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IN-DEPTH FEATURES
Part Two: Worms and Mayence, Torah Centers of
the Rishonim
At the Graveside of the Baal Shem
The morning after our night on German soil we visited the
grave of HaRav Yitzchok Aryeh, known as Rav Seckel Loeb the
Baal Shem of Michelstadt zt'l, the well-known
gaon and tzaddik whose miraculous assistance to
those who turned to him was legendary. Both the Chasam Sofer
and the Chiddushei HaRim asked that Baal Shem to pray on
their behalf. A list of petitioners from a hundred towns all
over Europe appears among the notebooks that the Baal Shem
left. (Some say the famous picture often identified as the
Baal Shem Tov, the founder of Chassidus, is really him.)
There were only twenty Jewish families in Michelstadt but
scores of bochurim learned in the Baal Shem's yeshiva.
The yeshiva's principal means of support were the donations
sent by beneficiaries of his prayers, for when "the
tzaddik decrees, Hakodosh Boruch Hu
fulfills."
"Across from the Schwim-Bad (baths)" were the
directions to the Baal Shem's grave that we received from the
locals. Unless you know the town well though, it is easy to
get lost. There are a few steps, an iron gate, then one turns
left and follows the path that runs along the fence. A green
tarpaulin acts as a partition separating the site of the
grave from the neighboring country club.
The Baal Shem's is the only gravestone that remains intact. A
lone candle was already alight, despite the early hour.
Someone had been here before us. We spent long minutes in
prayer and mentioned the names on the lists that we'd brought
from Eretz Yisroel, in hope and prayer that the Baal
Shem's merit stand us all in good stead.
Europe's Oldest Jewish Cemetery
After an hour's drive Rav Gabbai stopped the car at the gate
of the city of Worms. Time has come to a standstill here too.
A massive thousand-year-old fortress stands in the center of
the bridge that spans the Rhine. The river's waters are green
today. The blood that once tinted them red has long since
been washed away. Only the spirits of the Crusaders' Jewish
victims still hover.
Two pointed turrets rise on either side of the fortress. An
old clock on the facade still ticks, sounding like a beating
heart. Just the thought of this being Rashi's hometown is
breathtaking. A short distance away is the oldest Jewish
cemetery in Europe. Stepping through its iron gate, one
encounters another age . . .
The decorative molding on the stone at the entrance was
donated by David Oppenheimer in 1625. This cemetery is close
to 929 years old — the earliest date on a gravestone is
4837 (1077), the year that Yaakov habochur was buried
here. The ravages of nine centuries have not managed to
obliterate his gravestone.
Walking along the path, we encounter an unusual commotion.
There are cameras, uniformed men and the heads of the Mayence-
Magence community which owns the cemetery. A German Cabinet
minister is expected shortly for some official ceremony.
Despite our curiosity, we hasten our pace and try not to
tarry. We still want to visit the graves of the holy souls
buried here before its tranquility is shattered by the
artificiality of the imminent event.
There are almost no Jews in Worms. For any that remain, their
town's glorious Jewish past is of mere historical — if
any — interest, holding no relevance for them. By
contrast, our interest lies in our nation's heart and soul
that has remained bound to this place for centuries.
To the left of the gateway stand two low gravestones that are
crammed with engraved inscriptions. Piles of notes lie on the
stone, a sure sign that there were many visitors. These are
the graves of the Maharam of Rotenburg, Rabbi Meir ben Boruch
and Rabbi Alexander Ziskind Wipman of Frankfurt, who redeemed
the Maharam's remains after his death in captivity, so that
they could be interred here.
The Imprisoned Godol
The Maharam of Rotenburg was a talmid of the Or
Zoru'a, the Baal Harokeach and Rabbi Yehuda Hechossid
zt'l. He even traveled far afield in order to learn
Torah from Rav Yechiel of Paris, who was one of the Baalei
Hatosafos. At that time, the king decreed that the Jewish
nation's spiritual treasures be burnt. This was a consequence
of slander of Nicholas Donin, an apostate who compelled the
Jewish sages to engage in an "objective" debate with himself
and a group of his colleagues.
The Maharam was present when twenty-four wagons filled with
volumes of the Talmud and other holy seforim were
brought to the pyre in the heart of Paris. To commemorate
that heartbreaking occasion he wrote the tragic eulogy
Sha'ali serufah bo'eish . . . that shocks us every
year on Tisha B'Av.
On his return as a leading Torah scholar to Germany, the
Maharam served as rov of Rotenburg and swiftly became a
widely-acknowledged halachic authority. Life then grew
difficult for the Jews of Europe as King Rudolph began to
impose burdens on them. First they were required to pay heavy
taxes; later he sought to turn all his Jewish subjects into
his slaves.
The Jews began to flee the country. The Maharam too, packed
his belongings and left for Lombardy but because he was so
well known it was difficult for him to avoid detection. On
his way he was identified by the apostate Bishop Albert
Knieppe and his comrade the Cardinal of Basel. He was caught
and brought before the emperor. He was imprisoned in the
fortress of Ansheim in Alscace for the crimes of escaping and
organizing a mass flight of the Jews. The emperor thought
that the Maharam was worth a huge sum in ransom and he began
to make exorbitant demands for his release.
The German Jews began to gather the money, but the Maharam
himself was adamantly opposed to the idea, citing the
halochoh, "It is forbidden to redeem captives for more than
their worth" ( Gittin 45). He pointed out that setting
a precedent in his case would endanger all Torah sages, who
would become instruments of kidnapping and extortion.
His disciples were allowed to see him and he was able to
continue disseminating Torah while in captivity. For seven
years he led a rich and productive spiritual life while
confined to his cell. Deprived of seforim, he found
responding to queries difficult and his loneliness weighed
heavily on him. He would sign his teshuvos with the
words, "the dweller in darkness and death's shadow, the
pauper forgotten by everything good and trodden underfoot."
After years of suffering the Maharam died in captivity.
Even after his death, the authorities refused to release his
body for burial. Rabbi Alexander Ziskind ben Shlomo was
unable to bear the famed Torah leader's ignominy and he took
matters into his own hands, paying his entire fortune —
a fantastic sum — for the Maharam's remains, which were
then brought to Worms and buried with great honor.
That night the Maharam appeared to his redeemer in a dream
and told him, "You can merit wealth and longevity for
yourself and your descendants for all time, or you can choose
to die immediately and receive reward in Olom
Habo!"
Rav Alexander Ziskind chose the second option and events
moved swiftly. He fell ill and died directly. Immediately
following his petiroh he appeared to the rov of the
town in a dream and requested that he be buried near the
Maharam.
On his old, worn gravestone near the Maharam's grave is
engraved, "Hashem brought [the opportunity of doing] a great
mitzvah to him, redeeming our teacher from the place he was
imprisoned for years after his death, until the generous . .
. and redeemed him and merited being buried on his right. May
he be put at his side in the Garden . . . with the world's
righteous souls . . ."
There is a sparkle in Rav Gabbai's eyes as he leans towards
the inscription on the stone. He scans the words fondly until
his eyes close and he begins singing chapters of
Tehillim, the melody echoing among the trees and
greenery.
Over a thousand gravestones are preserved here and there is a
profusion of growth in the wide spaces between them. The
cathedral's steeples mar the view, overlooking the scene like
two malevolent watchmen, the windows in their stone walls
like a pair of harsh eyes. The marauders might have looked
from those windows before they set out on their path of
murder and mayhem, laying waste the glorious kehillos
of Speyer, Worms and Mayence.
"In his tremendous mercy may [our] merciful Father . . .
recall in mercy the holy kehillos that gave up their
lives in sanctification of [His] Name . . ." (from the
Shabbos prayer Av Horachamim, written in memory of the
communities that were wiped out during the Crusades).
A Leader in Troubled Times
Deep in thought, we continue making our way along the path as
it winds its way over the hill towards the wall and the
Valley of the Rabbonim, passing the newer area of the
cemetery. Here the inscriptions on the stones are in German,
giving a feel of the community's spiritual disintegration as
assimilation eroded a magnificent heritage. There are
virtually no Jews here any more and virtually no
Yiddishkeit, just an echo, in these graves and
gravestones, of a glorious past.
"These gravestones point south, not towards Yerushalayim,"
Rav Gabbai observes, yet with all his knowledge and expertise
he has no explanation as to why this should be.
The gravestones in the rabbinical section are low; some are
overgrown. Most of them are arched, like the gate, except for
that of the Maharil, whose upper section is broken, either
from old age or vandalism. Notes bearing names have been
placed on the grave, secured by stones to prevent them from
blowing away. The whiteness of the papers contrasts sharply
with the green of the undergrowth.
The Maharil's gravestone which, unlike the others in its
vicinity, points towards Yerushalayim, describes him as
having been, "a limed pit that doesn't lose anything, a
tzaddik and chossid, learning and teaching
precious words . . . the godol hador, our master and
teacher Yaakov ben Morenu Horav Moshe Segal
zt'l."
He was born in the neighboring town of Mayence-Magence, where
he returned towards the end of his life to serve as rov. His
important teshuvos and rulings are among the
underpinnings of the rulings of the Shulchan Oruch and
the Ramo. He led his brethren during the harsh troubles of
the Crusades. In his lifetime the Jews were accused of
poisoning the wells, which was ample justification for the
gentiles to attack them. Many of his teshuvos deal
with questions involving orphans, widows, agunos and
mourning — matters that were, sadly, frequently
relevant in those times of trouble. The Maharil's broken
gravestone stands out among all the other whole ones like a
jagged tooth.
Rav Gabbai fervently wishes that he could renovate the
Maharil's grave but there is simply no one here with whom to
liaise. Worms today is an abandoned stop on the route of a
nation that once sojourned there, but has long since moved
on.
The grave of Rav Yair Chaim Bachrach zt'l, author of
Shut Chavos Yo'ir is close to that of the Maharil. His
father was Chief Rabbi of Worms and, after serving as rov in
several other towns, the Chavos Yo'ir returned to Worms to
live near his father. When the town was overrun he fled to
Frankfurt, where he was eventually appointed rov. Nearby is
the grave of HaRav Eliyahu Luantz zt'l, the Baal Shem
of Worms.
The sun filters through the canopy of leaves overhead,
dappling it in light and shade. We also sense the interplay
of light and darkness here as we witness the remains of a
rich past that has no future and the present that has slipped
away from the moorings of the past. Our next stop is Rashi's
beis haknesses, which is in the heart of the town.
Remembered to This Day
Towns that have character do not give themselves away easily
to the visitor. One has to invest time and effort in order to
get to know and understand them. Yet here, at the mere
mention of the words "the Rashi Synagogue," every resident of
Worms is ready to offer directions.
We received clear instructions as to where to go but the
roads and the signposts are confusing. There is evidence of
Worms' ancient past in every street. The remnants of ancient
city walls run across the streets like veins and sinews. At
the entrance to the Jewish area, where we park the car, there
is a large gate in the wall.
A sign identifies the site as Rashi Tor. This was
where the incident described in the sefer Shalsheles
Hakabboloh, written by Gedalyoh Ibn Yichye (who was
expelled from Spain and a contemporary of the author of
Emek Habochoh) took place. The sefer was
published in Venice in 5347 (1587) and was written by R'
Gedalyoh as a bar mitzvah present for his son. It was a
continuation of the Ravad's historical work Sefer
Hakabboloh, which surveys the generations until the time
of the RY Migash. R' Gedalyoh's account covers the subsequent
generations until his own day, a period of roughly 470
years.
Here is the story as R' Gedalyoh tells it. "The army of the
French Crusaders was led by Duke Gottfried Bowen. Before he
set out on his journey to recapture Jerusalem, he wanted to
hear the opinions of the Jewish scholars. He arrived at
Rashi's home and found him sitting in a house filled with
seforim. When Rashi heard what the Duke wanted, he
refused to answer.
"[The Duke assured him,] `I promise by my own head that you
will come to no harm. I have seen [evidence of] your wisdom
and want you to advise me as to what great deed I should do.'
He described his mighty army, with whose help he wanted to
conquer Jerusalem. `Tell me your opinion and don't be
afraid.'
"Rashi replied, `You will capture Jerusalem and rule over it
for three days. Then the Ishmaelites will drive you out and
you will return with just three horses.'
"He became hostile and angry. `You might be right, but if I
come back with four horses I will feed your flesh to the dogs
and kill all the Jews in France!' "
Four years passed and after conquering Jerusalem and ruling
it for three days, Gottfried returned with four (!) horses.
Exhausted and beaten, aching and bruised, he made his way
home in disgrace. As he entered the city gateway a stone from
the wall fell, killing one of his horsemen and his mount. He
was left with only three horses to accompany him as he
dragged himself into the town with his remaining strength. A
metal sign affixed to the wall by the municipality identifies
the site as Rashi Tor (Rashi's Gate), perpetuating the
memory of the incident.
Crossing at the gate to the Judengasse (Street of the
Jews), we were catapulted ten centuries back in time. Ancient
stones pave the entire area and no cars are allowed to drive
there, though it would have been hard for them anyway.
On the left is a narrow alley leading to the city's archives
and museum. It is a very narrow passage that could hardly fit
a horse and cart, let alone a more luxurious carriage of the
type the nobility rode. The wall we walk along is built of
small red stones. At one point there is a sudden deep
indentation, for no apparent reason. This is the outer wall
of the mizrach side of the Rashi Synagogue and as such
one would expect to find a protrusion for the aron
hakodesh, not an indentation. There is a story behind the
strange shape of the wall.
According to tradition, Rashi's parents lived in Worms. His
righteous mother would go the beis haknesses every day
to pray. This aroused the ire of the local bishop and one
day, while she was walking to the beis haknesses he
tried to run her over. The child she was expecting at the
time would grow up to illumine the eyes of his people with
his Torah.
The alley is very narrow and Rashi's mother was a step away
from death when the horseman tried to trample her. In her
fright she squeezed herself against the wall and a miracle
took place — a deep indentation formed in the wall
where she could shelter, saving her life and the life of her
unborn child. Rashi's parents subsequently left Worms and
moved to Troyes, where Rashi was born.
This story is passed down from one generation to the next,
from father to son and from rebbe to talmid. Is
this the place where it happened?
An Unforgettable Moment
We continue, arriving at the other side of the building and
the entrance of the Rashi Synagogue. The arches inside give
the beis haknesses grace and beauty. It was built
years after Rashi's petiroh, in his name and in his
memory. It is an old building, whose stones, in varying
shades of brown, convey a sense of history. The roof is
triangular and very high, to prevent snow from piling up and
endangering its stability.
A small, round chamber adjoins the building of the beis
haknesses; its domed roof is also tall and sloping. This
is where Rashi sat, learning and writing. The place has many
visitors, who look on it as an historical site, divesting it
of its ancient and eternal holiness. A chandelier holding oil
lamps hangs from the high ceiling. The low arches seem to
bear down with a precious load. The windows with their
decorative glass filter the daylight through, bathing the
interior in warm colors.
A long, very ancient-looking table runs the length of the
room. A dignified-looking stone chair, with a step leading up
to it, is built into the wall. According to tradition, this
is the very seat on which Rashi sat while he taught. There is
something very uplifting in the atmosphere. We sat down
across from each other, on opposite sides of the table and,
opening the gemoras that we've brought, we began to
learn gemora and Rashi together. Could it be that the
words we're learning were written in this room? Why do my
eyes feel moist? Why are there tears running down my
cheeks?
Because we have lost track of the time, we have to forgo our
visit to Speyer where, save for an ancient mikveh,
nothing whatsoever remains. We remain deeply immersed in
maseches Shabbos for a long time, as though nothing
and nobody existed. Even after we finish, we still feel bound
to the wooden seats.
Hesitantly, I bury my face in my hands, immersed in thought.
After a few moments a quiet, unobtrusive tune is heard in the
room. The singing slowly grows stronger, its delicate strains
gather strength. It is not a lusty song of joy but a deeply
moving song of the heart like the cooing of a dove that has
taken flight, full of yearning and longing. An outsider might
find it hard to understand but those moments, when past and
present came together, will remain seared into our memories
forever. For a short time Rashi's Worms became ours as
well.
Before we leave, we descend some steep stairs, with a stone
parapet on the right and a profusion of overhanging greenery.
This is the old Rashi mikveh. Tens of steep steps lead
down to the water. The varying hues of the stones in the wall
indicate that the water level changes. We discover that
waters fall and rise according to the height of the waters of
the Rhine, which supplies the mikveh. Here, far below
ground level, the water remains freezing cold even on a hot
day.
Much here has been preserved, the streets, the alleyways and
the walls. Even what was destroyed has been reconstructed.
The backdrop retains its original appearance but the focus is
no longer here. Rashi was once here. He passed away in Troyes
and can now be found in the pages of the gemora and in
our hearts.
Rashi's Teachers
It is only an hour's drive from Worms to its sister town of
Mayence (Mainz). Time is short and we have much to
accomplish. We have to enter the teeming city in order to
find the cemetery, whose entrance is not easily accessible
though its outer walls run along the main thoroughfare. We
have to take a very circuitous route, which is a sure recipe
for losing our way.
Mainz is a scowling, unlovely city. We find the cemetery gate
locked. The key is only available at the kehilloh
building which is quite a distance away. A neighbor —
by appearances a Turkish immigrant — brings us a low
wooden platform that helps us in climbing over the gate.
The cemetery is on a hillside. Its upper level is the more
ancient. A wall runs across it, dividing the "ancient" part
from the merely "old." On the other side of the wall, Rav
Meir Lehmann zt'l is buried. He battled Reform and
used his gifted pen to draw the hearts of a generation away
from foreign ideas and bind them to their own heritage with
his historical novels and other writing.
We are looking for the grave of Rabbi Yaakov ben Yakar
zt'l, Rashi's principal teacher. Here too, there is a
profusion of greenery, a sign of neglect. The ancient, hand-
engraved stones are crumbling, due to the ravages of time.
Many of them lie buried beneath earth that has shifted down
the slope. There are many empty spaces. Who knows who is
buried beneath the grass that overgrows them? On three
separate occasions in the course of the centuries, the
cemetery was ransacked by hostile elements.
As we make our way down the slope, Rav Gabbai stops me. He
suddenly bends down to a very low stone, around which the
metal containers of candles are scattered. "A hewn stone in
memory of Rav Gershon ben Meir," read the ancient letters.
With a tender, trembling touch and endless patience he tries
to clear out the hollows of the letters. This is the grave of
Rabbenu Gershom Meor Hagolah zt'l, who was the teacher
of several of Rashi's rebbes, among them Rabbi Yaakov
ben Yakar who is buried nearby.
Further down the hill, a short distance from the wall, Rav
Gabbai points out three old gravestones. Part of the stone is
black and looks scorched. Moss grows on the other sides. The
stones are square; next to them is a fourth stone that is
collapsing. "The grave of Rabbi Yaakov ben Yakar who was
niftar to Gan Eden in 4824 [1064] . . . May his
soul rest in Gan Eden." Fallen leaves cover the
immediate area. Underneath them the ground seems to be
waterlogged.
"I heard from his holy lips," writes Rashi referring to Rabbi
Yaakov ben Yakar (in Teshuvos siman 65). In bemoaning
not having asked his teacher (who died when Rashi was twenty-
four years old) about a certain point, Rashi writes, "I did
not merit asking Rabbenu Yaakov about this" (Beitzoh
24). Many of Rabbi Yaakov's teshuvos are brought in
Rashi's Sefer Hapardes. "His gravestone was only
discovered seventy years ago," Rav Gabbai tells me.
The grave of Rabbenu Meshulam ben Rabbenu Rabbi Klonimus
zt'l one of the greatest Torah sages of his generation
to whom questions were directed from all over, is very close
by. He wrote several of the piyutim that have become
part of our prayers on Yom Kippur. After the well-known
fearsome incident, Rabbi Amnon of Magence appeared to Rabbi
Meshulam's son Rabbi Klonimus in a dream and taught him the
prayer Unesaneh tokef . . .
The cemetery is quiet and still as twilight approaches. We
set out on our long journey to Paris, from where we plan to
leave for Troyes the following morning (as described in the
previous article). Rav Gabbai checks the pictures he has
taken on his digital camera and makes notes for his future
work — what needs doing, who to write to, who to speak
to . . .
This trip is one further step in the task to which he has
devoted himself. His entire life centers around the
renovation of the graves of gedolim of the past. There
are few like him who just give of themselves, all the time.
The longer one is involved in the activities of someone of
this caliber, the more one absorbs of their drive and the
light that shines in their souls and the harder it is to
evade the unspoken question, "What about me?"
In Conclusion
Nine hundred years have now passed since Rashi's
petiroh. "But don't forget," Rav Gabbai reminds me,
"it's nine hundred years since he's been there but also nine
hundred years that he's been living on here," and he
points to his lips, his temple and over his heart. "If you
want to write about Rashi write about the gemora
scholars, about those who study in the botei medrash
and about the yeshivos."
The merit of past gedolim never fades. Very few of the
people who lived in past generations have left behind any
lasting impression. Jewish spiritual giants are different.
Water flowing in a stream smooths the banks and makes them
steadier and more permanent. In nine hundred years Rashi's
teachings have been studied, scrutinized and pored over by
all, from the greatest of the great to the most ordinary and
unassuming and in the process they have become elucidated and
disseminated to an incredible and unparalleled extent.
"[Even] in their deaths, tzaddikim are [still] called
living." Truly, Rashi lives on, in our own and in every
single generation that has passed since he lived.
by B. Re'em
Rashi was born in 4800 (1040), the year that Rabbenu Gershom
Meor Hagolah was niftar (ShuT Maharshal, siman 29) and
he lived for sixty-five years. His mother was from a
distinguished family of noble lineage. In maseches
Shabbos (85) Rashi mentions, "I found support for my
opinion in the writings of Rabbenu Shimon the elder, my
mother's brother, in the name of Rabbenu Gershom Meor
Hagolah."
Some say that this was Rabbi Shimon the paytan, father
of "Elchonon the Pope," who is the subject of the
piyut "Keil chanan nachaloso" for the second
day of Rash Hashonoh. Rashi had a brother who is mentioned by
the Or Zorua (cheilek I, siman 692): "and we released
the wife of the brother of Rabbenu Shlomo z'l."
Rashi spent his childhood in Troyes. His first teacher was
his father Rabbi Yitzchok and he also learned with his uncle,
the aforementioned Rabbi Shimon. He also studied in Germany,
where he learned from the "Scholars of Lothar": "And I heard
from my teachers and have labored since my youth to reconcile
it with all aspects of the Talmud's approach according to
their view and I have been unsuccessful" (Succah 40,
beg. Hachi garsinan).
He had three daughters, about two of whom we possess
information. One married Rabbi Meir ben Shmuel, father of the
RaShBaM, Rabbenu Tam and the RYVaM and father-in-law of Rabbi
Shmuel ben Simchah, author of Machzor Vitry. Rashi's
second daughter married the RYVaN, who was Rashi's principal
disciple.
In Magence, Rashi learned from Rabbi Yaakov bar Yakar and
later in Worms from R"Y Halevi. After spending ten years away
learning, he returned to Troyes but maintained close
connections with his teachers, as he writes, "This is how I
understood it on my own and it appears correct but I have not
heard it explained thus. Later I found an old manuscript that
had been corrected, where it was written this way and I let
my teachers know and they approved (Arachin 12, beg.
Tzei).
He established his yeshiva, Yeshivas Gaon Yaakov, in Troyes
and thousands of talmidim flocked to study under him.
The Crusades began during his lifetime, in 4856 (1096), and
he bitterly lamented the tragedies that they brought. He
wrote several piyutim, some of which are said in the
selichos for erev Rosh Hashonoh, for
example, Hashem . . . noro bo'elyonim.
He grew weaker in his last years and wrote his commentary to
Makkos with his remaining strength. On reaching the
word tahor on daf 19, his soul departed his
body, on Yom Chamishi, the twenty-ninth of Tammuz 4865
(1105). On Makkos 19 we find, "Rashi's body was pure
and his soul departed in purity. From here onwards is the
commentary of his disciple R"Y bar Nosson," who, as
mentioned, was his son-in-law.
In a manuscript of Rashi's commentary to the Chumash
the following is written. "Here was interred the Aron
Hakodesh, the holy of holies, the great teacher Rabbi
Shlomo zt'l, son of the holy Rabbi Yitzchok, of
France, who was taken from us on the twenty-ninth of Tammuz
[4]865. He was sixty- five years old when he was summoned to
the Heavenly Academy, leaving behind his spiritual heritage
and his talmidim.
Rashi had many talmidim. Among them were his son-in-
law RYVaN, Rabbi Yosef Tov-Ellem, Rabbi Yosef Kara, RYVA,
Rabbi Moshe ben Mochir, RaShBaM, Rabbi Simchah of Vitry and
others.
To this day, nine centuries later, Rashi remains the Teacher
of Klal Yisroel in the fullest sense of the term.
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