Article Forthcoming.

In a Tortoiseshell

This paper is about the development of polygyny in Jewish law. This excerpt defends Maimonides’ application of Islamic law and social standards to his presentation of polygyny in Jewish law. 

Excerpt

Jewish tradition overtly centralizes law, and legal systems tend to operate on a top-down basis. Yet, the definitive codes of Jewish scholar Maimonides present another possibility to Jewish traditional attitudes. Maimonides carefully contextualizes and phrases his rulings about polygyny—the case of a man being married to more than one woman at the same time, while polygamy is the general term for marriages of more than two people—in a manner that is more closely akin to culture than to law. In this sense, he treats Islamic law as a social reality that can legitimately impact his juridical conclusions under Jewish law.

Maimonides addresses the topic of polygyny in chapter 14 of his “Hilkhot Ishut”, or the Laws of Marriage, in the broader context of expectations of intimacy between husband and wife (onah). The English translation reads as follows:

A man [has the prerogative of] marrying several wives – even 100, whether at one time or one after the other. … Therefore, our Sages commanded that a person should not marry more than four wives, although he has ample financial resources, so that he will be able to fulfill his conjugal obligations towards each one once a month.¹

Maimonides places this law in a very surprising context.² If he truly wanted to express support for polygyny based on Jewish marital tradition, then he would have placed it in chapter 10 which addresses the laws of marriage. To express it as an addendum to Hilkhot Onah – laws specifically governing expectations of physical intimacy – diminishes its emphasis as a form of marriage. Instead of making a point about polygyny, Maimonides makes his point about Hilkhot Onah, and he uses polygyny as a mode by which to express his point. This placement expresses that Maimonides does not treat polygyny as a central question in Jewish tradition; instead, it is a reality affecting physical intimacy that can be socially accepted or rejected.

Further, the substantive content of his presentation subtly mirrors aspects of Islamic law. Maimonides writes: “our Sages commanded that a person should not marry more than four wives, although he has ample financial resources, so that he will be able to fulfill his conjugal obligations towards each one once a month.” Yet, the Talmudic sages did not “command” that a person not marry more than four wives. In fact, they explicitly termed this advice as an “עצה טובה,” good advice.³ Maimonides’ transformation of the Talmud’s advice into a “command” actually echoes the Islamic law which imposes a firm limit of four wives. ⁴

In addition to his consistency with Islamic tradition, Maimonides also neglects the formulation borne by Jewish tradition. In doing so, he does not reject the Jewish perspective; he merely treats any presumed Jewish Masoretic perspective on this topic as a legal fiction. In its only direct discussion on the validity of polygyny, the Talmud presents two opinions:

Rabbi Ami said: Even in this case he must divorce [his first wife] and give [her the payment for her] marriage contract, as I say that whoever marries a woman in addition to his [first] wife must divorce [his first wife] and give [her the payment for her] marriage contract. [Conversely,] Rava said that a man may marry several women in addition to his first wife, and [there is nothing wrong with this practice] as long as he has enough to support them.⁵

Many rabbinic scholars, in their commentary on Maimonides’ law, situate him in Rava’s camp. Both permit polygynous marriages.⁶ However, in truth, many medieval rabbinic scholars believed that both Rava and Rabbi Ami accept polygynous marriages. They argue that Rabbi Ami merely requires consent from the first wife, while Rava does not.⁷ Neither party is rejecting or endorsing polygynous marriages; instead, they debate the requirement for permission from the first wife. 

When Maimonides deviates from Rava’s language, he implies that he sides with those scholars who frame the Talmudic debate as nonexistent. In this sense, he is not forsaking Jewish tradition for Islamic law, nor is he rooting his teaching in Rava’s. Rather, he is employing Islamic law as a social standard for a topic that is not addressed directly within Jewish tradition.  Thus, when other rabbinic scholars criticize him for deviating from Jewish tradition and subscribing to what they term “Muslim practices”, they fail to understand that Maimonides does not view the question of polygyny as a question of tradition; he views it as a social question.⁸

Footnotes

1.  Maimonides, Mishneh Torah: Sefer Nashim, “Ishut,” chap. 14. Translated by Eliyahu Touger. Brooklyn: Moznaim Publishing. ↩︎
2. For an analysis of Maimonides’ intricate organizational methods, see Isadore Twersky, Introduction to the Code of Maimonides (Mishneh Torah) (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1980). ↩︎
3. See BT Yevamot 44a; See, in contrast, Tur’s presentation of the same law: “our sages gave good advice not to marry more than four wives …” (Tur Even HaEzer 1:1). ↩︎
4.  For an analysis on the force of this law in Islamic tradition, see Mordechai A. Friedman, “Polygyny in Jewish Tradition and Practice: New Sources from the Cairo Geniza,” Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research 49 (1982): 67. Also see Leor Halevi, Muhammad’s Grave: Death Rites and the Making of Islamic Society, paperback ed. (New York: Columbia University Press, 2011), 59. ↩︎
5.  BT Yevamot 65a. ↩︎
6.  See Hagahot Maimoniyot and Maggid Mishneh on Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Ishut 14:3. ↩︎
7.  See, for instance, Ritva, commentary on Yevamot 65a. ↩︎
8.  Of note, a letter attributed to Maimonides (although likely not actually authored by him) criticizes French polygynous culture for its licentious bent. Assuming that Maimonides actually wrote this letter, it supports the notion that Maimonides was neither driven by Jewish tradition nor Islamic tradition; rather, he supported the way in which polygynous society was built in Islamic lands, and he believed that it was implemented improperly in French lands. See Maimonides (Rabbi Moses ben Maimon), Iggerot ha-Rambam, “Mikhtav ha-Meyukhas le-Ḥakhmei Lunel,” 31–32.  ↩︎

Works Cited

Hagahot Maimoniyot and Maggid Mishneh on Maimonides. Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Ishut 14:3.

Maimonides (Rabbi Moses ben Maimon). Iggerot ha-Rambam. “Mikhtav ha-Meyukhas le-Ḥakhmei Lunel.” Mishneh Torah: Sefer Nashim. “Ishut,” chap. 14. Translated by Eliyahu Touger. Brooklyn: Moznaim Publishing.

Rabbi Mordechai ben Hillel ha-Kohen. Mordechai on Ketubot. No. 291.

Ritva (Rabbi Isaac ben Sheshet of Dampierre). Commentary on Yevamot 65a.

Tur. Even ha-Ezer 1:1.

Twersky, Isadore. Introduction to the Code of Maimonides (Mishneh Torah). New Haven: Yale University Press, 1980.

Author Commentary / Eitan Gelb

It has been a pleasure writing this paper. I took Professor Krakowski’s “Marriage and Monotheism” course, which introduced me to the centralization of marriage in monotheistic traditions (in particular, Judaism, Islam, and Christianity). I took interest in the topic of polygyny and decided to tackle an issue that does not have a lot of previous research: Maimonides’ position on polygyny. Maimonides was a medieval rabbinic scholar who lived in Islamic society. He compiled a code (the Mishneh Torah) that he believed covered the entire corpus of Jewish legal tradition. He was clearly influenced by his Islamic surroundings, and he also clearly bore a deep regard for Jewish tradition and orthodox practice. It is interesting to see the two merge as he develops his position on polygynous marriages. 

It was particularly interesting to study this topic in light of its meta-legal implications. It is a topic that is permitted by the Bible, and yet has become one of the most socially egregious violations in all of Judaism. The prohibition was even instituted on a social scale, and, as my analysis of Maimonides shows, it was endorsed by rabbinic scholars because of the society in which they were living. It fascinates me how such a central legal principle has such sociological roots.

Editor Commentary / Sharon Leonard 

Eitan’s wonderfully written piece truly embodies this year’s theme of “deep dive” as he explores a highly niche academic topic that is not widely familiar to those outside of Judaic studies. Yet, he does an excellent job of orienting the reader in a very clear and concise manner. In this excerpt, Eitan provides just enough contextual information to make the argument accessible without oversimplifying its complexity. What stands out most, however, is the way in which Eitan meaningfully engages with a scholarly conversation that has lasted for centuries and is still ongoing today. Entering such an ancient debate is itself a significant undertaking, and it is especially impressive how he has been able to identify a fresh angle through which to evaluate existing arguments and contribute new insight. In this excerpt, Eitan’s analysis really shines through. In my opinion, one of the most compelling moments of analysis comes from his interpretation of Maimonides’ textual placement: “If he truly wanted to express support for polygyny based on Jewish marital tradition, then he would have placed it in chapter 10 which addresses the laws of marriage… This placement expresses that Maimonides does not treat polygyny as a central question in Jewish tradition; instead, it is a reality affecting physical intimacy that can be socially accepted or rejected.” Here, Eitan employs an important close reading strategy by examining not only what the author states explicitly, but also the broader context surrounding the text. In doing so, he is able to draw out new insights that earlier scholars may not have recognized, demonstrating how meaning can emerge beyond an author’s direct claims. Lastly, one of Eitan’s greatest strengths is his clear commitment to academic objectivity and intellectual integrity. The topic he engages is inherently controversial, yet he does not approach it with the aim of persuading readers toward a predetermined position. Instead, Eitan analyzes the material in a careful and methodical manner and demonstrates a willingness to consider multiple perspectives and interpretations. This openness ultimately strengthens his argument as it reflects a nuanced understanding of the topic rather than pushing for a one-sided claim. His concluding sentence is particularly effective in this regard because it underscores his ability to analyze Maimonides’ argument thoughtfully without the interference of religious bias.

Author

Eitan Gelb ‘28 is a sophomore at Princeton, studying Electrical and Computer Engineering. He has edited and written in school newspapers and journals, and he has also been published in journals related to academic Jewish topics. Some recent publications include: The History of The Study of Kodashim and An Analysis of The Laws of Building a Temple.

Editor

Sharon Leonard ‘27 is a junior in the History department at Princeton. In addition to working as an editor at Tortoise, she is also a Writing Fellow at the Writing Center and an editor at MoonPress. She has previously written and edited Archive Section pieces for the Daily Princetonian. One day, she hopes to publish her own fiction novel.

In a Tortoiseshell

The piece is an analysis of how Lorca and the 1994 cinematic adaptation of The House of Bernarda Alba employ the use of the color white throughout the narrative. In particular, it mobilizes the aesthetic dimension of the works in order to discuss how the color relates to the atmosphere of surveillance that exists within the domestic space.

Excerpt

…In fact, through most of the play, the color black works as a symbol of control over female bodies. The women in the play are all wearing black to express the grief for the loss of their father, as indicated in the stage direction “Por el fondo, de dos en dos empiezan a entrar mujeres de luto con pañuelos grandes, faldas y abanicos negros” (Lorca 16)/ “Upstage, female mourners enter in pairs, wearing skirts, big shawls, and holding black fans” (my translation). Other moments also contribute to the association of black with grief, such as when the family matriarch, Bernarda, chides her daughter for not giving her a black hand fan, which would indicate, according to the widow, a lack of respect for the grief she was experiencing (23). Black, therefore, functions as an essential part of the public performance of mourning. However, the central issue in relation to the color is that instead of being solely used as an expression of sorrow for the death of a loved one, it is also employed as a form of control over the daughters, whom Bernarda prohibits from leaving the house for eight years as an expression of mourning (23). Due to the power of the matriarch, they are unable to exercise their freedom to circulate in public spaces. In this sense, the use of black functions as a marker of their mourning and, consequently, a constant reminder of their prison. 

Similarly to how the symbolic force of black goes beyond the dimension of protection, the color white is not solely employed to signify systems of surveillance. This is particularly seen through Camus’s 1987 adaptation of Lorca’s play. In the cinematic piece, the grandmother, Maria Josefa, only appears in white. There is, consequently, a rupture with the strict mourning that Bernarda imposed upon those who lived under her house. White as a costume choice further reinforces the character’s state of separation from Bernarda’s strict system of control, complicating a monolithic interpretation of white as a sign. 

Still, the relationship between white and surveillance is reinforced in Lorca’s set description in the second and third acts of the play. Notably, during the play’s second act, the playwright slightly modifies how he characterizes the environment. The color white is still present, but instead of repeating the term “blanquíssima”/ “very white,” Lorca employs the word “blanca” (49)/ “white”, writing: “Habitación blanca del interior de la casa de Bernarda” (49)/ “White room inside Bernarda’s house.” Through this, there seems to be a change in the intensity of luminosity in the environment, indicating a shift in the degree of vigilance that exists within the house. 

In the second act, the daughters of Bernarda still seem to surveil each other. Martirio’s line “(Con intención.) ¿Es que no has dormido bien esta noche?” (57)/ “(Maliciously) Is it because you haven’t slept last night?” demonstrates this. The stage direction “con intención” indicates that she suspects Adela’s involvement with Pepe El Romano, probably as a result of observing her sister’s behavior. The movie reinforces the idea of surveillance between the two characters by placing them in the middle of an artificial white light —an element that amplifies what is able to be seen—during this confrontation (44:00-44:17). La Poncia, the family’s maid, also seems to suspect Adela’s affair. This is suggested when she says “De Pepe el Romano, ¿no es eso?” (59)/ “Of Pepe el Romano, isn’t it?” after Adela asserts that her body will belong to whoever she desires (59). In later moments, the audience discovers that La Poncia’s inference is a result of the surveillance she admits having engaged in through the lines “Las viejas vemos a través de las paredes. ¿Dónde vas de noche cuando te levantas?”(59)/ “Old women see through the walls. Where are you going when you get up in the night?” 

The episodes above demonstrate the continuous existence of surveillance. Nevertheless, the second act marks an important shift in the narrative: Bernarda, the source of authority of the home, is no longer aware of the relevant matters that are happening. In fact, she was consciously attempting to avoid facing the intricacies of the conflict between her daughters. When La Poncia tries to discuss with Bernarda the conflict between the daughters, she promptly rejects the opportunity to reflect on the quarrel by saying, “No creo que ésta sea la ‘cosa muy grande’ que aquí pasa. Aquí no pasa nada” (81)/ “I don’t think that this is the ‘really big thing’ that is happening here. Nothing is happening here.” The line reveals the degree of ignorance of Bernarda, who experiences a reduction, through denial, of her control over the activities that occurred within her daughters’ lives and, consequently, in her house.

Author Commentary / Louise Sanches Barbosa

This paper discusses the use of the color white as an element that signifies surveillance in The House of Bernarda Alba, a play written by Federico García Lorca. When I decided to focus on this work for my final paper in COM 318 (The Modern Period), I delved into secondary literature centered around the play. This quickly made me realize that many of the points I initially considered focusing on had been discussed, particularly the themes of motherhood and oppression. When reflecting on how I could find gaps in the scholarly work that had been produced until then, I noticed that little attention had been given to the significance of the colors Lorca employs in the play. This aesthetic dimension is central in theater, as it allows a piece to continuously create meaning beyond the words in a script. Additionally, Lorca is well-known for exploring the symbolic dimension of colors in his poetic work, notably the color green in the poem Romance Sonámbulo. By noticing a pattern of repetition surrounding the color white, I conducted a textual analysis that allowed me to uncover that white is frequently used as an element that exposes the deep politics of surveillance that occurs within the house of the matriarch, Bernarda Alba. 

I also desired to incorporate a visual primary source, as this would contribute towards bringing a certain stillness of the script to life, materializing Lorca’s written descriptions. For that, I selected the cinematic adaptation of the play, produced by Mario Camus in 1987. Once I had finalized my selection of primary sources, I conducted a comparative analysis of Lorca’s explicit references to white, particularly in his set descriptions, and its presence in the movie, being particularly attentive to how shifts in the characterization of the color also signified shifts in Bernarda’s surveillance. 

In the process of adapting my piece to Tortoise, I have included additional context surrounding the play’s characters, as well as translations. I decided to select this particular excerpt precisely because of its capacity to display the shifts in Bernarda’s system of control, as well as the nuances that need to be taken into account when analyzing symbolic elements, as demonstrated by my comments on Maria Josefa and her white dress. The fragment also displays how aesthetic elements can reinforce the content of the discussed works. This is particularly important in the field of theatrical studies, as it functions as a reminder that elements of design can produce effects that can reinforce or subvert elements of a text.

One of the first steps in writing is identifying a clear motive. Louise’s piece offers a compelling example of how a seemingly small detail in a primary source can be meticulously picked apart to reveal its greater significance in the text—empirical motive. It follows that through this Louise quickly identified a scholarly motive, that the conversation had not previously considered the way color had been utilized in adaptations of the text. In particular, this excerpt focuses on the use of color—mostly white—as a narrative and thematic device, alongside showing how to comment on both stage and film adaptations of a text. The beginning of this excerpt demonstrates how Louise complicates white beyond a tempting binary interpretation of the color representing only surveillance, or black only protection from it. Louise analyzes a funeral scene and the visual appearance of the family grandmother, Maria Josefa, in order to show how the variation in the use of these colors reflects the complexity in the primary source’s themes. 

This exploration continues through Louise’s attention to white’s intensity in luminosity, specifically when she pays attention to subtle shifts in description of the setting: from a “blanquíssima”/“very white” to “blanca”/white room. Once again, Louise goes further than discussing the recurrence of a symbol within the text, she closely reads to identify why these small choices are being made in primary source. By examining subtle shifts and variations, the writer uncovers complexity that might otherwise go unnoticed, like a detective piecing together clues. This careful, deliberate attention to detail exemplifies how strong analytical writing can emerge from engagement with even the smallest elements of a text.

Editor Commentary / Natalia Murillo

One of the first steps in writing is identifying a clear motive. Louise’s piece offers a compelling example of how a seemingly small detail in a primary source can be meticulously picked apart to reveal its greater significance in the text—empirical motive. It follows that through this Louise quickly identified a scholarly motive, that the conversation had not previously considered the way color had been utilized in adaptations of the text. In particular, this excerpt focuses on the use of color—mostly white—as a narrative and thematic device, alongside showing how to comment on both stage and film adaptations of a text. The beginning of this excerpt demonstrates how Louise complicates white beyond a tempting binary interpretation of the color representing only surveillance, or black only protection from it. Louise analyzes a funeral scene and the visual appearance of the family grandmother, Maria Josefa, in order to show how the variation in the use of these colors reflects the complexity in the primary source’s themes. 

This exploration continues through Louise’s attention to white’s intensity in luminosity, specifically when she pays attention to subtle shifts in description of the setting: from a “blanquíssima”/“very white” to “blanca”/white room. Once again, Louise goes further than discussing the recurrence of a symbol within the text, she closely reads to identify why these small choices are being made in primary source. By examining subtle shifts and variations, the writer uncovers complexity that might otherwise go unnoticed, like a detective piecing together clues. This careful, deliberate attention to detail exemplifies how strong analytical writing can emerge from engagement with even the smallest elements of a text.

Editor

Natalia Murillo ‘28 is a sophomore majoring in Sociology and minoring in Statistics and Machine Learning. On campus, she works as a Writing Center Fellow, is an undergraduate researcher at the Eviction Lab, and a member of Tigressions acapella.

Author

Louise Sanches Barbosa ’27 is a third-year comparative literature student pursuing minors in theater and Spanish. She focuses on Brazilian and Hispanic literature, and her research interests include literary expressions within authoritarian regimes, historical memory, gender and sexuality in literature, and theater and performance as tools of political change. Louise’s work in theater primarily lies in writing, lighting design, and stage management. She also works as a student archivist at Special Collections and is an editor at the Nassau Weekly.

It can feel daunting to create complex, original analysis. Even if a writer has an exciting question and a confident understanding of the elements of a successful piece of academic writing (already no easy task!), crafting the substance of the paper often still feels like exploring an unknown and foreboding terrain. In research, though, it’s often the case that the closer you look, the more you’ll see, as these excerpts demonstrate. Eitan Gelb’s deep engagement with Jewish scholar Maimonides’s framing of polygyny reveals implications for the interaction of culture and law in the context of Jewish tradition. Meanwhile, Louise Sanches Barbosa decrypts the color white’s shades of meaning (pun intended!) in Federico García Lorca’s play The House of Bernarda Alba, showing how this close reading complements the play’s textual narrative and visual staging.

— Jordan Fraser Angel ’27