History of the Jews, Vol. 5 (of 6)

Riesser's words produced their due effect; they came at an opportune moment, when men's minds had become susceptible. His mild though determined utterances made a deeper impression than Börne's with their incisive keenness. The tone of positive certainty with which Riesser foretold the ultimate victory of liberty infused hope into every heart. Various favorable events which now took place appeared to put a seal on his prophecy. For the first time the question of the emancipation of the Jews began to be discussed in the English Parliament, and the chief leaders in the House of Commons were in favor of the removal of the disabilities. A resolution was passed in the Electorate of Hesse, the first German province to legalize the emancipation of the Jews. This gave Riesser courage to pursue his ideal further. He was indefatigable in his efforts for the cause to which he had devoted his life, but he kept in view the honor and credit to be obtained, more than any desire for material gain. Not even the most unimportant ceremony might be sacrificed to obtain rights of citizenship, if they could be procured only at such a cost; a rule which he most emphatically laid down on two occasions.

The Jews of Baden, as a token of their gratitude, presented him with a beautifully designed picture by the Jewish painter Oppenheim, which artistically depicted the transition period in Jewish life, the separation of the old and the new. It was called "The Return of the Jewish Warrior," who is represented as surprising his parents and family in the repose of the Sabbath. In his letter acknowledging this gift, Riesser remarked, "The father is foolish who wishes to wrap his son in the garments of antiquity … but wanting in dignity is the son ashamed of his father, the generation ashamed of the past." This deeply-rooted feeling was communicated to the younger generation with the more intensity, because it proceeded, not from an official representative of Judaism, but from a lawyer whose being was pervaded by the German spirit. Riesser made the emancipation question popular by his contest with the Judæophobists Paulus, Edward Meyer, Pfizer, Streckfuss, and other driveling enemies of freedom in the German Assemblies of the estates, who utilized the contempt attached to the Jews to bring the whole struggle for liberty into disrepute. Riesser further managed to have the Jewish question placed on the programme of the liberalists. Young Germany, and all who took part against oppression, were thenceforth compelled to inscribe religious liberty and the equality of all classes upon their banner, however great might be their antipathy against the Jews. But Riesser performed a far greater service, by rousing a feeling of dignity in the Jews, and destroying that false shame which so-called cultured people felt at the name of Jew. The sincerity of his convictions and the genuineness of his sentiments, as evinced in every stroke of his pen, opened all hearts to him.

At this time men of commanding intellect were not to be found in great numbers among the Jews; but the younger generation was rich in men of character who, as it were, compensated for the losses occasioned by the Berlin Society for Culture. One of these sterling characters was the bosom friend of Riesser, a physician, Solomon Ludwig Steinheim (born, Altona, 1790; died, Zürich, 1866). His was a highly gifted nature, which dwelt upon the sunny height of thought; and from this eminence the foolish pursuits of the multitude appeared like mist formations, blown hither and thither by the wind.

In Steinheim was revealed, in all its splendor and all its powers of redemption, the Jewish thought – without which Judaism were merely a thousand years' dream – that the Jewish people has a gigantic mission, with which its teachings and fortunes are in consonance. This idea may have been unconsciously aroused in Steinheim by Isaac Bernays. Together with his wealth of thought, Steinheim was skillful in clothing his ideas in an interesting form, and adorning them with his rich gifts of eloquence. He might be compared to Jehuda Halevi, the Castilian poet-philosopher, had he been gifted with higher poetical talents. His first production, "The Songs of Obadiah ben Amos in Exile," displayed germs of the fruitful seed of thought which he disseminated. A Jewish sage, Obadiah, in Egypt, describes to his son Eliakim, supposed to be living at the time of the Ptolemies, the different stages of greatness and abjection through which the Jewish people were to pass.

"It is the design of Providence that a weak people, appointed to proclaim salvation, shall be persecuted, hunted down, and sacrificed among millions of enemies throughout thousands of years, and nevertheless continue alive and active. Our ancestors received for themselves and their descendants the consecrated office of the priesthood. The family of Jacob, since its beginning, has been alternately dispersed and gathered together, and thus trained for its vocation."

The Jewish people have entered upon their pilgrimage over the surface of the globe, to scatter the luminous seeds of pure worship of God and the ideal of exalted morality. From this moral pinnacle Steinheim beheld the past and the future of Judaism in the clearest light. All riddles were solved, all questions answered; the doctrines and history of Israel afforded satisfactory and comforting replies. The priestly mission of Israel was to be fulfilled through great sufferings; this saviour of the world was compelled to wear a crown of thorns, and to be humbled to the condition of a slave. Steinheim saw the past and the future of Israel as in a magic mirror, bright, clear, and rich in color. Only the present was puzzling to him. The estrangement of the sons of his people from their origin, their despair of themselves, their contempt for their teachings and descent, the daily recurring apostasies and desertion from the flag, appeared to him as omens of approaching downfall, as though the high priests of mankind were secularizing themselves, profaning their sanctity, exchanging their birthright for a mess of pottage. Such self-estrangement and self-debasement Steinheim desired to counteract. He therefore composed his "Songs of Obadiah in Exile," in which he worked out his system.

"Such times are dangerous, when oppression is lessened, but not altogether removed, or when freedom is near, but not completely attained. At these periods, to desert the customs of bygone ages is deemed meritorious and advantageous, while a desire for transitory benefits gives rise to indifference to the eternal. This is the time for real lamentation, when every folly is taken seriously, and every serious thing is considered folly; when mockery is in every mouth, and insolence and license in every heart, and when, by reason of satirical laughter, there is no time for serious matters."

Steinheim's muse severely rebuked the unthinking who seceded from the Jewish religion.

He wished, however, not only to reprove, but also to instruct and convince. He did not address himself to the prosperous, the contented, and the rich, but to "youth with its pains and its ardent longings, its ready sensibility to light and justice." To these he dedicated his book so fertile in thought, "Revelation according to the System of the Synagogue" (February, 1835). Gifted with a philosophical mind, Steinheim submitted the whole system of the law to a searching examination, regarding it as the highest consideration, as the "miracle of miracles," by which alone the restless inquiring human mind can arrive at contentment. Boldly he attempted to give an answer to the question: What is this highly-praised and deeply-scorned Judaism? All Jewish thinkers had been happy in proving that its fundamental principles agreed with the axioms of mental philosophy, or, at least, were not in contradiction to them. If man were left solely to the guidance of reason or of natural philosophy, he would find no clue for his moral actions in the labyrinth of contradictions and uncertainties. It is, therefore, concluded Steinheim, a poor compliment to a religion to say that it is in accord with reason; for the latter is Chronos consuming his own offspring; building up with one hand and destroying with the other. The only religion in accordance with reason is heathenism, or natural religion, in its various modifications – the heathenism which was the origin of so much mischief to morality, in which "robbers, thieves, adulterers, and sodomites found their finest examples in the highest beings." If Christianity renounces its joint origin with Judaism, the fashion since Schleiermacher and Hegel, it thereby sinks to the lowest depths of heathenism. Love and hatred, Ahriman and Ormuz, Christ and Satan, with all variations of the opposing principles, the eternal substance about which the two powers are ever contending, and inexorable necessity – these are the fundamental ideas of natural religion: man himself succumbs under the suffering inflicted by necessity:

"Through eternal, immovable, mighty lawsMust we all complete the circle of our existence."

"Like the gods, so are their priests and sages: like king, like herd."

In opposition to this sensual or perhaps refined heathenism comes Judaism with its totally different mode of thought. It sets up a personal God who is not identical with Nature, and is not divided into two principles: it recognizes a "Creatio ex nihilo," without an eternal substance. It lays stress upon free will, consequently upon man's responsibility for his moral actions. These truths and others have not been evolved by human reason, nor could they be so evolved; they had been revealed upon Sinai. Although they were alien to reason, yet they are so clear and convincing that it soon accepts them, displacing the contradictory phases of thought regarding the perplexing natural phenomena, whose laws reason cannot explain. Sinai, with its lightning-flashes, shed both light and warmth over the world, clearness of thought and moral purity. The synagogue forms a sharply defined antithesis both to mythological religion and the church. "Out of Zion shall go forth the law, and the word of the Lord out of Jerusalem": with inspired enthusiasm Steinheim subscribed to these prophetic, half-fulfilled words. When he had discovered, or thought he had discovered, the soul of Judaism, Steinheim became filled with ardent zeal, a striking phenomenon in a time of sober speculation. This love for Judaism so illumined his mind and facilitated his understanding of the past, that he even learned to value the activity and energy of the greatly despised rabbis.

In his "Revelation" Steinheim revealed many truths, or rather, he brought to light ancient truths which had been ignored or forgotten. No one either in his own or in the preceding age understood the fundamental principles of Judaism so thoroughly as he did, although several of his hypotheses and inferences cannot be completely established. He, however, made but a slight impression upon his contemporaries, although he set forth the grandeur of Judaism with almost prophetic inspiration, and in an attractive manner. Whence came his isolation? It arose from the fact that the life and actions of Steinheim did not accord with his thoughts and sentiments. In agreement with his words, he ought to have become intimately associated with the Synagogue which from ignorance "became daily more deserted," to have participated in its woes and ignominy, to have joined in the celebration of its days of festivity and sadness, and to have clothed himself with the pride of those who were externally slaves, but in their hearts freemen. But Steinheim did nothing of the kind: he kept himself aloof from the Jewish community and Jewish life. What he correctly recognized as the reason of the resistance to the doctrines of Judaism, "the simplicity and servile condition of its adherents," repelled even him.

"The name of the people, which has become its guardian, has degenerated into a by-word, and now it is demanded that a doctrine shall be accepted whose supporters are given up to hatred, contempt, and persecution."

To renounce Judaism altogether, like Heine, Edward Gans, and many others, appeared to Steinheim dishonorable and wanton; and he therefore remained externally faithful. But, although he had recognized the truth that the mission of Israel consisted in being not only priests, but also sacrifices, he did not permit this knowledge to influence his course of life. This was not due to weakness of character in Steinheim, but to insufficient knowledge of Judaism in its many-sidedness. In spite of his predilection for its intellectual treasury, he was more at home in every other subject than in Jewish literature.

A deeper knowledge of Judaism was unexpectedly aroused in a country which cultured Jews like Riesser and Steinheim were accustomed to despise. As it was formerly asked, What good can come out of Galilee? so now it was said, What good can come out of Poland? Yet, from this very place there came fruitful seeds which developed into healthy blossoms. Two men especially, Nachman Krochmal and Solomon Jehuda Rapoport, profitably employed the knowledge gained in Germany. Both seemed destined to fill a gap, to which the scholars of Jewish science in Germany and France were unequal. They dug solid ore from the mines inaccessible in these countries, and showed how to procure and work it. They stirred up a spirit of rivalry, which within the short space of three decades, was instrumental in removing the ruins covering the great past of Judaism, and in bringing to light the Divine image hidden beneath. They were the founders of a new school, which may be called the Galician.

Nachman Cohen Krochmal (born at Brody, 1785; died at Tarnopol, 1840), the son of a well-to-do merchant interested in science, who was accustomed to make journeys to Germany, caught up the pale, dying light of the Mendelssohn school. Mendelssohn was the ideal upon which Krochmal modeled himself. Married at the age of fourteen, and transplanted to the little village of Zolkiew, where the method of instruction so destructive to science was still in vogue, Krochmal secretly became absorbed in the study of Hebrew literature. He also tried to obtain the writings of the German philosophers, especially of Kant, in order to expand and clear his mind with earnest thoughts. The more the strict Talmudists and heretic-hunting Chassidim of Poland endeavored to discover those who occupied themselves with works other than the Talmud or Kabbala, or who read a non-Hebraic book, in order to denounce them – the more did Krochmal and his fellows enjoy their stolen pleasure. Along with a mass of knowledge from the Talmud, Krochmal stored up many thoughts of a character hostile to Talmudism. But open war was never declared. Krochmal, probably on account of his health, enfeebled by continued mental activity, was too timid to venture out of the beaten track: he avoided disputes, and followed all the superstitiously pious Polish customs, exaggerating them indeed, in order not to jeopardize his peace of mind. He was too earnest and too prudent to overstep the bounds of habit; nevertheless, he could not altogether escape suspicion. He had carried on a harmless correspondence with a Karaite Chacham in the neighboring village of Kukizow. Certain pious persons knew this, and represented that he was hatching a conspiracy against the Talmud with the Karaites. They obtained one of his letters from the unsuspecting Karaite, endeavored to extract heresies from the innocent compliments paid his correspondent in verse, and spread it throughout the large community of Lemberg in order to excite the mob against him. This intrigue greatly affected Krochmal, and becoming yet more timid and cautious, he locked up his thoughts within his own breast, and for a long time could not be induced to publish anything.

But he revealed the treasures of his mind to his trusty friends and disciples, not within treacherous walls, but in the open field. His hearers, schooled in the Talmud, and accustomed to unravel dark and difficult problems, quickly understood his hints without diffuse explanations. By his laconic method Krochmal could turn everything topsy-turvy, and unfold a series of investigations, every link of which, if made public, would have stamped him in the eyes of his countrymen as a wicked heretic. What made his method of instruction and his investigations especially fruitful, was the clearness and finish of his thoughts, which were arranged in admirable sequence. Thus his teaching was a wholesome antidote to the chaotic contradiction and confusion from which the best Polish minds greatly suffered. His acquaintance with German philosophy had schooled his mind, and taught him logical discipline. Krochmal did not develop original philosophic thoughts, which he nevertheless seems to have thought his strong point. He was the first to take a philosophical view of history, especially Jewish history, and make a clear survey of its intricacies. He also pointed out how the mine of the Talmud could be utilized, and rendered valuable in historical research. Krochmal himself devoted his attention to this neglected and little valued literature, and applied his results to the elucidation of Jewish history. He succeeded in throwing so much light on the period from the Babylonian Captivity until the conclusion of the Mishnah, which Jost and Christian scholars had completely failed to understand, that it was an easy task for succeeding inquirers to follow in his path. He was the first to teach scholars to examine Talmudical sources of history through a microscope, or to reproduce half-obliterated features. This was, indeed, a great gain, and an immense advance compared with Jost's clumsy view of history. Krochmal's results do not always bear investigation, because having no access to non-Hebraic writings, he was obliged to content himself with secondary or tertiary sources. But his acuteness and sincere devotion to this study, did not allow him to stray from the right track often. He inspired his disciples to engage in research, and gave them the key to these hieroglyphic sources. Although he had not yet published many of his discoveries, his fame extended beyond the boundaries of his own country. The community of Berlin, which since the time of Friedländer had felt deep aversion to Poles and rabbis, entertained the idea of calling him as their rabbi. He was considered one of the leaders of the young science of Judaism, and had many admirers in Germany.

The most receptive and gifted among his disciples, Solomon Jehuda Rapoport (born Lemberg, 1790? died Prague, 1867), contested with him for preëminence, and even overshadowed him, partly by reason of his more fertile productions. Rapoport was descended from a respected Jewish family, a race of learned rabbis, one of whose branches had been transplanted from Italy to Poland. Traces of his hereditary nobility were apparent in his bearing and appearance. Of a gentle nature, which won for him all hearts, having a fund of genial humor, and of a sociable disposition, Rapoport was a well-beloved and attractive person in every circle. These qualities softened the severity of his astonishing learning. Nothing of especial importance occurred during his youth. At an early age he was admitted to the study of the Talmud, and soon was at home in its labyrinths, owing to his extraordinary memory and penetrating acuteness. He also married young.

During his youth, Rapoport became partly false to Talmudical study, inasmuch as he favored its rivals – science and poetry. He has graphically described the painful path trodden by him and his peers in order to arrive at the tree of knowledge. It was difficult to obtain any scientific book, most difficult to secure one written in a European language. The index of books prohibited by public opinion was much more comprehensive than that of the popes. If one thirsting for knowledge secretly procured such a book, and it was scented out by the prying eyes of his relatives or friends, he was implored to throw it aside, or his friends, on their own responsibility, confiscated the heretical work, so as to preserve the student from fanatical persecution by the Chassidim. Even clear-minded men were doubtful whether, according to the Talmud, the study of profane sciences was not forbidden.

Rapoport was not alone in his longing for knowledge. Here and there, in Galicia, the germs of a fresh spirit awoke, which struggled hard to remove the yoke of an unthinking, fanatical public opinion. Intercourse with Vienna, the Napoleonic wars, in general, communication with the world, caused many old forms to fall into abeyance. The spread of the Chassidistic cult and its presumptuous, outrageous, and increasingly frantic actions, stimulated thoughtful, reasonable men to meet it with firm opposition, for it filled them with passionate hatred, and drove them to invent expedients whereby to crush it. The most appropriate method seemed to be to remove the boorish ignorance in religious and secular matters and the childlike credulity, by means of education. Although the Austrian government had declared it a duty of the Galician congregations to establish schools, the lower officials had not shown much zeal in causing this order to be carried into effect. This neglect was to some extent advantageous, as the self-deliverance of the Jews was the more effectual by reason of the struggle undergone. Since the wars with Napoleon, there had arisen small circles in the three largest Galician communities of Brody, Lemberg, and Tarnopol, banded together for self-culture, the promotion of education, and a war of annihilation against Chassidism. The beginning of this movement was made in Tarnopol by Joseph Perl (born at Tarnopol, 1773; died, 1839). With great sacrifice of time and money, and with unswerving perseverance, he founded a pattern High School for the middle classes. He made incisive attacks upon the Chassidim in a work, intentionally written in a corrupt, barbarous jargon, which was in no way inferior to "The Letters of Obscure Men" in the monkish Latin of Rubianus and Hutten, perhaps slightly more artistic. This bitter enemy of the Chassidim entered into communication with the Jewish representatives of education in Germany, and was elected an honorary member of the Berlin Society for Culture. In Brody, where Jews engaged in extensive foreign trade, the rich merchants, who traveled in Germany and Austria, introduced the desire to imitate the German Jews. In Lemberg, where Rapoport lived, a kind of literary circle was founded, at whose head was a wealthy, highly-cultured man, Jehuda Löb Mises (died 1831). He provided ambitious young men in Lemberg with money, counsel, and, what was of especial value to them, with an excellent library of Hebrew and European books.

From this circle arose an admired scholar, who deserves a golden page in the records of Jewish literature. This was Isaac Erter, born in a village near Przemysl, 1792, and died at Brody, 1851. He who by means of his magic poetry succeeds in showing the powers of renaissance dormant in a so-called dead language, unconsciously also demonstrates the vitality of the race in whose midst such artistic creations can arise, and can by many be understood, and admired. Erter's object was to scourge the perversity of Polish Judaism, the chaos of superstition and learning, and the coarseness of the Chassidim; but by the noble form in which he clothed his scorn and his righteous indignation he attested the immortality of the Hebrew language and people. Born in a wretched Galician village, he created beautiful Hebrew pictures, such as would have delighted Isaiah and the most refined Psalmists. Erter's father, though a poor man, little more than a peasant, had nevertheless not neglected the sacred duty of a Jew to have his talented son instructed in Jewish writings. The Talmud, to be sure, was the only work with which young Erter was thoroughly acquainted. Of the beauties of biblical poetry, like all Jews of Poland at that time, he had no idea in his youth. When he was thirteen years old his father imposed the bonds of marriage upon him, and shortly afterwards, having become a widower, the boy married a second wife. His second father-in-law, who had promised to support him, did not keep his word, and thus Erter tasted the bread of misery in his youth. To dispel his bitter cares he joined the merry Chassidim, taking part in all their follies; but his innate love of the beautiful made him feel disgust at the sight of their moral and physical degradation, nor could he believe in their miracles. A fortunate accident acquainted him with a cultured man, who introduced him to two ideals, Maimuni and Mendelssohn, and so he learned to understand, love, and imitate the highest models, viz., the prophet Moses and Hebrew literature. A new spirit was breathed into Erter by this old, still ever new revelation, working a change in his views and his relation to Judaism. To increase his culture Erter betook himself to Lemberg, where he hoped to find better means for satisfying his thirst for science. Here he found struggling sympathizers of his own age, who, like himself, had married early, had been tortured by material cares, but had nevertheless directed all their energies to the cultivation of the mind. Here he met Rapoport, to whom as the more learned he looked up with reverence. There was a peculiar charm in the intercourse of these young knowledge-seekers, each at once master and pupil. Whatever was beautiful and true in European literature they elaborated, for their own use and that of others, in the Hebrew language, which they employed as if it were a living language. The difficulties which members of this circle could not overcome were submitted to the wise master, Krochmal, and to him they made pilgrimages to Zolkiew as to a wizard. This intellectually idyllic life, which they remembered even in their old age as a golden dream, lasted for three years. But their occupation with profane literature and their actions and aims gave great offense.