An engrossing glimpse into the dally pre-radio, pre-email, pre-Internet lives of Jews in Jerusalem several generations ago

You don’t know what pashkevilim are? Look it up.

It’s not in your dictionary? Then be grateful you are reading this, for otherwise you could be at risk of going through an entire lifetime with this gaping lacuna in your knowledge.

In truth, no one really knows. Google and AI suggest that it might stem from Polish, French, and Italian roots, but no one is certain.

What is certain is that pashkevilim have for centuries played a crucial role in Jerusalem’s chareidi life, and even today their impact is still quite powerful.

What is a pashkevil? It is a public broadside, a large wall poster containing news, important information, directives, warnings, invitations, and rabbinic inspiration to the community at large. In the absence of radios or daily newspapers, especially in the past, these announcements, usually attached to any open — or not so open — wall in town, provided vital notices and announcements.

News-by-pashkevil was often the only way people learned about the flow of life: births, bar mitzvahs, engagements, weddings, funerals, plus consolation and comforting words for those in mourning. Even a cursory perusal of these broadsides had the fascination of a gossip column.

Who authorizes the use of the pashkevil? No one. Anyone can write and attach his own notice. There are many numbers of small printing companies that will run off as many posters as desired and, for a small extra charge, will see that they get plastered all over the city.

Thus, unfortunately, they are a two-edged sword: As useful as they can be, indiscriminate and unsigned use of these pashkevilim can cause great hurt and damage, and can destroy reputations overnight. In the mid-20th century, the saintly Chofetz Chaim issued his own notice decrying the destructive potential of pashkevilim.

A brief look at these Hebrew-language pashkevilim of the last century — now collected and reproduced in a fascinating volume — provides an engrossing glimpse into the dally pre-radio, pre-email, pre-Internet lives of Jews in Jerusalem several generations ago.

The unsigned ones are best ignored, though they offer a peek into the underside of human nature. A current pashkevil, for example, places the blame for recent tragedies among the chareidim: it is all the fault of the Tzionim. It is signed simply by “The Committee for Purity.” But broadsides signed by leading rabbis of the community are instructive, showing what agitated them most: immodest dress; looseness in Shabbos and kashrus observance; misuse of a rabbi’s name as an endorser of a kashrus establishment; protests against certain gatherings or concerts or organizations, and urging their boycott; occasionally naming men who refuse to grant a needed get to a wife, and placing them in religious cherem, which would deny them certain communal privileges such as an aliyah to the Torah. Altogether, such pashkevilim reveal a community that is feisty, intelligent, disciplined, and very much alive.

Pashkevilim are not a new phenomenon; they are probably as old as mankind. For man is by nature curious, inquisitive, and gregarious; he has a need to communicate, to be in touch with others, and to know what others are doing and thinking.

This might be why the Torah is so circumspect and cautious concerning our interconnectedness. Personal space of any kind may not be violated, and an entire body of halachah deals with hezek re’iyah, an individual’s right to privacy: not to gaze into his home, not to read his personal mail, not to pry into his affairs. And, above all, not to gossip about anyone.

For man is not alone; he is part of mankind and yearns to be in touch with others. No man is an island unto himself, writes John Donne in his famous poem. We are interconnected, interdependent. Although we are not alone, we are nevertheless lonely and vulnerable. We need one another for support in times of stress; for companionship when by ourselves, for friendship and encouragement and sympathy, because each one of us is a part of a larger entity.

Donne stressed the interdependence of human beings. What he does not mention is the dependence of man upon his Creator. This, too, is the antidote to loneliness: connecting to a Higher Power. Man is in the image of G-d, which suggests that just as G-d is One, so also is all mankind a magnified, expanded, and enlarged One. This oneness of humankind craves connection not only with other human beings, but especially with the original One Himself.

Next time you are in Jerusalem, take your own personal pashkevilim tour. Stroll up and down the streets of Meah Shearim, study the wall posters, learn who is who, and who is not who, discover what is In and what is Out, and savor the flavor of new and old Jerusalem.

And, with some luck, maybe you will encounter someone who will reveal for you the Byzantine etymology of that strange and labyrinthine phenomenon known as pashkevil.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1098)