From 1751 to 1764, European Jewry was riven by a very public dispute between two of the most revered talmudic scholars of the day: Jacob Emden and Jonathan Eybeschütz. It began when the former accused the latter of being a secret follower of the 17th-century messianic pretender Shabbetai Tsvi—and therefore, a heretic. Shnayer Leiman comments on this and also on the oft-forgotten role of another esteemed rabbi, Jacob Joshua Falk:

Emden’s animosity toward Eybeschütz . . . could easily be explained away on grounds that are not necessarily bound up with an accusation of heresy. . . . In his autobiography, and certainly in his polemical works, Emden often emerges as a misanthropic, tempestuous, cantankerous, chronically ill, and incessantly whining social misfit and rabbinic genius who did not suffer either fools or [other] rabbinic scholars gladly.

Emden, whose father and grandfather had served as chief rabbis of [the triple community of] Altona, Hamburg, and Wandsbek surely felt that he should have been appointed to succeed them. That he had to live in Altona for some fifteen years [while Eybeschütz held this position] was simply more than he could bear.

It is far more difficult to explain away Jacob Joshua Falk’s animosity toward Eybeschütz on grounds other than the accusation of heresy. . . . [D]uring the key early years of the controversy, from 1751 until 1756, the campaign against Eybeschütz was directed primarily by Falk, then serving as chief rabbi of Frankfurt-am-Main; virtually everyone agreed that no other rabbi in the mid-18th century was in a better position to resolve the controversy.

Yet there are reports that Falk was blind. If so, he would not have been able to examine the amulets bearing kabbalistic incantations composed by Eybeschütz, which were the original basis for the accusations. Leiman, in a thorough investigation of the evidence, shows that it is unlikely Falk was blind when the controversy began—and notes, tellingly, that the earliest source stating that he was can be found in a letter written by Eybeschütz’s son.

Recent satellite imagery has shown a buildup of Egyptian tanks near the Israeli border, in violation of Egypt-Israel agreements going back to the 1970s. It’s possible Cairo wants to prevent Palestinians from entering the Sinai from Gaza, or perhaps it wants to send a message to the U.S. that it will take all measures necessary to keep that from happening. But there is also a chance, however small, that it could be preparing for something more dangerous. David Wurmser examines President Abdel Fatah el-Sisi’s predicament:

Egypt’s abysmal behavior in allowing its common border with Gaza to be used for the dangerous smuggling of weapons, money, and materiel to Hamas built the problem that exploded on October 7. Hamas could arm only to the level that Egypt enabled it. Once exposed, rather than help Israel fix the problem it enabled, Egypt manufactured tensions with Israel to divert attention from its own culpability.

Now that the Trump administration is threatening to remove the population of Gaza, President Sisi is reaping the consequences of a problem he and his predecessors helped to sow. That, writes Wurmser, leaves him with a dilemma:

On one hand, Egypt fears for its regime’s survival if it accepts Trump’s plan. It would position Cairo as a participant in a second disaster, or nakba. It knows from its own history; King Farouk was overthrown in 1952 in part for his failure to prevent the first nakba in 1948. Any leader who fails to stop a second nakba, let alone participates in it, risks losing legitimacy and being seen as weak. The perception of buckling on the Palestine issue also resulted in the Egyptian president Anwar Sadat’s assassination in 1981. President Sisi risks being seen by his own population as too weak to stand up to Israel or the United States, as not upholding his manliness.

In a worst-case scenario, Wurmser argues, Sisi might decide that he’d rather fight a disastrous war with Israel and blow up his relationship with Washington than display that kind of weakness.