“Elimelekh G’la” is a Byzantine-era Western Aramaic poetic retelling of the Book of Ruth. It was probably originally used as part of the liturgy for Shavuot, perhaps as a poetic addition to the recitation of a Targumic interpretation of the Book of Ruth. (The verses from Ruth and Psalms appended to the coda of the piyyuṭ would suggest such a Sitz im Leben.) But in any case, it has a great acrostic structure and rhyme scheme, and ought to be preserved! Here is included a vocalized text, largely based on the unvocalized text compiled in Jewish Palestinian Aramaic Poetry from Late Antiquity (ed. Yahalom and Sakaloff, 1999) where it’s the tenth poem recorded. ‘ve added a rhyming poetic translation that preserves the Hebrew acrostic. Credit to Laura Suzanne Lieber’s literal translations of these poems (in Jewish Aramaic Poetry from Late Antiquity: Translations and Commentaries, 2018), which have served as a very helpful resource for the project.

This piyyut, “Ḥanaiah, Mishael, and Azariah,” was originally written to be recited as an introduction to the targum of the Second Commandment, the prohibition on worshiping other gods. It is a dispute-poem retelling the story of Ḥanaiah, Mishael, and Azariah, the three “holy children” of Daniel chapter 3 who would rather be thrown into an oven than worship an idol. It’s an intricate multi-part acrostic that I absolutely love. (I also am partially convinced it may be influenced by the apocryphal “Song of the Three Holy Children,” if not in context then in the idea of an extensive poem related to their story.) Since the original poem’s acrostic only goes halfway through the alphabet, the great Meir bar Isaac Nehorai of Orleans wrote a continuation that is also included here.

Azalat Yokheved is part of a whole genre of midrashic works suggesting Yokheved lived to see her son die — a concept even found in the Ethiopian literature. With repeated refrains, it emphasizes the desperate search of a mother trying to find her son, retracing all her steps and desperately asking everyone she can. But just as Moshe’s journey to the Promised Land ends without a conclusion, so too Yokheved never finds her Moshe. It’s been translated preserving monorhyme scheme. Taken from Sokoloff and Yahalom’s Jewish Palestinian Aramaic Poetry from Late Antiquity (2018), it is presented here vocalized with an original translation.

Azalat Bekhita, is probably incomplete, extending only to ḥeth in known manuscripts. It features multiple people, places, and things important in Moshe’s life taking turns to eulogize him. It’s been translated preserving the acrostic and monorhyme scheme. Taken from Sokoloff and Yahalom’s Jewish Palestinian Aramaic Poetry from Late Antiquity (2018), it is presented here vocalized with an original translation.

Amar Kiris l-Moshe, is a midrashic narrative of Moshe going to Adam to ask why he cursed humanity with death. It’s been translated preserving the acrostic and monorhyme scheme. Taken from Sokoloff and Yahalom’s “Jewish Palestinian Aramaic Poetry from Late Antiquity,” it is presented here vocalized with an original translation.

This piyyut, “Itgabar,” was originally written as an introduction to the sixth commandment, the commandment of not murdering. It is a poetic retelling of the death of Joab in I Kings 2:28-34. Joab, the leader of David’s armies, was a notoriously violent man, the slaughterer of Abner and Amasa. He died in a correspondingly violent way, struck down by Benaiah son of Jehoiada within the Tabernacle itself. Surprisingly enough, this poem frames Solomon as an unjust and cruel ruler, treating Joab’s death as a tragedy rather than the quid-pro-quo consequence it is portrayed as in Kings. In this location, it almost goes so far as to calling Solomon himself a murderer.

This piyyut, “Amar Yitsḥaq,” was originally written as an introduction to the fifth commandment, the commandment of honoring your father and mother. In the eyes of the payṭan, the quintessential example of honoring your father is an incredibly morbid one — Isaac, encouraging his father to go through with it on the altar and begging him to strike true, so that the sacrifice isn’t rendered unfit! It incorporates midrashic narratives about Isaac’s total willingness to go through with the sacrifice, as well as his longing for his mother in the process. To our modern eyes it is quite a disturbing work! But it’s worth remembering that there were many cases in medieval Europe of Jewish parents so desperate and terrified on account of the Crusades that they killed their own children rather than have them submit to baptism. Perhaps this poem provided those who heard such horrific stories some comfort.

This piyyut, “Joseph Overpowered,” was originally written in the Byzantine era as an introduction to the seventh commandment, the commandment against adultery. It tells a midrashic elaboration of the story of Potiphar’s wife’s attempt and failure to seduce Joseph. It’s honestly a bit racier than one would expect from a liturgical text, with quite a few double entendres on the topic of sexuality. Like the two prior piyyutim — Amar Yitzḥak and Itgabar — it begins in medias res.

This piyyut, Amar Oyev (The Enemy Said), the sixth in a series of Aramaic piyyutim from the seventh day of Pesaḥ, is meant to be recited as an introduction to the targum of Exodus 15, verse 9.

This piyyut, Man K’vatakh (Who is Like You), the seventh in a series of Aramaic piyyutim from the seventh day of Pesaḥ, is meant to be recited as an introduction to the Targum of the verse that includes “Mi Khamokha.” The English translation preserves the Hebrew acrostic of the Aramaic.

This Aramaic poem, written in the early Byzantine era by an unknown author, can be found in its entirety within the Targum Sheni for Esther 7:9. It features an argument between an assortment of trees over which one is required to bear the great dishonor of having to be the one to hold Haman. It’s also chock-full of anti-Christian polemic and references to Toledot Yeshu.

Itti Bishlam is a sixteen-hundred year old Samaritan Aramaic poem attributed to the great Samaritan sage Marqeh son of Amram. In twelve stanzas it tells the story of the night of the tenth plague and the Exodus. Samaritans traditionally recite it on the night before the holidays, the Sabbaths before the holidays, and the evening before the first day of the first month (the Samaritan new year, fourteen days before Passover). Largely a half-alphabetical acrostic, the fifth stanza of Itti Bishlam begins with an īt (ḥeth) rather than the expected īy (her), understandable considering the loss of guttural distinctions in Samaritan phonology. (See the number of Jewish poems which confuse sin and samekh for a parallel occurrence.) Itti Bishlam is, interestingly enough, lacking polemic or sectarian content — it never calls upon the Samaritan holy mountain of Aargaarizem (Mt. Gerizim), nor does it include any context that contradicts the traditional Jewish interpretation of the paschal narrative. It is worthwhile for Jews to learn about and understand the liturgical practices of their sister religion, and this poem is a great place to start!

The Geshem prayer for Shmini Atzeret in the Maḥzor Aram Ṣoba has some things in common with other Geshem texts, but its most unique facets are twofold. First and most obviously, the extensive catena of verses from Torah, Neviim and Ketuvim that falls between the introductory announcement and the piyyutim themselves. And second, several Aramaic passages relatively rare in other texts, which seem to reflect an archaic form predating the adoption of Arabic as the spoken language of the Aleppo Jews. (These Aramaic passages are marked in green in the transcription.) As standard in Eastern practice, especially in the Maḥzor Aram Ṣoba (which shows a surprisingly modern reticence to interrupt the ‘amidah), this prayer is placed after the Torah service and before musaf begins.

This letter, written in Imperial Aramaic in 419 BCE, is among the vast number of papyrus letters found in Elephantine, also known as Yeb. The Jewish (or more accurately, Judean) community of Yeb is a fascinating bit of history — a group of Judean mercenaries who settled in Egypt and built their own smaller temple! Although their origin was clearly Judean, and they referred to themselves as the ḥeila yehudaya = Judean garrison, their form of worship featured no Deuteronomic centralization, no discussion of the patriarchs, and questionable monotheism! Although the primary deity was YHW (note the difference in spelling), multiple other deities or hypostatized aspects of divinity were worshipped, and verbs for the word “God” are conjugated in the plural rather than the singular. This text is one of a series of letters written between the brothers Yedaniah and Ḥananiah. In this case, it is giving instructions for keeping the holiday of Pesaḥ. These instructions are interesting in their own right — the prohibition on beer could alternatively be read as a prohibition on any alcoholic drink, which would align with Karaite practice rather than rabbinic. But what’s even more interesting is what isn’t mentioned — the instructions given mention nothing whatsoever about the exodus from Egypt, or even God! The diktat to observe the holiday is accredited not to God or Moses, but to Darius, king of the Achaemenid Empire! This passage is a fascinating taste of a part of Judaism that we know very little about. Vocalization according to Tiberian norms and translation into English by the translator.

Shmini Atseret is a strange festival. In some ways part of Sukkot, in some ways its own thing, it occupies an equivocal place in the yearly cycle. But one thing that is completely true: Shmini Atseret is on Pi Day. Well, Pi Approximation Day — the twenty-second day of the seventh month. Inspired by my friend and math enthusiast Aryeh Baruch (may he have a long life), I’ve compiled this altered form of the haftarah for Shmini Atseret in the diaspora, including the description of King Solomon’s “molten sea,” as well as an Aramaic “reshut” poem with a numeral acrostic of the first few digits of pi.