Kirsten Fudeman is a linguist, and she brings that training to her study of the texts composed by Jews in medieval France. Her interests are not literary but linguistic, as she considers "the roles played by language in shaping identity and culture" (2). The reader learns early on the pointed questions that underlie this book: "How did language affect how Jews thought, how they interacted with one another and with Christians, and who they perceived themselves to be? What circumstances and forces led to the genesis of a medieval Jewish textual tradition in French and helped shape it? Who were the writers, and how did they choose to write in their vernacular or Hebrew?" (2). She notes that though individual texts composed in French by medieval Jews have been studied to date, "there has not yet been a concentrated attempt to place Hebraico-French texts within the context of Old French textual production in general or the history of the Jews in France" (9). Fudeman offers a cogent history of the development of terms such as Judeo-French; she herself uses the term Hebraico-French to describe the primary materials of interest to her: works in Old or Middle French written using Hebrew letters (5).
One of the many merits of Fudeman's work is that she offers detailed and precise explanations so that a knowledgeable, albeit not necessarily specialized, reader can understand the book. By way of example: in a few clear paragraphs, Fudeman explains the linguistic lay of the land of medieval France, its multiple dialects, the presence of other languages on territory that was not then controlled by the French king, the presence of French in other areas of medieval Europe (9-11). The reader thus has the information needed to follow Fudeman's arguments. This kind of explanation occurs often in the book and was a pleasure to spot. Other examples include: the definition of diglossia (20-23); medieval Jewish literacy (23-25); the objects of sociolinguistic study (27-28); a mini-history of the study of Jewish languages (29-36); the definition of code-switching (45-46); an explanation of the shift from Latin to vernacular languages around the time of Charlemagne (118-119).
The book consists of but four chapters, followed by an appendix listing extant Hebraico-French texts and glosses and then a second appendix, an edition of a heretofore ignored medieval Jewish wedding song.
The chapter called "Language and Identity" formally sets the stage for the book. Fudeman discusses Jewish languages, linguistic identity, that nature of Jewish life in medieval France, linguistic markers of identity and code-switching for linguistic or literary effect. Fudeman concludes that Jews living in French-speaking areas of medieval France used French as their daily language. I particularly appreciated her description of French as the mother tongue, Hebrew as the father tongue (13). She offers a Venn diagram (58) to help the reader visualize the small area of overlap between the Old French and Hebrew spheres of medieval Jewish existence. Fudeman is expert at finding contemporary parallels to help the reader better understand medieval realities. For example, in this chapter, she evokes observations of Sunni and Shi'ite Muslims in Bahrain: the two groups "have spoken dramatically different dialects for one hundred fifty to two hundred years despite living in close proximity to one another" (37, citing Clive Holes).
The next chapter discusses four Hebrew letters that relate events that took place in the town of Blois in 1171, events that led to what is known as the Blois massacre. Fudeman sees the discussion of the circumstances in Blois as an analysis of language itself. "Speech and verbal interactions between Christians and Jews are central to the letters' construction of the Blois incident" (69); the authors contrast secretive, private discourse, which is conducive to deception and destructiveness, with open, public statements (76). In this environment, the issue of woman's speech comes into play. Though none of the letters mentions the woman by name, Pucelline, a member of the Blois Jewish community, is a significant figure in the story. It is suggested that she had managed to offend some members of the local Christian community, and it is reiterated that she was kept from the local ruler, Thibalt, lest she change his mind. As Fudeman concludes, "Pucelline and other women like her were neither powerless nor silent, even if the letter writers' focus on male voices gives that impression" (85). What is difficult to pull out of the letters is the French discourse used by all involved in the events. Fudeman reminds the reader that medieval Hebrew written discourse uses biblical analogy, vocabulary and imagery, to the point that the Hebrew elegy composed a century after the Blois events is a cento, "a poem pieced together from passages from another source" (137). I agree with Fudeman that the letters relating to the Blois massacre see speech as a core issue. I am less convinced that we learn about French from these texts in Hebrew, though the letters do give us insights into the Jewish community of the time.
Chapter 3, "Texts of Two Colors," considers the choice of authors to compose in French. Fudeman offers a quick overview of the beginnings of the French literary tradition before explaining the nature of the Hebraico-French corpus. The list of literary texts is remarkably short: an elegy, two bilingual wedding songs, five hymns, and a short poem on wine and love (91); in addition to these, there are magical texts or charms, and a large number of glosses. Almost all of these texts combine French and Hebrew vocabulary to some extent, from the individual inserted word to much more extensive passages.
Fudeman puts some emphasis on the glosses; she reminds us that "they are found in virtually every kind of prose text written by French- speaking Jews" (104) from exegetical works to correspondence to recipes. Glossaries were deemed fairly important by the medieval community; several large ones are still extent (104). Fudeman may be the first student of the Hebraico-French corpus to bring the glosses into discussion of the literary works. Fudeman observes that glossators could use translation to bring a word to life, using the example of Joseph Kara (c. 1050?c. 1125). This medieval French scholar translated the Hebrew word re'alot (veils) as both guimple, "wimple" and molechin "a fine oriental fabric (mousseline); the garment made from it (also veil)" (104), thereby giving the reader "a precise and vivid image of biblical women dressed in medieval garb" (105). Fudeman observes rightly that in some Hebrew texts, "a specific item from the vernacular culture must be given a vernacular name" (107), the counterpart to her earlier observation that "Jews writing in Old French regularly called the bride kallah and the bridegroom hatan...it can be argued that these have no real vernacular equivalents, because they denote a specifically Jewish bride and bridegroom" (47).
Fudeman suggests in passing that the interest in glossaries, particularly an extensive glossary of bird names, "may reflect the influence on Jewish scholars of medieval Christian encyclopedia culture" (115), but I am not convinced by her arguments on this point. Fudeman speaks briefly about a text whose opening line is "Alo[n]s nos colcher car je tant mengai" (this is her "short poem on wine and love"). Here is Fudeman's translation (117):
UNSPECIFIEDLet us go to bed because I have eaten so much, and drunk as if to my heart's content; I am as drunk as a piece of bread soaked in wine--I found my cup at school. Let us go to bed because we believed, you and I. I was disappointed that she did not connect this text to the Goliardic culture it seems to emulate. If Fudeman wants to put Jewish authors into the larger textual community, then a reference to the Goliards, a another medieval diglossic group, would have been in order here.
By the same token, I find Fudeman's discusssion a bit lacking when she ties French literary works to the Hebraico-French corpus. The author suggests that French Jews did not create a vernacular literary tradition because Hebrew literacy was widespread (120); at the same time, she allows that "Jews also had access to Christian-authored texts in French" (120). Given the implicit and explicit references to Old French texts in the Hebraico-French corpus (references are found to the Chanson de Roland, the Roman de la Rose, the Roman d'Alexandre, at the least), the second statement may explain why there did not develop a distinct Hebraico-French literature -- there may have been little need perceived for a specifically Jewish vernacular literature. Fudeman adds "Old French texts in Hebrew letters remained bound to their Hebrew context" (123). In truth, she comes back to this theme in a later section, noting that Hebraico-French texts appear in the thirteenth-century in northeastern France as a "Jewish response to their fears and anxieties and to the ways in which they were being singled out or shut out from the society in which they had long dwelled" (149).
The last chapter is devoted to two macaronic wedding songs, which Fudeman considers "for insights into values and attitudes shared by all members of the community, educated and uneducated alike" (133). The two songs bring together "two languages and two cultures" (135, citing Samuel Rosenberg). Nonetheless, "the Hebrew lines are essentially the expression of Jewish knowledge and tradition, whereas the French lines showcase vernacular cultural influences" (136). This chapter contains the most literary analysis to this point, as Fudeman explains first the Hebrew imagery and references used by the poet and then the vernacular parallels. Fudeman makes this profound observation, "By depicting a hero and maiden who are very much like the figures in medieval French texts but who are Jewish, the wedding songs remove religion as an essential characteristics of the knightly hero and as the defining factor behind the imaginaire of France and of French identity" (145). This point is important, though one might ask if any individual in thirteenth-century Champagne or Lorraine considered himself French, as opposed to Champenois or Lorrain. It would be interesting to know Fudeman's take on Elia Levita's Bovo d'Antona, a retelling with Jewish spin of the Bevis of Hampton story.
Fudeman concludes with a brief epilogue, noting that the texts discussed in this book were "captives of their Hebrew context" (151). She argues that "the choice to write in French can . . . be considered a voluntary, creative act of identity, a declaration of Jewish membership in the vernacular community during a time when the Jews' very presence there was threatened" (153).
Given the nature of the primary sources used for this book, texts conceived in French and recorded in Hebrew letters, often but not always vocalized, the art of editing these texts takes a strong combination of linguistic and paleographic training, combined with a good dose of intuition. Fudeman demonstrates her skill as an editor in the presentation of a song that mixes French and Hebrew: "'Uri liqra'ti yafah, gentis kallah einoreie" (Appendix 2: 159-173).
I think this is a fine book. Fudeman's linguistic training is her strong suit; her literary analyses are not always as well developed as her linguistic explanations. I am not fully convinced Fudeman answered the tough questions she posed at the beginning of her volume, but I am also not convinced that a corpus this limited would allow us to know the answers. For the most part, one need not be familiar with the Hebraico-French literary canon to follow Fudeman's arguments, although such knowledge certainly helps. The circle of scholars already familiar with these texts was fairly small; one great merit of this book is that it will allow scholars of medieval French history, literature and language to become more familiar with this cultural and linguistic community.