2 
Mothers and Children as Seen by Sixteenth-Century Rabbis in the Ottoman Empire
Following the expulsion of the Jews from Spain, many Jewish communities settled in the eastern Mediterranean Basin, within the far-reaching boundaries of the Ottoman Empire. During the course of the sixteenth century, Jews of diverse ethnic origins made their way to this region: Sephardi, Maʿarvim (from the Maghreb, North Africa), Ashkenazim, Italian, Romaniot (originally of Byzantine origin, whose language was Greek), and so on. In Syria, Egypt, and Eretz-Israel, they encountered their local brethren, the Must ‘arbim—who spoke Arabic and looked and behaved like Arabs. Integration among the communities and ethnic groups was not a simple matter, and over time many demographic, social, and familial changes took place. Toward the end of the century, the Sephardi influence grew, and most of the groups were either absorbed into those communities descended from the Iberian Peninsula, or, at the least, acknowledged their cultural, economic, and numerical superiority.1
The exiled Sephardic community was distinguished by its many expectations and the hope for national and personal resurrection, to be realized by the establishment of a new generation. The traditional role of women within the family—to bear healthy children, preferably males—was more sensitive and emotionally charged than ever before. Many exiles lost their children during the course of their wandering. In the written records that survived, we sense the yearning for sons who would perpetuate the family dynasty, which was often brought to an abrupt halt due to the hardships of the expulsion, and there is a markedly profound concern for the fate of the children, in view of the distressing times. These fears continued to affect the second and third generations of exile.2
However, the sources describing the anguish of expulsion and its results are strictly male, and although perpetuation of the family is a principle objective of matrimony, and Jewish society is greatly concerned with every detail regarding the birth of healthy offspring, the Hebrew sources regarding women and children are extremely limited. Only a few of the documents preserved from the Ottoman Empire include letters written by or dictated by women, mainly in the absence of a husband. These letters primarily contain complaints about their economic straits and separation from their married children. Information concerning women’s experiences and family life is particularly scanty. Sermons, letters, and travel diaries were all written by men, and made very little reference to women or children. Even personal lists that have been preserved on the births and deaths of children contain no reference to the mother.3
Consequently, in the sixteenth century, personal stories and details of the lives of Jewish women can be found mainly in halakhic (legal) sources, in accounts related in the responsa literature in the context of lawsuits involving women.
Using some selected examples of cases discussed in halakhic literature, I will try to delve more deeply into the relationship between mothers and their offspring, and the approach of the leading sages of the times—almost all of Sephardi descent—to the maternal bond. I am referring to controversial issues, some of which were purely theoretical halakhic discussions, in which the voice of the women is detectable only between the lines.4
Pregnancy and Birth
In view of the reality of the sixteenth century, every pregnancy and birth caused great apprehension. Aside from frequent miscarriages resulting from the tender age of the mother-to-be, the very act of childbirth constituted mortal danger. R. David ben Zimra (Radbaz, 1479–1573), a Spanish expellee and one of the greatest sages in Egypt and Eretz Israel in the sixteenth century, noted that: “The death of women in childbirth is a daily occurrence in Egypt.”5 R. Shemuel de Uzida of Safed wrote about the anguish of labor: “Sometimes the [woman giving birth] will scream so hard that she can bear no more and she will die, and the time of birth and death are as one.”6
A rare description of a woman in childbirth surrounded by her friends, who encourage her and pray for her with great fervor, is found in a question addressed to the R. Yom Tov Zahalon of Safed. The mother-to-be and the women surrounding her cried out to God, which led to the question of whether they had taken the Lord’s name in vain. Zahalon permitted women to cry out the name of God in times of distress, saying: “Clearly one should not object to . . . women who alleviate their suffering with their words and their prayers . . . and encourage her with their prayers . . . How can one object to her calling out passionately to God? . . . Especially the midwife, on whom she depends to soothe her. But one should caution her [the midwife] to cleanse her hands of the blood, if possible.”7 In this case, reality prevailed over halakhah.
The preoccupation with magical powers and various folk beliefs, as well as the use of Torah scrolls as folk remedies for women experiencing difficulties in giving birth, aroused a controversy between halakhic authorities from the East and the West. Indeed, aside from the legal literature, compilations of magic formulas and incantations for “childbirth,” “pregnant women,” “nursing women,” and others are among the sole sources relating to these feminine subjects. Collections of folk remedies prove that they were widely used, often by Jewish, Muslim, and Christian women. They all used incantations and similar remedies to protect themselves from the many dangers that accompanied every pregnancy and birth.8
A question presented to the renowned Sephardi sage, R. Yosef Caro of Safed (c. 1488–1575), contains a description of an amulet meant to ease childbirth—a golden coin bought by a Jew from a Muslim in the coin market, engraved with the image of a Christian woman in childbirth. The naked image on the coin provoked the question as to whether a Jew is permitted to look at it. The question contains a graphic description of the amulet: “A distinct image of a woman seated on a chair, with her hands raised above her, like a pregnant woman approaching childbirth, crying out in pain, and in her womb is drawn a fetus, with his right hand on his heart, and to his left, the shape of a cross, surrounded by a distinct Greek inscription . . . interpreted by those who know Greek: Lord, help whoever bears or wears me.”9 In this case, the rabbi prohibited the use of the amulet, even as an ornament, although he usually did not object to folk beliefs.10
The first days and weeks of a newborn’s life were also prone to danger, and the public was in need of folk remedies and medicines. The prominent Kabbalist R. Hayim Vital (1543–1620) wrote in his medical writings: “Regarding Lilith, who kills infants on the eighth day after their birth . . . an endless number of times, thousands of times [!], I have written [amulets] known to benefit the world. Indeed, only once it happened that a child remained healthy for twenty days after birth and on the twentieth night he choked and didn’t suckle at all . . . He stayed that way for four days and then died. I didn’t know if the reason was that the amulets were not absolutely perfect, or whether the mother [who bore the amulet] went out and left the child alone, and harm befell him. I also made an effort then, and placed a small boy’s sexual organ in the newborn child’s mouth immediately at birth before he began to suckle.”11
Another phenomenon concerning the pregnant woman, not only in Jewish society, is the public involvement in every stage of the pregnancy, the birth, and all the accompanying intimate details.12 The woman is surrounded by female relatives and neighbors from the beginning of her pregnancy until the end; she consults them and is helped by them. Not only the midwife and the friends, but the entire community is brought up-to-date about every detail, and, if necessary, can testify as to the length of pregnancy and the age of the child. In Jewish society, this public involvement has great importance, from a halakhic point of view, in establishing the age of a girl who was married at a young age, in cases where yibum (levirate marriage) or halizah (release from levirate marriage) is required, as well as for decisions in matters of inheritance. Following are a number of examples:
A question regarding a yevamah (a woman in need of levirate marriage) from Safed reveals that the woman gave birth to her child after her husband’s death, but, unfortunately for her, the infant lived less than thirty days. There were scholars who claimed that in the absence of living offspring, she still required yibum or halizah.13 Unfortunately, the names or whereabouts of the husband’s brothers were not known, and although the widow had searched and made many efforts, she was not able to establish contact with them. After twelve years of desertion (aginut), the rabbis were ready to reconsider the case in an attempt to find a dispensation for her, and enable her to remarry. In order to do so, it was necessary to prove that the infant that she bore after the death of his father was carried to term, and could be termed “living offspring” (zera shel kaima) and was not born prematurely. To this end, testimonies were gathered from women, neighbors, and relatives, who knew every detail of her pregnancy and could determine exactly how much time had elapsed from the beginning of pregnancy until the birth: “And all the women said that the birth took place in the ninth month of gestation, that she immersed herself during the Shavuot festival, and gave birth eight or fifteen days before Purim, which was calculated as the middle of Sivan to the end of Shevat, totaling eight and a half months, and the newborn had fingernails and hair, and suckled from the women.”14
A very complex case took place during an epidemic, and is described in the responsa of R. Shelomo ha-Cohen (c.1520–1601), the rabbi of the Castilian congregation of Salonika: A woman gave birth to a girl one day after the death of her husband. From the answer, we learn that the woman’s father arranged in advance for witnesses to be present at the birth, so that his daughter would not require yibum: “I heard that the midwife testified before rabbis and dignitaries that at the time of the girl’s birth, many people gathered there, and in their presence, and that of the midwife, R. Mordecai Kalai, may God protect him, proclaimed: ‘Behold, my daughter has given birth to a girl, therefore she is released from yibum.’”15 Unfortunately, both mother and child also died in the epidemic, and consequently a dispute developed over the inheritance, between the maternal grandfather, Mordecai Kalai, and the child’s uncle, R. Shem Tov Luzio, brother of the deceased father (yavam). In order to determine who was the legal heir according to halakhah, it was necessary to prove that the newborn child was fully formed at birth, had hair and nails, and could be considered “living offspring,” and the court heard testimonies as to the baby’s stage of development at birth.16
Deliberations to determine the term of gestation of a child, or, more precisely, of a girl, are found in the responsa literature mainly in cases involving the possibility of retroactively annulling marriages arranged by the father before his daughter reached maturity.17 An effort was made to determine the exact age of a young girl from Safed, who, in accordance with her father’s last will and testament, was married off to her cousin despite her mother’s objections. The mother tried to annul the marriage, claiming that her daughter was a minor when the ceremony took place, and that she had the right to refuse when she reached maturity. R. Moshe Trani (Mabit) thoroughly examined the testimonies that were brought before him regarding the time of birth of the girl, and displayed great proficiency regarding infant development. While questioning one of the witnesses, who stated that he recalled that during the epidemic of 1563 the child was seven or eight months old, he commented: “How do you know that she was seven or eight months old? Is it because you saw that her mother suckled her? She might have been a year and a half old, for sometimes an infant looks as though he is seven or eight months old and is actually a year old, or more, according to his frailty, or the small size of his body!” He added, “Sometimes age cannot be determined by the size of the infant, [it depends on its] state of health or illness, or according to the physique of the father and mother, short or tall, fat or thin. No one can know the precise age of the infant except his father and mother, who know the day of his birth, or neighbors and acquaintances who know the precise day or month of his birth.”18
Many Sephardic sages were involved in the case that took place in Chios (Greece), in which a young girl was betrothed to three different men, and the quandary had to be resolved. Many witnesses were brought from Rhodes, Bursa, Nicosia, Tira, and other cities in the Ottoman Empire, in order to verify the exact age at the time of betrothal, and it became clear that, at least at the time of the first betrothal, she was a minor.19
Additional sources confirm that observations and thorough investigation of neighbors and relatives attest to their intimate involvement and crowded living conditions.20
Nursing
Legal sources also provide information about nursing mothers and the period of nursing. The period of breastfeeding, as established by Jewish (and Muslim) legal sources, is twenty-four months, and is derived from an awareness of the importance of nursing to the infant, and the bond that it creates. Accordingly, and out of concern for the nursing infant, married women could postpone engaging in sexual relations with their husbands during the period of nursing, or could use birth control in order to prevent pregnancy while breastfeeding. Widows or divorcées who were nursing were forbidden to remarry until the end of the twenty-four month period, lest they become pregnant and their milk cease or become turbid, in which case they would have to wean the infant prematurely. In such cases it was feared that the new husband would not provide a child who was not his own with special food.21
This halakhic prohibition raised many questions, and most of the cases described in the responsa literature came to light when divorcées or widows wished to remarry as soon as possible.22 The mothers were not always willing to wait until the end of the “official” nursing period, nor were the intended grooms always willing to wait until the women had weaned the infant. “Real life” stories and the answers of the halakhic authorities on these matters inform us of the diversity of approaches to such matters, and the desire not to interrupt the flow of life for two years.
From a formal legal point of view, there is almost no dispute over the ban on breastfeeding mothers marrying during the period of nursing. R. Yosef Caro was incensed at one of the sages who permitted a nursing mother to marry a man with whom she was already having sexual relations: “I say that he can make neither head nor tail of it . . . and this is groundless . . . Just because she is noisy and defiant, the court [bet din] should not acquiesce to such a transgression . . . The scholar who permitted a whoring mother to marry while nursing—this is a flawed ruling, and all compassionate men whose hearts have been touched by God should rebuke him until he never again permits such a thing!”23
However, things were not so simple and straightforward. Scholars were asked, for example, about cases where a man makes a match with a nursing mother, or is betrothed to her but avoids engaging in sexual relations. R. Moshe Trani admitted that he had many reservations on the subject. When matters such as these were brought before him, he tried to extend the period of engagement until the end of the nursing period, and when he was not explicitly asked about it, he tended to turn a blind eye to the transgression, “but I would caution them against making the matter public and counsel the groom not to enter her house under any circumstances.”24 On the other hand, R. Yom Tov Zahalon, when asked whether a man is permitted to marry by proxy a woman who is still nursing the child of another man, absolutely forbade this, despite the fact that she was living far away from him and there would be no physical contact between them.25
One way of circumventing this halakhic ban was to hire a wet nurse for the infant, thereby relieving the biological mother of her responsibility and theoretically freeing her to remarry.26
However, the option of hiring a wet nurse was also a source of controversy. R. David ben Zimra wrote, in one of his responses, “You should have known that regarding the widow and divorced woman, there are differences of opinion among later authorities: If she gave her child to a wet nurse, is she required to wait twenty-four months or not? . . . And some of the latter [authorities] agreed that even if she gave the child to a wet nurse immediately at birth, and he did not know her, she is still required to wait twenty-four months.”27 R. Eliyahu Mizrahi of Istanbul (1450–1526), after reviewing different opinions on this matter, ruled: “Who is he . . . that can rely on those unfounded opinions that permit betrothal or marriage without waiting the twenty-four months when the child nurses.”28
The opposition in principle to the hiring of a wet nurse arose out of concern for the child’s well-being. The assumption was that a hired wet nurse might eventually change her mind after the infant had grown accustomed to her, and her refusal to continue to nurse him would cause him physical and emotional hardship. There was a fear that even if the wet nurse vowed not to go back on her word, as she was a married woman subject to the authority of her husband, he could rescind her vow.29
In Ashkenazi Jewish society, which was rooted in the Christian-European world, various solutions were found to allay these fears. In medieval Europe and at the onset of the modern era, it was customary among the affluent classes to entrust their nursing infants to the care of a wet nurse, whether in their own home or in the home of the wet nurse. It was not taken for granted that mothers would breastfeed their children themselves; women of the aristocratic and middle classes avoided doing so, which evidently had an influence on the Jewish community. It appears that despite the official prohibitions that were issued from time to time, Jewish families often hired wet nurses, including Christians (although theoretically they too could be released from their obligation by the authorities). Nevertheless, unlike Christian society, the wet nurses in Jewish society resided solely in the family home, where their behavior and diet were scrupulously monitored.30 This method enabled the husbands of married mothers to continue to observe the commandment “be fruitful and multiply” during the period of nursing.
The use of wet nurses was also quite common among Jewish families in the Christian lands of the Ottoman Empire, especially in Greece.31 But in the eastern lands, on the other hand, most Jewish women tended to breastfeed their own children.32 Similar to women in Muslim society, Jewish mothers who wished to ease their situation were helped by neighbors and family members who were themselves nursing,33 a practice that did not exist in Christian European society.34 The use of a hired wet nurse was not openly acknowledged as a means of facilitating the life of the mother, or as a way to enable her to engage in sexual relations without fear, but only as a last resort, when the new mother was ill, or had no milk and could not nurse, or when the mother died in childbirth.
When a wet nurse was engaged for reasons other than the above, it was generally done in order to circumvent the halakhic ban on marrying during the nursing period. There is a difference of opinion among the decisors about someone who is already betrothed to a nursing mother, and scholars were asked to grant retroactive approval to marriages performed—whether intentionally or out of ignorance—prior to the end of the nursing period.35
In cases where it was not possible to engage a Jewish wet nurse, and since a Muslim wet nurse was not an option,36 some widows and divorcées who wished to circumvent the halakhic obstacle acquired a female slave. Since the slave was bound to her owners and could not change her mind about nursing, there was no need for concern for the development and life of the infant.37
Thus, for example, the family of a woman who bore a child four months after the death of her husband made considerable efforts so that the mother would not form an emotional bond with him: “And during labor, before the child was delivered, [they] made loud, shrieking noises, so his voice would not be audible to his mother, and immediately purchased a female slave to nurse him so he would not nurse from his mother, in the hope that perhaps she would not be required to wait twenty-four months . . . for [legally] she will not be considered ‘nursing another man’s child’ since she had never nursed him at all.”38 Despite the objection on principle of the rabbi who ruled, R. Meir Gavizon of Egypt (c. 1545–1622), in the end the “deception” succeeded and the woman was permitted to marry. Evidently, the flexibility shown in this case stemmed mainly from the fact that the family was wealthy and influential, and had already succeeded in obtaining a dispensation from another authority.
In another case, we are told of Reuben, who bought a nursing slave from Simeon and, in order to conceal the transaction from the Muslim authorities, pretended that the payment was given as a loan. The two secretly wrote a bill of sale according to Jewish law.39
A variety of additional problems arose regarding divorced women who were nursing their infants. From a halakhic point of view, a divorced woman was not obliged to breastfeed her baby, and if she preferred to leave him with his father, the choice was hers. Indeed, R. David ben Zimra testified that the phenomenon of women leaving their babies with their fathers was very common: “Every day we see cases in which women ‘throw’ their children at their fathers, especially when they wish to remarry.”40 However, the halakhah says that if the divorced mother has already begun to breastfeed, and the infant recognizes her and is attached to her, the well-being of the child requires that the mother continue to nurse, even if she has to be compensated for doing so.41
In a complex dispute over a bill of divorce that was sent to a woman in Salonika on condition that she receive none of her husband’s money or assets, it was claimed that a certain sum that she had received was apparently intended “to provide her with generous maintenance so that she would have a plentiful supply of milk for nursing his son; this was the practice with every nursing woman, whose nourishment was supplemented to increase her milk supply.”42 And a prolonged dispute between a couple in Gaza ended with a compromise, in which the husband promised to pay his divorced wife ten silver coins (muayyadis) every week until their common child was weaned.43
However, divorced couples were not always able to reach understanding and agreement. Rabbinical authorities deliberated over the question of the stage at which the infant “recognizes” his mother and she can be compelled to nurse him, and concurred that there could be no hard and fast rules in such cases. Some are of the opinion that the newborn recognizes his mother—meaning he becomes dependent on her—at the age of fifty days, whereas others think that the age is three months.44 Nonetheless, reality has proved that a newborn may refuse to nurse from anyone except his mother even in his first day of life, as noted by the Radbaz after a personal inquiry, and, in such cases, the mother should be required to nurse him even if he does not know her.45
There are occasions when the period of nursing lasts longer than twentyfour months, as we learn from another question presented to the Radbaz. An infant was weak and sickly, and there was concern that if he was weaned by his mother, his life would be in danger. The child refused to nurse from another woman, so a wet nurse was out of the question. Could the mother claim that she wished to marry even though she was still nursing? Since the wording of the question does not make it clear whether she was divorced or widowed, the rabbi ruled: “If the child has a father, we oblige him to compensate her with money until the child recovers and can be weaned. If he has no father, or his father is a poor man, it is considered a mitzvah for the public to provide for her until she consents to nurse and save a soul, and if she does not, she will be permitted to marry without weaning him because of the danger entailed. And if she [still] does not agree, we compel her to nurse him, because it is a mitzvah that she has to observe, and his life depends on her and her alone, and she is to be paid a wage [for this]. All this depends on the doctors’ opinion, and [is to be obeyed] only if they say that if she weans him his life will be in jeopardy.”46 In his responsum, the Radbaz displays flexibility and suggests several alternatives, even permitting the mother to marry during the period of nursing.
Things did not always go smoothly in the case of widows either. In Salonika a debate arose regarding a poverty-stricken widow who had no means of support and asked her brother-in-law Reuben to find a wet nurse for her child, or to pay her wages for nursing her son by herself. R. Shemuel de Medina (Rashdam, 1505–1589) ruled: “There is no doubt that the widow is not required to nurse her son without payment; the subject has been debated in Salonika, and it was agreed that she should be paid a wage for nursing. However, it appears that in this case the orphan has no assets with which to pay her, therefore it is seemly that the wage be paid by communal charities because the child has no father and no assets. However, as the infant has a paternal uncle . . . the uncle is required to provide for his care . . . As to whether the uncle is required to give him to his mother to be nursed—it is very simple, for several reasons: One, it is our custom that a child is with his mother until the age of six . . . Moreover, since [in any case] it would be necessary to pay for another wet nurse, why should the mother not receive the same wage, which would be better for the child.”47
Another widow from Salonika was left with a three-month-old infant, and sued her late husband’s adult sons for wages for breastfeeding, in addition to her ketubah. R. Yosef ben Lev (Rival, 1500–1580) ruled that although she was a widow and not a divorcée, there was no reason why she would not be entitled to this addition.48
There is no doubt that when the bonds of marriage had ended, many women felt that it was the responsibility of the family of the child’s father to provide for his welfare and his nourishment (nursing). From their point of view, nursing the child prevented them from rehabilitating their lives by remarrying quickly; therefore, they felt they were entitled to payment or compensation for their services as long as they continued to nurse.
Sometimes the family was unable to reach an agreement with the mother, and she absolutely refused to nurse her child.
Two situations—each one different from the other—are described in a responsum of R. David ben Zimra. In one case, a divorced woman gave her newborn child to her ex-husband immediately upon birth and remarried. This was somewhat justified, because the baby had a father who would provide him with nourishment.49 However, the second case was particularly grave: a pregnant woman was separated from her husband, who refused to divorce her; she refused to nurse the son that was born after their separation—perhaps out of anger towards her husband—and abandoned him to the care of the community. How was she judged?
“Since she is a ‘rebellious wife’ (moredet), with no means of support and none of the stipulations of her ketubah because her husband refuses to divorce her, the court or the husband’s family, and not she, is responsible for the care of the child until the husband comes to take him. And if she wishes to nurse him and receive a wage—this takes priority and the husband is obliged to pay her a wage for nursing . . . for it is clear that the mother will care for her child better than others . . . And if she receives a wage and still does not want to nurse, though [in any case] she cannot marry . . . this is real cruelty, and I fear that she is of the Gibeonites, for the sons of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob are merciful people.”50
The optimal situation was that the woman whose husband refused to divorce her, who was considered a “rebellious wife” according to the rabbinical authorities, relented and agreed to nurse her son. If she refused, even when offered a wage, then she displayed “Gibeonite” (Gentile) qualities, the opposite of what is expected from a Jewish mother.51
Custody of Children
In contrast to nursing mothers who attempted to evade their maternal duty in order to remarry sooner, many court cases tell of the struggles of widows against their late husband’s family, who wished to gain guardianship of the orphans and oversee their property, and those of divorced women who requested that their children be allowed to remain with them, and had to contest their ex-husbands for the right. The families were intensely involved in all the processes, particularly grandparents, who were prepared to care for their grandchildren and raise them, and paternal uncles, who were potential heirs. The majority of the halakhic debates focused on guardianship of boys, because of the precept “the rightful place of a daughter is with her mother,” whereas a son remained with his mother until the age of six.52 Nevertheless, as we shall see, it was not uncommon for the husband’s family to claim custody of girls as well as boys under the age of six. Families found a variety of pretexts to appeal the guardianship—and retroactively, the financial and educational conduct—of widows, even when this was stipulated in the husband’s last will and testament.53
A question posed to R. Meir Gavizon tells of a widow who had custody of her children, and whose virtuous conduct was beyond reproach. When she wished to collect her ketubah from the assets that remained in her hands, an attempt was made to divest her of her property, on the grounds that after collecting the ketubah money, she intended to remarry, which would harm her children. R. Meir Gavizon, and other posekim who agreed with him, ruled that there was no reason to divest the mother of her guardianship, and if she wished to marry, “it may be even better for the orphans.”54 Moreover, when a widow who remarried was sued by her late husband’s family to relinquish her young son because, as they put it, “they do not wish him to be dependent on others,” it was to her advantage that she married a respectable man who could teach her son Torah. In contrast to his rulings in other cases, R. David ben Zimra decided that the son should not be taken from his mother, and ruled: “A son who needs his mother is like a daughter.”55
Another widow, the mother of three small children, wished to raise them herself and sued her husband’s brothers for maintenance. The brothers were not obliged to provide for the orphans, but they agreed to raise them and supply all their needs on condition that the mother forfeited her right to them. According to R. Yom Tov Zahalon, “It is fitting to take them from their mother and bring them to their uncles, who will provide for them at their own expense and not use up their [the children’s] inheritance . . . and, on top of this, the uncles will raise them to study Torah, which a woman is unable to do.”56
In his ruling, Zahalon completely ignored the halakhic rule that orphans are not to be left with potential heirs “on account of an incident.”57 Another sage, R. Isaac di Molina of Egypt, did rely on this rule and rejected a request to remove a six-year-old boy from his mother’s custody. The child’s uncle claimed that he wished “to keep an eye on him and educate him in Torah and mitzvoth . . . and a woman will not control her life once she remarries, so how will she raise the orphan properly?” The rabbi ruled that it is better to leave the boy with his mother than with other relatives, men and women alike, especially since “a minor is not to be entrusted to relatives who are his potential heirs, and this orphan will [better] remain with his mother until he reaches maturity and is well versed in Torah and good deeds.”58
When a husband left a will, the situation was much clearer. Such was the case brought before R. Itzhak Adrabi of Salonika, in which the husband stipulated that his wife, the mother of his son, “would be the boy’s guardian for as long as she lived, and no one could protest this, and if, God forbid, the boy should die, no other heir could claim anything from my wife, mother of the boy, during her lifetime, and upon her death, her property would be divided according to her wishes.”59 Moreover, the status of women guardians was more secure when they were appointed by, or received official recognition from, the Muslim court, as evidenced in records of the Shari’a court in Jerusalem.60
Most of the disputes over the custody and education of children arose when mothers wished to change their place of residence. However, this subject prompted disagreement among the elder sages in Salonika, and each case had to be debated on its own merits.
In one case, the widow of R. Hayim Lindo was left in the city of Skopia (Skopje) with her young son. She wished to return to her original home in Salonika, together with her son and her parents, and to take with her the inheritance that her late husband had left. The move was met with opposition by the child’s paternal uncle, who would inherit the property in the event that something happened to the orphan, and therefore demanded to oversee the inheritance. Community leaders requested the opinion of R. Shemuel de Medina, who ruled that the widow could not be forced to remain in Skopia, especially since “Salonika is a big God-fearing city, where Jews constitute the majority of the population, and where there are academies (yeshivot) and schools (Talmud Torah) unequalled in the world . . . and since the child’s mother wishes to live in Salonika with her son, no one can object to her moving, with the property, to Salonika.”61
In another case, R. Shemuel de Medina and R. Yosef ben Lev had a difference of opinion regarding a nursing widow in Larissa (Greece), who wished to take her daughter and return to her family in Salonika. This was in contradiction of her husband’s will, prior to his death, that his brother in Larissa would be the guardian of the child, and in time would marry her off to his son. The uncleguardian claimed that “the orphaned niece is important [dear] to him and to her grandmother, he did not want her to be taken to another city because of the perils of the journey and because of the change of air, lest the tender child, who is still being nursed by her mother, receive a blow during the journey and perish, God forbid.”62
In his lengthy and reasoned responsum, R. Shemuel de Medina ruled that “the woman does not have the power to remove her daughter from the place of her birth and her [father’s] family . . . especially since she is comfortable with her grandmother, her father’s mother, in the city where her father’s brother dwells, in proximity to the boy to whom she is betrothed, in accordance with her father’s instructions, and moreover will be close to her property. It is my opinion that the court of the city can prevent her from leaving the city until the child is weaned, when the twenty-four month period of nursing has elapsed.” After that, he ruled, the child will remain with her mother only if she agrees to dwell in the city, and if she does not wish to do so, the court of the city will award the child to her paternal grandmother. The question was also sent to R. David ben Zimra, who ruled similarly to the Rashdam, adding that the child’s well-being required that she remain near her father’s family, who would supervise her upbringing and the sexual behavior of her mother in the future.63
However, R. Yosef ben Lev took an opposing stance: A nursing widow can do as she wishes, and no court has the power to compel her and her child to remain with the husband’s family.64
Differences of opinion such as these were taken into account when R. Mordecai Halevi of Egypt ruled on the case of a father, Hayim Bon Senior, who requested that his daughter, who was being raised by her maternal grandmother in Alexandria, be returned to him. The grandmother and the mother’s family—also a Sephardi family, Villalobos—rejected the father’s demand for various reasons and refused to send the girl to him, despite his many efforts to bring her to him safely: “He arranged that a trustworthy man would make sure that the girl was accompanied on her way by reliable and honorable women . . . and promised to hire a reputable woman to care for her.”65 R. Mordecai Halevi expressed his confidence that if the Rashdam was asked about this matter specifically, he too would agree to remove the child from her grandmother and send her to her father, who was known as a decent and trustworthy man, and was entitled to raise his daughter.
Another father, widowed by one of his wives, who entrusted her four children—including two nursing babies—to the care of his second wife, won his case against the maternal grandparents, who wished to raise the children. It was proved that the father and his wife took good care of the children and were capable of raising them properly.66
In a similar case, in which it was clear that the father, a poverty-stricken widower who worked hard to make a living, would have to leave his sickly son to be cared for by neighbor women, it was decisively ruled that the child would remain with his maternal grandmother “for she would be more merciful toward him than others.”67
Despite the precept that “all may compel [his or her family] to go up to the Land of Israel . . . [this applies to] both men and women,”68 a mother’s wish to do so with her children was usually met with fierce opposition from the families. The Radbaz ruled that a father was entitled to prevent his divorced wife, who was nursing, from going with her baby to Eretz Israel, even though the journey from Egypt to Palestine did not entail any danger. He also provided the husband with a number of additional claims:
He could say, I fear even the slightest chance of danger; and also could say, when the infant is with me here, if he falls ill, I will try to provide all his needs; and also, when he is with me here in the city, I can bring him sustenance; and, if you are here, when the time comes and he no longer needs his mother, I will take him to me, but if you go to a far away place, who will bring him? . . . Therefore, if she wishes to go to Eretz Israel, let her give him to his father. To make things clear: [the above ruling is the right thing to do] when the infant does not know her, but if he [already] knows her, she cannot give him to his father without endangering him. But, if he does not know her, or the period of nursing has passed, then the decision is in her hands: she may give him to his father [and go to Eretz Israel] or stay . . .69
As we have seen in similar cases, the well-being of the newborn and infant is of the utmost importance, but as soon as he no longer needs his mother, there is no reason for him to remain with her. She may go to Eretz Israel, but alone.70
A heartbreaking case involved the fate of the grandchildren of R. Moshe Trani, when his daughter-in-law, the widow of his son Nathan, wished to leave Safed and take her children to another country. The renowned grandfather gave the following reasons, some rational and some halakhic, for preventing this:
For the children are young and he worries lest, God forbid, disaster might befall them on the journey. He also claimed that sooner or later, the mother would marry and the orphans would be under the patronage of a stranger [literally: under a strange people] and he would not be able to watch over and help them. He also noted that according to the Torah, he is obliged to educate them and instruct them in the Torah . . . and that one of them is almost five years old, ready to begin Torah study and already knows some of the weekly portions. Who will teach him and instruct him if he is taken away from here? . . . And the other [younger] child, if he is taken to a far away place, when he is ready to learn Torah and mitzvoth, who will educate him if not his father’s father? . . . And all the more so, to take them out of Eretz Israel to a foreign land, and there is more risk to children than to adults in such a journey.71
Between the lines of this personal responsum, one can discern the internal anguish of the Mabit, the grandfather. He concludes with a recommendation that the court in Safed oblige the widow to remain in the city at least until the young infant is weaned. His love and concern for his grandsons are weighed against his understanding of the hardships entailed in separating them from their mother. Only at the end of his responsum does he give vent to his personal feelings. “The children are my children and the sorrow is my sorrow,” he writes, “and may the Lord instill in their hearts love and fear of Him and make the remainder of our days better than the past ones.”
Notwithstanding the struggle of mothers to receive guardianship of their small children, there are cases in which mothers forfeited custody of their children. R. Shemuel de Uzida noted that in some cases “the birth of children can bring misfortune” and one should not rejoice too much over children born to destitute parents.72 There were indeed mothers who were unable to provide for their children on their own.
A question referred to R. Eliyahu ben Hayim in Istanbul tells of a povertystricken widow who wished to return to her father’s house, but her family insisted that she come alone and refused to accept her child. The rabbi was asked whether she could cease nursing her child, because, as her husband did not leave her anything, she had no other solution but to return to her family. The rabbi ruled: “We did not find any [halakhic] mention of the mother’s obligation to care for her sons. Although it was said that when the infant knows her, she should be obliged to nurse and be paid for it, she is not obligated to do so [by halakhah], but out of concern for the child. Regarding the wage—why should the court not compensate her if the child has no father?”73
Three outstanding rabbis in Salonika, R. Shelomo ha-Cohen, R. Shemuel De Medina, and R. Itzhak Adrabi, were consulted in the case of a poor woman who gave away her child. We are told that “Reuben, a poor beggar, left his wife, who had born him a daughter and went to Egypt. When the mother saw that she was unable to provide for her child, she cried out bitterly. The Lord sent to her a man whose sons and daughters had died and she gave the child to the man, who, together with his wife, undertook to raise the girl and marry her off . . .”74 The father returned when the girl was nine years old, and was grateful for the devoted care the adoptive parents had given his daughter. Another woman, the mother of a four-year-old boy, agreed that his uncle would go with him to Eretz Israel, where he would look after him and give him the best education.75 In both cases, the mothers, who were unable to raise their infants, entrusted them to others who could give them better lives, better opportunities.
A letter sent from Jerusalem by the leaders of the community tells of a “bitter and unhappy” deserted wife (agunah) whose husband abandoned her three days after she bore him a second daughter “and the woman and her two daughters were left naked and destitute, with no means of support . . . alone and forsaken . . . because there was nothing left to provide for her.”76 The community leaders asked about the whereabouts of the father, because, according to rumor, he had taken a second wife in another city. If the rumor was true, his daughters would immediately be sent to him from Jerusalem. Another mother returned her two daughters to their father because she had quarreled with her new husband. After she had separated from this husband, she requested that they be returned to her. R. Moshe Trani ruled in her favor: “The precept that a daughter remains with the mother does not imply that the mother is closer to her daughters or loves them more than the father, but for the benefit of the daughters, who will learn good behavior from their mother . . . All the more so if the daughters say that they suffer in the house of their father, who has another wife, and wish to return to their mother. In this case, the father is not entitled to keep them against their will.”77 This is the only responsum in which the voice of the daughters, who have grown and can offer an opinion, is taken into account.
Most women who remarried secured the rights of their small children in advance, set aside part of their ketubah payment, and made it a condition that their new husband would care for the children and provide for them until they reached the age of thirteen (bar mitzvah), or until they married.78 In the solitary case in which a woman who remarried ensured the rights of her daughter and then changed her mind—perhaps under the influence of her new husband —the Radbaz decreed: “Not all the women are as cruel as she who wishes to expropriate the rights of her daughter!”79
The above examples demonstrate that there is no uniformity in rulings regarding child custody, and this fact underlines the gap between halakhic theory and daily reality, and is an indication that the best interest of the child calls for compromise and flexibility in interpretation of strict rules.
The rabbinic-halakhic literature provides us with some insight into the personal lives of Jews in the Ottoman Empire during the years after the expulsion from Spain.
Despite the high rate of parturient and infant mortality, which characterized the era, along with the prevalence of epidemics and the death of children during the wanderings following the Iberian expulsion, parents and close relatives supported women and mothers-to-be and displayed great concern about children’s education and future. Pregnancy and childbirth were accompanied by greater apprehension than usual, and families took a variety of measures to prevent disasters, and grieved bitterly over every death. Hebrew sources totally reject the theory of Phillip Ariès and others, regarding the emotional imperviousness of parents toward their young children, which is rooted—in their opinion—in the high rate of infant mortality in the Middle Ages.80 While the halakhic sources presented here do not make explicit reference to the era, which was distinguished by the desperate anticipation of national and familial resurgence, they enlighten us about close family ties and concern for the future of children. The sages of the Ottoman Empire, most of them of Sephardi origin, clearly made distinctions between the individual cases brought before them, and it was not uncommon for them to display commendable flexibility and great consideration for the needs of the child and his bond with his mother. In this spirit, R. David ben Zimra stressed that “not all children are alike, and not all places are alike,”81 therefore, despite halakhic precedents, each case must be considered individually.
Information about women who refused to nurse their children and bond with them is not indicative of a widespread phenomenon. As I have shown, most of them did so in order to be able to remarry sooner. In a world of men, where a woman’s social and economic status depended on her father, brother, or husband, this urge to remarry soon and be protected can be understood. Others, such as the “Gibeonite” woman, refused to nurse in order to anger husbands who had harmed them. Some refrained from maternal nursing because they wished to become pregnant sooner, and in these cases, the use of hired wet nurses does not indicate indifference, but rather the opposite—concern for the infant.82
In Muslim lands, especially those where Arabic was spoken, maternal nursing was preferred. The permanent use of a hired wet nurse was not considered desirable or acceptable, and, in any case, was only an option for wealthy families and did not suit the circumstances of most Jewish families. Even among the communities from Europe, both Ashkenazi and Sephardi, avoidance of maternal nursing was frowned upon, and triggered legal and familial disputes.
It is safe to assume that the practice of polygamy contributed to the infrequent use of wet nurses in Muslim lands because it enabled men to have sexual relations on a regular basis without “jeopardizing” the milk of their nursing wives. In fact, polygamy in Islamic countries existed not only among the Must ʿarab Jews, but also among the newly arrived Sephardim and Ashkenazim, and the sages displayed exceptional flexibility, permitting polygamous marriages even when there was a regulation or prior stipulation in the marriage contract prohibiting it. The Radbaz attested to the frequency of the phenomenon: “Here [in Eretz Israel and Egypt] there is no ban of Rabbenu Gershom [an Ashkenazi rabbi who issued an edict against polygamy, which was accepted by all Ashkenazi communities in the eleventh century] and no decree . . . and no custom; on the contrary, it is the custom to marry several women.”83 It is likely that the ease with which the rabbis released the husbands from their oaths and commitments was rooted, interalia, in the great importance that Jewish society attributed to the birth of living children.84 Many sages in Eretz Israel and its environs frequently married more than one woman, sometimes in a polygamous marriage and sometimes immediately after being widowed or divorced, in the hope that the offspring from late marriages would be granted long lives.85
Due to the nature of responsa literature, which deals with legal issues and marital problems, we have no way of knowing what the norms were regarding custody of children, but it appears that the cases in which women voluntarily relinquished their children were the exceptions to the rule. In many of the cases, mothers who demanded custody were prepared to challenge family members who wished to take the children away from them. It might have seemed that most of the sages in the sixteenth century tended to grant custody of young children to the father or his family, especially in the case of sons, because of the great importance they attributed to their future education. Mothers are frequently referred to as “instruments” that provide the infant with his immediate needs.86 But, in fact, in at least fifty percent of the cases heard by the great sages, they evidence visible recognition of the emotional bonds between mothers and children. This is especially true in the case of widows, who are often granted guardianship of their children, with no distinction between boys and girls.
In fact, it is difficult to know how the cases described in the responsa literature actually ended. Did mothers who were ordered to relinquish their children to family members accept this ruling? Did they give up their plans to return to their nuclear families? Did they perhaps turn to other rabbis, hoping to obtain a different ruling? It is safe to assume that wealthy women and those whose own families backed and supported them received special consideration from the court.87 But how did the others act? Their voices and their yearning for their sons are not heard, but there is no doubt about their love for their children.
Notes
All Talmudic citations refer to the Babylonian Talmud (BT). Citations and names of tractates follow The Talmud of Babylonia: An Academic Commentary, trans. Jacob Neusner. Atlanta, Georgia: Scholars Press, 1996.
Citations from the Bible were taken from the Holy Bible, New Revised Standard Version. Grand Rapids, Michigan: Zondervan, 1993.
Citations from the Mishna were taken from The Mishna, trans. Herbert Danby. London: Oxford University Press, 1938.
References and citations from Maimonides were taken from The Code of Maimonides, trans. Jacob J. Rabinowitz. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1949.
This essay is based on an article published in Hebrew: “Mothers and Infants as Seen by Sixteenth-Century Rabbis in Eretz Israel and Egypt,” in Turkey: The Ottoman Past and the Republican Present, ed. Michael Winter and Miri Sheffer (Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, 2007), 171–193. I wish to thank the editors for their permission to translate and expand the article; trans. Zelda Katz.
1. Some books and articles on the subject: Avigdor Levy, The Sephardim in the Ottoman Empire (Princeton, NJ: The Darwin Press, 1992); ed. Michel Abitbol, Yom-Tov Assis, and Galit Hasan-Rokem, Hispano-Jewish Civilization After 1492 (Jerusalem: Misgav Yeru shalayim, 1997) (Hebrew plus a non-Hebrew section); Esther Benbassa and Aron Rodrigue, Sephardi Jewry: A History of the Judeo-Spanish Community, Fourteenth to Twentieth Centuries (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000); Minna Rozen, A History of the Jewish Community in Istanbul: The Formative Years, 1453–1566 (Leiden: Brill, 2002); Aron Rodrigue, “The Sephardim in the Ottoman Empire,” in Spain and the Jews, ed. Elie Kedourie (London: Thames and Hudson, 1992), 162–188; Haim Beinart, ed., Moreshet Sepharad: The Sephardi Legacy (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1992) (in Hebrew); Leah Bornstein-Makovetsky, “Patterns of the Jewish Family: Characteristics of the Jewish Family in the Communities of Morea and Epirus in the Sixteenth Century,” in Histoire Economique et Sociale de L’Empire ottoman et de la Turquie (1326–1960), ed. Daniel Panzac (Paris: Peeters, 1995), 323–329.
2. R. Yosef Garson, who lost his children and family during the expulsion, expresses the hope that his book of sermons, Ben Porath Yosef, would perpetuate his memory and family name, in place of the sons who were no longer alive. See Meir Benayahu, “The Sermons of R. Yosef b. Meir Garson as a Source for the History of the Expulsion from Spain and Sephardi Diaspora,” Michael VII (Tel Aviv, 1981): 42–205 (in Hebrew). R. Yitzhak Caro, who lost all his sons during the terror of the expulsion, wished that his book Toledot Yizhak “would commemorate his name.” (The following is a facsimile edition of the Warsaw 1877 edition) Yizhak Caro, Sefer Toledot Yizhak, A Commentary on the Pentateuch (Jerusalem: Makor Publishing, 1978), 2a. Many other sages expressed similar feelings. See Joseph Hacker, “Pride and Depression: Polarity of the Spiritual and Social Experience of the Iberian Exiles in the Ottoman Empire,” in Culture and Society in Medieval Jewry: Studies Dedicated to the Memory of Haim Hillel Ben Sasson, ed. M. Ben Sasson, R. Bonfil, and J.R. Hacker (Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center, 1989), 541–586 (in Hebrew); Rozen, Istanbul, 99–111.
3. Paméla Dorn Sezgin, “Jewish Women in the Ottoman Empire,” in Sephardic and Mizrahi Jewry, ed. Zion Zohar (New York: New York University Press, 2005), 216–217; Joel L. Kraemer, “Spanish Ladies from the Cairo Geniza,” in Jews Christians and Muslims in the Mediterranean after 1492 (special edition of Mediterranean Historical Review, vol. VI), ed. Alisa M. Ginio (London, 1992): 237–267; Ruth Lamdan, A Separate People: Jewish Women in Palestine, Syria and Egypt in the Sixteenth Century (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 59–65, 110–112 (see index for more references to women’s letters).
4. Cf. Roni Weinstein, “Rites of Passage in 16th Century Italy: The Bar Mitzva Ceremony and its Sociological Implications,” Italia 11 (1994): 79–80 (in Hebrew); Avner Giladi, Infants, Parents, and Wet Nurses (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 8–10.
5. Ben (Ibn) Zimra David (Radbaz), Responsa, II, no. 695 (Warsaw, 1882) (hereafter Radbaz, Responsa). The high rate of mortality is mentioned in a lawsuit submitted by Simeon against Reuben, who impregnated his slave and demanded compensation, not just because of her reduced ability to work, but because of the reasonable fear that she would die during childbirth (Trani Yosef [Maharit], Responsa, I, no. 98 [Lemberg, 1861] [hereafter Maharit, Responsa]). See also Ben Lev Yosef (Rival), Responsa, II, no. 22 (Jerusalem, 1959/60) (hereafter Rival, Responsa).
6. Shemuel de Uzida, Sermons on the Torah, ed. Shemuel Yerushalmi, (Jerusalem, 1991) 34 (hereafter Uzida, Sermons). See also Hacker, “Pride and Depression,” 554–555. On the early age of marriage and the complications of pregnancy and childbirth in Jewish society, see Minna Rozen, “The Life Cycle and the Significance of Old Age During the Ottoman Period,” in Daniel Carpi Jubilee Volume (Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, 1996), 120–121 (in Hebrew); Ruth Lamdan, “Child Marriage in Jewish Society in the Eastern Mediterranean during the 16th Century,” Mediterranean Historical Review 11 (1996): 37–59. In Christian and Muslim society: Elisheva Baumgarten, “‘Thus Sayeth the Wise Midwives’: Midwives and Midwifery in Thirteenth Century Ashkenaz,” Zion, 65 (2000): 57–63 (in Hebrew); Yaʿarah Bar-On, The Crowded Delivery Room: Gender and Public Opinion in Early Modern Gynecology (Israel: Haifa University Press, 2000) (in Hebrew); Shulamith Shahar, The Fourth Estate: A History of Women in the Middle Ages (London: Methuen, 1983), 135–139, 180–181; idem., Childhood in the Middle Ages (London: Routledge, 1990), 37–39, 149–151; Avner Giladi, Children of Islam: Concepts of Childhood in Medieval Muslim Society (Oxford: Macmillan in association with St. Antony’s College, 1992), 69.
7. Zahalon Yom Tov, New Responsa, no. 92 (Jerusalem, 1980–1981) (hereafter Zahalon, New Responsa). This openness contradicts the approach of R. Azriel Diena, an Italian rabbi at the beginning of the sixteenth century, and other Ashkenazi sages (Diena Azriel, Responsa, nos. 8–10. ed. Yaacov Buksenboim [Tel Aviv, 1997]).
8. On the use of folk medicine, holy writings, and magical means in the context of women giving birth and newborn children, see Raphael Patai, “Folk Customs and Charms Relating to Birth,” Talpioth 4, no. 1–2 (1953): 226–268; Talpioth 9, no. 1–2 (1964): 238–260 (in Hebrew); Joshua Trachtenberg, Jewish Magic and Superstition (New York: Atheneum, 1970), esp. 169–170; Yaron Ben-Naeh, “‘A Tried and Tested Spell’: Magic Beliefs and Acts among Ottoman Jews,” Peʿamim 85 (2000): 89–111 (in Hebrew); Simha Goldin, “Jewish Children and Christian Missionizing,” in Sexuality and the Family in History, ed. Israel Bartal and Isaiah Gafni (Jerusalem: The Zalman Shazar Center, 1998), 104–106 (in Hebrew); Sezgin, Jewish Women, 223; Ron Barkai, “A Medieval Hebrew Treatise on Obstetrics,” Medical History 33 (1989): 11–113; Shalom Sabar, “Childbirth and Magic: Jewish Folklore and Material Culture,” in Cultures of the Jews, ed. David Biale (New York: Schocken Books, 2002), 671–722; Shirley Guthrie, Arab Women in the Middle Ages: Private Lives and Public Roles (London: Saqi Books, 2001), 43–47; Issachar Ben-Ami, “Customs of Pregnancy and Childbirth among Sephardic and Oriental Jews,” in New Horizons in Sephardic Studies, ed. Yedida K. Stillman and George K. Zucker (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1993), 253–267; Elliott Horowitz, “The Eve of the Circumcision: A Chapter in the History of Jewish Nightlife,” Journal of Social History 23 (1989): 47–48; Shaul Shaked, “Medieval Jewish Magic in Relation to Islam: Theoretical Attitudes and Genres,” in Judaism and Islam, Essays in Honor of William M. Brinner, ed. Benjamin H. Hary, John L. Hayes, and Fred Astren (Leiden: Brill 2000), 97–109; Hirsch J. Zimmels, Magicians, Theologians and Doctors: Studies in Folk Medicine and Folklore as Reflected in the Rabbinical Responsa 12th–19th Centuries (London: E. Goldston, 1952), 32, 135–139.
9. Caro Yosef, Avqat Rokhel, Responsa, no. 68. (Leipzig, 1859; reprint Jerusalem, 1960) (hereafter Caro, Avqat Rokhel).
10. Ben-Naeh, “Magic Beliefs,” 103.
11. Meir Benayahu, “Medical Matters in an Unknown Manuscript by R. Hayim Vital,” Koroth 9, no. 3–4 (1986/7): 12 (in Hebrew). On the use of a male organ as a means to ease a woman’s pains, see Meir Benayahu, The Toledoth Ha-Ari and Luria’s “Manner of Life” [Hanhagoth] (Jerusalem: Ben Zvi Institute, 1967), 224–225 (in Hebrew, cited in Lamdan, A Separate People, 84). For more references see Trachtenberg, Jewish Magic, 36–37, and in the studies mentioned above in endnote 9.
12. Cf. Bar-On, The Crowded Delivery Room, esp. 202–212; Shahar, Childhood, 37–38; Baumgarten, “Midwives,” 54, 57–58; Barkai, “Medieval Hebrew Treatise,” 106; Guthrie, Arab Women, 44. Goitein describes childbirth in the classic geniza period as a “social event” and not a medical one: Shelomo Dov Goitein, A Mediterranean Society, The Jewish Communities in the Arab World as Portrayed in the Documents of the Cairo Geniza, Vol. III: The Family (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978), 232.
13. See BT Yebamot, 41b; Maimonides, The Book of Women, Laws of Ishut, 18, 15. According to Maimonides, in the case of a man who died and left a pregnant wife, if her child is born alive, even if he dies during his first hour of life, she is released from yibum and halizah. But, according to other traditions, if the newborn dies during the first thirty days, it is assumed to be stillborn and the woman still requires halizah (but not yibum). Cf. discussion in Gavizon Meir, Responsa, II, no. 64 (70) ed. Eliav Shochetman (Jerusalem, 1985) (hereafter Gavizon, Responsa). See also Jacob Bazak, “The Legal Status of the Fetus in Jewish Halacha and in Israel Law,” Jewish Law Association Studies VIII (1996): 3–4.
14. Trani Moshe (Mabit), Responsa, II, no. 166 (Lvov, 1861) (hereafter Mabit, Responsa). Cf. to the case described in Moshe Galante, Responsa, no. 102 (Venice, 1608; reprint: Jerusalem 1960) (herafter Galante, Responsa).
15. Shelomo ha-Cohen, Responsa, II, no. 196 (Jerusalem, 1950) (hereafter Shelemo ha-Cohen, Responsa).
16. See BT Baba Mesia, 37b. Maimonides says that if the mother died first, and the child died later, even though he was born prematurely, so long as he lived one instant after his mother’s death, he is his mother’s heir, and transmits his inheritance to his heirs from his father’s family (The Book of Civil Laws, Laws of Nakhalot, 1,13). Cf. Avraham De Boton, Lehem Rav, Responsa, no. 189 (Krakow, 1885; reprint: Jerusalem, 1968) (hereafter De Boton, Lehem Rav); Yehiel Bassan, Responsa, no. 5 (Lemberg, 1904) (hereafter Bassan, Responsa).
17. A father may marry off his minor daughter. A girl is considered “minor” until the age of twelve. If a girl has no father, and was betrothed while she was still a minor, she can exercise mi’un (refusal) when she reaches adulthood and then her betrothal can be annulled (BT Yebamot, 107a–b, 112b and parallel versions; Maimonides, The Book of Women, Laws of Ishut, 3, 11–13; 4, 7–8; Laws of Gerushin, 11, 1–11). On the definition of childhood and maidenhood see Rozen, “The Life Cycle”; Samuel S. Kottek, “On Children and Childhood in Ancient Jewish Sources,” Koroth 9, nos. 5–6 (1987): 114–126. Encyclopedia Talmudica (Jerusalem: Talmudic Encyclopedia Institute, 2000), Vol. IV, s.v. G’dolah: 31–41. See, for instance, the cases discussed in Radbaz a., Responsa, III, no. 1039 (613); Yaaqov Castro, Ohaley Yaaqov, Responsa, 27 (Livorno, 1783) (hereafter Castro, Ohaley Yaaqov); Rival, Responsa, I, 17; Yaaqov, Berav, Responsa, 18 (Venice, 1663) (hereafter Berav, Responsa).
18. Mabit, Responsa, III, no. 54. See also: ibid., I, no. 88; Castro, Ohaley Yaaqov, no. 62.
19. Shelemo ha-Cohen, Responsa, I, no. 28; Shemuel de Medina (Rashdam), Responsa, Even ha-Ezer, no. 88 (Salonika, 1862; reprint: New York, 1959) (hereafter Rashdam, Responsa); De Boton, Lehem Rav, no. 24; Bassan, Responsa, no. 120.
20. For instance: Shelomo ha-Cohen, Responsa, I, nos. 23–24; Radbaz, Responsa, I, no. 551; VI, no. 2182; Yom Tov Zahalon, Responsa, I, no. 8 (Jerusalem, 1968) (hereafter Zahalon, Responsa); Bezalel Ashkenazi, Responsa, nos. 6, 19 (Lemberg, 1904); Maharit, Responsa, I, nos. 40–41, 50; II, Even ha-Ezer, no. 42; Castro, Ohaley Yaaqov, nos. 16, 26, 56; Hiyya Rofeh, Sefer Ma‘aseh Hiya, no. 8 (Venice, 1652); Rival, Responsa, I, 14.
21. BT Ketubot, 59b–60b; Yebamot, 42a–b; Yosef Caro, Shulhan Arukh, Commentary on Arba’a Turim, Even ha-Ezer, Laws of Ishut, 13:11 (Lemberg, 1893 and traditional reprints) (hereafter Caro, Shulhan Arukh). For a discussion on this subject see, for example, Itzhak ben Sheshet Perfet (Ribash), Responsa, no. 13 (Jerusalem, 1968); Benyamin ben Matatia, Benyamin Zeev, Responsa, I, no. 129 (Venice, 1639) (hereafter Benyamin Zeev); Eliyahu Mizrahi (vol. I) and Eliyahu Ben (Ibn) Hayim (vol. II), Mayim Amuqim, Responsa I, no. 10 (Venice, 1657) (hereafter Mayim Amuqim). See also Samuel Kottek, “Breastfeeding in Jewish Sources: History and Halakha,” Sefer Assia, IV (1983): 275–286; Shelomo Aviner, “Breastfeeding in Jewish Law,” Sefer Assia, VI (1989): 56–58. On the period of nursing and its secrets in the spirit of Kabbalah interpretation, see Hayim Vital, Sefer Etz Hayim, Heikhal V, Gate 2, Chapter 6: 177–178 (Warsaw, 1891). For comparison, see also Goitein, A Mediterranean Society, III, 233; Goldin, “Jewish Children,” 100–104; Rozen, Istanbul, 180–185; Avner Giladi, “Breast-Feeding in Medieval Islamic Thought: A Preliminary Study of Legal and Medical Writings,” Journal of Family History 23 (April 1998): 107–123; idem., “Some Notes on the Islamic Rules of Breast-Feeding and their Social Implications,” in Women, Children and the Elderly, ed. Miriam Eliav-Feldon and Yitzhak Hen (Jerusalem: The Zalman Shazar Center, 2001) (in Hebrew); Judith E. Tucker, “The Fullness of Affection: Mothering in the Islamic Law of Ottoman Syria and Palestine,” in Women in the Ottoman Empire, ed. Madeline C. Zilfi (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 232–252.
22. This was contrary to the custom of medieval Ashkenazi society, in which many widows refrained from remarrying, lest this be detrimental to their children. See Avraham Grossman, Pious and Rebellious: Jewish Women in Europe in the Middle Ages (Jerusalem: The Zalman Shazar Center, 2001), 227 (in Hebrew). In Ottoman Jewish society many women married more than once. Divorcées and widows, even mothers of small children, hastened to remarry (Lamdan, A Separate People, 200–201; Rozen, Istanbul, 142–145, 181–182).
23. Yosef Caro, Responsa Beit Yosef, no. 19 (=Laws of Ketubot, no. 1) (Salonika, 1598) (hereafter Caro, Responsa Beit Yosef).
24. Mabit, Responsa, II, unnumbered responsum following no. 209.
25. Zahalon, New Responsa, no. 43.
26. The right of women of means to hire a wet nurse is based on halakhah: “These are the works which the wife must perform for her husband: grinding flour and baking bread and washing clothes and cooking food and giving suck to her child . . . If she brought him in one bondwoman she need not grind or bake or wash; if two, she need not cook or give her child suck . . .” (Mishnah, Ketubot, 5, 5). See discussion in Caro, Responsa Beit Yosef, Laws of Ketubot, no. 15. Cf. Giladi, Infants, Parents and Wet Nurses, 104; idem., “Breast-Feeding,” 114; Rozen, Istanbul, 180.
27. Radbaz, Responsa, VII, no. 16. Cf. Goldin, “Jewish Children,” 102–103.
28. Mayim Amuqim, Responsa, I, no. 10.
29. BT Ketubot, 71a–b; Nedarim, 75a–b; Yaaqov ben Asher, Arbaʿat ha-Turim [The Four Columns] (traditional prints) (hereafter Tur), Even ha-Ezer, 13; Maharit, Responsa, I, no. 4; Itzhak Adrabi, Sefer Divrei Rivot, Responsa, no. 372 (Venice, 1787; reprint: Jerusalem 1970) (hereafter Divrei Rivot). A hired Muslim wet nurse is also required to obtain her husband’s consent (Giladi, Infants, Parents, and Wet Nurses, 107–108).
30. Shahar, The Fourth Estate (see index); idem., Childhood, 55–76; Elisabeth Badinter, Mother Love: Myth and Reality (New York: Macmillan Publishing, 1981), 40–52, 91–99; Bar-On, The Crowded Delivery Room, esp. 122–125; Giladi, Infants, Parents, and Wet Nurses, 5–7, 53; Ephraim Kanarfogel, “Attitudes Toward Childhood and Children in Medieval Jewish Society,” in Approaches to Judaism in Medieval Times, ed. David R. Blumenthal (Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1985), II, 1–34; Goldin, “Jewish Children,” 100–104. For precise instructions on how to select a suitable wet nurse according to a medieval manuscript, see Ron Barkai, Les infortunes de Dinah (Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1991), 238–239.
31. For example, a Jew from Monastir (Bitola) wished to cancel his vow to go up to Eretz Israel because his small son was accustomed to a hired wet nurse, (Shelomo ha-Cohen, Responsa, II, no. 45; also Rashdam, Responsa, Even ha-Ezer, no. 88; Torat Emet, Reponsa, no. 60). An answer of R. Eliyahu ben Hayim (Adrianople and Istanbul, ca. 1530–1610) tells of a widow who was a wet nurse in the home of a married Jewish man. She became pregnant after the father of the infant raped her at knifepoint (Eliyahu Ben [Ibn] Hayim, Responsa, no.17 [Istanbul, c. 1603]). A question addressed to R. Shemuel Kalai of Arta (Greece) dealt with the case of a widower who gave his daughter away to a Gentile wet nurse. This was considered an act of cruelty, and it was ruled that the daughter be entrusted to the care of her maternal grandmother (Mishpetei Shemuel, Responsa, no. 90 [Venice, 1600]). See also the case in Rival, Responsa, III, no. 98.
32. A few examples: Radbaz, Responsa, I, nos. 360, 551; III, 408; Mabit, Responsa, I, no. 165; Mayim Amuqim, Responsa, I, no. 10; Maharit, Responsa, I, nos. 130, 134. Also in the following references.
33. For example, regarding the infant who died a few days after birth (above, footnote 15), there was testimony that the entire neighborhood joined together to help the mother, who was apparently very weak. Used fabric was collected to diaper the child, and the neighbor women nursed the child jointly (Mabit, Responsa, II, no. 166). A report from Salonika tells of a woman who simultaneously nursed her own daughter and another infant who was one year older (Divrei Rivot, Responsa, no. 185.)
34. Shahar, Childhood, 65.
35. BT Yebamot, 37a; Tur, Even ha-Ezer, 13. See Shabtai Moshe ben Hayim, Torat Moshe, Responsa, Even ha-Ezer, no. 5 (Salonika, 1797); Benyamin Zeev, Responsa, no. 129; Moshe Alashqar, Responsa, no. 12 (Sadilkow, 1834) (hereafter Alashqar); Mabit, Responsa, II, no. 209; Mayim Amuqim, Responsa, I, no. 10.
36. It is unlikely that a Muslim woman would work as a hired wet nurse in the home of Jews, especially due to the legal and social consequences stemming from nursing relations in Islam. See Giladi, Infants, Parents and Wet Nurses, 68–114; idem., “Breast-Feeding,” 115; idem., “Some Notes.” However, there were some exceptional cases. See Goitein, A Mediterranean Society, I (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967), 127; Shahar, Childhood, 65.
37. Regarding Jews with slaves in the Ottoman Empire, see Minna Rozen, The Jewish Community of Jerusalem in the 17th Century (Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, 1984), 243–244 (in Hebrew); idem., Istanbul, 191–195; Ruth Lamdan, “Female Slaves in the Jewish Society of Palestine, Syria, and Egypt in the 16th Century,” in The Days of the Crescent, ed. Minna Rozen (Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, 1996), 355–371 (in Hebrew); Amnon Cohen and Elisheva Simon-Pikali, Jews in the Moslem Religious Court (Jerusalem: Yad Ben Zvi, 1993), 391–394 (in Hebrew); Michael Winter, Egyptian Society under Ottoman Rule 1517–1798 (London: Routledge, 1992), 214–216.
38. Gavizon, Responsa, no. 33. See also the editor’s notes there and in the Introduction, 51–52.
39. Radbaz, Responsa, IV, no. 1121 (48). See also no. 1157 (86), where the Radbaz recommends that a pregnant slave, who converted to Judaism, serve as a wet nurse in a Jewish family.
40. Radbaz, Responsa, I, no. 360.
41. BT Ketubot, 59b–60a; Tur, Even ha-Ezer, 82; Maimonides, The Book of Women, Laws of Ishut, 21, 14–16; Caro, Even ha-Ezer, 82, 5, etc. See discussion of the question that was sent from Greece to R. Moshe Alaskhar of Egypt on this matter (Alashqar, Responsa, no.12). Cf. to Islamic laws: Giladi, Infants, Parents and Wet Nurses, esp. 101–104; idem., “Some Notes,” 38.
42. Eliyahu Mizrahi, Responsa, no. 87 (Jerusalem, 1938).
43. Castro, Ohaley Yaaqov, no.120. Cf. Tucker, “The Fullness of Affection,” 236–237.
44. BT Ketubot, 59b–60b.
45. Radbaz, Responsa, VII, no. 15: “And we examined him time after time and he does not want to suckle–even though he is just a newborn, she is forced to nurse him so as not to endanger him.”
46. Radbaz, Responsa, I. No. 349. See also Maharit, Responsa, I, no. 131.
47. Rashdam, Responsa, Even ha-Ezer, no. 193. R. Itzhaq Adrabi ruled likewise (Divrei Rivot, Responsa, no. 372).
48. Rival, Responsa, II, no. 32.
49. Radbaz, Responsa, VII, no. 16. Radbaz comes to this conclusion relying on Ribash, Responsa, nos. 13 and 463.
50. It was said, regarding the Gibeonites, that “[they] were not of the people of Israel but of the remnant of the Amorites” (II Samuel, 21:2).
51. In order to cope with similar situations, the Iberian exiles in Fez (Morocco) adopted a rule in 1550 stating that “[a nursing mother] may not cast off her newborn child and is obligated to nurse the infant from the day of his birth for twenty-four continuous months, whether it is a boy or girl, and she will be paid half of the wages paid to a wet nurse who gives milk to others.” See The Taqanot of the Jews of Morocco, introduction S. Bar Asher (Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center, 1977), no. 25 (in Hebrew). Apparently a less specific rule adopted shortly after the expulsion from Spain was not effective (ibid., no. 10).
52. In the case of divorce the father must maintain his son until the age of six, and then can refuse to pay support if the son still remains with his mother (BT Ketubot, 65b, 102b–103a; Caro, Shulhan Arukh, Even ha-Ezer, 2, 7). For a case in which the father received custody of his seven-year-old daughter, because it was proved that his ex-wife was a prostitute and the girl might follow in her footsteps, see Radbaz, Responsa, I, no. 263.
53. “Women, slaves, and minors may not serve as guardians. But if the father of the orphans chose to appoint one of these, he has every right to do so” (BT Gittin, 52a). See also Caro, Shulhan Arukh, Hoshen Mishpat, 290, 1 and 24; Encyclopedia Talmudica (Jerusalem: Talmudic Encyclopedia Institute, 1974), Vol. II, s.v. Apotropos: 553–554; Rozen, Istanbul, 180–183.
54. Gavizon, Responsa, I, no. 16. See also: Alashqar, Responsa, no. 28; Divrei Rivot, Responsa, no. 166.
55. Radbaz, Responsa, I, no. 429. On the other hand, a divorced mother was forced to return her daughter to her father after becoming pregnant out of wedlock once again (ibid., no. 263), and in a family dispute in Rhodes, the court removed a boy from the custody of his mother, who had remarried, and he was sent to the home of a guardian (ibid., III, no. 890 [449]).
56. Zahalon, New Responsa, no. 232 (and no. 16).
57. “There was a case in which the heirs killed the son [even] on the eve of Passover” (BT Ketubot, 102b).
58. Abraham David, “R. Isaac di Molina,” Qiriyat Sefer, 44 (1969): 553–559 (in Hebrew). In deliberations in the lawsuit of a brother who wished to gain guardianship of his young sister, R. Yaaqov Berav ruled that the girl should be transferred to her brother, since girls do not inherit, so the rule that orphans are not left with potential heirs does not apply in her case (Berav, Responsa, no. 19). See also the case described by R. Eliyahu ben Hayim (Mayim Amuqin, Responsa, II, no. 40).
59. Divrei Rivot, Responsa, no. 120. See also Maharit, Responsa, II, Hoshen Mishpat, no. 79; Mabit, Responsa, II, nos. 29, 193; Yoshiyahu Pinto, Nivhar mi-Kesef, Responsa. Even ha-Ezer, no. 72 (Aleppo, 1869); Zahalon, New Responsa, no. 69; Alsheikh Moshe, Responsa, nos. 128, 130 (Jerusalem, 1975) (hereafter Alsheikh) (cf. Zahalon, Responsa, no. 263; Galante, Responsa, no. 125); Caro, Avqat Rokhel, no. 158.
60. Cohen and Simon-Pikali, Jews in Moslem Court, 21, 349, 361–362. On the involvement of Muslim law and turning to Muslim courts, see also: Mordecai Halevi, Sefer Darkhei Noʿam, Responsa, Even ha-Ezer, no. 35 (Venice, 1737; reprint: Jerusalem, 1970); Mayim Amuqim, Responsa, II, no. 40; Joseph Hacker, “Ottoman Policy Toward the Jews and Jewish Attitudes Toward the Ottomans during the 15th Century,” in Christians and Jews in the Ottoman Empire, ed. Benjamin Braude and Bernard Lewis, I, 117–125; idem., “Jewish Autonomy in the Ottoman Empire: Its Scope and Limits,” in The Jews of the Ottoman Empire, ed. Avigdor Levy (Princeton: The Darwin Press, 1994), 153–202; Rozen, Istanbul, 183; Tucker, “The Fullness of Affection,” 247–250.
61. Rashdam, Responsa, Hoshen Mishpat, no. 445.
62. Rashdam, Responsa, Even ha-Ezer, no. 123.
63. Radbaz, Responsa, I, no. 360.
64. Rival, Responsa, I, no. 58.
65. Darkhei No‘am, Responsa, Even ha-Ezer, no. 38.
66. Ibid., no. 26.
67. Radbaz, Responsa, I, no. 123.
68. BT Ketubot, 110b.
69. Radbaz, Responsa, III, no. 851 (408).
70. The situation is different in the case of a deserted wife (agunah) who wished to go to Eretz Israel with her son. It was ruled that as long as she is not legally a widow, no one can prevent her from doing so. In addition, the child’s grandfather, who lived in Eretz Israel, would be better able to teach him Torah than his paternal grandmother, “for she is a woman” (Alsheikh, Responsa, no. 38). Another answer by R. Moshe Alsheikh, tells of a widow who returned to her father’s house with her young son, but when she remarried, his uncle took him to his house (ibid., no. 70).
71. Mabit, Responsa, I, no. 164.
72. In a sermon, quoting the verse “blessed shall be the fruit of your womb” (Deut. 28:4), he wrote: “The man who has sons and cannot feed them would not wish the Almighty to give him sons” (Uzida, Sermons, 152). See also ibid., 133–134.
73. Ben Hayim, Responsa, no. 95 (in the second part of the answer, unnumbered).
74. Shelomo ha-Cohen, Responsa, I, no. 6; Rashdam, Responsa, Even ha-Ezer, no. 206; Divrei Rivot, Responsa, no. 366. The case became complicated when it was necessary to annul the marriage of the girl, and this is the focus of the halakhic debate.
75. Mayim Amuqim, Responsa, II, no. 40.
76. Jerusalem, National and University Library, Ms. Jerusalem 8o61, letter 171. On this manuscript, see Rozen, The Community of Jerusalem, 299–315.
77. Mabit, Responsa, II, no. 62.
78. Radbaz, Responsa, III, no. 897 (456); Caro, Avqat Rokhel, no. 102; Mabit, Responsa, I, no. 161; II, nos. 45, 220; III, nos. 176, 221; Zahalon, Responsa, I, no. 233; De Boton, Lehem Rav, Responsa, no. 58. An Ashkenazi divorcée, who remarried in Jerusalem, left all her property to her husband “on condition that he will be like a father to my son, Joshua, and do whatever is needed for a baby, and will look after him and take care of him until he is thirteen” (Zahalon, New Responsa, I, no. 54). Cf. Goitein, A Mediterranean Society, III, 234.
79. Radbaz, Responsa, IV, no. 1325 (254).
80. Philippe Ariès, Centuries of Childhood, A Social History of Family Life, trans. Robert Baldick (New York: Vintage Books, 1962). Some references to it: Shahar, The Fourth Estate, 103, 232–236; idem., Childhood (see index); Israel Ta-Shma, “Children in Medieval German Jewry: A Perspective on Ariès from Jewish Sources,” Studies in Medieval and Renaissance History, XII (1991): 268–270; Linda A. Pollock, Forgotten Children: Parent-Child Relations from 1500 to 1900 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 1–32; Badinter (see index); Giladi, Children of Islam, 116–119; Lamdan, A Separate People, 27–28, 79 (ref. 2); Goldin, “Jewish Children,” 97, 104–108; Rozen, Istanbul, 187–191; Ephraim Kanarfogel, Jewish Education and Society in the High Middle Ages (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1992), 33–39; idem., “Attitudes Toward Childhood,” 1–15.
81. Radbaz, Responsa, I, no 349.
82. See Goldin’s conclusion, “Jewish Children,” 104.
83. His response in Berav, Responsa, no. 61; Radbaz, Responsa, I, no. 374. See also Ruth Lamdan, “Polygamy in Jewish Society in Palestine and Egypt in the Generations following the Expulsion from Spain,” in Daniel Carpi Jubilee Volume (Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, 1996), 73–89 (in Hebrew); Cf. Mordechai A. Friedman, “Marriage as an Institution: Jewry under Islam,” in The Jewish Family: Metaphor and Memory, ed. David Kraemer (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989), 31–45; idem., Jewish Polygyny in the Middle Ages (Jerusalem: The Bialik Institute, 1986), 1–53 (in Hebrew); Giladi, “Some Notes,” 59, 98, 119.
84. Elimelech Westreich, Transitions in the Legal Status of the Wife in Jewish Law (Jerusalem: The Hebrew University Magnes Press, 2002), 249–250, 275–276 (in Hebrew); idem., “The Woman’s Right to a Child in Jewish Law,” in Law and History, ed. Daniel Gutwein and Menachem Mautner (Jerusalem: The Zalman Shazar Center, 1999), 103–126 (in Hebrew).
85. Hacker, “Pride and Depression,” 556–564.
86. See, for instance, Radbaz, Responsa, III, 851 (408). Cf. BT Sanhedrin, 22b.
87. A familiar phenomenon on other subjects as well. See Lamdan, A Separate People, 186, 190, 264–265.