The Catalog of Thirty-One Kings: Thoughts in the Twenty-First Century on Old Yiddish Epic

This Yiddish battle scene is an extensive animation of an episode to which biblical and/or exegetical Hebrew texts only allude. It places direct speech in the mouths of David and Goliath’s brother, in the form of an intense verbal confrontation replete with emotion and scorn that is reminiscent of the verbal exchange between the young David and Goliath (cf. 1 Sam. 17:43–48). It also offers a detailed description of the characters’ weapons and battle gear.

From a chronological perspective, we find examples of both sub-groups of Old Yiddish epic already in the Cambridge Manuscript: respectively, the German epic Dukus Horant and poems based on scenes from Genesis. ^{26 26} See note 16 above. However, it appears logical that while the Jews arrived in the German-speaking area with a cultural inventory of epic narratives, the birth of Yiddish epic poetry necessarily followed the “fertilization” carried out by their encounter with the German epic. Presumably, having become acquainted with this German genre, certain skilled Jewish individuals succeeded in mastering its literary style. They retold German narratives, and later expanded their corpus to include Jewish-biblical materials. In addition, it seems that a gradual process of growth took place – from retelling single scenes (“small texts”) to entire books (“large texts”). Khone Shmeruk suggests that while the former could have been transmitted orally, the latter were composed in writing:

Based on the chronology of the biblical poems in Yiddish, there is room to assume that at first this poetry was limited to depictions of single episodes from the Bible, of a relatively limited narrative size, such as the poems in the Cambridge Manuscript or the Akedah poem. Gradually entire biblical books were tackled. […] one may also presume that at first this biblical poetry was intended for oral transmission, while adhering to a set melody. […] It appears that as the biblical poems grew longer, it became more difficult to transmit them orally, and poems exceeding the length of a few hundred lines were already intended for private reading. ^{27 27} Shmeruk, Yiddish Literature, 118–119.

For unknown reasons, the genre of Old Yiddish epic began to lose popularity in the seventeenth century and, following the above-mentioned 1730 epic on Daniel, sank into oblivion. ^{28 28} Shmeruk, Yiddish Literature, 124. Consequently, its pertinent melodies and performative traditions were lost, and only the verbal texts of the epics were preserved in manuscripts and prints on the shelves of various libraries.

In the late nineteenth century, researchers rediscovered the surviving Yiddish works of this genre and began to devote attention to them. At first, the discourse concerning them was conducted in German, ^{29 29} See, for example: Joseph Perles, “Bibliographische Mittheilungen”; Max Grünbaum, Jüdisch-deutsche Chrestomatie (Leipzig: F. A. Brockhaus, 1882); Felix Falk, “Die Bücher Samuelis in deutschen Nibelungenstrophen des XV. Jahrhunderts,” Mitteilungen zur jüdischen Volkskunde 11, no. 2 (1908): 79–85; Willy Staerk and Albert Leitzmann, Die Jüdisch-deutschen Bibelübersetzungen: von den Anfängen bis zum Ausgang des 18. Jahrhunderts (Frankfurt a. M.: J. Kauffmann, 1923). but in the early twentieth century they were also presented and discussed in modern Yiddish. ^{30 30} See, for example: Moyshe Basin, Finf hundert yor yidishe poezye (New York: Dos bukh, 1917); Max Erik, Di geshikhte fun der yiddisher literature: Fun di eltste tsaytn biz der haskole-tkufe (Warsaw: Kultur lige, 1928); Max Weinreich, Bilder fun der yidisher literatur-geshikhte: Fun di onheybn biz Mendele Moykher-sforim (Vilna: Tomor, 1928). The aesthetics and lively content of these centuries-old epics quickly became popular among modern Yiddish readers, and scholars of Yiddish literature devoted particular attention to the texts’ first-person narration and the implied setting in which a narrator speaks to a live audience (in both sub-groups). Phrases such as “Listen and I will tell you” or “I say this to you truthfully” were understood at face value, and, in turn, gave rise to the famous Shpilman Theory. ^{31 31} Elazar Shulman, Sefat yehudit ashkenazit ve-sifruta (Riga: Levin, 1913), viii–ix; Leo Landau, Arthurian Legends: Or the Hebrew-German Rhymed Version of the Legend of King Arthur (Leipzig: E. Uvenarins, 1912), xliii–xliv; Erik, Geshikhte, 67–129; Roman, Joshua and Judges, xlvi–xlviii.

Influenced by an eponymous theory in the study of German literature, ^{32 32} Paul Piper, Die Spielmannsdichtung (Berlin: Spemann, 1890), 3–74; Walter Johannes Schröder, Spielmannsepik (Stuttgart: J. B. Metzler, 1967); Rüdiger Brandt, “‘Spielmannsepik’: Literaturwissenschaft zwischen Edition, Überlieferung und Literaturgeschichte,” Jahrbuch für Internationale Germanistik 2 (2005): 9–49. this view attributed the creation of the Yiddish epic to wandering entertainers, minstrels of sorts, known as “Shpilman” (musician, performer). Nearly all scholars of Old Yiddish literature active before the Second World War concurred regarding this theory, ^{33 33} See Eliyohu Shulman, “Arayfir,” in Max Erik, Di geshikhte fun der yiddisher literature: Fun di eltste tsaytn biz der haskole-tkufe (New York: Alveltlekhn yidisher kultur-kongres, 1979), viii. and only after their passing away, and following its decline in the study of German literature, was it contested by Khone Shmeruk. ^{34 34} Khone Shmeruk, “Tsi ken der keymbridzher manuskript shtitsn di shpilman-teorye in der yidisher literatur?” Di goldene keyt 100 (1979): 251–271 [in English translation: Shmeruk, “Can the Cambridge Manuscript Support the ‘Spielmann’ Theory in Yiddish Literature?” in Studies in Yiddish Literature and Folklore (Jerusalem: Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1986), 1–36]; Shmeruk, Prokim fun der yidisher literatur-geshikhte (Tel Aviv: Y. L. Perets Farlag, 1988), 97–120. His main arguments against the Shpilman Theory were the rabbinic education that the epics’ authors evidently received, implying that they were connected to central social circles within the Jewish community; the great length of some epics, making their oral transmission impossible; and the interpretation of the recital descriptions as petrified literary norms rather than the protocol of an actual performance.

It is important to stress that to date no systematic historical study has discussed the modes of transmitting Old Yiddish epics—whether they were publicly recited or privately read. At any rate, it appears that for the most part the relevant information must be gleaned from the texts themselves.

Judging from statements in the epics regarding the melodies to which they were to be sung, it seems impossible to deny that Old Yiddish epics were performed publicly. ^{35 35} Nathan Süßkind, Das Šmuel Buch: Eine jüdisch-deutsche Umdichtung der zwei Bücher Samuelis im Stile der mittelhochdeutschen Heldendichtung (PhD diss., New York University, 1941), 244; Oren Roman, “Be-nign Shmuel-bukh: On the Melody or Melodies Mentioned in Old-Yiddish Epics,” Aschkenas: Zeitschrift für Geschichte und Kultur der Juden 25, no. 1 (2015): 145–60. Likewise, and following Shmeruk’s insight in the passage quoted above, presumably at first some shorter texts were created and transmitted as an oral tradition (fortunately, a few of them were recorded in writing and have reached us). It is likely, however, that the longer epics, e.g., the retellings of the books of Joshua, Judges, and Samuel, were composed in writing. However, even in those cases, their authors followed the poetic principles developed in the oral phase of the genre. It is also possible that some short oral songs were interpolated into those longer epics. ^{36 36} Roman, Joshua and Judges, xxv–xxx.

The Yiddish Retelling of Jos. 12

The Yiddish poem at the center of this study, retelling Jos. 12, is in fact a passage within a larger work entitled Sefer Yehoshua (The Book of Joshua), an Old Yiddish epic that retells the entire book of Joshua, replete with elaborations drawn from midrashic sources and traditional commentary (e.g., by Rashi and Radak). ^{37 37} This epic has been recently published, see Roman, Joshua and Judges. See also, Chava Turniansky, “Shetey shirot epiyot al sefer Yehoshua,” Tarbiz 51, no. 4 (1982): 589–632. The name of the work’s author is unknown, and it was printed, presumably only once, by Aharon Prostits in Krakow in 1594. ^{38 38} Numbering 48 pages in octavo size, this book survived in a unicum copy kept today in the Bodleian Libraries in Oxford (4˚W.67.Th. (3)).

Like most other Old Yiddish biblical epics, Sefer Yehoshua is written in the stanzaic structure known as nign Shmuel-bukh: stanzas of four long lines with a rhyming scheme of aabb, ccdd, etc. All lines are divided by a medial caesura with three stressed syllables and a changing number of unstressed ones in each hemistich. The stanza also had a unique melody to accompany it, which has, unfortunately, not reached us. ^{39 39} On this melody and its possible German origin see Roman, “Be-nign Shmuel-bukh.” To be precise, Sefer Yehoshua endeavors to adhere to a modified and more developed form of nign Shmuel-bukh known as akht-gezets, in which two additional rhyming pairs are added at the caesuras. ^{40 40} Roman, “Be-nign Shmuel-bukh,” 151–159. However, the author succeeded in implementing this norm in only two-thirds of its 344 stanzas. ^{41 41} Turniansky, “Shetey shirot,” 611.

Sefer Yehoshua differs from other epic retellings of the Former Prophets in that it is more paraphrastic and its narrator is more intrusive. ^{42 42} Roman, Joshua and Judges, lvii. While it follows the biblical text systematically and aims to retell it in its entirety (with the clear exception of omitting most lists; see below), it has relatively few traces of the traditional manner of translating the Bible into Yiddish (the so-called taytsh tradition), which is characterized by a distinct register, as well as literal calque translations and the preservation of the original Hebrew word order. ^{43 43} On the taytsh tradition of translating the Tanakh into Yiddish see: Shloyme Nobl, Khumesh-taytsh: An oysforshung vegn der traditsye fun taytshn khumesh in di khadorim (New York: YIVO, 1943); Chava Turniansky, “Le-toldot ha-‘taytsh-khumesh’ – ‘khumesh mit khiber,’” in ‘Iyyunim be-sifrut: Devarim she-ne’emru li-khvod Dov Sadan bi-melot lo shemonim ve-ḥamesh shanah (Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1988), 21–58; Jean Baumgarten, “Yiddish Bibles,” in Introduction to Old Yiddish Literature, edited and translated by Jerold C. Frakes (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 82–127.

As was noted, the author of Sefer Yehoshua omits most of the biblical lists that enumerate people or describe the distribution of the Promised Land among the tribes. These omissions are usually marked by the words, “I will leave it,” in various phrasings. ^{44 44} E.g., וויל איך עש לאזן שטין (263c), איך וויל עז אזו לאזן בלייבן (249a). We also find such an omission in the case of chapter 12: the author replaced the entire chapter with eight stanzas that interweave some of the information found in the biblical original (including the beginning of Jos. 13) with praise to Joshua (230–237). He clearly acknowledges omitting the list of kings:

Surprisingly, however, immediately afterwards the narrator recounts the catalog of thirty-one kings in a very elaborate manner (238–246)! He even adds a range of details not found in any other source, which present the kings as powerful opponents and amplify Joshua’s achievements in defeating them. How can this contradiction be resolved?

Before attempting to understand this inconsistency, I would like to note, for reference purposes, that an additional Old Yiddish epic retelling of Joshua ^{46 46} This untitled retelling is reserved in a manuscript dated 1510–1511, kept in the Palatine Library, Parma (Cod. Parm. 2513). It differs entirely from Sefer Yehoshua (Krakow, 1594), except for the fact that they retell the same text. See Roman, Joshua and Judges. also tends to omit its many lists. Specifically, it omits chapters 11 and 12 entirely, its narrator claiming that the length of the detailed report would not be pleasing:

A third Old Yiddish epic retelling of Joshua, found within Yakov Segal Katz’s Kehillat Yaakov, ^{47 47} This work is a retelling of the Pentateuch as well as parts of Joshua and Judges in rhymed quatrains. At least two editions of this work are known: Wilhermsdorf (1718) and Prague (1762). See Staerk and Leitzmann, Die Jüdisch-deutschen Bibelübersetzungen, 261–270. provides a rhymed translation of the kings’ names. It adds very little material beyond the translation, mostly for rhyming purposes, saying, for instance, that the kings were killed or that they wished they had never been born. ^{48 48} Yakov Segal Katz, Kehillat Yaakov (Wilhermsdorf, 1718), 96b. However, it does not provide substantial detail for any one individual king, as we find in the poem at the center of this study.

We thus see that the decision of Sefer Yehoshua’s author to include an elaborate retelling of the catalog of thirty-one kings (238–246) is extraordinary not only when compared to his own approach but also to the common practice of other Old Yiddish authors when tackling long biblical lists. This contradiction becomes even more glaring when we realize that Sefer Yehoshua’s author mentions the thirty-one kings of Canaan on seven other occasions in the epic, ^{49 49} See in Sefer Yehoshua: 4d, 20c, 78b, 121d, 315b (“thirty-one battles”), 327c, 335d. without any parallel in the source text! (Indeed, the other epic on Joshua does not mention them at all, apart from the single quote above). This might imply that Sefer Yehoshua’s author, as part of his unique epic style, had planned from the start to use the catalog of thirty-one kings as an entertaining aspect of the biblical book. A further interpretation of these mentions, which cannot be proven at this point, is that this narrative was popular among Jews, and may have been the subject of other retellings that have not reached us.

Let us consider the Yiddish poem on the catalog of thirty-one kings found in Sefer Yehoshua (stanzas 238–246, see the original text and its English translation in the appendix below). Already at first glance, several aspects of this passage distinguish it from the remainder of the epic and cause us to speculate that this may have constituted an independent work, composed by a different author, which was later interpolated into the 1594 epic.

Beyond the fact that the narrator declared he did not intend to translate this catalog, and the hints that this narrative was popular among Jews, the distinct opening and closing sections of the poem (238a–b and 245d–246d) also suggest that this may have constituted an external, independent poem. Moreover, while the Hebrew original sums up the number of kings at the end of the counting (Jos. 12:24), the epic mentions their number also at its beginning – an addition that can be seen as a stimulating opening of an epic catalog. ^{50 50} Homann, “Die Heldenkataloge,” 417. Additionally, this opening further strengthens the notion that the addressees of the Yiddish poem were already acquainted with this story (but perhaps not with all its details).

Furthermore, the poem uses a different meter from the rest of Sefer Yehoshua—the classical nign Shmuel-bukh rather than the modified akht-gezets that is used in the rest of the epic (see above). Likewise, the poem exhibits a much stronger oral-epic texture than the remainder of the 1594 work: the narrator is particularly present in this poem, speaking in the first person and using repetitive, formulaic speech (e.g., within its thirty-six lines, the word שטרייט [battle] appears six times in various forms, and גישווינד [here: mighty] ^{51 51} See “Geschwind” in Jacob Grimm and Wilhelm Grimm, Deutsches Wörterbuch (Leipzig: S. Hirzel, 2021 [1854 – 1961]). http://woerterbuchnetz.de/DWB/. appears three times). ^{52 52} The author’s use of the verb “to write” as describing his action (240a) may support the assumption that this poem was composed in writing. It may have also been added at a later stage to a particular text that was indeed in writing. At the same time, it could be used by a singer wishing to impress a literate audience, similar to story tellers in northern France, who even in the twentieth century held books during their recitals and pretended to read out of them, even though they told their story by heart. See Alberto Manguel, A History of Reading (New York: Viking Penguin, 1996), 120. Also, thematically, hardly any of the poem’s elaborations of the biblical text draw on Jewish sources. ^{53 53} One exception is the indication that the conquest lasted seven years in total (238b), which is based on Rashi’s commentary to Jos. 14:10 (cf. Babylonian Talmud Zevachim 118b and Babylonian Talmud Arakhin 13a). Instead of merely naming the kings as the biblical text does, the author of Sefer Yehoshua brought the catalog to life, adding some information about the majority of the kings—mostly how mighty one king was, ^{54 54} 23 times, e.g., 241a, 242a, 243a. or alternatively, he ridicules them. ^{55 55} See 239d, 240b, and 244c. Identifying with Joshua and the Israelites, this alteration would elicit the audience’s awe at the potential threat to Joshua or relief and joy (and at times even laughter) ^{56 56} Erik, Geshikhte, 88. at the enemy’s fall, respectively. The fact that these two functions are used irregularly in the poem suggests an element of surprise and a performative dialogue between the epic singer and his audience.

At the same time, however, there are also indications that the poem is based on a translation of the Hebrew text, similarly to the rest of the epic. Most significantly, the names of all thirty-one kings (or actually the kingdoms) are mentioned, in the same order as they appear in the Hebrew original. Likewise, the formulation קיניג יריחו וואר איינר “The King of Jericho was one” (238c) can be seen as a taytsh translation of sorts for the Hebrew מֶלֶךְ יְרִיחוֹ אֶחָד (Jos 12:9), echoing the most central poetic feature of the biblical original. Moreover, the kings’ names, in the form “King” + place name, are in fact calque translations of the Hebrew, e.g., קיניג יריחו (“King Jericho”) for מֶלֶךְ יְרִיחוֹ, instead of the more grammatically appropriate דר קיניג פֿון יריחו (“the King of Jericho”) or other possible formulations. ^{57 57} Such a formulation is common in Yiddish for the king’s given name (e.g., קעניג אחשוורש) but here clearly these are the names of the kingdoms. An exception to this is קיניג צו מקידה (“King of Makeda,” 241c), which still lacks the definite article. It is important to note that, in the poem, while carefully adhering to this repetitive formal element, the kings are presented alternately as grammatical subjects (e.g., 240a) or objects (e.g., 240b), which may confuse the listeners at times.

A meaningful difference between the Hebrew original and the Yiddish poem are the mistakes that occur in no less than sixteen of the kings’ names. Researchers have suggested that these are corruptions caused by oral transmission, ^{58 58} Turniansky, “Shetey shirot,” 625, fn. 107. and additional scenarios can account for them: they may be copying mistakes, mistakes based on a text drawn up from memory, or even the typesetter’s fault.

A close look at the mistakes reveals that they are mostly misspellings of rare Hebrew names which nevertheless reflect a rather similar pronunciation (according to the Ashkenazic norm), for instance אכֿשוף instead of אַכְשָׁף, or גבֿר instead of גֶּדֶר. ^{59 59} Here is a list of all incorrect Yiddish names within the poem, with the original biblical form in parentheses: גבֿר (גֶּזֶר), דביר (דְּבִר), גבֿר (גֶּדֶר), חרמון (חָרְמָה), ערוד (עֲרָד), ליבנה (לִבְנָה), עדולים (עֲדֻלָּם), מקידה (מַקֵּדָה), שומרון (שִׁמְרוֹן מְראוֹן), עפרון (אֲפֵק), אכשוף (אַכְשָׁף), תענוך (תַּעְנַךְ), מגידון (מְגִדּוֹ), יתנעים (יָקְנֳעָם), נופֿת (דּוֹר לְנָפַת דּוֹר), גוים (גּוֹיִם לְגִלְגָּל), תירצה (תִּרְצָה). Three city names that encompass more than one word were shortened (erroneously) to one word, clearly for aesthetic and metrical reasons: שומרון instead of שִׁמְרוֹן מְראוֹןi, נופֿת instead of דּוֹר לְנָפַת דּוֹר, and גוים instead of גּוֹיִם לְגִלְגָּל. A comparison to the rest of Sefer Yehoshua revealed, to my surprise, similar spelling mistakes in Hebrew words, in particular place names, although at a lower intensity. ^{60 60} E.g. חיתיתֿ (10c) instead of חִתִּיםi; ירחו (31c) instead of יְרִיחוֹi; גלגול (92a) instead of ַגִּלְגָּלi; מקידה (200b) instead of ִמַּקֵּדָה. Two possible explanations for this phenomenon seem plausible: one, the epic was read aloud to the typesetter while preparing the text for printing; the other, the epic’s author created his work in live recitation while consulting the Hebrew original, and it was simultaneously protocolled by a scribe. Both scenarios may also account for additional mistakes, such as rhyming 240c–d with the same word, or repeating the same phrasing for 242d (which does not rhyme with its pair, 242c) and 243d.

Comparing the rhymes used in the Yiddish catalog of kings with the rest of the epic did not yield decisive findings. Out of the sixteen rhyme pairs it contains, seven appear in the rest of Sefer Yehoshua, ^{61 61} גאר/יאר (39a–b, 83c–d); צו/וואו (192a–b); אויש/הויז (24a–b, 30c–d); מאן/האן (103c–d, 104c–d); הוך/צוך (232a–b); ביצוואונגן/גידרונגן (227c–d); צייטן/שטרייטן (203a–b), ביצייטן (229c–d). but nine others do not. ^{62 62} קינד/גישווינד, קארן/אורן, ניין/זיין, גאר/פֿאר, העלד/ועלד, הולד/גאלד, היר/זיר, הונט/קונט, שנץ/גנץ. Moreover, it appears that the rhymes in common are mostly conventional ones. As such, the rhyming technique does not rule out the possibility that the catalog of kings has been interpolated into Sefer Yehoshua.

Conclusion

If only we could peek into the poetic laboratory of Sefer Yehoshua’s author, we would know whether the studied Yiddish retelling of the catalog of kings was a popular epic poem that was recorded in writing and interpolated into his larger epic on Joshua, or whether our author decided to create a particularly embellished passage within his long epic. Unfortunately, we can only judge the texts that have reached us in writing, and arguments regarding undocumented epic traditions that may have existed centuries ago will forever remain speculation. ^{63 63} Homann, “Die Heldenkataloge,” 416. We must remember that even an oral poem that was recorded in writing might change and absorb forms of written transmission in the process of being recorded, thus ceasing to be a purely oral text. ^{64 64} Albert Lord, The Singer of Tales, 124–126, 131; Jacob Elbaum, Openness and Insularity: Late Sixteenth Century Jewish Literature in Poland and Ashkenaz (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1990), 242 [in Hebrew].

The similarities that this study discerned between the catalog of kings and the rest of Sefer Yehoshua suggest that at the very least the epic’s author left his poetic mark on the passage, if he did not compose it entirely. However, the striking epic texture and the content of the catalog indicate differences from the rest of the epic and suggest that this poetic passage stems from, and was intended for, a live recital. Moreover, as suggested above, it is quite possible that there may have been more than one Yiddish retellings of the catalog of thirty-one kings.

In this respect, the contradiction in the narrator’s words—the intention not to recount the catalog of kings nevertheless followed by its inclusion—requires resolution. Based on his previous references to the thirty-one kings elsewhere, it would appear that elaborating the biblical catalog was not a spontaneous decision. Rather, the catalog of kings was a popular topic and the author assumed that his audience was familiar with it. Accordingly, one possible explanation of the contradiction in the text is that the author was tired and wanted to take a break from his work. However, when he returned to it later, he realized he had made a mistake, and added the missing text. Alternatively, perhaps someone other than the author (e.g., the publisher) introduced this poem at his own initiative and without the author’s knowledge or permission. Such an ad hoc change may explain why the contradiction in the text was not corrected. A further possibility that can explain this contradiction is that the 1594 epic is an exact protocol of a live performance, in which the singer (unlike a writing author) was unable to rephrase what had already been said. ^{65 65} Homann, “Die Heldenkataloge,” 434–435.

However, once again, all these thoughts are mere speculation, and the circumstances in which the beautiful catalog of kings was composed remain a mystery. Its very existence, however, illuminates the complexities and mysteries of the Old Yiddish epic—its intricate processes of composition and dissemination—and hence sheds light on an intriguing chapter in the history of Yiddish and early modern Ashkenaz.

Appendix: A Poem on the Catalog of Thirty-One Kings

Anonymous, Sefer Yehoshua (Krakow, 1594), 17a–17b (stanzas 238–246).
English Translation by Oren Cohen Roman and Rebecca Wolpe