shir, pp. 76–79,reaching a conclusion similar to Stern’s.

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41: 5) in a way that presents his poetic feat as equal to binding the Leviathan – a featwhich the Book of Job deems impossible. Far from being ashamed of sending his idola poetic imitation, our young poet clearly expected the poem to rebound to his credit.And this it undoubtedly did. For when we eventually catch up with Halevi, we will findhim comfortably ensconced in Granada, rubbing shoulders with the creme-de-la-cremeof Andalusi Jewish society and trading poems with the best of its poets.

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Chapter Three

FIRST CONTACTS WITH JUDAH IBN GHAYYAT

Moses ibn Ezra was not the only person to receive a “calling card” from Judah Halevi,and he may not even have been the first. Yet another well-known Hebrew poet was livingin Granada at the time, Judah ibn Ghayyat, and to this poet, too, Halevi directed a longand carefully-composed qas. ıda. Like Ibn Ezra, the name Ibn Ghayyat was well-knownamong the Jews of al-Andalus. One of the most respected scholars of al-Andalus, Isaacibn Ghayyat (1038-1089),1 presided over the renowned academy in Lucena in the yearsprior to the great Alfasi and had in fact been the teacher of Moses ibn Ezra, who speaks ofhim with deep reverence.2 Isaac ibn Ghayyat was also a gifted liturgical poet.3 Scholarshave suggested that Isaac and Judah ibn Ghayyat were father and son, and although wehave no direct evidence for such a relationship it does seem a reasonable assumption.4

Be this as it may – son of the renowned Isaac or not – Judah ibn Ghayyat was definitelyone of the up-and-coming young men about town and a privileged member of Granada’sJewish elite. In later years he was to rise to great prominence, to the point of beingmentioned by his contemporaries in the same breath at Joseph ibn Migash, the reigninghead of the academy in Lucena and the leading spiritual figure of Spanish Jewry.5 Asa poet, however, he is rather harder to judge.6 Very few of Judah ibn Ghayyat’s poemshave come down to us, and apparently he was not the most prolific of poets. RabbiH. iyya al-Mughrabi, the editor of Halevi’s dıwan, included Ibn Ghayyat’s poems in aspecial collection devoted to poets who did not write many poems, only this collection

1 On the career of Isaac ibn Ghayyat see Uriel Simon, “The Spanish School of Biblical Interpretation,” TheSephardi Legacy, ed. Haim Beinart (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1992), pp. 123–124. It was Isaac ibn Ghayyatwho gave refuge to Joseph ha-Nagid’s wife and son following the pogrom against the Jews of Granada in1066, as we learn from Abraham ibn Daud in The Book of Tradition, pp. 80–81 (in Hebrew pp. 60–61), andfrom Moses ibn Ezra in Kitab al-muh. ad. ara, p. 67 [35b].2 Ibn Ezra writes in ibid., p. 73 [39a]: “I studied with him, and received from him, and what little I know isa drop in his ocean, and a spark from his sun.”3 For a selection of liturgical poetry by Isaac ibn Ghayyat, see Haim Schirmann, Ha-shirah ha-ªivrit bi-sefarad u-provance (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute and Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1954), Vol. 1, pp. 301–325.4 Abraham ha-Bedarsi, a Hebrew poet of sorts from thirteenth-century Provence, seems to regard Isaac andJudah ibn Ghayyat as father and son in Ha-h. erev ha-mithapekhet, which was published in H. otem tokhnit.(Amsterdam, 1865), p. 14, line 134. In Toldot ha-shirah ha-ªivrit, p. 509, Fleischer appears to agree withthis opinion.5 See the letter written by one “Jacob” to H. alfon ben Nethanel in 1128-1129, in Fleischer and Gil, YehudaHalevi u-venei h. ugo, Document no. 11, pp. 302–306. Further evidence of Ibn Ghayyat’s prominence at thisperiod is found in an elegant letter addressed to him by an unknown writer, and published in NehemiahAllony, “Kovetz iggerot sefaradiot mi-ha-meah ha-shteym-esreh,” Sefunot 16 (1980), p. 73.6 Ibn Ghayyat’s poetry receives but tepid praise in Gate Three of Judah Alharizi’s Tah. kemoni, ed. Y.Toporovsky (Tel Aviv: Mah. barot le-sifrut, 1952), pp. 42 and 44, and less than half a line in ha-Bedarsi’sHa-h. erev ha-mithapekhet (p. 14, line 134).

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First Contacts with Judah ibn Ghayyat

has unfortunately not come down to us.7

More important, at least for the present study, is that Judah ibn Ghayyat was alsodestined to become one of Judah Halevi’s life-long friends, receiving over the course ofhis lifetime no fewer than nine poems from the great poet – two of them for his wedding.8

No other addressee of Halevi’s poems, with the possible exception of Moses ibn Ezra,was to win such flattering marks of Halevi’s esteem and affection.9 The longevity oftheir friendship is further reflected in two letters discovered by S. D. Goitein among thefragments of the Cairo Geniza. The first of these is a letter in Judaeo-Arabic informingH. alfon ben Nethanel Halevi of Egypt,10 one of the great India merchants of the day andan important figure in the latter years of Halevi’s life, that a large sum of money wasbeing forwarded to Judah Halevi in care of Judah ibn Ghayyat in Granada.11 The secondletter, which Goitein dates to no later than the summer of 1125, was written by JudahHalevi himself and sent from Toledo to this same H. alfon ben Nethanel, now in Spain.The body of the letter deals with the ransoming of a Jewish girl from the clutches ofsomeone whom Halevi refers to as the “wicked woman” – and whom Goitein identifiesas Queen Dona Urraca. But before buckling down to the business of collecting theransom, Halevi writes that he is taking the opportunity to “rush” him a letter which heis sure to enjoy:

My lord and master, may God make your honored position permanent. I receivedthis letter from our master and teacher Judah b. Ghiyath, lord of mine and admirerof yours, may God elevate you both, and decided to rush it to you so that you mayenjoy it – may God let me enjoy your company.12

As Fleischer comments, one senses Halevi’s genuine delight in being able to show IbnGhayyat to such advantage before his important friend from Egypt.13 But all these things– the ransoming of captives, the poems of friendship and wedding poems – belonged tothe future. When Judah ibn Ghayyat received his first poem from Judah Halevi the two

7 Fleischer, in Schirmann, Toldot ha-shirah ha-ªivrit bi-sefarad ha-muslemit, p. 509, note 117. Some of IbnGhayyat’s poems were printed by Haim Schirmann in Yediªot ha-makhon 2: 186–194; 6: 228. Judah ibnGhayyat’s poems were collected by Dalia Nir and published in her MA thesis (Tel-Aviv University, 1974).8 The poems for Judah ibn Ghayyat are printed in the following order in Judah Halevi’s Dıwan, ed. HaimBrody: 1: 43 (no. 34); 1: 53 (no. 40); 1: 60 (no. 45); 1: 151 (no. 100); 1: 174 (no. 115); 2: 191 (no.1); 2: 263 (no. 37). This last poem is addressed to Isaac ibn Ezra as well as Judah ibn Ghayyat. The twowedding poems printed in 2: 58–59 (nos. 57 and 58) are addressed to a bridegroom named Judah, whomthe research commonly identifies as Judah ibn Ghayyat; see for example Fleischer, in Schirmann, Toldotha-shirah ha-ªivrit bi-sefarad ha-muslemit, p. 510, note 120.9 Fleischer, ibid., p. 506.10 H. alfon ben Nethanel has figured increasingly in the research over the past decades thanks to the findingsof S. D. Goitein. See idem, A Mediterranean Society, 5: 453, as well as the Index in Volume 6, s. v. H. alfonben Nethanel. Fleischer and Gil provide a highly detailed Index in Yehuda Halevi u-venei h. ugo,s. v. H. alfonben Nethanel, pp. 628–629.11 The letter was published by S. D. Goitein in “Rabbenu Yehuda Halevi bi-sefarad leªor kitvei ha-geniza,”Tarbiz 24 (1955), pp. 134–138. It was written by Isaac ben Baruch in Almeria, and sent to H. alfon benNethanel in Tlemcen, North Africa. The sum involved 150 gold dinars; a princely sum indeed, as Goiteinnotes, and an indicator of Halevi’s financial standing in these years.12 The letter was published by S. D. Goitein in Tarbiz 25 (1956), pp. 403–405; English translation fromidem, A Mediterranean Society 5: 463. Goitein, ibid., p. 462, dates this letter on the basis of the deathof Queen Dona Urraca, which occurred on March 8, 1126. The letter has been republished with notes inFleischer and Gil, Yehuda Halevi u-venei h. ugo, pp. 319–321 (Document 17).13 Fleischer and Gil, ibid., pp. 118–119.

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had never even met, though clearly they knew of one another through a mutual friend,or friends.14

Halevi’s poem to Judah ibn Ghayyat begins with the words Ma-li leravot (“Whyshould I soak the land?”),15 and as in his first poem to Moses ibn Ezra, here too hebegins with a lament over lost love. There are other similarities between these twointroductory qas. ıdas, including a distinct echo from ªImdu ªamodu in the opening lineof the poem to Judah ibn Ghayyat.16 But despite the similarities, it is probably a goodthing that ªImdu ªamodu went to Ibn Ezra and Ma-li leravot to Ibn Ghayyat and not theother way around! The very first line of Ma-li leravot contains a form that is not attestedin the Bible,17 an offense against grammar that surely would have left Ibn Ezra shakinghis head. In Kitab al-muh. ad. ara Ibn Ezra takes poets to task over this very issue – this“worst mistake,” as he calls it – and cautions them to:

Go wherever the language [of the Bible] goes, and stop where it stops, too. Youmust imitate it and not create something new [. . . .] The worst mistake is foundamongst those who conjugate nouns in the manner of verbs.18

Fortunately, however, Ma-li leravot did not end up in Ibn Ezra’s hands, and it wasthe unlucky Solomon ibn Gabirol, and not Halevi, who eventually fell victim to hiscriticism.19 The poem begins with a beautifully-drawn at.lal, one of the finest in theHebrew tradition:

Why should I soak the land with my tears,irrigating soil that I have not sown?

Upon passing the foundation of the gazelle’s house I ask:“Where is he?” but do not ask:“Where is my soul?”

I will embrace the hill of my lover’s tents and bitterly weeptheir desolation; it weeps at my burning despair

He departed and left his traces in the shreds of my heart;my traces are amongst the remains of his dwelling.

5 The walls cry out bitterly: “What, are you still here? For whom?”and to them I reply: “A bit more, and I’ll hew out my grave.”

The courtyards of my beloved are grown over with weeds;I weep over them and they melt at my weeping

Since the day your gazelle wandered your dust is my food, and

14 Fleischer, “Rabbi Yehudah Halevi: Birurim be-qorot h. ayyav,” p. 256, note 61, suggests that this friendwas one Joseph ben La’ir, the addressee of another poem by Judah Halevi, Al ba-h. alom leyl (Dıwan, ed.Haim Brody, 1: 19, no. 15). This poem, a panegyric in qas. ıda-form, was apparently written in the sameperiod that found Halevi penning his rhymed letter to Moses ibn Ezra and complaining of unknown problemson the road to Granada. Here, too, Halevi speaks of having left Christian Spain for the Muslim West, andblames his late arrival on “Time,” who “twisted his roads” (ll. 41–45). This is followed by a request in l. 48to send his greetings to “Rav and his pupils” – a reference, according to Fleischer, to Judah ibn Ghayyat.15 Ó‰ÏÈÏ¯Â˙ . Judah Halevi, Dıwan, ed. Haim Brody, 1: 151 (no. 100).16 Cf. l. 8 of ªImdu ªamodu “Was it to soak the lands with tears / that the Chariot of Wandering leads usforth?”17 Ê¯ÈÚ˙È , from the root “to sow.”18 Moses ibn Ezra, Kitab al-muh. ad. ara, pp. 203–209 [107v-111r].19 Ibid.

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where the buck treads, there I seek out my restI will go and see the place of embracing, in which my soul perished,

perhaps there I shall find what I have lostBut there was naught to be found there apart from the ravens of parting,

which turned my heart black by taking my token10 Henceforth, when hearing the ravens of parting I will ask

“Is that my heart, or the ravens of separation?”Love is the law and I accept the wishes of my beloved,

or his betrayal, but parting is not part of my codeThe walls of my heart yearn for the walls of his tent

since the day I inquired of them, though they refuse to answer me.If only I could give him my heart as the stones of his lodging place;

perhaps it would soften his heartPeople say: “Does your love know of your anguish?” And to them I reply:

“How can he not know, when he plowed with my heifer?!”15 Has not my soul been banished with him, and conspired with my heart

to hasten my doom?If the blood of his face was spilt yesterday by my eyes,

will he, to exact payment for his cheeks, pour out my gall?Or if I sinned in stealing his roses somewhat,

should I have to pay with my heart for my theft?My wrath waxes against a poem that says “Gazelles can’t be held guilty!”

and my complaint [is against] its authorWho sets the bastions of learning on their foundations and researches

every part of his judgments; yet my question understands not.20 He is Rabbi Judah, the very core of the foundation of learning; his name

is known in Yeshaª, and from him comes my glory.Let me beseech his pupils, who chiseled his image on my heart

and his renown on my soulO Reapers on the fields of wisdom! Be gentle with me till I glean a little

of their fallen stalks, and bundle my sheaf togetherThough separation stretches between me and you, is not

my heart in your hands, and your image before me?Had Time not used its plumbline on my thoughts,

I would have hastened unto you in the folds of this letter.25 Memory of you is a song over the daughter of the vine, and the wind

from your land has become my sweet fruit.Pray entreat the lion’s whelp for me, that I might bow down

before him, and he take pleasure in my bowing down.Truly will I hold that which is most important only when I behold

Rabbi Judah amongst you, to whom I am beholdenNever yet have I beheld him, apart from his good name,

but the candle of his memory shines through my darknessNor was your city truly called Rimon [“Pomegranate”], till it contained Judah,

the glory of my learning.30 I will go up into the pomegranate of my beloved, and hold on to his boughs;

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is not the juice of the pomegranate my medicine?How many cities might I justly exchange for it,

were it not for the lion’s whelp living within it!The day I give my soul into his hands,

then will I truly know that my wares have fared well.

1 soak the land (Isaiah 34: 7). 5 What . . . grave (Cf. Isaiah 22: 15). Lines 5b–6a have athree-fold word-play: eh. tzov (“I will dig”) – h. atzerot (“courtyards”) – h. atzir (“weeds”). 7 dust. . . food (Isaiah 65: 25). 12 The walls . . . yearn (Jeremiah 4: 19). 14 plowed with my heifer(Judges 14: 18) spoken by an angry Samson when he realizes that the Philistines have learnedthe answer to his riddle through “plowing” with his wife. 17 pour . . . gall (Job 16: 13). 17sinned in stealing (Job 33: 27). 18 Gazelles . . . guilty (apparently a line from a poem by Judahibn Ghayyat; see discussion below). 20 Yeshaª- another name for “Judah,” based on the Arabicmeaning of the name. Halevi also calls him this in the poem Lifnei keruv shilesh (“Before thecheub made a third”), l. 49; see Chapter Seven. 21 Let me beseech (Proverbs 26: 25). In Proverbsspoken against deceit. Here, in favor of sincerity. This is an excellent example of the way in whicha poet can take a biblical phrase and change or even reverse its orignal meaning by fitting it intothe new context of his poem. 22 glean . . . my sheaf. This line turns the sheaves which Ruthgathered in the fields of Boaz into metaphors of learning and wisdom. 24 used its plumbline(Amos 7: 7). In Amos it is a stern God who uses the “plumbline;” here it is “Time”; folds of theletter: This phrase also appears in Halevi’s first poem to Moses ibn Ezra ªImdu ªamodu (“StayO stay,”), l. 19. 25 song . . . vine: that is, a joyful song to be sung over wine. Line 25 has a tripleplay on words: zimra (“song”) bat zemora (“the daughter of the vine”) and zimrati (my sweetfruit”). 26 lion’s whelp (Genesis 49: 9); a frequent nickname for Judah. 27–28 beheld . . . thewords translated as “hold” or “behold” reflect a four-fold word-play with the Hebrew root ‡Á¢Ê .30 will go up . . . boughs (Song of Songs 7: 9, where the lover wishes to ascend a palm tree, nota pomegranate); nectar of the pomegranate (Ibid., 8: 2).

The at.lal with which this poem begins is one of the longest in medieval Hebrew poetry,and certainly in the poetry of Judah Halevi, who rather eschewed such stern classicism.20

In fifteen lines the poet recreates in beautiful biblical Hebrew the world of the ancientbedouin tribes: the abandoned campsites, lonely tents, and desert traces where onlythe foraging beasts still roam. The poem’s love imagery blends in beautifully with thissetting: the beloved is termed a gazelle (ªofer) or a buck (tzevi), and the landscapethat the speaker “embraces” is in the shape of a hill (3a), inevitably calling to mindthe human form. Through word-play – and a clever use of Isaiah 65: 25 – the belovedessentially becomes one with the desert itself:

Since the day your gazelle (ªoferkhem) wandered your dust (ªafarkhem)is my food and where the buck treads, there I seek out my rest

(l. 7)

The sense of isolation and loneliness created by the landscape and the plight of theabandoned lover is heightened through the presence of the “ravens of separation,”21

frequent symbols in medieval Arabic and Hebrew poetry but here especially prominentthrough the use of pronounced word-play:

20 See Fleischer, in Schirmann, Toldot ha-shirah ha-ªivrit bi-sefarad ha-muslemit, p. 517.21 On the “ravens of separation” in Hebrew poetry, see Yellin, Torat ha-shirah ha-sefaradit, p. 24.

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But there was naught found there apart from the ravens (ªorvei) of parting,which turned my heart black (le-ªorev) taking my treasure (ªarubati)

10 Henceforth, when hearing the ravens (ªorvei) of parting I will ask“Is that my heart, or the raven (ªorev) of separation?”

There is a strong narrative element in this at.lal, with dialogue, imagery, and memory allcreating a story-line of lost love and despair. The dialogues play an important structuralrole in moving the poem from at.lal to panegyric, though at first they appear to be littlemore than a sounding board for the speaker’s feelings. The first two dialogues occur onlyin the speaker’s thoughts as he challenges, and is challenged by, the physical remainsof the abandoned campsites: the foundations (l. 2) and walls (ll. 5; 12) of his beloved’scrumbling dwelling. But by the time we reach the third dialogue (l. 14) we are dealingwith what purports to be real dialogue with real people and not with inanimate remains,thus leading us out of the desert into a world where people and deeds are what matter,and hence closer to the poem’s very raison d’etre: praise for the poem’s recipient.

Only – we’re not quite there yet! The road to praise leads first through a courtroomscene. The crime? Stealing roses from the garden of the beloved’s face. The accused?The lover’s eyes. The penalty? Nothing less than the lover’s heart. The issues at stakeare phrased in strict legal terms:

If the blood of his face was spilt yesterday by my eyes,will he, to exact payment for his cheeks, pour out my gall?

Or if I sinned in stealing his roses somewhat,should I have to pay with my heart for my theft?

(ll. 16–17)

The accused is anxious to defend himself and to place the blame for his theft where itbelongs: on the irresistable beauty of his beloved. But alas! precedent is against him:

My wrath goes out against a poem that says “Gazelles can’t be held guilty!”and my complaint [is against] its author

Who sets the bastions of learning on their foundations and researchesevery part of his judgments; yet my question understands not.

20 He is Rabbi Judah, the very core of the foundation of learning; his nameis known in Yeshaª, and from him comes my glory.

Thus the author of this precedent is Rabbi Judah, and from here the poem is all aboutpraise. True, the speaker seems to disagree with Judah’s “decision,” but this is a deftcompliment to Judah himself, since the poem has set up an equation between the“gazelle” and the subject of all the praise – Judah ibn Ghayyat.

This transition is interesting for a number of reasons, and not the least because itappears to make a reference to another poem; one written by Judah ibn Ghayyat whichincludes the words: “Gazelles can’t be held guilty!” This poem has not come down tous, but the idea is a familiar one in medieval Hebrew poetry; and indeed we came acrossa similar line in ªImdu ªamodu, with the abandoned lover demanding:

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Don’t lovers have a criminal case against youfor trying us so dearly?

(l. 3)

This reference to a poem by Ibn Ghayyat was a clever touch on Halevi’s part, for it proveshis esteem for, and knowledge of, the latter’s poetry. What author can resist having hiswords quoted? It is a compliment indeed, and all the more striking for the barrage ofconventional praise that follows. Yet even in the midst of the conventional praise thereis a certain continuity of imagery that both unifies the poem as a whole and createsimportant contrasts. In line 20 Ibn Ghayyat is called “the foundation of learning,” anepithet that is scarcely original but that resonates well with the images in the first partof the poem. It creates, moreover, a striking contrast with the desolation characterizingthat earlier part (ll. 2; 4–6). One senses that this foundation will never be abandonedor threatened by the inroads of time, or his courtyards overgrown with the weeds ofscholarship. Memory is another important factor in creating unity and contrast. Theat.lal as a genre is all about memory; indeed what is the at.lal but memory re-enacted?Only, in the at.lal memory evokes loss and desolation; in the panegyric it is a candle thatlights up the dark (l. 28), and a joyous song over wine (l. 25). In the at.lal memory islinked to love evanescent; in the panegyric to love eternal, unthreatened by Time.

Although the praise-part of the poem seems to move us out of the past and into thepresent world of reality, it is, of course, no less a created lyrical world than the at.lal,and the poet’s “memory” of the poem’s addressee has little, if anything, to do with strictbiographical truth. And in fact, it is very clear that Judah Halevi had not actually metJudah ibn Ghayyat when he wrote the poem; he had only heard of him:

Never yet have I beheld him, apart from his good name,but the candle of his memory shines through my darkness

(l. 28)

This is important internal evidence for placing the poem at the beginning of the rela-tionship between the two poets, that is, prior to Halevi’s visit to Granada. That Granadawas Ibn Ghayyat’s home we know from other sources, such as Ibn Ezra’s Kitab al-muh. ad. ara,22 and Halevi here refers to Granada with a charming word-play on the city’sname:

Nor was your city truly called “Pomegranate”[rimon], till it contained Judah,the glory of my learning.

30 I will go up into the pomegranate [rimon] of my beloved, and hold onto his boughs; is not the juice of the pomegranate rimon my medicine?

(ll. 29–30)

Halevi calls the city of Granada by the Hebrew name Rimon or “Pomegranate,” themeaning of the city’s name in Spanish. Linguistically speaking this is a false etymology,since the name Granada was apparently derived from another word altogether,23 but in

22 Moses ibn Ezra, Kitab al-muh. ad. ara, p. 79 [42b].23 See Chapter One, p. 1.

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terms of poetry it was a happy choice indeed, as we shall see in the poems to come. Thereare two ways of understanding Halevi’s words in line 29, neither of which cancels theother out. If Granada can truly be called a “pomegranate” only because it contains Judahibn Ghayyat, then Ibn Ghayyat is like the seeds of the pomegranate fruit; its best andmost fertile part. But the word “pomegranate” can also refer to the finials that ornamentthe Torah scrolls (rimonim in Hebrew), and this would make Ibn Ghayyat the finishingtouch of the Torah scroll – an elegant reference to his stature in the world of traditionalJudaism, and a high compliment indeed. Either way, Judah ibn Ghayyat thus becomesan integral part of the pomegranate: that is, the city of Granada, which Judah Halevinow expresses a wish to visit. He does so using the language of Song of Songs 7: 8–9,substituting a pomegranate for the palm tree which the lover there wishes to climb:

30 I will go up into the pomegranate of my beloved, and hold on to his boughs;is not the juice of the pomegranate my medicine?

With this, the drama of love that began in the at.lal comes full circle: the city of Granadabecomes as much the focus of a love-quest as the abandoned campsites in the first partof the poem. The identification of Granada with the site of love’s longings is furtheremphasized through the reference to the medicinal value, so to speak, of the “juice ofthe pomegranate” (l. 30b), a remedy for lovesickness according to the Song of Songs(8: 3).

In her study of the Arabic poetry of al-Andalus, Cynthia Robinson characterizes loveas being “the filter through which friendship was seen,”24 a fact with which Judah ibnGhayyat seems to have been perfectly acquainted. This we learn from the panegyricwhich Ibn Ghayyat sent to Halevi in reply, for it is a long – very long! – and enthusiasticpoem using the same rhyme and meter as the one which he had just received, and it rivalsHalevi’s poem in expressing affection. for his unknown friend. We will not translateall fifty-two of Ibn Ghayyat’s carefully scanned and rhymed lines, but instead quoteselected parts of particular interest, including the lovely opening:25

Amongst the branches doves moan just as I moan:26

Why do you sound so bitter – is it because of my sighs?If weeping over the pain of the heart and spirit can help me –

then O jackals and ostriches: come to my help!(ll. 1–2)

The opening line of Ibn Ghayyat’s poem to Judah Halevi evokes a leafy world of treesand doves, the latter moaning sorrowfully as doves often will in medieval Hebrew and

24 Robinson, In Praise of Song, p. 169.25 Ó·ÈÔÚÙ‡ÈÌ‰ÂÓÂ˙ÈÂÈÌ . The poem is copied in MS Oxford 1970, in the third section, which RabbiH. iyya calls ‰ÓÁ‰‰˘‡¯ (“The Remaining Camp”). See Fleischer, Toldot ha-shirah ha-ªivrit bi-sefaradha-muslemit, p. 509, note 117. It is printed in Haim Brody and Meir Wiener, Mivh. ar ha-shirah ha-ªivrit(Leipzig: Insel Verlag, 1922), pp. 189–191.26 Psalm 104: 12; a hymn to creation in the Bible, with birds “singing among the branches.” Here the contextis not praise but sorrow, and the birds therefore become “doves.”

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Arabic poetry, generally over the separation of loved ones.27 But if the first line placesus in forest or garden, the second line carries us into the desert world of jackals andostriches, also symbols of human mourning in a tradition going back to the HebrewBible.28 It is, therefore, not a sense of place which the poem seeks to establish, butimages of desolation and sorrow. Whether we are in a garden or the desert, forest orwasteland, the denizens of that landscape have no other function than to serve as apersonification of the speaker’s feelings. Thus by the third line all traces of a specificlocation vanish, and the lamentation dissolves, quite literally, into tears for the next sixlines (ll. 3–8):

Lo, my tears respond even before I call themand stand to attention even before requesting them

Like the image of pearls or the blood of the innocent on my cheeksthough indeed my tears come from my liver

[ . . . .]

In line 8 we learn the cause for all this mourning: the loss of the speaker’s youth, “stolenby Time” (l. 8). Like the lament over separation, lost youth is also a popular topic inmedieval Hebrew and Arabic poetry, and it appears in both with a wonderful disregardfor biographical truth. Here our speaker develops the theme along accepted lines, usingobligatory motifs that pitch the “the snow of his locks” (l. 7) against his hair “onceblack as night” (l. 15), and the “sweetness of [youth’s] honeycomb” against the poisonof “old age” (l. 9).29 The laments continue at length amidst conventional images ofmisspent youth until, in line 25, the poem shifts into something truly extraordinary. Thisis nothing less than a Hebrew example of the Arabic rah. ıl, or “journey,” in which thepoet-speaker is seen racing across the landscape in images that evoke the ancient desertwarrior astride his noble steed. While this journey is a vital part of almost every Arabicpanegyric in the classical tradition, it was not adopted into Hebrew poetry along withthe at.lal and other prominent themes of Arabic poetry. In fact, the following lines maybe the only example of the rah. ıl in Hebrew:30

25 I will measure with my feet valleys31 not of my purchase;and the river of lands not of my inheritance

With my horse like an eagle and my chariot like a stormI will swallow the land;32 the end of the earth is my goal

I will think as though on the wings of eagles33

I am borne, and the wind harnessed to my chariotBefore I pitch my tent it will have journeyed far,

27 See Yellin, Torah ha-shirah ha-sefaradit, pp. 24–2528 See for example: Isaiah 13:21; ibid. 34:13; ibid. 43:20; Micah 1: 8; Job 30: 29.29 The last word of line 9 is ··¯Â˙È ; we have translated it here as though it read ·‚¯Â˙È . There is nomanuscript evidence for this reading, but it does make better sense.30 These lines appear to have been overlooked in the research; Levin notes quite simply that “there is nodescription of the journey through the desert” in the Hebrew panegyric; see Meªil tashbetz, 1: 129.31 Psalm 60: 8.32 Job 29: 3433 Exodus 19: 4.

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and not till I make camp will the chariots of my travel be reigned inThe wandering of Cain has been decreed on my soul,

though the blood of my brother does not cry out from the ground34

30 Those who bear their encampments from city to city ask:where is my dwelling, and whither my place of rest?

In Arabic poems the rah. ıl usually presents a highly detailed description of desert faunaand flora, rich in metaphors that evoke the sights, sounds, and scents of the echoinglandscape. Our Hebrew rah. ıl is lacking in these descriptive elements, but in other waysit conforms to the standard motifs of the theme. So, for example, the poet-speaker isseen as a loner, cut off from kith and kin and the usual ties that bind people to society(l. 25). That this is the necessary condition of his proud soul and not the punishment ofa criminal, is emphasized through the reference to the wandering of Cain in line 29; areference which gives the Arabic rah. ıl a uniquely Hebrew dimension. Another elementcommon to the Arabic rah. ıl is the emphasis on the rapidity of the poet-speaker’s steed,whether horse or camel, and the hardships and length of the journey before him. Thusthe speaker likens his horse to “an eagle,” and his chariot to “a storm” that “will swallowthe land” (l. 26). His goal is nothing less than “the end of the earth,” and such is hisdetermination that he “will have journeyed far” before he even thinks of reigning in hismighty steed (l. 28). So strenuous is his journey that hardened nomads wonder at hisendurance (l. 30).

The rider’s determination to ride hard and fast is linked in the Arabic qas. ıda to thedesire to reach his patron and pour out the rich stores of his panegyric. And our Hebrewrah. ıl is directed towards the same goal. Because the beloved and the addressee are oneand the same in the lyrical world of poetry, it is not surprising to find the journey takingon the character of a love-quest. The landscape is the landscape of the at.lal, only in therah. ıl it is hope and not memory that spur our rider on:

O chariot that races like a cloud,35 lead me on gently;and to the house of my beloved take the quickest route!

I will embrace its stones, and grovel in its dust,36

and water its ruins with the tears of my desirePerhaps there my soul will search out he whom it loves;37

there give him my hidden loves and heartPerhaps I will search out the place of Judah’s dwelling,

and there break the implements of my journey and exile.35 I will rejoice in his loves and bask in his choice fruits,

and the dew of his mouth will extinguish the flame of my desire and thirst!

Once the journey is complete and the noble addressee reached at long last, the poem canfulfill its primary function, and that, of course, is panegyric:

34 Genesis 4: 10.35 Isaiah 19: 1.36 Psalm 102: 15, in which it is Zion that is so ardently desired. Using these biblical words in the presentcontext thus transfers the desire for Zion onto desire for the poem’s addressee.37 Song of Songs 3: 1.

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Who is this, that has come out of Edom38 on the thoughts of dream,robbing my sleep and taking me ransom?39

He is more pleasant than a bundle of silver and purest myrrh;40

he is my delight and the subject of my praise!He scattered his lights like a bright star41 on the wings of his dawn

and removed the veil from the cloud of my fog and darknessHe has outdone his own reputation for intelligence, which

amazes my wisdom and astounds my comprehension40 Ever since the day his perfumed winds started blowing,

his dwelling is within my heart, and his life is my dwelling.

Here our poet blends the biographical world with the lyrical, as Judah Halevi “comesout of Edom” – that is, Christian Spain – to walk straight into the poet’s dreams, likethe taif or “phantom” lover of Arabic poetry.42 But phantom or not, Judah Halevi stillcomes in for his full share of conventional praise, with the standard emphasis on hisgreat wisdom (ll. 38-39) and exalted reputation (l. 40), as well as on the beauty of hiswriting (ll. 42–45) and the powers of his poetry to “revive dying joys” (ll. 46–48).

The final lines of the poem provide another interesting biographical detail; one thatcorroborates what we have already noted above: namely, that at the time of exchangingthese poems, the two poets had not yet met:

O messenger that brings the embroidery of his right [hand’s] own writingTake thou the tidings of my heart; not just a reply:

50 Your pleasant memory has planted the trees of love in my heart;take from their fruits my offering and my produce

Before ever having seen you, in the shade of my heart’s wallsyou have dwelled, not in the shade of my threshold and wall

I have sworn not to lodge another in his place, butif I have not answered him – then he will be clear of my oath!43

The end of the poem finds the poet assuring his addressee that he dwells “in the shadeof my heart’s walls,” obviously regarding this as far superior to walls of a more concretekind (l. 51). Whether Halevi – a wayfarer in a foreign land, and his invitation from IbnEzra perhaps not yet in his pocket – quite agreed with this preference is not altogethercertain. There is much to be said for the sturdy walls of a house in some situations!but this caveat notwithstanding, one imagines that he was thrilled with Ibn Ghayyat’smagnificent poem in reply.

38 Isaiah 63: 1; Edom is of course Christian Spain.39 I Samuel 17: 18. The bibical context is infinitely more prosaic; there it is a matter of giving a token inexchange for corn and grain.40 Exodus 30: 23.41 Isaiah 14: 12.42 In his edition of The Mufad. d. aliyat (Oxford, 1921), p. 2, Charles James Lyall explains the taif as the“Phantom, i.e. of the beloved. This is a constantly-mentioned convention of these amatory preludes.” Onthe figure of the taif in Hebrew poetry, see Levin, Meªil tashbetz 1: 19. and idem, “Ha-bekhi ªal h. arevotha-meªanot,” pp. 401–407.43 Genesis 24: 8.

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* * *

This exchange of poems is interesting as a study in classicism. Judah Halevi is notknown for his classicizing tendencies; in fact, very few of his qas. ıdas can be consideredclassical at all. Fleischer writes that Halevi “treated the ancient and ponderous traditionsof Arabic poetry rather lightly,” a fact that he attributes to Halevi’s wonderful sense ofhumor, which is apparent in so much of his secular poetry.44 All this is certainly true.But if any of Halevi’s poems can compete for the title of “most classical,” surely it isMa-li leravot.45 Other Hebrew poets wrote at.lals: Samuel ha-Nagid and Moses ibn Ezraare the two that come most readily to mind.46 But for all their classicizing tendencies,neither can boast of an at.lal as long or developed as the at.lal in Halevi’s poem toJudah in Ghayyat. True, here too the at.lal remains in what Levin calls “the ornamentalframework” that characterizes the Hebrew examples of the theme, and is certainly farless detailed (and significantly shorter) than the at.lals in Arabic poems. Nevertheless,it may well be the fullest example of its kind in Hebrew.

As an exercise in classicism, even more can be said of Judah ibn Ghayyat’s poemin reply. It is not only that here we have the one and only example of a Hebrew rah. ıl– a classical Arabic theme par excellence – but that the entire structure of the poemcorresponds with known Arabic models. Thus we have a poem that begins with a lamentfor lost youth (ll. 1–24), continues with a rah. ıl, or the journey through the desert (ll.25–35), and from there shifts into praise of the addressee (ll. 36–52). This is the verysame structure found in panegyrics by such masters of Arabic poetry as al-Mutanabbıand Ibn Khafaja, to name only a few. If Judah ibn Ghayyat was indeed the son ofIsaac ibn Ghayyat, then the son attained what the father never did, and that is a goodcommand of Arabic literature and poetry. In Kitab al-muh. ad. ara Moses ibn Ezra remarksthat despite the beautifully polished Hebrew of his teacher, Isaac ibn Ghayyat, his poemsin quantitative meters were somewhat marred by his poor knowledge of Arabic.47 ButJudah ibn Ghayyat’s was a different generation, and from a sociological point of viewhis qas. ıda throws quite an interesting sidelight on the processes of acculturation.

If neither poet leaned towards classicism, the question, then, is why did they indulgein it here? As a newcomer from Christian Spain, necessarily suspected of being less thanproficient in the art of writing good poetry, Halevi may have felt it necessary to counterthis suspicion at the outset by writing a poem according to all the rules, after whichIbn Ghayyat answered in kind. Or perhaps the two young poets simply regarded theircompositions as a kind of enjoyable literary exercise, one that allowed them to “showtheir stuff,” so to speak, and to prove their mastery of the standard motifs. Or maybe itwas just because they had not yet met, and until they could take each other’s measureit seemed prudent to err on the highbrow side of things. Certainly these qas. ıdas are

44 Fleischer, in Schirmann, Toldot ha-shirah ha-ªivrit bi-sefarad ha-muslemit, p. 517.45 Perhaps the most serious competitor for this title would be Halevi’s ªAyin nedivah (“A generous eye”) inDıwan, ed. Haim Brody, 1: 137–141 (no. 94).46 For examples of at.lals in the work of other Hebrew poets, see Dıwan Shemuel ha-Nagid (Ben Tehilim),ed. Dov Yarden, p. 200 (no. 62), ll. 1–10; and Moshe ibn Ezra: Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Haim Brody, p. 90 (no.91), ll. 1–9; p. 278 (no. 260), ll. 1–12.47 Moses ibn Ezra, Kitab al-muh. ad. ara, p. 73 [39a]. It is interesting to compare this remark with his comment(ibid., p. 77 41a) about his brother Isaac, whose excellence in poetry Ibn Ezra attributed to his “absolutecommand of Arabic culture.” See Chapter Four, p. 64.

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nothing like the poems which Judah Halevi subsequently wrote for Ibn Ghayyat duringthe Granada period soon to commence. There, among the good fellowship of his friendsin Granada, classicism gave way to poems that were certainly no less learned, no lesssophisticated and rigorous, and yet infinitely more light-hearted in nature, as we shallsee in the following chapters.

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Chapter Four

A STAR IS BORN: JUDAH HALEVI IN GRANADA

The Hebrew circle of poets that Judah Halevi now joined in Granada was in many ways areflection of Andalusi society, and Andalusi court society in particular. It is not just thatthese Hebrew poets adopted Arabic meters and rhyme-schemes in their poetry, or puttheir hand to such genres of poetry as wine-poems and erotic love songs, or peopled themwith the lovely gazelles or querrelous fault-finders so endemic to Arabic poetry. Theydid all this and more, and the ways in which Hebrew poets wove Arabic models, themes,and motifs into the fabric of their own poetry has long been a staple of scholarship. But inmany ways, it also seems that these poets fashioned a kind of group persona, modeled,whether consciously or not, on certain paradigms of self-representation prevalent inwhat might be seen as parallel Muslim groups amongst the courts of the Andalusi kings.Thus it is not just the poems written by members of the Granada circle that we willbe looking at in the coming pages, but also the ways in which the poets representedthemselves and their world by means of their poetry.

If we look through the chronicles of the Muslim kings or the great collectionsof Arabic poetry that have come down to us from al-Andalus, we immediately becomeaware of one of the most ubiquitous institutions of court life, and that is the king’s “boon-companions” or nadıms, as they are known in Arabic. Now, royal boon-companionswere not an invention of Muslim Spain. We find them in the sources going back toancient Parthia four hundred years before Islam, and firmly entrenched at the legendarycourt of Harun al-Rashıd in ninth-century Baghdad.1 They followed strict codes ofetiquette and behavior, and as the companions of princes they drew a princely salary.There is a tremendous bibliography on the subject of royal boon-companions; fromthe medieval sources listed by one scholar of this institution it seems that just abouteveryone at all involved in statecraft or court life had something to say on the subject.2

One knowledgeable insider, the ªAbbasid vizier Niz. am al-Mulk (d. 1092), observedthat the “boon-companion is the reflexion of his ruler. If he is affable, liberal, patient,gracious, the ruler is likely to be so too.”3 Elsewhere he describes the boon-companion’sduties: serving as companion and unofficial body-guard to the king, lending an ear tothe king when he was inclined to frivolity, and, no less important, repeating “all sorts ofthings – bad and good” – that other courtiers might prefer not to say.4

1 Anwar G. Chejne, “The Boon-Companion in Early ªAbbasıd Times,” Journal of the American OrientalSociety 85 (July-September 1965), p. 330.2 Ibid., p. 328.3 Niz. am al-Mulk, Siyaset nameh, trans. by H. Darke as The Book of Government or Rules for Kings (NewHaven, 1960), p. 94. Quoted from Chejne, “The Boon-Companion in Early ªAbbasıd Times,” p. 331, note38.4 Ibid., p. 331.

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A Star is Born

Other activities of the boon-companions depended on the character of the individualking and the nature of his court, and we meet them in a variety of contexts: playingchess, carousing over wine, hunting in the field, even whipping up dishes in the king’sown kitchen.5 But in eleventh-century al-Andalus, perhaps the place we most often meetwith them is in the nightly drinking sessions held in the palace; intimate gatherings withthe ruler himself presiding as host. Indeed, as Cynthia Robinson remarks, these eveningsessions “featuring the choicest of wines, and the most beautiful of androgynous cup-bearers, came, during the latter decades of the eleventh century, to be the quintessentialsign of taifa kingship and nobility.”6

There, in the intimate setting of the majlis al-uns, or the “majlis of intimate friendship,”as they are called in the Arabic sources,7 the boon-companions recited their poems orimprovised them on the spot, slave-girls sang muwashshah. as to the strains of music,and one and all debated the merits of various poems or reeled off exemplary verses ongiven topics. Luxury and elegance are the key notes in the anecdotes describing theseevening sessions of wine, poetry and good fellowship; many of them seem to transport usstraight into the pages of A Thousand and One Nights and the courtly wonders of Harunal-Rashıd. And no wonder: as Robinson has pointed out, “the private, hermetic worldof the Taifa majlis was a conscious re-creation of what eleventh-century Andalusiansociety perceived as having been characteristic of ninth-century Baghdad.”8

While the boon-companions in al-Andalus were not primarily poets, or at least notusually,9 they often formed circles of poets linked together by ties of friendship bothto each other and the king. Much of the literature produced at the Andalusi courts wasaimed at, and characterized by, the theme of “loving friendships” between members ofthese circles. Kings were lauded for their valor in war, noble character, and generosity;nadıms praised each other for their knowledge, elegance, literary talent, and pleasantways. Cynthia Robinson, who examines the poems of “loving friendship” betweenroyal boon-companions, characterizes them as being formulated in terms of “pure anddevoted friendship”10 and cites examples from the circle of poets led by Ibn Shuhaid(992–1035), who combined the roles of royal boon-companion, vizier, and poet duringthe tumultuous years of the early fitna, the breakdown of Caliphal power.11 Robinsonnotes that these poems are

almost always described in terms of affection and “love” between two malemembers of the aristocracy, and . . . based on equality in status, probably wealth,noble lineage, education and intelligence. Al-Fath. ’s discussion of Ibn Shuhaid’smajlis indicates that it had a regular group of habitues, all bound to one another

5 Ibid., pp. 329–333.6 Cynthia Robinson, “Seeing Paradise: Metaphor and Vision in taifa Palace Architecture, Gesta 36, no. 2(1997), p. 150.7 Robinson, In Praise of Song, p. 75.8 Cynthia Robinson, “Ubi Sunt: Memory and Nostalgia in Taifa Court Culture,” Muqarnas: An Annual ofthe Visual Culture of the Islamic World 15 (1998), p. 24.9 Robinson notes that most of the boon-companions also served the Taifa rulers in some official capacity;see In Praise of Song, p. 78; pp. 97–98, and esp. note 26.10 Ibid., p. 112.11 For a thorough discussion of this interesting personality and the times in which he lived, see James Dickie,“Ibn Suhayd: A Biographical and Critical Study,” Al-Andalus 29 (1964), pp. 243–310. The members of IbnShuhaid’s literary circle are listed on p. 260.

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by sentiments of this nature. . . . In a garden-like world of pleasures, whoseeternity and potential equivalence to heavenly paradise is implied in sleepless saqısor “cupbearers,” albeit never overtly asserted, Ibn Shuhaid and his companionsconstruct their “courtly” personae which praise, and are praised, in lyric verse,rhymed prose and song.12

Elsewhere, Robinson refers to these poems between poets as virtual “love-letters,”13 asindeed they are, right down to their allusions to love-sickness, sleepless nights, star-gazing lovers, and jealous watchers. In these poems it is as though the speakers weretransforming themselves into the lyrical “I” of their own love-songs and wine-poems tocreate a world bound solely by the ties of noble friendship.

All this will probably sound familiar to anyone who has read even a sampling ofthe Hebrew panegyrics included in the earlier chapters, with their abundant allusions tolove’s sweet agonies. In many ways, then, it seems that it was not only in the eveningdrinking-parties of the Muslim elite that, to quote Robinson, the “private, hermeticworld” of ninth-century Baghdad was recreated. Our Hebrew poets took elements of themajlis al-uns to create a literary persona of their own, refracting them through the prismof their own needs and requirements, imitating here, rejecting there – adapting, changingand sifting – but always with an eye to the paradigm of the elite courtly model. We arenot always in a position to say to what extent the Hebrew poets absorbed the practicesof the majlis al-uns, just as we can not always be sure how much of what we read in theArabic poems reflect actual events or places. Even when the Arabic poems are precededby anecdotes – as they frequently are – purporting to unfold the circumstances in whicha given poem was composed, we are left in doubt, as Robinson puts it, “as to whetherthe gathering took place in a palace, in a garden, in a palace within a garden . . . orperhaps only in the drunken imagination of the audience who hears the compositionas it is improvised or sung.”14 What is clear, however, is that whatever the reality, ourHebrew poets showed a desire to recreate the “majlis of intimate friendship” withinthe realm of their own poetic world and to represent themselves as loving friends andboon-companions.

If Hebrew poets without king, court, or castle could cast themselves into the role ofroyal boon-companions, this is largely due to the unique nature of Andalusi Jewry andto the values espoused by at least a segment of its upper classes. One might assumethat what made good nadım material in Muslim society would not be so auspicious inJewish society, and vice-versa, yet there are in fact striking parallels between the twogroups that transcend religious differences and speak of a commitment to a larger socialagenda. And indeed a variety of circumstances combined in al-Andalus to produce atype quite likely, as Ezra Fleischer puts it:

to surprise those accustomed to the more traditional type of Jewish scholar. Spainwas undoubtedly a great center of Torah study, and its academies were known theworld over. The great sages of al-Andalus play an important role in the history of

12 Robinson, In Praise of Song, pp. 112–113.13 Ibid., p. 114.14 Ibid., p. 85.

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Jewish law, and many members of this great community no doubt devoted theirenergy to traditional studies. Nevertheless, the educated classes did not shy awayfrom secular studies, and they combined an amazing knowledge of Torah andJewish law with a no less amazing knowledge in the secular branches of learning.Many of these scholars belonged to the upper classes, and their opinions, attitudes,and lifestyle were no different from anyone else around them. Many were closelyacquainted with the reigning poets of their day, and not a few of them composedpoetry themselves: not just religious poetry, but secular poetry as well, includingpoems of the most daring kind in terms of both language and content.15

Fleischer’s portrait of the educated Jew in Andalusi society rightly emphasizes thefusion of traditional Jewish learning with the secular branches of knowledge cultivatedin aristocratic Arabic society.16 This is a point certainly born out by the brief biographiesin Ibn Ezra’s Kitab al-muh. ad. ara, where our poets are praised time and again for theirmastery of both Hebrew and Arabic, and for their prowess in both Jewish law and suchfields as linguistics and medicine.

Like the Muslim poets of al-Andalus, the Hebrew poets were highly literate andhighly educated individuals, and at certain vital points in the curriculum their educationran in parallel courses.17 The study of Holy Scripture was of course central to elementaryeducation for both Muslims and Jews, but in al-Andalus there was a striking tendencyto expand the curriculum in the direction of poetry and belles-lettres.18 According toone medieval authority, the ninth-century Ibn Qutayba, any Muslim with pretensions toculture had to be familiar with “accounts concerning the prophets, kings and scholars,their genealogies and ancestors; [and] history of the Arabs.”19 So while Muslim pupilswere studying the Koran and Islamic law and traditions, Jewish children were studyingthe Bible and the works of the sages – and both were also absorbing the poetry andliterature prized by Andalusi society.Poetry was a vital element in the medieval curriculum under Islam, with pedagoguesappreciating the ability of poetry to foster language ability among children and buildcharacter through examples of what society considered noble behavior. As one kingurged the royal tutor, “make them recite poetry and they will attain nobility and lofti-

15 Ezra Fleischer in Schirmann, Toldot ha-shirah bi-sefarad ha-muslemit, pp. 483–484; this section writtenentirely by Fleischer.16 On the subject of Jewish educational interests in al-Andalus, see Shelomo Morag, “Living Traditionsof the Hebrew Language,” in The Sefardi Legacy, ed. Haim Beinart (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1992), esp.104–105; David Romano, “The Jews’ Contribution to Medicine, Science and General Learning,” in ibid.,esp. pp. 240–249.17 The Muslim curriculum throughout the Middle Ages included Arabic language and grammar, rhetoric,literature, commentary, law and traditions of the Prophet; many students also privately studied philosophy,astrology, astronomy, geometry, medicine and natural sciences. See Bayard Dodge, Muslim Education inMedieval Times (Washington: The Middle East Institute, 1962), p. 29.18 ªAbd al-Rah.man ibn Khaldun, Muqaddima, trans. Franz Rosenthal (Bollingen Series, 1958), 3: 263. Theeducational program espoused by the influential Ibn al-ªArabi of Seville, a contemporary of Judah Halevi,included language, poetry and arithmetic; disciplines which he saw as enhancing and improving the study ofKoran, not displacing it. See Avner Gil’adi, Children of Islam: Concepts of Childhood in Medieval MuslimSociety (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1992), p. 56.19 Ibn Qutayba, Kitab al-maªarif (“The Book of Knowledge”), cited in Wen-Chin Ouyang, Literary Criti-cism in Medieval Arabic-Islamic Culture (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1993), p. 64.

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ness.”20 Muslim scholars, linguists, and professional scribes all recognized the value ofpoetry and it was taught side by side with penmanship and the study of the Koran asearly as the ninth century.21

All this struck a responsive chord among the Jews of al-Andalus, or at least amongstthe classes from which our poets would have sprung. Just as Arabic poetry was seen ashaving a propaedeutic value for the study of Islam,22 Hebrew poetry was considered atool for elucidating the sacred texts of Judaism and for learning Hebrew grammar andlexicology. As a youth in the famed Jewish academy in Lucena, Jonah ibn Janah. wouldread the poems of his teacher, the noted poet Isaac ibn Mar-Saul, and then talk themover with him – a pedagogical method that obviously paid off, considering Ibn Janah. ’ssubsequent achievements in the field of Hebrew grammar.23 Moses ibn Ezra quotesAristotle’s maxim that “no philosopher can do without knowledge of poetry” and goeson to discuss the desirability of teaching children poetry at a young age “when the plasteris fresh and the wood soft.”24 The twelfth-century Joseph ibn ªAknin, a contemporaryof Judah Halevi, counseled the age of ten as the ideal time to start teaching children theart of poetry (hokhmat ha-shirah. ); that is before beginning Talmud at fifteen, but afterlearning the Bible, Mishna, and the finer details of Hebrew grammar from books thathe specifically names.25 We might also add that the thirteenth century Joseph ha-Ezovi,also bade his son “to ponder poetry and know its ways” in a long didactic poem that hewrote on the occasion of his son’s marriage.26 He lived, to be sure, in Perpignan, butlike the other Jews of Provence he was subject to the cultural hegemony of al-Andalusand hence his educational ideas fall neatly into the Sefardi sphere of culture.

But the Jews of al-Andalus did not devote all their attention to Hebrew studies: theyalso studied Arabic language and literature and indeed valued them greatly: witness IbnEzra’s disparaging remarks about the poetry of his otherwise esteemed teacher, Isaacibn Ghayyat, whose deficiencies he ascribed to poor Arabic. His brother, Isaac, on theother hand, came in for praise as a poet due to his knowledge of Arabic culture.27

With such training and education, how could our Hebrew poets not look to the royalcourts or fashion a group persona in their image? Royalty has ever set the fashion, andthere were too many parallels between the two groups of poets – Jewish and Muslim –for the Hebrew poets not to model themselves upon the courtly paradigm. True, there

20 ªAbd al-Malik b. Marwan, cited in Ibn ªAbd Rabbihi, Al-ªiqd al-farıd (“The Unique Necklace”), 7vols., ed. Ahmad Amin, Ahmad al-Zayn, and Ibrahim al-Ibyari (Cairo: Lajnat al-Taºlif wa al-Tarjama waal-Nashr, 1948), 5: 274. This quotation comes from Ouyang, Literary Criticism, p. 64. The great Arabicphilosopher, Averroes (1126–1198), is noted as having studied philology, poetry and Islamic law by JosepPuig in “Materials on Averroes’s Circle,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 51/4 (1992), pp. 244–245.21 Ouyang, Literary Criticism, p. 64.22 Dodge, Muslim Education in Medieval Islam, pp. 31–42.23 Jonah ibn Janah. , Sefer ha-riqmah (“The Book of Embroidery”), ed. W. Wilinski (Berlin, 1921), p. 226.24 Moses ibn Ezra, Kitab al-muh. ad. ara, pp. 137 [73b]; 141 [74b–75a].25 Ibn ªAknin unfolds his ideal curriculum in Marpeh nefashot, while explaining his “seventh condition”for teachers. Printed in Assaf, Meqorot le-toldot ha-h. inukh, 2: 38.26 The relevant lines from Ezovi’s poem, Qeªarat ha-kasef, (“The Silver Bowl”) are published in Assaf,Meqorot le-toldot ha-h. inukh, 2: 49. The entire poem is published in J. Ch. Wolfius, Bibliotheca Hebreae(Hamburg and Leipzig, 1715–1733), pp. 1136–1137. The poem has also been translated into English byJ. Friedmann in “Joseph Ezobi’s Silver Bowl,” Jewish Quarterly Review O. S. 8 (1895), pp. 535–538. Thepoem had a long and interesting history; several aspects are discussed in Ann Brener, “Portrait of the Rabbias Young Humanist: A Reading of Elijah Capsali’s Chronicle of Venice,” Italia 11 (1994), esp. pp. 49–51.27 See above p. 50.

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was no sovereign – no ruler to whom the Hebrew “boon companions” could pay homage– but if we look back at Halevi’s rhymed letter to Ibn Ezra, is it just coincidence that hecalls Ibn Ezra the “king”?28 Perhaps this, and not the identity of the “king” in this letter,is a more fruitful question than that which has previously been raised in the research.Within the Muslim milieu of boon-companions, the king was not only the actual headof state but also a full participant in the courtly pleasures of the majlis. “Indeed,” asRobinson remarks, “the sovereign is often praised as the very origin of the pleasures,literature, brotherhood, and sweet agonies of this noble love.”29 Such being the case inthe Muslim milieu, surely our Jewish “boon-companions” found it appropriate to deemtheir leading poet “king,” if only to impart a truer sense of majlis to their own particularcircle.

* * *

Up until the arrival of Judah Halevi there were, at the very least, five afficiendos ofHebrew poetry in Granada: Moses ibn Ezra, his three brothers Isaac, Joseph and Judah,and of course Judah ibn Ghayyat, whom we met back in Chapter Three. In the eyesof at least one expert on the subject, the famed Arabic poet Abu Nuwas (d. ca. 814),this would have meant a majlis made-to-order.30 Isaac, the eldest of the four Ibn Ezrabrothers, was a highly talented poet and in Kitab al-muh. ad. ara the author admiringlynotes his brother’s “delicacy of expression and sweetness of poetry,” which he attributesto “his absolute command of Arabic culture.”31 Joseph and Judah ibn Ezra, if not poetsthemselves, certainly played the role of appreciative audience, as we shall see furtheron. In addition to these poets-in-residence, Judah Halevi also had contact during thisGranada period with several other poets living elsewhere in al-Andalus, such as Josephibn Sahal of Cordoba, and Solomon ibn al-Muªallim of Seville.

Judah Halevi had certainly paved the way for his meeting in Granada, establishinghis credentials as rising-young-poet as carefully as any diplomat preparing for a visitof state. Is it just a coincidence that his portfolio, so to speak, could boast a sampleof all three major poetic genres: a long qas. ıda or ode, a letter in rhymed-prose, and amuwashshah. a, complete with Arabic kharja? Probably not. In terms of both form andcontent, these three works would give eloquent testimony to the qualifications of theaspiring young poet and admit him into the hallowed ranks of fellow-poet and booncompanion. In fact, it might not be out of place to compare him with one Ibn Sharaf,an Arabic poet who, having properly completed his poetic training, now took the nextstep and sent in a “job application” to al-Muªtad. id, king of Seville, in the form of fiveqas. ıdas.32 These poems, as Robinson describes them, are composed entirely on lyricalthemes in the language of amor de lonh in a way that is strikingly reminiscent of Halevi’s

28 When the other poets urge him to complete the poem modeled after Leyl mah. shavot, Halevi reportshimself as having replied: “Is there anyone who actually boasts / of imitating a poem by the Prince of Hosts? /How can a wretch and a weakling / come after the king?” The research concerning the identity of this “king”is discussed in Chapter Two, pp. 35–37.29 Robinson, In Praise of Song, p. 172.30 Abu Nuwas named five as the ideal number of guests at a majlis; see Chejne, “The Boon-Companion inEarly ªAbbasid Times,” p. 330.31 Moses ibn Ezra, Kitab al-muh. ad. ara, p. 77 [41a].32 Robinson, In Praise of Song, p. 94.

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poems to Ibn Ezra and Ibn Ghayyat. Be this as it may, Halevi’s calculations seem tohave paid off, for he apparently received a hero’s welcome in Granada.

It is not that we have any direct evidence of his reception there. There are no postcardsto family and friends back in Castile, no bills for red carpets – nothing, in short, toresemble the information which the Geniza so generously provides about Halevi’s visitto Egypt some fifty years later.33 But we do have a poem by Moses ibn Ezra that seems tobelong to the very beginning of the visit to Granada: a panegyric in honor of Judah Halevithat has only recently come to light, and that begins with the words Siftei nitzanim (“Thelips of flowers”). This poem is a muwashshah. a with an Arabic kharja, and it places usimmediately in the kind of charmed space reserved for gatherings of boon-companions.

The rhyme-scheme of this poem is unusually intricate, with composite rhyme in thestrophes as well as the simts, the “girdle-like” elements of the poem. Unlike the twomuwashshah. as which we saw in Chapter Two, this muwashshah. a begins with the girdle-like simt. (AB/AB) and thus becomes what the Arabic poets called “a complete poem”(tamm) rather than a “bald” one (akraª).34 The rhyme-scheme in the original can begiven as AB/AB and then followed by cd/cd/cd/AB/AB efefefAB/AB ghghghAB/ABfor five strophes altogether. The translation below only partially captures the rhyme-scheme of the simt.s, the poem’s fixed, girdle-like rhymes:35

The lips of flowers smiled / to see the dawn ariseFor they wished to drink / the tears that night-time cries.

Golden secrets flowered bright / amidst the silvered fieldStarry forms shone forth their light / their glow is not concealed

5 And upon the mouth of night / their secret was revealed.Over hearts than stone much harder / an evil wind does riseI grieve that from the day they loved / they’re driven, like a leaf that dries.

A wind wafted over a rose / to rob its fragrant leaves –Or Judah, I suppose, / on whom all splendor cleaves:

10 There on high it roves / to learn about his deeds.His actions all do challenge / the very sun on highAnd his deeds shine forth / in the darkness of the skies.

33 In Egypt we learn of details ranging from the rivalry among the Jews of Alexandria to receive theillustrious guest to the chickens served at one of the dinners. All this information comes from the variousletters and documents discovered in recent years in the Cairo Geniza. For more information concerningHalevi’s reception in Egypt, see Fleischer and Gil, Yehuda Halevi u-venei h. ugo; in English see S. D. Goitein,A Mediterranean Society, 5: 458—462. A list of the documents pertaining to Judah Halevi from the CairoGeniza is given on pp. 454–455; nos. 10–23 deal specifically with Halevi’s stay in Egypt on the way to theLand of Israel.

See also Yosef Yahalom, “Judah Halevi: Records of a Visitor from Spain,” in The Cambridge GenizaCollections: Their Content and Significance,” ed. Stefan C. Reif (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,2002), pp. 123–135.34 Stern, Hispano-Arabic Strophic Poetry, p. 15.35 ˘Ù˙ÈÈˆÈÌ . The poem was published unvocalized by Menahem Schmelzer in Yitzh. aq ibn Ezra: Shirim(New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary, 1979), Appendix 3, pp. 154–155 (no. 7). On p. 152 Schmelzernotes that “this poem was without doubt written in honor of Judah Halevi. . . . perhaps this poem is alsoconnected to the well-known literary contest in which the young Judah Halevi showed his poetic prowess”[trans. mine]. The poem survives only in MS Silvera fols. 33r–33v.

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A Star is Born

A shining star from Seªir is he / for when Wisdom’s day did waneHe roused the wind of tea- / ching, trembling at God’s name,

15 For the glory of every city / he passed through all of Spain!On seeing Wisdom’s breasts / much shrunken in their sizeHe replenished Learning’s river / with his words so wise.

Tell me: is he in God’s secret / that his wisdom’s so divine?Or learn from Heyman the poet, / or see a holy sign?

20 Onyx and sapphires exit / from his mouth to every line.His poems give praise / which even Orion would prizeThe princes ponder all his words / to learn to their surprise.

I’m sick of the voice that har- / dens his heart about love trueJust because old age’s stars / are shining much in view;

25 My giddy soul, Fault-finder, / thus says this much to you:This is the law of kings / the sovereign and wise:To give my heart to love / and all else to despise.36

In the very first strophe of the poem (ll. 1–5), we find ourselves in an enchanted gardenjust as dawn is breaking, when all the world is reawakening to life and beauty. Nightand dawn are still intermingled; the stars may have faded from the skies, but the flowersthemselves become stars, unfurling their petals to reveal “golden secrets”37 and sheda silvery glow upon the rills. It is not the heavenly lights but the flowers that are the“starry forms” shining forth in line 3, and whose “glow is not concealed” in line 4;images that draw on a lovely metaphor generated by the similarity between the Arabicword for “light” (nur) and one of the words for flower (nawr).38 In Hebrew and Arabicpoems without number, stars blossom in flower-beds and flowers shine in the heavens ina never-ending cycle that blurs the boundaries of creation to create a new, poetic worldnot beholden to the laws of physical life: the world of the majlis al-uns, the majlis ofintimate friendship. In such an enchanted garden it is only natural to find Nature comingalive: flowers have lips that smile, or grow thirsty (ll. 1–2), the night has a “mouth” (l.5), the wind prowls around like a robber (l. 8). But then comes a discordant note, allthe more effective against the background of harmony and beauty:

Over hearts than stone much harder / an evil wind does riseI grieve that from the day they loved / they’re driven like a leaf that dries

(ll. 6–7)

Human hearts become the only lifeless things in this garden, inanimate objects harder“than stone” and dried up like leaves. But then the addressee of the panegyric, JudahHalevi, comes to restore harmony:

36 My thanks to Dr. Haviva Ishay of Ben-Gurion University for her expert help in deciphering the kharja.37 For analysis of various garden images in both Hebrew and Arabic poetry see Yehuda Ratzhabi, “Perah. imbe-shiratenu ha-sefaradit,” Be-orah. madaª, ed. Tzvi Malachi (Lod: Habermann Institute for Research ofHebrew Literature, 1986), pp. 373–402. On the image of flowers hiding secrets see pp. 389–390.38 For images of flowers as stars see ibid., pp. 392–394.

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A wind wafted over a rose / to rob its fragrant leaves –Or Judah, I suppose, / on whom all splendor cleaves:

10 There on high it roves / to learn about his deeds.

The wind bearing the scent of the beloved friend and his good deeds is a well-establishedmotif in both Hebrew and Arabic poetry; indeed we have already encountered it in IbnEzra’s Bein ha-hadasim, which the poet dedicated to his friends Abun and Joseph ibnMajnin.39 Interestingly enough, the main elements from the first part of the poem – theenchanted garden, the transition from night to dawn, and the “wind” as means of thattransition – all find a parallel in an Arabic qas. ıda composed in 1053 by the poet IbnAmmar in honor of the king of Seville, al-Muªtad. id, and renowned in the annals ofArabic poetry as a model of its kind. Because of the intriguing similarities, we bring thefirst six lines in A. R. Nykl’s beautiful translation:40

Pass the glass round: the breeze has softly risen,The stars dropped their reign, gave up their journey,

The dawn brought to us it camphor-like whiteness,When the night took away fro us its dark amber:

The garden seems a fair maiden dressed in a robeEmbroidered with flowers, covered with pearls of dew,

Or a youth, who blushingly glories in the roses,And is proud of the down-like shade in the myrtles.

5 A garden in which the river forms a curved wrist,Glistening on a wide cloak of green herbage,

Rippled by the east wind: – one would imagineIt to be Ibn Abbad’s sword scattering an army!

In both poems, the transition (takhallus. ) to praise is created through means of thewind, and so swiftly effected as to create the utmost surprise in the reader or audience.One moment we are in an enchanted garden at dawn, the next we are blown by thewinds of takhallus. into praise of the poem’s addressee, each according to the approachcharacteristic of the language: martial praise in the Arabic poem; praise for wisdomand learning in the Hebrew. In both, it is just such a transition – swift and totallyunexpected – as Moses ibn Ezra himself prescribed to the aspiring young poets in Kitabal-muh. ad. ara.41

There is a beautiful unity of imagery in Siftei nitzanim: stars fade from the skiesto reappear glittering in the flower-beds, and the poem’s addressee is likened to a “starshining out of Seªir” that lights up the darkened heavens. In fact he outshines the heavenlylights themselves, for in line 21 we learn that “real” stars like Orion are dimmed by hispoetic talents. The wry allusion in line 24 to the poet’s old age – a conventional motiffrom the period – is also framed in terms of “stars;” the white hairs shine “much inview” against the blackness of the speaker’s hair. The black-and-white color imageryof this motif also echoes the color motif from line 20, which deals with the beauty of

39 See Chapter One, p. 13.40 A. R. Nykl, Hispano-Arabic Poetry, pp. 154–155.41 Moses ibn Ezra, Kitab al-muh. ad. ara, pp. 279–281 [44a–44b].

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the poem-as-artifact: the poet’s words fall onto the paper like black and white jewels –“onyx and sapphire” – the latter the epitome of dazzling white, thanks to the biblicalprooftext from Exodus 24:10. In yet another set of images, the wind that wafts throughthe roses (l. 9) is transformed into praise of the poet’s good name (ll. 10–11), only to betransformed yet again into a metaphor for his great learning (l. 14). A poem that beginslike an old French reverdie with the awakening of nature at dawn is thus transformedinto a beautifully composed panegyric incorporating all the standard elements of thatgenre in the most organic of ways.

Up till line 13, there is nothing to indicate that this panegyric comes from any particularperiod in the life of either poet, or that the poem was even necessarily addressed to JudahHalevi; line 9 mentions only “Judah,” and there were other Judahs on the scene as well,including the poet’s own brother, Judah ibn Ezra, and of course Judah ibn Ghayyat. Butthe following lines seem to indicate that it was Judah Halevi, and no other, who was therecipient of this poem:

A shining star from Seªir is he / for when Wisdom’s day did waneHe roused the wind of tea- / ching, trembling at God’s name,

15 For the glory of every city / he passed through all of Spain!

The reference to Seªir – Christian Spain in medieval parlance – immediately takes usback to the first exchange of poems between Judah Halevi and Moses ibn Ezra. We recallthat in his rhymed letter, Halevi referred to himself as “a lowly youth” who “ascendsfrom Seªir to bask in the light” of the great luminaries of Muslim Spain. And whenIbn Ezra wrote back in Yaldei yamim (“The Children of Time”), he marveled over thetalents of the newcomer so recently come from Seªir:


(l. 14)

In Siftei nitzanim it seems that Ibn Ezra is still marveling, and hence that Judah Halevihas not yet had time to become old news. His long journey to Granada is still freshin mind, and Ibn Ezra teases his young addressee about having “passed through all ofSpain” for the glory of every city, like a young Alexander out to conquer the world.But hyperbole notwithstanding, there is a certain truth to these words: Halevi’s journeyto Granada had been a long one, and if his poems are any indication he had conqueredindeed.

There may be other allusions in this poem to the first exchange between the two poets.In line 19 there is a reference to “Heyman the poet” – an epithet that Halevi used to referto Ibn Ezra himself in Ah. ar galot sod (“After revealing the secret”),42 and in line 16“Lady Wisdom” makes yet another appearance, though no longer as the lusty wench ofthe earlier two muwashshah. as, as here her breasts “are much shrunken in size.” All inall, therefore, it seems as though the rhymed letter and two muwashshah. as examined in

42 Lines 19–20 of Ah. ar galot sod: “Heyman’s his name when Wisdom calls / Moshe’s the trustiest of themall!”

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Chapter Two were still echoing in Ibn Ezra’s mind when he wrote this poem. And forthis reason, it seems likely that this panegyric in honor of Judah Halevi was written quitesoon after he reached Granada, while everyone was still marveling over the prodigynewly come from Christian Spain. But be this as it may, Judah Halevi had definitelyarrived.

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PART TWO: A CIRCLE OF HEBREW POETS

Chapter Five

THE POETRY OF WINE-DRINKING PARTIES

One lovely little poem which has apparently come down to us from the Granada periodis the following quatrain Haqbel penei dodkha1 by Judah Halevi in which the poetsummons his friend, Judah ibn Ghayyat, to a wine-drinking party:

Show your loving face to friends, I pray,for the face of day has turned away

Let nought keep you from coming, and seea sun that shines, and a sun lose sway

To you the lion cub roars! and when the lion cubroars in the forest shall he not find prey?

Make haste to a glass that warms the heart like summerbut is cold in the hand like a winter’s day.

Like many wine-drinking poems in both Hebrew and Arabic, this little poem opens thedoor onto a magical world of light and beauty; a world in which the laws of nature aresuspended and the conventions of poetry reign supreme. Because the beloved is alwaysdescribed in this poetry as the sun or the moon, the poet can invite him to substitute thelight of his “loving face” for the ebbing “face of day” as though one were as naturallylight-giving as the other. We thus step into a world where the images of poetry operateon the same level as nature, or, as al-Jurjanı would put it, a world in which the images ofpoetry “erase, through the excellency of the poet’s construction, all differences betweentwo things or ideas, in order to establish perfect harmony among them.”2 The “perfectharmony” in this case is reinforced by the triple use of the same root ( Ùßß‰ ) with itsdifferent meanings:

Show your loving face (penei) to friends, I pray,for the face (penei) of day has turned away (panu)

(l. 1)

The poet applies a similar technique in the second line of the poem, this time basing his

1 ‰˜·ÏÙÈ„Â„Í . Judah Halevi, Dıwan, ed. Haim Brody, 1: 174 (no. 115). The Judaeo-Arabic rubric abovethe poem reads: “By him [i.e. Halevi] inviting Judah ibn Ghayyat to a wine-drinking party.” Schirmann datesthis poem to the “Granada period” in Toldot ha-shirah ha-ªivrit bi-sefarad ha-muslemit, p. 434; Fleischeralso attributes it to this era in his supplement in ibid., p. 511, and again in “Rabbi Yehuda Halevi: Birurimbe-qorot h. ayyav,” p. 260.2 Quoted from Robinson, In Praise of Song, p. 155.

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artifice on metaphors commonly used to celebrate yet another subject: the wine goblet.Poets frequently refer to the light-dazzling qualities of these goblets as though theywere light-reflecting jewels or heavenly bodies come to earth.3 In line 2 a new set oflight-substituting images establishes yet another “perfect harmony,” this time betweenthe wine goblet and the sun:

Let nought keep you from coming, and seea sun that shines, and a sun lose sway

(l. 2)

Once again, as in line 1, the images are paired antithetically through movement: the winegoblet reflects and gives light as it is lifted up to the mouth, just as the sun loses lightas it sinks down and fades. The first two lines also establish an equivalence between thewine-goblet and the poem’s addressee: both become creatures full of light, intoxicatingjoy, and beauty. The world of the wine-poem is a magical world indeed, a world ofparadox and beauty that makes perfect sense:

Make haste to a glass that warms the heart like summerbut is cold in the hand like a winter’s day.

(l. 4)

Into this natural unnatural world, the roaring lion in line 3 introduces a delightfulelement of humor. Here we are in this totally created, magical world, and the poet setsup a proposition that refers us to the law of the jungle. Can a lion roar and not find prey?Of course not! In the upside-down world the poet has created, the victim is bound topresent himself for prompt devouring:

To you the lion cub roars! and if the lion cubroars in the forest shall he not find prey?

(l. 3)

The lion, of course, is the poet himself: “Judah,” as we already saw in Chapter Three,is often called a “lion” or a “lion’s cub,” due to the biblical prooftext from Genesis. Inroaring at Ibn Ghayyat Halevi is making humorous use of both the verse from Amos3: 4 (“will the lion roar in the forest when he has no prey?”) and the conventions ofwine-poetry. Who could resist an invitation like this? And indeed, one suspects thatJudah ibn Ghayyat submitted to these roars with the best of grace, and took himself offto the wine-party in record time.

In using a poem to invite his friend to a wine-party, Judah Halevi seems to have beenfollowing established custom. Another poem of invitation, this time in Arabic, has comedown to us from the hand of a prince of the Taifa kingdom of Almeria, a contemporaryof Judah Halevi who invited a friend to “shine” at his wine-session using images rather

3 The images of the medieval Hebrew wine-poem are discussed in Levin, Meªil tashbetz 2: 147–286, withspecial reference to the images of light in the Arabic khamrıya in pp. 211–212. The motifs of Arabic wine-poetry receive excellent treatment in Philip F. Kennedy, The Wine Song in Classical Arabic Poetry (Oxford:Clarendon Press, 1997).

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similar to those in Halevi’s Hebrew poem:

My friend, my lord, nay my supportIn dire events brought on by adverse Fate!

Come, shine on the sky in the place of the moonWhich hides herself from the eyes of the envious

Come quickly, for my love is with me here,And my mouth longs for the cup in my hands!4

Nykl, whose lovely translation we cite here, brings two other examples of Arabic poemsof invitation in his book, and Dan Pagis has pointed to Hebrew wine-poems by Mosesibn Ezra that may also have served a similar purpose. These poems often begin withsuch invocations as “O friends, drink with me,” or “Turn with me to sit in the perfumedgarden” or “Take this crystal goblet.”5 The following little poem by Moses ibn Ezra, forexample, may well have been used to summon his friends:

Come down to a garden that has donned blueand purple and wrapped itself in fine cotton and white

And a river whose streams are pureand never yet fouled by foot or blight

And the sun of the vine, like fire, blazes and razesbut is caught up by the goblet, and held there tight

And the foam on its surface is like dropsof crystal, or like manna, flaky and light.6

The garden to which the poet summons his guests is a well-dressed garden indeed,in fact one royally robed in images taken straight out of the sumptuous royal banquetwith which the Scroll of Esther begins (Esther 1: 6): “blue and purple” (tekhelet ve-argaman), “white and fine cotton” (h. ur ve-karpas). As in many Arabic wine-poemsfrom the period, “well-dressed” gardens are also the scene of choice for Hebrew poets,who deck them out in every kind of finery the biblical language has to offer: we findlawns sporting Joseph’s striped coat, trees wrapped in the checkered robes of the HighPriest, and flower-beds in embroideries fit for a princess.7

To tempt his guest even further, the poet describes the red wine in the crystal gobletusing the paradox of fire and ice so beloved to medieval wine-poetry. The fire of thewine contrasts with the icy touch of the crystal goblet (l. 3) and also with the foam“like manna” bubbling on its rim (l. 4). The foam is cold and white by implication sincemanna is described in the Bible as being white “like hoarfrost on the ground” (Exodus16: 14).

Let us look at yet another wine-poem of invitation by Judah Halevi. Though not neces-

4 Poem by Rafı al-Dawla, son of the king al-Muªtas.im. Quoted from Nykl, Hispano-Arabic Poetry, p. 185.Nykl cites two other short Arabic poems of invitation to a majlis on pp. 145 and 173.5 Dan Pagis, Moshe ibn Ezra ve-ha-meshorerim benei zemano (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1970), p. 258.6 ¯„‰‡Ï‰‚Ô . Moshe ibn Ezra, Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Haim Brody, p. 189 (no. 188).7 For a selection of such images see Ratzhabi, “Perah. im be-shiratenu,” pp. 386–389.

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sarily dating to the Granada period it does serve to illuminate an additional aspect of thewine-gatherings of that period:

Turn unto your friend’s house and his wine, and his gobletwill circle round his hand like the sun in orbit

Purified the reddest red by glasstill rubies by its ruby were put to shame by it

Its splendor she saw, and concealed it,till she could no longer conceal it.

When it comes inside me it puts all my sorrow to flight –and that’s the sign of the covenant between me and it!

5 And singers after musicians with their instrumentsare all ranged around me, and beauties of both kinds sit.8

Though this poem first appears to focus on the beauty of the wine-goblet, a frequenttheme in medieval wine poetry, as we saw in the above poem by Moses ibn Ezra, it isactually the transforming power of wine that is the main theme here, with the abilityof wine to create beauty and joy. It is the wine that turns the crystal goblets into asun of light and color more dazzling than rubies (lines 1–2), and whose beauty is sooverpowering that it foils all attempts to conceal it. In line 4 the power of wine isexpressed through its ability to banish sorrow. During the course of the poem, therefore,the wine transforms not only the appearance of the goblet and the mood of those whodrink it but also the very nature of the poem itself, turning it from a simple paean to thewine-goblet into a celebration of wine’s transforming powers. This too is a major themein medieval wine-poetry, and our poet gives it a light touch here through his humoroususe of biblical verses. In line 3 the goblet is personfied as a woman, and not just anywoman but Jocheved, the mother of Moses, who – terrified of the Egyptians – sought tohide her infant “till she could no longer conceal it” (Exodus 2: 2–3). And in line 4, themock-solemn “sign of the covenant” between our drinker and the wine alludes to theaftermath of the Flood in Genesis 9: 12–17, where God establishes the rainbow as his“sign of the covenant” with Noah and his descendants. Thus the wine, like the rainbow,creates harmony and shimmering color in a sign that everything evil has been washedaway, and that – at least for a space! – all is right with the world.

All this makes for a tempting invitation indeed. But the real lure may come in the finalline of the poem:

And singers after musicians with their instruments (minim)are ranged all around me, and beauties of both kinds (minim) sit.9

(l. 5)

Here the poet holds out the promise of music, as well as a bevy of beauties both male andfemale. And this would not appear to be an empty promise. In the Arabic sources, at least,the world of courtly life is full of music, singing girls, and beautiful serving lads and

8 Ë‰‡Ï·È˙È„È„Í . Judah Halevi, Dıwan, ed. Haim Brody, 2: 243 (no. 23).9 There is a charming word-play in this line: the Hebrew minim can mean both “different kinds” and “bothgenders” as well as the “stringed instruments” mentioned in Psalms.

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lasses. The Kitab al-Aghanı, al-Is.bahanı’s famous “Book of Songs” from tenth-centuryBaghdad, is replete with incidents relating to singing and music, and many of the songseven record the name of the tonal and rhythmic modes to which they were sung. GeorgeSawa, who made a thorough investigation of musical practice under early ªAbbasid rule,records a number of incidents in which singing girls sang poems to the accompanimentof music in nightly sessions of the kind examined in this chapter.10 Just how importantmusic and song were to the success of these gatherings we learn from numerous storiesin A Thousand and One Nights, from such twelfth-century Andalusi anthologies ofArabic poems as Ibn Bassam’s Al-Dhakıra, or al-Fath. ’s Qalaºid or Mat.mah. al-anfus,and also from a little treatise which al-Jah. iz. (776–869) devoted to the subject of singinggirls about a century or so before al-Is.bahanı.11

The Jewish sources, on the other hand, are significantly less eloquent on the subject ofmusic and song. To be sure, a number of works dealing with music were written by Jewsin medieval times and even in al-Andalus itself. But these deal with theoretical aspectsof music and explore such issues as the mathematical basis of music, its relationshipto the harmony of the spheres, and the therapeutical value of music on the soul.12 Veryfew record anything like an actual experience of live music and singing. We do hear of“stringed instruments” in a rubric to a famous Hebrew poem by Dunash ben Labrat (fl.mid 10th c.), the first Hebrew poet to write in the quantitative meters of Arabic poetry:

This is a poem by Ibn Labrat, may he rest in peace, about the kinds of drinkingthat went on night and day, in a simple meter accompanied by instruments to thesound of rushing waters and the plucking of stringed instruments and the chirpingof birds in trees and the scent of all kinds of perfumes. This all describes the majlisof H. asdai al-Sefardi [i. e. H. asdai ibn Shaprut].13

This promising description, however, turns out to be a paraphrase of the poem, and maytherefore be more of a testimony to the conventions of medieval wine-poetry than tocontemporary musical practices. Testimony of a more definite nature appears to come inthe words of Todros Abulafia, a prolific Hebrew poet from thirteenth-century ChristianSpain. Todros notes that his muwashshah. as “are built on Arabic foundations,” and thenadds, with a pun on the biblical text, that it is the practice to “sing these to the harp of thedaughter of Ishmael” (ªal mah. alat bat Ishmael leªanot). This comment is a conflationof the stringed instrument mentioned in Psalm 88: 1 (mah. alat leªanot) and the nameof Ishmael’s daughter in Genesis 28:9 (Mah. alat bat Ishmael).14 Moses ibn Ezra andJoseph ibn Tzadik both weave descriptions of music into their poems, and many strophic

10 George Sawa, Music Performance Practice in the Early ªAbbasid Era 132–320 AH/750–932 AD (Toronto,Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1989), pp. 111–112. This hard-to-find book is a veritable treasuretrove of information and well-documented sources. A useful summary of musical practice in al-Andalus isfound in Dwight Reynolds, “Music,” in The Cambridge History of Arabic Literature, pp. 64–68.11 Abu ªUthman ªAmr b. Bahr al-Jah. iz. , The Epistle on Singing Girls of Jah. iz. , ed. and trans. A. F. L. Beeston(Warminster, England: Aris and Phillips, 1980).12 These Hebrew and Judaeo-Arabic sources have been collected and annotated by Israel Adler in HebrewWritings Concerning Music (Munich: RISM, 1975).13 MS T-S 8 K 15/8. Published in Haim Schirmann, “Ha-meshorerim benei doram shel Moshe ibn Ezra,”Yediªot ha-makhon le-h. eqer ha-shirah ha-ªivrit 2 (1936), p. 127.14 Todros Abulafia, Gan ha-meshalim ve-ha-h. idot, ed. David Yellin (Jerusalem, 1934), vol. 2, end of PartTwo, p. 5

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poems by Abraham ibn Ezra, Halevi’s younger contemporary, are preceded in the dıwanby a reference to the specific Arabic meter (wazn, in the Arabic) in which they werecomposed.15 And in one long poem describing a wine-drinking party set in a floweringgarden, Moses ibn Ezra may even reveal something of contemporary majlis practicethrough a fleeting simile likening the birds in the trees to singing girls concealed behindcurtains.16

Despite the relative paucity of Jewish sources, it therefore seems likely that the partiesof “intimate friendship” attended by our group of poets included the same elements ofsong and music found in the evening parties of their Muslim colleagues, just as otherelements of the Arabic majlis al-uns found their way into their world.

* * *

What, one wonders, did the guests actually do at these wine-drinking parties? Joseph ibnªAknin relates a charming story about one festive gathering of Andalusi intellectuals inwhich Judah Halevi himself delivers a Talmudic bon mot to the delight of his admiringcompanions.17 This gathering, however, is not necessarily of the kind we are talking abouthere. But we have, in fact, already seen a most concrete example of a wine-drinkingparty back in Halevi’s rhymed letter to Moses ibn Ezra. There, in addition to a certainamount of wine-drinking, a lot of poetry-making also went on, not necessarily of theBachic variety. True, the muwashshah. a that Halevi composed that memorable eveningdid begin as a wine-poem with “a cup in my left / a fawn to the right” (Ah. ar galot sod),but the muwashshah. a that served as the pretext for its composition (Leyl mah. shavot),was not a wine-drinking poem at all, but a panegyric proper (even if a bit improperhere and there). In fact, we are probably correct in thinking that a very large number ofthe secular poems that have come down to us on such subjects as love, panegyric, andleave-taking were also written at wine-drinking parties of the kind described in Halevi’srhymed letter.18 This is no doubt particularly true of the muwashshah. at, since these wereaccompanied by the playing of instruments – or at least sung according to a specificmelody – that would have fostered the composition of imitations on the spot.

The ability to improvise was much prized in Andalusi society. Most of the poems thatal-Fath. ibn Khakan (d. 1134) brought in his famous anthologies of Arabic poetry weresupposedly composed extempore for specific occasions.19 Ibn Khat.ıb cites numerous

15 Lines 30–38 of Moses ibn Ezra’s ‡˘˜„ÁÂ‡Â¯ÈÂ (“The lights flashed fire”) refer to a “bell-shaped lute”and describe the effects of music on the soul; see Moses ibn Ezra, Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Haim Brody, p. 73 (no.72). A highly complex muwashshah. a by Joseph ibn Tzadik contains a description of music (ll. 3–8), againemphasizing its effect on the soul; see his ÂÓÈ‡‰‰‚ÊÏ (“My rest, alas, has been stolen”) in Shirei Yosef ibnTzadik, ed. Yonah David, p. 21 (no. 1). Concerning the rubrics to Abraham ibn Ezra’s secular strophic poemssee S. M. Stern, “The Muwashshahs of Abraham ibn Ezra,” in Hispanic Studies in Honour of I. GonzalesLlubera, ed. Frank Pierce (Oxford: Dolphin Book Co., 1959), pp. 367–382; see poems no. 189, 191–193,195.16 ‚„Â„ÈÏÈÏ„Â„ . Printed in Moses ibn Ezra, Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Haim Brody, pp. 185–188 (no. 185), l. 28.A similar image occurs in line 4 of Ibn Ezra’s ‰¯ÈÁÓÂ¯ (“Is that the scent of myrrh”) and in Halevi’s poembeginning with the same words, in line 3; both these poems are examined below in Chapter Seven.17 Ibn ªAknin’s story, oft repeated, is recorded in his commentary on the Song of Songs, and translated fromthe Arabic into Hebrew by A. S. Halkin (Jerusalem: Mekitzei Nirdamim, 1964), pp. 176–178. [45a]. For aninteresting analysis of the story see Ross Brann, The Compunctious Poet, p. 13.18 Schirmann, Toldot ha-shirah ha-ªivrit bi-sefarad ha-muslemit, p. 434.19 Robinson, In Praise of Song, p. 280.

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examples of Andalusis who improvised poems, some of them quite lengthy.20 Similarly,Hebrew poets also prized the ability to improvise, and the collections of the variouspoets often preserve the information that such-and-such a poem was spoken extempore.Samuel ha-Nagid (993–1056) is given credit for reeling off fifteen little poems on thesubject of apples in one session;21 and a number of Solomon ibn Gabirol’s poems arealso termed “improvisations” in the Judaeo-Arabic rubrics in the manuscripts.22 Indeed,if we are looking for examples of Hebrew poems produced extempore we need look nofarther than Halevi’s letter to Moses ibn Ezra, where we find the young poet improvisingAh. ar galot sod on the spot in response to the challenge of his fellow guests.

As an example of a love poem that might have been composed under the kind ofcircumstances outlined in this chapter, let us suggest the following muwashshah. a byJudah Halevi. The poem begins with the words H. ama baªad raqiaª (“O sun behindyour curtained hair”),23 and although no model for the poem has been found it may wellhave been a contrafactum of an existing Arabic poem. The poem’s rhyme-scheme isunusually complex, beginning with a prelude (in Arabic mat. laª) that can be designated asABCD, and then continuing efefef/ABCD/ ghghgh/ABCD and so on, for five strophesaltogether. The following translation conveys the internal rhyme of the simt.s (ABCD)but not that of the ghus. un, the lines of shifting rhyme indicated by the non-capitalizedletters:

O sun behind your curtained hair / reveal your light to meAnd let – I thee implore! – / a love-sick slave go free.

If Time thought to hide you like manna, and do me wrongThen take a seat here in my heart – you’ll see it’s firm and strong

5 What can Time do then, if you to me belong?If I forget thy face so fair / then God, may I forget Thee!’Tis you, O sun, I most adore: / What’s Time to do with me?

Why rebuke a tortured heart when you’re his sole desire?I thought you were an angel – you’ve set the bush on fire!

10 If ’tis your wish to slay me now, I’ll do as you aspire.There’s no trickery in this prayer; / try me and see:My days are few – it’s what life’s for! – / so come be good to me.

What’s to fear when you’re my sun and, yes! my moonlight too?Between your lips I almost taste your balm and honey-dew –

15 (Except that in your eyes I see an angry glance or two . . .)O why should you be so unfair / as to make a corpse of me?The roses in your cheek, amore, / themselves give life to me!

20 For examples cited by Ibn Khat.ıb see al-Maqqarı, The Mohammedan Dynasties, pp. 151–167.21 Samuel ha-Nagid, Dıwan, ed. Dov Yarden, nos. 114–129, pp. 274–278. Most of these poems havetwo-lines; some have three (nos. 128–129); one of them has four (no. 116) and no. 117 has five lines.22 Solomon ibn Gabirol, Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Haim Brody, nos. 20, 53, 79, 156, 216 (ranging from three to tenlines; no. 216 is a lament twenty-one lines long). All of these are called muqtadaba in the Judaeo-Arabicrubrics; two others (nos. 133, 223) are called irtijal.23 ÁÓ‰·Ú„¯˜ÈÚ . Judah Halevi, Dıwan, ed. Haim Brody, 2: 324–325 (no. 114).

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The light and darkness of your face are bliss:When God created you, He got East and West to kiss

20 But all around your splendor are snakes that curl and hiss!Why wear jewels like those girls there / or don embroidery?Your beauty is enough and more / to replace all jewelry.

You’re beauty incarnate – why deck yourself in gold?It only makes it harder, for me to kiss and hold!

25 The Rose of Sharon then replied and sang out clear and bold:Undo your necklace, why / bother with jewelry?You’re my jewelry and that’s / enough for me.

This poem offers a virtual catalogue of motifs from the repertoire of medieval lovepoetry in both Hebrew and Arabic. We have a suffering lover – the “love-sick slave” inline 2 – writhing under the torments inflicted both by his cruel mistress (ll. 8–10) and bythe slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or “Time,” as that outrageous commodityis called in medieval Hebrew and Arabic poetry (ll. 3, 5). The girl is endowed with allthe usual beauty marks: she is dazzling as the sun (ll. 1, 13) and the moon (l. 13); herkisses are “balm and honey-dew” (l. 14); and her cheeks are roses (l. 17). Only, andas is very proper to the genre – her beauty is used as a weapon against the lover. Herangry eyes prevent him from stealing a kiss (l. 15), and though the whiteness of her skinand the blackness of her hair blend the best of East and West (l.19), her locks seem tothe lover like scorpions curling on her cheeks and preventing him from coming closer.Poetic tradition demands that she be both beautiful and cruel, and our heroine fits herjob description to perfection.

Although this poem is so perfect an example of medieval Arabic poetics, there arestill touches here and there that make the poem distinctly Hebrew in nature as well as inlanguage. Even if it is a contrafactum of an as yet undiscovered Arabic poem, no Arabicpoet would have compared the girl to “manna” (l. 3) – the dazzling white substance thatthe Israelites hoarded in the desert (Exodus 16: 15, 26) – or accused the girl of inflamingher lover via images of the Burning Bush (l. 9). Only a Hebrew poet would have usedwords and images from the Jewish liturgy to describe the play of black and white in thegirl’s beauty (ll. 18–19), and certainly only a Hebrew poet would call her the “Roseof Sharon” (l. 25), a phrase recalling the ultimate “it girl” in Hebrew poetry (Songof Songs 2:1). It is these bold Hebrew touches that give the poem its tongue-in-cheekhumor and prevent the conventions from becoming cumbersome and heavy.

The kharja (ll. 26–27) in this poem is somewhat anti-climatic. We expect the Roseof Sharon to sing out “clear and bold” (l. 25), but all we get is the same speaker we havebeen hearing throughout. Even worse, there is nothing startling or new in the kharja:everything has been said just a few lines before:

You’re beauty incarnate – why deck yourself in gold?It only makes it harder, for me to kiss and hold!

25 The Rose of Sharon then replied and sang out clear and bold:Undo your necklace, why / bother with jewelry?

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You’re my jewelry and that’s / enough for me.24

Let us recall what the twelfth-century Arabic critic, Ibn Sana al-Mulk, had to say on thesubject of the kharja, the “salt and sugar” as he termed it, of the muwashshah. a:

It is the rule – indeed, it is the law – in the kharja that the transition to it shouldbe effected by a jump and by suddenly passing from one subject to another; inaddition, it should be a phrase put in the mouth of some other person.25

Not much salt and sugar in this kharja! There is no “jumping” from subject to subject,no “transition” from speaker to speaker. Of course, all this strengthens the theory thatkharjas were quotations from well-known poems, so that to those who knew the song orpoem in which this kharja originated, the “Rose of Sharon” actually would have beenspeaking in her own voice, or, more likely, belting out some lines from a popular song.So if this kharja appears to fall somewhat flat to us today, it is probably because we arenot envisioning it within the context of a performance, in the midst of an audience quitecapable of humming all of the latest songs of the Andalusi hit parade.

But it seems that we are not the only ones to find fault with this kharja, as two otherkharjas have come down to us for this same poem. One of these is an Arabic text toocorrupt to read;26 the other Romance, which we bring here in Stern’s transliteration fromthe Hebrew characters:27

No quero tener al ªiqd, ya mama / a mano h.ulla liCuell’ albo verad fora meu sidi / non querid al h.ulli

and in our own translation:

I don’t want to wear a necklace, O Mama / the dress’s enough for meMy Cid will see a neck that’s white and pure: / he won’t want jewelry!

From a literary point of view this Romance kharja is far more satisfying than the Arabicone quoted above; Ibn Sana himself could not have wished for better. For one thing,the kharja provides the sudden jump recommended by Ibn Sana, turning the dame sansmerci in the rest of the poem into a young girl exceedingly anxious to please her lover.For another, the kharja is put into the mouth of a different speaker, just as Ibn Sanaprescribed. The direct appeal to the mother, a feature apparently found only in theRomance kharjas, lends the poem a certain lyrical poignancy which it otherwise lacks.28

24 This is the kharja found in MS Oxford 1971 (with only the slightest variations in the other majormanuscript of Halevi’s poems, MS Oxford 1970).25 See above Chapter Two, p. 35.26 For a tentative translation see James T. Monroe and David Swialto, “Ninety-Three Arabic H. arjas inHebrew Muwassahs: Their Hispano-Romance Prosody and Thematic Features,” Journal of the AmericanOriental Society 97, no. 2 (1977), p. 154, nos. 77–78.27 S. M. Stern, Les Chanson mozarabes: Les vers finaux (Kharjas) en espagnol dans les muwashshahsarabes et hebreux (Palermo: Manfredi, 1953), no. 11.28 See Linda Fish Compton, Andalusian Lyrical Poetry and Old Spanish Love Songs (New York: New YorkUniversity Press, 1976), pp. 94–95

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* * *

Improvising lines of poetry was apparently another favorite pastime at these wine-drinking bouts, with one poet tossing out half a line of poetry and another catching itmid-air, as it were, and finishing it in the same rhyme and meter. Though this is an oldtradition, found already in the Idylls of Theocritus (3rd century B.C.E.),29 we reallyneed look no farther than contemporary Andalusi society to find numerous examples ofsuch impromptu competitions. True, in the Arabic sources we find people enjoying thispleasantry in circumstances that range from physicians’ house-calls to midnight strollsaround frog-ponds,30 but the majlis al-uns was apparently the scene of not a few of thesepoetic exercises.31 A unique Hebrew example of this kind has come down to us in astray page from Halevi’s dıwan and this, as Schirmann surmises, most likely dates fromthe Granada period of the poet’s life.32 In bringing this exchange below, the translator –for once! – need make no apology. Here is no great poetry, but light-hearted jingles thatHalevi traded with the poet Joseph ibn Sahal, apparently on the subject of other guestspresent with them at some convivial gathering. From these bantering lines we can easilyimagine the overflowing spirits of those present, and indeed, we can practically hearthem. If ever there was a sound-bite from al-Andalus, surely this is it:

[Judah Halevi:]Drink and rejoice in Ibn Majnin / who makes his lover’s heart careen

R. Joseph ibn Sahal improvised upon it:And the rose garden in his cheek / is defended by a tanin33

And [Halevi] said of R. Elazar:Drink and rejoice in Elazar / who makes his lovers’ heart despair

And R. Joseph ibn Sahal improvised upon it:He’s a priest in the Temple of Grace: / no other buck can compare!

It is not clear just who were the chaps lucky enough to find their names being bandiedabout in this fashion, though we did meet an Ibn Majnin in Chapter One – Josephibn Majnin – one of the two addressees of Moses ibn Ezra’s beautiful panegyric Beinha-hadasim. Whether this is the same Ibn Majnin we have no way of knowing, although

29 In the Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics, p. 885, Andrew Welsh defines these amoebaean or“responsive verses” as “verses, couplets, or stanzas [ . . .] spoken alternately by two speakers. The secondspeaker is expected not only to match the theme introduced by the first, but also to improve upon it in someway.”30 Al-Maqqarı, The Mohammedan Dynasties in Spain, pp. 152; 157.31 An interesting anecdote concerning the caliph Muªawıyah and his boon-companions is related in Beeston,The Epistle on Singing Girls, p. 21. no. 22.32 T-S 8 K 1414. The Hebrew text from this stray page was published by Schirmann in “Ha-meshorerimbenei doram,” Yediªot ha-makhon 2 (1936), p. 151. Halevi’s name does not specifically appear on it, but thepage seems to have been torn from his dıwan. Fleischer accepts Schirmann’s surmises in Toldot ha-shirahha-ªivrit bi-sefarad ha-muslemit, p. 485.33 tanin: Hebrew for “Leviathan.” It is because of the rhyme that we know to pronounce the name as Majnin,and not Majnun.

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the name is certainly uncommon. But the name of Joseph ibn Sahal, with whom Halevitraded these verses, is well-known in the annals of medieval Jewry. In Abraham ibnDaud’s Book of Tradition Ibn Sahal is warmly praised as both a poet and an authorityon Jewish law (dayyan) in Cordoba “who judged Israel eleven years.”34 Moses ibn Ezraalso has the highest praise for Ibn Sahal, extolling him not only as the pupil of his owngreat teacher, Rabbi Isaac ibn Ghayyat of Lucena, but as the scion of a noble familypossessing “great intelligence, brilliant poetry, wisdom in Jewish law, and clear, conciselanguage.”35 Ibn Ezra also praises the “sweetness and daring” of his friend’s poetry aswell as its “strength and grace.”36 Ibn Sahal, who died in 1124, was apparently closer inage to Moses ibn Ezra, and if so he was considerably older than Judah Halevi when theytossed these rhymes back and forth. Apart from this single incident, we have no recordof any contact between Joseph ibn Sahal and Judah Halevi.

* * *

Riddles were another kind of literary pastime apparently much enjoyed during thesewine-drinking parties.37 Quite a number of literary riddles from some of the greatestHebrew poets of al-Andalus have come down to us, all of them written in running rhymeand quantitative meter in the best of poetic style. Hebrew, of course, has a tradition offestive riddling situations that goes back to the Bible and the famous riddle of Samson,but in this, as in many other aspects of their literary entertainments, the Jewish poetsapparently looked to their Muslim contemporaries for their models. Just as they borrowedArabic genres for their works of secular poetry, so too they tried their hand at a specificgenre of riddle known in Arabic as mutayyar, or “a riddle of birds,” based on the Arabicterm for “pigeon post” – a frequent method for sending letters in this period, and onewhich will be discussed further in Chapter Six. This kind of riddle is dependent on aprivate code probably agreed upon beforehand by the parties involved, whereby, as Sterndescribes the “simple, if somewhat bizarre method”

each letter of the alphabet corresponds to the name of a different species of bird.A few lines of poetry are composed, transcribed in this code and sent to one’sfriend in the guise of a poetical epistle, the main part of which consists of a ratherlengthy list of birds’ names put in rather artificial rhymemes. The friend is thensupposed to decipher the epistle and to find out the original verses.38

Stern brings an Arabic poem in the mutayyar genre which the renowned Ibn Zaydunsent to the then crown-prince of Seville, al-Muªtamid, as well as the long poem ofreply in which al-Muªtamid, a renowned poet himself, transcribed the solution to theriddle posed by Ibn Zaydun. That a similar exchange existed in Hebrew was completelyunknown until Stern managed to explain an enigmatic poem by Judah Halevi on the

34 Abraham ibn Daud, The Book of Tradition, Hebrew section, p. 61.35 Moses ibn Ezra, Kitab al-muh. ad. ara, p. 77 [41a-b].36 Ibid.37 Interestingly enough, the same page that preserves these improvisations also records two of Halevi’snumerous riddles.38 S. M. Stern, “Two Medieval Hebrew Poems Explained from the Arabic,” Sefarad 10 (1950), p. 328.

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basis of this mutayyar genre, and to show that is contains the solution to a riddle posedby one of Halevi’s friends, Abu Omar ibn Matka.39

But this is a particularly complex genre of riddle, and though eloquent of the closeties between literary pastimes in Arabic and Hebrew it is not representative of Hebrewriddles from medieval Spain. Indeed, like most literary riddles the world over, theseHebrew riddles usually devolve on the simplest of every-day subjects, such as a pen (afrequent subject), a sewing needle, a pair of scissors. It is not the subject of the riddlewhich provides the chief interest but the deft unraveling of the clues, and as one scholarof the genre has remarked, the homely nature of these subjects should not keep us fromappreciating the sophistication which some literary riddles certainly display.40

Sophisticated literary riddles, with their close affinity to poetry, were an ideal form ofentertainment at the kind of literary wine-gatherings discussed in this chapter. Aristotledescribed riddles as “a way of thinking deeply related to metaphor” (Rhetoric 3.2,10), and solving these riddles would allow the assembled poets to indulge in all theword-games, paradoxes, and metaphors in which they delighted, and to show off theirprofound knowledge of Hebrew and the Bible.41 Both Arabic and Hebrew poems fromthis period bask in rich metaphors and descriptions, and lest anyone miss this basicfact, Moses ibn Ezra hammered the point home in his Kitab al-muh. ad. ara, insistingthat poems were beautiful only when ”clothed in metaphors and ornamented with theornaments of periphrase and allusion.”42 So close is the boundary between poetry andriddles that Ibn Ezra himself uses the adjective “riddle-like” or “puzzling” to describethe effect of metaphorical language.43 Often a riddle can only be distinguished froma non-riddle by the absence of a single word identifying the object under discussion.For example, one beautiful poem by Solomon ibn Gabirol describes a gift of pens ina dazzling kaleidoscope of images twenty-four lines long that is surely as riddle-likeas any riddle ever written on the subject, only it is not a riddle since the subject isspecifically mentioned in the beginning of the poem.44 But another lovely poem on thepen, this one by Moses ibn Ezra, makes use of a number of Ibn Gabirol’s images and yetis indeed a full-fledged riddle since the word “pen” does not appear in the poem itself.45

Most of Halevi’s riddles are very brief, only two to four lines long. The followingriddle, Tevah demut qubah (“An ark, dome-shaped”),46 of thirty-six lines is his longest

39 Ibid.40 Charles T. Scott, “On Defining the Riddle: The Problem of a Structural Unit,” in Folklore Genres, ed. DanBen-Amos (Austin, University of Texas Press, 1971), p. 7841 In her study of the Hebrew literary riddle from Golden Age Spain, Tova Rosen-Moked notes the enter-tainment value of these riddles in the elite circles of Jewish society. See “Lenasot be-h. idot,” Ha-sifrut 30–31(1981), pp. 3–4, para. 2.1.4 – 2.2. Stern, “Two Medieval Hebrew Poems,” p. 327, also notes the vogue whichliterary riddles enjoyed during Halevi’s day.42 Moses ibn Ezra, Kitab al-muh. ad. ara, p. 225 [118b]. Ibn Ezra, like the Arabic critics of his day, deemsmetaphor the primary “ornament” of poetry and distinguishes between metaphors (istiªara), ibid., pp. 225–231 [118b-121b] and similes (tashbıh), ibid., pp. 257–260 [134b-135b].43 Moses ibn Ezra, Kitab al-muh. ad. ara, pp. 285–295 [146a-154a]. And see Dan Pagis, Shirat ha-h. ol ve-toratha-shir, pp. 55–61.44 È„È„ÒÂ·Â„Ó‰ÏÁÎÓ‰ (“Turn my beloved, and be like unto Wisdom”). Printed in Solomon ibn Gabirol,Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Haim Brody, p. 33, (no. 59). The pens are mentioned in line 5, but the ensuing flood ofmetaphors and similes surely effaces the subject from memory.45 ‰‡‡ÈÏÓÈÌ (“Behold the silent”). Printed in Moses ibn Ezra, Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Haim Brody, p. 33 (no.31).46 ˙·‰„ÓÂ˙˜Â·‰ . Judah Halevi, Dıwan, ed. Haim Brody, 2: 191 (no. 1).

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by far, and also one of the most polished examples of the genre in Hebrew. The poemhas come down to us in several manuscripts, all of them bearing different rubrics. Thetwo major manuscripts of Halevi’s dıwan simply note that the poem is a riddle aboutthe pomegranate, and one of them (MS Oxford 1971) adds that it was sent to Judahibn Ghayyat. A third manuscript, however, preserves a more interesting rubric, withJudah Halevi composing the riddle during a kind of poetic contest: “Judah ibn Ghayyatrecited a few lines of a poem describing a pomegranate, and these not finding gracein [Halevi’s] eyes, he imitated them and said . . .”47 Whether this last rubric is trueor not, these and other literary riddles from the period help us to envision the kind offare offered for entertainment at such parties as the kind described in this chapter. Thefollowing translation does not bring all thirty-six lines of the riddle, but only selectedparts, including the opening description:

An ark, dome-shaped of scarlet, / a round ball, not squareWith two or three rooms / like a ring’s seal fitted fairCreated before Noah and the Flood / and by God’s hand preparedShe appears like the sun and then hides; / rises and sets in mid-air

5 A splendid tower on her head / hollow like a hat or headwearShe has flower and thorn like the Rose of Sharon / and divides into four sharesShe raises proudly her head and when full / bows down to the ground thereFrom city to city runners speed forth / carrying this royal fareShe resembles a walled city whose beauty, / like Tirzah, nought can impair

10 Her inhabitants are naked / but – heathen folk! – not ashamed to be bareThey embrace like lovers, breast / to breast, and disport themselves thereColored without scarlet or dye, / no rubies can compare[ . . . .]

With our knowledge of the riddle’s solution – a pomegranate – safely (if unfairly) in ourpocket, let us take a look at some of the strategies used by the poet to baffle his audience.What is most striking in the whole thing – for one who knows that the solution is apomegranate, or in Hebrew rimon – is that the poet has made it practically impossiblefor anyone to guess the answer from the very first word. The very first word in theHebrew version of the riddle is tevah, translated into English as an “ark,” and this is afeminine noun in the Hebrew. All subsequent references to the mysterious “she” of thesolution refer back to this word, long after it has slipped from the listener’s mind. Thesolution to the riddle, on the other hand, is a masculine noun in the Hebrew (rimon, or“pomegranate”), and this deliberate blurring of the solutions’s gender makes it almostimpossible to arrive at the correct solution, no matter how near one approaches.

What makes this strategy all the more clever is that on several occasions the poetpractically proclaims that the solution is a piece of fruit! In line 8, for example, hecalls the pomegranate zimrat melakhim (Genesis 43: 11), here translated as “royal fare.”Early commentators of the Bible explained the Hebrew term as “goodly fruit,” yet evenif, as is very likely, one of the poets attending this riddle was aware of this meaning, the

47 Ratzhabi cites the variant rubric in “Ketuvot ªaraviot le-shirei Yehuda Halevi,” ªAlei sefer 17 (1992–93),p. 69, no. 243.

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gender of any kind of fruit would be masculine in the Hebrew and thus out of the ballpark in terms of a solution to the riddle. Even earlier, in line 5, the poet has thrown outa clear hint that the solution relates to a piece of fruit, though here the hint is even moresubtle. The word translated as “tower” in line 5 is by far the most frequent meaning ofthe Hebrew word migdal, but in the Song of Songs 5: 13 it also appears in the sense ofa “fragrant shoot.” This is a fitting enough description of the pomegranate, but no onewould call it to mind without having the answer to the riddle already in hand.

This deliberate skewing of the solution’s gender may be the primary strategy usedto obscure that solution, but it is hardly the only one. In the best of literary traditionour riddle begins with a misleading clue – and one peculiarly suited to its particularaudience, for it is predicated on the listeners’ knowledge of the Bible and the biblicallanguage. As we have seen, the riddle opens with the word tevah, the word used forNoah’s “Ark” in the story in Genesis, and because several of the words in the next twolines are also drawn from this story, this sends the hunters scurrying after a false scent.After all, there are certainly no pomegranates in the story of Noah! This diversionarytechnique is highly suited to its audience of poet-scholars, for it sets into motion whatis probably the deepest instinct of these players, instilled in them since childhood, andthat is to follow the biblical text.

By line 4 the players realize they have been following a blind lead, for at this pointthe poet adds a number of well-calculated “block elements” that both confuse andcomplicate the earlier information. Thus the subject is also likened to the sun (l. 4), agirl (l. 5), a plant (l. 6), and a walled city full of inhabitants (l. 9). Yet once again thepoet uses his audience’s knowledge of Bible against them as he throws out misleadingclues. Describing the mysterious “she” in line 6 as “the Rose of Sharon” tempts theaudience to posit either a girl or a flower as the solution to the riddle, based on the versein Song of Songs 2: 1 and its traditional interpretation. Similarly, likening the walledcity to “Tirzah” in line 9 would have the listeners ransacking their memory for detailsfrom the Book of Kings. Needless to say, none of this erudition will be of any help insolving the riddle, and will in fact lead them further astray – which is of course just whatthe riddler wants.

Another way in which the poet plays with his audience is by cleverly minglingmetaphors with the most straightforward of clues. The clues in lines 6–7 are certainlyapt descriptions of a pomegranate, those in lines 4 and 5 rely on metaphor, but at this stagein the game how can the players know which is which? Moreover, the poem’s very genrelures the audience into thinking in terms of metaphors, and rejecting straightforwarddescriptions.

Many scholars see paradox as the very essence of riddles, and Halevi’s riddle is richin these. In line 4 our mysterious “she” both waxes and wanes; in line 7 she is bothproud and humble. These paradoxes are based on the principle of “reversability” and,by effectively canceling each other out, prevent the listener from forming an exact senseof the subject. This deliberate ambiguity is heightened by the play between the animateand inanimate throughout the riddle. In the first eight lines our mysterious “she” appearsto be eminently alive, while in lines 9–12 she becomes something wholly inanimate(though in Hebrew still feminine): a walled city. In line 3 she has been created byGod’s own hand, but in line 14 her “colocynths and open flowers” – a reference to thecarvings on Solomon’s Temple (I Kings 6: 18) – have been formed “without a hand.”

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Even the moral nature of our subject is ambiguous. On one hand, she shelters the vilestof inhabitants; on the other, she provides “medicine for stricken bodies.” Is our subjectanimate or inanimate? Jezebel or Florence Nightingale?

Lines 16–24, not translated here, comprise something of a set-piece in the shapeof a wine-poem. Here we find “revelers delighting over her in their cups” (line 16),learn that she “shines like lightning” when poured into a goblet (line 18), and is proof“against sorrow and despair” (line 19). All these are standard motifs in the medievalwine-poem, and thus activate the players’ knowledge of the poetic conventions, leadingthem even further away from the solution to the riddle. As Tova Rosen-Moked explainsthe technique:

In essence, the description ceases to be perceived on this occasion as an enigmaticdescription whose solution has to be thrashed out, and begins to be interpretedby the listener as a genre-piece of poetry . . . . What supports this diversionarystrategy is the possibility that both [wine-poems] and riddles were performed atthe same social occasions themselves.48

Another effective strategy for misleading the audience is to create a discrepancy betweenthe subject of a riddle and the register of the language used to describe it. And perhapsnowhere is this better seen than in the following lines where the “walled city” breaks into“revolt,” to the poet’s loudly expressed outrage. Turning to his comrades, he demands asolution to this unruly “she”:

25 Say: what shall we do to her, / when to revolt she does dare?For she’s sealed in a walled city / and unapproachable thereLet us take her, and make her drink gall / for this revolt so unfairAll together now: slice through her / and lay waste this rebels’ lair!And burst through her walls and core / till the foundations are laid bare

30 And attack her not with spears, / but with ivory arrows and fangs bared

If we come to these lines knowing that the subject of the riddle is a pomegranate, thenthe register of these lines renders them humorous: all this sound and fury over a pieceof fruit! But to an audience ignorant of the riddle’s solution, these lines may well bedisturbing. The language is violent and appropriate to the language of conquest; indeedmost of the phrases come from biblical passages dealing with war and siege. And citiesare indeed feminine nouns in Hebrew. Yet with the clues of lines 4–7 in mind, theunknown subject appears to be infinitely more alive, and infinitely more feminine, thana walled city under siege. It is this discrepancy between subject and language that makesthe first reading of these lines such an unsettling experience, and that leads the playerseven further away from the correct solution.

To conclude his riddle the poet indulges in a bit of bragging, perhaps somewhat toour surprise. Though we might have expected a conclusion of another kind – perhaps aninvitation to suggest a solution – this does fit in rather neatly with the rubric translatedabove, in which the riddle is shown in the context of a poetic contest. In this kind of

48 Rosen-Moked, “Lenasot be-h. idah,” p. 6 [trans. mine].

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situation, a bit of bravado would obviously not be out of place:49

A riddle like this sings unto wisdom / and unto the stars rises fair35 She is spicy to taste, but so caressing / it makes the heart tear

When every daughter of poetry has had her turn, / all grace to her there!

The last line of the poem is a masterpiece in the poetic use of biblical allusions, but ithas caused problems to commentators, some of them seeing it as an invitation to theaudience to offer solutions.50 This interpretation is decidedly awkward for it turns eachof the [male] contestants into a “daughter of poetry” (in Hebrew bat-shir), whereas inpoint of fact, the “daughter of poetry” is the riddle itself, a subgenre or “daughter” ofpoetry, and, in the Hebrew language, a feminine noun (h. idah).

The language of the last line draws heavily from two biblical sources: the Scrollof Esther 2: 12, and the prophetic book of Zechariah 4:7. The first hemistich uses thelanguage in Esther describing the turn of each inhabitant of the royal harem to presentherself, all anointed and perfumed, for the King’s inspection. The second hemistichalludes to the enigmatic words in Zechariah 4: 7, which themselves come at the endof what might be termed a riddle. In the context of our poem, however, it is not theplayers who present themselves in turn, but the different riddles themselves, no lessdecked out and beautified, in their fashion, as they wait for literary judgment than theharem-girls awaiting the king’s pleasure in the Scroll of Esther. The last line, therefore,is a humorous claim to pre-eminence over other riddles.

* * *

One last activity of our wine-drinking parties remains to be examined, and that is thewriting of panegyrics. Many panegyrics feature love-lorn speakers in barren deserts,or sleepless lovers who “shepherd the stars” in the lonely watches of the night, but inpoint of fact many of these poems were probably written in festive surroundings bypoets carousing over their cups. This was certainly the case for the panegyric whichJudah Halevi composed for Moses ibn Ezra back in Chapter Two, where, as the youngpoet himself related, the poem took shape “over cups of wine / with pleasant singersof the vine.”51 Though Moses ibn Ezra was clearly absent from this occasion, and EzraFleischer remarks that poets did not compose panegyrics for poets living in the samecity,52 the whereabouts of the poems’ addressees may not, in fact, have been all thatcrucial. The praise in these panegyrics was too stereotypical to have put anyone to theblush, and were it not for the matter of rhyme and meter names could have been juggledfrom one panegyric to another.

49 Fleischer also remarks on this aspect of the poem’s ending in Schirmann, Toldot ha-shirah ha-ªivritbi-sefarad ha-muslemit, note 124, p. 510.50 Haim Brody comments on the previous misinterpretations in the last line of his commentary on the poem,on p. 144.51 From Halevi’s rhymed letter to Moses ibn Ezra, ll. 19–20.52 From Fleischer’s chapter on the poets contemporary with Judah Halevi and Moses ibn Ezra in Schirmann,Toldot ha-shirah ha-ªivrit bi-sefarad ha-muslemit, p. 507. Fleischer makes the remark as a way of explainingwhy none of Ibn Ezra’s poems were written for Judah ibn Ghayyat, who of course lived in Granada, like IbnEzra himself.

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Some panegyrics, however, were obviously composed for people not actually present,and this is the case for the following muwashshah. a by Judah Halevi, written for Mosesand Isaac ibn Ezra: Dod be-h. alom nat.ah (“The lover in a dream”).53

The poem begins with a mat.laª of ABAB and then continues with an intricate rhyme-scheme of cdcdcd/ABAB efefef/ABAB and so on, for five strophes altogether. Themotifs all come from the standard repertoire of love-poetry; the dramatis personaerepresent the usual suspects – a forlorn lover, the lovely “gazelle,” domineering “Time”– but the humor and lightness of touch are unique to Judah Halevi:

The lover in a dream spent / the night at the gazelle’s breastWith a dream like that – / his bed gives him sweet rest!

My soul is ransom / for the bonds of slumberWhich brings me near the dove / whom parting drives asunder

5 And grants me just a little / of her signs and wondersA cup of heady wine / from her cheeks she pressedHer pearls of speech she gathered / and made into a necklace.

Why does Time come / between me and my desire,Swerving low the arrow / when I aim much higher,

10 Making East and West / tremble in his ire?If Time should sin against me / and leave me sorely pressedThe sons of Ibn Ezra / will grant my least request!

There’s a taste of nectar / in lord Isaac’s very nameThe boundaries of the heavens / are filled with his great fame

15 Signed and sealed with his own mouth / a precious letter came.54

A man of the pen, a man of speech, / of dignity the best;To his mouth’s drawn sword, like a coat of mail, / his valor does attest

Moses cannot be forgotten; / in my mouth and thoughts he’s nighHow could I accept the parting / of the light of my own eye?

20 Moses tarries greatly: / please inquire of Mount Sinai!There he pitched his tent / (as the Burning Bush confessed);How bitter was the day / when his Farewell suit he dressed.

The Western girls all turn their eyes / Eastward every dayTo see their lord and master – / the cherub that ran away –

25 And with the sweetest song, / to passers-by they say:My lover strays; / who hides the moon’s bright crest?The lateness in his coming / makes my night distressed.

53 „Â„·ÁÏÂÌË‰ . Judah Halevi, Dıwan, ed. Haim Brody, 1: 178 (no. 119). The rubric, however, is moregeneral and simply has “for the Ibn Ezras.”54 In Hebrew a sefer, literally a “book” or “letter.” An epistolary poem is often called a sefer in medievalHebrew poetry.

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The love-prelude beginning this muwashshah. a offers an unusual spectacle of love ful-filled, with a lover spending the night “at the gazelle’s breast.” His “sweet rest” ofcourse, is only an illusion, and not only because it occurs in a dream. Even in the dreamthe “gazelle” plays her allotted role: wringing red wine out of her cheeks (l. 6) andstringing her “pearls of speech” into a necklace (l. 7). This establishes both her beautyand her utter obliviousness to the lover. The wine which she “presses” out of her cheeks,after all, does not go to him, and the necklace she strings is for her own ornamentation.Thus even as the dream gives “sweet rest” (l. 2) it reveals undercurrents of tension anddisappointment; a condition fully articulated through the appearance of “Time” in thefollowing strophe. But the disappointments wrought by Love and Time are all as noughtbefore the power of another entity: namely, the two Ibn Ezra brothers for whom thepoem was written:

If Time should sin against me / and leave me sorely pressedThe sons of Ibn Ezra / will grant my least request!

(ll. 11–12)

The function of all the complaints, therefore, is to emphasize the praise of the two IbnEzras, who compensate for every other kind of trouble.55 The panegyric now begins inproper fashion. Isaac ibn Ezra is extolled in terms of the heroic model, with the power ofhis pen attesting to his mighty valor (ll. 13–17). The poem refers to a letter, or possiblya poem, recently come from Isaac’s pen (l. 15), making us recall that Isaac ibn Ezrawas himself a poet of no mean talent.56 Moses ibn Ezra comes in for some wonderfullyexaggerated praise, humorously based on various associations with the biblical Moses.57

Let no one think that Ibn Ezra was off sightseeing in Egypt! Judah Halevi is simplyhaving fun with Moses’ name:

Moses cannot be forgotten; / in my mouth and thoughts he’s nighHow could I accept the parting / of the light of my own eye?

20 Moses tarries greatly: / please inquire of Mount Sinai!There he pitched his tent / (as the Burning Bush confessed);How bitter was the day / when his Farewell suit he dressed.

Between the “letter” which came from Isaac in line 15 and the “Farewell suit” donnedby Moses in line 22 (not to mention his tarrying at “Mount Sinai”), we learn that thetwo brothers were away from home but expected to return any day: the “Western girls”after all, are keeping a sharp lookout:

The Western girls all turn their eyes / Eastward every dayTo see their lord and master – / the cherub that ran away –

55 A similar transitional technique was noted in the poem Leyl mah. shavot (“Nightly I rouse the musings”);see Chapter Two, p. 39.56 Moses ibn Ezra praises his brother’s poetry in Kitab al-muh. ad. ara, p. 77 [41a]. See Chapter Four, p. 50.57 Halevi plays with the biblical associations of Moses’ name in other poems as well, such as Ah. ar galot sod(“After revealing the secret”), discussed in Chapter Two, and in another qas. ıda to be examined in ChapterEight, Demaªasher haya (“A tear that was”).

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25 And with the sweetest song, / to passers-by they say:My lover strays; / who hides the moon’s bright crest ?The lateness in his coming / makes my night distressed.

One likes to imagine rows of Andalusi beauties scanning the horizon for the brothers’return, but this charming touch was more likely conjured up for the sake of placing the“sweetest song” of the kharja where it best belongs: and that is into the mouths of girls.Moses ibn Ezra returned the compliment in a muwashshah. a that he composed when itwas Judah Halevi’s turn to be out of town, as we will see in Chapter Eight.58

What we do learn from this final strophe is that the Ibn Ezra brothers were temporarilyaway from al-Andalus (the “West”) in Christian Spain (the “East”), or in the generaldirection. The kharja, as is proper, is spoken by girls at the end of the poem, but it nodoubt echoes the feelings of those left behind in Granada: the talented Ibn Ezra brothersmust have been sorely missed indeed by their circle of Hebrew poets.59

58 See Ibn Ezra’s Bi-megurei yedidi (“In the dwellings of my beloved”), pp. 127–129 below.59 The kharja is in Romance, a fact which caused Sola-Sole to suggest that Ibn Ezra wrote this muwashshah. aafter he had taken up residence in Christian Spain; see idem, Corpus de poesıa mozarabe (Barcelona: Edi-ciones Hispam, 1973), p. 153. Angel Saenz-Badillos, however, effectively refutes this idea in “Las Muwas-sahat de Moseh ibn Ezra,” Poesıa Estrofica (Madrid: Universidad Complutense Instituto de Cooperacion conel Mundo Arabe, 1991), p. 302. The biographical implications of this poem are further discussed in ChapterEight, p.135.

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Chapter Six

THE POET’S WORKSHOP

We have seen that poetry played an important role in the social life of our poets. Itcelebrated the beauty of the wine and the cup-bearers, wove magic into the setting –perhaps even created the setting – provided entertainment in the form of riddles andmuwashshah. as, and was even the means by which invitations were extended. But it wasalso the alchemy by which poets were transformed into courtly boon-companions, andlanguage into the means by which they maintained their roles. In this chapter we willlook at a group of poems that expresses this alchemy within the network of personalrelationships between three of these poets and that shows, as it were, the dialogue ofpoetry between them. The group consists of three panegyrics composed respectively bySolomon ibn al-Muªallim, Judah Halevi, and Moses ibn Ezra. Only the first of thesepoems is translated in full below; selected parts of the other two poems are also broughtin translation.

* * *

Rumors of a phenomenal new talent just in from Seªir seem to have taken wing, andone member of the Jewish intelligentsia in Muslim Spain who not only heard of JudahHalevi but actually met him was Solomon ibn al-Muªallim. In later years this worthy wasdestined to have a distinguished career as physician to the “Commander of the Muslims,”as the Almoravids styled their rulers, namely ªAli ibn Yusuf ibn Tashufin (1106–1143),son of the conquering hero of al-Andalus. Maimonides relates an incident involving Ibnal-Muªallim at the Almoravid court in Marrakesh,1 and S. M. Stern discovered that hewas an Arabic poet whose verses found their way into Arabic-language anthologies.2

But these achievements belonged to a future period, and when we meet Ibn al-Muªallimall we can say for certain is that he was a very talented Hebrew poet. The poem translatedbelow is the only Hebrew poem we have from his pen, but as some unknown hand wroteon the manuscript, it is a poem “veiled in beauty.”3

Ibn al-Muªallim’s poem is a charming panegyric to Judah Halevi. It is constructedon all the hyperboles of the panegyric tradition, yet for all its extravagance seems tobetray a very real admiration for the young poet it lauds. The poem begins with the

1 Maimonides relates the anecdote in his treatise about asthma, Chapter 13, and can be found in S. Munk,Archives Israelites, 1851, p. 326; M. Steinschneider, Hebraische Bibliographie, viii (1865), p. 87. See S. M.Stern, “Arabic Poems by Spanish-Hebrew Poets,” Romanica et Occidentalia, ed. Moshe Lazar (Jerusalem:Magnes Press, 1963), p. 258, note 9.2 Stern, “Arabic Poems by Spanish-Hebrew Poets,” p. 255.3 S. Sachs, Ha-Maggid 9: 358, on the basis of MS Gunzburg.

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The Poet’s Workshop

words ªAv taªarof (“Is a cloud drizzling?”)4 and is written in the running mono-rhymeof the Arabic ode, a rhyme-scheme which the translation below makes no pretense toreproduce. It begins with some wide-eyed hittammut, the “feigned ignorance” techniquethat we have already seen in two of Ibn Ezra’s panegyrics, and whose purpose is tocreate the illusion of sincerity. This goal is achieved through a series of questions thatbring into play some of the major metaphors and images of the panegyric tradition:

Is a cloud drizzling or are my eyes dripping?and is that lightning in the sky or a flame in my bowels?

And is that Judah’s face or the glow of the moon? And is thisthe light of his radiance or the radiance of afternoon?

A man of wisdom, who in a battle of wits lays barethe strength of his right hand like a Goliath5.

The faces of joy have turned strangers to me after him,after having been joyful sevenfold

5 And the lights of Time have dimmed because of himtill I think morning the dusk of night

Our hearts had become as one heart – and now,after him, my heart has been divided in two.

He took my soul ransom, yet God himselfcommanded that no man take [even] a millstone for pledge!

The circles of tranquility have narrowed in my soul, butthe sadness of my heart spans wide indeed

My soul has divested herself of her joys – [she’s in] rags after him –but sorrow has donned a brightly colored robe.6

10 Behold – this poem is my witness – that without youthe tears of tears swim down my face

Were it not for my heart’s blood dripping inside them,clouds would not need to store any water but them!

Verily while I write this – my eyes drizzling –jealous Time gnashes his teeth!

Greetings to you, friend! upon whose partingI will always weep with a mighty weeping

I did not believe until my eyes saw in youwhat ears would not heed

15 And I was met by the angels of your mind just asJacob was met by the angels of Heaven

4 Ú·˙Ú¯ÂÛ‡ÂÈÊÏÂÚÈÈÈÌ . The poem is preserved in Halevi’s dıwan, MS Oxford 1971 fols. 37r-v, no. 143,and is printed in Haim Schirmann’s anthology of medieval Hebrew poetry, Ha-shirah ha-ªivrit bi-sefaradu-ve-provans (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute and Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1954) 1: 542.5 The poem uses the term ish beinayim and not the name Goliath.6 The word ÚÈÔ is an homonym that means both “eye” and “color” in the Bible (the latter meaning attestedin Numbers 11: 7 and Ezekiel 1: 16), and is a fairly frequent source of word-play in medieval Hebrew poetry.Schirmann interprets the words ÎÒÂ˙ÚÈÈÈÌ in line 9 as “a covering of the eyes” following Genesis 20:16(Ha-shirah ha-ªivrit, 1: 542); we have preferred the meaning of a “brightly colored robe,” which gives theline an antithetical parallelism, just like the line before it – such pairings of syntax are frequent in medievalHebrew poetry.

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And I say: “It’s the camp (mah. aneh) of God!”and because of you call your land “the Camp” (Mah. anayim)

I will weep with the bitter weeping of Jacobfor you are Joseph, and Granada (Rimon) is Egypt for you.

This lovely poem – not very long as panegyrics go – can be divided into three parts:the panegyric in lines 1–3, the lament over separation in lines 4–12, and the morepersonalized praise in lines 13–17. The motif of tears gives the poem a certain unity,with tears appearing both in the first and last lines of the poem as well as in the middlein lines 10–12, where the repetition of two key verbs from the poem’s opening line(“drizzling”and “dripping”) heightens the sense of unity.

The praise in the first two lines is expressed in the language of love with all theweeping and burning (l. 1) that an oxymoronic tradition can desire. Thanks to the“feigned ignorance” of our love-sick speaker, the convention of the beloved-as-moonseems fresh and entirely sincere (l. 2). In line 3 the subject of love’s sweet agonies turnsout to be a “man of wisdom,” and one whose sagacity is expressed in the energetic termsused to describe the giant Goliath ( ‡È˘·ÈÈÈÌ ) in I Samuel 17: 4.

The lament over separation in lines 4–12 also draws from the repertoire of conventionalimages as we learn that separation from his friend has caused our lover’s world to growdark (l. 5), his heart to be cut in twain (l. 6) and that his tears, watery tears, are mixedwith blood (ll. 10–11). A menacing Time “gnashing his teeth” (l. 12) with envy overthis promising friendship completes the circle of conventional motifs. Yet, despite theheavy use of convention, the poem never becomes cumbersome. Just as the author usedthe technique of “feigned ignorance” to lighten the tone in lines 1–3, so too he mixeshis complaints over separation with cheerful exaggerations that prevent his poem frombecoming top-heavy with convention and preserve a tone of high good humor. Look,for example, at line 7:

He took my soul ransom, yet God himselfcommanded that no man take [even] a millstone for pledge!

Here the poet frames a conventional lover’s complaint in terms of a humorous take onthe stern injunction in Deuteronmy 24: 6: “No man shall take the nether or the uppermillstone for a pledge, for he takes a man’s life for a pledge.” Line 11, with its outrageoususe of hyperbole, is another good example of humor as a leavening agent in the yeast ofconvention:

Were it not that my heart’s blood is dripping inside them,clouds would not need to store any water but them!

(l. 11)

The poem returns to the subject of praise in lines 13–17, and here we find that unlikeJudah ibn Ghayyat, Ibn al-Muªallim has not only heard of Judah Halevi but actually methim before writing this poem. That meeting apparently exceeded his expectations aboutthe newcomer from Seªir, for Ibn al-Muªallim writes that he put no faith in the rumorstills his eyes saw “what ears would not heed” (l. 14). The following lines, for all their

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hyperbole and use of code, place that meeting in a specific juxtaposition of time andplace:

15 And I was met by the angels of your mind just asJacob was met by the angels of Heaven

And I say: “It’s the camp (mah. aneh) of God!”and because of you call your land “the Camp” (Mah. anayim)

I will weep with the bitter weeping of Jacobfor you are Joseph, and Granada (Rimon) is Egypt for you.

(ll. 15–17)

The language of these lines draws closely from the passage in Genesis 32: 2–3 in whichJacob, after separating from Laban, returns to his own land:

And Jacob went on his way, and angels of God met him. And when Jacob sawthem he said “This is God’s camp” (mah. aneh) and he called the name of thatplace Mah. anayim.

The “angels of [Halevi’s] mind” are thus equated with the “angels of God” in Genesis 32:2, prompting our poet to call Halevi’s homeland “Mah. anayim” (l. 16), which Schirmannsuggests is the Hebraic epithet for Castile, Halevi’s place of origin.7 This suggestion isnot only very astute but also highly probable, as the poet uses another Hebraic epithetin the next line (l. 17) for the city of Granada, the Rimon (“pomegranate”) that wehave already encountered in previous chapters. This leaves us with an Ibn al-Muªallim-cum-Jacob who cries over a Halevi- cum-Joseph, as though the two were players in theancient biblical saga of Pharonic Egypt. What we learn from all this – beyond the factthat Ibn al-Muªallim could manipulate biblical verses in a very deft fashion! – is thatGranada, though not Halevi’s homeland, was considered his natural base for the timebeing. Thomas Mann gave us Joseph in Egypt; Ibn al-Muªallim now gives us Judah inGranada.

But this is only the beginning of the saga, for events now take an interesting twist. Ibnal-Muªallim’s poem, which was preserved, as noted, in Halevi’s dıwan, is preceded bythe Judaeo-Arabic rubric: “And the vizier Abu Ayub ibn al-Muªallim wrote to him [i. e.Judah Halevi] to the city of Granada.” His poem, however, did not reach Judah Haleviquite immediately. At the end of Ibn al-Muªallim’s poem the dıwan contains anotherrubric in Judao-Arabic:

The poem arrived while only Abu Harun [i. e. Moses ibn Ezra] was there, and heanswered with the poem beginning Nofet sefatayim, which is found in his dıwanso there is no need to write it down here. Then this poem, that is ªAv taªarof[i. e.Ibn al-Muªallim’s poem] reached Judah Halevi, who replied with this qas. ıda . . .8

7 Schirmann, Ha-shirah ha-ªivrit, 1: 543.8 MS Oxford 1971, 37v. Only the first seven lines of Halevi’s poem-in-reply are preserved here, as themanuscript has a gap after that point; our text of Halevi’s poem comes from other mss., as detailed below innote 37.

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Thus we learn that Ibn al-Muªallim’s poem reached Granada while Halevi was awayfrom the city and ended up in Ibn Ezra’s keeping. What, then, was Ibn Ezra to do?Return the poem to its sender? Track Halevi down and send it on? Keep it till Halevishould arrive? As it turns out, Ibn Ezra simply decided to answer the poem himself, andthis he did, of course, using the same rhyme and meter as Ibn al-Muªallim. The resultis the poem Nofet sefatayim (“Is it the honey of the lips?”)9 mentioned in the rubrictranslated above, and today no. 95 in Haim Brody’s edition of Ibn Ezra’s dıwan. In anarticle from 1938, Haim Schirmann summed all these events up in the following way:

This poem, as noted, did not reach Judah Halevi. However, Moses ibn Ezrapermitted himself to read things meant for his friend; and not only this, buteven responded to the sender of the poem in Judah Halevi’s place, which he didaccording to all the conventions of panegyrical poetry.10

We will probably not be exaggerating if we say that in this account of things Schirmannseems fairly appalled by Ibn Ezra’s actions. How, the scholar appears to demand, couldIbn Ezra have read a poem addressed to someone else? And not only read it, but answeredit? As mentioned, this account dates from 1938; by the time Schirmann wrote the wordseventually published in 1995 he had come to grips with Ibn Ezra’s deed and put things ina kinder light. This time he wrote that Ibn Ezra “took it upon himself in knightly fashionto answer Ibn al-Muªallim,” as though Ibn Ezra were rescuing the poem princess-in-the-tower-like from a fate worse than death: namely, neglect.11 Thus Schirmann transformedIbn Ezra over the years from virtual criminal to knight-errant, and yet his later accountof events still has an apologetic ring to it.

In truth, however, Ibn Ezra was neither criminal nor knight, but simply a man ofthe times. Rabbi Gershom, the “Light of the Exile” in tenth-century Germany, mayhave excommunicated people who opened letters not addressed to them, but the poemsand rhymed letters from al-Andalus would hardly have fallen under his stern ban. Farfrom being considered confidential and personal, such literary works were regarded aspublic property, so to speak, to be read and enjoyed not by the recipient alone but withina wider group of friends and literati.12 Robinson notes the public nature of “private”correspondence between royal boon-companions in the courts of al-Andalus, and theblurring of boundaries between the public and private domain.13 And, of course, we havealready seen from Halevi’s own rhymed letter to Ibn Ezra just how public the recitationand composition of Hebrew panegyrics could be. The public nature of these literaryworks is further revealed through the letter which Judah Halevi sent to his friend andpatron, H. alfon Halevi, which we discussed in Chapter Three.14 This letter, as noted,deals with the finances involved in ransoming a female captive, but before launchinginto business Halevi noted that he was taking the opportunity to send H. alfon a letter

9 ÂÙ˙˘Ù˙ÈÈÌ . Moses ibn Ezra, Shirei ha -h. ol, ed. Haim Brody, p. 96 (no. 95).10 Haim Schirmann, “H. ayyei Yehuda Halevi,” Tarbiz 9 (1938), pp. 35–54; 219–240; 284–305. Laterreprinted in Haim Schirmann, Le-toldot ha-shirah ve-ha-drama ha-ªivrit (Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1979);this quotation from vol. 1, p. 258 [trans. mine].11 Schirmann, Toldot ha-shirah ha-ªivrit bi-sefarad ha-muslemit, p. 433.12 Fleischer, “Rabbi Yehuda Halevi: Birurim be-qorot h. ayyav,” p. 262.13 Cynthia Robinson, In Praise of Song, p. 114.14 See Chapter One, p. 46.

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in rhymed-prose that he was sure to enjoy, written by their mutual friend Judah ibnGhayyat.15 Once again, there is no sense that these literary productions were anythingbut public affairs, meant to entertain as many people as possible.

Let us now turn to Moses ibn Ezra’s poem-in-reply. How, then, did he fashion this reply?That he used the same rhyme and meter as Ibn al-Muªallim goes without saying: suchwere the rules of the game. But in terms of images, themes and motifs, Ibn Ezra was freeto employ any of the options offered by the medieval Hebrew tradition. Like a craftsmanin his shop, he could choose from all that came to hand, selecting here, rejecting there,combining, intertwining, refining. Our reading below will examine some of the ways inwhich Ibn Ezra, and Judah Halevi after him, fashioned his poem from the materials instock and created his response to the poem by Solomon ibn al-Muªallim.

From a formal point of view, two things are clear at first glance. Ibn Ezra’s poem isconsiderably longer than his model-poem: Ibn al-Muªallim’s has seventeen lines; IbnEzra’s a grand total of forty. Ibn Ezra has also used eleven of Ibn al-Muªallim rhyme-words, at times changing their meaning through a play on words. The translation belowbrings the first eighteen lines of Ibn Ezra’s poem:

Is it the honey of lips or the wine of the teethor a flowering cheek or the scent of myrrh?

Or have the winds of youth wafted fromSolomon’s letter, [which is] a delight to the eyes?

A letter like the radiance of day in appearance butspread by ink with the cloak of night

A poem like a sapphire [for whiteness], its lines chiseledin onyx like the pupils of the eyes

5 Or blue embroidered by the handsof the pen upon the fine white cotton of Egypt

[It is] weak, but will harry those girded in sharp-edgedswords for battle, like a Goliath

A foot soldier, but will sniff from afar the chariotof war, and for this is girt around the loins

Speaks without tongue and grips withouta finger and runs likes a deer without feet

Silent, but pure of speech, heededby those who dwell in the isles of the sea and beyond

10 Satisfies the thoughts of all who know books, but is a disasterfor fools without number and a trembling in the knees

When shot like an arrow by Solomon, the darkness ofignorance dons a veil of light

And on the neck of his poem strings necklacesnot to be compared to the gold of Parvayim

15 The letter was published by S. D. Goitein, “Autografim mi-yado shel Rabbi Yehuda Halevi,” Tarbiz26 (1956), pp. 403–405; idem, “Judaeo-Arabic Letters from Spain (Early Twelfth Century),” OrientaliaHispanica (Leiden: Brill, 1974), 433–434; Ezra Fleischer and Moshe Gil, Yehuda Halevi u-venei h. ugo, pp.118; 319–321.

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A page that is like a pavement of marble, its words likecoals and the nibs of its pen like tongs.

Its words and contents – see them and say:“myrrh taken from henna and fire from water.”

15 Its perfumes rise towards the nostrils, and in unfolding itflowing myrrh drops from the hands

Were the stars of heaven to see his wordsthey would kneel and bow down to their foreheads

Or [were] poems to soar high like an eagle, only they –like words of prophecy – would rend the heavens

The human eye can never gaze enough at the sightof their splendor, nor ears take in their fill

These lines can be divided into two parts: the opening in lines 1–2, and the followingsixteen lines which deal with the art of writing and can be further subdivided into threeseparate themes: a description of the poem as a beautiful artifact (ll. 3–5), a paean tothe power of the pen (ll. 6–12), and praise of Ibn al-Muªallim’s poem itself, that is, ofits language and contents (ll. 13–18).

An affinity between the two poems is apparent from the very beginning of Ibn Ezra’sqas. ıda. Like Ibn al-Muªallim, Ibn Ezra creates a highly sensual opening via the techniqueof “feigned ignorance,” a tribute to the model-poem’s beautiful beginning.16 But thoughhe uses the same technique, he uses it in a very different way. Ibn al-Muªallim’s speaker isan agonized lover; Ibn Ezra’s the recipient of Ibn al-Muªallim’s poem, and the techniqueof “feigned ignorance” is used synaesthetially to evoke the sensual pleasure its receptioncreates:

Is it the honey of lips or the wine of the teethor a flowering cheek or the scent of myrrh?

Or have the winds of youth wafted fromSolomon’s letter, [which is] a delight to the eyes?

(ll. 1–2)

Taste, fragrance and sight all combine in this description of Ibn al-Muªallim’s poem,contributing to what one critic has called “a super-sensuous unity”17 that evokes thesense of pleasure in receiving the poem. This is a well-established theme in Hebrewpoetry from al-Andalus. Scholars of medieval calligraphy explain that writers mixedtheir ink with various sweet-smelling scents,18 but poets tended to transform this bit ofrealia into metaphors for their own purposes. Judah Halevi, for example, writes to onefriend: “your letter came with lines from pure myrrh / or borrowed from the flower-beds

16 We find an interesting parallel from the late tenth-century, where the calligraphy of the caliph Qabus ibnWushmgird (d. 1013) caused one scribe to burst into rhymed admiration: A-hadha khattu Qabus / am janahutaºus (“Is this the script of Qabus / or a peacock’s [fan]?”). Quoted from Annemarie Schimmel, Calligraphyand Islamic Culture (New York: New York University Press, 1984), p. 62.17 Glenn O’Malley, Shelly and Synesthesia (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1964).18 Schimmel, Calligraphy and Islamic Culture, pp. 12; 40–41. A number of medieval recipes for producingfragrant black ink are collected in Monique Bat-Yehuda Zerdoun, Les Encres noires au Moyen Age (Paris,1983).

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of your fragrance // The sweetness of its words indeed bears witness / that it drankfrom the honey of your love.”19 Elsewhere, in a beautiful panegyric to one Solomon ibnGhayyat,20 Halevi conjures up another fragrant moment when a poem arrives, flutteringin on the wings of a dove:

A breeze softly stole amongst the flower-beds andfrom the heart of the myrtle revealed its hidden love

And birds chirped, and a rasping dovethat to me spoke a pure language

She let fall a shower of grace and dews of love like mannawhen she shook her wings free from the droplets of night.

She is perfume for frankincense when she releases her bundle of myrrh –or when Solomon’s poem is attached to her wing.21

In addition to praising the taste and fragrance of Ibn al-Muªallim’s poem, Ibn Ezraalso calls it “a delight to the eyes”(l. 2), an allusion to the Garden of Eden’s Tree ofKnowledge that is “good for food and a delight to the eyes, and a tree to be desired tomake one wise” (Genesis 3: 6). As we shall see, these are also appropriate descriptionsfor Ibn al-Muªallim’s poem, at least according to Ibn Ezra’s reading. We have alreadylearned that it is “good to taste” – in fact honey and wine; – now we shall see that itis also “a delight to the eyes.” Lines 3–5 describe the beauty of the poem as a physicalartifact, a well-established theme in medieval Hebrew and Arabic with characteristicmotifs and images.

The beauty of the written page, whether the Koran or a poem, is one of the mostimportant themes in Arabic literature, and sayings attesting to the aesthetic appreciationof fine handwriting abound. One medieval work which offers a convenient collection ofsuch sayings is the Epistle on Penmanship by Abu H. ayyan al-Tawh. ıdı (d. after 1009/10),which depicts an elegant gathering of calligraphers and scribes, each of whom “set outto reveal the choice saying that lay hidden in them.”22 There we find such aphorisms as:“Handwriting is a garden whose flowers are instructive remarks.”23 Numerous sayingsliken calligraphy to fine jewels and brocade: “The beauty of the embroidered cloth ofhandwriting is its evenness;”24 or: “Handwriting is jewelry fashioned by the hand fromthe pure gold of the intellect. It also is brocade woven by the calamus with the threadof discernment.”25 And when one official was asked to judge between two scribes herendered his verdict in this fashion: “Your handwriting is a filigree of pure gold,” he saidto one, and to the other: “Your handwriting is fine brocade.”26 In his eyes, both were of

19 ‡Ï·ÁÏÂÌÏÈÏ . Judah Halevi, Dıwan, ed. Haim Brody, 1: 20 (no. 14), ll. 30–34.20 The relationship between Solomon ibn Ghayyat and Judah ibn Ghayyat (if any) is unknown.21 ÚÈÔ„È·‰ . Judah Halevi, Dıwan, ed. Haim Brody 1: 139 (no. 94), ll. 45–52. The lines quoted here drawheavily from the Song of Songs, thus transforming the poem into a love-object.22 F. Rosenthal, “Abu H. ayyan At-Tawh. ıdı on Penmanship,” in Four Essays on Art and Literature in Islam(Leiden: Brill, 1971), p. 24. This essay is a reprint of the article in Ars Islamica 13–14 (1948), pp. 1–30,where the Arabic text is also included. The page numbers here refer to Four Essays.23 Al-Tawh. ıdı, trans. Rosenthal, p. 37, no. 34.24 Ibid., p. 31, no. 12.25 Ibid., p. 38, no. 37.26 Ibid., p. 40, no. 55.

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equal excellence.Poetry was depicted in many of the same images as handwriting. In both Hebrew and

Arabic the craft of the goldsmith is the most common mine for images descriptive ofpoetry, together with the weaving of fine fabrics and tapestries. There are, to be sure,other sources for images of poetry, such as gardens and orchards, but when it comesto describing a poem, or offering it to a friend or dedicating it to a patron, then it iswe often find ourselves squarely in the workshop, generally amidst a heap of glitteringrhymes or a silken tangle of images and metaphors.27

Descriptions of both poetry and calligraphy characteristically focus on the contrastbetween the black of the ink and the white of the page. So, for example, one of al-Tawh. ıdı’s savants praises “the well-measured arrangement of the black (writing) on thewhite (paper of the page),”28 and another quotes the caliph al-Ma’mun as saying “Thestars of wise sayings shine in the darkness of ink.”29 Numerous Hebrew and Arabicpoems liken the color contrasts to night and day; we recall that Ibn Ezra himself laudedHalevi’s first poem as “a letter resembling the face of Dawn / spread across the lines ofnight.”30

This rich vocabulary of aesthetics all finds expression in Ibn Ezra’s description ofIbn al-Muªallim’s poem. Thus when Ibn Ezra describes the poem as an objet d’art inlines 3–5, he focuses on the contrast between black and white and frames this contrastin terms of jewels and fine fabrics, and of darkness and light:

A letter like the radiance of day in appearance butspread by ink with the cloak of night

A poem like a sapphire [for whiteness], its lines chiseledin onyx like the pupils of the eyes


(ll. 3–5)

In line 3, Ibn Ezra compares the paper’s “radiance” (zohar) to the black of “night”(ªarbayim) in the language of Ibn al-Muªallim’s poem, transferring the field of referencefor his own purposes. In Ibn al-Muªallim’s poem the “radiance” and “night” (ll. 2 and5) describe the beauty of the beloved; in Ibn Ezra’s the beauty of the poem.

Lines 6–12 comprise a set-piece on the power of the pen, another major themein Arabic literature.31 Many sayings in al-Tawh. ıdı’s treatise consist of measured pro-nouncements on the power of the pen, such as that spoken by the Caliph al-Maºamun:“How wonderful is the calamus! How it weaves the fine cloth of royal power, [and]

27 Just how common these metaphors are we see even in the very names of anthologies of poetry and poetictreatises: In Arabic, Dar al-t.iraz (“The House of Brocade-Work”) by Ibn Sana al-Mulk; Sirr al-adab wa-sabkal-d. ahab (“The Secret of Adab and Gold-Working)” by Maªn ibn S. umadih. , the Qalaºid al-ªIqyan (“TheGolden Necklace”) by al-Fath. ibn Khaqan, and Al-ªIqd al-farıd (“The Unique Necklace”) by Ibn ªAbdRabbihi. In Hebrew, Moses ibn Ezra called his renowned collection of homonymic poetry Sefer ha-ªAnaq(“The Book of the Necklace”), and images of gold, jewels, and fine fabrics dominate descriptions of poetryand writing in poem after poem.28 Al-Tawh. ıdı, trans. Rosenthal, p. 31, no. 12.29 Ibid., p. 44, no. 73.30 From Moses ibn Ezra, Yaldei yamim (“The Children of Time”), l. 7; above, pp. 10, 12.31 Schimmel, Calligraphy and Islamic Culture, pp. 115–122.

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embroiders the ornamental borders of the garment of the ruling dynasty!”32 Often thetheme is phrased in terms of antithesis and paradox. One guest in al-Tawh. ıdı’s elegantgathering comments: “The calamus is deaf, yet it hears secrets. It is mute, yet it expressesideas clearly.”33 Another says: “The calamus speaks and is silent. It stays in one placeand travels. It is present and absent. It is far away and near at hand.”34 Ibn Ezra’s praise ofIbn al-Muªallim’s poem is reminiscent of all these quotations, including al-Maºamun’spersonified pen with “embroidering” hands:


[It is] weak, but will harry those girded in sharp-edgedswords for battle, like a Goliath

A foot soldier, but will sniff from afar the chariotof war, and for this is girt around the loins

Speaks without tongue and grips withouta finger and runs likes a deer without feet

Silent, but pure of speech, heededby those who dwell in the isles of the sea and beyond

10 Satisfies the thoughts of all who know books, but is a disasterfor fools without number and a trembling in the knees


And on the neck of his poem strings necklacesnot to be compared to the gold of Parvayim

(ll. 5–12)

Ibn Ezra frames his description of the pen’s power in a series of the riddle like-antithesesstandard to the theme in both Hebrew and Arabic. The images are largely martial, as befitsthe conventional treatment of this theme, yet once again Ibn Ezra shapes convention tohis specific need, likening the pen to a Goliath (ish beinayim, l. 6) in a way that bothHebraicizes convention and responds to the language in Ibn al-Muªallim’s poem (cf. l.3 of ªAv taªarof). Line 11 satisfies the third requirement of the Tree of Knowledge, inthat when the pen is wielded by Solomon ibn al-Muªallim, it, too, “makes one wise”:


(l. 11)

And line 12 finds the pen stringing “necklaces” – that is, rhymes – superior to “the goldof Parvayim,” which is fine gold indeed, in fact the very gold used for Solomon’s Temple(II Chronicles 3: 6). All, of course, which refers us back to the mine of goldsmithingimages so frequent in medieval poetry

Lines 13–18 treat of the poem’s excellence in words and content, easing into the

32 Al-Tawh. ıdı, trans. Rosenthal, p. 39, no. 49.33 Ibid., p. 36, no. 29.34 Ibid., p. 45, no. 81.

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theme through a return to the black and white motifs that characterized the earlier partof the poem. Only now, the purpose is not to evoke the beauty of the poem but a sense ofwonder at its power, and this is achieved through the juxtaposition of elements normallyinimical to one another:

A page that is like a pavement of marble, its words likecoals and the nibs of its pen like tongs.

Its words and contents – see them and say:“myrrh taken from henna and fire from water.”

15 Its perfumes rise towards the nostrils, and in unfolding itflowing myrrh drops from the hands

(ll. 13–15)

Ibn Ezra compares the words to black coals removed by the “tongs” of the pen fromthe cool white marble of the page (l. 13), to fire and water (l. 14), and to “myrrh takenfrom henna” (ibid.), an image which evokes both the contrast of color (myrrh/black –henna-flowers/white) and the fragrances used in mixing the ink according to medievalpractice. Just as wine-poetry mixes the metaphors of fire and water in the wine-gobletto create a sense of wonder at the miraculous qualities of wine, so too these imagesconjure up the miraculous nature of Ibn al-Muªallim’s poetry. The final three lines ofthis section add further praise through the use of sheer hyperbole, line 17 even comparingIbn al-Muªallim’s words to prophecy:35

Were the stars of heaven to see his wordsthey would kneel and bow, foreheads down

Or [were] poems to soar high like an eagle, only theylike words of prophecy would rend the heavens

The human eye can never gaze enough at the sightof their splendor, nor ears take in their fill

(ll. 16–18)

There are two themes in Ibn al-Muªallim’s poem that also find their way into Ibn Ezra’sresponse. One of these is the lament over separation:

Would that the day of parting grew darkand blacken the stars of dusk like a stove

And that the night of separation not seek the dayor behold the eyelids of the morning light

(ll. 27–28)

This is such a conventional theme that one hesitates to attribute its inclusion to anyspecific response to Ibn al-Muªallim’s poem, even though both are framed in terms of

35 Dan Pagis notes that the comparison between prophecy and poetry became common in medieval Hebrewpoetry, paradoxically enough only with the rise of secular poetry in the mid-tenth century. For an interestingdiscussion of this topic, see Dan Pagis, “Ha-meshorer ke-navi be-shirah ha-ªivrit bi-yemei ha-beinayim,”Ha-shir davur ªal ofnav (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1993), pp. 278–279.

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dark and light (cf. l. 5 of ªAv taªarof). But the second theme which the two poems havein common, the shedding of tears over separation from the beloved friend, does seemto show an affinity. To be sure, tears are frequent in many of Ibn Ezra’s poems, butthere are some particular points in common here. Just as Ibn al-Muªallim weeps tearsof blood and then expresses the great quantity of his tears through a rather extravaganthyperbole:

Were it not that my heart’s blood is dripping inside them,clouds would not need to store any water but them!

(l. 11)

so Ibn Ezra indulges in some watery hyperbole of his own:

The day the mist rose from the bowels, the streams of the headgushed forth, passing over the ankles:

30 Water that gushed and would have overcome allwere it not that my eyes were divided in two.

They did not not recede, for the waters of love drank deepfrom my heart and drew the blood of my bowels.

(ll. 29–31)

One theme without counterpart in Ibn al-Muªallim’s poem is Ibn Ezra’s boast of his ownpoetry. While we might not expect such a theme under the circumstances – Ibn Ezra is,after all, responding to another person’s poetic efforts – it is nevertheless fair game inthe medieval tradition.36 The boast comes at the very end of the poem, woven into hisdedication to the poem’s recipient:

Behold a poem of friendship that rejoicesin your name like a poem set to dancing and cymbals

It bows down unto you even though the sunwould raise it up and shoulder it high

It acknowledges your wisdom though it is a robeof wisdom whose edges trail over the heavens

It is to be called the hand-maiden to she [i. e. the poem] who sang:“Is a cloud drizzling or are my eyes dripping?”

40 May she soar on high till the heights of heavens collapse,and reign till the hosts of heavens fade away.

(ll. 36–40)

Let us now turn to the third poem in our group, Judah Halevi’s At. li, h. azaq levav (“Begentle with me, O strong of heart”).37 Like Ibn Ezra’s poem-in-reply, it too is forty

36 Israel Levin, Meªil tashbetz, 1: 150–208, with copious examples from both Hebrew and Arabic poetry.37 ‡ËÏÈÁÊ˜Ï·· . The poem is not printed in Haim Brody’s edition of Halevi’s Dıwan since, as noted abovein note 8, there is a gap in MS Oxford 1971 at this point. S. M. Stern printed the Hebrew poem on the basis ofMS Schocken 37 in his “Arabic Poems by Spanish-Hebrew Poets,” pp. 262–263. The poem was again printedby Yehuda Ratzhabi on the basis of MS Firkowitz Collection IIA 39 (microfiche: 42637) in his “Asher ah. az

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lines long, and surely this is no coincidence. But apart from its length Halevi’s poemshows no specific link to Ibn Ezra’s. There is, to be sure, a section praising the beautyof Ibn al-Muªallim’s poem, but this is practically obligatory in a poem-in-reply and histreatment of the theme is highly unique. Halevi, moreover, does not open his poem withthe “feigned ignorance” of either Ibn al-Muªallim or Ibn Ezra, and begins with a nasıb,a love lament for a cruel ephebe:

Be gentle with me, O strong of heart and supple of waist,be gentle with me till I can bow down to the ground

My eyes alone have erred through you, for I ampure of heart if not pure of eyes

Allow my eye to gather from your facethe rose and lily sown mingled together

I would desire the fire of your cheek to extinguish fire with fire –but when I thirst, I will find water therein

5 I would sip the ruby lip that blazes likecoal – for my lips are tongs

My life hangs between two threads of scarletred, but my death is between dusk and night

Back in Chapter Five, Halevi lured Ibn Ghayyat to a wine-drinking party with a hintthat cup-bearers “of both kinds” were present,38 and we now get a portrait of themale beloved, or ephebe, so frequent in both medieval Hebrew and Arabic poetry. Butmasculine or feminine, there is really no difference in the description of the beloved.Like the “gazelle” whom we met in Halevi’s muwashshah. a “O sun behind your curtainedhair,”39 our ephebe is handsome but cruel and imperious (l. 1); like her he has red lipsand cheeks, a white face (ll. 3–5) and black eyes (l. 6). Unusual in a poem of thisgenre, our poet alludes to the fact that love for the ephebe is forbidden: the colors ofthe ephebe’s face – the conventional red and white – are described in terms of the kindof hybrid flower-bed strictly forbidden in Leviticus 19: 19. Halevi depicts the lover as amiracle of nature – capable of both quenching love’s thirst and igniting love’s fire (l. 4).Ibn Ezra also depicts a “miracle of nature” in his poem (ll. 13–14), but his “miracle”relates to the power of Ibn al-Muªallim’s poetry. Indeed, if we compare lines 4 and 5of Halevi’s poem with lines 13–14 of Ibn Ezra’s we find a striking similarity, but thesimilarity is more likely due to the fluidity of images and techniques in medieval poetrythan to any dependence between the two poems.

Like any poet in either Hebrew or Arabic, Halevi praises the beauty of the model-poem in images drawn from the craftsman’s atelier. He does so, however, is a way that istotally his own, merging the black eyebrows of his beloved into the myrrh-black lines ofIbn al-Muªallim’s poem, and his radiant white face into the paper on which it is written:

bi-kenafot ha-ahavah,” ªIton 77, no. 169, February/Adar 1994, pp. 16–17. There are some slight differencesbetween the two published texts, as well as one significant difference (in l. 38), which will be discussedbelow.38 Judah Halevi, Haqbel penei dodkha (“Show your loving face”), Chapter Five, p. 73.39 Judah Halevi, H. ama beªad raqiaª (“O sun behind your curtained hair”), ibid., p. 79.

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My life hangs between two threads of scarletred, but my death between dusk and night

Lines of pure myrrh embroidered the embroidery of high officethat resemble nightime around afternoon

Bezalel would have despaired of embroidering such as theseuntil he borrowed the hands of Solomon

On the surface of the scroll his hands embroideredcolors not embroidered on the face of the gazelle

10 This is writing that provides pearls for necklacesand gently enflames the sorceries of Egypt;

That which holds the wings of love holds heartsand is held by the hands

Almost imperceptibly, the colors of the ephebe’s face – red, white and black – becometransformed into the surface of the poem itself: the white page, the red-inked embel-lishments,40 the black letters of the writing. Ibn al-Muªallim’s poem thus becomes, likethe ephebe before it, an object of love and reverence. The beauty of the poem, however,outdoes the beauty of the ephebe:

On the surface (penei) of the scroll his hands embroideredcolors (ªeinayim) not embroidered on the face (penei) of the gazelle

(l. 7)

The comparison between ephebe and poem is strengthened through the repetition of theword “face” (penei) and a pun on the word ªeinayim, which, as already noted, meansboth “eyes” and “colors.”41

Halevi uses the conventional metaphors of craftsmanship to laud the beauty of Ibnal-Muªallim’s poem but at the same time creates a unique set of images around thefigure of Bezalel, the biblical craftsman par excellence. Bezalel, as we read in the Bookof Exodus, was filled “with the spirit of God”

in wisdom, in understanding, and in knowledge, and in all manner of workman-ship; and to contrive works of art, to work in gold, and in silver, and in brass, andin the cutting of stones to set them, and in carving of wood, to make all mannerof artistic work (Exodus 35: 31–33).

It was Bezalel who fashioned the Tabernacle, the Ark of the Covenant and all theimplements necessary to the service of God in the desert, but master craftsman andembroiderer though he was (Exodus 35: 35), Bezalel was as nought compared toSolomon ibn al-Muªallim – the author of the beautiful poem Halevi now praises:

Bezalel would have despaired of embroidering such as theseunless he borrowed Solomon [ibn al-Muªallim’s] hands

40 On the practice of embellishing the poem with red ink, see Schimmel, Calligraphy and Islamic Culture,pp. 121–122.41 See above, note 6.

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(l. 8)

The name of Bezalel does not reappear in the poem, but through a series of textualallusions Halevi creates an entire web of images that transforms Ibn al-Muªallim intoa virtual Bezalel (l. 11a) and Ibn al-Muªallim’s poem into the Ark of the Covenant (l.11b). In Exodus 37: 7–9 we read of the “cherubs” (keruvim) that Bezalel fashionedfor the Ark, “spreading out their wings on high,” and this text provides the basis for anumber of images and epithets throughout the poem, beginning in line 11.

That which holds the wings of love holds heartsand is held by the hands.

(l. 11)

Thus held by “the wings of love,” Ibn al-Muªallim’s poem becomes the Ark of theCovenant held aloft by cherubs – and is held in the hand by its recipient, Judah Halevi.Halevi then transfers the epithet from poem to poet through the process of metonymy,with Ibn al-Muªallim becoming the “cherub” (keruv) himself for the rest of the poem.He appears under this rubric no less than four different times, in lines 13, 14, 18, and38.

A comparison between the poems by Ibn Ezra and Halevi shows interesting differ-ences in the treatment of other themes and motifs. So, for example, both poets link theirhero’s name with his biblical antecedent, a device practically de rigeur in the Hebrewpanegyric. Thus Ibn Ezra refers to “Solomon’s wisdom” (l. 19), an allusion whichneatly links his praise of Solomon ibn al-Muªallim with the biblical paragon of wisdom.Halevi links Ibn al-Muªallim to King Solomon through Ecclesiastes, the author of thebiblical book of wisdom and traditionally identified with King Solomon. In writingthat he is “Second only to Ecclesiastes amongst the children of Time” (l. 15a), Haleviis proclaiming Solomon ibn al-Muªallim a second King Solomon. He then heightensthe praise by backtracking to find that there is virtually no difference between the twoSolomons, phrasing his discovery in the language of Genesis 48: 17: one “is Menassehand the other’s Ephraim” (l. 25b)

In addition to this difference between the two poems, it appears that Halevi is carefulnot to be suspected of competing with Moses ibn Ezra. Both Halevi and Ibn Ezra praiseIbn al-Muªallim’s poem, but while Ibn Ezra waxes eloquent on the subject, Halevisqueezes his into three lines. On the other hand, Halevi gives “the day of separation”theme a full-length treatment of fifteen lines (ll. 24-37), perhaps because Ibn Ezratreated it in rather cursory fashion in only three (ll. 27-29).

To give another example of the differences: Ibn al-Muªallim claims that his heart wasbroken in two by the pain of separation (l. 6), and while Ibn Ezra does not pick up onthis motif, Halevi does. Characteristically, Halevi weaves the motif into his poem in away that is entirely his own, using an allusion to the covenant between Abraham andGod in Genesis 15: 10:

The heart amongst whose pieces you pass throughlike your own heart that is cut in two.

(l. 22)

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There are several motifs and images which run through all three poems like a scarletthread, though the thread is twisted differently in each. One of these is the use of therhyme-phrase ish beinayim (here translated as “Goliath”). For Ibn al-Muªallim, Haleviis a Goliath of wisdom (l. 3); for Ibn Ezra the pen is a Goliath in its strength and might(l. 6); and for Halevi – Goliath is the power of night struggling to keep daylight – andseparation – safely at bay:

Dawn like the “ruddy one” raced to battle nightwho prevailed like a Goliath

Dawn (shah. ar) – but blacker (mi-sheh. or) in my eyes than nightmakes the camping place of a bear bereaved of its cub

(ll. 32-33)

These two lines turn the struggle between night and day into an allegory of David andGoliath, with David periphrastically termed the “ruddy one” of I Samuel 16: 12. Therosy dawn prevails, of course, just as the ruddy David prevailed over Goliath – butGoliath is the good guy in this poem, and the fear of dawn is reinforced through a cleverplay on words (shah. ar / mi-sheh. or).

To sum up, we find that the three poems are interwoven in ways beyond the formalelements of rhyme and meter, but that the affinities between them are based on the mostnuanced ties of language and technique. It also appears that although Halevi’s poem isequal to Ibn Ezra’s in length, he is responding to Ibn al-Muªallim’s poem alone. Onewonders how this came about. Could Ibn Ezra have greeted Halevi upon his return withthe news that a poem had arrived for him during his absence, and that he, Ibn Ezra, had inthe meantime written a poem-in-reply of forty lines? That certainly would have meant adelicate balancing act for Judah Halevi. It would have caused him to write a poem just aslong as Ibn Ezra’s (so as not to appear behind-hand in his respect for Ibn al-Muªallim),but also no longer (lest he appear disrespectful to Moses ibn Ezra). All this, of course,is just speculation, but since we are speculating, it is interesting to wonder if these twopoems-in-reply might just be the reason why we have only one Hebrew poem from Ibnal-Muªallim, who – poor thing! – wrote a lovely panegyric of modest proportions andreceived in return a torrent of eighty lines of the most polished verse by the two greatestpoets of the day. No wonder if he took solace in medicine and Arabic poetry, where wefind the only remaining traces of him today.

* * *

Let us now turn to a question somewhat less speculative in nature, and that is the valueof this group of poems for the question of whether or not Judah Halevi had what theresearch calls his Granada period. The rubric which we translated above from MS Oxford1971 has Moses ibn Ezra composing a reply before the poem reached Judah Halevi,and this is the sequence followed in our presentation of the poems. There is, however,yet another rubric concerning this group of poems recently discovered in St. Petersburgamong the fragments of the Firkowitz Collection, and this rubric reverses the order ofthings, with Judah Halevi and not Ibn Ezra being the first to receive and respond to Ibnal-Muªallim’s poem:

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And when the two odes together reached the sah. ib al-shurt.a Abu Harun [Moses]ibn Ezra, he wrote to Abu Ayub [Solomon ibn al-Muªallim] and praised him withthese lines, imitating both of these qas. ıdas.42

The real concern underlying the question of who responded first, Halevi or Ibn Ezra,is whether this group of poems can provide evidence for Halevi’s having stayed inGranada prior to the Almoravid invasion. Yosef Yahalom, who discovered the rubric inSt. Petersburg, contends that this new rubric throws into question what was, for him, theonly real piece of evidence in favor of a Granada Period.43 However, new rubrics are notnecessarily preferable to old ones, as Ezra Fleischer points out, and the first rubric alsocomes from MS Oxford 1971, long considered the most authentic testimony to Halevi’sdıwan.44

But all questions of rubric aside, it seems that St. Petersburg actually offers additionalevidence of Halevi’s “Granada period;” namely in a better reading of line 38 of Halevi’spoem-in-reply, where, unlike the text previously published by S. M. Stern, we find thename of Granada (Rimon, in the Hebrew).45 Stern has the word hamon (“the many”)in place of Rimon (“Granada”), a mistake easily incurred through the similarity of thetwo strokes needed to pen the opening letter in both words. And indeed, this differencedisappears when one re-examines Schocken 37. Playing on the “cherub” (keruv) epithetwith which he has dubbed Ibn al-Muªallim throughout his poem, Halevi writes:

35 My beloved, you determined to torture me with the fireof Gehenna: behold! the fire of your leaving is twice as much

Your leaving, and my death – over both of these I cry out:alas! Time has outwitted me twice over

Never has there been such a rending of the cloud of tearswith the dew drops of a mighty weeping.

Whether it was Rimon (“Granada”) moaning over your leaving, or whetherit was Jerusalem moaning over the cherub’s having left.

(ll. 35–38)

By establishing the correct reading of the word in line 38, it seems evident that Ibnal-Muªallim met Halevi in Granada itself, and for this reason sent his poem to that city,expecting it to find Halevi there. We thus have one more piece in the puzzle confirmingthe theory that Judah Halevi did indeed have his Granada period just as portrayed byHaim Brody and Haim Schirmann: that is, before the Almoravid conquest and in thecompany of Moses ibn Ezra, then in his heyday as reigning Hebrew poet of al-Andalus.

42 MS Firkowitz, Collection IIA, MS 206.1. See Yosef Yahalom, “Ginzei Leningrad ve-h. eqer shirat h. ayyavshel rabbi Yehuda Halevi,” Peªamim 46–47 (1991), p. 61, note 29.43 Yahalom, ibid.44 Fleischer, “Rabbi Yehuda Halevi: Birurim be-qorot h. ayyav,” p. 262.45 The presence of the word Rimon (“Granada”) in Halevi’s poem does not seem to have been specificallynoticed in the research. Ratzhabi, who published the text in his article “Asher ah. az bi-kenafot” with the correctreading, makes no mention of its significance, and indeed does not seem aware that Stern had previouslypublished the text. He mentions only the publication of the poem’s opening lines back in 1930, in Mizrah.u-maªarav 5, pp. 10–11, on the basis of MS Adler 2763, fol. 66v.

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Chapter Seven

HEBREW BOON-COMPANIONS AS POETS FOR JEWISH OCCASIONS

The ideals of boon-companionship also lent themselves to poems of a more “Jewish”nature than those outlined in the previous chapters, or at least to poems celebrating eventssomewhat more anchored in the traditional Jewish calendar than the wine-drinkingparties discussed until now. One such poem from the Granada period celebrates theholiday of Purim and was written by Judah Halevi while temporarily residing or visitingin the nearby town of Guadix (Wadı-ash in Arabic),1 a “very fine city,” as al-Maqqarıassures us, “surrounded by orchards and brooks. The inhabitants are endowed with thegift of poetry and great love for the sciences.”2 Talented as they were, however, it turnsout that Judah Halevi was not dependent on local poetry lovers, for his Purim poem Lifneikeruv shilesh (“Before the cherub”)3 was addressed to two of his boon-companions backin Granada: Isaac ibn Ezra – the eldest of the four Ibn Ezra brothers – and Judah ibnGhayyat. The rubric above the poem reads:

A panegyric sent to Judah ibn Ghayyat and Abu Harun [Moses] ibn Ezra, maythey rest in peace, to the city of Granada from the city of Guadix during the daysof Purim, laughing a bit over some matter between them.4

The rubric errs on one point: it was Isaac ibn Ezra and not his brother Moses to whomthe poem was addressed (together with Judah ibn Ghayyat), a fact that is clear from thepoem itself (cf. ll. 24b–25a). But that the three were “laughing a bit over some matterbetween them” is beyond doubt; the poem is bursting with joy and good spirits. ThePurim nature of the poem is emphasized through rhyme (–rim); every line effectivelyechoes the holiday’s name. Only, parts of the poem are somewhat enigmatic to us today,largely because Halevi is replying to a written communication – a poem or letter –which he received from his two addressees (cf. ll. 9–10), and this, unfortunately, hasnot come down to us. The poem appears full of references to things we can only guessat today – “fraught with background,” to use Auerbach’s felicitous phrase – and bafflingto those outside the magic circle of their laughter. We can gather, from the poem, thatIbn Ezra and Ibn Ghayyat sent their absent friend in Guadix a couple of fish over thePurim holidays, suitably baked and garnished (ll. 11–12). But just why they sent him

1 For a description of Guadix from early eleventh-century Andalus, see ªAbd al-Munªim al-H. imyarı’s Lapeninsule Iberique au moyen age d’apres le Kitab ar-rawd. al-miªt.ar fı habar al-ak. t.ar, ed. (Arabic) andFrench trans. E. Levi-Provencal, (Leiden: Brill, 1938), pp. 233–234 [192].2 The Mohammedan Dynasties in Spain, trans. Pascual de Gayangos, p. 46. Al-Maqqarı goes on to quote anArabic poem in honor of Guadix by the poet Abu-l-Hasan ibn Nasr.3 ÏÙÈÎ¯Â·˘ÈÏ˘ . Judah Halevi, Dıwan, ed. Haim Brody, 2: 263 (no. 37).4 MS Oxford 1970, fol. 179r.

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Hebrew Boon-Companions

these fish we may never know; one imagines that they were a witty allusion to some gaylark the three friends had kicked up together in Granada. Whatever the reason, Halevi’spoem contains a dramatic monologue from the mouth of the two fish which is not onlya marvelous bit of Purimspiel, but arguably one of the wittiest and most humorouspassages in all of Hebrew poetry from Muslim Spain.5 Though one would never expectit from the beginning of the qas. ıda! This begins in a torrent of tears with a lament overseparation from friends, the “two heavenly orbs” whom the “cherub” now joins to makethree:

Before the cherub made a third to the two heavenly orbsand swung his spear of grace to enslave the sons of freemen

From his mouth scattering pearls with his wordsso that nought was linked together but two rows

Clear as the water of my eyes, pure as my loveperfect like the tumim, radiant like the urim.

When I weep to see its rows scattered,he laughs and show me my tears linked together

5 Clear as jewels set with emeralds,as the group of boon-companions that grows ever brighter

For what is Orion before the beauties of a companyof beloved friends made up of princes and nobles?

They arouse the fire of my heart’s desirewhile evil clouds split my heart asunder.

My soul is bound to their souls, and though bodiesmay be separated, hearts are bound together.

[Is it] their handwritten greetings or the perfume of cinammon,or pillars of smoke perfumed with myrrh?

10 Lines upon frankincense written in the oil of myrrhand dusted with the dust of the perfumer’s powder.

From kingly delicacies they took a gift:these two that fell into the trap

Their woes are my own heart’ woes – in fire and waterthey came as though distressed by separation

But because they allow us to meet with the gentleman we loveour souls take delight in their ailments and woes

[They are] gold and pomegranates to their recipient,like their brethren the fatted geese

15 Who desired to come like the harvestafter their two friends, who came like the first fruits

They waited for the hook as it was most sweet to their palatesand besought it throughout the waves and the billows.

They were despoiled of their ornaments, the ornaments of fins,and divested of their garment of sapphire-like scales

5 Schirmann discusses this incident in Le-toldot ha-shirah ve-ha-drama, 1: 259, and more briefly in Toldotha-shirah ha-ªivrit bi-sefarad ha-muslemit, p. 433.

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They said to your recipient: “We were sent, O prince,and lo we are come to you in fetters

The sun scorched us with the flames of love for youDo not see us as being black:

20 Underneath the black attire you will find the whiteness of alabaster;strips hedged in by thistles and thorns

We grew fat and sleek down in the depths as carved ivoryPlump and juicy oozing from the knife.

They who left a vineyard without winecame like enemies to spill the blood of grapes.

We drink without compulsion; quaff without intoxicationover the loving memory of joyful friends.

Judah I thank with my heart and lipsand Isaac make laugh to hear the daughters of song

25 Delightful chaps, the son of Ezra and the son of Yeshaªwho go out to battle like heroes

May they and their circle bear a greeting to the commander oftheir affections and raise the banner of his love high like a flag.

Just thinking of them is equal to the wings of a dovefor wandering afar and o’erstriding the deserts and seas

For were it not for these last kindnesses with which I have met,roads and overpasses would have rolled forth to entrap me.

May Time draw near to sip from their loves,for autumn has passed and turtledoves also heard

30 One way of the other: let there not tarry gifts (maªot)from (meºet) the output (meªot) of the sea for Purim draws near

And like the sea and its gifts (meªotav) and Heaven and its hostsmay the everlasting mountains bear peace to all.

The poem begins in a glitter of light with a number of well-known poetic motifs: the “twoheavenly orbs” of the absent friends (l.1), “scattered pearls” of speech (l. 2a), sparklingteeth (l. 2b), and the glistening of lovers’ tears (l. 3), the latter sacred for being shedin the name of friendship and thus garbed in the language of sacrality, the mysteriousurim and tumim of Exodus 28: 30 and elsewhere. One glistening image dissolves intothe next, evoking the transience of pleasant times spent together, and there is a constantstruggle between the powers of unity and separation:

When I weep to see its rows scattered,he laughs and show me my tears linked together

For what is Orion before the beauties of a groupof beloved friends founded by princes and peers?

(ll. 4–5)

Here the heap of glittering images crystalise into a necklace of tears (4b) as bright as“Orion” – as a lover’s tears should be – but less shining nevertheless than the “groupof beloved friends” for whom the poet is longing. This much can be gathered from the

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images in the opening of the poem. But line 1b, with its enigmatic allusion to 2 Samuel23:18, is far more cryptic:

Before the cherub made a third to the two celestial orbsand swung his spear of grace to enslave the sons of freemen

Is this something that only the three friends themselves could understand? Or does ithave a meaning that passes us by? We can only wonder.

Line 9 reveals that Halevi’s poem comes in response to a poem or a note written byhis friends, which he dutifully praises in conventional images of fragrance and color,describing the myrrh-black lines of writing against the background of frankincense-white. But there is nothing conventional about his description of the gift accompanyingthese lines of myrrh and frankincense. This turns out to be nothing less than a coupleof large grilled fish: “kingly delicacies” (l. 11a) and a contingent of smaller ones, the“fatted geese” of line 14b, all humorously wrapped in the language of love-sickness.Like any good lover the fish “fell into a trap” (l. 11b), braved “fire and water” (l. 12a),and separation (l. 12b) – and all in order to reach Halevi’s table ready-baked. That theyare kingly presents is emphasized by the references to “gold and pomegranates” (l. 14a)and the “first fruits” of the harvest (l. 15). Suitably enough the fish arrive sans fins andscales (l. 17), something any cook might contrive, but surely only Judah Halevi woulddress this culinary detail in a humorous allusion to Exodus 12: 36, so that the fish, likethe ancient Egyptians, have been “despoiled of their ornaments.” And now comes thetour-de-force of the whole piece, for at this point the fish open their mouths and beginto speak – and not only speak, but to quote from the Song of Songs:

They said to your recipient: “We were sent, O prince,and lo we are come to you in fetters

The sun scorched us with the flames of love for youDo not see us as being black:

20 Underneath the black attire you will find the whiteness of alabasterstrips hedged in by thistles and thorns

We grew fat and sleek down in the depths as carved ivoryPlump and juicy oozing from the knife

This is dramatic monologue that Browning himself might have envied. Humor is createdthrough the profound discrepancy in register between the subject under discussion andthe language used to describe it: the fish’s flesh is like ivory (l. 20) and the “whitenessof alabaster” (l. 21); the kitchen grill nothing less than the “flames of love” (l. 19).And in a rapturous description not to be matched by the most ambitious of restaurantmenus, the fish describe their baked and blackened selves in a wonderful parody of theshepherdess in Canticles: “Do not gaze upon me, because I am black, because the sunhas scorched me” (Song of Songs 1: 6). Then continuing their self-portrait, the fishdescribe their flesh, crust, and bones through another amusing biblical allusion in line20:

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20 Underneath the black attire you will find the whiteness of alabasterstrips hedged in by thistles and thorns

The delicate fish-bones are here called “thistles and thorns,” an allusion to the grimwarning in Genesis 3:18: “in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life; thornsalso and thistles shall it bring forth to thee.” Coming from the mouth of the fish as itdoes, this allusion is wonderfully disingenuous. Our fish, it would seem, are not onlywell-read and adept at quoting Scripture, but apparently quite pleased at the prospect ofsweet revenge on those who would eat them! Fish-bones can make for sorrowful eatingindeed.

In line 21b we find the fish “oozing from the knife,” making an end to both the fishand their monologue. From here we return to the conventions of panegyric poetry, withpraise for the recipients of his poem and expressions of hope for an early reunion, allpreceded by a brief transition that leads us out of the land of talking fish and back tothe business of panegyric. Lines 24–25 belie the testimony of the rubric, showing thatthe poem was written for Judah ibn Ghayyat and Isaac ibn Ezra, not his brother Moses.as the rubric says. Line 24 is more intent on punning on the names of his recipients,as befits a good Purim poem, than in identifying precisely which Isaac and Judah aremeant; there were, after all, more than one of each in the immediate neighborhood ofour boon-companions. Line 25, however, leaves no room for doubt:

Judah (yehuda) I thank (ahodeh) with my heart and lipsand Isaac (yitzh. aq) make laugh (atzah. eq) to hear the daughters of song

25 Delightful chaps, the son of Ezra (ben Ezra) and the son of Yeshaª6

who go out to battle like heroes

One is tempted to ponder the biographical information seemingly embedded in lines28–29. What are these “last kindnesses” that keep Halevi from rejoining his friends?Is he referring to the gifts just received, or perhaps to hospitality being shown him inGuadix? Brody asks these questions in his commentary to the poem, but wisely leavesthem unanswered.7 And indeed the answer is perhaps not too important for our purposes.For us it is enough to witness the sense of fun and comradeship so clearly shown in thispoem and to experience the dynamics between the Hebrew “boon-companions” of ourcircle in a unique and entirely unexpected way.

* * *

For poets bent on recreating the courtly ideals of boon-companionship within a Jewishmilieu, the festival of Purim was made to order. This celebration of Jewish salvation inancient Persia, recorded in the Scroll of Esther, has been an occasion for merry-makingsince time immemorial and the annals of Hebrew literature are full of parodies andhumorous poems written especially in its honor.8 But in addition to Purim, what other

6 Judah Halevi also dubbed Judah ibn Ghayyat “the son of Yeshaª” in the poem Ma-li leravot (“Why shouldI soak the ground?”), l. 20b.7 See Brody’s commentary to the poem in the Dıwan, 2: 240.8 On the literary work written in honor of Purim see Israel Davidson, Parody in Jewish Literature (New

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events in the Jewish calendar could serve our Hebrew boon-companions? The answer,it would seem, was weddings.

Judah Halevi is the wedding poet par excellence from medieval Spain. Some forty ofhis wedding-poems have come down to us, many of them in the form of muwashshah. as,and many of them of incredible beauty.9 These poems blend well-known motifs fromsecular love poetry with the ideals of the married state to create masterpieces of word,sound and imagery. The “gazelles” in these poems exhibit the standard motifs of beautyfrom secular love- and wine-poetry, but in the wedding-poem there is no room for agonyand tension: beauty’s arrows lose their barbs, and lovesickness turns into a sweet andexpectant yearning. Unfortunately, however, at least for the purposes of this study, noneof Halevi’s wedding-poems can be definitely assigned to the “Granada period,” andwhile some of them may well date to this time there is simply no way of knowing. Thereare, to be sure, several small wedding-poems composed for someone named “Judah,”but whether these were composed for Judah ibn Ghayyat, as Fleischer suggests,10 issomething we do not know, just as we cannot be sure that they were composed duringthe Granada period in question. Nevertheless, the probability that some of these wedding-poems date to this period is increased by the fact that at least one wedding-poem hasapparently come down to us from pre-Almoravid Granada: a qas. ıda written by Mosesibn Ezra for his friend, Solomon ibn Matar.11

Ibn Ezra’s wedding-poem begins with the words Ha-reyah. mor (“Is that the scent ofmyrrh?)12 and is a beautifully constructed qas. ıda with all the elements of the classictradition: a long, impressive opening (ll. 1–14) on a subject different from the main partof the poem; a line of transition that whisks the reader into the poem’s main part (l. 15);the body of the poem itself, with its praise for the recipient (ll. 16–20) and the morepersonal content (in this case, the lines dealing with the wedding-theme: ll. 21–38); andfinally, the dedication and benedictions at the end (ll. 39–45). It begins with a seriesof striking lines rich in sensuous images and constructed via the technique of “feignedignorance” (hittammut) so characteristic of Ibn Ezra’s poetry.

Is that the scent of myrrh gripping every corner,or is it a breeze swaying the myrtles?

And is that a cloud, or the attar of cassia and calamus?Lightning, or the lightning of the goblets of nectar?

And are those clouds pouring forth perfumes,

York: University of Columbia Press, 1907), esp. pp. 19–23; 30–31; 37–38; 47–50.9 Haim Brody included the wedding-poems amongst the love-poems in Halevi’s Dıwan, vol. 2 (pp. 1–66). Israel Zamora does include a separate section of wedding-poems in his edition, but this is scarcelycomplete: only a handful of poems are included in this category; the others are interspersed amongst the lovepoems, as in Brody’s edition. Halevi’s wedding-poems have received little scholarly attention apart fromTova Rosen-Moked’s study in Leºezor shir (Chapter Fourteen), and in idem, “On Tongues Being Bound andLet Loose: Women in Medieval Hebrew Literature,” Prooftexts 8 (1988), pp. 77–79. For a study of Halevi’swedding-poems and their relations to the muwashshah. a, see Ann Brener, “Kharja-like Endings in HebrewWedding-poems from Muslim Spain” (in preparation).10 The two wedding-poems for “Judah” are printed in Judah Halevi, Dıwan, 2: 58–59 (nos. 57 and 58). Thepossibility that they were composed for Judah ibn Ghayyat is mentioned by Fleischer in Schirmann, Toldotha-shirah ha-ªivrit bi-sefarad ha-muslemit, p. 510, note 120.11 Fleischer counts this poem among those “definitely composed during the Granada period” in his “YehudahHalevi: Birurim be-qorot h. ayyav,” p. 250.12 ‰¯ÈÁÓÂ¯ . Moses ibn Ezra, Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Haim Brody, p. 159 (no. 160).

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or from the tips of myrtles are there droplets?And are those hills shouting forth joyfully without a mouth,

or turtledoves on the fronds, and songbirds?5 And the earth’s clothing is inwrought with gold

and its robes are silken and stripedAnd all its paths have become straight for those who tread it

and the mountain peaks have turned back like valleysAnd houses sing out joyfully, and from the wall

the posts respond back, and from the timber the beamsAnd woebegone faces have donned joy

and the dour are festive and gladAnd the lips of the stammerers will speak eloquently

to raise the destroyed buildings of joy10 Because they see the hidden wonders

long concealed in the heartAnd the precious tent coupled, and the clasps

of glory put into the loopsAnd the days have made bone to bone draw near

and cleaved the divided fleshJoys have ascended mountains of myrrh

and on the hills of frankincense they are like bannersAnd on the wings of dawn good tidings

throughout the world – not by messengers or horses:15 Solomon has betrothed his beloved princess –

or is it that the moon and sun are betrothed?[He Solomon] whose feet have carved out the path of wisdom

and whose legs bestride moralityAnd whose thoughts from youth are in the heavens

and his meditations tethered to the starsAnd has towered over the youth of his age

as people tower over cattle and reptilesAnd his deeds are more valuable than theirs

just as pearls are more valuable than pottery20 They may race to catch up with the dust of his feet,

but what bird can pursue eagles?Tell me: how has Orion met up with the Pleiades

on earth without anyone taking note?Or if not, have the wings of their [the stars’] splendor

stretched forth their glory upon their faces?How have they robbed their light: have people

been seen plundering and stealing lights?O friends, hasten to the wine of friendship;

drink today from the cup of bliss25 And be yet destined to double joys

and open wide the stable doorsThe goblets have congealed like water

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and the coals inside of them are meltingDrink up, for he is founding his house;

drink up I say, lest you be forced!And rejoice, O young man, in the loving doe

and let the two sing forth, both of them joyfulAnd delight in she whose stature is like unto a palm-tree

but who sways like the branches of the myrtle30 And fear not the jingle of ornaments at her throat

at evening and the rattling of headdressesAnd be not afraid of eyes like doves

that intoxicate (and not from the wine of wrath)And may your heart withstand the embrace of arms

in bracelets and the bravery of ankletsAnd flee not the scorpion curls

upon a face flushed with shynessFor they go forth in peace to meet you

though they hide her beauteous face and conceal it35 And pomegranates in a rose garden; indeed

overlaid on the tips with perfumeAnd your hands in passing over them

gently squeeze and caress themAnd know that Time is a slave to your desire

and his sons gathered to do your biddingTo further your wishes they hasten

and all the sorrows of your heart chase away.Accept the poem of a friend whose heart rejoices in you

and whose thoughts fly and swoop towards you40 A robe of honor that will not wither till the

foundations of eternity crumble away.Are not the waters of his friendship purer

than snow and never sullied by foot?And should they be hidden from you in my heart

seek them with the candles of your mindFor pearls are for those who have understanding –

and mutton ribs are for the foolsThe wise desire profundities;

the simpletons – fatted geese.45 Goodly youth, dwell with the daughter of princes

in the shadow of God, tranquil within, and secure.

Commentary: 3 clouds pouring forth (Ecclesiastes 11: 3). 4 hills . . . joyfully (Isaiah 55:12). 5clothing . . . gold (Psalm 45: 14); striped robes (Genesis 37: 3). 6. mountain peaks . . . valleys(Isaiah 40: 4). 7 from the wall . . . beams (Habakkuk 2: 11), with slight changes in wording toaccomodate meter and rhyme. 8 woebegone faces (Daniel 1: 10). 9 lips . . . eloquently (Isaiah32:4).11 tent . . . clasps; put . . . loops (Exodus 26: 11). 12 bone to bone (Genesis 2: 23);cleaved flesh (Genesis 2: 24). 13: A conflation of two biblical verses: mountains of myrrh;

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hills of frankincense (Song of Songs 4: 6); on the hills [ . . .] like banners (Isaiah 30: 17). 14on the wings of dawn (Psalm 139: 9); good tidings (Isaiah 40:9); messengers – Î¯ in Isaiah 16:1 (plural in the poem for the sake of meter), translated in the RSVT as “lamb;” for the Andalusiunderstanding of the word see Jonah ibn Janah. , The Book of Hebrew Roots, ed. Adolf Neubauer,p. 330). 20 the dust of his feet (Nahum 1: 3); eagles – plural of the Ù¯Ò mentioned in Leviticus11: 13, and translated in the RSVT as “bearded vulture.” Haim Brody notes that Ibn Ezra maywell mean a kind of eagle here since this bird comes alongside the eagle in Leviticus 11: 13(Moses ibn Ezra, Shirei ha-h. ol, 2: 296). Brody further cites Ibn Janah. ’s Sefer ha-riqmah (p. 310)showing that poets changed words for the sake of rhyme. 21 Orion, Pleiades (Job 9: 9). 23 theirwings [. . .] spread forth (Exodus 25: 20). 25 open . . . doors – a tentative translation. TheHebrew alludes to Jeremiah 50: 26 but its meaning in the poem is unclear (see Brody’s commentsin Shirei ha-h. ol, 2: 297). 28 Rejoice, young man (variation on Ecclesiastes 11: 9); doe of love(Proverbs 5: 19); both of them joyful (Job 39: 13). 29 stature . . . palm tree (Song of Songs 7:8). 31 eyes like doves (ibid. 4: 1); intoxicate . . . wine (Isaiah 51: 21). 34 go forth in peace (IKings 20: 18). 35 overlaid [ . . . ] with perfume (cf. Habakkuk 2: 19: “overlaid with gold”). 39heart . . . you (Psalm 33: 21). 41 purer than snow (Lamentations 4: 7); sullied by foot (Ezekiel34: 18). 42 seek . . . candles (Zephaniah 1: 12). 44 for geese (I Kings 5: 3). 45 daughter ofprinces (Song of Songs 7: 2); shadow of God (Psalm 91: 1).

The wedding-poem for Solomon ibn Matar ushers us into a rich and perfumed universe.It is a universe that awakens all the senses and in effect creates a kind of synaesthesia,so that Bialik and Ravnitsky, who commented on the poem, remark that “everything isjumbled together, as though the clouds were dripping perfumes instead of raindrops, andthe tips of myrtles drizzling water instead of perfumes, just the opposite of reality.”13

More prosaically, David Yellin suggested that some of the words have just gotten “mixedup,” and dutifully rearranged the text.14 Be this as it may, the first four lines create auniverse almost magically alive with sound, scent and beauty.

In lines 5–14 Ibn Ezra leaves the technique of “feigned ignorance” behind to present amatter-of-fact description of this most unmatter-of-fact world, ostensibly depicting whathe hears and sees but in actual fact creating his enchanted world as he goes. Through acareful choice of biblical language the earth is dressed as a bride in clothes “inwroughtwith gold,” like the Phoenician princess-bride in Psalm 45: 14, or in Joseph’s multi-striped coat (l. 5). Everything on earth participates in a joy reserved by the Prophets forthe messianic days to come: mountains curve into valleys, the dumb become eloquent,the very walls of the houses sing out for joy (ll. 6–9). This is the world which the prophetsforetold; surely the tidings borne on “the wings of dawn” in line 14 will announce thatRedemption is near! But no, the true reason, we learn, is even more important: Solomonibn Matar and his beloved are due to wed (l. 15a). This is the event for which all creationhas prepared, and the poet makes the couple worthy of the honor in every way. Is itSolomon and his beloved who have becomes betrothed, or the sun and the moon (l.15b)? This “feigned ignorance” turns the lovers into heavenly orbs – one of the leadingmetaphors of medieval poetry, as we have already seen15 – and also sets the stage for

13 Kol shirei Moshe ben Yaªaqov ibn Ezra, ed. H. N. Bialik and Y. H. Ravnitsky (Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1928), p.133. Only the first volume of their projected edition was published.14 David Yellin, Ketavim nivh. arim, 3: 244.15 For other examples of this motif see Halevi’s “Show your loving face” (“Haqbel penei dodkha”) and “O

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the humorous by-play in lines 21–23:

Tell me: how has Orion met up with the Pleiadeson earth without anyone taking note?

And if not, have not the wings of the [stars’] splendorspread forth their glory upon their faces?

How have they robbed their light: have peoplebeen seen plundering and stealing lights?

(ll. 21–23)

Lines 24–27 comprise something of a miniature wine-poem, framed by an invitation todrink deep in honor of Solomon’s wedding.

Our poem also presents us with a double-portrait of the nuptial pair; the groom,Solomon ibn Matar, is a medieval King Solomon adorned with good deeds and wisdomlike his biblical namesake (ll. 16–20), and the bride is a gazelle straight out of alove poem (ll. 28–36). Thus our “loving doe” (l. 28) is as straight as a palm treebut supple as the myrtle branch (l. 29); her eyes are “doves” (l. 31), and her curls“scorpions” protecting her from unwanted advances (l. 33). Then comes the poem’spiece-de-resistance: the exhortation to the groom on his wedding night, a humorousdeconstruction of the conventions just detailed:

30 And fear not the jingling of ornaments at her throatat evening and the rattling of headdresses

And be not afraid of eyes like dovesthat intoxicate (and not from the wine of wrath)

And may your heart withstand the embrace of armsin bracelets and the bravery of anklets

And flee not the scorpion curlsupon a face flushed with shyness

For they go forth in peace to meet youthough they hide her beauteous face and conceal it.

35 And pomegranates in a rose garden; indeedoverlaid on the tips with perfume

And your hands in passing over themgently squeeze and caress them

(ll. 30–36)

This rousing speech ends with the sly (and erotic) reference to the bride’s garden ofdelights (ll. 35–36).

Now comes the time to offer the poem to its recipient, so Ibn Ezra dresses it in therich “robe of honor”(ll. 39–40) prized by medieval scholars,16 just as earlier in the poemhe garbed the earth in gold and silken robes (l. 5). This is followed by declarationsof friendship and blessings, all according to the best of poetic tradition. The solemn

Sun behind your curtained hair” (H. ama baªad raqiaª), both translated in full in Chapter Five.16 On the honorary robes of medieval scholars see Dodge, Muslim Education in Medieval Times, p. 13, note43 and p. 20. Poetry as a richly woven garment is discussed above, Chapter Six, note 26.

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declarations of friendship seem natural enough, as do the blessings at the very end ofthe poem, but what, one wonders, is all the talk about mutton ribs and fatted geese inlines 43–44?

For pearls are for those who have understanding –and mutton ribs are for the fools

The wise desire profundities;the simpletons – fatted geese.

(ll. 43–44)

Perhaps it will help to picture the entire poem in situ, as it were, with the wine flowingfreely, the edibles piled high, and an affronted (or probably mock-affronted) poet recitinghis poem as he glances at the benighted guests guzzling down the heartier fare. Alas! awedding celebration is not always the select party preferred by boon-companions. Butall this was probably done in good fun.

Ibn Ezra’s wedding-poem creates a delicate balance between humor and sanctity, bothtime-honored elements of wedding rites the world over. On the one hand he creates humorthrough his use of mock-ignorance in lines 21–23 – whence all this radiance? – and ina somewhat more bachelor-party spirit, through his subversion of poetic convention ashe exhorts the bashful groom to arms (ll. 30–34). On the other hand, he also creates agenuine aura of sanctity for the young couple, as we find in line 11, where the metaphorsinclude some of Judaism’s most sacred images:

And the precious tent coupled, and the claspsof glory put into the loops

(l. 11)

This line is densely woven with images of the desert Tabernacle constructed by theIsraelites following the exodus from Egypt, as related in the biblical verse:

And thou shalt make fifty clasps of brass, and put the claspsinto the loops, and couple the tent together that it may be one.

(Exodus 26: 11)

The Tabernacle thus becomes a metaphor in Ibn Ezra’s poem, its very clasps andloops transformed into images of married love and the erotic into something permitted– nay, divinely commanded – and sublime. The poem leaves out the final words in theverse from Exodus – “that it may be one” – but Ibn Ezra’s audience would easily havefilled the gap on their own, and they certainly add a neat touch. Further on, in line 22,the metaphors of sanctity shift to the Ark of Testimony with the speaker pondering thesource of the bridal couple’s radiance: “have the wings of the [stars’] splendor spreadforth their glory upon the [couple’s] faces?” Now, stars do not normally have wings,even in poetry, but here the wings have been borrowed from the keruvim (“cherubs”)guarding the Ark of Testimony:

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And the keruvim shall stretch out their wings on high, overspreading thecovering with their wings, and their faces shall look to one another.

(Exodus 25: 20)

In this way, the poet conflates the poetic convention of Arabic poetry with the resourcesof the biblical language, turning the beloved-as-heavenly orb into a uniquely Hebraicimage.

Moses ibn Ezra has linked the individual sections of this beautifully-crafted qas. ıda inways that go beyond the formal unity created by rhyme and meter. The myrtles breathetheir fragrance twice in the opening of the poem (ll.1b, 4b); the bride herself is likenedto a gently swaying myrtle (l. 29b). Perfumes mingle in the first four lines, causing ourspeaker to feign ignorance of their source; in line 35 there can be no doubt as to thesource: it is the bride herself who is the source of the fragrance, for the “pomegranates”of her breasts are “overlaid on the tips with perfume.” Motifs from wine-poetry also runthrough the poem: the crystal goblets of the wine party dazzle in line 2b and again inline 25. Earth decks itself out as for a wine-party in the most splendid of garments (l.5); the bride, of course, is elaborately be-jeweled and be-ornamented (ll. 30; 32), and,as we have just seen, Ibn Ezra calls his poem a “robe of honor” – a sumptuous imageindeed. Like lief-motifs in a symphony, these repeating images help to bind the varioussections into a single and coherent whole.

* * *

As we have just seen, the wedding-poem to Solomon ibn Matar is a very beautiful, aswell as very witty poem. But what is especially interesting is that we find another poemwith a strikingly similar opening, this one a panegyric by Judah Halevi in honor ofsomeone named “Moses,” and very likely Moses ibn Ezra himself.17 The similarities areespecially pronounced in the first four lines of each poem. Let us glance at the opening ofboth poems, beginning with Ibn Ezra’s wedding-poem in honor of Solomon ibn Matar.The rhyme-words are written in bold-type, and the original Hebrew transliterated initalics:

Is that the scent of myrrh gripping every corner, (ºafasim)or is it a breeze swaying the myrtles? (hadasim)

And is that a cloud, or the attar of cassia and calamus?Lightning, or the lightning of the goblets of nectar? (ªasisim)

And are those clouds pouring forth perfumes,or from the tips of myrtles are there droplets? (resisim)

17 ‰¯ÈÁÓÂ¯ . Judah Halevi, Dıwan, ed. Haim Brody, 1: 58 (no. 43). The manuscripts (including MS Oxford1970, the classic copy of Halevi’s dıwan) refer to the poem’s recipient simply as “Abu Harun,” the standardsobriquet for “Moses” and one often used for Moses ibn Ezra. In his commentary to the poem Brody indeedassumes it to mean Moses ibn Ezra, but another manuscript (the famous MS Schocken 37) names “AbuHarun ben Krispin” ( ˜¯ÒÙÈÔ ) a member of a distinguished Andalusi Jewish family. See Yehuda Ratzhabi,“Ketuvot ªaraviot le-shirei Yehuda Halevi,” ªAlei sefer 17 (1993), p. 45. In “Yehudah Halevi: birurim le-qoroth. ayyav,” p. 250, Fleischer names Moses ibn Ezra as the poem’s recipient, but in Yehuda Halevi u-venei h. ugo,p. 133, he seems inclined to accept the testimony of MS Schocken 37.

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And are those hills shouting forth joyfully without a mouth,or turtledoves on the fronds, and songbirds? (sisim)

These lines are pure Ibn Ezra: one need only glance back at the opening to such poemsas Bein ha-hadasim or Nofet sefatayim – or any number of other poems in his Dıwan – torecognize his hallmark.18 Interestingly enough, however, these lines re-echo in Halevi’spanegyric as well:

Is that the scent of myrrh or the scent of nectar (ªasisim)or is it a breeze swaying the myrtles? (hadasim)

Or is it the tear of gazelles upon their cheeksor is it that upon the roses are droplets? (resisim)

Or is it a lute behind the musician’s curtainor turtledoves on the branch, and songbirds? (sisim)

Or is it the name of the lord Moses and memory of him that,like the memory of myrrh, suffuses every corner? (ºafasim)

It is not just that the poems use the same rhyme and meter. The two openings look morelike variations on a theme: the same rhyme-words, though in different sequence, the samealluring images of “turtledoves and songbirds,” and most of all, almost identical openinglines. Coincidence? Not very likely, for the similarities do not end there. Analysis ofthe two poems shows that Halevi’s poem – the shorter of the two – uses only threerhyme-words not found in Ibn Ezra’s poem,19 and there are other significant links interms of imagery and language, as the following translation will show:

Is that the scent of myrrh or the scent of nectaror is it a breeze swaying the myrtles?

Or is it the tear of gazelles upon their cheeksor is it that upon the roses are droplets?

Or is it a lute behind the musician’s curtainor turtledoves on the branch, and songbirds?

Or is it the name of the lord Moses and memory of himwhich like the memory of myrrh suffuses every corner?

5 A man who makes splendor his ornamentsbut gives splendor to the ornaments himself

Grace is his lover, and he too the friend of grace;both of them joyful in each other

He inherited generosity from his forefathers

18 Cf. Ibn Ezra’s Bein ha-hadasim in Chapter One, and his Nofet sefatayim in Chapter Six. For otherexamples see the opening lines to his poems in Moses ibn Ezra, Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Haim Brody, nos. 24,64, 74, 93, 95, 131, 168, 193, 195. All told, Ibn Ezra began ten of his long qas. ıdas using the technique of“feigned ignorance,” while Judah Halevi used it only on two other occasions, in poems nos. 86 (p. 123)and 98 (p. 149) in his Dıwan. Significantly, Judah Halevi even failed to use the technique when replying toa poem that itself began with “feigned ignorance:” Ibn Muªalim’s ªAv taªarof (“Is a cloud drizzling”), thepoem in Chapter Six that set off a three-way correspondence. Either Halevi disliked the technique or he sawit as belonging, as it were, to Moses ibn Ezra.19 The three rhyme-words come in lines 10b, 12b, and 17b.

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and overlaid their generosity with his ownTo the point where his deeds made his reputation

take wings outspread like eaglesAnd is provisioned with every richness the day

every other person is provisioned with broken shards10 He who comes to weigh his generosity, say to him:

“Can the everlasting mountains be weighed with scales?”May God bless his forefathers for his grace

and let not the buildings of his loving-kindness be destroyedAccept, O prince, rhymes (h. aruzim), like beads (h. aruzim)

for the neck of your memory I linked them togetherTo make them fasten your friendship I put

the clasps of your love through the loopsAnd [made] for your excellency: bells;

and for your splendor: a crown of jewels15 Let not their fewness (meªat.am) make them light in your eyes

for their surface (maªat.am) is covered with embroideryI hoarded them from riches so that they are becom-

ing to your name and free of anything vileMay God grant you as many tranquilities

as there is water covering the sea

Commentary: 5 This line reverses the usual relationship: most patrons don “robes of wisdom”and ornament themselves in “necklaces of good deeds;” here Moses himself is the chief ornamentand jewel. 6 both of them joyful (Job 39: 13). 7 overlaid [ . . .] with (Habakkuk 2: 19). 8 likeeagles: plural of the Ù¯Ò mentioned in Leviticus 11: 13. 10 everlasting mountains (Habakuk 3:6); mountains . . . scales (Isaiah 40: 12). 13 fasten [. . .] loops (Exodus 26: 11; ibid., 28: 28). 14bells: cf. Ah. ar galot sod, l. 15: “This [poem] is a bell for his robe of pride. 16 free of anythingvile (Jeremaiah 15: 19).

The relationship between the two poems goes well beyond the norm even for poemscreated as “imitations” (muªarad. as) to begin with. The imitations noted in Chapter Two,for example, consisted of a strict conformity to the rhyme and meter of a model-poem butnot the virtual reproduction of its language. This kind of imitation – if that is what it is –borders on plagiarism even according to the medieval critics and theorists, whose ideason the subject were less stringent than those of today.20 David Yellin merely asks “whocopied who?” and decides that Ibn Ezra must have copied Halevi, on the grounds that thelatter would hardly have plagiarized Ibn Ezra “without so much as a by-your-leave” ifhe intended his poem for him in the first place.21 The possibility that Halevi’s panegyric

20 Even when a later Hebrew poet, Moses Dariª, consciously used one or other of these poems as a model, hisopening lines less resemble his model(s) than Ibn Ezra’s and Halevi’s resemble each other. Dariª’s poem waspublished by Simha Pinsker, Lequt.ei qadmoniyot (Vienna, 1860), pp. 52–53. On the subject of plagiarismin medieval Arabic poetry see G. E. Grunebaum, “The Concept of Plagiarism in Arabic Theory,” Journalof Near Eastern Studies 3 (1944), pp. 234–253; concerning medieval Hebrew poetry see Israel Levin, “ªAlgeneivat ha-shir ve-ªal meqoriut ba-shirah ha-ªivrit bi-yemei ha-beinayim,” Peles, ed. Nurit Govrin (TelAviv: University of Tel Aviv, 1980).21 David Yellin, Torat ha-shirah ha-sefaradit, p. 290.

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was intended for another Moses – possibly Moses ibn Krispin, as mentioned above22 –removes this objection, but still does not explain why either poet would copy the other.Surely neither Moses ibn Ezra nor Judah Halevi would have any desire, or certainlyany need, to copy another poet’s lines almost verbatim like that. Why, then, is there somuch similarity between the openings of the two poems? And why, moreover, are theredifferences? While we cannot be certain, the answers to these questions may possibly berooted in the dynamics of composition governing our Hebrew circle of poets. But beforewe try and answer these questions, let us look at the different models of compositionthat we have seen up till this point:

1. One model of composition involves a panegyric and a panegyric-in-reply using thesame rhyme and meter; here it seems that we are almost talking about etiquette: ifone gentleman doffs his hat in greeting, the other must, too. This was the case of thepanegyrics exchanged between Judah Halevi and Judah ibn Ghayyat in Chapter Three,and of the trio of poems examined in Chapter Six.23 It was also the case in ChapterOne, where we saw that Halevi modeled his very first qas. ıda to Ibn Ezra on one ofIbn Ezra’s own poems.24 In these kinds of poems, poets used the same rhyme andmeter – at times even the same rhyme-words – and sometimes, though not often, similarimages and idioms. None of these poems, however, show nearly identical or even similarintroductions.

2. Another model thrives on the spirit of contest and challenge. This was the case inChapter Two, where Halevi dashed off a muwashshah. a in response to a difficult model-poem specifically held up as a challenge.25 Halevi’s poem used the same rhyme andmeter, but there was little if anything else to indicate a relationship between the twopoems. It is also the case for another of Halevi’s poems, and while it is not from theGranada period, is does present a highly instructive example: Judah Halevi received aqas. ıda of eighteen lines in praise of a cantor from one Isaac ben al-Shami al-Hatzeira,using what he considered a difficult rhyme (-zan). Al-Hatzeira told Halevi that he hadused every possible rhyme-word except one, a lapse for which he apologized: Gozan(a city in ancient Mesopotamia)would just not fit in. Halevi promptly sent him a poemof his own – twenty-five lines long – using the same rhyme of -zan but completelydifferent rhyme-words. Poor Al-Hatzeira! One can almost see him blushing over thecenturies. But, then, he should have known better than to brag about his poetic abilities,and certainly he should have known better than to brag to Judah Halevi.26

The literary riddle translated in Chapter Five may also be the result of this kind of

22 See note 17.23 The three poems written by Solomon ibn Muªallim, Judah Halevi, and Moses ibn Ezra and discussed inChapter Six.24 This refers, of course, to Ibn Ezra’s Bein ha-hadasim nashvu ruh. einu (“Has our breeze been blowingamongst the myrtles”), and Halevi’s ªImdu ªamodu (“Stay, O stay”).25 The muwashshah. a challenge-poem Leyl mah. shavot (“Nightly the musing of my heart”) by Moses ibnEzra (or possibly Joseph ibn Tzadik), and the poem-in-response Ah. ar galot sod (“After revealing the secret”)by Judah Halevi.26 The story is related in the rubric above Halevi’s poem, which is printed in Judah Halevi, Dıwan, ed. HaimBrody, 2: 285–287 (no. 58).The poem by Isaac al-Shami al-Hatzeira is printed in Schirmann, “Ha-meshorerimbenei doram,” 6 (1945), p. 259. Schirmann relates the incident in Le-toldot ha shirah ve-ha-drama ha-ªivrit,1: 277.

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competition, at least if we are to believe the rubric written above the poem in one of themanuscripts. There, as we saw, Halevi is said to have composed his riddle because hewas dissatisfied with a riddle-poem by Judah ibn Ghayyat.27 Whether Halevi’s riddle-poem used the same rhyme and meter as Ibn Ghayyat’s we have no way of knowing, asthe latter’s riddle has not come down to us. Be this as it may, this model of compositionpresumes a gathering of poets and enthusiasts in a distinct social setting.

3. The third model of poetic composition involves the kind of impromptu compositionor improvisation witnessed in Chapter Five, with a group of poets tossing out one-linersto be completed by fellow-poets and guests.28 This model may also characterize, atleast in certain cases, the kind of situation mentioned above in the second model. Thecomposition of Ah. ar galot sod (“After revealing the secret”), let us recall, seems tohave been undertaken as a group effort: in his letter to Moses ibn Ezra, Halevi describesevents in the following way:

The poem began Leyl mah. shavot lev aªirah and they made a great beginning / butwere unable to get the ending. / So they ordered me, to wit: / “Look, we started –you finish it!” (ll. 20–22)

In other words, authorship of this kind was something less than private property. Onecan imagine various poets chiming in with suggestions and rhymes as the poem tookshape. But once again, there is nothing that requires poems composed in this manner tohave openings similar – not to mention identical – to the challenge poem.

Let us now return to our two poems: Ibn Ezra’s wedding-poem and Halevi’s panegyric.None of the models listed above explains why the beginnings of these two poems are sosimilar. Nor do they explain why, being so similar, they are nevertheless not identical.If we had to hazard a guess, we might suggest that perhaps our two poems began alongthe improvisatory lines of the third model and gradually developed into the kind ofchallenge described in the second model, in which poets actively compete with a givenpoem. The scenario, if so, might have run something like this: Moses ibn Ezra and JudahHalevi were courting the Muse together, so to speak, perhaps along with other friendsand poets, perhaps just by themselves. But they were together. The first words of thepoem were probably suggested by Moses ibn Ezra; the specific wording and imagery ofthe opening, as noted, bear his particular imprint. But from there on, it may be that bothpoets pitched in to continue the poem, one poet coming up with one hemistich, the othercoming up with the next, and so on for the first four lines. Perhaps the collaboration wassuch that the two poets would have been at a loss themselves to say later who actuallycomposed which part of the first four lines, or who contributed this or that rhyme-wordor image. In this fashion, the poem would practically have composed itself, with thelines taking shape through words uttered out loud and left in verbal form. At somepoint this improvisational model of composition, enacted as a kind of pastime betweenfriends, turned into a veritable contest along the lines of the second model, with eachpoet challenging the other to continue the poem they had started, on whatever subject

27 See Chapter Five, p. 85.28 Ibid., p. 82.

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they chose. Apparently the first four lines were not written down at the time; it wouldnot have been difficult for such accomplished poets as Moses ibn Ezra and Judah Halevito remember four lines of poetry,29 and this would also explain the difference in wordingwhen the two poets eventually sat down to compose their separate poems. Moses ibnEzra decided to take the opportunity to compose a poem for the wedding of his friend,Solomon ibn Matar; Judah Halevi decided – whether through prudence, or diplomacy,or just for the fun of it – to compose a panegyric for his co-author, as it were. This wouldexplain the rather obscure comments concerning the rhymes in his poem:

15 Let not their fewness (meªat.am) make them light in your eyesfor their surface (maªat.am) is covered with embroidery

I hoarded them from riches so that they are becom-ing to your name and free of anything vile

(ll. 15–16)

The allusion to rhymes creates from “riches” (l.16) takes us back to Halevi’s ªImduªamodu (“Stay, O stay”), the poem that he sent to Moses ibn Ezra before they even met.There, too, he alluded to the “source” of his rhymes:30



(ll. 13–14)

And in his Yaldei yamim (“The children of Time”),31 Moses ibn Ezra acknowledged thissource and complimented Halevi on having used it so advantageously:

10 Lo, every poem is a corpse compared to hisonly his has the breath of life;

Had he not endowed it with his majestyit would have been like a vessel desired by none.

(ll. 10–11)

The “vessel,” of course, is the form of the poem; the container of rhyme and meterinto which the poet pours forth his words. Halevi’s Ha-reyah. mor (“Is that the scentof myrrh?”) seems to provide a third example in which the poet specifically alludes tothe source of his rhymes. And if so, surely this means that the poem was written forMoses ibn Ezra, as assumed by Haim Brody, and not for Moses ibn Krispin, or anyother Moses. There would have been little point, otherwise, in remarking on the sourceof his rhymes, and if our hypothesis is correct, this line turns into a compliment for Ibn

29 On the role of improvisation and memory in composing poetry, see Chapter Five, pp. 78–79.30 See Chapter One, p. 27.31 Ibid., p. 26.

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Ezra. And surely that is even better than the “by-your-leave” for which Yellin sought invain.32

To sum up: it seems that Moses ibn Ezra and Judah Halevi put their heads togetherover a poem initiated by Ibn Ezra; all the opening lines bear his special hallmark. Halevithen went off to continue the poem on his own, turning it into a panegyric for his “co-author,” and Ibn Ezra continued what he had started: a wedding poem for Solomon ibnMatar. Our reconstruction of events may not be correct in every detail; in fact, it may notbe correct at all. But there can be little doubt that however these two poems happened totake shape, they tantalize us with the possibilities, and offer yet another glimpse into theworkings of this circle of Hebrew poets – even if we cannot quite perceive everythingthere.

32 David Yellin, Torat ha-shirah ha-sefaradit, p. 290.

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Chapter Eight

THE “GIRL FROM GRANADA”: GRANADA AS METAPHOR AND PLACE

Like the Arabic poems from which they drew their inspiration, the Hebrew poems ex-amined in this study take place in imagined landscapes. From the barren deserts of theat.lal to the manicured gardens of courtly palaces, the boundaries between these land-scapes shift without notice and often blend into each other in the most seamless of ways.Deserts turn into flower-beds, tents into palaces. Stars fade into flowers, flowers intostars, and a setting sun reappears in the sparkle of a wine-goblet. Imaginary landscapes,imaginary worlds chartered by the fixed referents of Arabic poetry: these are the spaceswe are invited to enter.

All this is true of Golden Age Hebrew poetry as a whole, that is, the hundred andfifty years or so that mark off the extraordinary burst of talent that began in Cordobain its heyday of Caliphal glory, and ended around 1147 with the Almohad invasion ofal-Andalus.1 But for the poems examined in this study, there is one additional coordinantwithin the landscape of medieval Hebrew poetry, and that is the city of Granada. In thegroup of poems that comes from this circle, the boundaries of imagined landscapes – thedeserts of longing, the gardens of desire – were expanded to include this one particularcity. It is not the Granada of “melted gold” rivers lauded by al-Shaqundı,2 nor a Granadafor the guidebooks or postcards. But it is a very specific presence nonetheless.

* * *

One poem that has come down to us from the “Granada period” is Bi-megurei yedidi(“In the dwellings of my beloved”),3 a lovely muwashshah. a by Moses ibn Ezra writtenin honor of Judah Halevi. The poem laments Halevi’s absence and is spoken in the finalstrophe by the “girl from Granada” (bat Rimon), a personification of the city itself. Butit begins with the abandoned encampments of the at.lal. The poem starts with a mat.laªof ABAB and continues as cdcdcdABAB efefefABAB for five strophes altogether:

In the dwellings of my beloved I mourn / for they are left a wastelandAnd my tears drop upon them / like streams in the sand

1 Salo W. Baron, A Social and Religious History of the Jews (New York: Columbia University Press,1952–1983), 3: 124–125.2 See Chapter One, note 2.3 ·Ó‚Â¯ÈÈ„È„È . Moses ibn Ezra, Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Haim Brody, 1: 278–279 (no. 260).

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The Girl from Granada

In a cloud of tears / I seek their destroyed tentsAnd trace over the path / the place their feet went

5 Like a shepherd’s tent they are gone: / for them I lament!Evil Time has removed them, / separating body andSoul; he leaves not a trace / yet stretches forth still his hand

To see the camp of loved ones / my heart does aspireI’ll gaze hard and perhaps see / if the place I desire

10 Is planted by the waters of fidelity / or in a mass of quagmireTheir castle will also tell / if its wall still does standOr whether its lock is destroyed / and its gate left unmanned

The winds blew their myrrh / to fan my heart’s flameAnd the day my pain waxed / letters arrived in their name

15 At night on my bed / their phantoms all came.With a heart all atremble / I made my demand:Has separation killed him / or is he sick and abandoned?

I heard a sound one night to / my heart’s dismayAnd a chariot of separation / bore Judah away

20 He who is beauty on the cheek of Torah / and learning’s bright rayAround the neck of good deeds / his speech is a jeweled bandHis poetry a crown on Wisdom’s heart / and a bracelet for its hand

The girl from Granada / all alone her woe tellsAnd complains of the rival / who beside her does dwell

25 And sing forth from desire / to the graceful gazelle:Mskunyd mswtdys byd / ywlyw lstyhTwºwmw ªtrys bndyd / fºlqwrh blnsyh4

Exactly what the “girl from Granada” sang to her rival we do not, alas, know. The poem’sRomance kharja, to quote Stern, is “obscure, and there is little purpose in speculating onisolated words.”5 Nevertheless, it is clear that she is making a complaint of some kind;Stern explains the end of the kharja to mean falaguera Valencia (“flattering Valencia”)and concludes that this sweet-talking city stole Judah Halevi away. Just as Granada ispersonified as a girl longing for her absent lover, so Valencia is the “graceful gazelle”who has lured him away from her.6

4 Transcribed from S. M. Stern, Hispano-Arabic Strophic Poetry, p. 143.5 Ibid.6 S. M. Stern, Hispano-Arabic Strophic Poetry, p. 143. Stern, ibid., wonders why a male (i.e. Halevi) istermed “a graceful gazelle,” but this epithet clearly refers to Valencia and parallels the epithet for Granada.For an interesting discussion of this kind of “kharja-girl,” see Richard Hitchkock, “The Girls from Cadizand the Kharjas,” Journal of Hispanic Philology (15) 1990–1991, pp. 103–116. Brody, incidentally, doesnot accept the reading of “Valencia” on the grounds that “Valencia is not near Granada” (Shirei ha-h. ol, 3:20). This objection is somewhat puzzling – whatever happened to poetic license? Even if Valencia is notGranada’s nearest neighbor geographically, surely the proximity makes sense poetically. In any case, thereis another city that may fit the bill: the city of “Valence,” mentioned by the eleventh-century al-H. imyarı as

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Ibn Ezra’s poem is a showcase for the imagined landscapes of Andalusi Hebrew poetry.Boundaries are fluid, and essentially non-existent. It moves from abandoned desert tentsto castles, quagmires and gates, all within the space of two strophes and without benefitof transition. It is not an actual place that the poet seeks to portray but a shifting,metaphorical landscape in which the drama of love is played out, and friendship is putto the test:

To see the camp of loved ones / my heart does aspireI’ll gaze hard and perhaps see / if the place I desire

10 Is planted by the waters of fidelity / or in a mass of quagmireTheir castle will also tell / if its wall still does standOr whether its lock is destroyed / and its gate left unmanned

(ll. 8–12)

In line 15 the scene shifts once again, this time to the speaker’s bed. This venue mightseem real enough, but the Hebrew phrase “At night on my bed” comes from one of thedream-sequences in the Song of Songs (3: 1) and can thus be a metaphor for any placedefined by love and longing. The “phantoms” in line 15 are the phantoms of the beloved,the taif of classical Arabic poetry who visit the lover at night in his dream:

At night on my bed / their phantoms all came.With a heart all atremble / I made my demand:Has separation killed him / or is he sick and abandoned?

(ll. 15–17)

Thus the yearning wanderer of the desert melds into the poem’s lyric I, and the scene oflonging shifts from a barren wasteland to the lover’s bed.

In the last strophe the poet brings us full circle. A poem that began with a lover’slament ends with one, too, but though it begins with the desert and ends in Granada –they are both landscapes of yearning bound into one single space.

* * *

When it came to describing individual cities, medieval Arabic had a rich tradition ofpoetry. One Arabic poet expressed his longing for Medina as early as the late seventhcentury, and with the years other poets began singing the praises of such cities asBaghdad, Aleppo, Mosul, and Damascus.7 Grunebaum notes that in the early eleventhcentury, Ibn Rashıq wrote a poem for the city of Qairouan as yearning “as any earlyBedouin verse inspired by longing for the Najd.”8 The Hebrew poets could easily havedrawn on this tradition to describe Granada, or indeed any of the other cities in which

being in the environs of such Andalusi cities as Guadix, Denia and Segovia; see al-H. imyarı, La peninsuleiberique, trans. E. Levi-Provencal, p. 248.7 G. E. von Grunebaum, “The Response to Nature in Arabic Poetry,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 4(1945), pp. 146–47.8 Ibid., p. 146, note 81.

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they lived in al-Andalus. Only, this did not occur.9 Only in two poems by Moses ibn Ezrais there any mention of Granada’s magnificent scenery, and these come from a muchlater period, after his removal to Christian Spain. Even these, however, are content withbrief references to the snow-capped Sierra Nevadas and do not even begin to approachthe kind of descriptions of place we find in Arabic poetry.10

Nevertheless, Granada is a very real presence in several of the poems examinedthroughout this book. In Chapter One we saw that the name of Granada was propoundedaccording to the Romance meaning of the word (= “pomegranate”), and thus termedRimon in Hebrew. This may have been a false etymology, but it turned out to be a sounddecision poetically and a rich source of inspiration. The presence of Granada is subtleand it takes many forms, but it is definitely there. The word rimon crops up time andagain, sometimes in one meaning (as the name of the pomegranate fruit), sometimesin another (as the name of the city), and sometimes as both of them together. In thefollowing lines, for example, rimon is simply the name for the city of Granada:

Never has there been such a rending of the cloud of tearswith the dew drops of a mighty weeping.

Whether it was Rimon moaning over your leaving, or whetherit was Jerusalem moaning over the cherub’s having left.11

(ll. 37–38)

Nothing of the “pomegranate” in these lines. But a pomegranate stands at the center ofthe opening to the literary riddle we read in Chapter Five. Naturally, the word rimondoes not actually appear: that is for others to guess. But the pomegranate has a verystrong presence nevertheless, rich and glowing as the rising sun:

An ark, dome-shaped of scarlet, / a round ball, not squareWith two or three rooms / like a ring’s seal fitted fairCreated before Noah and the Flood / and by God’s hand preparedShe appears like the sun and then hides; / rises and sets in mid-air

5 A splendid tower on her head / hollow like a hat or headwearShe has flower and thorn like the Rose of Sharon / and divides into four sharesShe raises proudly her head and when full / bows down to the ground thereFrom city to city runners speed forth / carrying this royal fare . . .12

(ll. 1–8)

Over the course of the poem the rimon (= pomegranate) metamorphises into the cityof Rimon (= Granada), so that the solution to the riddle takes the meaning of the wordrimon to its fullest extent, making it both a city and a fruit:

25 Say: what shall we do to her, / when to revolt she does dare?For she’s sealed in a walled city / and unapproachable there

9 Aviva Doron discusses this phenomenon in “ªArim ba-shirah ha-ªivrit,” Sefer Israel Levin, 1: 69–78.10 One of these poems by Ibn Ezra is translated in part below, p. 138.11 From Halevi’s poem-in-reply to Solomon ibn al-Muªallim, ºAt. li (ll. 37–38). See Chapter Six, p. 109.12 From Halevi’s riddle Tevah demut quba (“An ark, dome-shaped”), ll. 1–8. See Chapter Five, p. 85.

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Let us take her, and make her drink gall / for this revolt so unfairAll together now: slice through her / and lay waste this rebels’ lair!And burst through her walls and core / till the foundations lay bare

30 And attack her not with spears, / but with ivory arrows and fangs bared13

(ll. 25–30)

Judah Halevi instinctively understood the poetic potential of the word rimon. Even inhis first poem to Judah ibn Ghayyat, written before he ever reached Granada, Rimon isboth the city and a pomegranate:

Nor was your city truly called Rimon till it contained Judah,the glory of my learning.

30 I will go up into the pomegranate (rimon) of my beloved, and hold on to itsboughs; is not the juice of the pomegranate (rimon) my medicine?14

(ll. 29–30)

In his poem to Ibn Ghayyat Granada is the place of love’s fulfillment, an identificationstrengthened through its allusion to the Song of Songs 7: 7–9:

How fair and how pleasant art thou, O love, for delights! This thy stature is like apalm tree, and they breasts are like clusters of grapes. I said, I will go up into thepalm tree, I will take hold of its boughs; may thy breasts be like clusters of thevine . . .

By substituting the palm tree for the pomegranate (rimon), Halevi turns Granada (Ri-mon) into everything “pleasant, O love, for delights.” This is just the opposite ofGranada’s role in the muwashshah. a by Moses ibn Ezra, with which we began thischapter. There, Granada melds seamlessly into the landscape of lovesickness and theforlorn deserts of longing. Here, in Halevi’s poem to Ibn Ghayyat, it is the very anti-dote to lovesickness (l. 30b): the prize to be reached after a long journey through thelandscape of loss and desolation. Judah Halevi had not yet stepped foot in Granada, andyet with true poetic instinct he turned it into the antithesis of the loveless desert. Tobe sure, Granada does not have an independent persona in itself; or rather, it is not averifiable portrait of a particular place. It functions in the poetry as a kind of mirror forthe emotions, and hinges on the presence or absence of the beloved. And yet it is verymuch a presence in the poem.

There is one last way in which the city of Granada permeates the texture of the poetrywritten by our Hebrew circle of poets, and this can be seen in the following qas. ıdaby Judah Halevi: Demaª asher haya (“A tear that was”).15 According to the rubricit was addressed in a general way to “the Ibn Ezra brothers.” Line 14a of the poem,however, narrows things down to just two of the brothers, apparently Moses and Joseph

13 Ibid. (ll. 25–30).14 From Halevi’s first poem to Judah ibn Ghayyat, Ma-li leravot (“Why should I soak the land?”) ll. 29–30.See Chapter Three, pp. 47–48.15 „ÓÚ‡˘¯‰È‰ . Judah Halevi, Dıwan, ed. Haim Brody, 2: 278–280 (no. 55).

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ibn Ezra.16 The qas. ıda begins with a love-lament in the desert and is constructed on aseries of motifs common to love-poetry: the lover cries tears of blood (ll. 1–2), his tearsreveal the secret of his love (l. 5), and his heart burns like a torch (l. 8). Antithesis isthe key-note here: the pure tears of friendship “like the dew of Hermon” become red“like the waters of Dimon” (Isaiah 15: 9), and the torrent of tears contrasts the waterlessdesert (ll. 6–9). Love’s agony is played out in a barren landscape – or is it a landscapemade barren by the absence of the beloved? The question is moot: love and landscapeare inextricably connected; a point emphasized through the word-play in line 3 (dod /nedod):

A tear that was like the dew of Hermon:how did it become like the waters of Dimon?

At the ouset of love it was purebut wandering has made it redden

There is no lover [dod] but only wandering [nedod], which changedthe song in my mouth into a lament for Hadadrimon

The fragments of my heart multiplied and grewtill I cast them aside like cummin

5 If I weep in the desert I anger the cloudfor there I reveal all I have hidden,

Till in envy she says to me: “How is it that nofruit blossoms when you cry in the wasteland?”

Quoth I: "’Tis not from too little cryingfor there is no gushing like its rushing;

Were it not for the torch burning in my heartmy sea of tears would be like a pyre of burning branches

And irrigate the parched deserts tillthe cedar, accacia, and plane trees flourished therein.”

10 How many dregs of wandering must I drinkwhile gazing upon the wilderness

To see whether my path will succeed, and whetherthe favors of Time have a hidden treasure for me?

And I pray: Will Time relent over me;will the days to come be like the days of yore?

When my thoughts built, he tore down:there was no building castles with him!

Until I met the two dear sonsbrought up in the lap of wealth’s daughter.

15 No prophet has ever risen to match them and their speechlike the son of Amram and the son of Amon.

With them, dignity will not be childlessnor will learning be widowed.

16 Line 14 speaks of “the two dear sons” and 15b specifies them: the “son of Amram” is of course Moses,as Amram is the father of the biblical Moses. The “son of Amon” however is more obscure; it may refer toJoseph ibn Ezra, since Amon may be an allusion to Egypt, with which the biblical Joseph was, of course,intimately connected.

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I will make ringing timbrels in memory of them,like the bell for the hem of the High Priest’s robe

Yet I declare nothing new, for the sound oftheir bells resounds through the multitudes.

No sooner did they leave than the windsbore myrrh and cinnamon in their memory.

20 On the wings of friendship they hover – if only they had notuprooted my heart like rushes!

I suffer but have medicine in their wings -Through their love I sip the juice of the pomegranate;

I will overcome enslaving Time through them, and to enslave himfollow after my rewards:

For Time will never bow down before metill I have bowed down in the house of Rimon.

The greater part of this poem evokes the barren desert (ll. 1–13), and yet the idea ofGranada haunts the poem from beginning to end. This is done through the expedientof rhyme, for the rhyme-sound of this poem is – mon, making the idea of Rimon apalpable presence even in the wasteland. It is there like a dream, like an echo vaguelyremembered. It sweeps you from line to line in the journey towards love’s fulfillment,and then culminates in the very last line precisely where love’s journey should end:in Rimon, so that the end of the journey is the end of the poem. Some of the rhyme-words evoking Rimon are evident even in translation: the “dew of Mount Hermon”(Psalms 133: 3), the “water of Dimon” (Isaiah 15: 9), and the “lament of Hadadrimon”(Zechariah 12: 11). And it is not the desert alone which constitutes the landscape ofhis journey towards love; Time itself is depicted in the metaphors of a mappable world,a place in which paths can be traced, and treasures buried, and castles – if one is onlylucky enough – built:

10 How many dregs of wandering must I drinkwhile gazing upon the wilderness

To see whether my path will succeed, and whetherthe favors of Time have a hidden treasure for me?

And I pray: Will Time relent over me;will the days to come be like the days of yore?

When my thoughts built, he tore down:there was no building castles with him!

(ll. 10–13)

The antidote to all this suffering – the absence of loved ones, the fury of Time – is foundin “the juice of the pomegranate,” the same prescription we saw in Halevi’s panegyricto Ibn Ghayyat.17 Thus Rimon is the end of all suffering and the end of love’s journey,just as it is the end of the poem:

17 Cf. Ma-li leravot (“Why should I soak the land?”), l. 30b.

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I suffer but have medicine in their wings –Through their love I sip the juice of the pomegranate;

I will overcome enslaving Time through them, and to enslave himfollow after my rewards:

For Time will never bow down before metill I have bowed down in the house of Rimon

(ll. 21–2)

The five poems analyzed above show Granada as a distinct presence in the poetrywritten by our circle of Hebrew poets; an element to be reckoned with, a source ofpoetic inspiration. It is not the kind of city we find in poems written by Arabic poets,a city with rivers, buildings and other identifiable markers. But it is a definite presencenevertheless, the rhyme on which poems are woven, the image for which metaphors arespun. Five poems may not seem like a lot, but it is five poems more than for any other city.No other city earned its own Hebrew nickname in the secular poetry of this period, orfigured as its subject, rhyme or key metaphor. The only other places mentioned in thesepoems are Castile, which Solomon ibn al-Muªallim apparently dubbed Mah. anayim,18

and Jerusalem,19 which is somehow outside the discussion. Jerusalem has a plethoraof epithets sanctified by time and tradition and was not, in any event, part of the localgeography. Pomegranates would never have figured in these poems to the extent theydid had Granada not been the “City of Pomegranates” to begin with, and the center, bothgeographically and imaginatively, for our circle of Hebrew poets.

* * *

In addition to the evidence of a literary nature, there are reasons of a more historicalnature for believing that Judah Halevi must have been part of the circle in Granadabefore the Almoravid invasion in 1090. This cataclysm was a watershed for the Jewsof Granada in general, and for Moses ibn Ezra in particular. Many Jews, including hisown three brothers, fled the kingdom for the newly developing lands under Christianrule to the north. Moses ibn Ezra, however, did not immediately leave Granada, thoughthe reason for this remains one of the conundrums of scholarly research. Researchersof medieval Hebrew poetry have suggested everything from a thwarted love-affair topolitical reasons of state, often basing their hypotheses on nothing more solid than asingle line of poetry.20 What is clear, however, is that for a certain period of time IbnEzra was the only one of the four brothers to remain behind in Granada. His life there,however, was changed beyond recognition. Of the two rhymed letters that have comedown to us from his hand, one of these relates to this period of his life and it paintsa grim picture indeed.21 Nor did his eventual departure for Christian Spain, apparentlyaround 1095, improve his situation, as his numerous poems of complaint all too clearly

18 In line 16 of Ibn al-Muªallim’s ªAv taªarof (“Is a cloud drizzling?”).19 Dubbed Ariel in Judah Halevi’s ºAt. li (“Be gentle with me”), l. 38.20 Haim Brody sums up, and convincingly refutes, the theories concerning Ibn Ezra’s supposed love affairwith his niece in “Moses ibn Ezra: Incidents in His Life,” Jewish Quarterly Review, n. s. 24 (1933), pp.309–314.21 Printed in Moses ibn Ezra, Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Haim Brody, pp. 290–293, ll. 41–49.

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show. He remained alienated from his brothers, both physically and emotionally, untilhis death in 1135. Given these historical facts, it becomes clear that some of the poemsfrom the poets’ dıwans could only have been written prior to the Almoravid invasion.Let us, then, sum up the historical evidence linking Judah Halevi to pre-AlmoravidGranada:22

1. Several of the poems composed by Judah Halevi were addressed to Moses ibn Ezraand another of the Ibn Ezra brothers; a fact which shows that we are still talkingof pre-Almoravid Granada. Joseph, Judah and Isaac ibn Ezra left immediately afterthe Almoravid invasion, and Moses ibn Ezra never saw them again. Moses ibn Ezraremained in Granada for some years after the Almoravid invasion, alone and apparentlydestitute, before finally taking up the wanderer’s staff and heading for Christian Spain.Judah Halevi composed Dod ba-h. alom nat.ah (“The lover in a dream”)23 for Mosesand Isaac ibn Ezra, and Demaª asher haya (“A tear that was”) for Moses and anotherbrother, probably Joseph, but the exact identity of the second brother does not affect thequestion at hand.

2. Halevi’s Purim-poem Lifnei keruv shilesh (“Before the cherub made a third”) waswritten for Isaac ibn Ezra and Judah ibn Ghayyat, both residents, of course, of Granada.Ibn Ghayyat returned to Granada at some point after the Almoravid invasion, but Isaacnever did. The rubric of the poem mentions that Halevi was staying in Guadix at thetime of writing the poem, a city very near Granada. Although Guadix is not specificallymentioned in the poem itself, he must surely have been close by: Isaac ibn Ezra and JudahIbn Ghayyat sent him fish for Purim – and these were the days before refrigeration!24

3. Moses ibn Ezra has the “girl from Granada” (bat-rimon) pining over Halevi’s absencein Bi-mgurei yedidi (“In the dwellings of my beloved”). Apparently he was “stolen away”from her by another city, possibly Valencia.25

4. Solomon ibn al-Muªallim sent the panegyric ªAv taªarof (“Is that a cloud drizzling”)26

to Judah Halevi in Granada, expecting the poem to reach him there. Ibn al-Muªallimspeaks jealously of Granada, comparing it to Egypt for the biblical Joseph. Halevi didnot immediately receive the qas. ıda, but Moses ibn Ezra was there to answer it in hisstead. And when Halevi eventually responded to Ibn al-Muªallim’s qas. ıda he more thanimplied that Ibn al-Muªallim had actually visited him in Granada, for it was “moaning”over his absence.27

Along with the literary and historical evidence testifying to the presence of Judah Halevi

22 We include here only those poems that mention the addressees in the body of the text itself, and not just inthe rubric. The rubric to the poem Ï‡ÁÎÓÂÈÓÈÌ (“Time did not grow wise”) reads: “for Moses and Isaac ibnEzra,” but the poem itself mentions only Isaac. The poem, therefore, could easily date to the period followingthe Almoravid invasion. See Judah Halevi, Dıwan, ed. Haim Brody, 2: 243 (no. 24, l. 33).23 See Chapter Five, p. 89.24 See Chapter Seven, pp. 112–114.25 See above, pp. 129–130.26 See Chapter Six, p. 109.27 Judah Halevi, ºAt. li (“Be gentle with me”), l. 38.

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in pre-Almoravid Granada, there is also evidence of a third kind, though admittedly lesssubstantial in nature. The Almoravid invasion signified the end of Moses ibn Ezra’sprosperity and the beginning of a steep decline. This being the case, it is hard to believethat Ibn Ezra could have been anywhere but Granada before the Almoravid invasionwhen he sent his poem of invitation to Judah Halevi, inviting him with a qas. ıda inwhich every line eagerly echoes the word “Come!” (“Boº!”), and in which he offers thefollowing temptations, metaphorical as they may be:

A passerby might ask / “Wherefore does his chariot tarry?”Pray bid him run to the garden where love / and friendship perfume the lawn;

20 To a garden whose nard sends forth its fragrance – / there let him reclineDrinking the nectar of ripened love / sipping freely from its marrowIn an imposing house / when every other house is closed against his coming.28

Nor does it seem likely that Judah Halevi would have sent such light-hearted and glowingpanegyrics as ªImdu ªamodu (“Stay O stay”) and Ah. ar galot sod (“After revealing thesecret”) to a refugee adrift in the lands of Christian Spain, broken-hearted, destitute,and alone.29 Such an assumption defies logic, and as Ezra Fleischer has remarked, “ithardly seems possible that Judah Halevi would have written the miserable exile classic-style panegyrics and cheerful muwashshah. as.”30 Standing on its own, perhaps, thiskind of reasoning might not be completely convincing, although it does have a certainemotional logic. But when we add the evidence based on the literary and historicalfacts as outlined above, it seems very clear that Judah Halevi visited Granada before theAlmoravid invasion of 1090, and that the literary history painted by Haim Brody andHaim Schirmann is correct in its general outline.

28 Moses ibn Ezra, Yaldei yamim (“The children of Time”), ll. 18–22.29 Cf. Yahalom, “Ginzei Leningrad,” p. 61, note 31.30 Fleischer, “Rabbi Yehuda Halevi: Birurim be-qorot h. ayyav,” p. 250. Fleischer attributes to this periodanother of Halevi’s muwashshahas for Moses ibn Ezra: ˙Ô¯ÈÁÍ·˘ÓÈ (“May your fragrance be my perfume”),in Judah Halevi, Dıwan, ed. Haim Brody, 1: 122 (no. 86).

138

AFTERWORD

My heart is in the East, and I am in the uttermost West; /how can I savor my food, in what find zest?

How can I fulfill my vows and oaths when Zion is ruled by Edom /and I am by the Arabs oppressed?

Gladly would I abandon all the treasures of Spain /if only to see the dust of the ruins most blessed.1

“My heart is in the East” (Libi be-mizrah. ) is classic Judah Halevi; the kind of poem oneusually thinks of when the poet-laureate of the Jewish people is brought to mind. In itone finds all the elements usually associated with Halevi’s name: the longing for Zion,the ambivalent vision of fair Spain, the dust and ashes of the ruined Temple. It may seemlike a curious poem with which to end our study, and yet it is the true ending of the story,and one which, curiously enough, brings us full circle. Our study began with the youngJudah Halevi writing from the East with a heart yearning for the West,’ and learned thathe was eager to trade Christian Spain for al-Andalus, the center of Hebrew poetry andArabic culture. We even saw that he spoke of this journey in terms of a holy pilgrimage,writing to Moses ibn Ezra in that first rhymed-letter (l. 14) that “I set my face towardsGod’s holy place” as he began the journey to Muslim Spain. In the little poem quotedabove, however, he is mapping his world according to a different set of coordinates.Now he is in “the uttermost West” and only too anxious to escape it for a pilgrimage ofa different kind. The West is still Spain, but the East is Zion and Jerusalem. It is not areturn journey for which he is yearning, a backtracking over the years, but a new goalaltogether, an orientation of a totally different kind.

In opting for Zion, Halevi was not denying the “treasures” of Spain, simply notingthat, for him, they had lost their value. He does not seem to have forgotten the period hespent in Granada with Moses ibn Ezra, and in a poem which he sent to Ibn Ezra from amuch later time (Yedaªnukha nedod) he gave that period in his life full due:2

Friendship bound my soul with his soulbefore the chariots of wandering had been harnessed

Before my soul had been tried by separationand the Children of Days were as yet at peace with us

The Daughters of Days had us born separately

1 Ï·È·ÓÊ¯Á . Judah Halevi, Dıwan, ed. Haim Brody, 2: 155 (no. 1).2 È„ÚÂÍ„Â„ . (“Wandering has known you ”), printed in Judah Halevi, Dıwan ed. Haim Brody, 1: 154 (no.101), ll. 16–23

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Afterword

but the Daughter of Love had us born twinsWe were brought up on flower beds of perfume

and suckled the breasts of the Daughter of theVineyards.20 I remember you on the hills of separation

that just yesterday were your hills of perfumesAnd my eyes are mingled with tears

and my tears mingled with blood:I remember you – and I remember days

we passed together, when we were like those who dream(ll. 16–22)

These lines evoke a Golden Age of innocence not yet tried by Time or separation (ll.16–17). The landscape is the perfumed gardens of wine-drinking parties, transformedby the metaphorical language of childhood into a playground of innocence:

We were brought up on flower beds of perfumeand suckled the breasts of the Daughter of theVineyards.

(l. 19)

Significantly enough, there is no affectionate nickname of Rimon in these lines, no punsor wistful images on the subject of pomegranates. It is the Golden Age of youth ratherthan Granada per se which Halevi recalls with such affection, and though Granada wasthe site of that Golden Age, it was apparently not crucial in his memory of it. Yet howdifferent things were for Moses ibn Ezra! He, too, wrote poems longing for the past –and indeed wrote them by the score during his years of exile in Christian Spain. Only,in these poems his love for Granada gleams through. To quote from one of his poemsfrom this later period:3

If God will only restore me to the glory of Rimonmy paths will succeed exceedingly

And I will drink of the waters of the Senir which remain purewhen other lovely rivers have been befouled

A land in which my life was made pleasant and in whichTime stretched itself low before me

I will pray a bit to God that there be no restraint in callingfreedom for a prisoner of separation, and opening the captive doors.

(ll. 31–34)

The “waters of the Senir” which Ibn Ezra so wistfully recalls in line 32 is a referenceto Granada’s Sierra Nevada mountains; Senir is another name for Mount Hermon (cf.Deuteronomy 3: 9 and elsewhere). The biblical name notwithstanding, this is the mostrealistic detail we have of Granada in any of the Hebrew poems.4 Thus it was not only

3 Ú„‡Ô·‚ÏÂ˙ . Moses ibn Ezra, Shirei ha-h. ol, ed. Haim Brody, pp. 66–67 (no. 67), ll. 31–34.4 Ibn Ezra also mentions the “waters of Senir” in another of his complaint-poems, ˘·˙ÈÂ˙Ï˙ÏÈÊÓÔ in ibid.,pp. 24–27 (no. 20), l. 43.

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a time and state of being to which Ibn Ezra longed to return (l. 33), but also a veryspecific place on the map.

For Ibn Ezra, therefore, the landscapes of longing now centered on Granada; forJudah Halevi, on the dusty ruins of Zion. Interestingly enough, both poets evoked theirpromised lands in terms of freedom from captivity; Ibn Ezra in the final line of his paeanto Granada above; Judah Halevi in line 8 of the following lovely poem translated below,(Zeh ruahkha), written just before setting sail for the Land of Israel:5

This wind of yours, O West, is fragrant /with spikenard on its wings, and apple-scent

Surely you come not from the treasure-house of winds /but from that of the spice merchant!

O you who lift up the swallow’s wings and set it free /are like the finest perfume, of purest myrrh blent.

How the people long for you, who, thanks to you, /will ride the sea upon this slender fragment

5 Do not withdraw thy hand from the ship /when day draws near or at night’s descent

Forge the depths into one, divide the heart of the seas /till you reach the Holy Mount – and there rest content

Rebuke the Eastern Wind that stirs up the sea /and whips it into a boiling torrent.

What can one do bound in the hand of the Rock: /at times held captive, at times freely sent?

Only He on high can grant my deepest wish /For He is the creator of the heights, and the wind’s ascent.6

There is a tradition that in old age Judah Halevi repented of his secular poems. Thetradition goes back to one of Halevi’s former students,7 and in some ways seems tofind an echo in his renowned theosophical work, the Kuzari, in which he condemns theuse of Arabic meters for Hebrew poetry.8 Yet whatever the truth of this tradition or thesincerity of his criticism in the Kuzari, the question of how to regard this tradition isactually moot. For Judah Halevi never renounced secular poetry, and he never stoppedusing the Arabic meters. The “Ode to the West Wind” translated above is apparently oneof the very last poems he wrote before sailing off to the Holy Land, and in everythingfrom rhyme and meter to motif and imagery, it is a prime example of Andalusi Hebrewpoetry. Though it is a paean to the West Wind due to sweep him off to Zion, it is alsoa West Wind from the “treasure-house” of Arabic poetry (l. 2), and could not havebeen written by anyone without the key. From west to west Halevi’s star drew him full

5 Ê‰¯ÂÁÍ . Judah Halevi, Dıwan, ed. Haim Brody, 2: 171 (no. 12). S. D. Goitein writes that this must havebeen one of Halevi’s two last poems in his important article summing up the Geniza documents relating toHalevi’s final years. See Goitein, “The Biography of Rabbi Judah ha-Levi in the Light of the Cairo GenizaDocuments,” Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research 28 (1959), esp. pp. 54-56.6 For a very perceptive, and very beautiful analysis of the poem, see Marc Saperstein, “Judah Halevi’s WestWind,” Prooftexts 1 (1981), pp. 306–311.7 See Ross Brann, The Compunctious Poet, pp. 95–96.8 Judah Halevi, Kuzari 2: 73–74.

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circle, but as in any circle the two halves had to meet before they could merge into one.The “wonderful group / and marvelous troupe” of Hebrew poets in Granada may havebelonged to the past, but it remained part of his poetry up till the very end.

142

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149

Index of Poems

Dunash ben Labrat

77, 7 (“And he said: do not sleep!”) Â‡ÂÓ¯‡Ï˙È˘Ô

Joseph ibn Tzadik

see under Moses ibn Ezra (“Nightly the musings”) ÏÈÏÓÁ˘·Â˙Ï·‡ÚÈ¯‰78 (“My rest, alas, has been stolen”) ÂÓÈ‡‰‰‚ÊÏ

Judah Halevi

124, 123, 77, 68, 44, 43, 42–40, 34, 29 (“After revealing the secret”) ‡Á¯‚ÏÂ˙ÒÂ„136, 132, 109, 108, 107–104 (“Be gentle with me, O strong of heart”) ‡ËÏÈÁÊ˜Ï··

100 (“Not in a night dream”) ‡Ï·ÁÏÂÌÏÈÏ4–3 (“For you I’ll sing”) ·Í‡ÚÈ¯ÊÓÈ¯Â˙

137, 91–89 (“The lover in a dream”) „Â„·ÁÏÂÌË‰137, 135–133 (“A tear that was”) „ÓÚ‡˘¯‰È‰

105, 74-73 (“Show your loving face”) ‰˜·ÏÙÈ„Â„Í127-126, 124–123, 78 (“Is that the scent of myrrh”) ‰¯ÈÁÓÂ¯

142–141 (“This wind of yours”) Ê‰¯ÂÁÍ105, 81–79 (“O Sun behind your curtained hair”) ÁÓ‰·Ú„¯˜ÈÚ

140–139 (“Wandering has known you”) È„ÚÂÍ„Â„139 (“My heart is in the east”) Ï·È·ÓÊ¯Á

135, 115–111 (“Before the cherub”) ÏÙÈÎ¯Â·˘ÈÏ˘136–134, 133, 54–49 (“Why should I soak the land”) Ó‰ÏÈÏ¯Â˙

105, 76 (“Turn unto your friend’s house”) Ë‰‡Ï·È˙È„È„Í100, 40 (“A generous eye”) ÚÈÔ„Â·‰

17–12 (“Stay O stay just a bit longer our brothers”) ÚÓ„ÂÚÓÂ„Â˜ËÓÚË‡ÁÈÂ125, 50, 47, 33, 29, 27, 26, 25, 24, 22, 21

133–131, 88–84 (“An ark, domed-shaped”) ˙·‰„ÓÂ˙˜Â·‰

151

Index of Poems

Judah ibn Ghayyat

55–52 (“Amongst the branches doves moan”) Ó·ÈÔÚÙ‡ÈÌ‰ÂÓÂ˙ÈÂÈÌ

Moses ibn Ezra

78 (“The lights flashed fire”) ‡˘˜„ÁÂ‡Â¯ÈÂ26, 25, 24–22 (“Has our breeze been blowing”) ·ÈÔ‰‰„ÒÈÌ˘·‰¯ÂÁÈÂ

137, 131–129 (“In the dwellings of my beloved”) ·Ó‚Â¯ÈÈ„È„È78 (“The night of parting’s troops”) ‚„Â„ÈÏÈÏ„Â„

127–126, 122–116, 78 (“Is that the scent of myrrh”) ‰¯ÈÁÓÂ¯138, 127, 68, 34, 33, 21–18 (“The Children of Time”) ÈÏ„ÈÈÓÈÌ

137 (“Time did not grow wise”) Ï‡ÁÎÓÂÈÓÈÌ41, 40–37, 36, 35, 34, 32, 31 (“Nightly I rouse the musings”) ÏÈÏÓÁ˘·Â˙Ï·‡ÚÈ¯‰

126, 125, 43, 42108–107, 104–97 (“Is it the honey of the lips”) ÂÙ˙˘Ù˙ÈÈÌ

140 (“Whither in exile?”) Ú„‡Ô·‚ÏÂ˙75 (“Come down to a garden”) ¯„‰‡Ï‰‚Ô69–65 (“The lips of flowers”) ˘Ù˙ÈÈˆÈÌ

Solomon ibn Gabirol

86 (“Turn my beloved and be like unto Wisdom”) È„È„ÈÒÂ·Â„Ó‰ÏÁÎÓ‰

Solomon ibn al-Muªallim

106, 104, 103, 101, 96–93 (“Is a cloud drizzling”) Ú·˙Ú¯ÂÛ‡ÂÈÊÏÂÚÈÈÈÌ137, 135, 108–107

152

General Index

ªAbdallah ibn Buluggın 1, 9Abraham ibn Daud 10–11, 83Abraham ibn Ezra 5, 40, 78Abu Nuwas 64Abun 22, 25, 26, 27, 67al-Andalus 1, 11, 15–16, 20, 47, 59, 63,

91, 139as the “West" 15-16, 20, 25, 47, 91, 139cultural superiority of 15–16, 25, 30–

31, 39Alphonso VI, King of Castile 31Arabic poetry 6, 12, 15, 19, 30, 34, 38, 52,

55, 59, 62–63, 67, 75, 77, 82, 83, 122,129, 131–132, 141

Aristotle 63, 84Badis ibn H. abbus 10Bezalel (biblical) 106, 107Christian Spain (also Castile) 1, 2, 4, 6,

16, 20, 25, 30, 55, 56, 91, 93, 136, 138,139

as Edom 55as the East 16, 25, 91as Seır 20, 30–31, 67, 68, 93cultural inferiority of 2, 16, 25, 30–31,

56, 138, 139Cordoba 1, 4, 5, 11, 64, 83, 129David of Narbonne 29Dıwan, of Judah Halevi 6, 45, 82, 85, 94,

104, 108–109Firkowitz Collection 6, 104, 108–109MS Oxford 1970, 1971 6, 21, 45, 85,

94, 104, 108–109, 122Dona Urraca 46, 97Dunash ben Labrat 7, 77al-Fath. ibn Khakan 77, 78Goliath (biblical) 95, 102, 108Granada 1–3, 6, 7, 9–10, 12, 20, 27, 31, 32,

34, 44, 45, 47, 51–52, 59, 64, 65, 68–69,82, 88, 91, 96–97, 109, 111, 116, 129,132–133, 135–142

Almoravid invasion of 1–2, 6, 9, 12, 31,136–138

founding of 9–10pomegranate as symbol of 9, 51–52, 96,

132–133, 135–136Guadix 6, 111, 115H. alfon ben Nethanel Halevi 3, 45, 97Hananel ben Yeshuaª 29Harun al-Rashıd, caliph of Baghdad 59, 60H. asdai ibn Shaprut 77Hebrew language 5, 15, 47, 62–63hitammut (Heb. “feigned innocence”) 29,

94, 95, 99, 116, 119H. iyya al-Mughrabi 6, 45, 52Ibn Baqı 40Ibn Bassam al-Shantarını 15, 34, 77Ibn Quzman 40Ibn Sana al-Mulk 35, 42–43, 81Ibn Shuhaid 60Ibn Zaydun 1, 88improvisation, role in poetry 78–79, 82–

83, 126Isaac ibn al-Shami al-Hatzeira 125Isaac ibn Mar-Saul 63Isaac ibn Barun 5, 6Isaac ibn Ezra (eldest of Ibn Ezra brothers)

6, 64, 89–90, 111, 115, 137Isaac ibn Ghayyat 45, 56, 83Isaac ibn Khalfun 7, 18al-Jah. iz. , Abu ªUthman ªAmr b. Bahr 77Jonah ibn Janah. 63Joseph ha-Ezovi 63Joseph ibn ªAknin 3, 63, 78Joseph ben Laºir 47Joseph ibn Ezra (fourth Ibn Ezra brother)

11, 37, 64, 133, 137Joseph ibn Majnin 22, 25, 26, 27, 37, 67,

82Joseph ibn Sahal 64, 82, 83Joseph ibn Tzadik 4, 6, 40, 77, 78

153

General Index

as author of Leyl mah. shavot 35–37, 39Josiah ben Bezaz 29Judah Halevi

date and place of birth 3–4in Egypt 3, 65poems for Judah ibn Ghayyat 49–54,

133, 134–136, 73–74, 105poem for Judah ibn Ghayyat and Isaac ibn

Ezra 111–115, 135poems for Moses ibn Ezra 12–17, 21,

22, 24, 25, 26, 27, 29, 33, 47, 50, 125,29, 34, 40–43, 44, 68, 77, 123–124 (?),139–140

poem for Moses and Isaac ibn Ezra 89–91, 137

poem for Moses and Joseph (?) Ibn Ezra133–135, 137

poem for Solomon ibn al-Muªallim 104–109, 132, 136

poetry of Zion 23, 139, 141rhymed letter to Moses ibn Ezra 29–34,

43–44, 68, 88Judah ibn Ezra (third Ibn Ezra brother) 11,

64, 68, 137Judah ibn Ghayyat 4, 6, 45–47, 68, 73, 88,

95, 98, 111, 115, 116, 125, 126, 133poem for Judah Halevi 52–55

al-Jurjanı 73khamrıya (Ar. “wine poetry”), 3–4, 7, 41,67, 73–76, 78, 90, 93, 122

beauty of garden setting 67, 75beauty of wine-goblet 74, 75, 76, 93,

122description of wine 74, 75, 76, 93as invitation 73–76, 93

kharja; see muwashshah. aKitab al-Aghanı 77Kitab al-muh. ad. ara wal-mudhakara 2, 4–

6, 12, 15, 24, 25, 27, 47, 51, 56, 64, 67,83, 84

Levi ibn al-Tabban 5, 6Lucena 4, 12, 36, 45, 83majlis; majlis al-uns (Ar. “intimate get-togethers”)

60–61, 64, 78, 82, 84role of music 34–35, 76–78

metaphors 73, 84Moses (biblical) 17, 33, 36, 42, 76, 90Moses ibn Ezra

as author of Leyl mah. shavot 35–37as Heyman 42, 68

as “Prince of Hosts” 31–32, 64as sah. ib al-shurt.a 11first poem for Judah Halevi 17–21, 33,

34, 68, 127, 138in Christian Spain 2, 136–138, 139muwashshah. as for Judah Halevi 65–69,

129–131, 137poem for Solomon ibn Matar 78, 116–

122, 126–127poem for Solomon ibn al-Muªallim 98–

104, 107–108relations with brothers; 2, 6, 11, 89–90,

136–138Mount Hermon 134, 135, 140al-Muªtad. id, king of Seville 18, 64al-Muªtamid, king of Seville 11, 88al-Muªtas.im, king of Almeria 75mutayyar (Ar. “riddle of birds”) 83–84muªarad. a (Ar. “contrafactum”) 21–22, 23–

27, 32, 37, 40, 43–44, 79, 98, 99, 105,124, 125, 126

muwashshah. a 7, 34–35, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41,64, 65, 78–79, 89, 91, 93

ghus. un (Ar. stanza of shifting rhyme) 35,79

kharja 35, 38, 42–43, 64, 65–66, 80–81,90–91, 130

mat.laª 79, 89, 129musical accompaniment of 34, 76–78simt. (Ar. lines with fixed rhyme) 35, 37,

40, 65, 79nadım (Ar. “boon-companion") 59–64, 93

education of 62–64role of poetry 59–61

nasıb (Ar. “love-prelude”) 19, 24, 90, 105Niz. am al-Mulk 59–60plagiarism 124–125poetry, genres of

ghazal (Ar. “love poems”) 12, 34, 39,42, 80, 114, 134

wine poems (see under khamrıya)panegyric 12, 20, 34, 38, 39, 40, 54–55,

125praise of cities 131–132riddle-poetry 83–88, 90, 126, 132wedding poetry 116-122

poetry, motifs inat.lal (Ar. the “weeping over the desert

traces”) 12, 15, 49–50, 51, 52, 54, 56,88, 129, 131, 135

154

General Index

the beloved as gazelle or fawn 40–41,49–50, 90

the beloved as sun or moon 67, 73, 95beauty of the beloved 80, 90, 105–106,

120carpe diem 41Chariot of Wandering 15, 20, 138color imagery (black/white) 20, 33, 67–

68, 80, 101, 102, 103–104, 106, 114cruelty of the beloved 80, 90, 105“enemies of love” 39, 41, 59garden imagery 66–67, 75, 93, 129lament over lost youth 53, 67love as war 26–27poetry as beautiful object 20, 24, 33,

99–102, 106poetry as precious jewels 17, 27, 33, 68,

100–102poetry as sun, moon 17, 27, 33, 67, 103,

104poetry as splendid garments 20, 42, 100–

102, 120, 122poetry as weapons of war 17, 102power of the pen 84, 99, 101–102reputation as fragrance 24, 67, 68ravens of separation 49–50shepherd of the stars 38, 88taif (Ar. “phantom of the beloved”) 55,

131tears as pearls 53, 113Time (also “children of time”) 19, 24, 47,

51, 53, 80, 90, 95, 107, 135, 139–140the wind as bearer of greetings 24, 67

poetry, public nature of 46, 97–98, 126pomegranate, as symbol for Granada 9, 85,

87, 96, 132, 138Purim 111–112, 115qas. ıda, sections of 7, 12, 15, 20, 21, 22,

25, 34, 37, 56–57, 64, 67, 99, 112, 116,134

madıh. (Ar. “panegyric”) 15, 20, 30, 39,50–51, 54–55, 68, 88, 90, 95, 116, 125

nasıib 19, 24, 90, 105rah. ıl 53–54, 56takhallus 15, 20, 67, 116

Rabbi Gershom, the “Light of the Exile”97

Rafı al-Dawla 75rhymes

as precious jewels 27, 35, 102, 127strophic rhyme-schemes 33, 35, 37, 40,

43–44, 65, 79, 129running rhymes 12, 21, 25, 26, 27, 111,

122–123, 125, 127, 135sajª (Ar. “rhymed-prose”) 29, 31Samuel ha-Nagid 3, 56, 79Saragossa 11, 12Seville 4, 11, 64, 88al-Shaqundı 9, 11Solomon ibn Gabirol 3, 18, 79, 84Solomon ibn Matar 116, 119, 120, 124,

128Solomon ibn Muªallim 4, 6, 64, 93, 95–96,

132, 136, 137poem for Judah Halevi 93–96, 97, 98,

99, 101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107,108, 109

Solomon, King 107, 120al-Tawh. ıdı, Abu H. ayyan 100–102Todros Abulafia 77Toledo 4, 9, 46Tudela 4, 5Valencia 130, 137Wallada 1Wilsker, Arie 29–30, 33Yequtiel ibn Hassan 18Zirid dynasty 1, 2, 10

155