Arukh HaShulchan, Orach Chaim 334:37-335:1

Hook

Imagine a warm Friday afternoon in the Jewish quarter of late nineteenth-century Baghdad or the wind-swept alleys of the Mellah in Marrakech. The air is thick with the scent of roasted cumin, coriander, and the sweet perfume of jasmine. The women have finished preparing the Tbit or the Moroccan Shabbat fish, and the men are walking toward the synagogue, their voices hummed with the anticipation of the Sabbath. Suddenly, a cry goes up: “Fire! Fire!” Smoke billows from a home where the Shabbat candles were lit.

In the frantic rush to save the treasures of the household, what does a person reach for? After human lives are secured, the hands of the faithful do not search for gold or silver. Instead, they reach into the wooden cabinets to rescue books. But these are not only the pristine, black-and-white leather-bound volumes of the Talmud printed in Vilna. They are hand-copied, soft-cover notebooks written in the flowing, cursive Solitreo script—the unique handwritten form of Ladino—or pages written in the Judeo-Arabic Sharh, the vernacular translation of the Torah that has sustained the hearts of the community for generations.

To the Sephardic and Mizrahi soul, these translations are not mere educational aids or secondary commentaries; they are the living garments of the Divine Presence. They are holy scriptures in their own right, so precious that the halakha permits—and indeed demands—that we violate the ordinary restrictions of Shabbat to rescue them from the flames. This profound intimacy with the divine word, translated into the language of the home and sung in the melodies of the street, lies at the very heart of the Sephardi and Mizrahi heritage.

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Context

To understand the deep-seated relationship between the Sephardic world, its multilingual sacred texts, and the holistic care of the community on Shabbat, we must anchor ourselves in three distinct coordinates of history, geography, and culture:

• Place: The Multilingual Mediterranean and the Levant

  Our journey takes us across the vast expanse of the Ottoman Empire—from the bustling ports of Salonika and Izmir to the ancient stone courtyards of Aleppo and Baghdad—as well as the vibrant communities of the Maghreb (Morocco, Tunisia, and Algeria). These regions were not monocultural; they were rich, polyglot societies where Jews spoke, wrote, and thought in multiple languages simultaneously. Hebrew was the language of the liturgy and high scholarship (Lashon HaKodesh), but Judeo-Spanish (Ladino/Spanyolit) and Judeo-Arabic (Sharh) were the languages of the heart, of commerce, of family life, and of intimate prayer. In these spaces, the boundaries between the sacred language and the spoken vernacular were beautifully porous.

• Era: The Post-Expulsion Flourishing to the Late 19th Century

  Following the traumatic expulsion of Jews from Spain in 1492, Sephardic exiles carried their language, their liturgical traditions, and their legal methodologies across the globe. This era witnessed the codification of the Shulchan Arukh by Maran Rav Yosef Karo in Safed Shulchan Arukh, Orach Chaim 1:1, which established the baseline of Jewish law for generations to come. By the late 19th and early 20th centuries—the era of the Arukh HaShulchan, authored by the Lithuanian posek Rabbi Yechiel Michel Epstein—Sephardic and Mizrahi communities had developed highly sophisticated, localized customs (minhagim) that integrated these classical legal codes with rich Kabbalistic insights, musical traditions, and pastoral practices that prioritized communal warmth and the emotional well-being of every individual.

• Community: The Integrated Sephardic and Mizrahi Kehillah

  Unlike the sharp divisions that sometimes characterized European Jewry in the modern era, the Sephardic and Mizrahi Kehillah (community) remained remarkably cohesive and integrated. There was no stark divide between the "elite" rabbinic class and the "simple" folk. Torah study was accessible to all, largely because the great sages of these communities went to immense lengths to translate, explain, and sing the Torah in the vernacular. The synagogue was not just a house of solemn prayer, but a community center alive with the sounds of piyutim (sacred poetry) set to local classical music systems (maqamat). In this integrated worldview, the preservation of a sacred book written in Ladino and the physical, emotional visitation of a sick neighbor on Shabbat were seen as two sides of the same coin: the preservation of the divine image in the world.

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Text Snapshot

The following passage from the Arukh HaShulchan, written by the eminent Lithuanian halakhist Rabbi Yechiel Michel Epstein, serves as our textual window. Writing in Eastern Europe, he synthesizes classical halakhic sources—including the rulings of the Rambam Mishneh Torah, Sabbath 23:26 and Maran Rav Yosef Karo Shulchan Arukh, Orach Chaim 334:12—to address the laws of saving sacred writings from a fire on Shabbat, before transitioning beautifully into the laws of visiting the sick:

ערוך השולחן, אורח חיים שס״ד:ל״ז "כל כתבי הקודש מצילין אותם מפני הדליקה בשבת, בין שקוראים בהם כגון נביאים וכתובים, ובין שאין קוראים בהם כגון כתובי גירסא... ואפילו היו כתובין בכל לשון... ואף על גב דלא ניתנו לקרות בהם, מכל מקום כיוון שיש בהם שמות של הקדוש ברוך הוא וענייני התורה, יש בהם קדושה ומצילין אותם."

ערוך השולחן, אורח חיים שס״ה:א׳ "מצוה גדולה לבקר חולים בשבת... ואין מנחמין ומבקרין כדרך שמנחמין ומבקרין בחול, אלא אומרים: 'שבת היא מלזעוק, ורפואה קרובה לבוא'... כדי שלא לעורר צער בשבת, אלא להשכין שלום, נחמה ועונג."

Translation and Analysis

Arukh HaShulchan, Orach Chaim 334:37 "All Holy Scriptures may be saved from a fire on Shabbat, whether they are books that we read publicly (such as the Prophets and Writings) or books we do not read publicly (such as study texts)... And even if they are written in any other language... even though they were not originally designated for public reading, nevertheless, since they contain the Names of the Holy One, Blessed be He, and matters of Torah, they possess sanctity, and we rescue them."

Arukh HaShulchan, Orach Chaim 335:1 "It is a great mitzvah to visit the sick on Shabbat... but we do not comfort or visit them in the same manner as we do during the weekdays. Rather, we say: 'It is Shabbat, and we are forbidden to cry out, and healing is soon to come'... so as not to awaken grief on Shabbat, but rather to bring about peace, comfort, and delight (Oneg)."

This transition in the halakha is breathtaking. The code moves seamlessly from the preservation of ink on parchment—even when written in foreign tongues—to the preservation of the human soul in its moments of vulnerability and illness. For the Sephardic and Mizrahi masters, this transition is not merely accidental placement; it is a profound theological statement. The Torah, in whatever language it is written, exists to bring life, healing, and peace to the human being.

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Minhag/Melody

The Sanctity of the Vernacular: The World of Sharh and Ladino

In the Sephardic and Mizrahi world, the translation of the Torah into the vernacular was never viewed as a concession to ignorance. Instead, it was elevated to an art form, treated with the highest degree of sanctity.

In the Spanish-Portuguese and Ottoman Sephardic traditions, the Judeo-Spanish translation—often called Ladino or Spanyolit—was written down in Solitreo, a beautiful, flowing cursive script that looked completely different from the standard square Hebrew letters. In the Arabic-speaking lands, from Morocco to Iraq, the translation was known as the Sharh (literally, "exposition" or "explanation"). These translations were not literal, word-for-word substitutions; they were deeply interpretive, poetic, and saturated with rabbinic midrash.

When the Arukh HaShulchan rules, based on the Shulchan Arukh, that we rescue holy writings written "in any language" from a fire on Shabbat, this was not a theoretical law for Sephardic Jews. It was a practical reality. Families owned highly prized, handwritten manuscripts of the Sharh of the Torah, or the Ladino translations of Shir HaShirim (the Song of Songs). These books were treated with immense physical reverence. If a volume of the Sharh fell to the floor, the community members would kiss it, and some would even fast, just as they would if a Hebrew Bible had fallen. On Shabbat afternoons, as families gathered in the courtyards, the patriarch or matriarch of the family would read the weekly Torah portion aloud from these translations, chanting them with a specific, traditional cantillation melody (ta'amim) reserved exclusively for the vernacular translation.

The vernacular was holy because it brought the divine word into the immediate, lived experience of the home. It made the Torah speak in the very language in which mothers lulled their children to sleep and merchants conducted their daily lives.

The Maqam System: Chanting the Torah and Healing the Soul

To fully appreciate how the Sephardic and Mizrahi traditions lived this connection between sacred text and human healing, one must understand the Maqam system. In the musical traditions of the Middle East and North Africa, a maqam (plural: maqamat) is a system of melodic modes, scales, and emotional pathways. It is not just a musical key; it is an emotional atmosphere.

For centuries, the Sephardic and Mizrahi communities of Aleppo, Baghdad, Cairo, Jerusalem, and Damascus mapped the entire Shabbat liturgy to the maqam system. Each Shabbat, the cantors (chazzanim) would select a specific maqam for the prayers based on the thematic content of the weekly Torah portion (Parashah) or the spiritual needs of the hour.

• Maqam Siga: Associated with the Torah reading, evoking a sense of ancient wisdom, stability, and healing.
• Maqam Saba: A highly emotional, yearning, and slightly plaintive mode that represents the brokenness of the human heart and its desperate cry for divine mercy.
• Maqam Rast: The "head" of the maqamat, representing joy, praise, and the majesty of creation.

When visiting the sick on Shabbat, music was not seen as a secular luxury or a distraction; it was understood as a profound therapeutic tool. The great Sephardic Kabbalists and physicians—most notably the Rambam himself, who was a royal physician in Cairo—wrote extensively about the power of music to heal the physical body by soothing the nervous system and elevating the animal spirit (ruach hachayim).

When a member of the community was ill, the family and neighbors would not simply drop by for a quick, somber visit. On Shabbat afternoon, they would gather around the bedside of the sick person. They would bring with them the sweet-smelling herbs of Shabbat—such as Nana (mint), basil, or myrtle—and they would sing piyutim (liturgical poems) written specifically for healing.

The Piyut: "Refael El Ne'eman" (O Faithful God, Heal Us)

One of the most beloved piyutim sung at the bedside of the sick in the Syrian, Iraqi, and Jerusalem-Sephardic traditions is Refael El Ne'eman, composed by the great Sephardic poets of the Levant. The song is typically set to Maqam Siga or Maqam Saba, depending on the gravity of the illness.

The lyrics of this piyut are a direct, intimate plea to God, the ultimate Physician:

רְפָאֵל אֵל נֶאֱמָן, שְׁלַח רְפוּאָה לְחוֹלֶה, כִּי עָלֶיךָ יִשְׁעָן, וּבְחַסְדְּךָ יִתְעַלֶּה. הָקֵם אוֹתוֹ מִמִּטָּתוֹ, וְחַדֵּשׁ אֶת נְעוּרָיו, וּשְׁלַח לוֹ אֶת יְשׁוּעָתוֹ, וּמַלֵּא כָּל מִשְׁאֲלוֹתָיו.

Raphael, O faithful God, send healing to the sick one, For upon You they lean, and in Your lovingkindness they shall be elevated. Raise them up from their sickbed, and renew their youth, And send them Your salvation, and fulfill all their desires.

The communal singing of this piyut at the bedside on Shabbat was designed to embody the very halakha codified in our text: "Shabbat hi miliz’ok u’refuah k’vovah lavo" (It is Shabbat, and we are forbidden to cry out, and healing is soon to come). The melody does not allow the room to sink into despair. Instead, the rhythmic, acoustic beauty of the maqam lifts the patient out of their isolation. It reminds them that they are still part of the living, singing fabric of the community. The song acts as a physical and spiritual bridge, transforming the anxiety of illness into the serene, healing delight (Oneg) of the Sabbath.

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Contrast

To appreciate the distinct texture of the Sephardic and Mizrahi approach, it is highly instructive to place it in respectful dialog with the historical Ashkenazi approach to these same halakhic issues. Both traditions are deeply holy and rooted in the same classical texts, yet they express different cultural sensibilities and communal realities.

The Status of the Vernacular: Synagogue vs. Home

Dimension	Sephardic & Mizrahi Practice	Ashkenazi Practice
Liturgical Integration	Vernacular (Sharh / Ladino) integrated directly into the public synagogue service on holidays and special Sabbaths.	Vernacular (Yiddish) historically kept separate from the formal synagogue liturgy; reserved for home study or private devotion.
Scriptural Status	Vernacular translations written in Solitreo or Judeo-Arabic scripts treated with high physical sanctity (kissed, placed in Genizah).	Yiddish translations (like the Tseno Ureno) highly valued for education, but rarely integrated into formal liturgical honors or synagogue rituals.

In the Ashkenazi world, while Yiddish translations of the Torah (such as the famous Tseno Ureno) were immensely popular and deeply cherished, a sharp halakhic and social distinction was generally maintained between the Hebrew-Aramaic liturgical sphere of the synagogue and the Yiddish-speaking sphere of the home. The public reading of the Torah and the Haftarah was conducted strictly in Hebrew.

In contrast, in many Sephardic and Mizrahi communities, the vernacular was woven directly into the public synagogue service. For example, in the Jewish communities of Morocco and Yemen, on the festival of Shavuot or the fast of Tisha B'Av, the congregation would read the biblical text in Hebrew, and then immediately, a translator would stand up and chant the traditional Sharh (translation) aloud for the entire congregation to hear. This ensured that everyone—men, women, and children—could immediately understand and emotionally connect with the text. The vernacular was not seen as a compromise; it was an elevated, sanctified medium of public revelation.

The Sensory Landscape of visiting the Sick (Bikkur Cholim) on Shabbat

Another beautiful point of contrast lies in the sensory and emotional landscape of visiting the sick on Shabbat.

In the Ashkenazi tradition, as codified by the Rema Shulchan Arukh, Yoreh Deah 335:4, the emphasis when visiting the sick on Shabbat is often placed on the strict legalistic boundaries of speech. Because one must not evoke sadness or worry on Shabbat, the visit is often characterized by a quiet, solemn presence. The visitor offers a precise verbal formula: "Shabbat hi miliz’ok u’refuah k’vovah lavo; shivtu b’shalom" (It is Shabbat, and we are forbidden to cry out, and healing is soon to come; dwell in peace). The focus is on maintaining the quietude and solemnity of the holy day.

In the Sephardic and Mizrahi tradition, while the same halakhic restrictions against crying out or expressing grief are strictly observed, the visit is approached as an opportunity for active, sensory elevation. The goal is not merely to avoid sadness, but to actively generate joy (Simcha) and delight (Oneg) in the sickroom, which is seen as a prerequisite for physical healing.

Instead of a quiet, somber visit, Sephardic visitors bring the full sensory richness of the Shabbat table directly to the patient:

• Scent: They bring fresh, aromatic herbs—such as Nana (mint), rosemary, or myrtle—and encourage the patient to smell them, making the blessing Borei Minei Besamim Shulchan Arukh, Orach Chaim 216:1. In Kabbalistic thought, the sense of smell is the only sense that directly nourishes the soul (neshama) without passing through the digestive system, making it an immediate source of vitality for a weakened body.
• Song: They do not speak in hushed, clinical tones. They sing. They sing the piyutim of Shabbat in soft, beautiful melodies that soothe the heart.
• Linguistic Warmth: The verbal formulas used are highly warm and expressive. Instead of just the Hebrew formula, they offer blessings in the vernacular: "Sano y recio que te veamos" (May we see you healthy and strong) in Ladino, or "Allah yashfik" (May God heal you) in Judeo-Arabic, spoken with physical touch, eye contact, and deep communal presence.

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Home Practice

You do not need to live in nineteenth-century Baghdad or Morocco to bring the rich, sensory, and compassionate spirit of the Sephardic and Mizrahi tradition into your own home and community. Here is a simple, beautiful practice you can adopt this coming Shabbat to experience this heritage firsthand:

The Healing Scent and Song of Shabbat (Bikkur Cholim)

If you know of someone in your family, neighborhood, or community who is unwell, lonely, or going through a difficult time, transform your Shabbat visit to them using the Sephardic sensory model:

1. Prepare the "Scent of Healing": Before Shabbat, gather a small, fresh bundle of sweet-smelling, fragrant herbs. Myrtle (Hadas) is the classic Sephardic choice, but fresh mint (Nana), rosemary, or lemon verbena work beautifully. Tie them with a simple ribbon.

2. The Visit: When you visit them on Shabbat, do not focus the conversation on the clinical details of their illness or their worries. Instead, bring the peace of Shabbat into the room.

3. Offer the Scent: Hand them the herbs. Encourage them to crush the leaves gently between their fingers and take a deep breath. Invite them to recite the blessing for sweet-smelling plants:

   $$\text{בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה ה', אֱלֹקֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם, בּוֹרֵא עֲצֵי (or עִשְּׂבֵי) בְשָׂמִים.}$$

   Baruch Ata Hashem, Elokeinu Melech HaOlam, Borei Atzei (for woody stems like myrtle/rosemary) / Isbei (for leafy herbs like mint) Besamim.

   Watch how the simple, natural scent immediately shifts the atmosphere in the room, bringing a sense of freshness and life.

4. Offer a Word of Comfort in the Vernacular: Before you leave, offer them a traditional Sephardic blessing of comfort, spoken with warmth and presence:

   • In Ladino: "Sano y recio que te veamos, con mucha salud y vida." (May we see you healthy and strong, with much health and life.)
   • In Judeo-Arabic: "Allah yashfik, u’yatik el-afia." (May God heal you and grant you complete wellness.)

5. Hum a Niggun: If they are open to it, hum a gentle, wordless melody or sing a familiar Shabbat song of comfort. Let the music fill the quiet spaces of the room, carrying the promise that healing is indeed soon to come.

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Takeaway

The laws of Shabbat are often associated with restrictions—what we cannot write, what we cannot carry, what we cannot ignite. But when we look through the luminous lens of the Sephardic and Mizrahi heritage, we discover a halakhic worldview that is profoundly life-affirming, holistic, and deeply integrated.

In this beautiful tradition, there is no artificial separation between the high, intellectual world of Torah study and the everyday, emotional world of the home. The very same halakhic impulse that rushes into a burning building on Shabbat to rescue a translated manuscript of the Torah—written in the humble, everyday language of Ladino or Judeo-Arabic—is the impulse that walks into the room of a sick person on Shabbat afternoon.

Both are acts of supreme rescue. Both are acts of preservation.

To save the translated book is to preserve the physical vessel of the Divine Word. To visit the sick person, to soothe them with music, and to revive them with the scent of fresh herbs, is to preserve the living vessel of the Divine Image—the human soul.

As we go into our own Shabbatot, may we carry this exquisite Sephardic wisdom in our hearts: that the Torah speaks in the language of our everyday lives, that our traditions are meant to be sung in the beautiful melodies of our world, and that the greatest mitzvah of all is to ensure that every member of our community feels the warmth, the comfort, and the healing presence of the Sabbath peace.

Shabbat Shalom u'Mevorach—A peaceful and blessed Shabbat to you and your loved ones.