Faithful Retellings: The Literary Afterlives of Rabbi Amnon of Mainz

One of the most stirring parts of the liturgy for the Jewish New Year has an afterlife all its own: the litany of “who [will die] by fire and who by water,” from a poetic composition known as Unetanneh Tokef (“Let us affirm the holiness of the day”), has proven understandably irresistible to modern poets and songwriters. The gruesome legend behind its genesis has its own particular afterlife: part entertaining, part didactic, and designed to be read, remembered, and internalized even by lay readers. Through this cycling of reading, remembering, and internalizing, the medieval hero of the legend, one Rabbi Amnon of Mainz, is remembered yearly during Judaism’s most important and most well-attended liturgical season – a busy afterlife indeed, given that R. Amnon did not, in fact, exist. 

This paper compares two versions of the story of Amnon of Mainz and the composition of Unetanneh Tokef: the original 13th-century Hebrew, which appears in a legal text by R. Isaac of Vienna called Or Zarua, and a variant in Old Yiddish which first appeared in 1602 in a compilation of legends and folktales called the Mayse-Bukh, or “Book of Stories.” The focus of the comparison is an analysis of the narrative techniques used to ensure that both the legend and the poem were never forgotten, including the invention of R. Amnon. Each narrative is concerned in its own way with the afterlife of not just R. Amnon or the poem, but also with the sheer literary horror of the narrative, which functions in its own way to ensure memorability. If the gore is preserved, the rest of the legend comes with it…including the afterlives of our hero and the poem.

As the Hebrew version of the tale begins, things are going well for R. Amnon, described as the “greatest figure in his generation.” However, R. Amnon, whose name literally means “faithful,” is constantly being asked to convert to Christianity by the bishop. Eventually, his persistence wears him down, and he tells him that he will consider it for three days before answering. The narrator is careful to note that R. Amnon only did this so that the bishop would leave him alone…but he falls into a depression as he realizes that his words made it sound as though he were truly considering conversion. He becomes ill, stops eating and drinking, and on the third day, the bishop sends for R. Amnon to hear his answer. R. Amnon refuses, and is brought by force to the bishop, who metes out a horrific punishment – cutting off Amnon’s fingers, hands, and feet, joint by joint, asking with each cut whether Amnon wishes to convert. With each cut, R. Amnon refuses, and is sent home on a shield with his severed limbs. The scene changes to Rosh Hashana. R. Amnon asks to be brought, along with his preserved limbs, to the synagogue and to be placed by the cantor. As the cantor is about to begin, Amnon asks him to wait as he “sanctifies the great name.” He intones Unetanneh Tokef, a sweeping poem about God as the one rightful judge, about life and death, about fates being sealed…and vanishes.

The end of the tale lays bare the narrative mechanics of memory that will ensure that neither R. Amnon nor Unetanneh Tokef will be denied an afterlife. R. Amnon appears in a dream to a well-known rabbi, R. Kalonymus b. Meshullam, and teaches him the poem, commanding him to disseminate it as “a witness and a memorial.” Indeed, Unetanneh Tokef remains one of the spiritual high points of the Jewish High Holidays, very often with a note in the prayer book that references the legend and the slow, grisly martyrdom of its hero.

The differences between the Hebrew and Yiddish versions of the tale range from subtle to significant. I attempt to examine them all, with an eye toward the way that the Yiddish narrator made use of both additions and deletions to make R. Amnon’s martyrdom and the poem itself particularly memorable to a particular audience: one of laypeople, simple folk reading the Mayse-Bukh as a compilation of stories which were also vehicles of moral and religious edification.

The narrative armature of the Mayse-Bukh version of the tale is essentially similar to the Hebrew: we are introduced to R. Amnon and the persistent bishop, we see R. Amnon’s dilemma of having asked for three days’ time to consider converting and the depression that comes as a result of it. We then see R. Amnon’s refusal to come to the bishop and witness the horrific punishment visited upon Amnon once he is brought to him by force. The penultimate act takes place in the synagogue, where Amnon recites Unetanneh Tokef and immediately vanishes. Finally, R. Amnon appears in a dream to the same rabbi and asks him to disseminate the poem.

At nearly three times the length of the Hebrew version, the Mayse-Bukh’s retelling contains a wealth of extra details that serve to make the story, and in turn Amnon the individual, more memorable. The Mayse-Bukh adds both dialogue and human interest: R. Amnon has a wife and children which magnifies the horror of his punishment for the reader. Amnon is several times referred to as “righteous” (tzaddik), and the stakes of conversion are higher: there is an honorable post to be had in the prince’s court, if only he would accept conversion…

Comparing the stories of R. Amnon of Mainz is not simply an exercise in close reading. By reading both versions with an eye toward the mechanics of memory and by carefully analyzing how the afterlives of Amnon and his poem emerge from the narrative and carry forward into the present, I highlight how the literal gory details can help impart permanence to both a piece of liturgy and its legendary composer. Indeed, the Mayse-Bukh’s version of the tale ends by reminding its 17th-century audience as well as its contemporary one: “we still intone [Unetanneh Tokef] for his sake.”