Some scholars, such as LaSor in his Old Testament Survey (p. 236) whom I cite only because he is wrong, say there are essentially none.
כי חשבון עיר סיחן
מלך האמרי הוא והוא נלחם במלך מואב הראשון
ויקח את כל ארצו מידו עד ארנן
על כן יאמרו המשלים באו חשבון
תבנה ותכונן עיר סיחון
כי־אש יצאה מחשבון
להבה מקרית סיחן
אכלה ער מואב בעלי במות ארנן
או לך מואב אבדת עם־כמוש נתן בניו פליטם ובנתיו בשבית למלך אמרי סיחון
ונירם אבד חשבון
עד דיבן
ונשים עד נפח אשר עד מידבא
יתיצבו מלכי ארץ ורוזנים נוסדו יחד על יהוה ועל משיחו
ננתקה את מוֹסְרוֹתֵימוֹ
ונשליכה ממנו עֲבֹתֵימוֹ
יושב בשמים ישחק אדני ילעג לָמוֹ
אז ידבר אֵלֵימוֹ
באפו ובחרונו יְבַהֲלֵמוֹ
אשת חיל מי ימצא
ורחק מפנינים מכרה
בטח בה לב בעלה
ושלל לא יחסר
גמלתהו טוב ולא רע
כל ימי חייה
דרשה צמר ופשתים ותעש בחפץ כפיה
היתה כאניות סוחר ממרחק תביא לחמה
ותקם בעוד לילה ותתן טרף לביתה
וחק לנערתיה
זממה שדה ותקחהו מפרי כפיה נטעה כרם
חגרה בעוז מתניה
ותאמץ זרועתיה
We don't really know how long ago Reb Elazar HaKalir lived, so it's hard to use him. (Tos Chagiga 13a and Rosh Brachos 5:21 say he was the tanna, from the time of the Bayis Sheini. Some people see in the words of the Geonim that he lived in the sixth century.) and Yosi ben Yosi, who lived at the time of the Savoraim, in the sixth century, did not use rhyme in his piyutim, only, occasionally, ending each sentence with the same word. Then you have the tefilla אנא בכח which is also a rhyme, and again, it is attributed to the Tanna R Nechunia ben Hakkanah, but who knows.
Hebrew poetry began flourishing in mid-10th-century Spain (Sefarad, the ancient Jewish name for Spain) and survived there until the 1492 expulsion. Between 950 and 1150 (often referred to as its golden age), Hebrew poetry prospered in Muslim Spain. It was then already widely acknowledged as the indisputable Jewish poetic center. This poetic efflorescence was part of a wider renaissance of Jewish letters (which had its roots in earlier developments in the Orient). Poets were often themselves Talmudic scholars, biblical exegetes, Hebrew grammarians, and Neoplatonic philosophers. But whereas most writings were in Arabic, poetry was uniquely in Hebrew. Poets and audiences belonged to the elite known in scholarship as “the courtier-rabbis.” They were deeply immersed in the Arabic culture and way of life, and some of them served as officers in Muslim courts. As poets, they extensively employed Arabic poetics (genres, themes, prosody, and rhetoric) in both their secular and their liturgical poems. The Arabic influence persisted beyond 1150, at which time the literary center moved to the Jewish communities in the Christian kingdoms of Iberia. In its second period, from the mid-12th century on, liturgical poetry waned, while Kabbalah expanded, and secular poetry receded to give way to narrative compositions in rhymed prose (influenced by the Arabic maqāma and possibly also affected by the rise of European narrative genres). Medieval Hebrew poetry in Spain is evaluated today as one of the highest summits of Hebrew literature (between biblical and modern Hebrew poetry).
Jews were challenged to demonstrate that even the Hebrew at their disposal was at least as beautiful as Arabic and that Hebrew literature could achieve every bit as much as the literature of medieval Muslims. This created a religious motivation to reproduce the full range of genres and subjects in the Arabic literary repertoire, which meant that even the composition of poetry describing parties devoted to wine, women, men, and song could be enveloped by at least the penumbra of sanctity. There can be no question, of course, that even if the genre was born out of apologetic roots, it took on a life of its own, and not every medieval wine song was preceded by a le-shem yihud; at the same time, every such poem was a conscious expression of Jewish pride, which in the Middle Ages had an indisputably religious coloration.
Furthermore, the power and beauty of the religious poetry of the Jews of medieval Spain were surely made possible by the creative encounter with Arabic models. Some of the deepest and most moving expressions of medieval Jewish piety would have been impossible without the inspiration of the secular literature of a competing culture."
On page 39 of his book, Dr Berger points out that among the Jewish writers, the assertion was made that it was the Arabs that learned their skills from the Jews, not the other way around.
"Consequently, we find the glorification of Hebrew over Arabic and the assertion, ... that Arabic culture, including music, poetry, and rhetoric, was ultimately derived from the Jews."
A friend also directed my attention to a book by an (apparent) relative of Rav Avraham ibn Ezra, Moshe ibn Ezra, titled Kitab al-Muhadara, translated in 1924 to Hebrew by Benzion Halper and titled Shirat Yisrael. In it, he claims that all that is praiseworthy in Arabic literature was based on Greek and Hebrew writings. This must be what Dr Berger was referring to. I plan to read it, and I will bl'n report.
CONCLUSION:
In any case: the answer to our question is that rhyme is occasionally found in Tanach, from Chumash to Mishlei, but it is rare. It was davka in Muslim Spain that rhyme became the dominant form of Slichos and Zemiros and Piyutim. Whether it was the Arabs influenced by the Jews, or the Jews by the Arabs, remains to be seen.
It's not fully related, but here's something I was just reading today that is at least tangentially relevant, and thought-provoking, shedding light on the poetry of Jewish Spain and North Africa:
ReplyDelete"The beauty of Arabic was a crucial Muslim argument for the superiority of Islam. Since the Quran was the final, perfect revelation, it was also the supreme exemplar of aesthetic excellence, and its language must be the most exalted vehicle for the realization of literary perfection. When Jews compared the richness and fl exibility of Arabic vocabulary to the poverty of medieval Hebrew, the Muslims’ argument for the manifest superiority of their revelation undoubtedly hit home with special force...
Jews were challenged to demonstrate that even the Hebrew at their disposal was at least as beautiful as Arabic and that Hebrew literature could achieve every bit as much as the literature of medieval Muslims. This created a religious motivation to reproduce the full range of genres and subjects in the Arabic literary repertoire, which meant that even the composition of poetry describing parties devoted to wine, women, men, and song could be enveloped by at least the penumbra of sanctity. Th ere can be no question, of course, that even if the genre was born out of apologetic roots, it took on a life of itsown, and not every medieval wine song was preceded by a le-shem yihud; at the same time, every such poem was a conscious expression of Jewish pride, which in the Middle Ages had an indisputably religious coloration.
Furthermore, the power and beauty of the religious poetry of the Jews of medieval Spain were surely made possible by the creative encounter with Arabic models. Some of the deepest and most moving expressions of medieval Jewish piety would have been impossible without the inspiration of the secular literature of a competing culture."
(David Berger, Cultures in Collision)
Thank you. I just sent an inquiry to my bibliophile friends for a copy.
DeleteIt's interesting that Berger's and encyclopedia.com's theses both associate our immersion in Arabic Islamic culture with stylistic innovation and poetry in Hebrew, and they come to opposite conclusions as to who was Sherlock and who was Mycroft.
I now am reading Berger's essays. Having pointed out the diametric contradiction between the passage you quoted and that of encyclopedia.com, it's interesting to see a passage in Berger's book on page 39 stating "Consequently, we find the glorification of Hebrew over Arabic and the assertion, ... that Arabic culture, including music, poetry, and rhetoric, was ultimately derived from the Jews."
DeleteMy friend also directed my attention to a book written by a forebear of Avraham ibn Ezra, Moshe ibn Ezra, which makes exactly that claim - Kitāb al-muḥāḍarah wa al-mudhākarah (“Conversations and Recollections”; translated into Hebrew as Shirat Yisraʾel, in 1924 by B. Halper. I ordered a copy of that one as well.
Discussing the history of Jewish rhyme,
ReplyDeletefor that I don't really have much time.
It's not a subject about which I have much knowledge,
cause unlike most of you, I never went to college.
Just one little vort, not really related,
or maybe it is, that can be debated.
It is not my own, I heard it in a shiur,
I believe it was from Rabbi Reismann, I hope it will be clear.
He pointed out that in the shabbos shachris davening, yismach moshe, the first five lines are seemingly supposed to rhyme but interestingly, the rhyming scheme only works if you pronounce the cholom as an oi but not if its pronounce oh.
That's all I got, I'll show myself out now....
I have a similar, and I think more compelling case to make. In the "Salachti" piyut of Yom Kippur (Amnam Kein), which is quite obviously a rhyme, the name of Hashem in the line beginning with vav is clearly meant to rhyme with a word ending in a choilam "oi"- if not, it would be the only exception to the overall pattern. Ayin sham. Although of course it was composed in the time of rishonim (acc. to the Artscroll machzor) whereas I assume Yismach Moshe was created by the Anshei Kneses Hagedolah. But still, I think it is much more clear as a raya.
DeleteOk, LkwdGuy, I guarantee that all the courses I took in college, ranging from how wonderful Communist China is to summer biology lab, not one had any shaichus to anything Jewish. Except according to the Rambam, Aristotle's Politics and Poetics. But that did not involve ANY RHYMING at all.
DeleteRabbi Reisman's rayah is great. But pronunciation changes over time. Local accents existed all the way back to the Litvisheh bnei Ephraim. I doubt that Avraham Avinu and Moshe Rabbeinu spoke with the same nusach, so there's no psak halacha on this. Maybe, maybe, on the Shva after a melupem, the Gaon holds it's nach, most hold it's nah, so I switch off according to my mood.
As for who wrote Yismach Moshe? Good question. It's not as if everyone agrees that you say it. For example, Rashi (or Rabbeinu Shlomo miGarmizah) held it should not be said, according to the Sefer HaManhig, and there's no guarantee that it is from the Anshei Knesses HaGedola:
רבינו שלמה (רש"י?) לא היה אומר 'ישמח משה', והיה אומר 'אתה בחרתנו', והיה מזכיר ואומר 'ותתן לנו ה' אלהינו שבתות למנוחה', כי לא היה יודע מה עניין לשבת 'ישמח משה'; ורבינו יעקב (רבינו תם) מנוחתו כבוד החזיר הדבר ליושנו ואמר, כי טעם גדול לדבר לומר 'ישמח משה', דאמרינן בפרק קמא בשבת: 'מאי דכתיב 'לדעת כי אני ה' מקדשכם'? אמר הקב"ה למשה: מתנה טובה יש לי בבית גנזי ושבת שמה, ואני מבקש ליתנה לישראל, לך והודיעם' וכו'. ולהכי תקנו 'ישמח משה' באותה מתנה טובה של שבת
Menachem, thank you for that raya. Of course, it could be the Russian ae, like the Feinsteins say. But it certainly would not be the American oh or the German ow.
DeleteYour examples of rhymes from the Torah seem to violate inn Ezra’s injunction לא תחרוז בשור ובחמור יחדיו, so perhaps he did not consider them true examples of rhyming poetry.
ReplyDeleteThat 'injunction' is so annoying. Who made him, or whoever originated it, the dictator of what is esthetically pleasing??? Bishlema the Gemara can define hiddur by the daled minim, there must have been a mesora or some sort of tradition. But here? Only the ibn Ezra being the genius that he was laying down the law for mere mortals.
DeleteFor those to whom the reference is obscure, it is a directive that rhymes must end with exactly matching syllables, not just two letters or a sound; so Shor and Chamor doesn't count as a rhyme. For shor you would have to write Mishor, and for Chamor, Har Hamor. In the original,
לא תחרוז בשור ובחמור יחדיו
שלח תשלח את השור למישור
ואת החמור לארץ המור
Finding matching syllables
DeleteIs what brings writers billables
For rhyming sounds
They so abound
They’re commoner than pruzabuls.
The Ogden Nash level genius of these comments takes my breath away. I am not even going to try to compete.
ReplyDeleteAs Browning said in a poem that springs to mind, I may not be able to match the skill here, but I take comfort in admiring it.
For thence,—a paradox
Which comforts while it mocks,—
Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail:
What I aspired to be,
And was not, comforts me:
A brute I might have been, but would not sink i’ the scale.
Ok, I just want to make sure that everyone knows that the poem I quoted is titled "Rabbi Ben Ezra." It has zero to do with the ibn Ezra, just that what inspired Browning to write that poem was his contemplation of the ibn Ezra's genius.
Delete