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Five Greek Glosses to Bava Metzia 93b
Julia G. Krivoruchko

Five Greek Glosses to Bava Metzia 93b: T-S F2(1).164

Julia G. Krivoruchko

T-S F2(1).164 is a parchment folio containing a fragment of Bava Metzia 93 a-b. Sh. Morag (1988: vii, 26) sampled the vocalized passages of the folio in his catalogue of vocalised Talmudic manuscripts in Cambridge; it was further mentioned by Y. Etz-Chaim (1999–2000, non vidi), A. Shweka (2007–2008: 319) and Y. Sussman (2012: no. 2319).  De Lange and Tchernetska (2014) concentrated on the palaeographic aspects of the Greek glosses but did not deal with their translation or interpretation. N. de Lange dated the main text to the eleventh century and remarked that the glosses “must be later, but not necessarily much later” (2014: 260). Below I attempt to place Greek interlinear and marginal glosses in their Byzantine and Talmudic context.


Codicology and palaeography

The correct order of the images of the text is back-front.

A hand using blackish ink added minor corrections to the main text, such as inserting or overwriting a couple of characters, e.g. קא  in l. 7 or את  in l. 20.

The vocalization applied is of Palestino-Tiberian type with its characteristic extended use of rafe and dagesh. It is unclear whether the same scribe produced all the vocalization of the recto: the angle of strokes and relative position of dots to the body of the letters look similar throughout the page, and while the shade of ink does not always look identical, it may be due to the vicissitudes of preservation or working in different sessions.

A hand responsible for the vocalization must have also added the Greek and Hebrew glosses. Being ‘difficult’, the glossed words are vocalized.


The context

The preserved folio starts with the gemara immediately following the seventh mishna of 93a. Four kinds of bailees (a gratuitous bailee, a borrower, a paid bailee and a hirer) are distinguished; further discussion deals with the rights of employees and circumstances that release the paid custodian from liability (93b).

The transcription of the fragment (but not the glosses) can be found on the FGP site (


T-S F2(1).164 verso

T-S F2(1).164 verso



The first Greek gloss is located on the outer margin near line 14, divided according to its syllabification into ΒΙΓΛΑ|ΤΟΡΑΣ to fit the margin. Marking the glossed item בַּחֲזַֿנֵֿֿי in the main text the scribe placed a small circle above its bet.1

The Greek form ( implies the presence of a preposition before it, which may indicate translation of the whole sentence rather than the individual word.

The Greek βιγλάτωρ originates through syncope from Lat. vigilator, an agent noun of classical vigilare ‘to stay awake at night’. It is not amply witnessed prior to our fragment, but develops an array of morphological by-forms and derivatives in later periods: βιγλάτορος, βιγλάτορης, βιγλάτορας, βιγλιστής (Kriaras s.vv.).

What made βιγλάτωρ the translation of choice instead of far commoner terms for custodians, such as φρουρός, φύλαξ/φύλακας, etc.?  An absolute majority of thirty occurrences of the lexeme in TLG come from military manuals, such as Tactica of Leo VI the Wise (r. 886 – 912), the most extensive Byzantine compilation in the field of military art, published by his son Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus; Tactica of Nikephoros Ouranos (fl. c. 980 – c. 1010), a successful general and confidant of the Emperor Basil II (r. 976–1025); De velitatione bellica ascribed to Nicephorus II Phocas (r. 963 – 969); the anonymous De re military (A.D. 6–10), etc.

All these texts uniformly present the meaning ‘watchman, guard, sentinel functioning as a part of military unit / in the framework of an organized military operation’, e.g.:

[δέον] τοὺς δὲ βιγλάτορας πιστοὺς  εἶναι καὶ εἴδει σώματος ἀνδρείῳ καὶ ψυχῇ εὐτόλμῳ καὶ ὁπλίσει λαμπροὺς καὶ τῶν λοιπῶν στρατιωτῶν διαφέρειν, ὥστε ἢ ποιήσαντάς τι γενναῖον ἔργον καὶ ἀνδρεῖον ἐπανελθεῖν ἢ ζωγρηθέντας παρὰ τοῖς πολεμίοις θαυμάζεσθαι.

[T]he viglatores should be trustworthy and excel among other soldiers through manly body-build, brave soul and excellent weaponry, so that upon accomplishing a daring mission they could return, and if caught alive by the adversaries, be admired by them (Leo Sapiens, Tactica, constitution 17, section 77, line 5).2

Similarly positive contexts with viglatores can be found in other texts.

Slightly apart in terms of genre, but not semantics, stands the scholium to Aristophanes’s Clouds: … ᾄδων ἐπὶ φρουρᾶς ὥσπερ οἱ βιγλάτορες ‘singing / chanting while guarding, as βιγλάτορες [do]’ (Commentarium in Nubes, Scholia Recentiora Tzetzae, sch. verse-column 721b, lines 4–5), where the immediately preceding scholium mentions ‘approaching enemy’.

From the viewpoint of TLG evidence, the word can function as a translational equivalent of the Aramaic term in as far as βιγλάτωρες are (a) fit and brave men and (b) mercenaries, i.e., in gemara terms, paid bailees. Yet it becomes the best option only when Job 1:153 is read as univocal reference to war, when the town would be guarded by elite units rather than ordinary night guards. Consequently, from the viewpoint of halachic interpretation the Greek gloss limits acceptable force majeure to military conflicts. This interpretation is somewhat different from Rashi’s

בחזני מתא שומרי העיר בלילה שכל סמך אנשי העיר עליהם לשמור גופם וממונם הנהו ודאי בעו נטירותא יתירתא,

which allows for common guards and therefore for a larger range of acceptable force majeures, such as robbery and milder forms of violence. Rashi’s understanding could have been based on glossing חזני מתא as *vigiles, sc. vigiles urbani, an urban military unit combining the functions of firefighters and police, that was in charge of nocturnal public order and patrolling.4


2.    ΚΑΝΟΝ

On the inner margin near line 17 we find the glyphs that de Lange and Tchernetska (2014: 260) read as ΟΚΑΝΟΝΟ. I believe that the first and the last characters of this sequence are in fact not letters but circuli, which frame the word ΚΑΝΟΝ. The omicron in the word ΒΙΓΛΑΤΟΡΑΣ is performed in two strokes and gives an almond-shaped result, as does the omicron inside ΚΑΝΟΝ and two other clearly visible omicrons on the verso of the folio. On the contrary, the glyph at the beginning of ΟΚΑΝΟΝΟ is a single circular stroke, just as the interlinear signs that link the referents to their glosses.

Interestingly, the main text of line 17 lacks such reference anchors, and it seems unlikely that the stain above the first word of line 18 functioned as one. Above ΚΑΝΟΝ there is a mark in dark ink similar to Greek theta, which may have some meaning – or none.

Placement of a word between circuli could be a decorative device, or it could mean that the gloss relates to a word on the opposite page – unfortunately, the fragment is too short to supply more data and the opposite page is unavailable. I suggest that the gloss between circuli relates to the text in a different way – it is not a translational equivalent of some specific lexeme but a note/commentary to the passage as a whole. Conventions of comparable kind are known in Greek tradition, e.g. the sign of diple ‘double’ used by Aristarchus of Samothrace to append a loosely related commentary to the text.5

ΚΑΝΟΝ, a slightly misspelled variant of κανών, poses no morphological or phonetic problems: quantitative distinctions between vowels would have already lost their significance.

Analysing ΚΑΝΟΝ in the context of the gemara requires understanding its meaning in earlier and contemporaneous Greek and Judaeo-Greek. The semantics of κανών are too branching and convoluted to analyse in detail; I will point at only a few important directions of semantic development.6 In Ancient Greek, the lexeme evolved from literal ‘rod, bar’ (cf. קנה, see LSJ s.v. κανών A.1–11) to abstract metaphorical ‘rule, standard’ (LSJ s.v. κανών II). Picked up by philosophers as ‘principle, criterion’, already in late antiquity it started to compete with νόμος for the meanings ‘law, institutionalised ruling, legal norm’. With the establishment of Christianity the word was actively employed by the Church and developed meanings ‘rule of faith’, ‘rule of ecclesiastical law’, ‘canon of behaviour, moral standard’, and numerous technical ones, such as ‘canon of scripture’, ‘liturgical order’, ‘liturgical hymn’, ‘ecclesiastical rank/order’, etc. (all – Lampe s.v.).

Due to the structure of Byzantine society the boundary between κανών and νόμος was movable and negotiable, as were the powers of relevant authorities.7 Towards the time when our gloss was penned, κανών in mainstream Greek could have meant anything between ‘standard of moral behaviour’, ‘rule’, ‘custom’ and ‘law’.

Although a culturally important term, κανών, in contradistinction to νόμος, was never directly borrowed into Hebrew / Aramaic, probably because of phonetic and semantic competition with כּוּן, כּנן and קנה.8 Nonetheless, it occurs already in Early Judaeo-Greek: according to TLG, Philo used it 27 times and Josephus twice. However, Judaeo-Greek writing had a pronounced tendency to associate Torah with νόμος, which limited the sphere of applicability of κανών, pushing it towards ‘applied law’, ‘specific regulation’, ‘custom’. An enlightening example of the fine interaction of both semantic fields is the following passage from Contra Apionem:

Ὁ δ’ ἡμέτερος νομοθέτης ἄμφω ταῦτα συνήρμοσεν κατὰ πολλὴν ἐπιμέλειαν· οὔτε γὰρ κωφὴν ἀπέλιπε τὴν τῶν ἠθῶν ἄσκησιν οὔτε τὸν ἐκ τοῦ νόμου λόγον ἄπρακτον εἴασεν, ἀλλ’ εὐθὺς ἀπὸ τῆς πρώτης ἀρξάμενος τροφῆς καὶ τῆς κατὰ τὸν οἶκον ἑκάστων διαίτης οὐδὲν οὐδὲ τῶν βραχυτάτων αὐτεξούσιον ἐπὶ ταῖς βουλήσεσι τῶν χρησομένων κατέλιπεν, ἀλλὰ καὶ περὶ σιτίων, ὅσων ἀπέχεσθαι χρὴ καὶ τίνα προσφέρεσθαι, καὶ περὶ τῶν κοινωνησόντων τῆς διαίτης ἔργων τε συντονίας καὶ τοὔμπαλιν ἀναπαύσεως ὅρον ἔθηκεν αὐτὸς καὶ κανόνα τὸν νόμον, ἵν’ ὥσπερ ὑπὸ πατρὶ τούτῳ καὶ δεσπότῃ ζῶντες μήτε βουλόμενοι μηθὲν μήθ’ ὑπ’ ἀγνοίας ἁμαρτάνωμεν. (Flavius Josephus, Contra Apionem (= De Judaeorum vetustate), book 2, sect. 174, line 4)

But [O]ur [L]egislator combined both forms with great care: [H]e neither left character-training mute nor allowed the words from the law to go [unpractised]. Rather, starting right from the beginning of their nurture and from the mode of life [practised] by each individual in the household, [H]e did not leave anything, even the minutest detail, free to be determined by the wishes of those who would make use of [the laws], but even in relation to food, what they should refrain from and what they should eat, the company they keep in their daily lives, as well as their intensity in work and, conversely, rest, [H]e set the law as their boundary and rule, so that, living under [such F]ather and [M]aster, we might commit no sin either wilfully or from ignorance.9

‘Setting the [L]aw as boundary (ὅρος) and rule’ implies here positive and negative commandments of the νόμος-Torah, where κανών (‘rule’) is מצוות עשה, an advised way of life, divinely approved and encouraged, but also prescribed and ordered.

Having understood, what κανών could have meant, let us turn to its possible referent. Opposite the gloss in the main text we find the following passage:

איתיביה עד מתי שומר שכר חייב לשמור עד כדי (בראשית לא, מ) הייתי ביום אכלני חורב וקרח בלילה א"ל התם נמי בחזני מתא אמר ליה אטו יעקב אבינו חזן מתא הוה דאמר ליה ללבן נטרי לך נטירותא יתירתא כחזני מתא

Abaye raised an objection to Rabba from another baraita: To what extent is a paid bailee obligated to safeguard? He is obligated to the extent that Jacob said to Laban: “Thus I was: In the day the drought consumed me, and the frost by night” (Genesis 31:40). Rava said to him: There too, the baraita is speaking of city watchmen, whose responsibility extends further. Abaye said to him: Is that to say that Jacob, our forefather, whose statement is the source of this halakha, was a city watchman? Rava replied: It means that Jacob said to Laban: I safeguarded for you an extra level of safeguarding, like that of city watchmen.10

Bailee’s obligations are discussed here on the background of the biblical story of Jacob. It is helpful to see, how this story looks from the perspective of Byzantine law. The activity of herdsmen was a subject of so called Νόμος γεωργικός known under translated titles Farmer’s Law, Agrargesetz or Landwirtschaftsgesetz, and Loi agraire.11

Few texts can match Nomos Georgikos as to the spectrum of proposed chronologies: various scholars have dated its parts from the sixth to the fourteenth century. It has been preserved in more than a hundred manuscripts falling into several mutually independent families. Researchers agree that Farmers’ Law occupies a unique place in Byzantine legal production: its language is decidedly unprofessional. Some see it as a result of the incorporation of ad hoc practical rulings into the system of classical Roman law, others tend to reconstruct an opposite process, namely an attempt by high-brow jurists to devise regulations for trivial mundane matters. Be that as it may, due to its utter practicality, Georgikos Nomos has been widely popular and exercised profound impact on the legal systems of Balkan and Slavic countries.12

Let us consider Gen 31:38–39, immediately preceding the phrase quoted by Abaye:

לח זֶה עֶשְׂרִים שָׁנָה אָנֹכִי עִמָּךְ רְחֵלֶיךָ וְעִזֶּיךָ לֹא שִׁכֵּלוּ וְאֵילֵי צֹאנְךָ לֹא אָכָלְתִּי

38 These twenty years have I been with thee; thy ewes and thy she-goats have not cast their young, and the rams of thy flocks have I not eaten.13

לט טְרֵפָה לֹא-הֵבֵאתִי אֵלֶיךָ--אָנֹכִי אֲחַטֶּנָּה מִיָּדִי תְּבַקְשֶׁנָּה גְּנֻבְתִי יוֹם וּגְנֻבְתִי לָיְלָה

39 That which was torn of beasts I brought not unto thee; I bore the loss of it; of my hand didst thou require it, whether stolen by day or stolen by night.



Ἐὰν ἀγελάριος βοῶν ἕωθεν παρὰ τοῦ γεωργοῦ λάβῃ βοῦν καὶ συγκαταμίξῃ αὐτὸν μετὰ τῆς ἀγέλης καὶ συμβῇ τὸν βοῦν λυκωθῆναι, δειξάτω τὸ πτῶμα τῷ κυρίῳ αὐτοῦ καὶ αὐτὸς ἀναίτιος ἔστω (Farmer’s Law no. 23).

If a [cowherd] in the morning receives an ox from a farmer and mixes it with the herd, and it happens that the ox is destroyed by a wolf, let him explain the accident to its master and he himself shall go harmless.14

Ἐὰν ἀγελάριος βοῦν παραλαβὼν ἀπολέσῃ καὶ τῇ αὐτῇ ἡμέρᾳ ἐν ᾗ ὁ βοῦς ἀπώλετο οὐ καταμηνύσῃ τῷ κυρίῳ τοῦ βοὸς ὅτι τὸν βοῦν ἕως ᾧδε καὶ ᾧδε ἑώρακα, τί δὲ γέγονεν οὐκ οἶδα, ἀζήμιος μὴ ἔστω, εἰ δὲ καὶ κατεμήνυσεν, ἔστω ἀζήμιος (ibid. no.26).

If a herdsman in the morning receives an ox from a farmer and the ox disappears, let him swear in the Lord's name that he has not himself played foul and that he had no part in the loss of the ox and let him go harmless.


From the viewpoint of Nomos Georgikos Lavan’s requirements appear exaggerated and contradicting the established practice, while Jacob’s conscientiousness and good will certainly appear as נטירותא יתירתא ‘excessive care’.


I believe that the background analysed above has brought us closer to understanding what the glossator could mean by marking κανών on the margin of T-S F2(1).164. First, it has become obvious that the gloss refers to the phrase נטרי לך נטירותא יתירתא. This conclusion is supported by the fact that the clause is also vocalized. The intentions of the glossator could have been different: ‘נטרי לך נטירותא יתירתא is an important tenet / practical law / encouraged conduct’. Pragmatically, this would mean: ‘Memorize the maxim and apply it’. Alternatively, in a more scholarly way, the gloss could mean: ‘Note the contradiction between the applied law and the principle brought into halachic argument’.



ΗΚΑΖΥ|ΣΙΝ appears on the outer margin near line 20 and is linked through circulus to the nearest word of the main text, which is also vocalized: אֺומֽֿדִֿין. It is possible that the original form was אומרין, as in the previous line, and the fourth character was corrected into dalet, not overwritten. Curiously, modern editions may contain the same root in both occurrences, but the translation distinguishes between ‘say’ and ‘estimate’, e.g.:

איתיביה רועה שהיה רועה והניח עדרו ובא לעיר בא זאב וטרף ובא ארי ודרס אין אומדים אילו היה שם היה מציל אלא אומדין אותו אם יכול להציל חייב ואם לאו פטור

Abaye raised an objection to Rabba from another baraita: With regard to a shepherd who was herding the animals of others, and he left his flock and came to the town, if in the meantime a wolf came and tore an animal to pieces, or a lion came and trampled one of his flock, we do not say definitively that had he been there he would have rescued them and therefore he is liable due to his absence. Rather, the court estimates with regard to him: If he could have rescued his animal by chasing a beast of this kind away, he is liable, as his departure from the scene was certainly a contributing factor to the damage. If not, he is exempt from liability.

The gloss ΗΚΑΖΥ|ΣΙΝ corresponds to εἰκάζουσιν ‘they estimate’, cf. LSJ s.v. εἰκάζω A.III. ‘infer from comparison, form a conjecture’.

Towards the period when the gloss was penned, the diphthong ει would have long ago evolved from /e:/ > /i:/ > /i/ (see Horrocks 2010: 161–162) and consequently could have been written through any grapheme or combination thereof with phonetic value /i/. The scribe used eta for the first syllable, which could be a random choice, or hint at a partial knowledge of traditional Greek spelling, since in most verbs with initial ε the augment would be realized as η.

Vowel [u] is written not as a digraph but through upsilon, which, I believe, is likelier to have originated from sloppy spelling rather than a fronting of the original /u/ to /y/.



The interlinear gloss ΑΜΕΛΕΣΕΝ is positioned above its referent בִּיפְֿשִּיעָה in line 22. The antithesis תחילתו - סופו is repeated in our fragment (lines 22–23), but not in modern editions:

תחילתו בפשיעה וסופו באונס חייב

This is a mishap that came about initially through negligence and ultimately by accident, and in a case of this kind he is liable due to his negligence.

The gloss is semantically straightforward: ἀμέλεσεν < ἀμέλησεν ‘he did not sufficiently care’, ‘was careless, negligent’. The aorist in -εσα is not unusual, as it frequently appears as by-form to –ησα in later Greek, including Judaeo-Greek, e.g. φορέω > ἐφόρεσα LXX Si. 11.5, but ἐφόρησα elsewhere (LSJ).

What is unexpected, however, is the strategic choice not to reflect the syntax and morphology of the original – something hardly ever done in Judaeo-Greek biblical glossaries of the period. Instead, the glossator opts for rephrasing the clause, and through introducing the verb instantly creates a comprehensible Greek protasis. באונס and חייב must have been also translated as verbs.


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T-S F2(1).163 recto

It is possible that the same hand glossed both sides of the folio.



The only Greek gloss on the verso appears on the left margin near the line 6. No marking of a glossed item is visible due to the badly rubbed condition of the leaf, neither is the gloss itself clearly legible.

De Lange and Tchernetska (2014: 260) read the gloss as ΣΤΟΙ |ΤΟΠΟ[. As can be seen on the other side of the folio, the scribe had a habit of encroaching the space of the main text. It is consequently possible that the first syllable of the gloss ends not in iota but in the left leg of some other glyph, e.g. nu, which in recto is strictly vertical. Multiple reading possibilities hinder connecting the gloss to a lexeme in the main text.



Medieval Greek-speaking scholars are mostly known as those who obliged R. Sherira and R. Hay, the Pumbedita Gaons, with translations of unfamiliar Greek loanwords. Yet beyond and behind this semi-anecdotal evidence there existed a culture of Talmud study, of which the glosses of T-S F2(1).164 are first-hand evidence. Their value is manifold. First, it lies in the relative rarity of the material: complete works by Greek Talmudic scholars, such as eleventh-century perushim to the order Moed or the annotated digest of Talmud composed by Shemariah ben Elijah of Negroponte for his son, did not survive.15 Second, individual glosses represent the stages of peshat and lexicography preceding large and complex ventures, such as the Aruch of Nathan b. Yeḥiel: they are modest bricks for superb edifices. Last but not the least, they shed light on the very process of teaching and learning: glosses suggest that the Talmudic text was freely translated into natural Greek and perhaps even assessed vis-à-vis another legal tradition.



1 As is common in some Extended Tiberian manuscripts, the two dots of the ḥaṭef vowel are placed inside the body of the ḥet.

2 The translations are mine unless stated otherwise.

3 Job 1:15, וַתִּפֹּל שְׁבָא וַתִּקָּחֵם וְאֶת-הַנְּעָרִים הִכּוּ לְפִי-חָרֶב וכו׳. ‘And the Sabeans made a raid, and took them away; yea, they have slain the servants with the edge of the sword ...’ (Translation by JPS).

4 Due to the fragmentary nature of the evidence, no firm claims can be made about the origin of Rashi’s interpretation or common tradition behind the gloss in T-S F2(1).164 and the reconstructed source of Rashi.

5 See Schironi 2012: 92–107. I do not suggest any direct link between Alexandrian tradition and the scribal conventions of the particular folio not least because diple is angular, not circular, although over centuries one could have evolved into another. I am just pointing to the precedent and possibility of such a sign.

6 All major Christian encyclopaedias address the lexical and cultural history of the word/concept under the lemma canon. Fans of classical Wortgeschichte may opt for Oppel 1937.

7 Various aspects of the phenomenon are highlighted, e.g., in Troianos 2017, Macrides 1990, Druwé 2015, Wagschal 2014.

8 But cf. Sokoloff 2009: 1381. κανών  could have influenced the semantics of the above Hebrew roots.

9 Translation by John M.G. Barclay 2007 with minor modifications in brackets.

10 Here and below the translations of The William Davidson Talmud are quoted from; words directly translating the original are in bold; the rest is added for coherence.

11 By bringing this material into comparison I do not wish to claim that the scribe was familiar with the particular text or any parallel piece of Byzantine legislation. Common law could have been a fact of common knowledge without there necessarily being access to its written versions. The question, how much Roman law was known to Rabbis, has occupied scholars for centuries (see, e.g, Hezser 2007 for historical excursus), and there is no place to deal with it here.

12 Details about the history of research and stemma codicum can be found in the editions of Medvedev 1984 and Koder 2020; some older articles, such as Vernadskij 1925 and Karayannopoulos 1958 may be still helpful. I cannot discuss Hebrew connections of Nomos Georgikos for the current lack of access to the relevant bibliography.

13 The translations of Genesis are by JPS.

14 The text, purged of variant readings, is from Koder 2020; the translations are modernized from Ashburner 1912. There is no room to discuss here whether the fact that the animal used for the exemplification is an ox (and not a sheep or a goat) is of relevance.

15 See Bowman 1985: 131–133, 255–262 and Ta-Shma 2005: vol. 3, 317–321.



Ashburner, Walter. (1912). ‘The Farmer's Law. II.’ The Journal of Hellenic Studies 32: 68–95.

Barclay, John M. G., Ed. (2007). Josephus Flavius. Against Apion: translation and commentary by John M.G. Barclay. Against Apion. Leiden, Brill.

Bowman, Steven B. (1985). The Jews of Byzantium, 1261-1453. Tuscaloosa, Ala., University of Alabama Press.

de Lange, Nicholas R. M. and N. Tchernetska (2014). ‘Glosses in Greek Script and Language in Medieval Hebrew Manuscripts.’ Scriptorium 68: 253–264.

Druwé, Wouter. (2015). ‘The Relationship between Civil and Canon Law in the Eastern Orthodox Tradition.’ Krakowskie Studia z Historii Państwa i Prawa 8(4): 343–356.

Etz-Chayim, Yehonatan (1999–2000). Sugyot muḥlafot be-masekhet Neziḳin: (shalosh ha-Bavot). Lod.

Hezser, Catherine. (2007). Roman Law and Rabbinic Legal Composition. The Cambridge Companion to Rabbinic Literature. C. Fonrobert and M. S. Jaffee. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press: 144–163.

Horrocks, Geoffrey. (2010). Greek: A History of Language and its speakers. Chichester, Wiley-Blackwell.

Holwerda, Douwe (1960). Joannis Tzetzae commentarii in Aristophanem. Scholia in Aristophanem, 4. Groningen: Bouma, 1960: 367–689.

JPS = The Jewish Publication Society of America. (1917). The Holy Scriptures according to the masoretic text: a new translation. Philadelphia, The Jewish Publication Society of America.

Karayannopulos, Johannes. (1958). ‘Entstehung und Bedeutung des Nomos Georgikos.’  Byzantinische Zeitschrift 51(2): 357–373.

Koder, Johannes. (2020). Nomos Georgikos. Das byzantinische Landwirtschaftsgesetz: Überlegungen zur inhaltlichen und zeitlichen Einordnung. Deutsche Übersetzung. Wien, Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften.

Kriaras, Emmanouil. (1969–). Lexiko tis mesaionikis Ellinikis dimodous grammateias, 1100–1669. [Λεξικό της μεσαιωνικής ελληνικής δημώδους γραμματείας, 1100-1669]. Thessaloniki: Κέντρο Ελληνικής Γλώσσας, 1969–.

Lampe, Geoffrey W. H. (1972). A Patristic Greek Lexicon. Oxford, Clarendon Press.

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Cite this article

Krivoruchko, J. (2021). Five Greek Glosses to Bava Metzia 93b: T-S F2(1).164. [Genizah Research Unit, Fragment of the Month, April 2021].


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