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CHAPTER 1

Standing Before God: Purity and

Impurity in the Synagogue

Blessed are you … who has sanctified us with his commandments … separating us from impurity and cautioning us to beware of menstruants and (their) discharges.

—Eleazar b. Judah, Sefer Rokeah, #317, p. 195

Rashi and his students produced a number of books that detail the customs observed in their communities.¹ In several such works, there is a recurring passage that describes a practice attributed to select women of their time:

There are women who refrain from entering the synagogue when they are menstrually impure although they do not need to do so. So why do they do this? If they believe that the synagogue is like the Temple, then why do they enter even after having immersed?² … In that case, one should avoid entering the sanctuary forever, [that is] until a sacrifice is brought in the future (after the arrival of the Messiah). But if the synagogue differs from the Temple, they should surely enter. After all, we [men] are all impure due to nocturnal emissions and [exposure to] death and insects, yet we [still] enter the synagogue. Thus we deduce that [a synagogue] is not like the Temple, and women may [also] enter. But in any event, it is a place of purity and [these women] are acting admirably (yafeh hen osot).³

According to this text, some medieval Jewish women avoided the synagogue when they were menstruating, even though this practice was not required by halakhah, and their decision was considered praiseworthy. As in most religious cultures, medieval Judaism valued engagement in communal prayer in a specially designated venue as a preferred manner of communicating with God. In the medieval Jewish context, prayer services were primarily conducted in the synagogue⁴ and necessitated the presence of a male quorum.⁵ In this citation attributed to Rashi, certain women who were accustomed to attending prayers with their congregation chose to express their devotion to God and respect toward their community by refraining from entering the synagogue during their menstrual cycles.⁶ Their decision can be read as paradoxical, since presence rather than absence often defines piety.

As noted in the introduction, the search for popular piety straddles the boundaries between the individual and communal spheres. Each Jew who engaged in religious practices, both “pious” and conventional, did so in anticipation of ultimately being personally judged by God. However, their actions were also expected to have bearing on the standing of the congregation as a whole. As such, concerns about corporeal purity were understood to have ramifications for individuals and for the entire community.

This chapter discusses the heightened sensitivities to physical purity and impurity that led to pious practices which influenced participation in synagogue prayer.⁷ By tracing the development of observances that relate to corporeal purity in medieval Ashkenaz, this chapter investigates how presence (and absence) in the synagogue came to signify piety and the extent to which concerns about bodily purity became correlated with gender.⁸ After examining the evidence for these practices and their developments among Ashkenazic Jewry during the High Middle Ages, I then situate this data within the framework of Christian customs that were associated with female and male bodily purity and access to sacred spaces, especially entering the church to celebrate Mass. This contextualized investigation leads to the conclusion that the medieval Christian environment provides essential data for understanding the development of Jewish customs and ideas on the relationship between personal purity and communal participation in sacred spaces.

Absence and Presence in the Medieval Synagogue

It would not be an exaggeration to claim that the synagogue was the institution par excellence of medieval Jewish life, as the setting where the community prayed, shared meals, conducted legal discussions, celebrated and commemorated life-cycle rituals, and gathered in times of joy and crisis alike.⁹ The synagogue symbolized Jewish distinctiveness for adherents of other religions while it constituted a common space for Jews themselves.¹⁰ “Interrupting prayers” (a juridical procedure that involved imposing a break during prayer services so an individual’s complaint could be voiced and addressed) and herem (excommunication—the ultimate punishment, regularly exercised in medieval Europe) were effective precisely because of the close-knit nature of the Jewish community and the constant interdependence that bound the average Jew to the synagogue and related communal institutions.¹¹

Prayer services were typically held in synagogue: twice a day on weekdays¹² and with more elaborate formats and schedules on the Sabbath, festivals, and fast days. Almost all medieval communities, except for the very smallest, had at least one synagogue,¹³ which would be located in buildings designated for communal purposes or in dedicated rooms within private homes.¹⁴

Despite serving as the venue for a full range of Jewish communal gatherings,¹⁵ few studies have examined the synagogue as a center for social interaction, a forum for communal policies and religious politics, and a locus where piety was constantly expressed, monitored, and assessed. Among the scholars that have noted the social significance of the synagogue, Israel Abrahams opens Jewish Life in the Middle Ages by describing the synagogue as the “centre of social life” and illustrates this idea with several examples. The vast geographic and temporal sweep of his focus, however, on medieval Europe from north to south and on sources from the tenth to eighteenth centuries, precludes a comprehensive discussion of his claims.¹⁶ In his study of the function of the synagogue in the late Middle Ages, Jacob Katz primarily treats the synagogue as a religious setting, with minimal attention to its other roles.¹⁷ In more recent contributions to this line of inquiry, Robert Bonfil has discussed the synagogue in comparison to the medieval church and as a focal point of Jewish social life. He emphasizes the synagogue as a general meeting place where Jews from all strata of society would encounter each other and where the sacred and the profane would meet, emblematic of Jewish time and space.¹⁸ Alick Isaacs depicts the synagogue as a social center by focusing on the Torah, through public readings and other rituals related to it.¹⁹ Simha Goldin has explored the role of the synagogue in social mediation and community gatherings, especially as a setting for the socialization of children.²⁰

In contrast to these studies, most research to date has traced the history of specific synagogue-based prayers or religious practices, subjects that pertained most directly to learned male members of the community, particularly religious leaders who determined the order of services and, in some cases, wrote liturgical compositions or introduced prayers to their congregations.²¹ These studies presuppose synagogues that were populated by Jews who shared a high degree of liturgical competence. However, as Ephraim Kanarfogel has recently suggested, it is unlikely that this standard characterized Jewish men in medieval Ashkenaz, much less their female counterparts.²²

Irrespective of their literacy levels, medieval Jews seem to have attended prayer services regularly. Nevertheless, a range of factors prevented full participation in the synagogue. Simply stated, laxity may well have been the primary deterrent, a quality that is rarely mentioned in medieval sources but was probably manifest in varied if inconsistent ways.²³ In stark contrast to this passive causality, excommunication constituted another cause for keeping a distance; however, permanent banishment from the community cannot be placed on a spectrum with piety except perhaps as its opposite.

Numerous explanations underlie intentional decisions to refrain from attending synagogue, among them a pious stance to avoid participation if one deemed that the rituals were not being conducted properly.²⁴ In a unique case from the late thirteenth century, Meir b. Barukh of Rothenburg (d. 1293), in a ruling that stands out for its passion and intensity, instructs men to leave the synagogue rather than participate in circumcisions where women serve as ba’alot brit (formal participants in the circumcision ritual), bringing the infants into the sanctuary and holding them on their laps during the ceremony. Meir of Rothenburg himself enlists the language of piety in his reasoning: “Any man who fears the Lord should leave the synagogue.”²⁵

The extreme directive conveyed in this instruction especially stands out given the absence of comparable instructions in medieval sources. For example, Sefer Hasidim mentions the possibility that a pious man might prefer to pray alone rather than in a synagogue where prayers were not being led according to his standards. In that case, Judah suggests that this pious man should pray at home before going to synagogue, but under no circumstance should he avoid participation in communal services.²⁶ Overall, medieval Jews followed the talmudic teaching that prayers are most efficacious when recited with the community in synagogue.²⁷

Purity and Impurity: Changing Observance

Another reason to distance oneself from the synagogue, and the main subject of this chapter, is impurity. Like all synagogues after the destruction of the Temple, the medieval synagogue was considered a mikdash me’at (a little sanctuary), less holy than the Temple but treated similarly.²⁸ Ashkenazic ideas about the physical impurities that could render men and women temporarily disqualified from attending synagogue, and, as a result, diminish their ability to communicate with God in communal rituals, provide a window not only onto the everyday practices of medieval Jews, but also on some of their understandings of sanctity and the development of these notions over the course of the Middle Ages, especially in gendered terms.

Figure 2. A Jew praying. © Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek Darmstadt. Cod. Or. 13, fol. 38v. Mahzor, Germany, 1348.

Medieval conceptions of purity and impurity are rooted in precedents from the Bible and the Temple period, as first outlined in Leviticus. When the Temple was standing in Jerusalem, any man who experienced a seminal emission was prohibited from entering until he had washed.²⁹ Similarly, any woman who was either menstruating or who held post-partum status and had not yet undergone ritual immersion was barred from bringing a sacrifice to the Temple. This requirement to perform ritual immersion before approaching the Temple applied to other individuals, due to a physical condition or recent action (e.g., lepers or anyone who had been exposed to a corpse).³⁰ These biblical traditions and their implications are debated in rabbinic discourse; thus, ongoing engagement in these topics constitutes part of the medieval Jewish cultural and textual inheritance.

Despite their transmission in rabbinic literature, the applications of Levitical standards of purity received less attention in the medieval world than they did in antiquity. This reduced emphasis is exemplified in discussions about Takanot Ezra, a collection of statutes on central aspects of ritual life that have been attributed to Ezra the Scribe.³¹ The most relevant instruction for our context declares that any man who is impure due to a seminal emission should neither study Torah nor pray before having washed.³² This statute was suspended by the classical rabbis (prior to the medieval period), who reasoned that, after the Temple’s destruction, impurity had become ubiquitous since sacrifice was no longer available as a means for nullifying the effect of contact with the dead or atoning for sins; thus, this restriction had been rendered inapplicable.³³ Nonetheless, from the second half of the first millennium through the Middle Ages, the question of whether men who were ritually impure must wash before entering the synagogue continued, albeit tangentially.³⁴ However, male impurity was no longer defined by sexual relations but rather by incidental nocturnal emissions of semen (keri laylah), which could affect any man.

Most medieval halakhic authorities note that such stringencies were no longer practiced and that men who remained concerned need not worry.³⁵ Even Judah the Pious, who frequently addresses matters of purity, devotes far more attention to instructions for avoiding nocturnal emissions than to guidance on restoring purity after they occur. For example:

Once there was a pious man (or a pietist) who would not lie in his bed on the nights when his wife was niddah [menstrually impure]; rather he would sleep sitting or reclining [in a chair], for he said, “If I lie comfortably in my bed, I would sleep too well and perhaps I might have a nocturnal emission. Rather I should sleep uncomfortably, without a pillow, so I will not see an emission.” [Sometimes] he would stand all night studying Torah.³⁶

In this teaching from Sefer Hasidim, a man who is barred from sexual contact with his wife due to her menstrual impurity fears that he too will become ritually compromised by nocturnal emission; he thereby draws a connection between male and female states of physical impurity.³⁷

This association reflects an imbalance that came to characterize female ritual purity, where menstrual and post-partum blood represented the exception rather than the rule in Jewish praxis. In contrast to all other causes of ritual impurity that had been observed when the Temple existed and were then suspended after its destruction,³⁸ not only did the effect of menstruation continue to have currency, but over time this category of ritual purity became a hallmark of Jewish female identity.³⁹ The laws of menstrual purity cover a category of practices that mainly relate to intimate relations between married couples.⁴⁰ Despite its personal nature, there is evidence that medieval neighbors and fellow community members were aware of each woman’s niddah status according to her apparel since all women wore bigdei niddut, special clothes for menstruation,⁴¹ which differed from their regular attire.⁴² This practice is echoed in a teaching in Sefer Hasidim that, when relevant, men should emphasize their own state of purity by wearing white, following the verse “At all times your clothes should be white” (Eccles. 9:7). However, his comments suggest that this custom was limited to especially pious men.⁴³ Later sources also discuss men wearing white as a demonstration of purity, but those instructions are often in the context of Yom Kippur, when everyone would wear white.⁴⁴

Observance of the laws of menstruation had numerous public implications beyond the realm of attire, including questions regarding women’s synagogue attendance, as the quotation ascribed to Rashi above suggests. According to this source, some women absented themselves from the synagogue during their menstrual cycles because they understood that, as with the Temple, they were excluded from it during times of ritual impurity.⁴⁵ In their analyses of this passage, a number of scholars have attributed this custom to an esoteric text, known as Baraita deNiddah, which was written during the early centuries of the first millennium and contains many strict regulations concerning menstruants and their impurity,⁴⁶ such as “And she shall not come to the Temple” (Lev. 12:4). She is not permitted to enter places of learning or synagogues.”⁴⁷ This teaching is not widely quoted. For example, sources from early medieval Babylonia discuss the applicability of this verse in the absence of the Temple, and draw the opposite conclusion of Baraita deNiddah, declaring women’s avoidance of settings for prayer and study to be excessive.⁴⁸

Whether Rashi and his students were familiar with Baraita deNiddah remains a question of scholarly debate; however, it is likely they did not. None of the writings from Rashi or his school refer to Baraita deNiddah and it is notably absent from the passage cited above.⁴⁹ Moreover, our citation from Rashi indicates that the custom of distancing oneself from the synagogue was not widespread among menstruants in the late eleventh and early twelfth centuries and was an exception rather than the rule.⁵⁰

This practice is mentioned again in several texts from the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Its next appearance, about a century after Rashi, is in Sefer Ra’aviah by Eliezer b. Joel haLevi (1160–1235, known as Ra’aviah). In a discussion concerning men who were impure as a result of seminal emissions, Ra’aviah reports:

Women exercise stringency and piety (nahagu silsul be’atzman u’perishut) when they are impure (niddah) by not entering the synagogue. Moreover, when praying, they do not stand behind women who are impure. I have also seen this written in the words of our Ge’onim, in the language of a baraita that is not found in our tosefta. This custom is indeed valid, just as I have heard of men who behave more and less stringently when they are impure due to nocturnal emissions: those who are more stringent live longer days and years.⁵¹

This passage demonstrates that Ra’aviah was familiar with Baraita deNiddah via a ge’onic source, albeit an unnamed one.⁵² One outstanding aspect of this text, as with the selection from Rashi,⁵³ is Ra’aviah’s statement that women initiated this practice, unprompted by rabbinic authorities, even if this custom received formal approval post-factum. Ra’aviah discusses two restrictions that women took upon themselves: the first reflects the observance noted by Rashi, linking ritual purity to entering the synagogue; the second relates to how women positioned themselves during public prayers. This further constraint regarding location in services does not appear in the versions of Baraita deNiddah that have reached us, but similar limitations appear in thirteenth-century sources (as discussed below).

Both of these texts raise a theme that has received negligible attention to date:⁵⁴ Rashi and Ra’aviah compare the actions of these women to the practices of men who were ritually impure.⁵⁵ Although the text attributed to Rashi does not report any special customs related to men, it comments on male and female impurity, noting that men, who were also impure by definition, attended synagogue seemingly without reservation.⁵⁶ In contrast, Ra’aviah remarks that particularly pious men took care to wash before entering the synagogue after experiencing nocturnal emissions. This male observance is repeated in other twelfth- and thirteenth-century medieval texts as well, usually in connection to preparations for Yom Kippur, when many men immersed⁵⁷ Although most sources state unequivocally that men participated in prayers in all states of purity and impurity, texts such as Ra’aviah’s acknowledge the existence of stricter approaches. More exacting standards are also articulated in Sefer Hasidim, where men are instructed to wash⁵⁸ after sexual relations before praying.⁵⁹

In sum, irrespective of their status with regard to purity, men participated fully in communal prayers throughout the medieval period, as textual evidence from northern France and Germany demonstrates with a few suggestions of singular exceptions. In the case of women, the sources attributed to Rashi and Ra’aviah indicate that a segment of especially pious women placed a self-imposed exclusion on synagogue participation during their menstrual cycles, and that this stringency could extend to physically distancing themselves during public prayers from their peers who were menstrually impure.

This idea is further developed by Eleazar b. Judah of Worms (d. 1230), who notes: “[A menstruant] is not permitted to enter the synagogue until she immerses in water because [even] her saliva [has the power to] contaminate.”⁶⁰ This statement represents a major shift: Eleazar is not referring to a cohort of pious women who chose this custom; rather, he describes a prohibition that could keep all menstruants from entering the synagogue. Eleazar attributes this exclusion to Ma’aseh haGe’onim, an early Ashkenazic composition, but no such ruling appears in that book as we know it today.⁶¹

Sefer Likutei haPardes (attributed to the Rashi school, dated to thirteenth-century Italy) reports an intensification of this restriction that mirrors the language of Sefer Ra’aviah: “And there are women who abstain from entering the synagogue when they are menstruants and from seeing the Torah, and from touching the book (the Torah scroll). This is an unnecessary stringency … but it is a holy place and they are acting appropriately. May they be blessed in this world and in the World to Come.”⁶²

Isaac b. Moses (d. ca. 1250), the author of Sefer Or Zaru’a and a student of Ra’aviah and Eleazar of Worms, also writes about this practice. He paraphrases Ra’aviah almost verbatim.⁶³ His son, Haim b. Isaac, wrote: “She should not say the name of God when she is menstrually impure; furthermore, she is forbidden from entering the synagogue on any day when she sees [blood] until she is white [not bleeding].”⁶⁴ Haim altered some of the details: rather than depicting pious women praying at a distance from impure peers, he suggested that menstruating women should stay away from the synagogue entirely. Moreover, his tone varies substantially from that of his father. Haim does not differentiate between pious women who choose to keep a distance from the synagogue and other women. Rather, following Eleazar of Worms, he recommends that all menstruants be proscribed from entering the synagogue.

By the late thirteenth century, this prohibition seems to have become an accepted standard as indicated by Isaac b. Meir haLevi of Düren (a student of Meir b. Barukh from the second half of the thirteenth century), who wrote what can be considered the earliest manual pertaining to the laws of menstruation, Sha’arei Dura. His instructions echo the words of Isaac b. Moses (who, as we have seen, cited and built on teachings from Ra’aviah):

A woman who is menstruating should not wear fine clothing or adorn herself, comb her hair or cut her nails. Neither should she say the name of God on the days when she menstruates nor should she enter the synagogue on any day when she sees [blood] until she is white. For it says: “And she shall not touch the holy and she shall not come to the Temple” (Lev. 12: 4). That [is to say,] she should not bring a sacrifice until seven clean days [have been completed]. This is what it says in Sefer haMiktzo’ot, but Rashi permitted her to come to synagogue.⁶⁵

Isaac b. Meir does not specify that this course of action is that of pious women. Rather he suggests that this is the custom at large.

Over a century later, in his Sefer haAgur, Jacob b. Judah Landau (fifteenth century) mentions only a prohibition against menstruants seeing the Torah,⁶⁶ whereas Isaac b. Meir of Düren noted a dual warning against both entering the synagogue and saying God’s name during menstruation. Landau’s account also introduces a new prooftext from Sefer haMiktzo’ot, a mid-eleventh-century source that transmits many rulings from Babylonian Ge’onim and is often quoted in late medieval Ashkenazic writings.⁶⁷ Simcha Emanuel has recently proposed that, in this particular case, thirteenth- and fourteenth-century rabbis were constructing a source rather than citing directly from the corpus available to them.⁶⁸ He proposes that this “construction” was correlated to innovative practices that were introduced at that time and the consequent search for precedents to validate them.⁶⁹

Thus not only had the motivations for these customs changed, but the norms were in flux. The instructions provided in the sources cited above are ambiguous with respect to intended duration of these restrictions, for Jewish women’s menstrual impurity consisted of two distinct parts. The first encompassed the days when blood was seen. After bleeding ceased, women counted seven days, known as the “clean” or “white” days (because of the white clothing worn on those days);⁷⁰ not until that second set of days was complete would women immerse in the mikveh (the ritual bath) and resume sexual relations with their husbands.⁷¹ Did women refrain from going to synagogue and saying God’s name throughout their entire time of ritual impurity, or only when they were bleeding? Both Haim b. Isaac and Isaac b. Meir specify that these restrictions were in effect only while a woman was bleeding, “until she is white” (ad shetitlaben).⁷² Only Eleazar of Worms instructed that a woman must absent herself from synagogue “until she immerses in water.”⁷³

Northern French sources do not discuss women’s presence in the synagogue with relation to menstruation, despite the initial appearance of this theme in texts attributed to Rashi. For example, thirteenth-century compendia that discuss the laws of menstruation, such as Semag (Sefer Mitzvot Gadol) by Moses of Coucy and Semak (Sefer Mitzvot Katan) by Isaac of Corbeil (d. 1280), mention no such restrictions.⁷⁴

Thus, evidence for these restrictions is predominantly German in origin. These sources indicate that the practice of menstruants refraining from synagogue attendance continued well into the early modern period among Ashkenazic Jews. For example, in Sefer Terumat haDeshen, Israel Isserlein (1390–1460) discussed this custom as it was practiced in his lifetime:

With regard to women who are impure, it is true that I have allowed them on the High Holidays and other days when many of them gather at the synagogue to hear the prayers and the [Torah] readings. And I have based my position on Rashi, who allowed women in [his writings on] the Laws of Niddah on account of spiritual pleasure (nahat ruah),⁷⁵ since [the prevailing custom] saddened their spirits and led to heartbreak⁷⁶ while the rest of the community was gathering and they were left standing outside…. Look in the Laws of Niddah written by my esteemed uncle, Aaron,⁷⁷ and you will see that he copied from Sefer Or Zaru’a in the name of the Ge’onim, where it seems to be absolutely forbidden [for menstruating women to enter the synagogue], but he also noted that in Sefer Or Zaru’a⁷⁸ certain women refrain [from entering the synagogue] and act admirably. From this [opinion] one can understand that this [practice is prompted by] enthusiasm (zerizut) and piety alone [and is therefore not required].⁷⁹

Isserlein’s discussion underlines not only the popularity of this custom but also suggests that women may have stood outside rather than enter the synagogue, a possibility that is also raised by the pair of verbs used by the compiler in Sefer Likutei haPardes.⁸⁰ Isserlein highlights the individual and communal significance of synagogue attendance by noting the sorrow caused to women who were excluded from synagogue rituals, especially on holidays. Later sources, such as the commentary on the Shulhan Arukh by Remah (Moses Isserles, 1525–1572), include a summary of Isserlein’s opinion but then counter his prohibition by explicitly charging women to enter the synagogue:

Some have written that during the days of her discharge a menstruant may not enter a synagogue, pray, mention God’s name or touch a Hebrew book, but others say that she is permitted [to perform] all these [acts], and this [latter] view is correct. However, the practice in these countries [meaning Ashkenazic lands] follows the first opinion, although during white days their custom is to allow [her to perform all these acts]. Even where the stringent practice is upheld, on the Days of Awe and other such occasions when many gather in synagogue, [menstruating women] are permitted to enter the synagogue like other women on account of their great sadness if everyone gathers [in synagogue] but they remain outside.⁸¹

These restrictions that pertain to menstrual impurity and the synagogue belong to a broader class of practices relating to menstruation that were enforced during the High Middle Ages. Northern French and German sources instruct men to curtail physical contact with their wives throughout both phases of niddah. Not only was direct touch restricted, but handling common objects was also regulated (e.g., couples were not to eat from the same bowls or to pass objects directly to one another).⁸² In contrast to synagogue attendance, these domestic constraints were applied from the onset of bleeding until the woman had immersed. Indeed, some thirteenth- and fourteenth-century sources indicate that the rabbis were aware that they were demanding a degree of strictness that differed from previous generations.⁸³ Moreover, regulations regarding purity after childbirth also became much more rigorous during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, requiring couples to extend their period of abstinence from sexual activity from one week to at least six weeks.⁸⁴ As such, restricting menstruants from synagogue participation is consistent with stricter observances of that era. Not until the sixteenth century—when rabbinic authorities recognized that blocking menstruant women from synagogue attendance caused extreme distress and isolation—was this custom suspended.⁸⁵

If we review the customs regarding the physical presence of ritually impure women in the synagogue in medieval Ashkenaz, we see that during the late eleventh and twelfth centuries some highly observant women stopped entering the synagogue while they were menstruating as an expression of reverence and piety. In Germany (at least), this behavior became increasingly normative for all women by the late thirteenth or early fourteenth centuries. Interestingly, this practice was only applied during the first phase of menstruation, whereas women returned to the synagogue when their “white days” had begun, without waiting until immersion.⁸⁶

Although the customs associated with menstruants have parallels with respect to other causes of female impurity, such as immediate post-partum status, no evidence of ritually impure men remaining outside the synagogue has been recorded—neither at their own initiative nor by rabbinic instruction—despite the endorsement of such restrictions by Ra’aviah, Judah the Pious, and other authorities. This disparity comes without surprise since, as Sharon Koren has noted, it follows the asymmetrical biblical attitudes that show greater leniency toward male impurity than its female parallels. Furthermore, this approach to male impurity is congruent with communal reliance on a quorum of men to hold prayer services; had men been instructed to avoid synagogue during their states of impurity, the established rhythm of public prayer might have been endangered!

Consequently, even the most pious men went to synagogue regularly, without taking their purity status into account; while these individuals were more meticulous about washing after nocturnal emissions, under no circumstances were they dissuaded (much less prohibited) from entering the synagogue. Rather, men were encouraged to temper the conscious and unconscious sexual thoughts that caused their impurity. Furthermore, impurity was never raised as a factor that might interfere with men’s participation in prayers services or their recitation of blessings. This, of course, differs significantly from the religious imperatives linked to menstruation, the manifestation of an involuntary bodily function.

As we have seen, among women, the inception of “white days” (and in some cases, immersion) marked their return to regular synagogue attendance, and ritual immersion punctuated their cycle of sexual relations. Even though men’s immersion did not typically determine their cycles of religious activity in the same way, male immersion emerged as a custom on the eve of the Day of Atonement. Medieval sources identify this as a practice that was intended to substitute for all immersions that should technically have been performed during the remainder of the year in addition to its more obvious assurance of male purity on the holiest of days.⁸⁷ Let us now turn to this annual custom to explore how it might shed light on rituals that were performed by women throughout the year.

Men, Women, and Angels

The idea that the Day of Atonement requires a heightened level of purity is not a medieval innovation. In the Bible, it is already described as a day of utmost significance, when purity was crucial. This principle was operative when the Temple stood and following its destruction. The Day of Atonement’s unique status is evident from rabbinic texts that describe priestly rites in the Temple and in medieval discussions of Yom Kippur, which are especially relevant to our study given their attention to the fear of a nocturnal emission on this holy day. Such an occurrence was understood as a signal that the affected man must immediately repent lest he die in the coming year.⁸⁸ In many ways, this concern represented a commitment to piety for the entire community since all men were elevated to the status of the high priest in the Temple on Yom Kippur. As such, efforts to achieve a state of purity were intrinsic to preparing for the holiest day in the Jewish calendar.⁸⁹

Rabbinic and medieval sources provide various explanations of the need for purity and thus for immersion prior to Yom Kippur.⁹⁰ The midrashic image of all Israel—men, women, and children—poised like angels before God on Yom Kippur had enduring popularity: originating in Midrash Leviticus Rabbah, it was often repeated by later generations,⁹¹ as in Mahzor Vitry: “Yom Kippur arrives and all Israel fasts. Men, women, and children wear white, like the angels who serve God (malakhei sharet). They stand barefoot, like the dead. [In response,] God is filled with mercy and grants atonement for all their sins.”⁹²

While repentance (teshuvah) is the obvious reason for fasting, numerous medieval sources make explicit the connection between this midrash and purification from nocturnal emissions.⁹³ The most marked among them is a fifteenth-century reference to Judel, son of Shalom of Neustadt:⁹⁴ “Judel, the son of our teacher Shalom, states that it seems to him that women should not immerse in preparation for Yom Kippur eve because they cannot be like angels.”⁹⁵ The halakhic topic at issue here is whether immersion in the mikveh on the eve of Yom Kippur was a component of repentance that every Jewish adult performed before Judgment Day,⁹⁶ or whether this ritual was carried out to release men from impurities related to nocturnal emissions. The latter process could not apply to women since, by definition, the sin of nocturnal emission does not pertain to them.

Judel assumes that immersion prior to Yom Kippur counteracts the impurity caused by nocturnal emissions and, since this matter is uniquely related to male anatomy, women need not perform this ritual. However, this physiological distinction bears no relationship to his rationale: Judel reasons that women need not immerse because, in contrast to men, they cannot be like angels. His words reflect a gendered hierarchy that depicts a world where God reigns, followed by angels, men, and, lastly, women.

Judel’s teaching provides fertile ground for further examination of the main issues that we have seen so far. Male impurity did not present an impediment to entering the sanctuary or participating in prayer; even the men who were most cautious about ritual impurity would wash, then attend synagogue, without immersion in the mikveh. On Yom Kippur, an additional level of stringency was prescribed and, therefore, many men immersed in preparation for that most holy day.⁹⁷ In the early thirteenth century, Eleazar of Worms suggested that exceptionally pious men (perushim) immersed before Yom Kippur, whereas by the fifteenth century, as we have seen, this practice had become customary for all men.⁹⁸

As we have already seen, women immersed regularly as a component of maintaining menstrual purity.⁹⁹ The passage by Judel implies that some women also immersed on the eve of Yom Kippur, and his objection focuses on that practice.¹⁰⁰ Although the Yom Kippur eve immersion is mentioned frequently in sources from the thirteenth to fifteenth centuries,¹⁰¹ only Jacob Moellin (known as the Maharil, 1360–1427) explicitly describes it as an observance for both men and women:¹⁰²

Mahari Segal (an acronym for Maharil’s name) says that one can argue that [immersion] is for the sake of repentance since it is customary for men and women, youth and virgins who have reached bar and bat mitzvah [age] to immerse [on Yom Kippur eve]. Clearly men immerse because of seminal impurity or because they touched some impurity, but why do the women immerse, given that they don’t emit semen? The same reasoning applies to elderly (menopausal) women, and to youth and virgins whose bodies are clean from any impurity. Rather [this immersion] is certainly on account of repentance.¹⁰³

In contrast to Judel, Maharil unambiguously separates this immersion from purity. Although Maharil’s opinion was widely accepted, Judel’s comment allows for further reflection on medieval Jewish notions of corporeal purity.

Judel’s comments cast a doubt on women’s potential to be like angels. This comparison between Jews and angels originated in late antiquity. Texts from that era discuss how men and women could resemble angels, although some late antique sources claim that men are more capable of reaching the level of angels (beings who were considered asexual by their very nature).¹⁰⁴ Medieval sources continue to compare both men and women to angels, as, for example, in the thirteenth-century composition Semag:¹⁰⁵

When God created the world, he created heaven and earth on the first day and the angels on the second day. [The angels] had no evil inclination but know how to worship and serve their Creator, whereas animals possess evil desires but know not how to serve their Creator. On the sixth day, he created man, who resembles both angels and animals. For that reason, when a human eats, drinks or goes to sleep, it should not be for the sake of pleasure, like an animal. Rather he should eat with the intention of gaining the strength needed to worship God as angels do.¹⁰⁶

This passage features humanity—without distinguishing between men and women—as an intermediary category of beings that share certain characteristics with angels and others with animals, respectively.¹⁰⁷

However, a close reading of other passages from thirteenth-century Germany reveals that women were often viewed as an impediment to men becoming like angels. For example, Judah the Pious writes: “He who stops himself¹⁰⁸ from looking at women and avoids idle talk with them will surpass the angels who serve God.”¹⁰⁹ This passage continues by drawing a contrast between angels, humans who are unable to restrain their tempers, and menstruant women:

And also, a man should avoid looking at an angry individual because (in that moment of anger) a bad angel is present [and encourages the angry one] to take swift revenge and [also at that instant, the bad angel] causes him (the one who gazed upon the other’s angry state) to forget all that he has learned. The same is true for one who looks at a woman who is menstruating whose blood is in her.¹¹⁰

Although this selection from Sefer Hasidim does not deny that women could be like angels, it presents women as an obstacle to the fulfillment of male spirituality. The idea presented by Judel in the fifteenth century takes this understanding a step further by portraying women as categorically incapable of resembling angels.

If this trajectory is examined alongside the changing expectations of menstruants in the synagogue during the High Middle Ages that we mapped out above, the contours of a transition become quite evident. Purity regulations for all women became more stringent while men entered the synagogue without restriction. How can these shifting concepts and practices be elucidated? Prior research has generated two lines of reasoning to explain why women stopped attending synagogue during menstruation. Some scholars have termed the emergence of women’s self-imposed constraints in earlier sources and the widespread adoption of those strict beliefs and practices in later sources as “a natural response.” This position has most recently been articulated by Bitha Har-Shefi, who contends that women were preserving a custom inherited from earlier generations of women that concretizes inherent fears and anxieties related to blood.¹¹¹ However, as feminist scholarship and cultural studies demonstrate, it is hard to define natural responses, since all rituals are products of the cultural milieu where they develop and are performed. Moreover, characterizing a certain behavior as “natural” cannot explain adaptations over time, since stability rather than dynamism would be expected in such a paradigm.¹¹² Thus our search for catalysts behind the transformations that occurred in medieval Ashkenaz between the generations of Rashi and Judel continues.

Figure 3. Entrance to the Garden of Eden. From Birds’ Head Haggadah. Note that only men are portrayed here. © Israel Museum, Jerusalem. B46.04.0912; 180/057 fol. 33r, detail. Southern Germany, ca. 1300.

A more common explanation has linked these changing practices—with respect to menstruation and male impurity—to increasing familiarity with traditions that originated in late antique Palestine and that spread among Ashkenazic scholars from the twelfth century onward.¹¹³ This hypothesis concentrates on the elite strata of halakhic authorities as catalysts for new practices and rulings. While this approach may provide convincing background for restrictions concerning the seven “white days” recommended by leading rabbis, in my opinion it does not clarify the dynamic process that we have documented concerning women’s physical presence in the synagogue.¹¹⁴

I opened this chapter with a passage from Rashi’s circle that attempts to explain a custom whose genesis stems from the agency of women. While it may be argued that the belief that menstruating women should not enter a synagogue was based on esoteric sources that gained currency over time, such as Baraita deNiddah, if those texts were unknown to men in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, they were surely inaccessible to the women who chose to express their piety by remaining outside the synagogue during Rashi’s lifetime (or perhaps earlier). It is plausible that the strict behavior initiated by these women was more readily accepted and adapted over time due to a growing conversance with Baraita deNiddah and other ge’onic works. Nevertheless, that influence does not alter the sequence of events that emerges from the sources, relating to a custom that was begun by a self-selected group of women that became commonplace as a result of rabbinic directives.¹¹⁵ At this point, let us turn to the Christian setting in which Ashkenazic Jews lived to contextualize these developments in custom and belief.

Impurity, Accessing the Sacred, and Approximating

Angels: A Christian Comparison

Examinations of medieval northern European Christian communities in recent works by Rob Meens, Charles de Miramon, and other scholars reveal significant parallels to Jewish trends with regard to longstanding attitudes toward menstrual blood and male impurity. The question of whether it is appropriate for impure men and menstruating women to enter a church and participate in religious rituals—and particularly to approach the altar during Mass—has been debated by Christian theologians since late antiquity.¹¹⁶ In Christian writings as in Jewish sources, male and female impurity are often treated as two aspects of a single topic. The opinion attributed to Gregory the Great (540–604) that pronounced sexual relations and church attendance to be permissible during times of impurity reached northern Europe through eighth-century compositions by the Venerable Bede (673–735):

Apart from childbirth, women are forbidden from intercourse with their husbands during their ordinary periods…. Nevertheless a woman must not be prohibited from entering a church during her usual periods, for this natural overflowing cannot be reckoned a crime: and so it is not fair that she should be deprived from entering the church for that which she suffers unwillingly…. A woman ought not to be forbidden to receive the mystery of the Holy Communion at these times. If out of deep reverence she does not venture to receive it that is praiseworthy. Let women make up their own minds¹¹⁷ and if they do not venture to approach the sacrament of the body and the blood of the Lord when in their periods, they are to be praised for their right thinking: but when as the results of the habits of a religious life, they are carried away by the love of the same mystery, they are not to be prevented, as we said before…. A man who had intercourse with his wife ought not enter the church unless he has washed himself, and even when washed he ought not to enter immediately…. A man then who, after intercourse with his wife has washed, is able to receive the mystery of the Holy Communion, since it is lawful for him, according to what has been said, to enter the church.¹¹⁸

The similarity between these teachings attributed to Gregory and Rashi’s instructions, despite the centuries that divided them, is unmistakable. Both state that while pious menstruants were not required to refrain from public religious observances, their strict behavior was laudable. Moreover, the practice recommended for impure men—washing before entering the church—is based on a shared biblical foundation.¹¹⁹ Despite Gregory’s rejection of women remaining outside the church during their menstrual cycles, Christian communities maintained this practice for centuries. As Pierre Payer has remarked: “This is another example of Gregory’s response to Augustine having little effect on the subsequent tradition in the medieval Church.”¹²⁰ Gregory the Great’s opinion was eventually accepted, but not until the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.¹²¹

During the High Middle Ages, Christian authorities and leaders in northern European dissuaded menstruants from approaching the altar.¹²² For example, in his manual De institutione laicali, Jonah of Orléans (d. 844) praised women who refrained from going to church during their menstrual cycles, declaring a clean body and pure thoughts as prerequisites for entering church and participating in Mass. Jonah’s discussion reveals that adherence to this custom depended on the women themselves and local norms. Burchard of Worms (d. 1025), in his manual The Corrector, prohibited post-partum women from entering church,¹²³ whereas he permitted menstruants to enter church but forbade their participation in Mass. With respect to impure men, these same authorities recommended that they wash prior to entering church and attending Mass.

C. Colt Anderson has recently outlined the centrality that themes of impurity and fear of pollution hold in instructions for medieval clergy and laity.¹²⁴ It is noteworthy that these discussions took place in the same regions where we have seen Jews debating them. Although Christian authorities arrived at conclusions that differed from those reached by their Jewish counterparts, the resonance between the discourses conducted by these two sets of religious leaders is significant.

Gratian (mid-twelfth century) was instrumental in promoting change when he adopted Gregory the Great’s opinion and declared that women could attend church and participate fully in Mass during menstruation.¹²⁵ However, some thirteenth-century texts still caution that menstruants should not approach the altar.¹²⁶ Miramon has argued that during the thirteenth century it became more commonplace for menstruating women to receive communion, whereas limitations on access was transferred to post-partum purity. After childbirth, women were still required to wait several weeks before they could enter the church and undergo a purification ritual that marked their return to the community.¹²⁷ This focus on impurity in relation to childbirth allowed women who would not have children, namely members of female religious orders, to participate in Mass without interruptions caused by their menstrual cycles.

In the case of Christian men, especially religious leadership, Dyan Elliott’s Fallen Bodies and other recent studies have outlined the heightened fear of male impurity among medieval priests and other religious authorities.¹²⁸ During the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, after the sanctification of male celibacy during the Gregorian Reform, the subject of nocturnal emissions was elevated in importance as theologians deliberated on matters of clerical purity.¹²⁹ Analogous to the Jewish sources examined earlier, although these issues had been discussed among Church leaders since late antiquity, the medieval preoccupation with impurity prompted a remarkable shift in discourse.¹³⁰ As Elliott has shown, the greatest attention was directed toward those who had taken vows of celibacy. The perils of impurity at Mass and among the clergy were of paramount concern.¹³¹ Concerns for male impurity dominated this literature, which is hardly surprising since the authors were members of a celibate clerical elite that viewed sexuality with great anxiety.¹³²

The attempts to remedy this danger took two principal forms. The first was a concerted effort to divert responsibility for nocturnal emissions from the clerics themselves. Demons, often disguised as women, were blamed for such occurrences. Elliott has argued that, as a result, women, femininity, and especially menstruants were depicted in negative terms, as menaces lurking in the shadows, ready to sully unsuspecting men. A second strategy for contending with the mounting fear of impurity advocated confession at the earliest opportunity after an incident occurred. The sin of a cleric who repented for his nocturnal emission was easily forgiven.¹³³

Not only did impurity and access to the sacred represent core themes in Christian thought during the High Middle Ages; so, too, did ideas about purity and angels. As R. N. Swanson has noted, the desire to distance the clergy from physical impurity was rooted in the belief that priests should be “angels incarnate” or as close to angels as was humanly attainable. This underscored the impetus for priests to strive to resemble angels, in juxtaposition to women who were merely human.¹³⁴ As Jacqueline Murray has argued, the belief that men could more readily attain a sexless soul dominated twelfth- and thirteenth-century thinking. As in Judaism, angels in Christianity were believed to be asexual; therefore men were better positioned to approximate _them.¹³⁵

Jews, Christians, and Bodily Purity

The different threads presented in this chapter weave a medieval tapestry in which purity and impurity, in general and especially in sacred venues, are depicted as key concerns for Jewish and Christian societies. Each religious community discussed these subjects in light of earlier debates within their respective traditions. These communities articulated commonly held understandings of impurities using shared language, albeit from distinct perspectives. Although these commonalities were specific to Christian Europe in the Middle Ages, they were grounded in antique Judaism. While Jews and Christians continued to debate and discuss menstrual impurity and seminal emissions, contrasting approaches and developments emerged: within medieval Jewish culture, menstruation and its correlated impurity became ever more central, whereas male impurity as well as the relationship between men and angels became a focus of Christian discussions.

It is noteworthy that the geographic scope of the trends and practices analyzed here can only partially be pieced together. While this chapter opens with a source that originated in northern France, the overwhelming majority of the evidence for Jewish practice comes from Germany. Despite this relatively sparse textual evidence, pronouncements concerning the importance of menstrual purity have been attested in contemporaneous writings by French Jews.¹³⁶

An illustration of the Jewish emphasis on menstrual purity can be seen in Sefer Rokeah. Its author, Eleazar of Worms, introduced the section on niddah with a benediction: “Blessed are you, God of Israel, from this world to the next world, who has sanctified us with his commandments, separating us from impurity and cautioning us to beware of menstruants and (their) discharge.”¹³⁷ This blessing was not recited liturgically or in relation to any practice. Rather, Eleazar of Worms used it as a rhetorical device in his writing to underscore the gravity of the topics being presented.¹³⁸ His decision to highlight the significance of menstrual purity in Jewish tradition and in his community, while simultaneously dividing those who adhered to these observances from those who didn’t, mirrored popular sentiment among medieval Jews.

As noted, research by contemporary scholars—including Shaye Cohen, Alexandra Cuffel, Judith Baskin, and David Biale—have demonstrated the bond that tied observance of the laws of menstrual purity to Jewish identity in medieval Europe.¹³⁹ During the High Middle Ages, scrupulous adherence to menstrual purity came to be understood as a major tenet of the Jewish covenant with God. This principle is reflected in the medieval Jewish response to the classic question: If circumcision, an exclusively male ritual, is the defining sign of the covenant in Judaism, how do Jewish females qualify as members of the covenant? Medieval Jewish scholars departed from the traditional answer—that Jewish women belong to the covenant by association with the men in their families—by providing this novel response: “Since God commanded males (to be circumcised) but not females, we may deduce that God commanded that the covenant be sealed at the locus of masculinity, and the blood of menstruation that women observe so they can inform their husbands of the onset of their menstrual cycles is the equivalent of the blood of circumcision.”¹⁴⁰

This idea is stated in similar terms in Sefer Nizzahon Vetus, whose author explains that although Jewish women are not circumcised, they “are accepted [in the covenant] because they watch themselves and carefully observe the prohibitions connected with menstrual blood.”¹⁴¹ These sources suggest that the observance of menstrual purity was vital for Jewish communal identity.

In this vein, many modern scholars have presented medieval Jewish menstrual observances as so unique to Jewish religious culture that it precludes contextualization in a broad European cultural framework except as a symbol of Jewish-Christian difference. To the contrary, this chapter situates Jewish approaches to impurity—menstrual and otherwise—within the surrounding Christian society. From that perspective, the medieval Jewish focus on menstrual impurity may have emerged as a counterweight to the medieval Christian concerns about male impurity.¹⁴²

I am neither positing that Christian discussions of these issues represent the sole impetus for Jewish preoccupation with them nor that Jewish concerns were primary motivating factors in Christian deliberations. Prior to this encounter in Ashkenaz, both Judaism and Christianity had well-established traditions regarding impurity in the sancta that originated in Leviticus and developed according to their respective trajectories over the centuries. I am suggesting, however, that medieval Jewish ideas and practices were reinforced by contact with Christians and knowledge of their customs. Jews and Christians lived in close proximity and Jewish households often employed Christian domestic workers.¹⁴³ It is likely that Jews knew when their neighbors and employees changed their patterns of church attendance since they saw them regularly enough to be familiar with their daily schedules. Given that Jewish and Christian women exchanged medical and especially gynecological knowledge, Jewish women could have easily heard about their peers’ menstrual practices. Evidence indicates that Christian women also wore specific clothing while menstruating, although, unlike the Jewish women, they did not wear white when bleeding ceased.¹⁴⁴ One could say that a common “ritual instinct”¹⁴⁵ was at work in both societies, founded on common traditions that originated in the Bible and on shared cultural conceptions of blood and impurity.¹⁴⁶

I propose that this comparative analysis can help explain the assertions in twelfth-century Jewish literature that liken the blood of menstruation to the blood of circumcision and describe it as a symbol of the covenant between God and the Jews. As a minority, Jews were distancing themselves from and defining themselves in contrast to Christian society. On some level, one may also see medieval Christian scholars as continuing on the paths of their spiritual ancestors by defining Christianity according to its divergence from the menstrual practices identified with Jewish tradition.¹⁴⁷

Christians were aware of Jewish menstrual practices, which they regarded with ambivalence. For example, Christian theologians noted this aspect of Jewish purity when warning their congregants against having sexual relations during their wives’ menstrual cycles. As Peter of Poitiers (ca. 1130–1215) wrote: “The Jews are rarely defiled by the stain of leprosy because they do not approach menstruating women.”¹⁴⁸ Thus, Christians acknowledged this Jewish observance and held shared medical and religious beliefs concerning its merits. At the same time, contemporaneous Christian scholars were actively diverting discussions of women’s impurity from menstruation to birth.

Jews were aware that Christians had fewer and less exacting rituals associated with menstruation, as evidenced by their pejorative term for Christian men, bo‘alei niddot (those who have sexual relations with impure women). Moreover, in his instructions to Jewish men against having sexual contact with their menstruant wives, Eleazar of Worms not only warned his readers that any child born from such relations would contract leprosy,¹⁴⁹ but he also threatened that failure to observe the laws of niddah would lower their status to the level of their Christian neighbors: “For non-Jews have sexual relations with their wives while they are menstruating, as insects do, and that is why they are sent to hell.” He concluded by stating that any man who had intercourse with his wife while she was menstruating should fast for two hundred and seventy days, be flogged on each of those days, and also give extra charity.¹⁵⁰

In a cultural environment where managing impurity was a major concern and the anxiety associated with pollution was mounting,¹⁵¹ Jews and Christians alike sought ways to sustain their purity while distinguishing themselves from one other. This competitive piety was manifest in the deeds of Jewish women and Christian men. It was also communicated in each group’s accusations against the other: Jews claimed that Christians were harming themselves by neglecting the laws of niddah and Christians ridiculed Jewish men by depicting them as menstruants.¹⁵²

Yet, despite their myriad differences, rabbis and priests shared a foundation that was based not only on a common biblical heritage but also on the beliefs and practices that permeated medieval northern Europe. Among their mutual values was an emerging desire among the male elite in each society to resemble angels, as attested in late medieval writings. This aspiration was part of a self-reinforcing hierarchical ethos: the male leadership in both religions agreed on women’s roles and their inferiority to men.

While holding certain shared beliefs and practices, Jews and Christians also defined themselves vis-à-vis each other. We have seen the centrality of bodily purity in settings for communal prayer, the church and the synagogue. In the Jewish context, we have traced the avoidance of synagogue prayer during menstruation from its inception as a practice that was initiated by pious women to its adoption by religious leaders and its establishment as a standard practice in Jewish society. Customs related to male impurity never became widespread among Jews. Among Christians, we have examined the development of inverse priorities: male impurity became the prime focus whereas concern for menstrual purity was dismissed as a Jewish matter. While it is impossible to study the full range of connections between learned and lay practice and the interactions between Jewish and Christian thought and custom, this discussion confirms gender as a fulcrum point for both dialogue and displaying difference.¹⁵³

Visible Piety, Visible Practice

By way of returning our attention to how medieval Jews practiced piety over and above their thinking about purity and impurity as abstract concepts, let us revisit the men and women whose concerns about purity led them to contend with their physicality and their beliefs. Ultimately, menstrual blood and seminal discharges are inseparable from the reality of each individual body. In contemporary societies, such matters belong to the private sphere without necessarily impinging on public knowledge. In the medieval world, at least for those who adhered to the instructions of religious authorities, these issues were far from personal. In the Christian world, men and women were supposed to admit impurity to their confessors. Where it was customary for men and women who were ritually impure to avoid coming to church or approaching the altar during Mass, presumably clerics and laity could readily surmise why women would cyclically distance themselves from attending Mass and taking the Eucharist.¹⁵⁴ In another sign of constant vigilance toward impurity, church seating was separated by gender to quell lust.¹⁵⁵

As we have seen, menstrual status was also readily visible within Jewish culture. Furthermore, since it was not customary for women to go to the mikveh alone, at least some peers would witness a woman’s visit and know whether she was ritually pure or impure.¹⁵⁶ During the High Middle Ages, limitations on a menstruant’s activities were augmented in both the domestic and public realms. In addition to refraining from synagogue attendance and from physical contact with their husbands—from the mundane sharing of utensils to the intimacy of sexual intercourse—women would cease to cook and bake at this time as well.¹⁵⁷ We have also seen that women donned white clothes on “white days,” and some of their peers would adjust their seating in synagogue to avoid praying behind menstruants. These actions would all have provided communal knowledge of each woman’s level of purity.¹⁵⁸ Such tangible evidence explains how medieval scholars could warn their followers about the dangers inherent to gazing at menstruants.¹⁵⁹ In short, menstrual purity was as much a communal affair as a personal and marital responsibility, since the purity of the entire community depended on women’s painstaking observance of these rules. From one angle, it could be claimed that women performed purity rituals for their husbands’ sakes¹⁶⁰ so that piety insofar as it was linked to menstruation was bound to both women and men. And, returning to our opening theme, the synagogue was a primary location where information regarding purity was conveyed.

Considering this examination of the commonalities and differences expressed among Jews and Christians, one can understand how personal purity came to reflect the holiness of the Jewish community to such an extent that medieval rabbis identified niddah as the defining symbol of the Jewish people and Jewish women’s covenant with God, and how women’s observance of ritual purity came to represent Jewish distinctiveness.¹⁶¹ The (male) leaders of Jewish communities were using menstrual purity, which they viewed as inherently Jewish, to emphasize the singularity of Jewish practice and, to a certain extent, as a counterpoint to celibacy, a salient element of Christian identity. As a result, in a world where impurity was often associated with sexual relations and corporeality, menstrual purity was a defining factor for Jewish society as a whole. Thus pious Jewish women were commended for immersing in the mikveh at the earliest permissible time even if their husbands were out of town and, consequently, sexual relations would necessarily be delayed. This scenario is illustrated in the writings of Peretz b. Elijah, who recorded that the daughter of Isaac of Evreux (who was also known for his piety) was so strict in her observance that she immersed in the mikveh at her first opportunity, even when her husband was traveling.¹⁶²

By framing menstruation as a covenantal sign, medieval rabbis intensified and perpetuated the position of women’s purity relative to their husbands and to Jewish society. This served to diminish the already marginal role that women held in communal prayer.¹⁶³ Gender roles, domestic responsibilities, and the laws of menstruation converge in relation to the topic of whether men should instruct and supervise their female relatives on purity practices, an issue that arises with fair regularity in this geographic region. It is hardly surprising that Judah the Pious and other medieval rabbis suggested that fathers teach their daughters the laws of niddah rather than entrust their wives with this sacred obligation.¹⁶⁴

Ironically, a logistical question embedded in this study remains virtually untouched: Throughout these discussions of women remaining outside the synagogue, precisely which architectural structure were they avoiding? The lack of data on this seemingly basic question characterizes the sources available from the Jewish community in this region and time period. Excavations from medieval cities (e.g., Cologne, Worms, Speyer, and others) have pointed to an archaeological feature that appears to have been innovated during the High Middle Ages, a frauenschul (a women’s synagogue) in the form of a separate prayer space adjacent to the main sanctuary.¹⁶⁵ Evidence from other communities, such as Prague, also points to synagogues with galleries for women’s prayers that were adjacent to the main sanctuary, while other locations, such as Regensburg and Erfurt, had no such area. Are such women’s synagogues the physical setting for textual descriptions of limitations on entering synagogues? Furthermore, did these constraints apply to all menstruants in the Jewish community? Were women without husbands, namely widows and divorced women, expected to perform the public aspects of the laws of niddah? Or did these practices only apply to married women? These more nuanced questions are not addressed in medieval rabbinic sources. Archaeological excavations from urban sites in Germany reveal that ritual baths (mikvaot) were first built in many communities from the late twelfth to the late thirteenth century, almost always beside the synagogue.¹⁶⁶ These findings contribute to our understanding of pious practice in Ashkenaz during this era, since such structural remains offer yet another indication of a growing communal concern with purity.

Thus, we see that during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, a process that began with rigorous ritual observance by a few women led to the absence of menstruants from the synagogue. As women’s practice of menstrual restrictions became defining aspects of female Jewish identity and Jewish communal purity, women were increasingly distanced from the institutional and geographic center of their community. What began as a personal expression of piety became a justification for the marginalization of women in the synagogue.

However, the intensification of these restrictions did not necessarily preclude menstruants from approaching the synagogue vicinity or block their knowledge of communal life within its walls. On the contrary, the imposition of physical distance may have elevated women’s awareness of synagogue activities and their longing to return. The exclusion of women from the synagogue during their times of impurity may have accentuated the centrality of the synagogue in medieval Jewish life.

A number of medieval sources refer to women attending synagogue services during the week, on the Sabbath, and on holidays. In one responsum, Rashi tells of a woman whose servant came to synagogue, beckoning her Jewish employer to leave services so they could discuss an urgent matter.¹⁶⁷ So, too, Isaac b. Abraham (Ritzba, twelfth century) tells of a woman who initiated the procedure of “interrupting of services” to present a claim against her purportedly impotent husband, which the community could then address.¹⁶⁸

The sources suggest that women, like men, attended daily and festival synagogue services, although such descriptions are always in the context of specific events rather than as a normative or expected practice. Fusing synagogue etiquette and piety, Sefer Hasidim reprimands men and women who arrive late for services or leave early, and praises those who are present throughout by promising that such devotion will ensure them respectable places in heaven.¹⁶⁹ Comparing the instructions for men at prayer in Sefer Hasidim with the eulogy that Eleazar of Worms composed about his wife, Dulcia, we see that she is described as having fulfilled many of those observances.¹⁷⁰ Dulcia attended prayers (coming early and staying late) and recited additional psalms and petitions, including some that were particular to Hasidei Ashkenaz. Dulcia also led women in prayer and taught liturgical prayers to her female peers. Her presence in the synagogue was an expression of her personal devotion, which went beyond her participation in daily and holiday practice to include preparing wicks for synagogue candles and standing throughout all prayers on Yom Kippur.¹⁷¹

One could discount the abundant pious practices attributed to Dulcia as unrepresentative if such descriptions did not also appear on numerous epitaphs from the Middle Ages and the early modern period. Tombstones memorialize women with descriptions of their piety (e.g., praying with great devotion, arriving early for synagogue services, and praying with a positive and pious attitude).¹⁷² Yemima Hovav has shown that remarks on piety in connection to prayers were distributed quite evenly among epitaphs for men and women during the early modern period.¹⁷³

Given the textual evidence that attests to women’s participation in synagogue life, the rabbinic instruction that women absent themselves from this vital institution during menstruation underscores the prioritization of female purity over other expressions of piety. In contrast, Jewish men’s concerns about their own purity did not diminish rabbinic advocacy of their synagogue attendance. Rather, medieval writers emphasized that men should pray in private and attend synagogue prayers without interruption despite their state of impurity. By comparison, irrespective of their high level of participation in synagogue prayer, women’s access to the sacred was ever more constricted by their status with respect to impurity during the High Middle Ages.