Readers who are familiar with the book of Esther and the holiday of Purim are also acquainted with the figure of Achashverosh (or Ahasverus), the king of Persia who is manipulated by his ambitious courtier Haman into approving a plan for the annihilation of the Jewish people. Several views of Ahasverus appear in the Midrashim (collections of homiletical readings) and later Bible commentaries, Some describe him as a foolish drunkard manipulated by others. Others view him as a decent, if gullible ruler who rises to the occasion once the danger of the situation is revealed. There is even a reading in which Ahasverus, under the advice and tutelage of Esther and Mordechai, sees the hand of God in the miraculous rescue of the Jews and converts to Judaism. But none of these interpretations suggest that Ahasverus was in reality a fungus-eating beetle.

In 1832, the German biologist Joseph Waltl published a description and scientific classification of a small beetle, assigning it the scientific name Ahasuerus advena. This insect is known in English by the common name ‘foreign grain beetle’. This name reflects a widespread practice of naming agricultural and household animal pests after enemy countries, especially during wartime. (For example, the insect Mayetiola destructor, which damages wheat plants, acquired its American common name, ‘Hessian fly,’ during the American revolution. Similar stories account for the name ‘Hanover rat’ formerly used for the brown rat, Rattus norvegicus, and the German cockroach, Blattella germanica.) Insects, rodents, molds, and other species that attack stored grain are probably responsible for more human starvation and misery than all the Hamans in history. Ironically, despite its name, the foreign grain beetle is not really a stored grain pest. It feeds primarily on fungi. Because it is often found nibbling the fungus on moldy grain, it was once erroneously thought to feed on grain. This is how it received its English name. Photos of the tiny beetles on a penny (to show their size) can be seen at

http://www.pestid.msu.edu/InsectsArthropods/ForeigngrainbeetleAhasverusadvena/tabid/256/Default.aspx

Why was the foreign grain beetle given the scientific name of an ancient Persian king who is mentioned n the book of Esther? The answer to this question is rooted in the history of Christian antisemitism. An early account from 1228 describes an incident in which a Jew who refused to allow Jesus to rest against his house was punished by being denied the chance to rest or die until the Second Coming. In European folklore, this man was given various names and referred to as the Wandering Jew, a term that was also used to refer to the exiled Jewish people as collectively responsible for denying comfort (and divinity) to Jesus.

During the Middle Ages, the legend of the Wandering Jew took a new turn when largely illiterate peasants attended the ‘Purim spiels’ or plays performed by their Jewish neighbors. Some of these plays were dramatizations of the book of Esther in Hebrew, Yiddish. or other languages that were unfamiliar to the non-Jewish spectators. As a result, some of them mistook the character of Ahasverus for a “king of the Jews.” (In some versions of the play, Ahasverus does convert to Judaism.) In this way, ‘Ahasverus’ became a common name for the Wandering Jew and a slang epithet for Jews generally.

Because the foreign grain beetle feeds on fungus, it often attacks construction lumber that has been left outdoors and allowed to become wet. When the construction is finished and the owners move into their new home, they may be upset to discover an infestation of small brown beetles emerging from the walls where they have been feeding on the moldy wood inside the walls. Although the beetles are harmless, their size and color have often led homeowners to confuse them with fleas. The problem is easily solved by adequate ventilation that enables the mold-infested wood to dry. However, the anger, fear, and disgust that the residents experienced on discovering that their home had been invaded by these insects apparently reminded some anti-Semitic people of their similar feelings n learning that unwelcome Jews had appeared in their district. This experience may have led Waltl to propose the name Ahasuerus for this beetle.

Purim is the model for a whole class of Jewish holidays that celebrate days of national salvation from danger and near-disaster. Many Jewish communities celebrate a ‘Purim katan’ (“little Purim”) on the anniversary of a local threat that was averted. Similarly, we can understand the story of Ahasuerus advena in a positive way that takes it out of the dark history of antisemitism. The foreign grain beetle, after all, is merely a minor annoyance, not a threat to stored food, a bloodsucker, or a disease carrier. Just as we were saved from the decree of the ineffectual king Achashverosh, so too are we safe from the imagined dangers of a small brown beetle or any of the other threats from which we are protected by Divine assurance. So this Purim, let’s celebrate!

The prophetic books of the Bible contain many metaphors based on natural and agricultural life. The contrast of the pious and the arrogant in Jeremiah 17:5-8 employs a comparison of “a tree planted by water” and something called arar in Hebrew. Following Harold Fisch’s translation in the Jerusalem Bible, we read:

“5. Thus says the Lord: Cursed [arur] be the man who trusts in man, and makes flesh his arm, and whose heart departs from the Lord. 6. For he shall be like the juniper tree [arar] in the desert, and shall not see when good comes; but shall inhabit the parched places [charar] in the wilderness, a salt land not inhabited.

“7. Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, and whose hope the Lord is. 8. For he shall be like a tree planted by the waters, and that spreads out its roots by the river, and shall not see when heat comes, but its leaf shall be green; and shall not be anxious in the year of drought, nor shall it cease from yielding fruit.”

What was intended by Jeremiah’s warning that those who lack faith will become like an arar, and what is this plant that represents a failure of faith? Both the classic rabbinic Bible commentators and the Biblical botanists of the twentieth century struggle with this question. Is the arar a well-adapted desert plant that the prophet used to represent a smug, self-sufficient loner, or is it a plant that requires a moister environment and withers and struggles to survive in the desert? We must answer this question in order to understand Jeremiah’s metaphor and the theology that it expresses.

Onkelos’s ancient Aramaic translation and the medieval Bible commentator Rabbi David Kimchi, known by the acronym Radak, agree that arar is an alternate name for the plant also known in Hebrew as acuvit or acuvitah. Avraham Even-Shoshan’s etymological Hebrew dictionary and Avi Shmida’s MAPA Dictionary of Plants and Flowers in Israel both identify acuvit as Gundelia tournefortii. This plant is known in modern Hebrew as acuvit hagalgal and in English as tumble thistle. Acuvit means obstacle or hindrance. Perhaps the plant was given this name in reference to its spiny leaves.

This member of the Aster family is similar to the central Asian tumbleweeds that became common in the deserts of western North America during the nineteenth century, though the two are not closely related. When the tumble thistle’s seeds are mature, the dry plant detaches from its roots and the wind rolls it across the landscape, scattering seeds along its path. Its forbidding spines and rootless, solitary travels as it disperses its seeds make it a promising candidate for Jeremiah’s figure of the lone, faithless desert hermit. Indeed, a literal translation of acuvit hagalgal is “rolling hindrance”, an appropriate name for this tumbling ball of spikes. Even-Shoshan suggests that it may also be identical with the galgal (literally, “wheel”) mentioned in Isaiah 17:13 and elsewhere. The aptness of the metaphor is supported by Shmida’s observation that the genus Gundelia has no close relatives in its family. However, it is less clear why Jeremiah would have chosen this well-adapted desert species to represent one who “will not see when good comes.”

What theology follows from this reading of arar? Radak states that the arar’s thorny exterior conceals a tender, edible heart. The accuracy of this statement as a description of the tumble thistle is debatable. However, it supports the suggestion that Jeremiah intended a plant that would provide a metaphor for isolation. A provocative implication of this reading of Jeremiah is the idea that a lack of religious faith obstructs not only closeness to God, but even interpersonal intimacy. Radak’s comments on verse 5 help to explain this unusual idea. He explains the phrase “who trusts in man, and makes flesh his arm,” to mean that human efforts can succeed only with God’s support or approval. Radak’s interpretation of the tumble thistle is surprisingly close to the metaphor of the sabra, or prickly pear cactus, adopted by modern-day Israelis to represent themselves as externally tough and curt, but tenderhearted and warm at the core. Still, the tumble thistle is not a completely satisfactory candidate for the arar. The parallelism between verses 5-6 and 7-8 contrasts the arar, stymied by its desert environment, with the flourishing “tree planted by the waters”. The tumble thistle is well suited to its dry environment; it does not embody this metaphorical contrast well.

Why did Fisch’s Jerusalem Bible translation render arar as juniper? Bible commentators often use similar words in related languages to explain obscure terms. In Arabic, arar is the juniper. The Phoenician juniper (Juniperus phoenicea) occurs in relatively well-watered Mediterranean regions, including the Galilee and Lebanon, though not in the deserts of Judea and the Negev. It can be seen at the following Web site:

http://www3.unileon.es/personal/wwdbvcac/images/Fotos_Plantas/Gimnospermas/Juniperus%20thurifera.jpg

The juniper has one advantage over the tumble thistle as a translation for arar: Its tiny, scale-like leaves are drab and unimpressive, and its foliage is not lush even when the tree is well watered. However, in dry conditions, the foliage is especially sparce, contrasting more clearly than the tumble thistle with the “tree planted by the waters”. These facts lend support to the Jerusalem Bible’s translation. Accepting this translation leads to a different understanding of Jeremiah’s theology: The metaphor contrasts the dismal fate of a juniper in the salt desert and its vigorous growth and reproduction next to a river or stream. The prophet’s moral in this case would be that those who trust in God will flourish and their actions will yield fruit (i.e., success, or perhaps more literally, children). On the other hand, the Creator’s world turns inhospitable to the unfaithful.

The comments of several classic rabbinic authorities provide support for this reading of Jeremiah. Pirke Avot, a Roman-era collection of rabbinic aphorisms, includes a homily (Pirke Avot 3:22) attributed to Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah in which our passage is cited as support for the idea that one whose actions do not measure up to his learning will lack resilience, like a shallow-rooted tree that is easily uprooted and blown away by the wind. Rabbi Elazar’s metaphor contrasts this image with a deep-rooted tree that resists the strongest winds, representing a person whose deeds exceed his scholarship. But how does Jeremiah’s metaphor about water and the ability to withstand drought support a saying about resisting uprooting by wind? The explanation requires an understanding of plant physiology. Roots serve several functions, including anchoring plants in place and absorbing water. These functions are related: The proliferation of roots is stimulated by an adequate supply of water. A deep and extensive root system that provides access to scarce water is one of the adaptations that enable many desert plants to survive. The juniper, however, is not adapted to desert environments, and the growth of its roots would be restricted by such dry growing conditions. Thus, Rabbi Elazar may have intended his metaphor to convey the idea that one who foolishly chooses to trust in man rather than God will be as frail and vulnerable as a juniper that takes root in the desert. On the other hand, it is also possible that Rabbi Elazar understood the arar to be the tumble thistle, which is also “uprooted” by the wind, or more accurately, detached from its roots and blown about by wind. This may explain his vivid description of the wind that “uproots and inverts” the arar (Hebrew “okarto v’hofachto“).

Several of the later commentators support the identification of arar with juniper. Rashi (an acronym for Rabbi Shlomo Yitzhaki), the dean of the medieval Jewish Bible commentators, connects arar with the Hebrew ariri, meaning desolate or ruined. Citing his predecessor, the Hebrew grammarian Menachem ben Seruk, he further sugggests that the phrase “like an arar in the desert” refers to a solitary, stunted member of a forest species “whose name is arar,” presumably a reference to the Arabic name for the juniper. Thus, Rashi seems to understand Jeremiah as saying that faith is as necessary to human welfare as water is to the juniper’s; a man without faith is as hopeless as a juniper in the desert. Rashi develops this idea further in his comment on the phrase “who trusts in man, and makes flesh his arm,” in verse 5. With the example of one who farms during the sabbatical year, in violation of the Biblical commandment, Rashi expresses the same idea as Radak, that people can use their strength and knowledge to help themseleves and one another, but only if they act in accord with God’s will.

The nineteenth-century Russian commentary known as Malbim (an acronym for the author’s Hebrew name, Rabbi Meir Lob ben Yechiel Michael) echoes the medieval commentators. Like Rashi, Malbim relates arar to ariri. Emphasizing the sense of ariri as fruitless, he speaks of the failure of the misplaced lone desert tree to reproduce.

Rashi often points out similarities between words, such as arar and ariri, as evidence of shared word origins, and therefore, of shared meaning as well. When such words are found close together or in similar contexts in the Bible, they can also hint at additional meanings. In particular, the similarity of the Hebrew arur (cursed) in verse 5 to charar (parched) and arar in verse 6 suggested to the eighteenth century commentator Rabbi David Altschuler that the arar is in fact a desert tree. (See his companion Bible commentaries Metzudat David and Metzudat Tzion.) In his remarks on the statement in verse 6 that the arar “will not see when good comes,” he explains that “good” here refers to rain: Just as rain does not fall on the desert plant, so, too, will the faithless man fail to receive God’s blessings.

The association of arur in verse 5 and arar in verse 6 also supports an alternative translation. The Sodom apple (Calotropis procera), known in Arabic as the “cursed lemon,” is common in the arid, salty soils surrounding Jericho and the Dead Sea. This small tree produces a fruit that resembles a large lemon in size, shape, and color. However, it is filled with air and dry seeds that carry silky fibers. A composite photo showing the plant, its flowers, and its fruit can be seen at:

http://faculty.ksu.edu.sa/Al-Rowaily/Pictures%20Library/Rangeland%20Flora%20%D9%86%D8%A8%D8%A7%D8%AA%D8%A7%D8%AA%20%D8%A7%D9%84%D9%85%D8%B1%D8%A7%D8%B9%D9%8A/Calotropis%20procera.bmp

In 1938, Biblical botanists Hannah and Ephraim HaReuveni published an article identifying Jeremiah’s arar as the Sodom apple. This conclusion relies heavily on folklore concerning this plant among a Bedouin tribe of the Jericho area. The HaReuvenis’ son Nogah summarized this work in his book Desert and Shepherd in Our Biblical Heritage. He describes a Bedouin tradition that the Sodom apple was succulent in ancient times, until it was cursed along with Sodom and Gomorrah. When humanity repents, the Sodom apple will be restored to its former juicy, delicious form. The story is especially intriguing in light of a similar account in the Talmud (Yoma 21b and 39b) of fruit trees planted by Solomon at the time that he constructed the temple. These trees are said to have yielded golden fruits for the support of the priests until the desecration of the temple by the troops of Nebuchadnezzar. At that time, the fruits (or perhaps the trees) withered, but they will return in Messianic times.

The silky tufts of the Sodom apple seeds give the plant its Hebrew name, petillat hamidbar (desert silk). These fibers are listed in the Mishna (Shabbat 2:1) among those that may not be used as a wick for Sabbath lights because they burn unevenly. Another essay on Torahflora.org (Drug-Free Sabbath Candles) explains more about this topic.

Relying on the similarity of the words arur and arar to identify the arar as the “cursed lemon” adds a suggestion of repentance and redemption that is not present in Jeremiah’s bleak vision of the future of those who do not trust in God. Both the ability of the Sodom apple to retain its large, green leaves and produce flowers and fruits under harsh conditions, and the messianic aspect of the tradition quoted by the HaReuvenis conflict with the prophet’s description of a tree that “shall not see when good comes”. For these reasons, we must look elsewhere for the arar.

The ancient (and likely the first) Bible translation known as the Septuagint renders arar into Greek as agriomyrike, a tree known in English as the tamarisk or salt cedar (genus Tamarix). This translation is supported by the Arabic name for the tamarisk, arah.

Like the juniper, the tamarisk has a very bland, unappealing appearance, with small, scale-like leaves and a trunk covered with grayish grains. Its flowers and fruits are also small and unimpressive. The tamarisk is a halophyte, one of the few plants that are able to thrive in salty soils. This ability is partly due to its ability to excrete salt from its leaves, branches, and roots, and its extraordinary effectiveness at absorbing deep groundwater. A tamarisk can easily exhaust the local water supply and concentrate salt in the surrounding soil, making it impossible for other plant species to compete. The photo posted at the following Web site shows two tamarisks growing in the western Negev desert, near Nitzanim, Israel. Note the near absence of other vegetation around the trees:

http://img3.photographersdirect.com/img/13717/wm/pd1108172.jpg

The tamarisk is common in Old World deserts, including the area around the Dead Sea and the Negev desert of southern Israel. Since its importation to the United States in the nineteenth century, it has become an invasive species along rivers and in wet spots within the deserts of the western United States, drying up wet areas and concentrating salt in the soil to the point that native species are eliminated. Because it has become such a problem in the Western US, the Washington State Department of Ecology has collected and published information on the growth and control of tamarisk on a Salt Cedar Web page.

This Web page explains that a tamarisk seedling can grow up to a foot (30 cm) per month in the spring. Its roots also grow rapidly, quickly reaching the groundwater below the soil. Once this happens, the tree is no longer dependent on moisture in the surface soil, and can survive droughts that kill other plants. For the same reason, the tamarisk does not spring to life after a rainfall as other desert plants do, but maintains its dwarf leaves and generally drab, grey-green appearance.

These traits support the suggestion of the late Professor Yehuda Feliks of Bar-Ilan and Tel Aviv Universities that Jeremiah’s arar is the tamarisk. A desert tree that does not respond to rain is a good candidate for the species that “shall not see when good comes”. Unlike the other translations described above, identifying arar as the tamarisk enables us to avoid having to chose between a well-adapted dry-land plant such as the tumble thistle or Sodom apple and one that is not normally found in deserts, such as the juniper. The tamarisk’s ability to monopolize scarce water and inhibit the growth of other plants often results in a solitary growth habit. This isolation and the meager reproduction of the tamarisk are just as Malbim described. If we read Jeremiah with this translation in mind, we see him describing the faithless man as one who has isolated himself from both God and society in the miserable “parched places in the wilderness, a salt land not inhabited”. One could reasonably apply this vision to the alienation and fragmented social relationships experienced by so many in modern secular society.

Some hope is held out for the arar when the word appears in Psalms 102:18. Again, following the Jerusalem Bible:

“He heeds the prayer of the destitute [arar], and does not despise their prayer.”

This translation is based on what may be the root meaning of arar: naked, empty-handed, or childless. (See, for example, Genesis 15:2, Leviticus 20:20-21, and Jeremiah 22:30). The tamarisk may well have been named arar to reflect the meager appearance of its foliage. But how does the metaphor of this psalm reflect the life of the tamarisk? Feliks points out that during a brief period in spring or early summer, the tamarisk produces small white or pink flowers that will eventually yield small seeds. The flowers are not dramatic or impressive, but as the psalm implies, they represent a modest renewal, and as reproductive organs, the possibility of a new generation.

Sigmund Freud is reputed to have said that anatomy is destiny. Perhaps we can paraphrase this famous remark, having shown that sometimes, botany is theology.

Many readers may have a cursory familiarity with the second chapter of Mishna Shabbat, the tractate of mishna dealing with the laws of the Sabbath. In many synagogues, this chapter is customarily read by worshippers on the eve of the Sabbath to allow latecomers time to complete any prayers they may have missed.

The beginning of this chapter deals with the construction and kindling of the Sabbath lights. These lights were originally oil lamps, though wax candles have replaced oil in nearly all Jewish communities. Among other things, the mishna rules out fuels and wicks made of materials that burn unevenly or produce unpleasant smoke or odors.

In the third mishna of the chapter, linen fibers are also forbidden because they may become ritually impure through proximity to a corpse. The medieval Spanish Jewish commentator Ovadia of Bartenura (known to students of the mishna as “the Bartenura”) explains that fibers obtained from annuals-plants that must be grown from seed each year-are not subject to this concern and may be used freely as wicks for Sabbath lights. As example of a fiber derived from an annual plant, he cites hemp. Writing in Hebrew, the Bartenura refers to this plant as “kanvos” (kuf nun vet vov samech). This word, recognizable in English as “canvas”, is derived from “cannabis”, the Latin name for the hemp or marijuana plant. Aside from its notoriety as a drug plant, cannabis has long been grown for use as a fiber. Canvas tents and sacks and hemp rope are familiar products derived from this species. The fiber has no pharmaceutical properties, and admirers of the Bartenura may rest assured that the joy his Sabbath lights inspired was not drug-induced.

One of the highlights of the Exodus from Egypt and its commemoration in ancient times was the sacrifice and consumption of the Paschal lamb, described in Exodus 12:3-11. A lamb was to be roasted whole and consumed in its entirety by each household. There were to be no leftovers: If the lamb provided more meat than the family could consume at one sitting, then the party was expanded to include friends and neighbors. Although there are no animal sacrifices in Judaism today, the Passover seder meal is still a time for a large, convivial feast with one’s extended family and friends.

Exodus 12:8-9 describes the cooking of the lamb. It is to be thoroughly roasted directly over a fire; it may not be eaten braised, stewed, or raw in part or whole. In view of the great importance of this sacrifice, it is puzzling that the Torah warns us twice in these verses against preparing it in any way but fire roasting. The importance of this requirement is underscored by the fact that after verse 8 creates a positive commandment that the lamb be roasted, verse 9 follows with a negative commandment—not to eat the lamb after cooking it in any other way. Negative commandments are normally considered stronger than positive ones: A prohibition overrides a conflicting positive commandment, and the penalty for violation of a prohibition is generally stronger than the penalty for failing to carry out a prescribed positive action.

The Talmud (Pesachim 74a) discusses how to ensure that the Paschal lamb is cooked properly. These deliberations reveal some fascinating insights into plant anatomy and the physics of a barbecue. The discussants agree near the outset that the lamb should be roasted on a spit. However, the suitability of various materials for this spit is the subject of some debate. Metals are rejected on the grounds that “if part of a metal object is hot, then all of it is hot”. Heating of a metal spit would cause the part of the meat in contact with the spit to cook internally due to contact with the hot metal. The meat that was cooked by thermal conduction from the metal would then be wasted, because it had not been fire-roasted and therefore may not be eaten. The rabbis apparently recognized the great thermal conductivity of metals, and turned the discussion toward the relative merits of various species of wood. However, Rabbi Yehudah offers a minority opinion. Arguing from the observation that the part of a wooden spit that is inside the meat is not charred during cooking, he points out that the spit’s exposed ends are warmed directly by the heat radiating from the fire. Therefore, he reasons, the part of a metal spit that is within the meat is insulated from the fire, and will remain cool. It is certainly true that most of the heating of the meat and spit that occurs during fire-roasting is due to the thermal radiation (infrared radiation) and upward convection of hot smoke and gases from the fire. However, objects heated by exposure to a fire also conduct heat to their interiors, and as Rabbi Yehudah’s companions reminded him, “When part of this [metal] is hot, all of it becomes hot; when part of this [wood] becomes hot, not all of it becomes hot”. Wood is less conductive than metal.

What kind of wood should be used for the spit? Does it matter? The mishna that is the basis of this discussion begins with the presumption that one should use pomegranate wood. After rejecting metal as a material, the gemara (discussion and analysis of the mishna) considers and rejects the wood of the date palm, because it contains water-filled channels. The concern is that when heated, the water contained in these channels would cook the internal meat, invalidating the sacrifice. Rashi, the great medieval French Jewish commentator on Bible and Talmud offers an explanation of this statement that suggests the gemara is referring to the fine tubes known to botanists as xylem vessels. In a live tree or other plant, these vessels form a network that carries water from the roots throughout the entire plant. However, this is problematic: If the presence of xylem would disqualify a tree species for this use, then no wood would be acceptable, for all wood contains xylem. It is possible that the gemara’s objection to palm wood is based on the fact that in palm trunks, small clusters of xylem vessels form visible fibers scattered throughout a matrix of softer, moister “ground tissue”. Unlike other trees, palms do not grow stouter by forming rings of hard wood. They simply produce more ground tissue and scattered xylem bundles. When a palm-wood spit is heated, moisture from the ground tissue can easily pass through the xylem into the surrounding meat. However, the scattered xylem bundles in a palm trunk are very thin, and so appear to the naked eye like solid fibers. A microscope is needed to see that they are hollow, making it unlikely that Rashi or the gemara were aware of their structure. It is more likely that the gemara is referring to the midrib and petiole, or leaf stalk, of the palm frond, which contains numerous xylem vessels that are large enough to see with the unaided eye. This spear-like structure is also ideally shaped for use as a spit, and when dry, it is suitably hard and woody.

The wood of a fig tree or a young sapling of any species is also found to be unacceptable, because their stems are not completely woody. Instead, their centers consist of soft, moist pith. Again, heating such wood would lead to invalid moist cooking of the internal meat. The carob tree and sycomore fig (Ficus sycomorus, no relation to the American sycamore) are considered next. These trees produce dense, highly branched canopies. Reflecting this fact, the gemara expresses concern that a spit cut from either of these trees would contain knots where the branches had been cut off. The severed xylem tubes at the knots could exude sap into the meat and like the fig, cause the meat to be cooked in liquid. This objection is not raised against the use of palm wood, probably because most species of palms are usually unbranched.

Readers who have seen pomegranate trees will be able to anticipate the gemara’s next question at this point: Pomegranate trees also have many branches. Wouldn’t their wood be as likely as that of a carob or a sycomore to contain knots? The gemara first suggests sealing any knots in a pomegranate branch with clay or plaster. Perhaps recognizing that this begs the question (Why not do so with carob or sycomore wood?), it then recommends the use of wood from a young (one year-old) pomegranate tree. Presumably, such a young tree would have developed enough woody tissue to obliterate the pithy center of the juvenile trunk, but would not yet have produced branches of such a size that the knots where they had been cut off would pose a risk of sap leakage. Rather, the only exposed cut ends of xylem vessels would be at the ends of the spit, outside of the meat.

The laws of the Paschal lamb are discussed by the Rambam (Maimonides) in his magnum opus, the Mishna Torah, an encyclopedic code of Jewish law. In the section devoted to sacrifices, he summarizes the results of the Talmudic discussion described above (Hilchot Korban Pesach 10:8). There, he departs from the usual catalog of prescriptions (“one must…) and prohibitions (“One must not…”) to note simply that “they used a spit of pomegranate wood”. Some commentators have suggested that the shift to plain descriptive language here implies that while the Rambam considers pomegranate wood preferable (“min hamuvchar”), he does not regard it as absolutely necessary, and any hard, dry, knot-free wood may be used.

Julia F. Morton has written about the pomegranate, including the uses of its wood, in her book “Fruits of Warm Climates”. Her chapter on pomegranates (Morton, J. 1987. Pomegranate. p. 352–355 in Fruits of Warm Climates. Julia F. Morton, Miami, FL) has been reproduced on-line at:
http://www.hort.purdue.edu/newcrop/morton/pomegranate.html

There, readers will find a description of the pomegranate as a source of small-diameter lumber, perhaps suitable as a spit for a lamb roast:

The pale-yellow wood is very hard and, while available only in small dimensions, is used for walking-sticks and in woodcrafts.

It is also interesting to note some of Morton’s other comments on the pomegranate. The bark contains a number of bitter medicinal compounds. One of these is isopelletierine, which is used to kill tapeworms. The bark has also been found to be toxic to parasitic flatworms. In view of the biblical requirement to roast the entire lamb, including its intestines, these properties of pomegranate bark may have been important to public health in Temple times. In fact, the Talmud’s discussion of the roasting of the Paschal lamb describes the placement of the intestines outside of the carcass on the pomegranate wood spit, where any worm-infested intestines would roast in contact with the medicinal bark. Presumably, the worm-killing compounds in the bark helped to ensure that the roasted intestines were free of parasites.

Surprisingly, neither the gemara’s nor the Rambam’s discussion of the pomegranate spit considers the problem of the biblical prohibition of destroying fruit trees for the sake of their wood. (Deuteronomy 20:19-29). The Talmud does accept the possibility of a cost-benefit analysis in the application of this commandment. For example, it permits the uprooting of a vineyard or orchard when replacing it with another crop would be more profitable (Baba Kama 91b). Whether this principle was understood implicitly to exempt the cutting of pomegranate saplings for the purpose of the Paschal sacrifice, or whether the issue was simply allowed to rest after the destruction of the second Temple and cessation of animal sacrifices is unclear to me. Certainly a great deal of wood must have been cut each year to enable each family to enjoy the Paschal feast. I would welcome hearing from any reader who has an answer to this question.

Why does the Torah give such importance to the roasting of the Paschal lamb? The medieval Spanish Jewish commentator Avraham ibn Ezra suggests an explanation. In his commentary on Exodus 12:8-9, ibn Ezra reports (on the authority of “the sages of Spain”) that the most elegant preparation of meat, favored by epicurean royalty, is a sort of gentle poaching or steaming in a double boiler or bain-marie. Perhaps, just as we eat matzah, “the bread of poverty,” thumbing our noses at Egyptian leavened bread, and our ancestors ate the Paschal lamb, turning their backs on Egyptian polytheism, ibn Ezra is suggesting that the roasting of this lamb is meant to remind us that the simple barbecue we ate as desert nomads is preferable to the delicacies of the aristocracy, consumed at the expense of an enslaved people.

NOTE: This essay is an excerpt from the popular Torah Flora live program “Three Mitzvot of Pesach.” For information about live Torah Flora programs, see Events or e-mail jon@torahflora.org.